Chapter Text
He was six when Sakura died. Sasuke remembers the excruciating pain that came with it, how he woke up at dawn to scream and wail as his soulmark began burning hot, how his mother came bursting into his room in worry, and how her icy hands shoved his shirt off his heating body to examine the source of his distress. His soulmark, once dyed jet-black, had turned into a blob of faded gray like a birthmark.
The name Haruno Sakura was nowhere to be found.
His mother’s eyes turned pitiful, and Sasuke, despite being too young to know what the death of a soulmate really meant, felt his insides turning cold. An Uchiha without a soulmate? What an utter disgrace. It implied that he had failed to protect the one he needed to cherish the most.
“It'll be alright,” Mikoto told him soothingly.
Through watery eyes, he agreed with her and willed the emptiness that had settled in his heart to go away. Why did he need a soulmate anyways? He had Sakura. Sweet Sakura who would be home in a week or so. Should he maybe give her a homecoming gift?
That plan was foiled when Itachi and his father returned in full battle gear with a masked stranger late in the afternoon, their steps heavy and their shoulders drooped. Mikoto took one look at them and sighed drearily, the ladle she was using to stir the soup landing on the kitchen counter with a loud clang. Apart from his early breakdown, it had been an inconspicuous day with his mother being unnervingly quiet, tension rolling off her as she had continued on with her usual chores. Sasuke had thought nothing of it until now.
Mikoto raised an eyebrow at them. “Well?”
“Sarutobi Hiruzen has been ousted and is awaiting for trial,” Fugaku replied. Sasuke tilted his head in thought. Although he was young to know anything about politics, he was knowledgeable enough to know that the Hokage must have done something unforgivable to be overthrown from his seat.
Satisfied, his mother nodded. “Now, onto the bad news.”
Sasuke blinked confusedly from where he was sitting by the wooden table. What bad news? Clearly he was missing something here. He looked searchingly at his brother who hadn't been home at all yesterday. What exactly did happen while he was staying in the confines of their house, oblivious to everything else?
But Itachi pointedly avoided his gaze and turned away.
“I have to go,” the older boy choked out, voice unusually thick. His eyes were uncharacteristically swelling with tears as he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs leading to the bedrooms above. A minute later, the sound of a door banging close was heard, and Sasuke looked at his father expectantly.
Fugaku sighed and rubbed his temple. “Can it not wait, Mikoto?”
Mikoto placed her hands on her hips and held her head high, unrelenting and firm. “No.”
“But Sasuke is—”
“He deserves to know since it regards Sakura,” Mikoto interrupted. At her statement, Sasuke's eyes went wide and his hands gripped the hem of his shirt as he waited with bated breath. Sakura? What about Sakura? Did something bad happen to her?
Fugaku took one long look at him and scowled, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows knitted together. His next words came like a rush of wind, and it left Sasuke sick to his stomach and winded, choking for air as he began to spiral to darkness, a sharp pain piercing his head. He clutched at his chest. There were alarmed shouts, and gentle hands caught him as he lost consciousness, his mother’s face the last thing he ever saw before his eyelids slipped shut.
“Watanabe Sakura is dead.”
His father's quiet words echoed over and again in his mind even when Shisui came by the next morning, his own eyes rimmed red as he tossed a folder onto the dining table. Sasuke stared at it despondently. The folder was a light shade of blue and it laid on the table, wedged between the plate of bacon and the bowl of broth, looking back at them with brimming innocence.
Shisui swallowed. “Open it.”
When no one made a move to do what his older cousin had said, Sasuke took the initiative and reached for the folder, fingers violently yanking out the papers inside. There was an audible rip as the papers were torn off from their fastener, and he found himself staring at the emboldened black word written on the first page.
A surname.
And a familiar one.
Haruno.
The surname of his soulmate who had died just yesterday.
Sasuke raised his head to gaze at the curly-haired Uchiha blankly. A coincidence? No one apart from his mother knew of the name that had been stamped on his skin up until recently. Not even his older brother knew of his soulmate.
Itachi, who was sitting beside him, glanced at the name and his gaze turned to stone. “I thought you went looking for Sakura and her parents’ files so they could be buried.”
“Just…” Shisui inhaled, squeezing his eyes shut. He gestured at the papers. “Turn to page twenty, Sasuke.”
Obediently, Sasuke flipped the pages over until an image of a smiling, pink-haired, rosy-cheeked girl about four years old came to view. At the picture, the whole world just seemed to jolt into a stop. His body went rigid. He felt Itachi stiffen. Mikoto, who had come to stand beside him to see what the file entailed, had horror drawn all over her face as she withdrew, and his father’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he regarded the image.
“There is no Watanabe Kizashi nor is there a Watanabe Sakura in the civilian register,” Shisui said, his voice cracking. “But there was a Watanabe Mebuki.”
“Was?” Itachi echoed.
Shisui jerkily nodded. “She later took the Haruno name on marrying Haruno Kizashi. Two years after their marriage, they had a daughter.”
“And that daughter was Sakura,” Mikoto breathed out. She pinched the bridge of her nose in slight annoyance and shook her head. “I suspected as much.”
There were tears building in Shisui’s eyes which he quickly rubbed away with the back of his hand before excusing himself. Sasuke just stared at him uncomprehendingly, his grip crumpling the papers in his hands. Why was his cousin so emotional over Sakura's death? Sure, they were close, but he knew that Shisui was already accustomed to the loss of good friends due to his line of work. Being in ANBU meant seeing your comrades dying all the time. However, Sasuke kept his mouth shut. Itachi followed Shisui soon after placing his untouched plate in the sink. His mother watched him go with a sympathetic look, and placed a small bowl of chopped tomatoes in front of his youngest son.
“I'm not hungry,” he muttered.
Mikoto shot him a disapproving look. “You haven't eaten at all.”
“Because I'm not hungry.”
“Well, hungry or not, you will eat. You didn’t have dinner last night so don't give me this nonsense—”
“Otōsan.”
Fugaku looked up from his plate. “Yes, Sasuke?”
“Was there…” Sasuke clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists, “was there a body?”
Because if there was no body then that meant that Sakura might still be there alive, waiting for someone to come and get her—
His father didn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes, and it would only be later on that Sasuke would discover that Sakura's corpse had been found half-eaten by predators just outside the gates of her hometown.
“The funeral will be three days from now,” Fugaku informed them, placing his chopsticks on top of his plate. “Obito has already collected the Haruno family's bodies, and all that is left to secure is Watanabe Aiko’s permission to continue with the preparations.” His firm features softened momentarily before turning stern again. “Pull yourself together, Sasuke.”
That was seventeen years ago. He's twenty-three now, a man preparing to take his father's place as the clan leader. Itachi, after he had turned twenty, immediately took the Hokage seat, thus renouncing his right as the clan heir. The responsibility automatically fell into Sasuke's shoulders, and he accepted it easily, having already expected this day. Tsunade, after she had been crowned as the Godaime Hokage, had no qualms in hiding her favor for Itachi to be her successor.
Shortly after Itachi took her place, Shisui was named as Head of the Police. By then, Obito was already Commander of the ANBU and the leader of the Hokage’s security detail, a person stone-hard and hellbent on scouring the ends of the world to search for any traces of Danzo. Sasuke suspects the only reason why he agreed to Tsunade’s request to be the ANBU commander was so he could venture outside with no restrictions while taking care of Sakura's inheritance.
An Uchiha out for vengeance is akin to a bloodhound following the devil's heels.
Silly, really. The moment Sakura's disappearance was known, the Shimura clan went up in flames. His brother and father were the ones who confronted Danzo, tearing off his right arm in a bout of madness when they discovered the dozen Sharingan implanted in it. However, despite Fugaku and Itachi’s efforts, the elder still managed to escape with the help of several masked men, thus solidifying evidence that ROOT had yet to be disbanded and was in full operation.
The severed arm was then presented to Hiruzen who was the Hokage at that time, and it was the catalyst to his ousting. From what Sasuke has heard, the old man didn't even attempt to deny the accusations, nodding along to everything the court has to say until the verdict was declared: Sarutobi Hiruzen was to be stripped of his title and rights as a Konoha elder, and was to be in house arrest for an indefinite period of time.
A punishment that was too merciful given the charges against him.
There were many protests, and astonishingly, even Shisui spoke out with utmost vehemence. “Too lenient,” he argued. “At the very least, he needs to be imprisoned.”
But Hiruzen's influence was too great, and the council did not budge.
Then Obito came carrying Sakura's body, and upon knowing the leniency the council had granted Hiruzen, he proceeded to demolish the entire court; everyone that crossed his warpath was brutally killed. He did it all while having Sakura's corpse cradled to his chest. Sasuke didn't see the scene personally, but Itachi’s description was detailed enough for him to imagine what had transpired, and it gave him a depth of what Obito truly was capable of. The man would have killed Hiruzen too, if it weren’t for Kakashi intercepting him.
But that was fine.
After all, the Uchiha are known for going berserk over soulbonds.
And it didn't help that Sakura had four Uchiha soulmates, including him.
But soulmates are a blessing and a curse at the same time to those in his clan. The death of a soulmate can break one's sanity and reason. Oftentimes, they become rabid and incapable of human logic, too driven by the feeling of loss and loneliness.
Frowning, Sasuke disperses the thought. He knows for a fact that it's a miracle he and the others are still rational, given Sakura's death.
But is she really dead though? something whispers in his mind. You know just how strong-willed Sakura is. She couldn't have died easily.
Delusions. Sasuke squeezes his eyelids shut and wills them away. Delusions can never replace facts. Sakura is dead, and nothing can ever change that. No matter how hard he prays at night, or how much he denies it, Sakura's gone and all he can do is move on from her death and rip Danzo’s head off once he finds the old soot.
The sound of china clinking in front of him brings him to focus, and he finds himself staring at his mother who is setting down tea on the table.
“You look very tired nowadays, Sasu-chan. Have you been getting enough sleep?”
Has he?
Indolently, he rubs at his eyes and blinks. There are blurs in the corners of his vision, but nothing too serious and nothing a little bit of medicine can't handle. Mikoto sends him a concerned look and leans forward to press her hand against his forehead.
Sasuke shakes his head at her. “I'm fine,” he gripes. “It must be the stress getting to me.”
“Is that so…” there's a sigh, and he watches as his mother gently nudges the cup of tea placed before him. “Drink. It's jasmine tea. It'll help you sleep soundly tonight.”
“I don't think that's possible,” Sasuke says, but he takes the offered cup nonetheless. A sweet scent floats to his nose and he grimaces, not at all liking the smell. However, he still sips on it and swallows the liquid down, if only to avoid offending his mother.
“Sleeping is important, Sasu-chan,” Mikoto admonishes him.
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I hate the night.”
And with much fervor. He hates everything the night holds, the darkness, the cheerful stars winking from above, the biting chilly air, the moon glaring down mockingly, the voices in his head that drive him insane.
But most of all, he hates the memories it harbors and the vulnerability it gives him. The main factor being: he was sleeping when Sakura died and the village was overturned, completely unaware of the events happening around him as he dreamt on.
At his cryptic answer, Mikoto hums and takes his now empty cup away, placing it on the sink. “The ceremony's in two months.”
“Hn.”
“Are you nervous?”
The ceremony that will mark him as the clan leader. Nervous? No. Why should he be nervous? He can just eliminate anyone who dares defy him of his rightful position.
Yessss, his bloodlust sings, emerging from the darkness of his soul. Killkillkillkillkillkill—
Shut up, Sasuke hisses.
But you want to, yes? the voice laughs. Its claws dig into his resolve unrelentlessly. So give me blood. You want blood, don't you? You want Danzo’s blood. So kill, Sasuke, kill. Let me out. Let me out, let me out, LET ME OUT—!
“If Sakura were here, she'd probably be flitting around you like a mother hen,” Mikoto chuckles fondly as she sits down. Her fingers drum the table. “Similar to what I'm doing now.”
Sasuke stays quiet.
Oh, Sakura, the voice croons with sadness. Our sweet, sweet Sakura. So, so lovely. Why did she have to die?
Silence.
Then—
I'll kill him, I'LL f*ckING KILL HIM—! the voice howls. Its enraged shrieks roar loudly in Sasuke's head. LET ME OUT, UCHIHA! HE DESERVES TO DIE— our sweet, sweet Sakura… SHE DESERVED TO LIVE! So why won't you…? WHY WON'T YOU LET ME OUT?
Deep breaths. One, two, three. From across the table, Mikoto sends him a pitying gaze. Sasuke returns her tender stare with a blank look of his own, completely blocking the screams bellowing in his mind.
“I'm fine,” he repeats his earlier words.
His mother doesn't look convinced. “No one's fine. Your older brother is rarely home, and your cousin acts like a madman now. Even my youngest son won't speak to me about his troubles anymore.”
He glares at the table. “I'm fine.”
Sighing, Mikoto reaches over and brushes a strand of his hair that has fallen over his forehead. His hands clench into tight fists at the contact. His mother's worried features soften. “It'll all come together in the end,” is all she says before bidding him goodnight. Sasuke watches her disappearing back as she exits the dining room, his shoulders drooping when he's finally alone.
It'll all come together in the end.
It'll all come together in the end.
It'll all come together in the end.
But will it?
~~~~
People have different ways when it comes to dealing with grief. Some use alcohol, some use violence, some disassociate, some immerse themselves with work, and some even have sex just so they can simply forget.
Shisui's coping mechanism is a mix of all these.
On weekdays, he locks himself in his office and wastes time by signing documents and filing reports, a responsibility that can only be done by him as Head of the Police. On weekends, he overloads himself with missions that will freely allow him to travel to other nations while indulging himself in bloodshed. During his breaks and forced vacations, he spends his time with the company of women and very heavy liquor. Team dinners and functions are endured with disassociation and muddled thoughts, and evenings are plagued with self-blame and nightmares.
He isn't insane, just a bit unstable. He still tries to smile though, shrug everything off like nothing's wrong, and laugh whenever he feels crying. (He just wants to die.) Sometimes, when he's far too gone and on the verge of drowning, he feels ghostly hands embracing him from behind, followed by a familiar sweet voice dripping with melancholy.
“Don’t die, Shi-kun. I don’t want you to die.”
Once, Itachi caught him holding a knife by its blade as he was preparing his own dinner. His younger cousin had entered his apartment without any warning and was greeted by the sight of his blood trickling down his arm from his hand as he held the knife up with a blank look. There was momentary silence as the two men regarded each other, and Shisui smiled cheerfully in greeting.
“Is there something wrong, Ita-chan?”
He was fully expecting for Itachi to wrestle the knife out of his hand or at least reprimand him for hurting himself, but the younger Uchiha just leaned against the doorframe and watched him with tired eyes, his arms folded across his broad chest.
“If you want to die, then I won’t stop you,” Itachi said, despondent. “Only you know how much you really are suffering.”
“This,” Shisui pointedly looked at his injured hand, “is completely unintentional.”
“Is it?”
And Shisui laughed, tossing his head back and dropping the knife. It clattered on the floor, soaked in deep scarlet.
“No.”
It’s a widespread fact that parts of Shisui’s sanity and playful temperament have fallen away after Sakura’s death. Twice, Fugaku had to physically restrain him from going on an impulsive rampage around the world to hunt Danzo down. Once, he lashed out at Obito for not searching the area more before heading to Konoha to report Sakura’s kidnapping.
“If you had just explored a bit more instead of f*cking teleporting back to the village, Sakura would still be alive right now!”
The vitriolic statement was spoken severely and with much brokenness that Obito allowed him to plunge a kunai into his left chest, clearly intending to relieve Shisui of some of his rage and sorrow. The weapon only narrowly missed the older man’s lung, but Obito placed a hand over Shisui’s and drove the kunai deeper still with nary a hiss. Sasuke was there when it happened. So was Itachi. It was the day after Sakura's funeral, and they had just found out that Sakura actually had the four of them as her soulmates; but her death weighed more on Shisui rather than the fact that she had deceived them so easily.
“Kill me if that will make you feel better,” Obito stated tonelessly. “Do it, if you can.”
Derisively, Shisui sneered at him. “You think I don’t know that you’re only trying to take the easy way out?”
The smirk that graced the older Uchiha’s scarred features was jaded and sharp.
“So you do know.”
Anger flared inside him. “f*ck you,” Shisui spat, wrenching his kunai free. “I’d rather let you wallow in guilt than send you to hell. That sounds a whole lot more enjoyable.”
Despite their history however, Obito has become a firm figure by his side over the years. From coincidental meetings in the market to regular partnered missions, somehow the man managed to insert himself into Shisui’s life without the both of them realizing. What started as a hostile relationship has turned into an amicable one, with Obito talking to him through his grief-hazed trances and taking care of him in his own little ways. Obito’s companionship also extends to Itachi and Sasuke, the former accepting the camaraderie with wariness at first and the latter instantly latching on to him for comfort.
And they talk.
They talk about almost anything, mundane topics, day-to-day gossip, and even Obito’s past. Shisui now knows how Obito managed to survive the mission that had cost half of his body to be crushed, the same mission where Kakashi acquired his Sharingan; he now knows that Obito had actually planned on world domination before he met Sakura, and had already made arrangements and contingencies on how to accomplish his seemingly impossible goal.
He also knows how quickly Obito dropped his conspiracies upon Sakura’s demise to look after her grandmother who was much devastated on the news of her family’s tragedy. Watanabe Aiko died a good five years later after the incident, and it was only because of Obito’s constant care that she died comfortably in her sleep instead of passing away because of depression. The old woman had adored him, grateful for taking care of her instead of letting her be dumped in a nursing home, and even after her funeral, Obito continued to stay in the Haruno’s residence to protect what was left of Sakura’s.
They talk, but they never talk about the blame Shisui recklessly placed on Obito years ago.
“What, can't sleep?”
From the depths of his thoughts, Shisui raises his head to meet Obito’s hardened gaze.
“Sorry,” the curly-haired man smiles. “Did I wake you?”
Obito stares at him for a good while before shaking his head and clambering out the window to join him on the roof. “I was already awake to begin with.” In his hand is a can of beer which he brandishes. “Want some?”
Incredulous, Shisui’s eyes dart from the can of beer to the man’s flushed face, taking note of the healthy blush painting his cheeks. “It's two a.m.,” he points out. “Were you drinking the whole night?”
“Don't act like a saint with me, brat. I know you also drink,” Obito smirks at him knowingly, “a lot.”
He chuckles and takes the offered beverage, easily flicking it open with his thumb. “Fair enough.”
On nights when Shisui is restless, he goes to Sakura's house and sits on the roof just above the room that used to be her bedroom, legs curled to his chest with his chin propped on his knees as he stares at the distance, mind blank. Sometimes, when Obito is home, he accompanies him and they bask in the silence together, offering each other hushed solidarity as they ease themselves of their burdens.
Tonight is one of those nights.
The icy air bites at his skin, but one sip from the can of beer warms him straight to his toes, and Shisui sighs in contentment. The skies are dark, quite dismal and void of any stars. Below, the streetlamps are alight, casting shadows on the pavement and the alleys between the houses. Obito’s presence by his side is a source of heat, and Shisui scoffs in amusem*nt on remembering that Sakura apparently liked to cuddle with the older man.
No wonder.
“What's so funny?” Obito draws out a bottle of sake from thin air. Sages. He must have stored a hoard of alcohol in his space dimension. Without any more preamble, he pops the bottle open and swallows all its contents down in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and reclining back lethargically.
“Didn’t you use to sneak into Sakura's bedroom?”
“Ah yes,” Obito hums thoughtfully. “What about it?”
“Nothing.” Shisui takes another sip of his beer. “Did you ever bring her up here?”
“No,” Obito admits. “She preferred cuddling in her bed than stargazing.”
Amused, Shisui snorts. “That's because you kept seeing her at midnight. What kind of person would visit a child in the middle of the night?”
“Me apparently.”
“Idiot.”
“Watch it, brat.”
They enjoy another bout of silence, indulging themselves in their respective beverages. Obito, after much prompting from Shisui, summons a crate of expensive sake from his pocket space and sets it down between them. Soon enough, the both of them are tipsy, nursing their drinks as quickly as Sakura would golf down a plate of sweets. Unsurprisingly, Obito is the first to pass out, and Shisui, with all the glee of a mischievous child, pokes at the man’s reddened cheeks and giggles.
Over the horizon, the sun rises, and with its appearance, the birds all come to life, singing from their branches and nests. Slowly, the streetlamps flicker off, and the rumble of the whole village awaking is heard. A baby's piercing cry. The clatter of wheels as a baker begins making his daily rounds of selling fresh and hot bread around the neighborhood. The sound of a broom sweeping away fallen leaves. Even the sharp whistle of a boiling kettle.
Another day, another life.
And with it marks the ending of Sakura's seventeenth death anniversary.
~~~~
Twenty-eight-year-old Uchiha Itachi isn’t the type of man to engage in vices that will deteriorate his health. His lungs, which Sakura healed a long time ago, is a constant reminder for him to take care of his well-being to the best he can. So instead of drinking or smoking his sorrows away, he instead delves into his responsibilities with no regard for time or leisure.
He doesn’t judge Shisui when he becomes thoroughly intoxicated with sex and alcohol after a severely long day, nor does he reprimand Obito when he catches him smoking on the balcony during his short breaks from guard duty. Neither does he admonish Sasuke whenever he sees him gambling with his friends on the rare evenings he’s free. Everyone has a way of coping with anguish, and he isn’t one to criticize.
How can he when he’s in the same state as them?
But still. Itachi makes sure to steer away from any habits that can ruin him permanently, even with his older cousin’s mocking jeers about his prudishness. The lovingly said insult slickly rolls off his back like oil in water, because he knows that he isn’t doing this for him, but rather for Sakura who worked hard to restore his lungs to their normal condition. He can still vividly remember the fear in her face the first time he coughed out blood in her presence.
“You look like utter sh*t.”
Itachi wearily glances at the figure blocking the doorway and sighs before returning to the file in his hand. “Not now, Sasuke.”
Undeterred, Sasuke narrows his eyes at him and takes note of the neatly stacked papers on his desk and the couple of mugs just beside him. The smell of coffee is strong in the air. Nose flaring in displeasure, his younger brother scowls in disgust as he walks to him, slamming a palm down that scatters some of the finished documents to the floor.
Itachi looks up, genuinely exhausted.
“Sasuke—”
“I'm stressed, you're stressed, and Shisui and Obito are drunk off their asses. What a mess.” Sasuke glowers down at him and gestures at his dismal office. “Don’t tell me you locked yourself up here the entire night? Hell, did you even sleep?”
“I had a lot of work to do.”
Derisively, Sasuke rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that. Let’s ignore the fact that it was Sakura’s death anniversary yesterday.”
“Sasuke,” Itachi rubs the inner edges of his eyes tiredly, “why are you really here?”
There’s contemplative silence, and a cloth-wrapped package is carefully placed on his desk which he receives with a grateful nod. A pair of chopsticks, neatly swathed in tissue, rests atop it, and he reaches for the displayed utensils eagerly, snapping them apart with restrained impatience. Finally. Breakfast. Scrambled eggs with a dash of salmon and two onigiri. With a hushed ‘thank you’, Itachi proceeds to dig into his food, humming appreciatively when the omelet melts in his tongue before he can chew on it.
Truly divine.
His mother’s cooking is an absolute blessing.
“Okāsan wants you home for lunch,” Sasuke states, sitting on the corner of his desk. “Or at least dinner.”
Itachi gives him an apologetic look. “I don’t think I can, Sasuke. My schedule is quite full today—”
“So the Rokudaime Hokage has no time for his family anymore?” Unimpressed, Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him. Itachi barely manages not to flinch under the weight of his younger brother’s stare. As if to rub the fact into his face, Sasuke begins inspecting his fingernails, a tactic he’s adapted from Neji whenever the Hyūga prodigy is feeling prickly. “I expected more from you, Aniki.”
This time, Itachi does wince.
Tobirama’s big balls, when did Sasuke become so manipulative?
“Well?” The aforementioned manipulative little sh*t is watching him intently, a triumphant glint in his shrewd black eyes.
Itachi stares back at him and shakes his head. “Kakashi’s a bad influence on you.”
Like a switch, all of Sasuke’s teasing drops in a moment. “It isn’t that I’m forcing you to come home, it’s just…” he groans and rolls his head back in clear annoyance, “The elders are pushing you to marry.”
“What?”
“Yes.”
“No, Sasuke, seriously. What?”
“It isn’t a joke, Aniki. The elders are pushing you to marry, and they’ve been pestering me too. And Okāsan won't even let me kill them. They’ve already chosen Izumi to be one of your marriage candidates—”
Maybe it’s because he’s currently sleep-deprived, but irritation blazes within him at the name, and Itachi just snaps.
Marriage? Marriage? Just how many times has he already told his father that he has no plans of marrying? Especially since he isn’t capable of loving someone who he isn’t obligated to love. And a loveless marriage is sure to end in a disaster, which he’d rather avoid with all the duties he has on his plate.
“Aniki?”
“I’m not waiting until lunch, Sasuke.” His voice is cold and harsh, a stark contrast to the one he used earlier. “We’ll be going now.”
Sasuke blinks at him and smirks languidly, dark anticipation buried just underneath his tilted mouth. “I thought you said you were busy?”
“Everything can wait.” Itachi unclasps his Kage robes and drapes it over his chair, calm and quiet despite the anger ringing in his bones. He misses the predatory look that momentarily flits on his younger brother’s face as they stride out of his office. “Hikari-san,” he calls out to his secretary who has just arrived, “cancel all my meetings for today.”
The whistle playing through Sasuke's lips as they saunter down the streets is eerily dangerous and beautiful at the same time.
Unfortunately, marriage is the least of Itachi's problems when an ANBU agent drops in front of them with a message.
"Hokage-sama. Ibiki-san urgently requests for your presence at T&I. A ROOT operative has been apprehended."
~~~~
When Obito wakes up, it isn't to a lovely morning, but rather to a frantic origami dove pecking at his face.
Needless to say, he isn't very pleased.
“What.”
The brash morning sunlight beats down on him hotly, and he realizes that he is absolutely drenched in sweat and the stale odor of sake as he sits up. Bottles are haphazardly scattered about, which he briskly collects and places back into the crate lest they fall and shatter down below, consequently creating a bigger mess in the process. Shisui is lying several feet away from him, only a good few inches away from the roof's edge, and Obito decides to leave him be for the meantime.
As petty revenge for getting him completely thrashed in alcohol.
Damn the brat to hell.
Coo! Coo!
“What?” Obito squints at the dove. “I don't speak bird language.”
His skull is about to split from the headache he's presently experiencing, and if it weren’t for his expertise in handling his alcohol, he would have already spilled his guts right now. But even with his alcohol tolerance, he can still feel himself swaying as he stands, the chakra on the soles of his feet the only thing preventing him from falling to his death.
Origami doves.
Who is associated with birds made out of paper again?
Ugh. He rubs his temples with an irritated scowl. The hammering in his head is getting worse.
Another sharp peck to his cheek, and Obito swats the dove away.
“f*ck off,” he grouses. Then he leaps off the roof to enter the house through the door, instead of entering through Sakura's bedroom window. He could have actually, especially since the part of the roof he and Shisui were lounging on is just above her room, but Obito doesn't want to taint the freshness of her bedroom with his stench. Running his fingers through his greasy hair, he heads straight to the kitchen.
Water first.
Then coffee and toast.
And some hangover pills after.
But he seems to be forgetting something important.
Who is associated with paper doves again?
Nevermind. He'll figure that out later. He needs food first.
Sakura’s disappearance was a catalyst to many things. For one, it caused Danzo’s hidden deeds to come to light, thus provoking the Uchiha to take action and rally the other clans to oust the Sandaime Hokage for supporting his old teammate’s sins. Secondly, it compelled Obito to reside in Konoha to look after Sakura’s maternal grandmother. The poor woman had been traumatized upon the news of her family’s death and needed constant care as her mental health spiraled. It was unfortunate that Watanabe Aiko had no other living relatives.
Mikoto would have gladly taken her in, but the Uchiha elders were scandalized and adamant against welcoming an insignificant civilian into their brood, so that notion was instantly vetoed. And Shisui, despite his fondness for the sweet old woman, was in no shape to take care of her, his mind splintered and broken as it was. Itachi too already had his own burdens to deal with as the clan heir then. And Sasuke was still very young and immature to be of any help.
That left Obito to fill the void of being Aiko’s caregiver on the condition that he was to be pardoned for going rogue— a proposition created by Fugaku upon Itachi’s insistence. There were a lot of protests against him, given his display of violence at the court and the fact that he had almost killed Hiruzen, but they were all disregarded when Fugaku stepped up and vouched for him. At the Uchiha clan leader’s intervention, Tsunade can only give him one hard look, cracking her knuckles threateningly before releasing him.
As Obito exited the council room, her warning rang loud and clear:
“Make no mistake, Uchiha. One slip up and your life will be at my mercy.”
But apparently he was too valuable to be reduced to a mere caretaker. Five years later, immediately after Watanabe Aiko passed away, he was promoted to be the ANBU Commander by the very same woman.
Him abandoning Madara’s will had a few backlashes, but that was instantly solved by him committing Black Zetsu to flames. Normal flames aren't as strong as the Amaterasu, but fires created by those with Uchiha blood are still scorching hot. Black Zetsu didn't stand a chance. He crumbled into ashes along with his White Zetsu counterpart.
Other loose threads were quickly cut off too. Konan was the one who received his message to drop everything at once and instead focus on developing Ame. The woman was a bit skeptical at first, but who was she to defy him? And what can she gain from defying him? Only casualties, that was for certain. Pein had already killed Hanzo a long while ago, so Ame was short of a leader. After carefully mulling over her options, Konan gracefully accepted Obito’s orders.
Out of goodwill, the Uchiha let them keep the Rinnegan, and Konan, in return, kept an eye out for any shady movements or events that might be related to Danzo.
“Obito!”
WHAM, WHAM, WHAM!
He’s on his second mug of coffee when Genma slams the door open and marches in rudely, senbon flying at him at a ridiculously fast speed. Obito swiftly flicks it away before it can impale his face and continues sipping on his coffee, slouching back to lean against the kitchen counter.
“It’s f*cking—” he glances at the clock on the wall— “nine a.m., Genma. Can’t you calm your ass down?”
And besides, he still hasn’t had his hangover pills yet.
However, Shiranui Genma, a normally laid-back man, is unusually edgy as he digs for another senbon to stick into his mouth. He chews on it restlessly for a second before grabbing the scruff of Obito’s shirt and whisking him away without any other preamble. Stunned, Obito drops his mug of coffee, which shatters onto the floor into small shards. He then begins clawing at his collar that is digging into his neck and cutting off his airways.
He chokes. “Oi, oi, Genma, what the hell has gotten into you, honestly?!”
And Genma gives him an anxious glance and frees him.
“Shikamaru’s caught a ROOT agent.”
Obito’s heart stops for a moment then starts pounding vigorously, feeling the liveliest than he’d been the last decade. A ROOT agent? Oh, oh, oh— whatever shall he do? Should he skin the unlucky captive alive? Or maybe let them eat molten iron?
“Obito—”
A malicious smirk spreads across his face, cruelty rushing back at him like a crashing wave. “Go on ahead,” he hums. “Where should I meet you?”
Genma frowns at him. “I had specific orders to bring you there personally.”
To supervise him, Obito supposes. After all, a rampaging Uchiha isn’t a very pleasing sight.
“Alright then. Let me clean this up and change, and we’ll head out.”
The stairs creak against his weight as he ascends to the second floor of the house, his fingers gracefully gliding over the wooden banisters. The bedroom he uses is the spare room just across Sakura’s bedroom, and he pushes the door open, stripping his shirt off and grabbing a new one from the pile of newly done laundry on his bed. He’ll fold the clean clothes later if he has the time, but for now…
Obito retrieves a small black box under his pillow and opens it gently, smiling at the familiar necklace resting plush on the foam. Tenderly, he taps at the Sharingan-designed pendant and brings it to his lips.
“Just a little longer, Sakura.”
Grief can do a lot of things to people.
And for Obito, it has trapped him into an endless loop of denial.
~~~~
Seventeen years ago, a certain girl was spirited away by a greedy old man. In her place was left a fake corpse for her village to find, and so she was presumed as dead by everyone.
The metal pressed against her skin was broiling, and she screamed in pain. Desperately, she strained against her shackles, tears welling in her eyes which she stubbornly blinked back. She would not cry. Never.
“Talk, child. Tell me their secrets.”
She bit her tongue and shook her head, emerald eyes fiery and spitting hatred as she gazed at her tormentor.
“Go to hell and die, Danzo.”
She was confined underground with chains around her neck, wrists, and ankles. The floor was cold, the walls were hot, everything was dark. The only light in the room was the lone torch in the corner. But still, the air was warm and suffocating, licking against her flesh like flames, and she shivered, curling to herself.
Where was Obito?
Where was everyone?
When was she going to be saved from this hell?
“Raise the heat. Let her suffer until she is ready to speak.”
The laughter that echoed out of her mouth sounded nothing like her. She grinned, revealing pearly whites stained with crimson.
“Torture me all you want, Danzo. You won’t get anything out of me.”
Danzo hummed.
“Don’t you know? Pretty things break easily.”
And then she was screaming again herself hoarse as hot iron began prodding her skin mercilessly once more.
It hurt, but she held her tongue. She counted: one, two, three. She thought of her happy memories as she endured the agony wracking her small body. She wished and prayed, shutting her eyes tight and raking her nails against the ground to anchor herself in reality. She was questioned and tortured again and again, but she kept quiet of what she knew.
She did promise herself, didn’t she? That she’d protect her soulmates in this life. Pain be damned, she always kept her promises.
In this alternate dimension, her soulmates deserved their happy ending.
Soon, her tormentors switched from hot iron to poison. She choked and convulsed as several toxins were shoved down her throat, coughing up bile that burned her lungs. Helplessly, she clawed at the ground, nails scratching agonizingly against the flat surface that was now covered with bubbling drool.
It was painful. But the pain reminded her that she was still alive.
“What are Uchiha Fugaku’s weaknesses, child?”
She swallowed back a sob.
“Do you know of the abilities Uchiha Shisui’s Sharingan holds?”
She wheezed out blood and vomit.
“Stop for today, Agent 07. We will continue interrogating her tomorrow.”
One, two, three. Four, five, six.
What time was it?
What day was it?
Mama… where was her mother again? Her father?
What…
What was her name again?
“Give her to Orochimaru. I’m sure he won’t mind having a new pet.”
Rough hands lifted her up, disregarding her battered and wounded state. She whimpered. Shisui and Itachi would never be so careless in carrying her. In fact, they’d patch her injuries first before moving her. Then Sasuke would comfort her with some tomatoes and rice balls, and Mikoto would laugh in amusem*nt as she watched over them…
When the greedy old man grew tired of the girl’s defiance, he transferred her to the care of a mad scientist that reminded her of a shrewd snake. The scientist too was obsessed with her due to her connection to the Uchiha clan, and her suffering grew greater as he inflicted more pain on her ruthlessly.
She was strapped to a table that restrained her arms and split her legs apart. She stared at the blinding white light above her, numb from the anesthesia Orochimaru had administered to her. Cuts littered her limbs, and her captor gave her a quick glance before slashing another gash into her thigh.
“Does this hurt, little girl?”
No, it didn’t.
But she’d rather that it hurt.
Another slash.
“And this? Does it hurt?”
She gave no answer.
Orochimaru wiped off his scalpel with his sleeve. “Interesting. Kabuto, please get me the Vial 01057 from the cupboard… and clothe the poor girl for heaven’s sake. She looks like she’s about to freeze to death.”
The cycle went on for three years.
Then the greedy old man took the girl back under his wing again, nodding in satisfaction on seeing her weakened condition.
“Have you learned your lesson, child?”
She gazed at empty space.
“I do not know anything.”
The slap that landed on her cheek sent her sprawling, but she took the hit silently, her pain receptors having been completely paralyzed by the torture Orochimaru had imposed on her through the years.
“That’s no problem,” there was a sneer in Danzo’s words. “I still have other uses for you.”
The girl had three seals on her stomach. Three runic circles that overlapped with each other. The elaborate fuinjutsu had been casted on her the night she had been taken away by the greedy old man, who was afraid of being tracked down by the deadly shinobi who very much adored her.
The first seal forced her to take on a new identity, turning her lovely pink hair into a deep-toned brown and her green eyes into a light shade of blue. It prevented her from speaking of her real name and character, and soon, she started to forget who she really was.
“You do not have a name. You are Agent 1028.”
She stubbornly shook her head. “My name is Sakura.”
A kick that struck her stomach caused her to hack out blood.
“You are Agent 1028.”
She gritted her teeth.
“You are Agent 1028.”
Another kick.
“You. Are. Agent 1028.”
Another harsh kick.
“Agent 1028. Who are you?”
Haruno Sakura—
She took a rattling breath as she wrapped her arms around her aching stomach.
“I am Agent 1028.”
The second seal limited her chakra use and restrained her from utilizing any kind of jutsu that would require a large amount of chakra all at once. She was reduced to using ninjutsu that was below A-rank, and had to rely heavily on kenjutsu to make up for what she lacked. She also practiced taijutsu, but since her seal restricted her from reinforcing her punches with chakra and causing destruction, she rarely used it in fights.
Also, this seal prevented her from inflicting direct harm to Danzo.
“Begin.”
At the signal, her opponent, a pale boy the same age as her, immediately lunged for her side, and she parried his attack away easily. Her movements were fluid, her stance firm and balanced, and the tanto in her hand was very well-adjusted to her needs. It only took her less than a minute to disarm her opponent and force him to surrender when he fumbled.
“Agent 1028 wins this round!”
From the balcony Danzo watched her, his disgusting lips twisted into an approving smirk.
Oh, how she wanted to rip that smug expression off his face—
The third seal was what broke her the most. It sealed away her soulmarks, erasing the names written on her body and only leaving behind faint flesh-colored blemishes which she would painstakingly cover up with bandages so she could not see them.
Little by little, her memories were chipped away until all that remained was a void in her heart and soul.
She sharpened her kunai mindlessly.
Who was she again?
What was her name?
Where did she come from?
One, two, three— she needed to return home—
But where was home?
Another four years passed.
“Aniki!”
Then salvation came.
