Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He heard it. Izumi Uchiha’s very last breath. Soft, faint, then silent. The second it stopped, he knew that his life was effectively over. That thought, this knowledge would only further consolidate itself further throughout that fateful night until there was nothing left. No doubts, no friends, no family, no survivors. Except one.
With the metaphorical blood of his kin on his hands, the only thing the now teenager could look forward to was the final reunion between him and his executioner. And that was fine. He wanted this. He had chosen this. Itachi Uchiha knew that there was no way back. And there was also no way forth. Only down.

“It's going pretty far down, huh?” Juuzou commented.

They stood before what seemed like a monstrous, endless shaft down to the deepest depths of the earth. A chilly wind streamed past them with a howl, making their Akatsuki cloaks flutter. Who would have thought they would find a place like this amid the abandoned temple? Itachi had not expected a place this big, let alone one going all the way deep underground. How many stairs lined the walls of the shaft? Hundreds? Thousands? They seemed to stretch on endlessly, fading into the darkness of the pit.

“Guessing by the enemy's movements, this is our destination,” Itachi explained.

“Down the shaft?” Juuzou raised an eyebrow, only for Itachi to not even spare him as much as a glance.

“Let’s go,” the Uchiha said and jumped over the first flight of stairs.

Juuzou tsked, not even bothering to complain about the emo kid’s attitude this time, following silently.

The Akatsuki’s leader – whether it was Pain or Madara that came up with the idea this time, Itachi was not entirely sure about – had recently caught wind of an obscure rumor. Apparently, archeologists had found this ancient temple a couple of weeks back and had been able to connect the torn-down structure to the Sage of Six Paths. Or the tales about him. Or tales originating from the same time period as his. Something like that. And when briefed about the mission, Itachi could not help but wonder idly whether or not their leader in question had gone crazy to seriously pursue it. Why not go on a quest to obtain a bag of fairy glitter while they are at it?

Pain had explained he wanted them to retrieve an artifact that may or may not be located within the temple. Again, "may or may not be". But what had mattered in the end and finalized their orders was a choice between two assignments for him and his partner.

One option was to investigate the fantasy temple.

The other option entailed a trip to Kiri.

Juuzou did not want to go to Kiri.

Long story short, they went to the fantasy temple.

Itachi had no intention of dragging this mission out further. It was tedious, giving him a reason to be quick. Meanwhile, he suspected that Juuzou had the exact opposite idea in mind and was instead stalling for time. After all, with not too many members in the Akatsuki, they both knew that the leader would most likely still assign them the Kiri mission after this was done. And of course, this didn't make Juuzou particularly happy. Understandable - Itachi probably also would not want to encounter any leaf shinobi on a mission. Granted, his concerns were of a different nature than Juuzou's but still.

They had encountered enemy ninjas on the way to the shaft, but their jutsus had been unsurprisingly lackluster. Some of them had been battling each other even, rather than the Akatsuki pair. That's how they figured out there had to be at least one more party involved aside from whoever had employed the archeologists. One that the Akatsuki did not know about. They too, however, had been no match for them and had been defeated rather quickly.

There was one good thing about this entire ordeal, though. On the off chance that the artifact was indeed connected to the Sage of Six Paths and turned out to be dangerous, Itachi would be one of the first people to know - To make the artifact disappear. Not that Itachi was particularly worried about this possibility. Not at all. Finding a high-grade, world-ending artifact was not exactly something he would expect after lazily fighting his way through a bunch of no-name amateurs. But with enemies barely keeping him busy, that was what he would think about while descending down the deep pit in the middle of the temple. Thankfully, he could almost see the bottom already.

In hindsight, he should have been worried.

Sasuke Uchiha had not expected to run into this many shinobi. He had anticipated traps, white Zetsus perhaps, or a couple of missing-nin even. Not twenty or thirty low-level ninjas who had no business being down here in the first place. This was supposed to be a closed operation. The existence of the artifact itself was classified. So how did this happen?

Sasuke was already suspecting Naruto for being careless with his precious hokage documents. It would certainly not be a first that the Nanadaime had endangered a mission like this, thinking back to the entire Shin Uchiha incident. However, he had more important things to worry about. After all, the artifact at the bottom of this temple could not fall into the wrong hands.

The walls of the dark, cold, ruined temple were narrow and the corridors swarmed by enemies. Greenish, glowing stones adorned the walls, illuminating the battle scene. Sasuke did not even know how the enemies had gotten to this place or when. He had neither sensed any suspicious chakra when he had first arrived at the temple nor when he had made it to the bottom of this pit. But then, out of nowhere, the place was basically crowded with foreign chakra and for a short moment, Sasuke's senses were overwhelmed. Regardless of which, he had to get rid of his attackers. But this was not a time or place to warrant a whole firework of jutsus, now was it? And in all honesty, it would have been a waste of chakra as well.

Quicker than the human eye could see, he had already woven the necessary hand seals and concentrated a for Sasuke negligible amount of lightning chakra into a barrage of chidori senbon. A relatively simple jutsu he had perfected over the years and did not bat an eye over using now. With the danger of a mysterious Otsutsuki artifact looming above his head, Sasuke could not afford to let any of the enemy shinobis escape. They were petty rogue ninjas at best or part of some obscure terror organization at worst. Sasuke had eliminated enough rogues over the years and these were no different. He was doing society a favor by taking them down. And by any means, he was not as soft and naive as Naruto, no matter how much the lone Uchiha would like it to be any different. This was a matter of practicality. This was what a shinobi was supposed to be doing.

Better get rid of them now rather than later, he thought.

Sensing the danger, some of the enemies were already on their way to flee. Others were cocky enough to think they could dodge the attack and remained in Sasuke's path. Few had just arrived at the scene, rounding a corner, and did not process what was going on in time. Blinded by whatever orders they were given or some reward they were promised, they had stepped into Sasuke's line of attack. They were looking wide-eyed, pale-faced at the senbon coming their way. Countless needles cut the air on their way to impale their targets, flesh and bones, on their way, illuminating the temple corridor in bright, pale blue light.

Some of the enemy ninjas were staring at the senbon with dark onyx eyes. Running straight ahead with seemingly no particular concern for their own lives. Unaware that this would be where their last moment on earth lies.

The electric currents surged through the air, stirring up dust, and amid which Sasuke’s eye caught sight of something... familiar. Long sleeves, high collar, black backdrop, red clouds. The light died and Sasuke took an adrenaline-soaked breath. Meanwhile, seven of the shinobi in front of him had forever lost theirs. Eight were still struggling to keep it. And one of them was...

Sasuke quickly approached one of his victims who had been hit by several senbon, three of which were taken to the torso, causing the boy to rabidly lose blood. The boy had already passed out, lying like a corpse on the cold, hard ground. Sasuke’s world stood still and he dropped to his knees, turning Ita- whoever this was on his back so that he could take a closer look.

“Who are…” Sasuke mumbled in shock. Horror. “Who are you?”

Sasuke suddenly had to turn around, Sharingan activated, Kusanagi drawn, decapitating an attacker who tried to strike him from behind. He was still in the middle of a battle, Sasuke remembered. An annoying, unnecessary one, but a battle nonetheless. He sheathed his sword and produced a shadow clone before turning his attention back to the boy. The clone would take care of whatever was happening around them.

There was no time to contemplate. He ripped the Akatsuki cloak off the boy without further hesitation and grabbed all the medical supplies he had on himself. Thank the gods, none of the senbon had hit a vital organ. Also, thank Sakura for her relentless attempts to teach her husband more advanced first-aid knowledge. But this was still bad enough as it was and Sasuke would have to find a medic once he had the boy's survival temporarily secured and gotten the two of them out of the temple.

Soon enough, Sasuke had the bleeding under control with the extra help of blood-stilling seals. The injuries were not healed but were under control. Sasuke, completely out of breath and still calming down from the initial shock, gazed at the young boy’s unconscious form. Long, smooth, charcoal-black hair, tied into a low ponytail. Pointy features. Long, curly eyelashes, closed as though they were asleep instead of endlessly suffering.

“How did this happen?” He asked himself once again, eyes stinging with dust and tears.

The boy looked exactly like his late brother, Itachi Uchiha. But younger. Sasuke found it difficult to place the boy’s exact age, but he was fairly certain that the boy was smaller than the Itachi he had known. Or maybe Sasuke had just grown taller. But the wrinkles on his face always made him look so old, even as a young boy.

Sasuke reached out to trace them, only to notice his hand was covered in blood. The boy’s blood. Itachi’s blood. His brother’s blood.

Suddenly, the air seemed thinner than usual and Sasuke had a hard time keeping his breathing under control. This was his brother. Or looked like his brother. Because Sasuke knew that Itachi Uchiha was sixteen years dead and gone and not a small boy whose still warm blood was currently coating Sasuke’s fingertips.

What was this? Some elaborate scheme to catch Sasuke off-guard? A genjutsu? Clone?

Was it time travel?

Sasuke shook his head. Whatever this boy... or this situation was did not matter right now. The teen was not in good condition and if he really was who Sasuke thought him to be then the elder Uchiha had no time to waste. The consequences could be dire. Dire enough to cause permanent damage to the timeline, whatever that might look like. Perhaps, to fix itself, the timeline would make him lose his memories. Or he might be replaced by an entirely different Sasuke. Perhaps he would cause a paradox and the timeline would just collapse onto itself. He did not wish to find out.

And aside from that, even without the timeline problems, if the boy ended up dying on Sasuke's watch - because of Sasuke's recklessness - then the man would never forgive himself.

He picked the boy up and tucked him against his chest, noticing how he barely weighed anything. It was rather awkward with just one arm. He would've rather held him in both of his hands. For more than just one reason. And he imagined it would be more comfortable for the boy as well. More comfortable because it would probably put less pressure on his injuries. Sasuke held the boy’s head against his shoulder, the long, soft hair brushing against his gloved hand. In spite of the circumstances, the Itachi-look-alike seemed so incredibly peaceful while unconscious. A stark contrast to what his elder brother’s life - his suffering had been like.

Sasuke ran and jumped up the stairs of the dark shaft. Not waiting for anything. Noone. Even when his shadow clone had dissipated itself, sharing its memories with the original, adding much-needed context to the situation he was in, Sasuke did not dare to stop, only increasing his pace further. The only way out was up.

He would not watch Itachi die a third time. Whatever that meant for this timeline.

Chapter Text

“Oh, would you look at this? Could this be the artifact we're looking for?” Juuzou inspected yet another piece of pottery and trinkets left behind inside the temple – tiny collections of art in alcoves and on pedestals or piles in corners of corridors.

Itachi paid him no mind.

“Itachi??” The man called.

But the young Uchiha simply just proceeded on his descent into the deep pit that was the ruins.

Screw Itachi. Juuzou would ask for a different partner after this was over. He totally would. That Orochimaru guy seemed interested in teaming up with the emo kid – and the former Kiri-nin did not mind being on a team with whoever was left.

Maybe Itachi and his new partner would then go on the trip to Kiri instead of Juuzou and his new partner, inheriting the mission, kind of. Juuzou would not mind. Not at all.

Most of the enemies could probably be defeated with just a single kunai, Itachi thought. But use them, he did not. However weak or insignificant the enemies appeared to be, the Uchiha did not feel the need for unnecessary cruelty or bloodshed unless it was an instruction from his mission briefing. Especially if they could be sufficiently incapacitated without the infliction of death. A genjutsu would do just fine and it was not like Itachi needed to save up the chakra for some sort of leader of the pack anyway, going by the feeling. This was more like fighting children and he had no particular ill will toward them. Actually, unlike Itachi, the odds were that those "enemies" were fighting for the good guys, even.

An attacker rushed at Itachi, sword raised. Itachi flashed his Sharingan.

A burning projectile came his way. He ducked and then pointed a finger.

Two enemies struck down from above. A murder of crows formed from the Akatsuki robes, stunning the attackers in awe, fear, and anything in between until Itachi could knock them out from behind.

The staircase ended pretty far down and Itachi could see his own breath in the air, but no longer discern where the lengthy staircase had started. Neither could he spot his partner. Itachi was just that far down.

No, wait. The Uchiha could see him. The man was just pretty far behind, slacking off on the mission... as expected. Itachi could still make out the shape of Kubikiribocho strapped to the guy’s back a couple of hundred feet upward. The sword stuck out.

A corridor stretched on ahead and a voice inside Itachi’s head told him to wait for Juuzou before heading further inside. A different voice was screaming at him to keep going and move his limbs, rather than wait in the cold - A pathetic reason for abandoning protocol. Yet again, a pathetic reason to match a pathetic mission, wasn't it?

The young Uchiha would march forward, the long corridor stretching further into the dark. He avoided the explosion tags stuck at the entryway but the enemy who had placed them was not in sight. He expected them to have already traveled further into the temple. And he was right.

He noticed the faint echo of footsteps, the clang of clashing steel, and battle cries. Believing the enemy already knew the location of the artifact, Itachi simply followed their sounds through the darkness, kicking up dust as he ran but remaining otherwise unnoticeable, quiet as the wind.

The lingering dust gave the teen an urge to cough but he had to suppress it instead. He did not feel like alerting the shinobi ahead to his presence just because of a stubborn cold.

Soon enough, he reached an intersection of corridors which appeared to be the arena of a fierce battle, guessing by the sounds of it. Itachi halted a reasonable distance away that would allow him to get an impression of the battle while still remaining unnoticed.

Shadows danced, sparks flew, and shinobis kept passing the intersection. The enemies up ahead were fighting each other. It was exactly like before when they barely, if at all bothered with Itachi or his partner - His partner, who had still not caught up to him. Regardless of whether Juuzou was here or not, this was the ideal scenario for Itachi to grab the artifact and run.

The former ANBU had all the necessary stealth skills to make use of the chaos and wait for an opening. He could either sneak past the battle and search for the artifact further ahead. Or, if one of the enemies had already obtained the object, he could just snatch it while the enemy was occupied.

Itachi could see the reflection of a cloaked man through a puddle on the ground. Probably the remains of a water ninjutsu that now served the Akatsuki ninja as a mirror, even if the ripples obstructed the view to a certain degree. The man in the image appeared to be carrying something statue-like with a weird face. Possibly the artifact, Itachi decided. When he noticed the man was tossing the object into the air to instead gather chakra for his attack, the young Uchiha saw a chance and rushed ahead.

He would surely be quicker than whatever the man could pull.

“He will be okay, right?” Sasuke’s eye was blinking in short intervals. It still stung – burnt, but he refused to let the dam break.

The doctor nodded, closing the door to the back room of his office. He did not usually have patients stay at his place, but this one was an exception.

Itachi’s small, injured body remained asleep on a cot, unmoving. A rare sight that made Sasuke think back to a fractured wall bearing the Uchiha crest, a crimson-red pair of digits, and the cold rain that followed after. The image of a broken man’s body collapsed next to his foolish younger brother had been burned into Sasuke's mind ever since that day. No Sharingan needed for him to record the memory. It had been an unforgettable sight.

“He should, even though the damage was quite serious. Certainly not something I would see every day.” The doctor gave Sasuke a subtle frown.

Sasuke let go of the breath he was holding. “That’s… good to hear.”

The old man stroked his beard. “Based on these injuries and your equipment, I assume you are…?”

“Shinobi.” The raven nodded, eyes fixed on the cot.

“And the boy is your-“

“Nephew.” He said before thinking, his gut coming up with the answer on its own.

“Nephew.” The doctor echoed. “I know it’s probably a different culture where you are from and I usually wouldn't make that comment but..." He took a breath, probably debating whether he should be confrontational and just blurt out his thoughts or play it safe until frustration won over. "But personally, I find your practices immoral, to say the least. Bringing up a child in such-“

“Yeah. I know.” Sasuke bit his lip. “If you could, would you please keep this incident to yourself? I don’t wish to attract too much attention.”

The doctor shook his head in disapproval but agreed regardless. “I will. Even though I know better by now, having dealt with your kind time and time again. Looking at your eye, I still hope that this will be a lesson for you. Life expectancy rates are quite low in your profession, you know?”

Sasuke turned his head and gave a singular, pained nod. He had nothing to add to that, knowing only too well how right the man was. He listened as old man left through the door he came through, leaving the now eye-patched swordsman alone with his brother.

When the elder Uchiha looked at Itachi, he saw no ominous-looking Akatsuki cloak, no threatening death glare, no psychopathic laughter. No swirling, blazing Sharingan, no bloody sword, no kunai. No nothing. It was just a boy and Sasuke still cursed himself as well as every other leaf shinobi for never noticing until Itachi was already dead and gone.

Defenseless like that, if a bounty hunter found Itachi now, he would die for sure.

Sasuke approached the cot. He did not quite know what he even wanted to do. Did he want to hold the teen’s hand? Brush the bangs out of his face? Hold him in his singular arm and hug him? Tell him everything was going to be alright? Even though the boy could not even hear him? Even though absolutely nothing was alright?

Should Sasuke even be having these thoughts?

The elder Uchiha sat down next to the cot and grabbed the bridge of his nose.

His shadow clone had captured and interrogated two enemies back at the temple, right before dispersing. Neither of the shinobi had anything new to say regarding the artifact. They did not even seem to know what the object was capable of. Sasuke, however, had been more concerned with the date. And once the shinobi had answered this most important question, the Uchiha had finally been certain he had traveled back in time.

It was probably an early conclusion to make in hindsight. But in Sasuke’s defense, this was already the second time he had been thrown back in time by an Otsutsuki-related artifact. This time, it was by approximately 25 years. It was early April. The five elemental nations were enemies, still. Kaguya had not been sealed, yet. He and Sakura were not a thing, yet. Sarada was not even born, yet. His past version would only be about eight years old, turning nine in less than four months. Itachi was thirteen, soon fourteen. It was nearly one year since the massacre.

If Karasuki’s advice – the "precautionary measures" did still apply, then it would be better not to get himself too involved right here. Meddling with time can have unintended or unanticipated consequences. The future he came from might be changed entirely. People or objects might cease to exist. That was what Sasuke still remembered.

Sasuke was not entirely sure just how bad things could get from there – what if a central part of history was missing? What if his own life and story got changed beyond recognition? Who knew whether or not time paradoxes could exist and develop and just how devastating they would be? But to avoid any of that, any person that Sasuke had a deep connection with couldn't find out about the truth of him being a time traveler from the future.

Itachi couldn't find out and Sasuke would have to leave him behind. It was the only way.

And in any other scenario, Sasuke would have left. The second he had gotten a glimpse of Itachi, Sasuke would have fled the area. Not as a teen but as an adult, Sasuke had that self-control. Definitely. Probably. But this was different. Right now, Itachi was injured. Badly. And it was all just because of a stupid, reckless, ruthless move from Sasuke. Just because he had used Chidori Senbons and had let them pierce his older brother – and a child version at that.

Funny how the Chidori always ended up hurting the people closest to its user.

Sasuke had to repair the damage he had caused, at the very least. Right now, Itachi was as helpless as an infant. A part of Sasuke distantly wondered whether Itachi would feel insulted by the remark - Whether he would argue, scowl or just swallow it down.

Even after the Akatsuki’s youngest member eventually woke up, he would still be injured and stranded in a meager civilian village with none of his comrades in sight. After all, his coward of a partner had abandoned the boy and left him inside the ruins to die. To the Akatsuki, Itachi was a disposable tool - Because of that, Obito did dispose of him in the future that Sasuke came from. Wouldn't it be better if he-

Sasuke bit his lip.

He was starting to get ideas, was he not?

Sasuke got up from his chair and sighed. The sigh felt shaky, sounded shaky. He could not think straight and his thoughts simply just kept on spiraling, his resolve wavering- Or was it?

No. It was not. This had to stop before things could get out of hand. There was simply just too much on the line. Surely, a quick walk around the village would help with getting them back on track.

Chapter Text

Yeah, a walk sounded like a good idea.

Although he needed some distance, Sasuke also preferred to stay within reach. And he was supposed to have as few interactions in the past as humanly possible, yet he did not believe a random stranger could leave that much of an impression on a population, simply by walking down the street once. Nothing had happened on his previous time travel trip after all. And it would soon be dark outside anyway. That meant he could walk around unnoticed just a tad bit easier.

There were multiple pages of inventory scattered over the wooden counter of the front room. A rusty, old squeak prompted the doctor to look up from the book he was reading and he promptly closed it.

The doctor’s strict eyes were fixed on Sasuke who had just returned from the other room. “So, for how long are you and your nephew intending to stay?”

“Neph-“ Sasuke blurted out in confusion before almost immediately wanting to smack himself in the head. Uncle and nephew. That had been how he’d introduced himself and his brother, hadn't it? Such strange words to describe the two brothers. Why had he even called his brother his- Never mind. He cleared his throat.

“We have no plans to linger for too long,” Sasuke recovered. Although Itachi was still not in perfect or even good condition, staying would be dangerous in all sorts of ways. I am traveling with a wanted missing-nin, he reminded himself. And also, he didn't want to leave a lasting impression on the village population.

“I see. Well then, make sure you are properly equipped. The spring season is usually rather humid in these lands. And the roads are frequented by Mist ninjas every so often as well.”

“Thank you for the advice. And… thanks for helping my nephew as well. I don’t know what we would’ve done without-“

“Oh, I know. He would have died if he had not received qualified medical help.”

A subdued “Right” was the only word that the doctor was able to get from Sasuke's mouth. The Uchiha suddenly felt the urge to go back inside the back room, just to check on his brother for... another two hours, probably. But he knew he should not.

The doctor returned to his inventory, not bothering to continue their conversation – if it could even be called that. It felt more like a mission debrief with Tsunade or Kakashi, the merciless way he was being criticized. A debrief about a mission that Sasuke was supposed to lead and had failed at terribly. And in all honesty, that was a pretty close description of his current predicament, wasn’t it?

The Uchiha left the doctor’s office, finding any further interaction pointless. Counterproductive, perhaps.

The scroll on his belt already felt so heavy. Incredibly heavy. The artifact stored inside, despite having no physical weight on its own, was dragging him down now more than ever. Every step he took away from the doctor’s office, from that cot, felt worse than the last, and yet he continued on his way.

Mountains covered the horizon line, fading into blue far beyond the fields and forests in the distance. The small civilian village was quiet at this time of day. He watched just as quietly when the first couple of lights started flickering before giving life to the first couple tens of windows. People started going home or visiting friends and family after a long day of work. An older sister walked by across the dirt path, holding hands with her younger sibling.

Protecting the timeline was paramount in this scenario, just as crucial as it was the last time he went back to the past. The only thing that had changed was that instead of popping up in the middle of Konoha, he had run straight into Itachi.

He was now stuck with his late older brother – courtesy of his own stupid actions – so of course his feelings would cloud his judgment. As tempting as it was to save that boy right here and now, he could not. Instead, he kept reminding himself of why it was so incredibly important not to.

History would not work without Itachi.

History would not work without his brother's death.

Sasuke had an entire timeline to worry about, aside from friends, family, and the fate of the world, quite literally.

While taking this walk, still thinking, he made sure to stock up on food and other supplies. And as he would recount, repeat, and rephrase things for probably the hundredth time, the train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of a cold, soft poke on the head, falling down from the sky. A droplet. It was beginning to rain.

He had not noticed the thick layer of grey forming to cover up the sky and it was only getting darker further on ahead. The Uchiha had a feeling the weather would only get worse from here and not let loose for quite some time. There was already a certain electricity he felt in the air.

It was quite late and in true ninja fashion, the shadow of the night was always the best time of the day to enter or leave a scene as discreetly as possible.

As he returned to the doctor’s office, he noticed that the small book he had seen the doctor reading earlier was now gone from view, probably inside a box or drawer. It was not inside the shelf and part of Sasuke wondered if the man was simply just like Kakashi but had at least the decency and self-respect not to read such material in public.

“Could I have some bandages?” Sasuke spoke. “For later, I mean.”

The doctor hesitated. “Are you leaving already?”

Sasuke nodded.

It certainly didn’t drag out. The doctor ended up providing him with bandages, pills, and ointments to treat Itachi during the next couple of days. He continued to eye Sasuke almost warily. The Uchiha could tell by now that the old man had probably had a bad experience with shinobi at some point in the past.

Call it cowardice, but Sasuke didn't want to look into it any further. He just didn’t have the energy for yet another conversation or debrief or whatever it was with the old guy. Every time he did, he only ended up feeling worse than before. Hence, as soon as they were done, he went straight back to the back room, standing right in front of Itachi’s cot once more.

Itachi was still sound asleep. Or unconscious. Was it normal to stay unconscious for this long?

How would he transport the boy? The last time he had tried to carry him, it was at the constant risk of dropping him and putting pressure on the injuries. He had to keep readjusting him, catch him whenever the body fell out of his grip. He had been lucky about the civilian village being this close by or Itachi might have actually suffered further injuries in Sasuke's desperate hurry.

He sighed and removed his cape. This was so much more awkward than carrying Itachi one-armed, but it was also much safer and hopefully more comfortable for both of them. Long story short, unfortunately for both his and his brother’s pride, he decided to fold the dark piece of fabric into something akin to a baby sling. Not quite as swaddle-like but good enough to sort of replace Sasuke’s missing arm for the brief purpose of carrying his injured brother.

Why was it always Sasuke ending up in situations like these? His thoughts went back to himself “admitting” he was a fan of Jiraiya’s "book" series to save his cover on that other time travel trip. Right in front of Sakura as well. That day was still haunting him in his nightmares though nobody else remembered. Luckily and thankfully, Sasuke had been smart enough to erase everybody's memories afterward.

Back to the present or... slightly more distant past (however you see it), he just hoped he’d find shelter in a secluded area somewhere before Itachi woke up. Better spare him the misery of knowing he got carried in a baby sling by his younger brother of all people. Was said younger brother exaggerating the problem? Probably. At the very least, the doctor didn’t seem to have too much of a reaction regarding the sling when Sasuke left through the front door.

Itachi’s head rested safely on his brother’s shoulder and Sasuke was filled by a sense of nostalgia when the scent of his hair entered his nose. It felt just like when Itachi carried Sasuke on his back all those years ago - that time when he had gotten hurt during training. Just the other way around. And Sasuke was glad he could return the favor. Only he would prefer it was under different circumstances… and less weird.

Sasuke ended up having to carry little Itachi through the rain, as expected. He made sure the boy was covered with Sasuke’s spare cloak. The last thing they both needed was Itachi getting sick in addition to his injuries. His body was under enough stress already.

For convenience's sake, the older Uchiha had considered going back to the temple for a short second, before deciding that the risk of encountering any remaining enemies was probably slightly too high for his liking in there. Instead, he went westward, further away from Kiri. Not too far, though, because he did not wish to end up in the Land of Fire and accidentally encounter a Leaf shinobi either. Not because he didn't think he could beat him but for the obvious time travel reasons and being a Konoha shinobi himself.

But as the rain got heavier, he decided it would be best to find shelter for the night and continue planning in the morning. Sasuke kept his eyes peeled before spotting a rock overhang that seemed relatively dry. Not exactly safe from getting spotted by potential attackers but definitely better than getting soaked in the rain.

A shadow clone would secure the area and later keep watch over the perimeter, making sure nobody approached the brothers while they were unaware and sleeping.

Once he had managed to position Itachi in what he deemed to be the driest spot under the rock formation, he turned his attention to his other problem: The artifact. Sasuke held the scroll in his hand, turning it around. He still had to figure out how to activate it, learn how to control it, and investigate who else knew of its existence.

He wasn’t quite sure how exactly he had messed up this time for the artifact to just randomly drop him off 25 years in the past. He was certain he could figure it out, that he would figure it out eventually, but the idea that he might not do it gave way to an entirely new pit forming in his stomach. It emerged right next to the one labeled “Itachi concerns”.

His fingers were already playing with the edge of the scroll. The Uchiha contemplated whether or not he should unseal the artifact from its confines to further inspect it, only to quickly think better of it.

Get your priorities straight, Sasuke, he chastised himself. He would figure out what to do with the artifact after Itachi was out of danger and when there was hopefully no discernable risk to the timeline any longer. One problem after the other to prevent disaster.

Not only that but the fact that the Akatsuki were apparently interested in the device, having sent Itachi and another member to that temple, was concerning if not downright alarming. While Sasuke doubted the group would feel that much loyalty toward his brother, it was not unreasonable to assume one of them might show up to “save” Itachi and recover him. And what then? What if they spotted the artifact and forced Sasuke into combat?

The artifact had to remain hidden for now.

He put the scroll back away and placed a storage seal on his leg this time around. His belt was a little bit too much on the nose, for his taste, far too easy to spot and steal. Sealed, hidden away within his own skin, he could neatly cover up the seal with his clothes.

Itachi was still sleeping peacefully in his unconscious state and Sasuke felt both the physical, the mental as well as the emotional exhaustion starting to wear him down. Or maybe they had already but the adrenaline in his system still remained. He had to catch up on some missed sleep as well and who knew what the following day might bring.

He lay down not too far away from his brother - still close enough so he could easily reach him if attacked but not so close as to make it look like he was attached to him or anything. He absolutely was but not that a teenage Itachi was allowed to know.

He fell asleep to the rustling of leaves and rain splattering on the ground, soaking into the earth - And he woke up to the cold, metallic sensation of a blade to his throat.

Chapter Text

This is it.

He felt the electricity ripping into his body and all he could do was watch, take it, let his body fall to the ground and hope death would claim him, reunite him, sooner rather than later.

A certain part of him felt content. But the other–

He had miscalculated. Judged too soon. He had finally managed to snuff out even this last glimmer of hope. Because now Sasuke would never get to avenge their family. And once word of Itachi's demise got around and everybody knew he was gone - after the threat looming over his head was gone, Danzo might–

And then he stared. Stared at nothing. Because his eyes were open while everything was dark.

Was he still inside the dark temple? Or was he already dead?

Turns out neither was the case as his ears began to pick up on the ambient sound of splashing, growling, and rustling – Rain, thunder, and foliage. His eyes started to filter through the darkness and used the tiny bit of light that would bounce off of surrounding objects even in the middle of the night. Bit by bit, everything got clearer.

A cave? No. An overhang. He was outside and the storm around him was raging. But he was mostly dry, at least, covered by a moist blanket- cape.

And then the pain registered. It was dulled and far less intense than what he would have expected from a multitude of stab wounds. Had he been treated? Had Juuzou saved him?

He moved his head to the side – with more effort than he would have liked – searching for answers. He found them in the form of a sleeping man. Black hair with a pale complexion, lying just a couple of meters away from Itachi with his back turned and completely defenseless. And less than one meter away from the man, the Akatsuki member spotted a sword.

Coincidentally, Itachi himself had been stripped of his Akatsuki cloak as well as his ninja tools.

His thoughts ran back to the guy he had encountered in the temple earlier. The one with the lightning ninjutsu. Was this the same guy?

Itachi had not had his Sharingan activated at the time. The ripples in the puddle and the blinding light had made it nearly impossible to see all the details. And things had happened in a flash, too – quite literally. But there was a little bit of resemblance, at the very least. Itachi was certain there was.

More likely than not, this was the same man who had knocked him out of consciousness. Stabbed him. Even if the man had treated Itachi’s injuries, the young Uchiha was not naive enough to trust he had been saved simply out of the good of the man’s heart. Especially in the face of Itachi's previous mistake, it would be foolish to underestimate the danger of this unknown ninja now. They might very well still be enemies, working for opposing sides.

The man might try to use Itachi. Why else would an enemy shinobi save him? And Itachi hated being used.

So in spite of every muscle in his body screaming at him not to, he pushed the cape off his body and dragged himself, panting and sweating, closer to that sword lying next to the man.

He then pressed the cold metal to the other shinobi’s exposed throat, waiting for his "savior" to wake up, and as he did, shock was written all over the other man's face. His one visible eye flew open and Itachi fixated it with both his Sharingan.

“Who are you?” The teenager hissed.

The man’s hand jerked.

Sasuke had to restrain himself. His first instinct, after a blade to his throat had torn him from his sleep, was, of course, to defend himself to the point he could almost feel the chakra rushing to his eyes when he spotted the pair of Sharingan spinning and glaring down at him.

“Calm down,” the older Uchiha explained, his tone gentle yet firm. “I am not your enemy.”

“I think we both know how little those words mean in the world of shinobi. Who are you? What is your goal?”

Of course. Itachi was quite obviously not in a great mood and now had decided to make it Sasuke’s problem. Fortunately for Itachi, Sasuke knew that his brother was currently in a delicate condition and that a physical confrontation between the two was less than favorable. And, unfortunately for Sasuke, Itachi could see through and dispel mostly any genjutsu, so that was not an option either.

Alright, Sasuke. Time to tell him that cover story you totally did not forget to work on.

“I am the one who had your wounds treated,” Sasuke tried.

“And you are also the one who almost killed me.”

The man bit his lip. Where was his damn shadow clone? Backup was needed. “Yes… I did. But it was not my intention to do so.”

“Is that so?” Beads of sweat started to collect on the boy's forehead. “I am pretty sure you had no qualms about eliminating those other shinobi. You decided to spare me, so there has to be a reason behind it.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I just dislike killing children?”

That line seemed to have an effect on Itachi. Not a favorable one, though. The teenager’s expression hardened before pressing the blade - Sasuke's very own Kusanagi - further against Sasuke’s throat. “Shouldn’t have become a ninja then.”

To say the least, things were not going great.

The man’s hand shot up, taking hold of Kusanagi’s blade, the cutting edge digging into his palm. “I will only repeat myself once. Calm down. I don’t want to hurt you, Itachi.”

The young Uchiha’s eyes widened.

Itachi. Oh shit. Itachi. He had called him by his name.

“So you know me?” Itachi realized, his eyes narrowing once again in suspicion.

Crap.

For once, fortunately for Sasuke (and not so fortunately for Itachi), this was when a second arm appeared from behind the boy. It ensnarled him, careful to avoid any wounded area, and pried him off of Sasuke. With his stump, the clone swiftly tossed his cape over Itachi’s head to block his Sharingan from casting any genjutsu.

Not that it was necessary because Sasuke was confident in his ability to discern and dispel genjutsu. But it was still tedious and might as well blow his cover, alerting the boy to his Sharingan.

He searched for a pair of chakra cuffs, wondering why he hadn’t restrained Itachi right from the get-go. Sasuke’s original was still busy fiddling with the restraints when Itachi gave up on struggling. The boy had realized he had been trapped in a one-armed headlock. He didn’t have enough chakra to keep his Sharingan active, let alone cast a genjutsu, and just allowed his body to go limp in surrender.

How desperate he must have been to attack Sasuke in this sorry state in the first place.

The chakra cuffs fastened with a quiet click. Finally, Sasuke could take a deep breath and release the tension – the suffocating fear inside his body. His clothes and hair felt damp and he wasn’t sure if it was all just because he had slept too close to the edge of the stone overhang's shadow that was supposed to protect him from the rain.

He picked up Kusanagi, sheathing it at his belt where it was hopefully safe from future attempts of theft. Meanwhile, the shadow clone carefully led Itachi back to the dry spot near the wall, slowly and carefully - just like an elderly person - setting him down on the ground like one would with an infant. The clone took the discarded cape from the ground and wrapped it around the teen's shoulder, once again acting as a blanket.

Itachi, of course, had not expected that gentle treatment. He must have felt visibly foreign all of a sudden, suspicion once again forming in his eyes.

Still, the boy had needed the extra care or otherwise, in Sasuke's opinion, he might’ve collapsed and then caught a cold. Itachi was already gaping like a fish on land and needed time to recover from the unnecessary strain he had just pulled his body through.

He released the shadow clone jutsu, flattening the playing field, in a sense, to maybe evoke a sense of... comfort? The idea was not to present himself as hostile. To a Shinobi, clones were just another kind of weapon to overwhelm your enemy with. Since Itachi was neither an enemy, nor in any condition to fight, there was no need to give Itachi a visible reminder of his inferiority.

“How do you feel?” The man asked.

“Why did you save me?” Itachi countered.

Teenagers, Sasuke thought sourly, not even answering the question. “Is it really so hard to believe that I-“

“Yes, it is.”

Oh how desperately he wished for Itachi to just go back to sleep. But instead, he sat down face to face with his long-dead, now alive, once older, now younger brother. “I may or may not have motives outside of you being a child, howev-”

“That much is obvious.”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Would you mind being straightforward? You know my name. I am a murderer and a traitor and yet you spared my life. I wish to know why.”

“I don’t think you are in any position to make demands now, are you?”

“And still, you try to reason with me rather than shutting me up.”

Thunder continued to rumble in the distance.

Sasuke did not remember Itachi being this annoying. The boy was right, of course, but Sasuke had no answers for him, and also he knew he was bad at handling teenagers if the peanut incident with Sarada was anything to go by. How on earth did Itachi always manage to maintain his poker face? Sasuke was just mildly irritated and was already struggling not to let it seep into his expression. And yet, Sasuke could only think of very few instances where Itachi had ever snapped at someone. Like that one time when he beat up Yashiro and the other Uchiha policemen. Come to think of it…

Sasuke pursed his lips. “You shouldn’t judge people too much based on presumptions.”

The Uchiha boy raised an eyebrow.

“Not all shinobi are ruthless,” the man continued, “and nobody is born a murderer. I am not judging you based on my prejudice, so I’d appreciate you’d at least keep yours in check.”

Itachi’s gaze fell to the ground, though not in defeat. It was almost like he was looking for the right spot to dig and undermine Sasuke’s words. “If your words are true to your conscience, then you are most certainly very naïve.” The boy looked back up, eyes trailing over the eyepatch Sasuke was using to cover his left eye. “It’s a miracle you can still see the light in a world that would so easily take a life for an eye. Or perhaps you really are just blind both in the eye and in your mind.”

It was hard not to react and lose his calm. He did not need that reminder from Itachi. Of course, the eyepatch was rather misleading in Sasuke’s case. A Rinnegan that he had acquired through relatively legitimate means was most certainly not what Itachi was trying to refer to. The eyepatch was simply to hide a jutsu he was not supposed to have, rather than to cover an injury. But everything else? The words hit far too close to home. After all, just how many people did he know who had eagerly plucked an eye from its owner out of thirst for power? Yes, the world was cruel. Anybody trying to deny that was nothing but a fool. 

And yet, Sasuke wanted to argue. That the eyes he wore were anything but betrayal, pain, and death but instead a precious gift. That the world was not just cruel but that it also contained beauty, love, and peace. But it was safer and much more reasonable to have his brother assume it was hiding an ugly, empty cavity rather than something positive. Or, well, yet another magic eyeball.

“You are right, of course,” Sasuke admitted, his very best attempt to be empathetic, “the current world of ours is in disrepair. However, it was not you who broke it but perhaps the one broken by the world. Therefore-“

Itachi's frown suddenly deepened. Did Sasuke just say too much? Itachi was fixing him as though he wanted to cast Amaterasu on the man or just make him shut up because clearly, the guy had to be out of his depth. Or perhaps Itachi rather wished to hide away behind a wall made out of the hellish black flames, shelter him from the other shinobi’s words. He didn't want to hear any of what Sasuke had to say.

Sasuke really would have wanted to finish his speech, give Itachi some wise words, hoping the boy would learn something from it, and grow into a less miserable version of what he knew his brother was. But no. Of course, Itachi was the stubborn type. And what was probably even worse was that Itachi was the suspicious type. Speaking openly and giving unusually hand-fitted advice to raise morale was a trick he could pull on a 13-year-old Naruto, not 13-year-old Itachi. Not to mention, there were probably not many people showing sympathy to what was officially a ruthless murderer.

If Sasuke hadn't been suspicious before, he definitely was now. This was completely unlike him. Sasuke wouldn’t make mistakes like this... usually. First the restraints, now this. He became far too careless ever since running into his brother. Too many mistakes - more than a delicate situation like this could take in less than 24 hours. 

“What I meant was…”, he tried to save himself, “I can empathize. There are things I am not too proud of. And while I was certainly responsible for my own actions, it is important to recognize that they were driven by circumstance. That is why I’d rather like to give you a chance rather than just condemn you or judge you too soon.”

The boy did not bother to answer. He lay back down on the ground and turned his back to Sasuke, dragging the man's spare cape over his body like a blanket. A silence fell over the two, bedtime seemingly putting an end to the conversation.

Is he upset? Sasuke wondered. He knew Itachi wasn't the confrontational type - the one that would rather retreat when frustrated than blow up in their faces. Most of the time, anyway.

Regardless of what it was, Itachi would refuse to answer any of Sasuke’s questions for the rest of the night.

Far too agitated after this conversation, the older shinobi knew it was pointless to lie back down and try to find some sleep. Instead, Sasuke meditated, the storm raging on in the distance.

Chapter Text

The rain in Amegakure was neverending. An eternal downpour like tears, lamenting the fate of the people of its land.

A spiral-like rift tore through the air, opening up a passage for a masked man in dark attire. He was a remnant of the past called "Madara Uchiha. His footsteps echoed ominously through the dark room and while it was clearly just one man, they bore the force, the aura, the threat of more than one hundred trained shinobi.

“I assume that Zetsu informed you about the Uchiha’s untimely fate,” Konan spoke up.

“Indeed. I was told Juuzou had left the scene before even getting a glimpse of that other… shinobi.” Madara shook his head, belittling the swordsman. “I never would have thought any Mist-Ninja would ever turn tail and run before even properly identifying their opponent.”

“Juuzou said it was a swordsman with dark hair. And considering the close proximity to the bloody mist, it might have been an elite.”

"Vague clues and theories." He shook his head. "And-"

“And he had the artifact.” Right on time, Pain's Deva Path strode inside the room, hair damp from the rain outside. “Are you still interested in it?”

“Zetsu was, not me,” Madara corrected. “But yes. Considering the mess that man has caused just to obtain a simple relic, now I most certainly am. But since Juuzou failed to identify our culprit, that might be easier said than done.”

“Has Zetsu not found any leads?” Pain inquired.

“Not yet. But I assigned him to retrieve Itachi’s body from the temple. He might just end up picking up a trail while he’s at it.”

Konan raised an eyebrow. “It almost sounds like you want Itachi's body to be returned.”

“He had a good pair of eyes," Madara shrugged. "It would be a shame to let them go to waste. Which is why-“

“I have news.” A dark voice appeared. Zetsu stuck his head out the wall as though it was mounted to the grey surface. All three Akatsukis turned their heads, curious to hear whatever the creature had to report. “It appears that Itachi Uchiha’s body has gone missing."

The storm had calmed by now, its only remnants being the buckets of rainwater hitting the forest floor and its canopy of leaves. In other words, the weather was still miserable.

A loud cough broke through the silence of the early morning hours. Itachi wasn’t quite sure why, but everything hurt so much more now than it did when he first woke up. The pain was no longer as dull as previously, so he just had to wonder whether there had been a painkiller involved that lost its effect and had completely worn off overnight. Or perhaps he had been administered a sedative with painkilling effects.

The cough he had only served to make it worse. It felt as though each push of air was ripping at the seams of his freshly stitched injuries, tearing him apart.

“Itachi?” The man asked from the other side of their… camp. If you could call it that. The young Uchiha had been quiet the entire night until now, his sudden noise attracting the swordsman's attention. “Are you alright?”

Did Itachi only imagine it or was there a hint of worry in the other shinobi’s tone?

Still, Itachi’s back remained turned to the man as he lay a couple of meters away, trying to get his breathing back under control.

When a hand unexpectedly made contact with his shoulder, his entire body jerked. He wanted to swat it away. But he was also painfully aware of his own sorry state and the fact that he could really need some help right now.

So, reluctantly, the Akatsuki gave an answer. “I’m not-“

Another coughing fit wracked his body. It was the most stubborn cold he’s ever had and it was plaguing him since that mission in the Land of Lightning. That had been two months ago already.

For quite some time, Itachi could feel the man’s eyes on his back, keeping watch of the younger shinobi without speaking a single word. As though he was contemplating helping or discarding him.

A few coughs later, Itachi ended up panting on the ground, wishing he could go back home to his bed. He knew it was selfish to miss those clean, soft blankets, back inside a home he no longer had any right to, but he simply just didn’t want to be here and he also didn’t want to talk to the stranger. At home, he would be left alone, at least.

How pathetic Itachi felt. Useless and reliant on the help of his captor. Begging when he’d rather pull the older man into a genjutsu or punch his face.

His voice was breathless and hoarse, but he managed, convinced himself to ask the man regardless. “Do you… have any painkillers?”

And to Itachi’s surprise, without missing a beat, the man rummaged through his belongings and offered some pills in combination with a can of clear liquid.

Was it drugged? Possibly. But did that really matter in his situation? In fact, Itachi welcomed the thought of being drugged right now if it served to rob him of his consciousness. He was defenseless anyway. The man could do anything he wanted to the young Uchiha. So why should Itachi bother staying conscious only to witness his own powerlessness?

Itachi sat up and accepted the false kindness wordlessly, washing down the pills with some cold water.

Laying back down, he did so now facing the other shinobi who had already gone back to his previous seat as well. The set-up was slightly reminiscent of all those times Itachi had slept outside, camping with Shisui or Sasuke and staying up late. They would watch the stars, laugh, and talk. The only difference was that this man was his enemy. But that didn't change the fact that he wanted to know more about him. Not to befriend but to instill a false sense of comradery that could be exploited later, if Itachi was successful at this game.

With his bound hands, he dragged the cape-blanket back up to his neck. It was far warmer and more comfortable that way.

“Are you always that nice to your captives?” Itachi asked, his voice still conveying the exhaustion he felt.

“I don’t usually even have captives.”

Not usually, huh? The not-so-usual captive hummed. “I assume your usual procedure is killing your enemies?”

“Only if it cannot be helped. Any shinobi who tries to kill must anticipate and risk the fate of getting killed themselves. So… it is true that I have taken more lives than prisoners thus far.”

So Itachi truly was an exception, wasn’t he? It only helped to grow his suspicions. “I won’t lie, I’m impressed. I didn’t expect you to spare me. Especially after attacking you.”

The man shook his head, still the virtuous. “I never had any intention to kill you. I still don’t and I never will.”

Empty words, Itachi thought bitterly. And what a weird thing to claim, never to kill the enemy next to you. It must have been the weakest attempt at manipulation he had ever seen.  He knew he served some kind of purpose to the man and once it was fulfilled, he would be disposed of, thrown away like dead weight. After all, who would want to keep around a man, so dishonorable he had slaughtered his own kin?

“But I’ve got a question for you as well,” the older shinobi said. “If you knew there was a decent chance I would decide to kill you for attacking me in my sleep, why did you take that risk anyway? In your condition, I mean.”

Itachi shrugged a shoulder, only to regret it right away. The wounds still stung. “We are shinobi. You said it yourself. It’s all about risk, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But that was unnecessary. You were being incredibly reck-“

”Could you stop talking to me as though I was some impudent child?” Itachi snapped, glaring with his onyx eyes, filled with spite. Not even a freshly graduated Genin would fall for such fake concern. Believing that Itachi out of all people would fall for the false friendliness was insulting.

He and the swordsman held each other's gazes for a second and then another coughing fit ensued. The fit subsided quickly but was painful nonetheless. Hopefully, the medication would soon take effect to make this slightly more bearable. 

But what was wrong with that guy? He just kept talking and talking on as though he knew Itachi. Knew who Itachi Uchiha was beyond his bloodline and the carnage he had caused.

And perhaps the man did know something. Perhaps someone had told the guy about something else surrounding the downfall of the Uchiha clan. Perhaps somebody told him about something other than the wicked, sociopathic mind of the late clan head's eldest son. Either that or the shinobi with the eyepatch was really just that… stupid? Naïve? Kind? The stranger was certainly an idiot to some degree. What else except a moron would forget to restrain their captive, after all? It seemed like basics. Common sense. But it didn’t feel right to just disregard the strange shinobi’s words as simple-mindedness.

The current world of ours is in disrepair. However, it was not you who broke it but perhaps the one broken by the world.

The man had not shown himself to be hostile - far from it. He had not even asked for Itachi’s perspective and had not tried to convince him to change his ways. The phrase was clearly meant to detract from the severity of Itachi’s crimes, explain them if not downright excuse them. He had been sympathetic.

Broken by the world.

It almost seemed like the man had tried to refer to some kind of context that couldn’t possibly be known to him. Was everything the man did, every attempt to help or talk, really just a ploy to win the young Akatsuki member’s trust? A tactic to avoid suspicion? A fellow manipulator? And more importantly, were the words he used just a coincidence, or had somebody told him something he wasn't supposed to know?

Anyhow, his captor was wrong. Itachi hadn't been broken. The situation had left him with few options, but those he chose were Itachi's own. The consequences were well-deserved.

Perhaps the man's allegations really were just a shot in the dark after all.

The man still sat there in front of Itachi. He sighed, in defeat, probably. “Do you need anything else?” The man asked. Again with that tone of false friendliness. When would he finally drop the act? Itachi already had a good idea of what the man was. No need to play games here.

But then again, if Itachi could manage to play along, he might be able to use it to his advantage. Even if it was just a ruse. Because if he pretended to trust the man, he would have no reason to suspect Itachi of plotting something, would he?

It was a battle of the minds.

May the most cunning manipulator win.

The younger shinobi ended up politely shaking his head. “Not right now.” He curled back up under the cape and added a soft and quiet “thank you”.

Sasuke was a 33-year-old, fully grown adult. A shinobi is respected all across the globe and feared throughout the entire underground of their ninja word. But those gentle words of gratitude - "thank you" - and the way he drew the cape up to his nose remained stuck in Sasuke's mind even half an hour later. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy, in a way. It was exactly like back when he was a kid and he had finally managed to impress his father with his fireball technique.

It was a welcome change in attitude, considering the argument they had had last night. And the way his older child-brother was curled up under the adult’s cape, using it to warm his small body was almost bordering on cute.

Wait. Cute?

Did he really just think that thought?

Was the word “cute” an insult to a hardened shinobi like Itachi? Of course it was. But to be fair, that guy had called him his “foolish younger brother” for the longest time, once, in another timeline. Even as an insult, this felt like fair game.

Chapter Text

“I tried to stop them, I swear!” The doctor's voice rang with desperation as he tried to convince the creature vehemently.

He had been cornered inside his own office by a strange kind of being he had never heard of, let alone encountered before. One half black, one half white. One with eyes, a nose, and a mouth while the other’s face only had a single, glowing orb, staring blankly. The strange structure, reminiscent of a venus fly trap, completely dwarfed the man. To make things worse, the ugly yet horrifying thing was so bone-chillingly close.

Singling out the old civilian as a source of information had been quite simple. Itachi’s cloak had been left behind at the temple, bloody and torn and unless the swordsman was a medic, he must’ve had to seek out help at one of the surrounding civilian villages.

Zetsu had appeared right inside the doctor's office in a henge. After a quick bout of surprise and suspicion, Zetsu quickly made him talk just by mentioning a recently sighted dangerous shinobi. But that was all before the doctor had realized that Zetsu wasn’t one of the good guys either - Before let his disguise drop and his true form emerged.

White Zetsu chuckled. He was certain he and his other half had made the correct first impression if the old man was already cowering in fear and pleading with them.

“I did not ask for what you did,” Black Zetsu spoke and his shared body took another step forward, further closing in on the civilian. “I asked for where they went.”

“I- I don’t know. They left in the direction of Fire Country. I tried to delay them and had the Uchiha sedated until-“

“Oh? You had him sedated?” White Zetsu interrupted. “And you tried to hold them off... Were you trying to alarm the authorities? Did you confuse us with a bounty hunter, perhaps?”

“I- I thought-“ The doctor stuttered.

“Quiet,” Black Zetsu growled. “I don’t care whether you sedated the Uchiha. What about the swordsman who had brought him to you? What do you know about him?”

The doctor gulped, his entire body shaking in fear. “Not… not much. It was a t-tall man with an eyepatch and a missing arm. He never mentioned his name. I just helped him because of the boy- I didn’t think he was a m-mass murderer. I thought he was his nephew-“

“Nephew?” White Zetsu smirked. "That's a funny one."

“Did he have a bingo book entry?” Black Zetsu asked, not bothering with his other half's antics.

The doctor shook his head. “N-no. Only the boy had.”

“Then we are done here," he stated, turning his shared body on its heal. Surprisingly, Zetsu backed off.

Not sparing the doctor or his village a second glance, the Akatsuki was already on his way. The information that Black Zetsu had gotten from the old civilian was a good starting point for locating the Akatsuki’s lost member.

According to the doctor, Itachi was unable to walk due to his injuries and his sedation, forcing the swordsman to carry the Uchiha and slowing down their traveling pace. Due to his handicap, he would probably have had difficulty carrying the teen, forcing them to take breaks. Add the heavy storm from last night to that list of inconvenuences and they couldn’t have made it too far.

His sleep had been anything but relaxing, let alone soothing. In all honesty, he had barely managed to even sleep, knowing he was a stranger's captive - A stranger who knew far too much about Itachi for this to be just a coincidence. Not that capturing someone was ever a coincidence or accident, but at this point, it felt like there was something else going on that he had yet to find out or understand.

The man ended up introducing himself as “Indra”. On one side, the name sounded strange to Itachi, who had never heard of it before. Almost as strange as the guy himself. On the other, the older shinobi did mention he was from a different land. The odd name might very well just be something as trivial as a cultural difference.

That was not to say that Itachi believed “Indra”, of course. Disguises, lies and aliases were any shinobi’s specialty. And considering just how long it had taken the man to introduce himself, it wasn’t an implausible conclusion to make that his name was fake.

In his mind, Itachi could picture an inner Indra panicking and struggling to come up with a suitable alias while Itachi was threatening him with his own sword. It was quite an amusing thought. Whatever to distract the Akatsuki member from his own predicament. 

Now, hours later, there was a small fire in the middle of their camp, burning leisurely. No traces of animosity were left between the two aside from the handcuffs on Itachi's wrists. Indra had suspended a pot above the flames, slowly cooking their meal. It was still surprising to Itachi that Indra had actually complied with his request.

It had bee shortly after the rain had finally ended, that Itachi had asked the man whether they could make a fire and cook something to eat. Indra didn’t seem fully convinced at first. “I’m feeling cold,” Itachi had said and sniffed his nose to accentuate his cold. And that was all it took, apparently, because the older shinobi immediately got up to gather firewood and kindling. Indra didn't even try to negotiate the terms under which his captive's needs were being tended to.

Amateur, he almost wanted to say. The Akatsuki was still trying to figure out whether Indra was merely inherently or actually deliberately dense for being so agreeable. Not that he was always stupidly agreeable, but he was most of the time. For example, right after the man had collected the firewood and arranged the logs, Itachi had offered to light the fire with his jutsu. The man declined because he didn’t want to remove the restraints on Itachi’s wrists. Apparently, stupidity had its limits.

But that was fine. Itachi was mostly just testing the waters anyway. He had not expected to be granted freedom this easily, but the attempt had certainly been worth a shot.

“So how long was I out for? Initially, that is.” Itachi asked curiously. Time to squeeze some intel out of his captor.

“Somewhere around nine hours, I think.” The water was boiling and Indra slowly added rice to the pot. Itachi had noticed the man was using quite a few storage scrolls that contained food. Not entirely uncommon for a traveler, but most shinobi would rather use the space for storing weapons. It might point to a shinobi who hasn't seen home in a long while.

“Did you have me sedated?”

Rather abruptly, Indra set the now empty bag of rice aside and took a long, audible breath in through his nose. Itachi watched his lungs fill with air like a balloon, then deflate in a single word. “What?”

“Sedation? Anesthesia? Artificial coma?” Itachi elaborated.

“Why would I keep you unconscious on purpose? I don’t even think I’ve got the qualifications to safely use sedatives.”

Like that had stopped a single shinobi ever, Itachi thought. “So you are not a medic?”

Indra gestured towards his sword. Then towards his missing limb. And finally to his eyepatch. “…do I look like a medic to you?”

Truth be told, he was right. Indra did not look like a medic. Or at least his appearance did not evoke a feeling of safety and trust… or competence for that matter. Not the amount you’d need to convince a person to let you treat their ailments. Itachi had seen back-alley doctors and organ harvesters with a more professional aura, and even then, performing battlefield surgery would probably require two arms. Bandaging an open wound would definitely benefit from two as well. In the world of shinobi however... Itachi doubted that any of that was a dealbreaker for anybody who considered the role of a medical-nin their true calling. Ninjas were known for being stubborn people.

“Medical ninjas can lose body parts as well,” Itachi pointed out in the end. “And they carry weapons.”

“You know what I meant.”

“And you told me not to judge prematurely.”

The older shinobi groaned and went back to babysitting their rice without further retorts. “Forget it.”

In the end, Indra added natto to both of their meals, saying the rice was not nutritious enough without it.

Itachi remembered Sasuke always hating natto. He himself was not the biggest fan of natto, but it was alright and nothing he would ever inconvenience anybody over. At the very least, it wasn’t meat – which was a regular problem he had run into so far while on a team with Juuzou. Even more so during winter or early spring when forests were essentially stripped of any fruit or vegetable food options.

Winter, in general, was not Itachi’s favorite season. At all. The cold was bone-chilling and sometimes messing with his fire jutsus. And even though he had been exaggerating about his cold earlier, eating warm food was still a very welcome feeling. So Itachi really couldn’t complain. Not that he would’ve – he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him, quite literally.

“So how’s the food?” Indra asked before taking another bite into his mouth.

“It’s not bad. What other foods do you have?”

“Some. There’s more rice and natto, of course. But I’ve also got canned fruits and vegetables, noodles as well as some herbs and spices. The natto should be eaten first for obvious reasons, though. Within the next two weeks, preferably.”

Natto only had a very short lifespan compared to the other foods, though it depended on its storing conditions - or in their case, the quality of the storage seal. Itachi too had tried to store Natto in a scroll before, so based on the timespan they had left for eating the natto, the man must have stocked up on food rather recently, such as while leaving Itachi with some sort of medic or doctor. There had to be a village not too far from here.

“No meat?” Itachi wondered aloud.

“Were you hoping for meat?”

Itachi shook his head. “No. I was just surprised. Most shinobi would carry jerky with them.”

There was a hint of hesitation in the older man’s words. “I am… not the biggest fan of meat, personally.”

Itachi nodded but wasn’t quite sure whether to believe the man or not. He knew he was probably just reading too much into it. What were the odds that Indra had informed himself about his captive’s food preferences? Mirroring a person to create a good rapport was certainly a good manipulation tactic, but this one seemed a little far-fetched. But then again, some double agents would probably go that extra mile, just to appease their master. Like the ones of a certain man he knew.

Itachi noticed his throat was itching slightly once more.

The younger shinobi placed his bowl on the ground, done with his meal.

“This might seem somewhat out of the blue,” Itachi began after another short round of silence had passed between them, “but have you ever heard of a man named Danzo Shimura?”

Indra didn’t have much of a reaction. And others might have missed it entirely. But Itachi was an Uchiha. Even without the Sharingan, he had trained his eyes to pick up on the tiniest of details. Perhaps he couldn’t watch the movements in slow motion, predict them, or burn them into his mind, but he did notice the older shinobi’s grip tightening around his chopsticks.

Jackpot, Itachi thought.

As expected, Indra played stupid. “I believe I’ve heard that name before. A shinobi from Konoha, right?”

“A village elder.”

“Ah. So what about him? Is he an acquaintance of yours?”

Itachi’s eyes darkened. His fingers curled into fists.

Same fingers that had curled around the bloody eyeball of Shisui Uchiha.

Same palms that had pushed his best friend’s dying body into the Naka River.

Same hands that had brought the blade down on a kneeling Fugaku and Mikoto Uchiha.

“I’d like to see what’s under your eyepatch,” he said with all the calm that he could muster. In this moment, he knew his suspicions had turned out correct. But he felt no sense of triumph. Only dread. His throat was itching, still. There was another coughing fit approaching.

Not even looking at Itachi, the other empty bowl now made its way onto the ground, opposite to Itachi’s, and Indra carefully placed his chopsticks inside. “I believe we should end the conversation here.”

But Itachi refused to just let this one go.

“You are one of Danzo’s, aren’t you?” The younger Shinobi snarled. “You are with Root.”

“Calm down, Itachi. I-“

“Is that an Uchiha’s eye under your eyepatch? Answer me!” His wrists were straining against the chakra cuffs, uselessly.

Chapter Text

If the events of both today and yesterday had taught him anything, it’s that Sasuke is really not himself whenever he is around Itachi. He gets inattentive and reckless. He fails to act normal. And now that he thinks about it, nothing has ever been normal whenever his brother was around. Whether today or when they were both still children. It always just ended up being the happiest day or the worst day. And today is somehow being both.

Naturally, he couldn't expect himself to act normal, composed right this time either. Not when Itachi was right there after more than 16 years of being dead. And also not right after Danzo's name had fallen - the bare mention of that scumbag had been enough to stir him up, to make his fists clench, to make his stomach churn. And also, nobody couldn't expect Sasuke to act composed when Itachi was onto something and they both knew he was.

Sasuke wasn’t quite sure whether he’d be able to keep it together this time. So instead, it was better to get up, get some space, and cool off so that he would be prepared for whatever emotionally taxing conversation this was going to inevitably be. He needed to clean both their bowls anyway.

“You are one of Danzo’s, aren’t you?” The younger shinobi snarled. “You are with Root.”

Sasuke stopped in his tracks. Did he just hear correctly?

Working for Danzo? Really?

And not only that, but Itachi was visibly upset and this was not something Sasuke considered "normal" for his brother either. Not that he was shouting and screaming though – he was the Itachi Uchiha, after all - but his voice was clearly raised in a way that Itachi had never done with Sasuke. Or at least Sasuke couldn't remember because Itachi would never let anything slip. So much so, that it felt out of character to hear the adrenaline in his voice now. 

But Itachi wasn’t talking to his little brother right now, he had to remind himself. He was talking to the secretive Indra. A person that was not Sasuke and would therefore elicit an entirely different set of emotions from Itachi. And clearly, that Indra guy was a threat. Because instead of Sasuke, today it was Itachi who was losing his cool.

Sasuke raised his one arm placatingly. “Calm down, Itachi. I-“

“Is that an Uchiha’s eye under your eyepatch?” The light of the flames caught onto Itachi’s eyes, giving them a reddish, uncomfortably sharingan-like glint. “Answer me!”

The older shinobi flinched at the outburst.

Of course, revealing the Rinnegan under his eyepatch was no option. Sasuke didn't even consider it, doubting it was going to satisfy Itachi anyway. It wasn't going to calm his brother down. Clearly, the painkillers were doing their job in all the wrong ways, because the way that his brother’s injured body was tensing and straining against the restraints didn't look safe at all. What if the seams ripped?

“Itachi, please listen. I am not with Danzo. I am not with Root. In fact, I hate that man just as much as you do.”

Itachi gave a strained chuckle, though it devolved quickly into two or three quiet, dry coughs. “Of course you do,” he croaked.

“I mean it. I am not your enemy.”

“Stop playing around, I know you’re lying! And I don’t care what you or Danzo want. Leave me alone.”

The boy was seemingly shaking with fury. His breath was audible and slightly accelerated, his voice raspy. Sasuke’s eyes carefully trailed over his body, worried he might rise up, lash out, and accidentally open up a wound by doing so.

But truth be told, Itachi wasn’t wrong to believe that “Indra” was full of shit. Not that Sasuke was lying right now, but he had been earlier. Which wasn’t competent lying, apparently, hence his current predicament.

Whatever way Itachi had gotten the idea that Sasuke was one of Danzo’s henchmen, the Akatsuki's reaction was entirely understandable to the elder Uchiha. Itachi had been the man- boy who had taken everything from Sasuke. And Danzo was the man who had taken everything from Itachi. Sasuke knew that comfortably sitting still was simply impossible when confronted with the very thing that had destroyed your entire life, ripped it out of your trembling child fingers.

And back to their current scenario, it seemed that Itachi was stubbornly convinced that Indra was his enemy. Restrained, confrontative. It was a little bit reminiscent of back when Kakashi had tied a teenage Sasuke to the trunk of a tree. Back after he had that battle with Naruto on the hospital roof. Teenager-Itachi was clearly throwing a fit and Sasuke doubted that any explanation he could give or make up on the spot would possibly get through to him.

So perhaps if the older Uchiha was a little more assertive, Itachi would give in. And once Itachi had finally settled, Sasuke could do the dishes in peace.

“Look,” Sasuke said. “Even if I was lying. How does that change anything?”

Itachi’s eyebrows furrowed.

The older Uchiha's eyes went to Itachi's empty bowl. He wanted to get out of this mess as soon as possible and part of him was still hoping for their empty dishes to be the golden ticket to leaving this conversation. “The answer is nothing. I’ve got you restrained and now you are stuck with me. There is no point in fighting me. So instead, why don’t-“

Sasuke leaned forward and reached to the right. For the dirty dishes. And then Itachi suddenly drew back. Sasuke took note of Itachi’s eyes, which had widened, as well as his breath which had slightly picked up in speed.

Sasuke was perplexed. That was… quite a strong reaction. To somebody simply moving to get up from their seat, that is. And reaching for an empty bowl next to them. But Itachi’s eyes did not point to the empty bowl that Sasuke was trying to reach. No. They were fixed on Kusanagi that was strung to Sasuke's hip and, admittedly, perhaps just a little too close in range of Sasuke's arm.

For less than a second, inside of the adult's mind, Itachi’s eyes turned into those of Sarada. Those same eyes that had been so desperate when her father didn’t recognize her. And like the moron he had been, he had pushed his blade right into the wall behind her to keep her pinned. And how fearful those eyes had looked. And Itachi's looked so much like them, even without any tears. And everything finally clicked.

Oh.

His brother was scared. Not just frustrated or suspicious. Itachi Uchiha was scared.

The idea was so completely foreign. Just like when he had raised his voice in that weird way. And now he knew why. Never in his life - although maybe in one or two of his revenge fantasies - did Sasuke think he would ever see his older brother acting like a cornered animal. But now, there he was. And just as unexpectedly, he now felt like the scum of the earth.

Sasuke could deal with scaring children. He had done that plenty of times - cue that one time when he met his own daughter for the first time in years - so he was used to it by now. But as always, having Itachi in the equation – or any family member, for that matter – quickly turned the situation into an emotional roller coaster for him.

This child, abandoned, restrained, and injured in front of Sasuke, was scared of him. Of his brother.

I've got you restrained and now you are stuck with me. There is no point in fighting me.

And of course, the one thing Sasuke tried to calm him down with was to remind him of his own helplessness while captive to "Indra".

Great job, Sasuke, he chastised himself. Brother of the year.

Sasuke quickly leaned back again into a more relaxed, less active, less threatening position. “That…” He took a long breath. “It was not meant as a threat.”

But Itachi did not calm at that. At least not as far as his brother could tell.

“I meant," Sasuke continued, "that if I did want to hurt you in some way, I probably would have done so already, wouldn’t I?”

Still, no visible evidence of relaxation in Itachi’s expression or body language. Only quiet staring, watching movement, evaluating his opponent.

Think, Sasuke. Think. How do you salvage this mess? How do you calm a child?

As the older Uchiha went over his options, Itachi’s dry breaths changed into yet another cough that had the boy shoving his bound hands in front of his mouth as he curled in on himself.

Reaching out to him at that moment was entirely instinctual. As a brother, it only felt right to offer some gesture of support or comfort. But just as instinctual and immediate as Sasuke's, so was Itachi’s reaction, unfortunately.

“Stay away from me!” He breathed and pushed the older shinobi’s hand away. There was no space for "benefits of the doubt" while his mind was occupied with fear and helplessness. It hurt Sasuke a bit - the rejection, not the physical action - but he kept his poker face straight, careful not to display an emotion that did not belong with a perceived stranger.

Okay. No more reaching out with that arm. Got it.

Sasuke couldn’t help but think back to the illness that Itachi would develop later on in life. Had it already developed? Was this the beginning of his illness? The coughing?

The guess was wild and thankfully, there was no blood or other evidence hinting at this theory and the coughing was already subsiding. Not that the lack of evidence made it impossible. Terminal illnesses have to start out from somewhere after all, don't they?

Which begged the question: Would Itachi even be aware of his disease at this point in time?

“Do you take any medications for that?” Sasuke asked carefully once the coughing had died down.

The boy’s voice had gotten strained from the coughing. More so than before. He didn't bother to hide the confusion in his tone. “Medications?”

That was all the answer Sasuke needed. Clearly, there was no illness that Itachi was aware of. “Nothing I was just curious.” Sasuke shook his head, changing topics. “You know… Danzo took my family from me as well. So I can empathize.”

Itachi huffed. “And you think I believe that sob story?”

“Probably not. You have no reason to. Not if a guy like Danzo might possibly be involved, even though he isn't. But I thought you might want to know anyway.”

“I don’t and I don't care,” the teen replied bluntly.

He knew he shouldn't take it to heart, but the fact that Itachi was still believing Sasuke- Indra to be a loyal minion to Danzo Shimura of all people made the older Uchiha feel like throwing up. Simply just the idea of it. Of that man. A part of him wished that his brother had guessed time travel to be the reason for all this strangeness instead, even. Screw the time paradoxes because they'd probably be easier to deal with than Itachi's resurfacing trauma.

Speaking of trauma, looking at his brother's poor condition, Sasuke might actually quite prefer the nausea, now that he thought about it. The alternative would be to let Itachi not only know that a time traveler stood before him but also risk him finding out that Indra was his brother and, unfortunately, didn't hate Itachi. No, he didn't want Itachi to know that. Not if it possibly meant sending the boy through another… fit? Outburst? Panic? Because how well would Itachi take the fact that he was destined to fail and that Sasuke was destined to learn the truth?

No. He’d rather not.

But Sasuke would still be stuck with his brother for the foreseeable future. At the very least until the older shinobi would find a safe place for Itachi, Indra - not Sasuke - should make himself seem like a more trustworthy figure. Somebody who wouldn't threaten the boy's life.

Retreated and drawn back to the stone wall of the overhang, the boy silently watched the flames and sparks of the still-burning campfire. He clearly appreciated the warmth and possibly the light as well, so there was no reason to put it out yet. It still pained him, because the boy would have a much better chance at warming up if seated closer to the fire. The distance between them now spoke of the child's growing mistrust as well as anxiety.

Sasuke placed the water bottle not too far from him, at the boy’s feet. Itachi glared at the drink. “What’s this?”

“Water.”

“I can see that.” Itachi peered up, quiet defiance written in his face, waiting for the man to elaborate.

“I will be gone for an hour or two, so you can continue to rest until then." Not like Itachi had anything better to do. "I don't want you to go without water in the meantime.”

“Meeting up with a contact?” Itachi asked sarcastically.

“Funny. But no. I’ve got a few errands to run. You will stay here in the meantime.” The man made a movement with his fingers and a new shadow clone emerged. “Not that I trust you any more than you trust me, of course.”

Itachi frowned for what felt like the hundredth time, but there was no open protest. Not that Sasuke had expected any, as they both knew how this game worked. Granted, Sasuke had screwed that one up in the beginning by leaving his brother unbound and unattended, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Sasuke left into the forest and Itachi’s eyes went back and forth between watching the clone and the original before the latter quickly vanished in the shadows of foliage. At the very least Itachi would be safe from threats with the clone at his side.

Chapter Text

Shit.

As Indra's original left for… whatever it was that needed to be taken care of, Itachi’s eyes just kept on flitting from one Indra to the other. The clone, who was tasked with staying behind and guarding the camp, had his eyes trained on the younger shinobi, watching him like a hawk unlike last time.

What was it even that the other Indra was planning on doing?

And more importantly, was there any way for Itachi to make use of his absence and escape him? The answer was most probably a disappointing no.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Indra, for better or for worse, had denied all of Itachi’s suspicions- allegations of being a Root Agent. Most definitely the worse, rather than the better.

But Indra had some sort of source for the things he knew. Implied to know or let carelessly slip. None of this was a coincidence. And Danzo was honestly the only viable source of information that Itachi could think of. Madara didn’t know that much about Itachi’s true motivations, his true loyalties, or Konoha's involvement in the massacre. And even if he did, he had no motive to involve Indra. Itachi was already part of the Akatsuki, after all.

This only left Danzo.

Danzo Shimura - village elder, former subordinate of the second Hokage, and silent puppeteer of Konoha’s shadows and darkest secrets - hated keeping loose ends. That much had always been evident to Itachi. The elder had tried to rid himself of Itachi just minutes after the massacre in a fruitless effort to keep the Uchiha's mouth shut. Itachi knew he was just a means to an end - And now he was a means that had long outlived his purpose.

Now apply that logic to Indra. He must've been an ally to Danzo at least up until the massacre. That's what his otherwise unreasonably empathetic behavior towards Itachi was pointing at (nobody would act friendly with a ruthless blood traitor "just because"). If Indra was not an ally of Danzo's now, that meant Indra was a traitor. And Danzo wouldn’t ever let a traitor of all things leave just like that.

Surely, a traitor like Indra would never be allowed to live if Danzo could help it. Not with all the hate he claimed to bear for that nefarious old man. Especially not after the mistake he had made with Itachi. Itachi was only a "pretend traitor".  But this was the real deal and a major leak, a risk to not only Root's but Konoha's security.

To Itachi, the answer was clear. Unless the gods had decided to have mercy on them and Danzo had finally grown dement, there was simply no way in hell that Indra was just another traitor to Danzo and still alive. That meant Indra was, more likely than not, a subordinate of Danzo.

But also, what motive was at work here? What was Itachi’s purpose? Why was Indra keeping him alive rather than killing him to finish the job? What did Danzo need Itachi for this time?

If it required capturing or perhaps seeking out a missing-nin’s assistance, then it probably meant that whatever Danzo was planning for him was about as detestable as the previous crimes he had ordered the young Uchiha to commit.

Please don’t have anything to do with Sasuke.

In the end, nothing Indra could say or do would ever be able to alleviate his concerns or erase his suspicions. Shinobi life is one of lies and deceptions. If Itachi could turn on his own family and clan and soak the earth with their blood then anybody could do it. And especially to a stranger. At any time, for any reason. There was no such thing as "trust" among shinobis.

“You can stop staring at me like that, you know?” Indra’s clone spoke up, interrupting Itachi's analysis.

“You are watching me too, aren’t you? Why should I be the one to turn off my attention?”

“Because I need to watch you for security. Unlike you. For all it matters, you could be counting butterflies or taking a nap. Your safety does not depend on you being alert. Not in this scenario.”

He wasn't wrong. Currently, Itachi was vulnerable in a way he couldn’t remember ever being in the past five years. Not since the day that Tenma had died. If Indra wanted him dead, Itachi would just have to take it. He couldn't do anything like this and watching his captor for any signs of hostility wouldn't help him defend himself when he was quite literally defenseless.

Itachi clenched his teeth.

And of course, it was entirely reasonable to feel the need to keep an eye on the Uchiha. It's just that Itachi still hated himself for letting a golden opportunity miss last night. If only he hadn’t given the other man the benefit of the doubt and sliced his throat right then and there, back when he hadn't been restrained yet. Or if he hadn't shown his hostility right away. Not that it had been misplaced.

The older shinobi’s eye trailed down and stopped at the younger’s hands. Itachi hadn’t realized they were shaking in their restraints. Determined not to let his insecurity show, he balled them into fists.

“You said it yourself,” Itachi replied. “You don’t trust me any more than I trust you.”

The clone gave a slow nod. “That is… fair.”

Awkward silence ensued.

Despite everything, Itachi kept stubbornly staring at Indra at least for twenty minutes. Not a single word was spoken. Only when he spotted something weird about one of the trees behind the clone, did Itachi dare shift his attention from his captor.

Bright, yellow eyes were staring back at him. Their owner’s body one half black, one half white, and a plant-like structure surrounding his head.

Zetsu.

Could it be?

Itachi’s breath quietly caught in his throat, then picked up in speed. He had been found. The Akatsuki had sent backup. Or, well, they had sent for someone because everybody knew that Zetsu wasn’t that much of a reinforcement in a fight. Otherwise, the Akatsuki would assign him regular missions like the rest of their group.

Whether the help was actually meant for Itachi or for his eyes or even just the artifact didn’t matter to him. He felt relief. Excitement. Hope pooled in his gut. Again, Itachi didn’t let any of it show, though, avoiding further suspicious behavior. His eyes settled back on the clone.

Zetsu had been searching relentlessly, stopping at any sign of a shinobi passing through these woods. Footprints, abandoned kunais, and shreds of ripped clothes stuck on tree branches. What ended up leading him to Itachi and the swordsman, however, had been a barely visible trail of smoke reaching up into the sky.

“We’ve already seen five of these today, though,” the white half complained when his counterpart suggested investigating the origin of the smoke.

“Madara personally sent us on this mission to retrieve Itachi - or whatever is left of him. We better be thorough,” the black one said and started merging their body back into a tree.

Failing to obtain the artifact was already bad enough. This was their last chance to avoid a total setback due to the loss of one of the Akatsuki’s most valuable resources.

Zetsu’s face reemerged out of the bark of a different tree, not too far from the suspected campfire. There was a stone overhang, under which two people had found shelter from last night's storm.

“Wait, is that one Itachi?” The white half said, a bit too loudly, perhaps, as he was immediately shushed by the other as though he were an annoying songbird.

Itachi was sitting opposite of what Zetsu assumed to be the swordsman he had previously been captured by. The boy’s hands were bound by chakra cuffs and his Akatsuki robe was missing, revealing the blood stains that had drenched his clothing hours ago. Quite the ugly sight and it was clear that the Uchiha was only still alive due to the other shinobi’s benevolence.

Then, Itachi spotted Zetsu and quickly pretended not to have seen anything. He understood the assignment perfectly, unlike some body-sharing amateurs.

Itachi took a deep breath and allowed his small shoulders to sag, taking on a posture that was less on edge and more relaxed. Not that it changed much about his aura because any genin could see just how pathetic the boy looked in those handcuffs.

Before Itachi actually got to say anything, the swordsman had already spoken up. “Do you have a fever?”

A strange question. One seemed to throw Itachi off his game. “A fever?” He grimaced, as did the white half of Zetsu.

“Your coughing from before. I’d like to know whether there is some underlying issue. Are you feeling sick? Is it a recent development?”

“For the last time, I don’t-“ Itachi stopped himself, probably before he started bringing down the mood again. “It is nothing I cannot handle.”

“Except you are injured and would do much better without the additional strain of some sickness.”

Zetsu made a mental note. That was important information right there. Itachi was injured and most likely unable to fight even if released from his cuffs. That meant he’d be needing further backup from another Akatsuki member.

"And whose fault is that?" Itachi asked.

"Answer the question, kid," his captor insisted.

White Zetsu had to stifle a snort. Was the swordsman just now mothering the infamous Clankiller Itachi Uchiha?

Itachi nodded reluctantly, though probably without actually meaning it. On second thought, perhaps it was sarcastic even. “Speaking of my injuries, what happened afterward?”

“I brought you to a doctor.”

“You already told me that. I meant what happened before that. Right after I lost consciousness. My partner, the artifact… anything I should know about?”

“Well,” the swordsman looked down, “your partner escaped, for starters. He ran with his tail between his legs.” A fairly accurate description of what had occurred, in Zetsu's opinion.

But Itachi didn't seem to believe it for some reason. “That sounds unlike him.”

“But that’s what happened. Another clone found his Akatsuki cloak on our way out. He must’ve shed it after seeing… what I did to you. To avoid getting targeted for playing on the same team as you.”

“Oh, so you know about the Akatsuki?” The Uchiha raised an eyebrow.

This was quite an interesting development. The Akatsuki were not exactly commonly known - just a collection of outcasts hired for assassinations and other unpleasant jobs. At this point, at least. In the future, they would be known across all great nations.

“I’ve done some research,” the swordsman replied.

The younger shinobi seemed to evaluate that statement for a short while before taking a guess. “Did Danzo tell you about us?”

White Zetsu’s eyes widened. Black Zetsu listened intently. “Madara” had told him a lot about Danzo. He had no idea what was going on, the situation only getting stranger and stranger by the minute, but if Shimura was somehow involved in any of this, surely it didn’t mean anything good.

“I will neither deny nor confirm that," the swordsman said in a professional manner.

“Of course not,” Itachi commented with a hint of sarcasm. “And I assume Danzo also didn’t want you to fetch the artifact? Or did he send you after me from the beginning?”

“I wasn’t sent by anybody and the artifact is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Then I assume it’s in your possession? Or rather, your original’s possession. The clone technique doesn't usually copy artifacts or other exceptional or unordinary items."

For the first time, the swordsman seemed to have a reaction. His back straightened and he was growing visibly tense. “You are being awfully nosey today, you know that?”

But Itachi simply just shrugged. “I’ve been nosey since the very beginning. Don’t tell me you only noticed that now.”

And that was Zetsu’s cue to leave. The swordsman was starting to get suspicious of Itachi's sudden questioning, or so it seemed. Fortunately, Itachi had managed to provide him with a lot of intel that Zetsu could work with.

Just in time as the older shinobi began turning his head, Zetsu's head had already faded back into the tree.

“Do you think the swordsman’s original is meeting up with a contact?” The white half asked curiously, once their body had reemerged an acceptable distance away from the camp.

“Possibly,” the black half replied, voice monotone. “Maybe he is just collecting firewood or water. Perhaps he is contacting a Root shinobi or some other sort of ally. Perhaps a buyer for the artifact.”

“Or perhaps a bounty hunter. Or someone from a bounty exchange point nearby.”

Black Zetsu had to disagree. “Unlikely. As far as I am aware, there are no life-specific bounties for Itachi thus far. Only dead or alive. Not even bloodline thieves are insane enough to try their luck on someone as troublesome as Itachi. The swordsman wouldn’t have bothered to keep the runt alive for a bounty that might as well be cold and save him the extra energy, so he must have a different use for him.”

“I think that warrants contacting Madara, doesn’t it?”

“It does. But first, I’d like to investigate the original. If he really is meeting up with someone, there’s a chance it could be related to the artifact. Itachi can hold out until we have the other guy investigated.”

The two bowls they had used during lunch were as good as new now. Sasuke had managed to find a neat stream of clear, pristine water to wash his dish utensils in - now they were perfectly clean for future use, which was important with a neat freak such as Itachi. And it was also the perfect opportunity to refill his water reserves.

So what next?

Originally, he had planned to check on the artifact once more. See whether he could figure out the mechanism behind it.

Just what kind of jutsu could trigger time travel? And what had triggered the jutsu itself.

Perhaps the artifact worked similarly to Karasuki. Which then also begged the question: How did Karasuki work? Sasuke had never actually looked into the activation of the turtle... device...thing. He had only dealt with the consequences and beaten an Otsutsuki while at it.

That was when a couple of bees came flying by, stopping by the newly blooming spring flowers, and collecting their nectar. It reminded Sasuke of something.

Sakura, while on one of her medicine rambles, had once told him about natural remedies for everyday ailments. One such was honey, which could be used as a cough suppressant. If Itachi's constant coughing persisted, then it would surely end him with a sore throat in just a couple of days. Which, again, was treatable with honey to a certain degree.

Sasuke didn’t have any everyday common cold medications in his first aid kit that would help with treating a regular cough, hence he was willing to try the natural remedies route.

Long story short, he followed the bees.

Chapter Text

Sasuke hoped that Itachi was benefitting from this break, calming down, perhaps even enjoying himself now that his captor-but-secretly-brother was out of the perimeter. Or at least he might not be driving himself into a mind spiral of what-ifs and what-to-do’s. They both deserved something in their lives going well and without major complications for a change.

Sasuke himself decide to spend that break harvesting honey which went surprisingly smoothly, compared to the absurd amount of setbacks, inconveniences, and tomfoolery he was used to. Not just on this time travel trip specifically, but borderline always.

It was just a general insight he had attained on his life that nothing could ever go according to plan - except if the plan itself was mind-blowingly stupid to begin with. Like Naruto using his pervert jutsu on Kaguya. As well as a couple of other missions that the Uchiha had dutifully attended during his Genin days with Team 7 - the ones he was participating in while also simultaneously questioning his team's and his own sanity.

That being said, he enjoyed the time out. Sure, he loved Itachi, but also, his teenage self was quite a handful. Sasuke was not prepared for any such task and it was showing.

Searching for honey, his Sharingan was a considerable help in locating bees in the area and, eventually, identifying their hive. A large construct, hanging way up there inside the trees.

Now how to harvest that honey?

Sasuke was certainly no beekeeper. He was a shinobi. One that also was not an Aburame. However, he did remember the three beekeeper brothers he had met in the Valley of Lies on one of his travels. Ironically, back then they had gifted him medicinal honey, which had now long since been used up. Also ironically, they had had a brief exchange about Itachi back then. But that part of the memory had no business occupying his thoughts right now. He’s been utterly unproductive, reminiscing about Itachi for the longest time now and it was time to push those thoughts to the side like the distraction they were.

Back then, one of the three beekeeper brothers had mentioned that the use of smoke had a subduing effect on bees. So that’s what Sasuke did. He proceeded with great care and used a tiny fire jutsu to light up a bundle of tinder, producing a calming smoke for the not-so-small swarm of insects. Did that stop them from stinging Sasuke several times over? Of course not. But guessing by the size of the colony, it could have been quite the hellish experience without these preparations.

Thankfully, the hive actually ended up being inhabited by a honey-producing species. The Uchiha carefully sliced off a bento-sized chunk of honeycomb, hoping it was an ethical amount to take from a wild hive.

With the freshly obtained honey now in his possession, Sasuke brought some distance between himself and the few, still somewhat pissed bees. But before he did, and to his surprise, one of them had managed to get into the leg of his pants. He only noticed after the insect had already pierced his skin. Once he had gotten to a safer part of the woods, he rolled up the fabric to find and remove the stinger from his skin. Then he halted as though he had unexpectedly spotted a leech on his limb.

Movements stopping, he took in the intricate symbols stuck to his skin. It was the storage scroll he had placed on his lower leg to hide something important from unwanted views. The object quickly made its way back to the forefront of Sasuke's mind.

Right. The artifact.

He briefly considered utilizing his current privacy to further investigate the mysterious object he had meticulously hidden inside this jutsu. In the end, he abandoned the thought and left the seal as it was for the moment.

Tens of minutes later, the older Uchiha returned to the camp. He could already see Itachi waiting under the overhang from where he stood. The boy had already noticed Sasuke’s presence and his eyes were fixed to his. He seemed to be doing fine. No coughing, no accelerated breathing, not even a death glare.

“How was the break?” Sasuke asked, making his way through the bushes, one high step after another.

“You cannot call it a break exactly,” Itachi replied bluntly, gesturing towards the Sasuke-Indra clone, “now can you?”

Sasuke turned to his own shadow clone he had totally not forgotten about, greeted him with a slight, awkward nod of the head, and then turned back. The clone, in response, didn't express his thoughts in a straightforward manner. Instead, he cocked his head and blinked very slowly at his creator. Was that his own clone judging him right now? Seriously? Was this what Naruto had to go through with his flock of clones every damn time? Sasuke shook his head and released the clone jutsu rather than dealing with the blatant disrespect of himself towards himself.

“You are looking very flattering, by the way,” Itachi smirked half-heartedly.

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes, I absolutely cannot tell the swelling. Are you cross-working as a beekeeper now?” Itachi’s voice had started to sound hoarse. It was no surprise. According to his clone’s memories, his brother ended up having another strong coughing fit less than an hour after Sasuke had left.

Regardless, Sasuke smirked back. Part of him even almost felt proud of the fact he was covered in bee stings. In a certain kind of way. There were not many things Sasuke wouldn't do for his brother, even though Itachi probably wouldn’t get it at this point in the timeline. “I got you something,” the older shinobi said instead and held up a plastic bag.

The younger Uchiha raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with a glint of interest. The plastic bag was colorless but not quite see-through, making everything rather blurry. Still, his brother guessed correctly. “Honey?”

Sasuke nodded in affirmation. “For your cough.” And also for his throat. And because Itachi liked sweets if Sasuke remembered their childhood days correctly.

But then his kid brother went back into suspicion mode, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him. Because clearly his handing out sweets for free was proof that “Indra” had nefarious intentions. And then he thought about it once more...

Okay, maybe this is slightly more suspicious than I thought. "Don't take candy from strangers." It's literally taught to little children.

The elder sighed. “I can already see where this is going and I believe you’d do much better just listening to my advice.” He held the bag towards him. “Now come on. Take it.”

Itachi reached hesitantly, taking it from Sasuke and peeking into the bag. “The wax is still in there.”

“I heard it’s edible. Also, the honey loses part of its nutritional value when removed from the comb, so it is best eaten straight from or with the wax." That last part was recited from Sakura's explanations.

“I doubt the nutritional difference is that big.”

“Itachi. Please.”

The younger Uchiha mulled it over, taking a sniff of the honey. “You could give me chopsticks, at least.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes but agreed nevertheless. With the chopsticks, Itachi took a small bite of honey to his lips and tested the substance. It must have tasted good because he ended up taking another bite.

“By the way, I filled up our water. Think you need some more?”

Itachi jus nodded wordlessly and when Sasuke passed him yet another bottle, he didn’t even receive so much as a thanks or even just a nod of appreciation. But this was fine. To Sasuke at least. Itachi was a very distrustful kid and Sasuke respected that. It's not like Sasuke had had any better manners as a teen.

While Itachi was busy nibbling honey, Sasuke couldn't help but turn his head around, eyes surging through the surrounding area. He saw trees and bushes, nothing special. Perhaps his clone had only imagined it, but when he and Itachi were talking after the original had left, there had been a strange feeling to the atmosphere. Like there had been something more going on. Like they had been watched.

He stood up for a moment, turning around so that Itachi couldn't see anything, activating his Sharingan.

"Is something wrong?" Itachi asked with a chopstick in his mouth.

"No. I just thought I'd check on something." Before turning back around, he deactivated his Sharingan and sat down on his usual spot.

“So what have you learned?”, the masked man inquired, this time not in the company of Pain or Konan.

Zetsu's gaze followed Madara, as he stalked the dark room. “In spite of earlier predictions, we have found that Itachi Uchiha is still alive and in more or less good condition.”

“Alive, you say?”

“As of right now, his status is that of a captive.”

“Captive of the swordsman?”

“Indeed.”

The man stopped his steps, his orange mask observing the ongoing rain outside the tower. “Just what could he want with a captured Itachi Uchiha? Why not just kill him?”

“It appears that Itachi himself has his own guess as to why he’s still alive. He repeatedly mentioned the swordsman being an affiliate or subordinate of Danzo Shimura of some kind.”

“So Shimura is involved as well?” Madara mused. “This is bound to get interesting. Assuming that Itachi has remained loyal to Konoha, that would explain why he has not been harmed… too much. Are his eyes still intact?”

“He didn’t have his Sharingan active, but they seemed to be fine.”

Madara nodded. “Which is surprising. Though at the same time, it is not. Perhaps Danzo still needs Itachi for something." He turned back to Zetsu. "Are you certain that he and the swordsman have a connection? Or is that just a wild assumption?”

“I can neither deny nor confirm that. It was Itachi’s theory and I do not know what sort of evidence it is based on.”

“Then what about the artifact?”

“Possibly in the swordsman’s possession as well.”

“Another theory of Itachi’s?”

“Yes, but the man just so happened to have a storage seal painted on his right leg. I only got a brief impression, but by the looks of it, it seemed to have a certain significance or relevance."

"So he's got both Itachi and the artifact. Two birds with one stone."

"And there’s something else.”

Madara cocked his head. The white side of Zetsu started snickering in anticipation, clearly excited for the reveal.

“The swordsman has a Sharingan.”

Chapter Text

“So you are saying that the honey did help?”

He nodded, not seeing the need for any lies at the moment. “It doesn’t mean that I trust you now, though. And it also doesn’t mean that I consider you an ally.”

Indra shrugged, seemingly not bothered by Itachi’s incessant rejections. Though if he truly didn’t mind Itachi’s sour attitude, he probably wouldn’t be persistently trying to win him over. It was quite pathetic at this point. Annoying even. Its very own special brand of annoying. Who was trying to buy people's trust with honey of all things? How cheap could you possibly get? Did Itachi look like some gullible child?

Not that it really mattered. Zetsu was already on his way to either inform Pain or Madara about the young Uchiha’s whereabouts. There’d be some sort of rescue operation since Madara wouldn’t leave him in the hands of one of Danzo’s lackeys. Not that Madara was a much better person than Danzo. Quite the opposite, actually. After all, what kind of creature would willingly steal his own younger brother's eyes? Still, morally depraved or not, Madara did seem interested in recovering Itachi, sending a spy to search for him. Not only that, they both knew that the older Uchiha had already put far too much effort into making Itachi a part of his organization at this point. Too much effort to just toss him aside. He was Madara's prized resource.

The evening so far was quiet and uneventful. Itachi kept throwing Indra a look of suspicion every now and then. To Itachi's frustration, the older shinobi’s behavior wasn’t exactly… insightful. He was one of the very few people that Itachi couldn’t read, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t even assign him a stereotype due to the ambiguity of basically everything he did and everything he didn't.

Was Indra's initial objective Itachi or the artifact? Was he an ally of Danzo’s or an enemy? Was he a certified moron or just good at making himself appear harmless?

Not that there was much of a point in figuring him out now that there was backup underway.

“So what happened to that family of yours?” Itachi asked, deciding to make some small talk.

Indra quirked his eyebrow, not expecting Itachi to wish to get to know him. “What makes you interested all of a sudden?”

“Nothing in particular,” the younger shinobi shrugged. And truly, there really wasn’t anything in particular he wanted to know. He was just trying to pass the time now. “But you did mention that Danzo had taken your family from you. You already know my backstory, so it’s only fair I get to know yours.” Of course, if somehow Itachi did manage to find out something valuable about the man in front of him, he wouldn’t mind at all.

Indra leaned back slightly and took a deep breath. His one visible eye was closed as though revisiting an old dream. “My elder brother.”

“What about him?”

“Danzo had used him in one of his games. Back then, I was too young and too naïve to realize. And once I did, it was already too late.”

“He died?”

The older shinobi nodded, the movement heavy and slow as though rocks and boulders were weighing heavily on his head. On his heart. “Danzo had managed to manipulate him and drove him into taking his own life.”

Well if that story didn’t sound familiar to Itachi.

Aside from a few other little fun facts that Itachi remembered about Root and its training methods, his thoughts jumped back to a conversation he had had with Danzo back in the day. The elderly Root leader had claimed that his agents would be “honored” to die in action - in their service to Danzo and his ambitions. And time and time again, the actions of Root's agents had proven those words to be truthful. In one way or another.

So yes, Indra’s story was very much in line with everything Itachi knew about Root, and perhaps the man's brother had found himself in the situation Danzo described. Perhaps he had even found himself in a similar situation to Itachi himself.

Mezu and Gozu, two Root members assigned to Itachi’s ANBU squad, certainly did. Mezu had chosen to die at Danzo’s behest so that his brother Gozu didn’t have to. The village elder probably didn’t even need to say much, knowing that for Mezu, saving his twin was paramount. In situations like these, death was a small sacrifice, the alternative of loss being a hundred times worse.

“Good for him,” Itachi concluded.

Indra froze. He opened his mouth again and then closed it. He leaned back, fixing his posture, and then stared Itachi in the eye. “Good?” The older shinobi asked, bewildered and perplexed.

Of course... Perhaps that wasn’t the best response that Itachi could’ve come up with. But he did mean it. “It was his choice to make, don’t you think?”

“Yes but-“ He shook his head. “He didn’t have to die. That was a crime committed against him. To be put into a situation in the first place that would demand somebody to take their own life…”

“But he’s free of those circumstances now, isn’t he? And he no longer has to endure Danzo's manipulations either.”

The older shinobi took another anguish-filled look at Itachi. “I…” He paused, then averted his gaze and let out a shuddering breath. “I suppose so.” 

Itachi felt like Indra needed a moment to regain his composure, the conversation seemingly having ripped at old wounds. Perhaps the young Uchiha really did suspect the swordsman for nothing. Aside from the kidnapping and handcuffing, he didn’t quite seem to fit the bill of a stonehearted Root agent.

Or perhaps those emotions are just very talented acting in disguise, a voice inside his head warned.

“You just said- Is that how you see your own situation?” Indra asked.

Itachi perked up at the link-back. The swordsman really did know quite a lot about the young Uchiha, didn’t he? Just how far did that knowledge go? “Would that be surprising?”

The older man took a moment to truly consider his answer. “No. No, I don’t think it would.” Indra turned back to Itachi. “I was just-“

“Good evening,” a different voice spoke.

Indra’s head whipped back in an instant. Without missing a beat, he got to his feet and drew his sword, only to point it at the yellow, one-eyed mask in front of him.

“Easy now,” Madara spoke in a calm manner. He might have even come off as harmless if it wasn’t for that sense of darkness surrounding him. A sense of foreboding. Itachi noticed that the masked man wasn’t using his cheery, squeaky Tobi voice but his deep, menacing Madara voice. He was dressed in the same long, dark robes he wore during the massacre.

“State your business,” Indra snarled, his attention now fully set on Madara.

“You are quite interesting, you know, swordsman?”

“I asked you what your intentions are.” He further raised his blade and began to knead and accumulate chakra in his grip.

“I see you are not in a good mood. Let’s wrap this up quickly then. I am here for my subordinate.”

Indra inclined his head to Itachi, then back to the older Uchiha. “Something makes me believe this is not the sole reason for your presence here.”

Itachi, anticipating an opportunity, began to fumble with his cuffs.

The masked man chuckled, his shoulders stiff. “You are a sharp one, aren’t you? You are right. I’ve got a few questions.” His hand slowly drew up and he pointed it at his own Sharingan eye. “Especially regarding that eye of yours.”

In an instant, Madara had closed the gap between him and the other ninja, hand stretched out towards Indra’s face. The attack was a failure, however, as Indra managed to dodge just as quickly. But the attack did manage to accomplish one thing.

A red glow emanated from the swordsman’s right eye, spinning wildly and directly pointing at Madara’s mask.

A Sharingan? In his right eye? Itachi’s eyes widened. He had had suspicions about Indra hiding a Sharingan since earlier that day. Turns out Itachi had been right. But why was the eye in Indra’s right socket rather than hidden behind the eyepatch on his left? Was there something else in his other eye? How could he even activate the Sharingan at will?

“How curious. I wonder where you got that?” A kunai fell into Madara’s hand and he struck at Indra once more, clashing steel with Indra’s blade. “Should you even have that? Or should you even be alive in the first place?”

Itachi was intrigued. Who was Indra really? Did he get his Sharingan from Danzo or was he-

The young Uchiha banished the thought immediately. The possibility of another survivor was nothing he wished to worry about right now.

While Madara and the swordsman were locked in combat, Itachi was in an especially delicate position. If Indra found himself struggling and losing against the masked man, he might find himself forced to take a hostage. And what better hostage to take than his already bound, injured, and barely mobile captive? Itachi couldn’t have that. He had to make it out of here. There were things that needed to be taken care of. Things that he feared nobody would be taking care of if Itachi were to disappear off Danzo's map.

The other two ninjas' blows echoed off the surrounding rock. Blending out the noise, the young Uchiha tried to concentrate on his escape.

Something. Something.

His eyes searched their, or rather Indra's camp, looking for something, anything he could use to pick the lock on his cuffs only to find... nothing. It didn’t seem like Indra had left anything useful lying around. Not even a piece of wire or a simple hairpin.

Then his eyes landed on the bag of honey next to him.

Fishing out the slimy substance, he began spreading it over both the skin and metal. With the lubricant applied, he began to pull, all of the strength that he could muster struggling against the metal clasps. But it still was to no avail.

As he continued to push and wiggle, pulling wildly out of sheer desperation, a foreign touch to his skin caused him to pause. A delicate tendril made of black reached up to his restrained wrists. Searching for the origin of the strange… thing, being, limb he found a familiar face peeking out of the dirt.

“Hold still,” Zetsu instructed and Itachi did as asked.

The sight was beyond welcome, though it did not bring him any immediate relief. He was still not free just yet.

“Who is that guy?” Itachi asked as the dark tendril twisted inside the lock.

“I could ask you the same thing,” the black half replied. “He's been seen using the Sharingan once and the intel you’ve provided us with has been taken into consideration. That’s about everything we’ve got. Unless you’ve got anything further to contribute to our research?”

“Barely. I know that other ninjas who have been transplanted a Sharingan were unable to deactivate or activate their Dojutsu at will. They would be forced to keep it hidden up until its use.”

“Such as Kakashi Hatake?”

Itachi nodded. “But clearly, that is not the case here. I would assume it’s the same for all transplantees, but for some reason, Indra can still-“

“Indra?!” Zetsu exclaimed. His tendril froze inside the lock.

Itachi frowned. Did that name ring a bell for Zetsu? It certainly seemed to give him pause.

“This might be worse than I thought…” The Akatsuki spy mumbled and retracted his tendril.

“Hey, wait!” Itachi hissed, trying to get a hold of the other Akatsuki before he was gone. But Zetsu had already faded back into the ground, merging with the soil beneath him once more. All that the Uchiha's fingers managed to hold onto was a handful of dirt.

Wonderful.

Was anybody ever going to tell him what was going on?

Itachi slowly and painfully drew himself up to his feet, using the wall behind him as a crutch. The pain mercilessly shooting through his every nerve was very telling in that he was not supposed to move this early on in his recovery. Or that he should take more painkillers at least. Unfortunately, Indra was the one with the painkillers and currently kept slightly busy.

Speaking of the devil.

“Stay right there where you are and sit down,” Indra growled. And Itachi almost felt compelled to listen. Almost.

The young Uchiha took a step forward, then flinched backward. A kunai drew past his nose, burying itself into the stone wall next to his head. Indra took his attention off the battle for another moment, only to throw Itachi a menacing glare.

Now Itachi did feel compelled, admittedly. Still, he cursed his own powerlessness for not being able to defend, let alone save himself from this mess.

Knowing that his struggles were pointless, he turned his attention back to the confrontation between Indra and Madara. Sparks flew through the air and Madara had opted for his katana by now, rather than a flimsy kunai. The battle had taken on a more serious turn. Sharingan or not, Indra was clearly an experienced fighter, blocking Madara’s blows with ease.

The swordsman swung his blade with lightning speed. Literally. He disappeared in a flash and closed in on his enemy in a zig-zag, leaving a buzzing ray of light in his trail. But Madara merely needed to activate his own Sharingan to evade it. The attack ended up being a clean hit. "Clean" in the sense that the blade didn't return dirt as all it hit was air - Not Madara. Indra only grimaced rather than staring in shock or horror at Madara's state of body.

Indra's blade passed through the incorporeal man, and once it did, a chain snared itself around the swordsman’s feet. Indra swung his blade back around, reversing the previous move and bringing the blade through Madara’s empty form once more. Becoming immaterial again, it resulted in Madara and his chain losing their hold on the other shinobi.

Now ever so slightly wiser, they both jumped back from their opponent, re-establishing that distance from before they had traded blows. Both their weapons were poised and pointed, ready to tear into each other. This time for real.

“I am impressed,” Madara praised, “you have figured out my technique already?”

Indra adjusted the sword in his grip, skin rubbing past the leather.

“And it is not just due to your Sharingan, I assume. You know something about me, don’t you?” Madara approached at a leisurely pace. “How come?”

As the footsteps continued closing in on the swordsman, more sparks appeared, pure electricity pumping through the man's blade.

Another one of Zetsu’s tendrils appeared, inconspicuously climbing up on Indra’s foot. Then leg.

Madara continued. Like a star actor, he had the swordsman’s attention all to himself. Nothing could avert Indra's gaze from-

And then Indra’s body made a violent jerk. The foreign touch that had taken him just a moment too long to notice now sent a shiver alongside a sense of danger through his system. His eye widened, powering up and consuming more chakra.

Itachi didn’t quite understand what happened after. Only that, all of a sudden, everything was swallowed up by a blinding light. And once it had faded, all it left was equally blinding darkness. For a moment at least.

Itachi's temporary fears about going blind were quickly disproven as his eyes adjusted to the new lighting conditions. Eventually, he was greeted by somewhat familiar architecture in the form of ancient stone walls with one or two broken pots in alcoves. Tiny pieces of art that were now long forgotten by history.

The temple? He wondered. A teleportation jutsu?

“Please don’t tell me…” Indra breathed, taking in the new surroundings.

Chapter Text

”Here for my subordinate.”

Oh, if only. How much Sasuke wished that were true. Part of him had even genuinely hoped for an Akatsuki to show up and take Itachi off his hands. But Sasuke was no fool.

As per usual, the masked man was full of lies and nothing more. If it really had been about Itachi and nothing more, there would have been no need for Obito himself to make an appearance. Let alone would there have been a need for that outfit, that demeanor, that voice - That false persona of Madara Uchiha. It all seemed a little bit overkill for a simple rescue mission, didn’t it? Obito could have just sent for a regular Akatsuki member, but instead, it seemed that Obito had taken a personal interest in “Indra”.

How much did the masked man know? And what was his objective? Eliminating him? Bargaining with him? Recruiting him?

How much did he know about Indra? About Sasuke? Enough to damage the timeline?

Oh, how he wished he could’ve just summoned his Susanoo to grab the man and squeeze the answers all out of him. But needless to say, this was a bad idea.

And then it turned out that Obito was aware of Sasuke’s Sharingan of all things. It meant that Sasuke was right when he suspected a spy watching them previously - Zetsu, most likely. Someone observing and watching Sasuke from the shadows. And that someone had somehow caught a glimpse of Sasuke’s eye. Thanks to that, Obito now knew that "Indra" was an Uchiha.

Stupid, Sasuke chastised himself.

Sasuke should have known better and taken the necessary precautions. He should have been more on guard - Not taking walks in the forest and snatching honey from unassuming bees. And definitely not using his goddamn Sharingan to do so.

As their blades danced with one another, Sasuke made sure not to use too much power, lest he might kill Obito and trigger a chain reaction of events to throw the timeline into chaos. And least of all, he could use his Rinnegan. Definitely not the Rinnegan. He had to play it safe. Zetsu was probably here somewhere, still spying on him and there was no telling just how much that cursed, ancient weed knew and how long it would take him to suspect the involvement of time travel. Now that he was thinking about it, perhaps "Indra" was not the best alias either. It was not a common name in this time period at all.

But speaking of Zetsu spying - Where was he? Sasuke glanced back behind him and-

Ah. Zetsu was undoing Itachi’s restraints. Good. Let him do that. If that pest managed to free Itachi and "rescue" him, that would only be in Sasuke's favor. Then he could… get his hopes up too soon, apparently, as Zetsu suddenly left, abandoning Itachi like the unfaithful piece of crap that weed had always been.

But Zetsu didn't leave the area, did he? However traitorous that vegetable was, it seemed rather out of character for him to disappear for no good reason.

And Sasuke was right in his assumption.

While focused on Obito, falsely thinking he was the bigger, more threatening problem - the main attraction, so to speak - he failed to recognize the masked Uchiha as a mere distraction. So when Sasuke felt that tendril swiftly sneaking up his leg, reaching for-

The seal. No. Nononono-

- When he felt Zetsu’s grip on him, unsealing the artifact he was so determined to protect, chakra gathered in Sasuke’s eyes. Not just one but both. The Sharingan and the Rinnegan. It was an entirely instinctual reaction to the danger he felt, to the sudden horror befalling him.

Can’t have- Can't take the artifact. Too dangerous. No.

And once the power in his Rinnegan had reached a certain threshold, a wave of energy erupted from the small artifact and gobbled them all up. Everything turned white for a few, agonizingly long seconds that left him stunned and inoperational. All of his senses went fuzzy and he could no longer see or feel Zetsu at his leg.

When the bright shine died, Sasuke found himself in a familiar scene. It was the exact same as yesterday. Once he realized what had happened, it was already too late. Zetsu jumped back, the oni-shaped artifact in hand. As did Obito. Poor Itachi was crawling on the ground, completely disoriented and trying to regain his bearings.

Sasuke’s eye swayed back and forth between all three Akatsuki members, the artifact, and then finally the temple walls.

The temple walls?!

“Please don’t tell me…”, Sasuke breathed, the weight of the situation crushing all the air from his lungs. He stared at the new but ancient, confusing, and now so horrifying surroundings. In the literal blink of an eye, everything had taken a turn for the worse. Much, much worse.

Taking it all in, he backed away, closer to his brother and further away from the other two Akatsuki. Almost like his body wanted to shield the boy. Two steps in, he stopped, reminding himself that this was not a two versus two but a one versus three. Much like always, Itachi was on the enemy team.

Hit by a small wave of nostalgia, Sasuke missed fighting Kabuto.

He scanned his surroundings once more, coming to the conclusion that this was not a Genjutsu. He was back at the temple. They, Sasuke, Itachi, and two more Akatsukis of all things were here, at the temple. The altar room, specifically, where the artifact had originally been left and sealed in until Sasuke recovered it from the depths. Before he had nearly killed ran into a 13-year-old Itachi after an unexpected time travel accident. The Uchiha noticed the skeletons, piles of old and rotting bones now leaning against the walls and on the floor.

And chances were, that this was yet another time travel accident and that this version of the temple was round about 25 years older than the one he had found Itachi in.

His heart hammered wildly in his chest. Exhaustion? No. He had barely done anything, he decided. It had to be fear, because Sasuke knew that if nothing was done, the consequences of this would be catastrophic. It was fear, wasn't it?

“Now… would you look at that?” The fake Madara spoke, the tone mocking him almost.

Whether Obito wanted to gain Sasuke’s deadly attention or not, his eye, his Mangekyo snapped back to Obito, causing black, devilish flames to sprout and crawl across the stone wall. But the masked man himself remained unharmed.

Incorporeal again. Crap.

The Mangekyo faded quickly, but Obito got a good look at the star-like pattern, the shape of a shuriken in its middle. The burning hatred receded back into the deep pit of onyx in Sasuke's eye, buried in its darkness. For some reason, the jutsu felt like a strain. More than usual. His head felt heavy and his lungs urged him to accelerate his breathing. Was he exhausted after all?

“Don’t think I’ll let you get away,” Sasuke warned but held back the urge to point Kusanagi at Obito again. It’d be a futile gesture, making him look like a fumbling idiot against an intangible threat.

“Are you sure?” Obito tilted his head. This time, the mocking tone in his voice was unmistakable. The man lifted a finger and pointed somewhere behind Sasuke. “Because I think my friend just did.”

Not again!

Sasuke looked back to where he remembered Zetsu standing just a second ago. And sure enough, the weed had actually escaped. And with him, the artifact was gone now, too. In the hands of Kaguya’s demon spawn of all people. This couldn’t be happening. The artifact was too powerful. Too dangerous.

What should he do? Ignore Obito and let him be so that Sasuke could hunt for Zetsu and the artifact? Itachi would be fine with the masked man. Safe even. He doubted the boy was in any real danger with his Akatsuki comrades around. But how would he track Zetsu down, to begin with? For all he knew, Zetsu could just merge with his surroundings and become completely undetectable and it didn't seem like Sasuke's Sharingan would hold out that long. Without a (well-rested) sensor type around, all the effort would be in vain.

Focus, Sasuke! Focus on what you still can do.

Killing Obito would be… reckless, to say the least. Sasuke had gone completely overboard with his Amaterasu from before and it had been more of a gut reaction than anything. While Obito did survive an Amaterasu to the face before, Sasuke shouldn’t necessarily try his luck. Not that he had any “luck” to begin with.

However small it may be, there was still a chance that everything could work out in the end - provided Sasuke managed to stay calm, capture Obito and Zetsu, erase their memories, and yank them back to their own time. Totally child's play.

Only issue was that Sasuke was anything but calm. And for some reason, he could barely feel his chakra. The Uchiha had realized by now that it had been drained. But why? How?

He heard a quiet yelp from behind him. It seemed that Obito had snuck around him, past him, behind Itachi. Now back to being tangible again, his blade was pressing against his brother's small neck, a drop of red already trailing down the pale skin. Sasuke’s eye widened.

Itachi? Why is he using Itachi? Why would Obito take him as a hostage? The two were supposed to be on the same team, weren’t they?

The teenager seemed just as confused as his brother and was struggling to keep up with everything that was going on around him. His trembling fingers, covered in bruises from previous fights, were clinging onto Obito’s arm that had wrapped around his body. He probably didn’t even know whether to struggle against the masked man or just let him do as he pleased. He was supposed to be the boy's superior, after all.

“Careful,” Obito spoke, “wouldn’t want to waste potential spares, now would you?”

To specify what he meant, he lifted the blade away from the boy’s neck and pointed it to Itachi’s forehead - his eyes - instead.

Spares. He called him “spares”.

Sasuke's eyes darkened.

So the masked man thought that Itachi was a pair of spare parts to him?

Sasuke wanted to scream at him but knew he shouldn't. Now was not the time for that.

He couldn’t gather enough chakra to cast Amenotejikara. And even then, there was a good chance it would fail. He didn’t want to know what kind of effect the jutsu would have if Obito tried to counter with Kamui. At best it wouldn't work at all. At worst, he'd find himself in the Kamui dimension or their bodies merged somehow.

But what other options did he have? He ground his teeth, wishing it were Obito’s bones instead.

“Don’t worry. I won’t kill him,” Obito assured. “Just let me leave in peace and you won’t have to worry about the boy. Do we have a deal?”

Wherever Obito had gotten the idea that Itachi meant anything to him, using him as leverage had been the strategically best choice. Even if not for the reason Obito thought it was. Partially. Because as much as it hurt, in the grand scheme of things, Itachi’s eyes were more important to the timeline than his life. A fact that Sasuke had painfully reminded himself of over the course of the previous day.

Looking at the boy once more, he noticed an uncharacteristic amount of uncertainty, perhaps fear in his brother's eyes. Not as intense as when he thought Sasuke was a Root agent, but still visible. It was hard to watch. With a sigh, the elder nodded, agreeing to Obito’s terms. It was beyond infuriating. Humiliating, even. But it was the only choice he had.

“Wonderful,” Obito said with a slight chuckle and began slowly drawing himself back into his Kamui behind his hostage. Sasuke watched, hating himself for letting the man escape, especially now that he stood on a silver platter while using Kamui, as it forced him to become material again. But also, he was relieved, because it meant that the other man would keep his filthy hands off his child brother.

The tip of the sword remained at Itachi’s head until the very end, threatening to gauge his eyes and brains out if Sasuke made a sudden move. Only once the fake Madara was gone, it fell to the ground with a piercing, echoing clang, like a bell signaling the end of a match.

Obito had officially made his escape. Escaped from Sasuke. Was free to roam in this world once more. The one man who had single-handedly caused a world war in the past and nearly caused the end of the world.

Had Sasuke ever failed worse or was this a new low, even for him?

Just a moment later, Itachi’s knees wobbled and hit the ground as well, right next to the sword, trembling – either from the adrenaline rush or the pain of his injuries, Sasuke assumed. The younger Uchiha didn’t look up. His eyes were glued to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Sasuke asked and took a tentative step forward.

“Who are..." He mumbled, words soft and quiet, his voice nearly gone after all this chaos just mercilessly crashing down on him. "Who are you?”

Chapter Text

Itachi was barely given the time to process one thing before getting thrust into the next mess. A reveal here, a betrayal there. He felt like a playball - A toy for forces beyond his control. Not the first time this had happened to him, but humbling nevertheless.

Oh. And of course Indra had a Mangekyo Sharingan. Itachi hadn't seen the eye itself but the Amaterasu cast on the temple walls was more than telling. But more importantly, was Indra's ability to de- and reactivate his Sharingan proof of being an Uchiha? Or was there a more reasonable explanation?

Itachi couldn't think of much if any. The truth began to set in.

With the pressure of Madara's sword on him gone, Itachi sank to his knees. His injuries stung, felt worse whenever he stood up, made his body tremble, made it wait to give in and collapse on the ground right here, right now. The young Uchiha managed to keep himself on his fours, weakly pushing himself up against the ground.

He made a mental note to ask Indra for another dose of painkillers, should that still be an option.

“Are you okay?” Indra asked in a concerned tone that just had to be fake.

Even though it should be impossible, Indra was an Uchiha with nearly absolute certainty. Surely, that meant Indra must hate Itachi for what he had done. Speaking of which, the swordsman’s hatred for Danzo now seemed more plausible than ever. The revelation of the origins of Indra’s blood was lending the man's backstory an entirely new dimension. And since Itachi was the one who had helped Danzo erase said blood - Indra's clan - from the face of the earth, he was just as much of a culprit as the loathed village elder.

Of course, there was a slight possibility, still, that Indra and Danzo had managed to work past their hatred and had formed some sort of secret arrangement. But an arrangement for what? And Itachi also had never heard of another Uchiha in ROOT, let alone two in the form of Indra and the swordsman's brother.

“Who are..." He could barely hear himself, voice so small and tired, it was not easy to squeeze the words from his throat. "Who are you?”

Arms shaking slightly, he sat himself back up on the ground. Previously overshadowed by the sheer agony the rest of his body was in, he noticed his neck burning slightly. And there was something wet trailing down his skin, too. Itachi lifted his bound hands to brush one of them over the cut.

The older shinobi didn’t respond right away and Itachi could already tell that Indra wouldn’t give him any answers this time around either. It'd be another senseless back and forth between the two, Itachi desperately digging for answers while Indra stubbornly kept refusing them or changing the subject. “It’s… There is little use in explaining that. You probably wouldn’t even believe me.”

As expected, no progress. Itachi’s hand came back from his neck, fingers smeared in a thin, shiny layer of blood. But it didn’t appear serious enough to waste any time on it. “I already know that-“

“Let me see,” Indra cut him off, not bothering to listen, and kneeled down on the dirt in front of the younger shinobi.

As he saw the older man uninvitedly reaching for his face, Itachi’s body froze alongside the blood in his veins, not sure whether to struggle or just… let himself be touched and prodded like some sort of medical dummy.

And let him pluck out your eyes, a voice inside his head warned. The image of a one-eyed Shisui flickered before his mind.

He screwed his eyelids shut, waiting for them to be paired open, only for Indra’s hand to instead cup his cheek in a way that felt almost… careful? Gentle? Itachi hesitantly opened his eyes again and watched closely, not trusting the other Uchiha’s intentions for even a second. With a little bit of pressure, Indra turned Itachi’s head to the side and slightly upwards so that his neck was exposed. Itachi gulped. The older man's eyes trailed over the shallow cut, inspecting the new wound.

“Nothing serious,” the swordsman correctly observed and let go of Itachi’s face. A small, quiet breath he was holding slipped past his teeth. Actually, one slipped past both his own as well as Indra's teeth. That made a total of two. And Itachi could have sworn that, just now, the older shinobi’s shoulder dropped by a little.

Was that man relieved?

Admittedly, the human neck was home to the Carotid Arteries. If one of those had been cut, a person could easily bleed to death. Which would be quite the waste, considering the excessive care and effort Indra had already put into capturing Itachi and keeping him alive. But Itachi doubted that Indra’s worry was stemming from a genuine place of concern or empathy for his captive.

With a frown, he watched as Indra turned his attention elsewhere. Nothing new about that one. No way Indra Uchiha could possibly be upfront with his prisoner, after all.

The man took off his cloak and put it aside on the ground with an… unidentifiable expression. Looking around the altar room, Itachi noticed that Indra's spare cloak - the one that Itachi had been using as a blanket - had not made it… into the teleportation jutsu? Whatever had gotten them here, it had only transported about half of their camp to the temple.

Anyway, Indra unsealed a storage scroll afterward, removing a travel bag from it, and rummaged through his belongings. What might he be searching for this time?

Right now, Itachi was back to square one and Indra’s intentions were as obscure as ever.

Was Itachi an asset of some kind? A source for intel? An ally? Leverage? Spare parts?

Spare parts seemed like a relatively good guess. A likely possibility. They were both Uchiha. Itachi was a traitorous murderer. Indra possessed a Mangekyo. There was no immediate blood relation between them to speak of – as far as Itachi knew – so Itachi's eyes couldn't awaken an Eternal Mangekyo for the older Uchiha or Itachi for that matter.

Was Indra only keeping him alive for later? Like some sort of livestock, waiting to be harvested? Keeping the spare parts fresh until Indra had a need for them?

He was staring into the dark of the temple. Empty, lifeless skeletons were staring back at him. Not a single soul to help or step in.

Itachi had realized by now that Madara, more likely than not, had discarded him. Much like Juuzou, the masked man had realized that Indra was a more powerful opponent than anticipated and saw himself forced to flee. Doing so, he would have chosen to destroy Itachi’s value as a resource to the Akatsuki by gauging his eyes out, rather than trying his luck against Indra in battle.

That was pretty much all he needed to know regarding his chances at rescue.

Better accept it now. You cannot change reality, only delude yourself from it.

He would remain in Indra’s custody for the foreseeable future. But if nothing else, Itachi could at least bother the other man. To get a rise out of him. It wasn't exactly like Itachi to purposefully make a person's day worse and take joy from their misery, but he barely had anything better to do.

“So what makes you believe that I won’t believe your story?” Itachi questioned. “Is it really just that unbelievable? Or is it just a very bad lie?”

“Not a lie,” Indra insisted.

“You always lie.”

“I don’t.”

“You are just as much of a liar as me. And I am probably considered pathological at this point.”

“I’m-“ Indra grabbed the bridge of his nose, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth. How much pestering it would take to drive the older shinobi into a fit? “Look. I know that I am keeping secrets from you.”

“I never noticed.”

Indra rolled his eye, not amused by Itachi's sarcastic remark. “And I believed that revealing those secrets would do more harm than good. I wasn’t planning on telling you originally. And fair enough, the cat’s pretty much out of the bag now. And I will tell you. But now is just not the time.”

But when would “the time” finally arrive? Not only did Itachi wish to know who Indra truly was, but he wanted to know his own purpose in all of this and he couldn’t help but let his mind run wild with all the different possibilities, hypotheticals, and scenarios.

A shiver ran down his spine. What would Indra do to his captive once he had no more use for him? Kill Itachi? Indra had every right to kill him. The older man would be justified in doing so - The younger shinobi had taken his clan from him, after all.

But Itachi still had a duty to fulfill towards his brother. Not just that, he so badly wanted Sasuke to be the one to kill him.

Not that a murderer like Itachi deserved to have any say in his own execution, but the long-awaited death at his little brother’s hands was what had kept him going for the past year or so. Itachi didn’t want to give up on that.

How strong Sasuke would have been, the day we finally met again, Itachi wondered.

Indra apparently found what he was looking for in his supply bag. He didn't look back at Itachi. It almost felt like the man's eyes were avoiding him for some reason. With pen and paper, Indra wrote a very small note. It was perfectly sized for a messenger hawk to carry. After a quick summoning jutsu, said hawk appeared on the swordsman’s shoulder. The latter would string the message to the bird’s tiny leg one-handed and with practiced ease. Perhaps the man was just that used to being one-armed. Or maybe he was sending messages via hawk on the regular and had practiced only this particular motion. Itachi, unafflicted by any physical impairments, couldn’t tell, only make his guesses.

Regardless of which, Indra had some sort of contact. Maybe a spy. Or a handler. Or superior of some sort. Possibly Danzo after all.

“Here,” the man instructed, glancing at the bird, “you need to get this to Konoha as fast as possible. No detours.”

Konoha. It didn't make the odds for an Indra-Danzo collaboration seem any slimmer. Itachi clenched his teeth, not looking forward to that reunion. Not looking forward to whatever the village elder would be having in store for him this time.

The messenger bird took off, expertly navigating the narrow hallways of the temple, whirling up dust as its wings surged over the old temple floor. If everything went well, the bird should have no issue reaching and flying up the large shaft in the middle of the temple that connected its upper structures with the underground caverns.

Once the bird had rounded a corner and was gone from view, a different animal caught his eye. A… turtle? Way out of its natural habitat down here. But guessing by its odd appearance, it was another summon. A small and seemingly harmless one.

Indra seemed to know the thing and gasped upon noticing the creature. “You are…” The older Uchiha was visibly stunned. His face went blank and it almost looked like a hint of panic was hiding behind those usually cold and calm onyx eyes of his. Itachi couldn’t help but smirk. Whatever was making this entire thing ever so slightly more irritating for Indra was a welcome turn of events for Itachi.

And then the turtle spoke.

“Greetings,” it said. “I am Karasuki. The noble device for temporal transfers.”

The noble device for...

Temporal.

WHAT.

Device??? That didn't look like a device.

Was it Indra’s summon perhaps? Was that man messing with him now?

Indra stared, his mouth barely but noticeably agape. Finally, he managed to get his vocal cords to work after spending a moment collecting himself. “What are you doing here?”

The summon’s voice was monotone, evenly paced, and robotic. “A disruption in temporal energy caught my attention during my journey of finding something I want to do - The one that I was sent on by Boruto Uzumaki. I came to the conclusion that I wanted to investigate the disruption’s cause. Hence I am currently pursuing its origin.”

“You… noticed the disruption?”

“Yes. My innate connection to the flow of time allows me to detect alterations in direction, velocity, fluidity, or force in its stream – Many of which are indicators for temporal anomalies.”

Itachi felt like he was having a fever dream. Not at all unlikely, considering the injuries he had sustained and the incessant coughing that had appeared later. Or maybe the painkillers could cause hallucinations. This summon couldn’t possibly be talking about time travel, could it? And if so, had they traveled in time? Was that why they had been "teleported"? Did Indra have the power to travel in time at will? Was it his other Mangekyo ability, the eye hidden behind his eyepatch, perhaps? Or was it the artifact’s doing? Was it another “device”?

His eyes snapped back and forth, the smirk from earlier long gone and replaced by a wide-eyed look of uncertainty.

“’Temporal anomalies’ as in time travel?” Indra asked.

No. It almost certainly wasn't. This was absolutely insane.

“Yes,” Karasuki replied without a hint of a joke or sarcasm. “Temporal transfers, or, time travel is one of many causes that can lead to a temporal disruption. Consequentially, I, Karasuki, have the ability to locate such.”

Itachi was feeling unwell. He began fidgeting with the loose threads on the hem of his shirt.

The summon continued. But was it even a summon though? “Has, by any chance, a different device for temporal transfer other than me made any recent appearances in this time period?”

Indra nodded. “Yes. One.” Oh, please no.

“And where is that device now?”

“You cannot locate it?” Double no.

“No. I can only detect alterations in temporal energy. As long as a temporal transfer device is not currently exuding any energy or tinkering with the timeline’s own, I have no means of determining their spatial location.”

Indra breathed out in disappointment. He had clearly hoped for something more. And so had Itachi, even though he didn't really know what was going on in the first place. Some more concrete information would be appreciated.

“If I may ask," Karasuki continued, "is there any other information you can relay to me about the nature of the other device, Sas-“

”Don’t,” Indra growled and it seemed to shut the turtle up instantly. “Don’t say that name.”

Karasuki slowly inclined his head to Itachi, then back to the swordsman. “Is it because of the presence of Itachi Uchiha?”

“Yes, it’s because of that.”

“Excuse me but,” Itachi intruded on the conversation, feeling this might be his chance to finally be given some clarity regarding, well, anything, “would either of you mind filling me in on... any of this?”

Indra’s head turned sharply, not contemplating Itachi’s request for even a second. “No,” he spoke with conviction.

Chapter Text

“Who are… Who are you?”

Ironic. Hadn’t Sasuke himself uttered those same exact words just one day ago? Admittedly, that day now lay at least a couple of weeks back. Or at least that’s what the old bones resting against the temple walls told him.

Speaking of which, their arrangement of the skeletons struck him as odd. He chose not to dwell on it further though. Not until he had the rest of their little accident figured out.

As of right now, Sasuke had a sinking feeling he’d soon have to erase the young Itachi’s memories. If he wanted to erase the boy’s memories in the first place, that is.

He could also just drop the bombshell on his brother or wait for him to puzzle the pieces together himself. Knowing Itachi’s genius, it shouldn’t take him longer than a certain white-haired, novel-writing pervert.

Itachi already had a lot of information to work with, to rearrange and decipher inside his head. He knew about “Indra’s” Sharingan and therefore his connection to the Uchiha clan. And he had probably picked up on Indra’s fondness of the boy. Maybe he had even noticed a certain physical resemblance to the 7-year-old kid brother that he remembered. And also, Sasuke had essentially dropped his entire backstory on him…

Just one more slip-up and Itachi might have the truth figured out in a mere matter of hours, if not just a few meager minutes.

And there was yet another problem as well.

In a memory now central to the man known as Sasuke Uchiha, a single candle flickered dimly in the cold of a cave, illuminating the forms of the two very last Uchihas alive. Leaning against the hard rock behind him, ropes dug into his arms, pinning them to his aching sides. An ominous, orange mask watched from the shadows.

And now, sixteen years later, he found himself on the other side of the conversation. He was “the other Uchiha” breaking the truth to a lonely, hurting boy. And it was no secret that Sasuke had taken the truth in the worst way possible back then. So of course, Sasuke couldn't help but how badly Itachi would take the truth in this little role reversal. This wasn’t just an obligatory “Hey, I’m your brother!” or “Looks like we time-traveled” moment from a sci-fi novel. It was so much more.

Would this boy also trash around and struggle and scream once he learned about just how badly he had miscalculated? Failed? When the things he had hoped to achieve through his own pain and suffering had already crumbled in the future this brother of his had witnessed?

Would Itachi even believe a single word? Or would he reject the truth outright with every bloody fiber of his being? It wasn’t even like Sasuke had any tangible proof to show or a single believable word to speak.

Did Sasuke even have the time to deal with his brother’s problems while two Akatsukis were on the run?

But Itachi had asked him a question, still waiting for an answer.

“You probably wouldn’t even believe me,” Sasuke settled on after pondering for about half an eternity.

While waiting for the inevitable protests to leave the boy’s mouth, Sasuke noticed a small cut on his neck. When he took a closer look at the severity of the injury, the boy flinched. It was a good thing he did. While Sasuke did feel rather shitty about being a source of discomfort and fear for his brother, it was also a quiet reminder that the boy’s survival instinct was still well intact. After the war, Sasuke had often thought about his brother. A child that had chosen to give his life for what he had considered the “greater good”. Seeing his instincts kicking in every now and then to preserve and protect his own life, however unappreciated it might be by the boy, was a welcome change and much more befitting of a young 13-year-old. If only his conscious mind would work to the same standards of self-preservation.

Itachi's head was tilted slightly so that Sasuke could get a good look at the wound. The cut was rather shallow. Merely a scratch, thankfully.

Assured of his brother’s well-being, he released a breath of air in quiet relief before averting his gaze. It hurt. Whether it was frustration, confusion, fear, or pain - something was seeping through the cracks of Itachi’s otherwise perfectly stoic façade. The boy was not doing well right now and the older Uchiha couldn’t bear to watch or look him in the eyes knowing this was all his damn fault. Surely, the only thing to find behind those onyx-black eyes was another pit of guilt.

Instead, Sasuke had to get the two of them ready for their departure. Sasuke’s original plan was to avoid all settlements. Once people set eyes on the bound and injured 13-year-old in his company, he’d probably be suspected of kidnapping or worse. No responsible adult would ever condone such obvious mistreatment of a “helpless” and “innocent” child. And frankly, Sasuke’s heart broke at the idea as well.

But now, Sasuke wouldn’t be able to get around it. Itachi was a liability in his hunt for Zetsu and Obito. The kid needed a stable… or rather safe environment. Not a dusty, old temple or a leaky and exposed overhang with nobody to turn to.

He took off his cloak, setting it aside to fold into a sling later. How he was going to explain that one - that one unfortunate means of transportation - to his brother, he didn’t know either. Sure, Itachi would understand that the sling was necessary for carrying the injured teen through the narrow hallways of the temple. He had probably gathered as much already. But would he comply?

Hopefully, the kid wasn’t prone to scratching or biting…

“So what makes you believe that I won’t believe your story?” Itachi questioned, equal amounts suspicious and oblivious. “Is it really just that unbelievable? Or is it just a very bad lie?”

“Not a lie,” Sasuke insisted. Believe it or not, there actually is no way in hell you will believe that one.

“You always lie,” the boy argued.

“I don’t.” You’re the one always lying, brother.

“You are just as much of a liar as me. And I am probably considered pathological at this point.”

Well damn right you’re a pathological liar but I- “I’m-“ Okay. Itachi was right about this one, actually. Sasuke did keep a lot of secrets. And he did lie here and there. But it was necessary. “Look. I know that I am keeping secrets from you.”

“I never noticed,” the boy interjected.

Very funny, Sasuke thought. He wanted to reprimand the boy but both his lingering concern and Sasuke’s own pitiful exhaustion outweighed any desire to criticize and object. “And I believed that revealing those secrets would do more harm than good. I wasn’t planning on telling you originally. And fair enough, the cat’s pretty much out of the bag now. And I will tell you. But now is just not the time.”

He left it at that even though he knew the answer would not be sufficient to give his brother peace of mind. Instead, he had a feeling the boy’s emotional state was only getting exponentially worse and worse the longer this went on. Of course, it turned out he was right. Because when Karasuki opened that entire can of worms labeled “time travel”, those previously mentioned cracks in Itachi’s façade were starting to fall apart.

However surprised or perhaps even shocked he was at the turtle's unexpected appearance, he pushed it aside, adapting quickly. He had questions and perhaps Karasuki would be able to provide. He didn't consider that Karasuki might accidentally provide Itachi with answers as well.

“If I may ask, is there any other information you can relay to me about the nature of the other device, Sas-“

“Don’t,” he quickly intervened. “Don’t say that name.” Admittedly, it was probably too late already. But that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

The loose thread on Itachi’s shirt tore off.

Karasuki slowly inclined his head to Itachi, then back to the swordsman. “Is it because of the presence of Itachi Uchiha?”

“Yes, it’s because of that.”

Itachi furrowed his brows, now evaluating an entirely new piece of information.

Was he just about to say…

As it seemed, Karasuki had a rather loose set of lips. Lips that may have just given him an answer to his question and might do so again. If only it wasn’t for “Indra’s” constant interference.

Itachi no longer knew whether that interference was good or bad.

You are reading too much into this.

Nevertheless, Itachi swallowed down that steadily growing feeling of unease inside his chest. “Excuse me but,” the question was meant for Karasuki at first, yet he couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on Indra instead, “would either of you mind filling me in on… any of this?”

The older Uchiha’s head turned quickly, sharply, barely even making eye contact with his clan mate as though he was nothing but an insignificant nuisance. And yet, Indra didn’t seem angry. The “no” that he gave was stern but contained none of the hatred or malice Itachi had expected. It had something else. Like the sternness of a father or an older-

Hopefully, he was just imagining things.

The man’s expression softened almost instantly. Itachi couldn’t quite tell why. The lack of animosity however was proof that this could not possibly be him - that boy. He had no reason to act like that. No reason to be nice, calm, or even just polite to Itachi. It should all be just hostility and nothing else. Itachi hoped that there was no reason for that child to show him anything but hatred ever again. For the alternative would bring damning consequences.

Itachi began spinning the loose thread around one of his slender fingers, the string wrapping itself around the digit and locking itself in between the wrinkles on his joints.

You cannot be him.

Then, just as quickly as it had turned initially, Indra’s attention was back on the temporal transfer device. However big his worries, how convoluted his thoughts, or how outlandish his suspicions, the swordsman didn’t seem to share them, retaining his professional demeanor. He was not upset. He barely cared. He barely gave it any thought.

“Excuse my meddling but,” Karasuki said, “keeping Itachi Uchiha in a state of ignorance may not be the most sensible option.”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask,” Indra brushed him off. “If anything, explaining this entire ordeal is going to slow us down. We don’t have time for this.”

Itachi’s eyes sank back to the ground, only to find the fine line of textile on his finger once more. As well as his cuffs. They were rattling with the tiny movements in his limbs. Was it just his aching body or...?

“We?” Karasuki asked.

“Yes. We. You are just as interested in this newly discovered artifact as I am, are you not?”

“I admit, I am. It is truly an extraordinary occasion for me. But let’s revisit the previous topic. If anything, shouldn’t a disclosure of your intentions towards the young Itachi Uchiha encourage cooperation and therefore positively affect your schedule? May I ask what causes your assessment of the situation to differ from mine?”

The older Uchiha frowned, clearly not appreciative of the turtle’s questioning. Itachi had probably already worn out that little patience he had to put up with unwelcome guests and companions. “Don’t you think I have already taken that into account?” The words bounced off the temple walls. “The answer is still no. I have good reason to believe it would only delay us.”

“Such as?”

Indra chewed on his words for a while, it seemed. “I cannot say. Not right now.” The swordsman walked back to his supplies, gathering them for what would be their departure, Itachi assumed. “We need to get Itachi somewhere safe first. Like Konoha. Then you and I can continue our conversation together with the Hokage.”

Itachi wanted to laugh. Maybe cry. There was nothing safe about Konoha for him. The only thing waiting for him there was either a death or a life sentence. Even if Hiruzen was Hokage, he knew the old man was no omnipotent ruler. He didn’t even know if he’d have the resolve to bail Itachi out of a potential conviction. It was pointless. Unless of course-

The other option was undeniably his personal worst-case scenario. One he didn't even want to consider.

There was a death or life sentence waiting for him in Konoha, wasn’t there?

Please be wrong.

For a short while, Itachi heard Indra and Karasuki talking, exchanging their thoughts in the background. But Itachi barely paid any attention at all. They soon faded out of his conscious mind.

The loop of thread on Itachi's finger got tighter and tighter but he had already lost the starting point, the thread too tangled to get it off. His nails began picking on the side to get it to loosen or tear apart. It was too tight.

He pumped another breath of air through his lungs. His miserable cough did not return, yet he didn't quite feel the oxygen he was supposedly breathing, lacking breath either way.

This isn’t real.

Everybody knew what Itachi had done, the monster he had become. They were all supposed to hate him until the end of time. It was necessary.

To protect the village. He had promised himself.

To protect the Uchiha name. He had promised Shisui.

To protect his brother. He had promised his parents.

And then this Uchiha showed up out of thin air. He knew something. Knew that Itachi was slightly less of a coldhearted killer than everybody else was told he was. Knew that Danzo was the one pulling the strings backstage. Knew about time travel, barely fazed at all by Karasuki’s insane revelations.

The only one who could’ve told him - aside from the time travel, at least most likely - was Danzo. But Danzo wouldn’t make a mistake like that, would he?

This is insane.

Ebony hair like his mother. Stern gaze like his father. A Mangekyo with the ability to control Amaterasu out of all the different abilities those cursed eyes could have.

Who was Indra? How did he find out about Danzo’s involvement? Why hadn’t he killed Itachi yet? What other names start in "Sa" and was it just a coincidence or the name that Itachi thought it was? All those questions returned to his mind at once, clumping together and blocking all other thoughts from his head.

Was it all just a meticulously crafted attempt at deceiving him? It would certainly explain why Indra hadn’t taken the chance to make him suffer yet. He doubted Sasuke would ever be able to forgive his brother after all of the crimes he had committed. And it was a much more sane explanation than time travel.

However, something in his gut was begging to differ. Or perhaps it was the honey and natto mixture from his stomach traveling in the wrong direction.

Please.

He was still picking on the string around his joint as the limb began to tingle ever so slightly.

Itachi’s eyes idly followed the movement of Indra’s feet towards the shedded cloak on the ground, his mind too occupied to wonder why the older shinobi was even picking the old thing up again in the first place. The man stopped in front of him. A shiver went through Itachi’s body, but his eyes remained lowered to the ground. The young Uchiha couldn’t bear to look at the man in the face anymore for some reason. Was it guilt? Shame? Grief perhaps? Itachi did not deserve to feel grief.

The man sighed and soon his knees came into view, laying them on the ground. “Look, I know this is embarrassing,” the older Uchiha admitted, voice now noticeably subdued compared to how it was before towards Karasuki, “but there isn’t really a way around it.”

His brows knitted. “E-embarrassing?” He wondered, just what could Indra be talking about? Did he mean “ashamed”? Itachi didn’t feel embarrassed per se, rather just like the murderer and traitor he was. Who wouldn’t be ashamed to have killed their own kin? Only to be stuck with one of them once again and be reliant on their goodwill. Only to be stuck with the one person he had wronged the most. Probably. Maybe. He didn’t know.

“You didn’t look so thrilled.”

Thrilled? He felt like lying down and never getting back up. Whatever came next always ended up being worse than the last thing. So yes. “Of course… because I’m not…” For some reason, he could barely hear himself.

As if to mirror his own voice, Indra’s tone went quieter as well. “It’s just a sling.”

“Just a-“ Finally, Itachi moved his head back up to face Indra, to stare incredulously. What the hell was the other shinobi talking about? Sling? More like a noose. What would they need a sling for? What else could he be-

The guy jostled the cloak from side to side a little. “I need to carry you somehow. And I don’t exactly have many options with just one arm unless I wish to drop or injure you further.”

Oh, so like a sling for carrying? A lightbulb went off inside his head. That made a lot of sense, actually. Itachi doubted he was in any good condition to walk and neither did he think just one arm was enough to carry an entire person comfortably. He didn’t know whether it was at all acceptable for him to take the offer. But in the end, he nodded his head regardless.

Indra lifted his eyebrow in surprise. “You… You don’t mind?”

Itachi shook his head slightly. Even if he were to mind, he didn’t have it in him to protest right now. He was so exhausted and in pain still. Not only that, he had been plunged into a sea of uncertainty, drowning in hundreds of questions as well as the countless feelings accompanying them. Should he struggle to stay afloat? Or just give up and let himself sink further, now that he thought he had finally caught a glimpse of the pitch-black bottom?

After so many failed attempts, Itachi found it easier to just let go.

“I see,” Indra replied. “I didn’t really expect that…”

What if this man was truly his brother? What if it was Sasuke?

Why would he be here? Why was he doing this? How much did he know? Why wasn’t he using his chance to kill the man who had slaughtered his family?

Was it because he didn’t want to damage his future eyes? Or maybe he was just that concerned about the consistency of the timeline?

There was a dull snapping-like sound each time Itachi's nail brushed and dug against the string attached to his digit.

The older Uchiha reached out a hand, as though he was asking for something. But when Itachi did not react, the man reached further, taking the younger Uchiha’s hand in his own. Itachi let him. He was the older man's prisoner, wasn't he? There was nothing to do either way other than give in.

Unexpectedly, he felt the light ripple of lightning on his finger and the ring of thread came off in an instant. “W-why…” He stopped and took a long breath. Let it soak in all of those troubling feelings that had been building up inside of him up until this point. “Why are you doing this?”

The man tilted his head. “When a thread or a hair wraps around a limb too tightly, that can cause tourniquet-syndro-“

His chest tightened up and his eyes began to sting, but he squeezed and still managed to squeak out that last word. “Sasuke.”

Chapter Text

”Sasuke.”

A word that used to ring of nothing but home to him, today somehow got lost on its journey and ended up in this strange place. A place it should be alien in.

That word didn’t belong here. It was wrong in this place. And at the same time, it very much wasn't. It was right. Real. His gut and mind had finally agreed on one truth, only for his heart to doubt it all over again and to object to whatever they were telling him. Had the stars really aligned? Had they sent his now adult little brother back in time just for them to meet? It was both too good and too horrible to be true. What were the odds for a miracle and disaster like this?

These hallways were dark and gloomy. The air was stale. A sword with a small trace of blood on its edge lay just a couple of feet away to the side. A couple of feet further than where it had dropped originally. When had it been moved?

His physical condition was as bad as ever. The breathy, raspy sounds he had made were just pitiful excuses for words and for a second he wondered if Sasuke had even heard him at all.

Sasuke. No. Evidently, that word did not belong here. People say there's a time and place for everything and that word was just too nice for this place. It belonged somewhere else. Some place nicer.

Somewhere in a small, cool forest. For once, where weapons were not stuck to dark crimson blood and gore but merely to the vibrant scarlet rings of practice targets.

“Sasuke, we have to go.”

Or maybe they were not even training. Just playing. A game of hide and seek where people did not disappear for years or longer but merely until found by their brothers or called home for dinner.

“Good try, Sasuke.”

Or they were perched on the edge of the engawa, where they could watch father’s koi fish swirling after each other’s tail in a mesmerizing dance because their father was still around to feed them and protect them from the herons.

“You’re upset with me, Sasuke?”

Or they were lingering in the genkan and his little brother was asking him to squeeze in some shuriken training into his already tight schedule because his mission was just a schedule and not a call to death and destruction.

“Sorry, Sasuke. Another time.”

Now he wasn’t talking to a small boy anymore. Gone was the squeaky, bright, and cheerful voice, replaced by that of a fully grown man. He was probably taller than their own father had been - Even before the man began claiming he was "shrinking" due to age.

How old was Sasuke now? How many battles had he been to? How many wars? Did he have any friends? A best friend? - Had he killed his best friend? - Did he have a family of his own now? Or did any of that even matter?

He survived.

His eyes were still stinging and he had to blink them more often than he would’ve liked, yet a weak and brittle smile managed to emerge. It forced its way onto Itachi’s lips, sewing his mouth into a trembling upward curve, shutting in the sadness for now.

Sasuke is fully grown-up. And he is alive.

Of all the things he had ever dreamed of - Protecting the clan and village, becoming Hokage, achieving world peace - This was the one thing. The most important thing. It was what he had wanted the most and needed to succeed at any cost. And now he knew that it was going to. It was destined to succeed. It already had albeit in a time still so far, far away. The day was waiting at the end of so many sleepless nights, nightmares, and voices plaguing him even in his waking hours. He only had to endure until then. Only a little further. Endure, as is the meaning of being a shinobi.

But what about the rest? What about his promises? His duties?

“Itachi,” the adult answered, voice soft, quiet. Even more so than their father’s had been on his best days. Rather like his mother’s but several octaves deeper. Both of them knew that this one name was all the confirmation necessary to convince Itachi of the truth he already knew.

The smile on Itachi’s face crumbled. Whatever feeling had ridden him before had now all but vanished and the seams on his lips tore apart, cut to pieces by a single, strangled sob that made his body jerk and made him retract his hand from Sasuke’s.

Unfortunately, the tone the man in front of him had used wasn’t the one of a hunter, seeking to bring down the filthy monster that had taken his family away from him. Sasuke didn’t need to because his family was right there. Right in front of him. Itachi was considered family. Somehow. Even though he shouldn’t be considered as such after he was the one to take it all away in the first place. Itachi had succeeded. And yet he had failed so miserably. For all he could tell, Sasuke knew that the massacre hadn't been Itachi's idea. What else would make his brother show him mercy? And that was still just the best-case scenario.

“If he witnesses a Konoha shinobi slaughter his entire clan, it will give him a vengeful heart toward Konoha”, Danzo had warned him. ”And then he, unfortunately, will have to die as well.”

Itachi’s tired eyes grew wide. They darted to Sasuke’s hand, then to the man’s stump, then to his eyepatch.

Gods, was that the reason why Sasuke was missing an arm? And an eye?

Did somebody else have the eye? Or was it “merely” slashed, stabbed, damaged beyond repair? Did Danzo have it? Did he attack his little brother?

His lungs were demanding more air to breathe. Air that Itachi couldn't give, keeping his lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, even when his vision blurred until he couldn’t even make out the eyes- the one singular eye of his brother anymore. He soon found his body bending itself forward, down toward the floor as though it wanted him to crawl and grovel like he deserved.

He shoved a hand between his teeth as if it could stifle the water from slowly pushing through his tear ducts and rolling down his cheeks and chin. His jaw clenched around his knuckle and joint, around the same finger he had previously wrapped up in that broken piece of string. He suppressed a groan. Not because the bite hurt but because everything else did. Instead of pain, his nerves only registered a blunt rush of nothing inside the limb. Would he feel anything if he were to chew it off? Or was his mind just too far gone to care about such superficial matters? Not that he wanted to, of course. But what was a finger compared to an entire arm?

Sasuke had found out about Itachi’s orders. If he hadn’t, he would have already tried to slit his throat long ago or at the very least screamed and yelled at him by now like he deserved. Perhaps he didn't even know just how much exactly had been Itachi's own fault. Sasuke didn't know about his brother's failures that had lead to the massacre, after all. Perhaps he was just giving him the benefit of the doubt.

In the end, it was all just guesses and theories that didn't truly answer or satisfy the questions plaguing Itachi's mind.

Had Sasuke attacked Konoha to avenge his clan?

What happened to the village?

Had he learned about the Uchiha clan’s coup?

Just what will Shisui say when he finds out?

Had he lost his arm and eye to the object of his revenge?

How can I ever look father and mother in the eyes again?

Just what had happened to his poor little brother?

I've never wanted this for you.

His teeth continued to dig into his already bruised skin but he felt nothing. Couldn't. Should have felt nothing. But when Sasuke’s hand came back to his, fingertips forward to touch his palm, he couldn't help but shake and freeze.

“Shh,” Sasuke hushed, now wrapping his fingers around Itachi’s wrist and tugging it away from his mouth before he could even begin to taste any blood from his hand.

Itachi tilted his head up and glanced through a wet veil that coated his eyes and turned the world to fuzzy blotches. He had to blink a couple of times first to set the tears free from his eyes and regain some of his vision. Sasuke was still kneeling before him and he looked… sad. Maybe worried even.

Obediently, Itachi’s bite loosened, though not by much. His teeth were still scrabbing over the surface, dragging and pulling some skin along and then letting it bounce back as Sasuke slowly pulled the hand away. His knuckle was released with a dull crackle. A short string of saliva connected between his lips and palm and then snapped as the distance increased.

“That’s it,” his brother said, continuing to drag Itachi’s hand to the side, limp as a doll, until it eventually rested in his lap.

Itachi blinked some more and watched as the tiny, unseemly impressions left by his teeth disappeared, reappeared, disappeared, reappeared from his view. The older Uchiha brushed his thumb over the back of his hand, across the bruises. Back and forth. Over and over. Itachi didn’t know whether to describe the touch as gentle or reluctant. He couldn’t tell, he just knew that their skin was barely making any contact. Either way, he should be thankful, shouldn't he? Sasuke was trying to provide comfort. That was more than he could ever ask for of the brother he failed.

Suddenly, he was back to sobbing. His shoulders shook, not fully jerking up and down but rather twitching involuntarily with each broken gasp of air and subdued whimper.

In a failed attempt to dry the tears away from his face, he lifted his arm up only for Sasuke's to drag it back down to his legs. The man was just being careful, Itachi understood. It took a couple of tugs and a pleading look to convince and make Sasuke understand that he wasn't trying to shove it all back between his teeth and hurt himself.

Instead of letting Itachi do it, Sasuke took over the task, and with his long sleeve, Sasuke reached up and dried the moisture off his cheeks and eyes. It was as though the Akatsuki in front of him was just a little, sad child and not an adult by shinobi standards, wearing a damaged leaf headband on his head - not proudly but in shame. And yet, it was incredibly kind of Sasuke. Itachi couldn’t help but feel grateful. And guilty. Undeserving.

Itachi held still, letting Sasuke wipe his sleeve over the wet areas, not interfering. Soon enough, his face was back to being somewhat dry and he could see for the time being. Some stray hairs were still stuck to his skin, but that was to be expected.

“I-I-“, Itachi stammered, not really getting anywhere with it. He wanted to talk to his brother, finally, ask questions, apologize, argue if he had to. But then, for some reason, Itachi was not the only one to apologize to the other, and surprisingly, not the first one either.

“I’m sorry,” his brother said.

Sorry?

Sorry for what?

Sasuke said “sorry” as though anything had ever been his fault and not Itachi’s or a different person’s that had failed him. But mostly Itachi’s.

More teary stammers broke free in a feeble attempt to protest, but before any of it could turn intelligible, he already found himself leaning against Sasuke’s front, his cheek meeting the older Uchiha's collarbone. With a hand on his back, Itachi was pressed against his brother’s shirt, close enough to feel the small ripples of chainmail underneath the fabric.

“W-wha-“

“We are in a hurry, so I need to carry you, remember? We can talk on our way to the village.” The stern tone contrasted with the gentle expression on the man's- Sasuke's face.

The village. Konoha.

Right. Of course.

How stupid. Sasuke had already said they were going to Konoha long before Itachi had his little breakdown, didn’t he? So that meant the village was still standing, still alright. This was one relief, at the very least, even if just a minor one standing surrounded by dozens of worries still left and never taken care of since the massacre almost a year ago. Or perhaps decades ago, now that they had potentially time-traveled.

But perhaps this also meant things weren’t so bad after all. Perhaps Sasuke didn’t even know about the Uchiha clan's coup and maybe even had never so much as lifted a finger against the Leaf. Perhaps he lost his arm in a regular battle and, possibly, there was an eye behind that eyepatch after all. Everything could be good, still. It could work out in the end.

Or maybe it was all just wishful thinking and make-believe because Itachi no longer wanted to think about any of this and consider the devastating consequences.

Regardless, Itachi relaxed ever so slightly, sinking into Sasuke's one-armed embrace... or whatever it was. His cheek continued to lean against Sasuke's collarbone, his eyes barely peering over the older Uchiha's shoulder and it was not just because Itachi was kneeling but because Sasuke was much taller than him.

Itachi took a deep breath, noticing the scent of petrichor that had gathered on Sasuke’s clothing from all the rain in the past few days. Did his brother always smell like that? Was Sasuke outside often? Further taking in the scent, Itachi also found a slight, barely noticeable hint of ozone that he had come to associate with strong lightning chakras. Would Kakashi teach Sasuke Chidori eventually? Had he taught Sasuke Chidori? A powerful assassination technique would surely come in handy for-

Itachi was drained, that much was clear from the way his body just slumped against Sasuke’s. Like dead weight. He tried to relax as best he could, yet “calm” was not an accurate term to describe his current state. It was barely enough to finally speak a word that was not completely garbled and soaked with tears.

“You… You don’t need to take me w-with you…”, he said with a shaky voice. If this was truly a time travel emergency then Itachi was little more than a liability right now. Taking care of him, carrying him all the way to Konoha, and simply just dealing with him would slow Sasuke down. This was unacceptable.

Sasuke, meanwhile, was already in the middle of draping the fabric of his makeshift sling around both of their bodies, getting ready for their departure. “I won’t have any of that.”

“But-“

“I said I won’t have any. You are in a completely different part of the timeline than your own and you are in terrible condition.”

Terrible condition, he repeated in his mind.

A thought shot through Itachi's head. Was that the reason Sasuke had captured him perhaps? Pity? Because Itachi was in terrible condition?

Steering his mind back to their current conversation, Itachi shook his head. It felt heavier than usual. “You could leave Karasuki with-“ Speaking of which, where was the turtle? He had been there just a second ago. But to be fair, as had the sword until Itachi had become too wrapped up in his own shock and Sasuke had moved it away, probably to make some space in front of Itachi.

“Karasuki will be coming with us as well. That means there’d be nobody to look after you if I left you here… not that Karasuki really counts in the first place.”

Itachi wanted to know why but didn't even bother to ask at this point. Sasuke probably had his reasons and Itachi chose to trust his judgement.

Preparing the sling, Sasuke was slightly clumsy with only his right hand, struggling to properly adjust the sling around their bodies. Itachi offered to help but was rejected right away. Eventually, when everything was in place, Sasuke managed to lift Itachi up without a problem. Itachi's legs dangled off to the sides as the sling kept him tightly secured against his brother, alongside a hand that rested on his back. Itachi's hands ended up clutching at Sasuke's front, not for additional security but because he didn’t know where else to put the two or what to do with them.

Ever so slightly, it reminded him of the way he used to carry a very small Sasuke from room to room when they were younger, still children. Both when Sasuke was still a baby in a sling and also later when he was already a walking toddler but still preferred if his brother took him downstairs for dinner. Now the roles were reversed and, for some reason, Itachi couldn’t quite bring himself to appreciate it. Everything was still so strange and wrong in a way he couldn't quite comprehend. This was his brother but it was not his little brother. He missed the child who wasn't here. The one he hadn't seen in almost a year. The one he now wasn't so sure whether he'd see him again.

Nevertheless, Itachi let himself be carried, still drying his tears in Sasuke’s shirt as they went on their way to leave the old, abandoned temple.

Chapter Text

“Men don’t cry”, they say.

Nobody ever sees a man cry. Except when they do, something truly devastating must have occurred. A man will only cry if the hurt has torn through all his layers of iron-hard, barb-wired, pain-numbed defenses. Knowing this, watching a man cry really tugs at your heartstrings. Or so he’d been told.

“Child, don’t cry,” they say.

Nobody ever wishes to see a child cry. Except some people are vile and watch in glee or apathy. Making a child cry like that means tearing through layers of tender, sweet, vibrant dreams. And they do it still. Knowing this, watching a child cry really tugs at your heartstrings. Or so he’d been told.

And then there are children, told to be men, with iron-hard, barbed-wired, pain-numbed defenses and tender, sweet, vibrant dreams, and their lives are so devastating, and people so vile, you’d think the sight of their tears would rip people’s hearts straight from their chests. But no. Instead, they call them “fully fledged shinobi” as both a praise and an excuse.

Each of the sobs he heard was proof of a world - this world - ruled by the uncaring and the ignorant. A system designed to make time for wars and conspiracies, but none for the crying and hurting.

He wrapped his cape around the both of them, turning it into a makeshift sling once more, and forced himself to ignore the teary stammers as though he were one of the uncaring and ignorant instead. Just like the others, just like the rest of the world, though not really.

This was different, he knew, but it also was not.

Sasuke hadn’t wanted Itachi to learn the truth this way. He really had not. He had wanted to be there for Itachi, talk to him, comfort him, and give him the time to process and the space to retreat - only for time and space themselves to have made different plans for them entirely. Now, two Akatsukis were on the run, a dangerous artifact lost and in enemy possession, a potentially world-ending crisis on its way, and a young Itachi left to grapple with his grief, doubts, and regrets all on his own. Just like always.

He had not wanted it to be here. Not now. Not this fast. Not in this state.

Not when I don’t have the time, he thought, shame welling up inside of him. Again, this was different. But it also was not. For Sasuke himself, sidelining Itachi’s needs was a first - but in the grand scheme of things, it was one time in a long line of times when Itachi’s needs and feelings got pushed to the side because, somehow, it was always Itachi’s feelings that were inconvenient to attaining and preserving world peace. And today, after Itachi had been an inconvenience to every other adult in his life, he was finally an inconvenience to Sasuke. And Sasuke realized that he had been ever since the now-elder had come to the past.

Again, this was different, but it also was not. Sasuke felt for Itachi, he cared for him, and he loved him. But where was the proof of that? Sasuke would be seeing to it that Itachi received the help he needed. But then what? Would he send the boy back to his own time again, abandoning the child just like Hiruzen had done before him?

His mind made another lap through that world of doubts and grief he had briefly visited at the civilian village. That world he would only be visiting briefly this time as well.

Sling secured and the child in his hold adjusted, his hand holding Itachi’s head, Sasuke was already on his way. He took a few slow steps at first, easing into an acceptable walking, then running speed, hopefully without jolting his brother. But at this point, was Itachi still capable of feeling startled or even just a little bothered by the things going on around him? Sasuke felt the wetness slowly penetrating through the gaps in his chainmail. Sasuke had only one memory - technically two - of his brother crying, and it was during that night. So, sure enough, this was probably about as disturbed as Itachi could feel, and it was not just “bothered-disturbed” but “horrified-disturbed”.

As he sped up, he felt his legs getting heavier and heavier, slower, and shakier. Exhaustion had finally traveled past his eyes and settled into his bones instead, cutting his breath short and growing the path before him long. Like time wasn’t pressuring him enough as it was.

But alright. Tiredness had its upsides as well.

He had barely tuned them out when the occasional lurches quaking against his hand had already disappeared. Simultaneously, inside the sling, wet sobs had discreetly turned into quiet breaths. Out of curiosity, he pulled Itachi’s head off his shoulder for a moment, and, just as expected, the child’s eyes were closed, his pale face relaxed, and his tears finally came to a standstill. It seemed that melatonin had finally caught up with Itachi as well, lulling him into a well-deserved sleep. Sasuke’s eye softened at the sight. For just one moment, they could both forget the new kind of hell this child had found himself in.

Though if not for the dim light blocking out the warm tones in Itachi’s face, his eyelids, cheeks, and nose would probably be colored an angry red, still. This one moment of calm was a mere curtain, waiting to be blown away by the smallest of winds. Tears and cries were no indicator of the pain lying underneath, and even the dreams his brother had would certainly be nightmares. If nothing else, Sasuke hoped that Itachi’s sleep would be dreamless, at least.

Sasuke’s one singular arm remained glued to the back of his brother’s head, partially for additional security as the boy slept, but also because the clingy child- or perhaps the overbear- the caring adult inside of him didn’t want to put it anywhere else, like his back or shoulder, when putting it into his brother’s hair felt so natural… albeit everything still felt awkward. Not because he disliked carrying his brother or anything - he had never disliked carrying or hugging Sarada either - Sasuke was simply just not made for this kind of closeness. There was a reason why, of all people, he had asked Kakashi “let’s just insult my new team right off the bat” Hatake for relationship advice. Although, in retrospect, it should’ve been the other way around. Kakashi should’ve asked Sasuke for relationship advice because clearly the Sixth Hokage’s love for the late Sannin’s books had had an even worse effect on Kakashi’s social skills than on the respect Sasuke had once held for his former sensei.

Finally, Sasuke got a glimpse of the exit, the final rays of daylight shining through, settling a layer of amber on top of grey stone, and contrasting with the greenish hue that illuminated the depths of the temple before. Fresh air finally touched his lungs, and he took a deep breath as though the oxygen could restore his lost chakra. They had officially made their way back up.
As if to celebrate, he looked down into the sling once more, red and yellow returning to Itachi’s color palette… or the lack thereof. Was it just him, or had Itachi’s skin tone gotten ever so slightly paler? And sweaty.

His eye narrowed.

Quickly but with care, Sasuke lowered Itachi onto the tiles, not because he was tired but because he felt adrenaline replacing the melatonin in his bloodstream. He checked the visible bandages on Itachi’s arms and left leg. White. Clean. No traces of red or any of its neighboring colors. But if his intuition didn’t mislead him, then he was about to uncover something ugly. He yanked both Itachi’s shirt and chainmail all the way to his chest, and, speaking of blood, it was now seeping through Itachi’s bandages.

“Shit,” Sasuke breathed out. Itachi should’ve said something. Why hadn't he said something?

A sudden rush overcame him as he took off the layers of white cotton to inspect the stitches underneath. Most of them were fine, except one that had torn through the skin, opening up a small canal, and forming a T-shaped canyon between the two layers of skin.

To be entirely honest, not acknowledging his pain with even just a single word was just the authentic Itachi experience. If anything, he should have wondered why Itachi had let his guard down so low, he ended up sobbing like the child he was.

Should he forfeit his race against the clock after all?

No- This was by far not the worst injury he had seen in his life as a shinobi, and the blood loss, as far as he could tell, was minimal. And he should know, because he had survived an entire day with a missing arm, and Sakura could fix him up just fine afterward. So, as long as only he got to Sakura soon enough…

But what if he was miscalculating? Itachi had already suffered severe blood loss the day before. Besides, did he really want to challenge his luck once more today?

He patched the boy up with one of the simple stitches he had learned at the Shinobi Academy, Itachi’s body tensing and his expression flinching between each penetration of the needle, the pain finding his brother even in the depths of his sleep. Dried tears, now nothing more than residue, still clung to his lashes, never to be joined by new ones.

“Shhh,” Sasuke soothed, not entirely sure who he was trying to reassure as his own face grimaced with each uncomfortable little twitch, “it’ll all be fine in a moment. This is nothing. You are okay. I’m taking care of you now.”

Perhaps it was only his imagination, but Itachi’s forehead smoothed as he spoke his quiet words of comfort, the creases between his brows leveling out ever so slightly. He wondered when the last time was that Itachi had heard anything remotely soft, remotely kind in his life. His own father had always been so stern in those last months of his life, and he didn't quite remember his mother talking to the soon-to-be clan killer either. Only minutes before their death had they spoken to Itachi with a semblance of understanding, albeit a cruel one.

After wrapping the gauze around him tight, but not too tight, he brushed some oily stray hairs out of Itachi’s face, taking a moment he couldn’t or shouldn’t afford.

He leaned over the boy, lower, until their foreheads touched just like the last moment before the Edo Tensei had released his brother from their world, leaving all of the pain and torment behind for the younger to grapple with. His teeth shook. Despite all those years, the bitterness was still a part of him, even when he no longer gave in to it like he used to as a teen. And then his breath shook instead, sadness taking over. A tear fell onto Itachi's closed eyelid, caught in the dip beneath the boy's eyebrow.

Itachi’s life was precious. Not just to Sasuke, not just because he loved his brother, but also to the timeline, because he was an essential puzzle piece to the course of history. A certain feeling made him want to prioritize one above the other.

He was a grown man, but he, too, had feelings. So did the child before him. They both had. And so they both had cried.

Chapter Text

„Mom, when’s brother coming home?“ He asked, sliding sideways past the shoji door, moving on his tippytoes, and finally onto the engawa.

A small gush poured from his mother’s watering can, falling wet onto a dry patch of soil where thirsty flowers had begun to bud, right there, down before the wooden porch.

The winters in the Land of Fire, particularly near Konoha, were always unnaturally short, trees losing their leaves for only one, maybe two months. The rest of the year was accompanied by gentle spring breezes and scorching summer heat. It gave their garden plenty enough time to come alive after its winter nap and collect all the colors of the rainbow. And although the vibrant plantlife had only been gone for one ridiculously short season, Sasuke had missed his mother’s pretty garden for what felt like dozens of years. Be it the fragrant flowers, the trimmed hedges, or the delicious vegetables - He had missed them all very dearly.

For a moment, a part of him forgot that he had even asked a question.

A slight tilt of the can, and suddenly the flow of water stopped, followed by a short chuckle. “It seems your poor elder brother just can’t catch a break from you, eh?” She turned around, maybe hoping for banter, only to find her youngest pouting back at her. Because of his age, he was still slow at humor. “I’m just joking, of course.”

“Mom,” he whined, suppressing the desire to emphasize his displeasure by stomping his little feet on the ground.

“Yes, yes,” she said, turning around, the silly playfulness disappearing in an instant. With her two feet firmly on the ground and his shifting on the elevated wooden platform, they almost seemed eye-level. Almost. “Let’s see…” Dragging the can up to her chest to set it down on the engawa, metal lightly scrubbing over the wooden planks.

“You know, your brother graduated from the Academy this year. That makes him a Genin now.”

“Kenin?” He asked, brows furrowing. He remembered his father mentioning something of the sort. Or had it been his brother? Strangely, the memory had already faded.

His mother’s lips turned back upward at the mispronunciation. Adorable, one might say. In amusement, she ruffled the little boy’s hair, making him stumble backwards from the surprise gesture. “Yes, a Genin. That means he is a big boy now - A ninja. But being a ninja is pretty hard work, you see. From now on, he won’t be spending as much time at home anymore.”

Not anymore? Why was he always the last one to be told about such things? Important things at that. His expression fell, realizing that this meant Itachi would have less time to play from now on.

Mikoto took note, all but reading her youngest’s mind. The smile never left her face, but mixed with something akin to pity - Pitying the wrong child. “I’m sure he’ll make time for you. And if you want me to, then I can make some time instead and-”

“No!” He exclaimed, interrupting his mother. But the protest had come out louder, stronger than intended. Shocked by his own insolence, he clasped both hands over his mouth, heat rising to his cheeks, all the way to his ears. His mother raised an eyebrow, curiously waiting for little Sasuke to explain the reason for his upset. “I mean,” he continued bashfully, searching for something else to look at, like the pretty red flower at the woman’s feet, “he gotta play, right? All kids do.” For his own sake, not mine, he mentally added.

Finally, an answer to the mystery, though it made her sigh at the boy’s naivety. It was not in her nature to blame her children for their misunderstandings. Equally, it was not in her nature to break those bitter truths to them. “Play is… something that’s supposed to prepare you for the adult world. Toy blocks teach you how to spell or how to build little houses and towers, toy dolls teach you how to love and care for a real baby, and toy kunai teach you how to hold real kunai. It’s not just for fun’s sake, but a lesson for before you become an adult… or maybe it is fun exactly because it teaches you the things adults do.”

Well, that still didn’t make much sense. “But Itachi isn’t an adult, is he? And he is lots shorter than Shisui, too!” In a display of Shisui’s tallness, the toddler swung his arms up in the air, his shirt tensing and following the movement until it revealed the belly button it was supposed to cover.

“Itachi… well,” She searched for the right words, her eyes wandering over nothing in particular. Looking at her son, stomach on display, she poked at the baby fat, earning a small “eep” from the child. For somebody with such little understanding of humor, he was quite entertaining in his dramatics. “Itachi is different. A fast learner,” she concluded. “He never needed to play much - He would much rather train, anyway. He doesn’t mind and never really did. Trust me on that, okay?”

His lip wobbled ever so slightly, though he mumbled a quiet “kay”, repeating after his mother. In retrospect, Sasuke really did not remember Itachi ever pushing a toy around without his little brother’s involvement. Never had Itachi touched a plushie without drawing a giggle from his brother, never had he struck a pose without earning his awe. Had Itachi really not cared for their games, all the way until now? Not in the same way that little Sasuke had?

Suddenly, though not exactly painful, he felt a flick to his nose. Startled, he held his face, bewildered eyes staring up at the woman who was supposed to comfort him. Instead, she smiled mischievously. “That’s what Itachi always does, isn’t it?”

His eyes filled with surprise, confusion, as well as understanding. Everything all at once. “Nooo,” he protested. She had gotten it totally wrong! So, so wrong! To demonstrate, he scurried forward, making sure not to fall off the edge of the engawa, and jabbed his fingers against his mother’s forehead. “That’s what he does. See?” He repeated the motion, just for clarity’s sake.

The woman chuckled, patting her son’s head in praise. Who had thought she’d ever receive a lecture from her own toddler? “Yes, I guess that’s how Itachi does it. You’re such a smart little boy. Thank you for teaching me.”

By the time the sun had traveled behind the house, casting a shadow over them, Sasuke had seated himself on the engawa, watching his mother as she worked diligently. Whatever the purpose of “playing” may be, there were no toy flowers growing inside their garden. He didn’t quite know what his mother was doing - why she was burying old, rotting remains of food into the ground or tying the young flowers’ necks to thin, little sticks in the ground - so, rather than accidentally killing any plants, he observed carefully. Itachi was still a child, but he was already doing so many adult things. Sasuke, too, wanted to do adult things. If not as a ninja, then perhaps as a helper to his mother.

Following her form, his gaze soon fell onto the flower from before, red like the Sharingan he had occasionally spotted in the eyes of other Uchihas. He didn’t know how they had obtained those beautiful scarlet eyes, he just knew that relentless staring into the bathroom mirror only turned them the wrong kind of red - the one that itched and hurt and made him want to cry rather than catch some evil bad guys.

Did Itachi perhaps know the secret to turning his eyes scarlet yet? He’d ask him later for sure. The red flower had just begun to bloom, right on the day on which his brother had begun his ninja career. If Itachi didn’t know yet, perhaps this was a sign from the gods that soon he would. Change was confusing, sometimes scary. But perhaps not all change was bad. Perhaps the end really was just the beginning of something new. Only time would tell.

With a crunchy, wet snap, the pretty red flower he had been so enthralled by was beheaded, breaking the spell on Sasuke's thoughts. He looked to his mother, who was moving about with a pair of secateurs in one hand and a bundle of freshly mutilated flowers in the other. Humming an innocent melody, far too guiltless for the crime she had just committed, she admired the beauty of the life she had just reaped. Even if supplied with nourishment and water, the scarlet flower’s days were numbered and cut short from here on out.

Her feet took her back onto the engawa and inside the house. In the kitchen, glass was bumping against glass, complementing the notes that came from the woman’s throat, until she would find the right casket in which she'd keep the flowers until their untimely demise. “Ah, Sasuke,” she called out, finally having found something to occupy her youngest with. “Would you mind fetching the watering can from outside?”

Part of him was still saddened. He had wanted to see the flower grow over the course of the spring, maybe taller, maybe prettier. Maybe he would've shown it to Itachi even. But then he gathered himself, his previous stupor already forgotten. “Yes, mom!”

Eagerly, he grabbed the gardening utensil that had been left behind on the engawa. It was nowhere near full, but still quite heavy for a child as young as Sasuke to carry. As he pulled, the metal can scraped over the wooden planks, scratching and screeching ever so slightly. Then he heard clattering and rumbling. A high-pitched screech. Soon, the world around him lost its color, turning black and numb before ceasing to exist entirely.

And indeed, one world’s end was another’s beginning.

A start.

He woke up with a start, the ground shaking beneath him, wood and metal rumbling in the darkness. So dark. He forced what felt like a mere droplet of chakra into his optic nerves, only to be greeted by- He winced. Chakra exhaustion. And not by a small amount either. Where there was once power flowing through his veins, it was now only a dry desert of pain as his pathways constricted uselessly in an attempt to squeeze and push forth the chakra that wasn’t there.

It didn’t change that the room was dark, however, which was why he had to resign himself to listening and feeling for clues instead. Shaking? Clattering? Screeching? It took him a moment, but Sasuke eventually recognized his surroundings.

Train.

That’s right. He had jumped on a freight train to Konoha- Or what he assumed, or rather hoped to be Konoha. At the very least, the train tracks were going westward, meaning they were moving closer to their destination, even if it didn’t bring them all the way there.

Boxes of various shapes and sizes were wobbling, scratching, and rocking back and forth, responding to the train's vibrations. The brakes screeched as the vehicle slowed. Sasuke slid the door open, just a tiny crack, to see which stop they were at. Nightly autumn air poured from the gap, much too cold for the Lands of Fire closer to Konoha. The forest before his eyes, while of course only constituting a sneak-peak of the nature surrounding them, seemed far too small, almost pitiful if compared to the wooden giants surrounding a certain village that was quite literally "hidden in the leaves". He didn't know the stop, but, according to Sasuke's best estimates, Konoha was still a long way. Unappreciative of the cold, the Uchiha sealed the wagon back closed.

Truth be told, Sasuke had never bothered to memorize the Thunder Rail network. The “Hokage’s Shadow” was self-sufficient. He had to be self-sufficient. Had to be ever since there were no mommy and daddy anymore to explain the way the chores and the world worked to a whiny seven-year-old boy while also simultaneously doing chores and navigating the world in all its beauty and cruelty.

Sasuke was fine on his own. Doing things on his own. Travelling on his own. Travelling by summon or foot because not only did he know how to, he was also a walking liability to any potential traveling partner... He probably was a liability - Or at least he was pretty sure he was. Thugs and goons all around the ninja world, every corner of the underworld, knew and feared the name “Sasuke Uchiha”. And they were right to. What wasn't quite right was that they feared justice, causing Sasuke to search and hunt them down in the first place.

How Itachi must’ve felt back then? Back when he was not on "the side of justice" and every ninja and civilian alike froze at the mere mention of his name and-

Itachi.

Sasuke’s head swung to the side. Although it was dark - yet again, because he had closed the door and shut out the dim moonlight - his eyes had adjusted by now. He managed to make out the tiny figure to the left of him, wrapped and bundled up in a tarpaulin he had borrowed from a cupboard that stood in a corner of the wagon. Itachi was alright now, but he hadn’t been when they had left the temple. A shudder ran down Sasuke's back. What was it with Itachi always leaving that place in a state of shreds?

In his dreams, a grieving Sasuke had always imagined Itachi narrowly surviving their battle at the Uchiha Hideout, allowing Sasuke to patch him up and nurse him back to health, saving him. Without lives on the line, playing savior for his late brother was relieving and fulfilling. Now, living that dream in the real world, it only made his heart race and his hands shake. There was nothing he’d rather do than leave Itachi into the capable hands of his wife, where he knew he’d be alright. And then still, he'd probably feel powerless and useless.

Gingerly, he approached his child brother, checking on his condition.

Putting his palm on his chest, the boy was breathing steadily.

Putting his finger on his throat, his heartbeat was even.

His hand lingered on Itachi’s neck just a bit longer, revisiting the shallow cut that Obito had left on the boy’s skin. One wrong move and Itachi would’ve lost an eye… or a head, cut off with a crunchy, wet sound.

Chapter Text

She was the lone daughter of the infamous Hokage’s Shadow, Sasuke Uchiha of the Sharingan, and the esteemed medical ninjutsu genius, Sakura Uchiha. Being her father’s child, she had, of course, inherited the Uchiha Clan’s unique visual jutsu. Her eyes were proof of the lineage that she descended from, revered and feared by both book and man. However, despite being her mother’s “child”, her aptitude for medical ninjutsu was, unfortunately, lacking – A surprise to some, a well-kept secret to Sarada. Not even her own mother knew how poor her daughter’s medical ninjutsu truly was.

How had she managed to fool both parents and peers for years on end? Unlike her medical ninjutsu, Sarada’s pharmaceutical knowledge was excellent, far ahead of that of the peers in question. To doubt her ability was borderline unreasonable, even if secretly accurate. But again, her pharmaceutical knowledge more than made up for that, so much so that she not only could but was the best-suited candidate to give a direly needed tutoring session to one of her teammates.

In contrast, doubting Boruto Uzumaki's pharmaceutical knowledge was entirely reasonable. During their academy days, that dumbass had ignorantly slept through months’ worth of mandatory classes on ninja medicine and first aid, only to cram everything into his short-term memory, on occasion, and then vomit it all out onto his exam paper. Of course, he would retain nothing! Did he even know the difference between Ibuprofen and Acetaminophen? Sarada didn't think so.

If she had to guess, then the blonde had genuinely thought that his injured butt would be taken care of by his team’s designated medical-nin, hadn’t he? - Spoiler alert: Genin teams generally don’t have those! Cue her own team, nearly dying on several occasions, still surviving on bandages and food pills alone.

Not that Sarada would mind healing Boruto… or wrapping some bandages around his forehead while she stared into his true-blue eyes- She shook her head. Point being, neither was she a healer, nor would she be playing nanny, just to assemble an antidote every time her teammates ingested a poisonous berry. But no, Boruto wouldn’t die on her watch, and she would make sure of that. No longer would he feel comfortable forgetting and neglecting to learn basic pharmaceutical knowledge. If she wanted Boruto to be fine, she would have to harass him into independence. And so she did.

Or maybe not. She was planning to, but as she arrived at the Uzumaki household, all the boiling steam inside her mind was drained to her cheeks as she realized she had neglected to prepare her trusty satchel properly and instead forgotten to pack her material. The notes, the outlines, the pretty little tables and diagrams, and even her self-made exercises, all left on her desk where she had made some last-minute preparations the previous night.

Sending her off with a smug smile, Boruto watched his tutor shuffle back to where she came from. Soon, she’d wipe that grin off his face with a big stack of multiple-choice quizzes. Until then, it’d be a quick stop at home, and then she’d go right back to lecturing Boruto – Maybe a little more timidly this time around, but still very effectively!

But of course, the universe - as she would soon come to realize - was not yet done interrupting her plans for the day. Pushing through the front entrance, a curious little note unsclasped from the door’s frame, falling to her feet, right next to a faint, nearly imperceptible trail of dirt that led all the way to the... living room. As she knew, the tiny piece of paper hadn’t yet been there 15 or 20 minutes ago when Sarada left the house, or else it would’ve already come tumbling to the ground then. A note from her mother, perhaps? But the busy healer had already left the house at five, and Sarada couldn’t think of a reason for her to make a detour like that. So it came down to only one candidate.

With half excitement, half annoyance, she reached for the paper, reading the… quite frankly, messily-written letters. Like somebody had been in a hurry, as they hastily brought pen to paper.

“Sakura,” it read, and Sarada immediately knew the message was, unfortunately, not intended for her. Originally, that is, because if Boruto Uzumaki could intrude on her dad’s business all the time and however he pleased, what was stopping Sasuke’s own daughter? Besides, surely this little scrap of paper wouldn’t contain any national secrets.

“Emergency. The public must not know,” never mind, she mentally winced as she read the words. Never overestimate the professionalism of Sasuke Uchiha, apparently. Encrypt the message at least?

“I will explain things later, but I had an incident at my mission and, by accident, and however unbelievable this might sound, I ran into Itachi and was forced to bring him back with me. I left him on the couch to rest, but he needs medical attention. I’m sorting things out with Naruto and won’t be home for the foreseeable future.”

Her original excitement died down in an instant, discarded alongside her satchel and shoes right at the genkan. She still held onto the note, as well as her previous annoyance, now tainted with a tinge of-

She checked the note again, turning it around in her hand, just to be sure her father indeed hadn’t mentioned her name with a single katakana. She sighed, finding nothing.

It was not like she had seriously intended to involve and endanger herself the way Boruto did on the regular – She had no death wish, after all – nor had she expected her father to needlessly involve her in such. It was just that, sometimes, the days felt like they used to, back when she was a child staring at empty chairs, closets, and bed halves. The mailboxes hadn’t been exactly empty, collecting bills, notices, and ads, but even when filled to the brim, they too had felt equally empty and void. What her father had hoped to achieve by avoiding their home for all these years was a mystery to her.

She shook her head. They were connected in their hearts, and that was all that mattered. Instead, there was a more pressing mystery on her mind.

“Itachi…” she tested the word on her tongue – like a term, not a name. There was no person for her to associate it with, no hearts to connect it with. Conversely, it also wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. She figured that’s how Boruto had to be feeling whenever he heard the name of a pharmaceutical being mentioned, except Sarada doubted that this “Itachi” person could rival the importance of memorizing the dosages of potentially life-saving antidotes.

Or perhaps he did? For all she knew, he was important enough for her father to bring him to their private family home rather than… the hospital? Waiting for genius healer Sakura to return home rather than take the patient to see her immediately? What was it with this mission that her father couldn’t even bring an injured colleague – she assumed it was a colleague – to the hospital? Which one was the national secret, she wondered. The “incident”, “Itachi”, or both?

Nevertheless, her mother was not here, probably busy as well. And importance and secrecy aside, her father also wouldn’t bring somebody home unless they were safe to bring home. Otherwise, surely there was a holding cell somewhere to turn to.

She had to admit, having a stranger at home was... less than ideal, but excitement returned to her the more she thought about this Itachi person. Intrigued, she took off toward the living room door on the right, minding not to step into any of the dirt her father’s shoes had carried into the hallway.

“Hello?” She spoke against the wood. Perhaps Itachi was merely asleep, as he gave her no reply, but without seeing his injuries for herself, he could as well be unconscious or dead. All the better that Sarada was planning to check on him, and maybe offer some painkillers while she was at it.

She pushed the door open, just a bit and very slowly at that, until the blue living room couch came into view. Its occupant was visibly worn and disheveled, a blanket keeping him warm and comfortable, even though the room was not exactly cold. Itachi was smaller than expected, she noticed, both in height and width. Most shinobi were lean, and height was also rarely a disadvantage, but this man- No, he was not a man, was he?

Curiosity killed the cat, and so she crossed the carpet, needing but really just stubbornly wanting to see the youth’s face, when she maybe shouldn’t have been in here in the first place. Barely had she computed the mismatch that was Itachi’s round cheeks, coupled with the wrinkles under his eyes, when her gaze stood still at his forehead protector.

Her breath hitched.

It was a leaf headband.

She took a step back.

The leaf was crossed.

Then another step.

Man or boy, this was a rogue shinobi- Her father had brought a rogue shinobi into their apartment!

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath, turning from wall to wall. No barriers, no anti-chakra seals, no locks, not even cuffs- Correction, there was a pair of cuffs. Though rather than sitting snuggly around Itachi’s wrists, they had been discarded on their old TV stand. So, evidently, Itachi had been restrained initially, except her father had had the genius idea to un-restrain him – that or Itachi had accomplished the feat all by himself, which was decidedly worse.

She snatched the cuffs off the stand and snuck closer. With the surgical precision she knew she didn’t have for medical ninjutsu, she lifted the blanket without so much as touching the other ninja, revealing his arms - Covered in bandages, sleeves torn, dark stains on the blue shirt hinting at bloody injuries. Faster than a Chidori, the cuffs snapped shut on his wrists with a low hum, disrupting the now-prisoner’s chakra pathways.

“Uugh…”

Sarada jumped back. The rogue ninja groaned, protesting the unsolicited moving of his arms, even as he slept. Sure enough, his arms were most definitely injured. And frail. Thin. Malnourished, if she had to guess. Was this what the life of a Nukenin looked like? Some shinobi would probably feel satisfied to find a taitor in such condition, calling it "karma", but really, it was just sad.

The girl let herself plop down against the TV stand, watching the prisoner sleep.

What on earth was dad even thinking?

Truth be told, the respect she held for her father had taken a tremendous hit in the past 5 minutes or so. Worse than after he had pointed a sword at her – he hadn’t known. Worse than after he had called her his “peanut” – in retrospect, she knew he was trying. As for this dumpster fire? She was running out of good-faith explanations. Maybe Itachi had been placed under drugs, so heavy they’d put him out of commission for the foreseeable future - Except he was still very aware of being touched and moved, so much so she doubted he was under the influence of anything too strong.

So why wasn’t he restrained? Or better yet, taken somewhere else entirely! An ANBU holding facility, maybe. Surely, somebody like Orochimaru had a few spare cells, too. If nothing else, even a cave or some random tree might suffice. Heck, for all she knew, her father might've opted for writing a flimsy paper note rather than using the damn phone to call his wife over immediately. Not that calling Sakura always yielded results – she was a busy woman – but he could’ve and Sarada wouldn't be surprised in the least.

Why Sarada herself wasn’t using the phone to call Sensei Konohamaru or another trusted senior ninja, she didn’t really know either. Perhaps she still had some semblance of trust in her father’s judgement after all. Or maybe it was Itachi’s young, but kind of old features, his bloodied shirt that all but dwarfed his body, or the pained groaning and panting occasionally reaching her ears that made her almost feel-

The phone had made the decision for her, it seemed, its shrill melody an interruption to Itachi’s pitiful pain noises. Mom, she thought, sparing her prisoner one last look before scrambling to get her feet into the dining room where the phone was stationed. If this was her mom calling then-

“Hey, Sarada. This is Boruto.”

Nevermind. Again. She kept her tone measured, hoping a healthy dose of distance would cut the call short. “Boruto, this is a really bad time. Can you maybe call-“

“Hey- What now? We had agreed to study together. Today!”

“Not together. It was a tutoring session, not a study session. You are the one studying, whereas I am teaching.”

“Tomato, potato, we had plans, is what I’m saying. Is it because I-“

“No, it is not because you had a laugh over me forgetting my material. Believe it or not, neither is my ego inflated, nor is it built like a house of cards.”

“Well, if you say so…” he said, but not entirely convinced, and neither did he seem all too disappointed over their plans being cancelled. Fair enough. “If that’s all and the study session’s cancelled, could you maybe ask your dad if he’s got time to-“ Beep.

With the click of a little red button, the door was metaphorically slammed in on Boruto’s face. Lots of fervor, no hint of remorse. The blonde was already spending more than enough time with her father.

Her hand remained wrapped around the receiver, thumb running over the plastic device.

Cutting her dad some slack, she doubted that her mom was currently available. Although while she was already there, in the dining room, phone in hand, she might as well give the hospital a quick call. Just to be sure her father hadn’t screwed up on that front as well.

The guy who picked up was nice. His family owned a small clinic in the northeast, though he himself lacked the grades to pursue an education as a doctor, becoming a nurse instead. Perhaps it was because of that, or his soft spot for children, that he had always been one of Sarada’s favorites at the hospital.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” his voice impossibly soft, “but your mom is doing quite a lengthy surgery today.”

As expected. “Any idea how long?”

“Ohm…. Anything between four and five. Your mom’s amazing, but even she can’t break the laws of physics. Well, not all of them.” The nurse chuckled. “Anything you want me to tell her?”

“No, I- Well, please tell her to…” Asking for her to come home early would probably only raise suspicion, wouldn’t it? “…call me back. I smashed my glasses and can’t find the others. I will probably need some help with finding them.”

“Ah! Broken Glasses: Part Two. This time, you’ve even got backups, and yet those silly little things are having you playing hide and seek with them, still. I’ll have your mom know first thing. Until then, watch your step!”

“I'm not a small kid anymore,” she chastised in a joking manner. "I won't accidentally flush myself down the toilet."

"Haha, sure you won't. Well then, take care!"

"Take care."

Beep. With no fervor this time around, she placed the phone back on the base.

So her mom was unavailable indeed, meaning that the young Uchiha would be stuck with Itachi after all. She sighed and rubbed her temples. What she wouldn’t give to actually have that study- erm, tutoring session with Boruto right now. Anything other than babysitting a rogue shinobi.

Who had instructed her to babysit the rogue shinobi? Well, nobody, but just because her father was being irresponsible didn’t mean that Sarada was giving herself a pass. Besides, it was her day off – ignoring the tutoring session for Boruto – and both her parents were gone, busy, and unavailable. Logically speaking, even if not instructed to do so, the duty of watching the dangerous Nukenin on their couch fell to Sarada.

Grabbing a box of caramel-flavored cereal – they were out of cookies and other snacks - she made her way back to the living room.