Chapter Text
Itachi is kneeling in snow, winter winds whipping his face and the chill of frost stinging his nose.
Normally this would be of no importance, yet moments before he was in the presence of the Sandaime, trying to hold his composure despite the wash of Uchiha blood on his tanto.
Despite the erasure of his clan just minutes before.
As he takes a second look at his surroundings, he grows even more perplexed. The tundra around him shifts, strong winds uptaking shards of ice and flakes of snow, depositing the mixture among different banks.
It is not the humid mid-august air, suffocating him, allowing him to feel every inch of the sticky, warm blood plastering his Anbu blacks anymore. It is stark cold, cementing the copper liquid to his armor and undershirt, a reminder of what he just did.
He takes a deep breath in, failing to exhale as it gets caught in his throat. Act now, reflect later, he chides himself.
“Kai,” his voice sounds hoarse, unnatural, even to himself.
Nothing happens.
The sound of wind billowing remains, reminiscent of the hollow whistling of Shisui.
Had the Sandaime – no, they were still discussing the consequences of what had occurred. Danzo was waiting for him as well. So why ?
Now stranded in frozen tundra, he decides it is best to consider the implications of his situation at a later time, his first priority instead being shelter. Itachi knows the impact of the cold will be detrimental if he is exposed long enough, especially considering the few layers he’s wearing.
Itachi is exhausted yet still draws himself to his feet, brushing off the wintry mix that clings to him. His chakra is low, drained from his mission – the massacre , yet he has enough to travel shortly, to make it to the nearest town at the least. He hopes to kami that the news hasn’t spread yet – there is a low chance of anyone willing to harbor a rogue shinobi. A clan-killer at that.
Itachi moves slowly, the ache of the frost pounding his bones as he attempts to find any sign of civilization. It doesn’t help that everywhere he turns is blanket whiteness, disregarding a few trees and hilly terrain. It’s reminiscent of Earth country – Earth country if it was winter. Yet as far as he knows, the courier mission he took three weeks back was in earth country and it’s nearly impossible to forget the sultry heat and the sweat that clung to his gear.
Fortunately, after aimlessly wandering through the frosty terrain until his teeth are chattering like that of a freshly minted genin, he feels the warm glow of other chakra signatures. It seems to be a civilian town.
Casting a small henge to hide his identity, Itachi cautiously approaches, hoping he isn’t walking straight into a lion's den. He now portrays a young adult sporting mousy brown hair tossed unceremoniously in a hanging bun. Unfortunately, he has little time for other precautions, unwilling to waste too much of his chakra.
The streets are moderately crowded, civilians bustling about and paying Itachi no mind. However, their attire is old fashioned, like that of the literature his academy teachers would lecture him on. Much to Itachi’s pleasure, it seems to be a rural town. Information would be slow to spread, meaning he would have more time to recover.
Among the expanse of small homes and businesses, a sign to the left catches his eye.
An Inn.
Thank kami.
Itachi immediately heads towards the small building, the comforting scent of spices wafting out of the main doors, drawing him closer. He will have to rely on the currency he had packed from Konoha. If unsuccessful, he can resort to other tactics – namely pick pocketing. It’s not like it would be the worst thing he has ever done. Hell – Hound-taichou had stolen a whole fortune worth of jewelry from a wealthy noble once on an assassination mission. He conveniently left it out of the mission report as well.
As he steps into the small building, he exhales in relief, relishing in the warmth the inn has to offer. Glowing lanterns light the first floor, a few groups of civilians eating at the tables, some at the bar in the corner.
“Hello, a room?” A woman greets him tersely, looking as if she is in a rush. Her hair is pulled back messily, food in one hand and a glass in the other.
“Actually, could I be seated first?” Itachi asks, attempting to act polite despite the overwhelming urge to just take what he needs and leave. It won’t do him any good to make a bad name for himself in such a remote area.
“Ah. Right over there,” the woman points to a table in the corner, then rushes away, attending to a group sitting near the door.
Itachi walks to the table painstakingly, slowly lowering himself down in the seat, resisting the urge to collapse on the table and pass out immediately – which unfortunately sounds like the best course of action at the moment.
Fighting waves of exhaustion, Itachi takes note of the floor, scanning other customers and exits.
As he lay with his arms crossed on the table, eyes half-lidded, a woman approaches him.
“Excuse me?”
Itachi looks up, his vision blurring briefly. She seems young, mid twenties if he has to guess.
“Yes?” He asks, trying not to come off as impatient.
“I’m a sensor–” Itachi’s stomach drops, his hand finding its way to his kunai holster discreetly.
“Hm?” He blinks lazily, attempting to delay whatever the woman is about to announce, he assumes either his henge or the fact he is a shinobi.
“And I was wondering why you – an Uchiha, would try to mask your presence so obviously in the face of Senju?” the woman questions, her eyes narrowing, a small amount of her chakra flaring as well – a warning.
“Senju,” Itachi repeats dryly, attempting to mask his confusion. The Senju clan is almost completely dispersed. He only knows of Tsunade-sama and a few others who still carry Senju blood. The few Senju that remain are not adverse to the Uchiha either.
“Don’t play dumb. Drop the henge,” she sneers, flattening one hand down on his table. “We are taking you back to the Senju. Afterall, what would a Uchiha be doing following a Senju patrol all the way out into Earth country? Pretty rash move if you ask me.”
Itachi wants to groan at the implications her statement leads to – the implications everything he had seen so far are leading to. Excluding the past, in what world are there Senju patrols? Time travel. He tosses the words around in his head. As improbable as it is, he doesn’t find the conclusion entirely absurd. Though to his knowledge – there is no jutsu that can bend time across decades.
“I don’t mean any harm.” Itachi raises his hands, trying to placate the woman.
“Then I suppose it would be fine if you dropped the henge and allowed us to escort you back to the Senju. I’m sure the clan head wouldn’t mind having a bargaining chip?” She moves closer to Itachi, four other shinobi now circling close behind her.
Of course. He’s been careless, careless enough to not take notice of the shinobi party also in the inn. His genin sensei would have berated him for such a fault. Tenzou-kun and Kakashi-taichou would have laughed outright. This wasn’t the work of a seasoned ANBU – more like a bumbling toddler.
Itachi scans the room once more. One door across, two windows to the side, a second floor, four civilian parties, a very drunk man stumbling between tables. One very good opportunity.
“Excuse me,” Itachi calls to the drunkard who was about to stumble into a livid young couple. The man turns to face him, his cheeks beet red and nose a scarlet flush.
From what he recalls of academy teachings, clans from this time period weren’t allowed to make any rash decisions. Clan interaction with civilians ending in violence would be frowned upon, and according to the textbooks, it was vital for them to remain in good favor with the public.
“Whaddya want?” The man is brash, his mind now focused on Itachi’s presence.
“Nothing. I was just going to inform you here that this group,” he gestures to the ‘Senju’, “would like it if you were to calm down. They think you’re making a ruckus here tonight.” Itachi glances up at the other shinobi from the corner of his eye, then back to the man.
“These folks have a problem with me?” The man squabbles, his speech almost incoherent. He stumbles towards the Senju in large, clumsy steps, his expression one of anger. The civilian then raises one hand, fixing it down on one of the male shinobi’s shoulders. “I’m just tryin’ to have fun tonight. Clearly you all need to go home, you sourpusses.”
Itachi can visibly see the Shinobi’s face contract at the man’s statement, and the female Senju whips her head towards Itachi in fury.
“Drop the henge now,” She hisses, her hands firmly planted on his table and voice lower than before.
Itachi looks back towards the drunk man, now standing fairly close, and counts. In a breath Itachi knocks over his glass of water, splashing the drunk man who begins to shout. Itachi finishes with the boar seal then flickers away.
He lands in the snow just outside of the border of the village and his feet begin to carry him. The light genjutsu he casts probably won’t be nearly enough to throw the Senju off his trail but he hopes it will at least be enough to make them pause. He drops his henge in order to save chakra and begins to enhance his speed, his exhaustion from before long forgotten in the face of danger.
It’s only minutes before he can sense them on his tail end. The woman and the man who the drunkard had first touched. He curses himself, clearly his plan had not worked to deter the much older shinobi.
He was being sloppy. He knows it, the other shinobi know it.
When the first kunai comes flying past his ear, Itachi turns around, drawing his own from his holster and activating his sharingan. The world sharpens instantly and Itachi plants his feet in the frosty, soft snow lining the ground.
Breathe , the memory of Shisui reminds him. You get so uptight, Itachi! Really, it’s a wonder that ANBU allows you in the first place, the boy giggled across from him in the redwoods last summer. Itachi calms slightly at the memory, even with the wash of fear and regret it brings. He can not–will not disrespect Shisui’s memory.
Itachi turns around once more, a brief glare of chakra at his back alerting his senses. A sharp clang rings out across the empty land as Itachi meets the male Senju face to face, kunai to tanto. Itachi blocks and parries, his feet moving so fast it feels as if he is floating. His grip is firm on the kunai, sweat glistening from his brow as he trades blows despite the cold. With a side step and piece of footwork Hound-taichou taught him, he gains the upper hand.
Now pushing the man back, Itachi’s blows are more precise, a sense of calm washing over him. With a sharp down cut, the man’s tanto falls out of his hand and Itachi takes the opportunity. His kunai slashes upward, aimed at the man’s jugular, the first killing blow he was taught. The academy instructors had them practice on straw dolls, his father had him practice on a man merely a week later. He took him out to a battlefield, then told him to slit the throat of an enemy nin. It’s simple Itachi. This will be the first of many kills you make. Do not fear it. This is what is expected of you as the Uchiha heir.
At that time he had not understood his father. When he had poised the kunai above the shinobi's throat he had hesitated, fingers clasped tightly around the weapon like it was a curse. His father loomed from above, scoffing, then took Itachi’s hand in his own and did the motion for him. A quick slash from left to right, that’s all it is, all it takes to kill someone.
His blow is blocked by the Senju woman.
Arriving in front of the man, she lands a forceful blow on Itachi as he hesitates once more, causing him to fly across the tundra. He lands on the ground with a thump, rolling a few times before he is upright, one knee planted in the ground and one leg bent awkwardly. Shit.
He sees her across the field, helping the other Senju to his feet after he had fallen, then turning her attention to Itachi. His hands fly through the signs for fireball jutsu, the mass of flames giving him just enough time to flicker behind the man, disarming him once more and holding his kunai to his throat. Itachi jumps back once, gaining space between him and the woman.
“Let me go or I will kill him,” Itachi threatens, tightening his grip on the kunai an inch from the Senju’s throat. His leg is throbbing painfully, limp, all the pressure put on his right side.
The woman scoffs much like his father, “You don’t have the upper hand here. My men are seconds away from this clearing. You are low on chakra and exhausted as well. Step away from him, kid. We aren’t going to kill you anyways, just bring you back to the Senju.”
Itachi doesn’t slacken his grip on the kunai, knowing better than to let his guard down. He tests the air for the chakra signatures of the other three with her. True to her word, they arrive quickly, one to his back and the others to his side.
Itachi’s teeth clench as he considers his current situation. Really it can’t be worse. Weakened, chakra reserves low, fighting the whole day, and thrown into the past. What luck.
“Lower your kunai,” the woman steps closer as she eyes him, “you’re compromised, even you know it.”
Itachi takes a breath, then slowly draws his kunai away from the man’s throat, releasing his hold around him. “Fine,” he acquiesces. He was doomed from the start of this little escapade. Of course his own incompetence had led to this.
The man is at the woman’s side in an instant and the five Senju close in on him. Itachi already regrets letting the man go. Breathe, Shisui’s memory reminds him as two of the other Senju men take him by both arms, firmly holding him up. Both look to be around the age of thirty, one with dark brown hair and two long, jagged scars across his face, the other with messy chestnut hair styled similar to Itachi’s father. He drops his kunai begrudgingly, leveling a glare at the woman.
“Tōka Senju,” she says, not unkind, then crosses her arms. “And you are?”
“Itachi,” he responds, meeting her gaze with as much respect as he could muster while being supported by two enemy nin.
She nods and the two men lower him to the ground, surprisingly taking effort to not jostle his injured leg. Itachi’s expression must have revealed his confusion because Tōka sighs, crouching down to reach his level, “This might come as a surprise to you, but we don’t enjoy unnecessarily harming children, unlike the Uchiha of course. You look much younger now without the henge.”
Itachi looks away from her gaze, suddenly feeling a prickle of embarrassment. Tōka smiles knowingly, and Itachi is wrapped in a coat before his hands are bound by wire along with a blind fold fitted over his eyes, presumably because of the sharingan.
“Search him for weapons then we will make the journey back. It will be a regret to inform Hashirama-sama we were unable to complete our mission, but I’m sure the Uchiha will be more than enough to make up for it,” Tōka addresses the group, already pocketing Itachi’s kunai.
Itachi manages a hardly restrained flinch when the men begin to search his bags for items, fortunately they don’t seem to look too deep into what he is carrying. Some of it would be rather hard to explain, he muses.
Once the men finish ridding him of his items, he is picked up and placed on the back of someone, arms draped limply across their front side and legs held up by their hands. Despite the jolt of pain every time his leg is jostled, the repetitive thump of travel combined with his exhaustion lull Itachi to sleep, head thumping over the man’s shoulder.