Chapter Text
Although Madara could easily have sucked Itachi into his mask and then teleported to the Amegakure, he decided that he wanted them to walk.
Walk across a vast, mostly empty desert, through forestry and ticks, and over tall mountains and hills. And he didn’t want to stop and rest at any given point, because he wanted to get there soon.
Well, why don’t you just teleport, and I’ll meet you there. Itachi grumbled internally, trudging a few steps behind his ancestor, the very same one who should’ve been dead about 50 years ago, or something to that extent. Maybe longer than that. Itachi was a bit unsettled by the massacre, and he still couldn’t wrap his head around much of anything.
He wondered briefly how useful he’d be in a fight at that point.
His legs ached; they must’ve walked over a hundred miles by that point, Madara only willing to stop for the occasional bathroom break and a drink of water if there was a nearby source. “We shouldn’t stray off my path. You’re slow. Walk faster. Don’t complain to me, you’re a shinobi, and now a member of Akatsuki. You should be used to this much walking as a ninja.”
“You’re pathetic.”
He stared at the ground, a sigh weighing down on his lungs. Madara glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Itachi was still with him and not passed out several yards away. He watched the younger Uchiha for a moment before returning his gaze to the scenery in front of him.
It started to drizzle, “We’re almost there, shrimp.”
Itachi looked up just enough to drive a dagger-esque glare into the back of Madara’s head. The man seemed oblivious to Itachi’s distaste for name-calling. Nevertheless, he followed behind in silence, listening for any signs of life that might be a threat.
The drizzle of water turned into a downpour by the time they got into the village. Itachi bowed his head against the rain, keeping his eyes on the Madara’s ankles as a guide for where he was going. He wasn’t wearing his Konoha headband, so no one would know who he was unless his name and face had gotten into the papers faster than he and Madara could walk.
It didn’t matter anyway. He wouldn’t mind being assassinated by some helpful citizen, or even a member of the Amegakure’s own class of shinobi. He didn’t know how aware they were of Akatsuki members among their numbers, but he wasn’t overly concerned. He was soaked to the bone, miserable about his family, and tired of walking.
Madara was looking at him again, but there were no words exchanged. Just a brief moment of eye contact and then he turned away again. Itachi wondered what he was thinking about.
He paused a foot away from Madara when the elder stopped walking rather abruptly and Itachi heard jingling keys. He lifted his head slightly, his soaking wet hair weighing down his entire head, and watched him unlock the door.
Itachi followed him inside, pausing in the foyer as the door slammed behind him. Madara walked back into the area with a pair of towels that he tossed at Itachi, “Here,” the man said, “Leave your clothes in a pile by the door and go take a shower. I’ll wash them and give you something else to wear.”
Itachi nodded mutely, his stomach churning. This was real, and he really wished it wasn’t. He stripped in the foyer, standing out of the view of the windows, and wrapped one of the towels around his waist. He glanced up briefly, feeling suddenly like he was being watched. Madara wasn’t there anymore. He ignored his steadily heating cheeks and held the second towel around his ponytail to keep it from dripping on the floor.
The warm water was wonderful. His frozen body warmed up quickly as he lathered soap onto his hands and washed away the rest of the faint feeling of blood on him. When he stepped out of the shower, as he had been told, there was a pile of clothes waiting for him. He dried off again and dressed, squeezing out as much of the water from his hair as he could. Maybe I should get a haircut.
But he wouldn’t, of course.
He walked back out of the shower, looking look down the hallway and finding a light coming out of one of the room. Madara was probably in there. He switched off the bathroom light and walked into what turned out to be a nicely sized living room. Madara had changed, apparently not interested in taking a shower.
And he wasn’t wearing his mask. Itachi’s heart skipped a beat with apprehension; he wanted to see his face, though he wasn’t sure why. He knew what those features were supposed to look like, and even as Madara was reaching up a hand to push his hair out of his face, Itachi wanted to know if there was something different. Something that made Madara want to hide his face, other than the obvious security risk.
But then he could’ve just cut the trademark lion’s mane of a hairstyle and looked like a wholly different person.
Itachi cleared a wad of phlegm out of his throat and somehow managed to hold in a sneeze. That three day journey was probably going to result in a nasty cold. He was sure his immune system was a wreck from the mixture of stress and depression since... since...
That day. He’d call it “That Day.” It worked just fine.
Madara turned to see who had made the sudden noise, and spotted Itachi walking towards the dining table. The younger Uchiha sat down and sighed. He had been standing nonstop for hours, and he hadn’t wanted to sit down in the tub knowing that he probably wouldn’t have been able to get back up.
“How do you feel? You sound a little congested.”
“I might be in danger of developing a cold at most,” Itachi replied around a wide yawn. Madara stared at him for a brief moment before returning his attention to the scroll that he had been reading.
“I’m trying to think of a suitable partner for you,” He looked up at Itachi, “But I’m having trouble picturing a reasonable match in my head.”
Itachi sighed, “Who did you have in mind?”
“Anyone but Kisame.”
Itachi didn’t feel like he cared much about who Kisame was. He was sure it was one of the Seven Swordsmen – Hoshigaki Kisame. He couldn’t think of another person in the world who had that name.
“So, you don’t have any real idea of who you want to make me work with?”
Madara shrugged, “I’ll figure it out. I have my co-leaders coming by to help me think.”
Itachi heaved a sigh, “I’m tired.” Madara practically threw the scroll aside and moseyed past Itachi and went down the hall, turning right instead of left, which would take him to the far end.
A few minutes passed and Madara returned, “There’s a futon out for you. We’ll have to share a room. I hope you don’t mind.”
Itachi shrugged, “I don’t care.” He slid off the chair, his knees feeling like they wanted to give out underneath him, and made his way down the hall, going in the same direction Madara had and finding the room. It wasn’t very big, but there was enough room. The older Uchiha had left him a pair of loose shorts and a baggy t-shirt for him to wear to bed. How nice.
He was probably asleep before his head even hit the pillow.
Itachi woke to the sound of muffled voices. Morning light was streaming in through the window, a break in the clouds allowing the sun to wash the soaking wet village in bright light. His eyes were crusted shut and it took some serious rubbing to get them to open. His cheeks were wet and his palms felt sweaty.
He was hit with the recollection of the massacre, of Sasuke’s terrified expression, the blood dripping off his face. Madara’s words; I’m all you have left now. Accept it.
He recalled his dream, Madara tearing Sasuke’s small, fragile body apart to keep Itachi from leaving his side. The elder Uchiha seemed painfully lonely, miserable without his younger sibling. He had taken a liking to Itachi and seemed to have adopted his relative as a closer sibling. Itachi could easily picture Madara slicing Sasuke apart to prevent him from having anywhere to go.
Sasuke was miserable without him. He could’ve lied, told Sasuke that he didn’t know what had happened, that he had chased the perpetrator and hadn’t been able to catch up. He could’ve said any number of things. Little Sasuke would never have questioned him.
And now Sasuke hated him. Itachi’s heart rang with guilt and misery.
He changed out of the pajamas that Madara had supplied him with, noting that the elder Uchiha had yet to return to him the clothes he had arrived in. He hoped that Madara wasn’t going to never let him have those back. He had been very fond of that shirt.
He slowly pulled the door to the bedroom open, listening to the voices. He only recognized one of them, and that was Madara. He sounded like he was whining about something, and he heard another voice, a woman, and then another man. He crept down the hall, masking his chakras and stopping beside the door to the living room.
He stood there, listening to them talk as he took a moment to rub the dried tears off his cheeks. His stomach was churning again, though he was doing his best to ignore it.
“Kisame is the only one without a partner. I don’t see why-...”
“No!” Madara sounded rather adamant, “The kid is like, this big!” He was probably indicating a size much smaller than reality, “And Kisame is huge! He’d probably snap him like a twig! I will not allow it! Not until he gets taller!”
The woman chuckled, “What if he doesn’t get taller?”
There was a pause, “W-well, then I guess he’ll never be partnered up with Kisame!”
The other man in the room sighed heavily, “You make it sound like they’re going to sleep together, Madara. Kisame wouldn’t lay a hand on the kid so long as he doesn’t become irritating.”
“Pein’s right,” the woman spoke up, “Kisame knows better than to try and kill a favorite of his superiors.”
Itachi could picture Madara shaking his head insistently, “Absolutely not. I refuse to change my mind.” He sounded like a child. Itachi rolled his eyes, wondering if the person who had barely been forced to offer him any assistance in the massacre of his clan really thought he couldn’t handle himself.
“I don’t trust Kisame’s temper, nor do I trust the shrimp’s tongue.”
“Well,” The man apparently titled “Pein” spoke up, sounding rather annoyed, “We could split up Orochimaru and Sasori. Sasori and Kisame always work pretty well together, and your newcomer could take on that slimy snake without issue. At least until we find a better fit.”
He suddenly noticed that no one had spoken his name. Did they not know who he was? Was Madara hiding his identity? And if so, did he have a reason for it? Probably not. This was Madara after all.
Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Itachi took a few silent steps backwards and then made his way into the room. Madara looked up, appearing to be awfully mortified considering that nothing serious had occurred in the past five seconds. The duo that Itachi was unfamiliar with stared at him blankly for a long, silent moment before turning to Madara and pointing at him.
“Who is this?”
“U-um...” Madara looked like he was trying to pull a flat-out lie out of thin air. Itachi crossed the room to greet the unfamiliar faces.
“Uchiha Itachi,” He greeted, “I’m the one you’re trying to find a partner for.”
Pein and his partner looked at him seriously, before turning the attention to Madara once again, “You weren’t willing to give us a name, yet you knew he would eventually wake up and introduce himself?”
“I... W-well, he looked pretty tired so... so I thought he’d sleep longer...”
The woman turned her attention back to Itachi’s significantly smaller frame, “This is why you were missing in action for nearly seven months, Madara?” She extended a hand to him, and he graciously accepted the greeting. “I’m Konan. This is my partner, Pein.”
He nodded politely at the orange-haired man, noting the strange doujutsu in his eyes. It wasn’t something that Itachi recognized. He’d have to ask Madara about it later. Hopefully the fact that he was a “favorite” would be enough to get Madara to tell him almost anything. He just needed to play his cards right.
“Madara,” Itachi turned his attention to the man standing on the other side of Pein and Konan, “I want to remind you that I wiped out our entire clan with barely any assistance from you. I’ve been a shinobi since I was 5, I’ve had the Sharingan since I was eight. My height has nothing to do with my abilities.”
Madara flushed, a scowling appearing on his face, “Eavesdropping?”
“I learned from the best.”
Konan turned to Madara, a smile on her face, “So...?”
“Nope,” the elder Uchiha replied before she could finish, “We’ll test him out with Orochimaru and see what happens.”
Itachi blinked, frowning slightly. He had heard stories about Orochimaru assaulting members of his clan and attempting some kind of experimental jutsu on them, resulting in several of his kin being killed. He hadn’t quite gotten a clear explanation of why Orochimaru was so devastatingly interested in the Uchiha clan, but he supposed that Madara believed in his abilities at least enough to pair him with a Sannin who would try and steal his body.
Itachi shrugged, “If you think it’s a reasonable thing to do, then I don’t see any harm in it.” He voiced his opinion politely, “Do you have anything sweet?”
Madara snorted, “You just woke up. Why don’t you have some real food first? And of course it’s reasonable!” Itachi was already strolling towards the fridge, which turned out to be lacking in some of the most basic of food products. Namely dango.
He was severely disappointed, and rather suddenly he recalled that Sasuke didn’t like sweets. His stomach lurched and he shut the fridge, standing there for a long moment. Sasuke didn’t like sweets. Sasuke was the only child in the world that didn’t like sweets. Sasuke, his precious little brother...
“Oi,” Madara called from somewhere far, far away. Itachi crash landed back in the living room.
“Hmm?” He looked up, and almost immediately his eyes welled up with tears. His eyes widened slightly and he turned away, lifting a hand to rub them. They started to ache, the same kind of pain that he had experienced just after he had slaughtered Shisui, his best and only friend.
I’m all you have left now. Accept it.
He cleared the phlegm in his throat again and returned his gaze to Madara. The older Uchiha was staring at him thoughtfully.
“I’ll give you some cash and you can go buy some sweets.” Itachi blinked, and his surprise matched Konan and Pein’s.
Madara was probably trying to kick him out so that he could discuss the arrangement for his partner in private. Itachi accepted whatever amount of money Madara shoved into his hands and slipped his shoes on. They weren’t wet anymore; that was a good thing. It wasn’t raining either, surprisingly enough. Sasuke didn’t like thunderstorms.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
By the time Itachi got back from his journey to the marketplace, Konan and Pein were gone. The dango he heated up slowly, wanting to preserve the texture of the treat as much as possible. He sat on the couch beside Madara, who had shifted across the couch and was sitting uncomfortably close to him.
The oven beeped and Itachi got up, picturing Madara reaching out for him and letting out a disappointed whimper, and crossed the room to retrieve his sweets. They were warm, if not a bit hot, but he absolutely did not care. Madara shared his sweet tooth and the duo wound up spending some quality time chowing down on dango together. They finished half the plate in less than five minutes.
“Madara,” Itachi spoke up, “That man... Pein. He had a doujutsu that I don’t recognize.”
Madara swallowed a mouthful and nodded, “The Rinnegan. Pein isn’t the original body of that member of Akatsuki. Pein is merely a... doll being controlled by another entity.”
Itachi reached out and took another one of the dangos, “You know that ‘entity?’”
Another nod, “Yea, he and Konan and another person who is no longer with us are the original founders of Akatsuki. I was recruited a little over a decade ago, and I took over power almost immediately after the original leader of the organization departed.”
The younger of the two hummed contentedly. The dango had served its purpose of making him less hungry.
Brother! What happened? Who did this?
The moment crashed back through his head like a raging stampede. Itachi was rather painfully forced to remember his slaughtered family. He had, for just a few moments, forgotten that he didn’t have a home anymore. His eyes stung, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. Madara had managed to distract him so thoroughly from life that he had neglected the memory of That Night.
How could you?
His stomach lurched, and he clenched his teeth, hoping that he wasn’t about to vomit. It didn’t seem like he was in luck and he slowly stood up, trying to quell the waves of nausea flowing around his gut. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, ignoring Madara’s surprised shout.
“Oi! Are you-...”
He leaned over the porcelain and heaved up everything he had just ate and whatever else had found a place in his stomach since yesterday afternoon, his personal Last Supper. His chest felt tight as he tried to control the uncontrollable. Madara appeared in the doorway; Itachi saw his shadow.
No words. None to be said, nothing to be explained. Madara knew what was wrong.
He felt a hand rubbing his back as he continued to dry heave, his stomach completely empty but his gag reflex refusing to relax.
Madara threw the blankets over him several minutes later, “I guess it’s more than a cold, huh?” The implication was obvious, “Are you still upset?”
“Go to hell,” Itachi snarled from beneath the quilt, “Leave me alone.”
The older man rolled his eyes, “You’re such a baby. You’re the one who wanted to kill everyone, and yet you’re also the one who left a survivor. You’re a shitty liar, Itachi, so why don’t you tell me the real reason you decided rather randomly to off your own family?”
Itachi didn’t reply, refusing to speak of that secret mission. Madara couldn’t know. No one could know. It was a secret he would take to his grave, and then beyond.
There was a long pause before Itachi heard his footsteps, storming back down the hall in a huff as the door slammed shut loudly behind him. Itachi winced at the noise, his head beginning to ache. He was definitely getting sick. That had to be it. The rain… yes, the rain.
He got better fast enough. The shell hardened again, and Itachi was back to being colder than a block of ice.
He woke that morning after a few hours of sleep, nearly a week later, to the sound of running water. He sighed, deciding that it couldn’t hurt to get up at the crack of dawn. He made the bed, changed into his day clothes and wandered out to the living room. As the water in the bathroom shut off, indicating the end of Madara’s shower, Itachi pulled a glass out of the cabinet and poured himself a glass of water.
Madara and he had fought yesterday. He wondered if the older man was still upset with him.
He walked out of the bathroom without a shirt on, scrubbing the water from his hair with a towel. Itachi looked over at him, noting the way that he was walking and how it seemed tired and lazy, compared to his usual upbeat stroll.
“Didn’t sleep well last night?” Itachi spoke up as he turned away from him. He knew that Madara had stopped and turned to look at him.
“Long night,” was the reply he got. Itachi turned to look at him again, and Madara didn’t turn away. Their eyes locked.
“Nightmare?” Itachi suggested with a raised eyebrow.
“No,” Madara replied, averting his gaze to the window, “Something... came up. An emergency, of sorts.”
Itachi decided to drop it there, though he couldn’t help but wonder what constituted as an “emergency” among the members of Akatsuki. He pursed his lips, wishing that this supposed Sasori-Orochimaru-Kisame combo would get there so they could be reassigned to each other. He was tired of hanging around Madara. Madara was overly-protective, obnoxious, and seemed to have a desire for a restraining order. More than that, of course, was the constant reminder of the massacre. He kept bringing it up, teasing Itachi mercilessly about leaving Sasuke alive and making morbid jokes about the way the blood had looked next to Itachi’s brilliant Sharingan.
“Itachi,” Madara spoke up again, and the younger shinobi looked over at him, “In Akatsuki, there’s a certain kind of code that we use when something’s going wrong. Like, devastatingly wrong.”
Itachi stared at him blankly, wondering what this was leading up to, “What kind of ‘devastatingly wrong?’ In danger of being killed?”
Madara snorted, shaking his head, “No, you’ll be in danger of being killed the moment you start work.” He looked out the window as lightning flashed brilliantly across the morning sky, “The only time we send out cries of help is when we feel true panic for the sake of our partner or ourselves. As a shinobi, you can imagine that panic doesn’t come naturally. I have honestly never had a member make an emergency call.”
Itachi’s brow furrowed, trying to decipher what Madara’s undertone was supposed to mean. Was he worrying in excess again? This was getting ridiculous. Either way, he’d be quiet and listen.
“As you’re probably thinking right now, I worry about you. Not because you’re weak, but because you’re young. I haven’t brought in a member as young as you since Sasori, and he doesn’t even count because he’s permanently fourteen.” Madara sighed, reaching up to rub the back of his lion’s mane, “I worry because you’re young and you’re cute, and you sleep like the dead. You’ll have to be broken of that habit, but you probably won’t grow out of the pretty face.”
Itachi blanched, “M-...” He trailed off, feeling a bubbling sense of irritation in his stomach, “You’re suggesting I might be careless enough to accidentally end up trapped in a human trafficking ring?” He couldn’t help but snap, “You really think I’d let that happen? What the hell do you take me for?”
Madara crossed the room quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “It wouldn’t be the first time it happened to one of my members, though they didn’t end up in the same kind of trafficking that you would.”
Itachi pursed his lips, shrugging off Madara hand and feeling more than underestimated. He could absolutely not believe that this person was making such a conniption about absolutely nothing. Itachi was an elite shinobi; he wasn’t a child. He didn’t have a “cute” bone in his body. He was a ruthless killer, cold and calculating. What on earth did Madara see when he looked at him!?
He kept his mouth shut and listened, “That isn’t the only thing, by the way.” Madara grunted, “You’re...” he cleared his throat loudly, “Precious to me. I care about you a lot more than I care about the others. I would leave this lesson to your future partner if you were the same as the others. But you’re family, and we’re all we have.”
His stomach flipped at the last portion of that statement, “Stop making excuses for your ridiculous sense of duty towards ‘protecting me’ and tell me what that stupid distress call is.”
Madara frowned, wondering if Itachi was still angry about that fight they’d had yesterday. It had only been a joke; he didn’t know why he had gotten so worked up about "you should massacre your clan more often, it makes your face shine with health."
Nevertheless, he nodded and said, “You spike your energy three times in two-second intervals, as high as it’ll go so I can pick up on it no matter how far away you are,” He said, “Pause for five seconds, and then spike it again, three times, two-second intervals.”
Itachi nodded mutely, and Madara continued, “This isn’t just for you, by the way. I make sure everyone knows this call, no matter who they are or how strong they may be. Like I said, if you panic, make the call immediately. It doesn’t matter why; your superiors have an obligation to respond. Its how we take care of you in exchange for your work, so don’t forget it.”
Itachi nodded again, averting his gaze in well-contained frustration, “I’ll remember.”
“Good.”