Chapter Text
On Saturday, at eight in the morning, Kakashi is pulled from a troubled sleep by a loud banging on the door of his apartment. At so early, Gai can be the only culprit, and Kakashi groans into his pillow, knowing the man won’t leave until he receives an answer.
Kakashi climbs from bed, trying to shake away the vestiges of sleep. After making sure he’s dressed decently, he drags his feet from his bedroom and across the small apartment, unlocking the door and pulling it open.
“What?”
Gai isn’t there—instead, he’s looking at the hallway wall. Kakashi lowers his gaze about a foot and a half, feeling a surge of surprise when he sees his student standing there instead of his rival.
“Naruto? What are you doing here?”
Naruto looks uncomfortable, shifting his feet in the hallway as he looks up at him. “Sasuke told me where your apartment was. Can we, um, talk?”
Kakashi moves aside, exhaustion still affecting his ability to think properly. Naruto steps into his apartment, looking around curiously, and Kakashi closes the door.
“What is it?” he asks, moving to sit down at the table. It’s mornings like these that he hates Gai for routinely confiscating his coffee. “It must be important if your getting up this early.”
“I don’t sleep that late.”
Kakashi knows for a fact that on days when Team Seven isn’t scheduled for training or a mission, Naruto sleeps until noon. So being awake at eight o’clock is rather astounding. Still, he lets the words go without further comment. He’s too tired right now.
He hasn’t talked to Naruto since telling him about his father a few days ago—they were sitting in an identical position then, only in Naruto’s apartment instead of Kakashi’s. Naruto commanded him to leave, his blue eyes angry and hurt.
The same as Sasuke’s. Kakashi hasn’t spoken to him in even longer.
“You spoke to Sasuke?” he asks. “How is he?”
Naruto shifts slightly at the question. “He’s… he’s fine.”
Kakashi picks up on the tone of the words—the threads of uncertainty and nerves. He narrows his eyes slightly. His Sharingan is bared, his headband left on his bedside table, which is no doubt contributing to his current level of exhaustion.
“Naruto, if something is up with Sasuke—”
“There isn’t!” the blonde says, firmer this time. “A lot happened, is all. Oh, and he’s still mad at you, if you were wondering.”
Kakashi assumed that to be the case. He sighs, closing his eyes. The chakra being diverted to his left eye is briefly cut off. He reopens his right, leaving the scarred one closed.
“And you?” he asks. “Are you still angry? I understand if you are.”
Naruto bites his lip, staring down at his hands. “I am. I’m still really upset that you kept the truth about my dad from me—especially when you guys were so close. It’s different than everyone else, because to them he was just the Hokage—but you actually knew him.”
Kakashi holds back the memories. A hand on his shoulder and ruffling his hair. After Rin’s death, arms pulling him against a solid chest. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here.
Naruto is still speaking. Kakashi refocuses on him.
“But Sakura-chan was talking yesterday, and she said we should try to forgive you. She said you looked really bad—which I now see is true, because you look awful. Anyway, I don’t know if I can forgive you yet. But I think I want to start.”
Kakashi blinks. A part of him is surprised, but another part of him isn’t. In Kakashi’s opinion, Naruto has every right to be mad at him—but Naruto is also a very empathetic, forgiving person. He has always sought to know and understand everyone—even his enemies.
(This is a trait he has inherited from Minato—certainly not from Kushina, who could hold a grudge like no one Kakashi has ever seen.)
“If you knew my dad,” Naruto says, “then you must have known my mom, too, right? I was upset before, and I shoved you out before I could ask. You knew her, right?”
Kakashi smiles slightly beneath the mask. “I knew her well. Her name was Kushina Uzumaki—and she loved ramen almost as much as you do.”
Naruto’s blue eyes are filled with emotion. “Really? What else? Can you—can you tell me about her?”
Surprisingly, talking about them doesn’t hurt as much as Kakashi thought it would. There’s an ache, of course, there always will be—but it almost feels good to talk about them out loud, to share these precious memories with their son.
Kakashi’s eye curves into a smile. “Sure. I can tell you about both of them.”
Sasuke stares at the gates of the empty Uchiha District, a dark pit in his stomach. He feels sick looking at it, and the presence of his teammates is the only thing holding him together. Memories whisper at the corners of his mind, even now with the entire compound bathed in daylight.
“Are you sure?” Sakura asks. “You don’t have to come inside, Sasuke-kun. Naruto and I can get your stuff for you.”
It’s a tempting offer, but Sasuke locks his jaw. “No. You two don’t even know which house is mine… and I have to do this.”
He doesn’t want to do this. Just standing here on the sidewalk, he feels like his feet have become molded into the ground. But he’s tired of letting his fear control him, and he’s tired of these memories controlling him. He’s tired of seeing blood and death every time he closes his eyes, and he won’t run away while his teammates face it for him.
He won’t be a coward. He won’t let what Itachi did to him control his life.
He’s still not going to be living in the compound. He knows he won’t be able to handle that, and he isn’t stupid enough to try it. He does want to someday, because it’s his home, and he won’t let the memory of his family become a mountain of dust. One day, he wants to return there, to his house, to the place he grew up.
Maybe Itachi will even come with him. Maybe they can clean the place up—together.
(Maybe—once Sasuke decides if that’s something he wants.)
Someday. In a few months, or in another year. But not now, when looking at it makes him feel unable to breathe right.
For now, he’ll be taking Naruto up on his offer of staying with him. It’s only a temporary arrangement, until he can secure his own apartment, because Naruto’s place is unbelievably small. And if Sasuke has to live under the same roof with him for too long, he’s fairly certain he’ll end up killing him.
Naruto seems to think it’s a wonderful idea. He’s clearly short of a braincell.
The blonde knocks his shoulder against Sasuke’s. “Well, let’s go then. Or are you planning to just stand here all day?”
Sasuke scowls, knocking the boy back, though he does it harder. “Shut up. I don’t even need you here, moron. I can do this myself.”
If his two teammates can tell it’s a lie, neither of them call him out on it.
Sasuke forces his feet to move, and the three of them cross over into the abandoned district. Sasuke feels his chest constrict immediately, feels something like panic begin to claw at his throat, but he focuses on the two people walking next to him. He focuses on the warmth of the sun shining down on him.
The sun helps. There’s a reason he chose to do this now, in the middle of the afternoon. Bright daylight is illuminating everything, chasing away all the shadows. It anchors him, keeps him in the moment.
There was no sun in the Tsukuyomi. Only a blood-red moon shining down on him, and the streets and sky were dark. A landscape made up of shadows. But the compound doesn’t look like that, now.
It’s still difficult, of course. Day or night, it’s still the same place. The same streets. He can see dark stains in some spots, where the blood never washed out—the senbei shop where Uruchi-san and Teyaki-san used to work—where he came upon their bodies—
The street he ran down when fleeing from Itachi. Tripping, heart exploding in his chest, his elbows and hands smearing in blood. Tears hot on his cheeks and cold, dead eyes—
(“You’re not even worth killing.”)
Sakura reaches over and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly and drawing him back. “We’re right here, Sasuke-kun.”
Sasuke takes a shaky breath, shoving the images away. He focuses on the sun on his face and Sakura’s palm against his. I’m not there anymore.
He pulls his hand out of Sakura’s, the anchoring touch quickly becoming uncomfortable. She frowns slightly, but she lets go easily.
The streets are the hardest part. They’re the strongest reminder of that night, the strongest reminder of Itachi’s Tsukuyomi. And the room where his parents were murdered, but Sasuke isn’t planning on going in there.
His house will be easier. Besides that one terrible room, the walls and floors haven’t been stained with blood. His bedroom will be fine—it isn’t there that he huddled in a corner for two weeks, shaking and trembling as he watched the katana slice down over and over and over and over—
Sasuke bites the inside of his cheek. He grips the straps of his backpack tightly, hefting it up more on his back.
“That’s your clan crest, right?” Naruto asks him, gesturing toward one of the numerous fans surrounding them. “The one you wear on your back? What does it mean?”
“It’s called an uchiwa,” Sasuke explains, allowing the conversation to distract him from the streets he’s walking. “It’s a type of paper fan. It’s pronounced uchiwa, but it’s written uchiha, because the ha character takes on the wa sound.”
“Yes,” says Naruto, “but what does it mean?”
Sasuke rolls his eyes irritably. “I don’t know, Naruto! The Uchiha Clan is one of the oldest clans out there—our crest has been around for decades.” A memory pricks at his mind, something from long ago that has nearly faded from his mind, and he pulls on it, saying slowly, “Itachi told me about it once. I can’t quite remember what he said—something about the uchiwa symbolizing the wind that fans the Will of Fire. But that’s nonsense, because the Uchiha Clan existed long before Konoha did.”
The memory is hazy. He remembers sitting on a porch. He remembers his brother’s smile, blurred around the edges.
It stings to think about, and Sasuke shoves it away. Not just because it’s one of the few memories he has where Itachi looks genuinely happy, but because it’s a reminder of the way Konoha has twisted things. Pieces of his clan’s history that have nothing to do with the village, now made to fit a different narrative.
Sasuke’s hands curl into fists. He breathes out slowly, trying to let the anger go. He can’t think about it right now. He can’t deal with it.
(Konoha killed my clan—)
“Should we have brought boxes?” Sakura asks. “I feel like we should have brought boxes.”
“I don’t have a lot of stuff.”
“Yeah, but are you sure you can fit it all into one backpack?”
Sasuke doesn’t deign to respond, as they turn a corner and finally reach his house. Sasuke’s feet halt in front of it, and for a moment he stares at the doors. He hasn’t been here in a month—the grass has gotten way too long.
“It’s nice,” Sakura says.
Sasuke doesn’t answer. He walks up to the door, Naruto and Sakura following behind him, and he pulls out his keys to unlock it.
“You lock your door?” Naruto asks.
Sakura looks at the jinchuuriki incredulously. “You don’t?”
“Take your shoes off on the mat,” Sasuke tells them, stepping inside and slipping off his own shoes. He switches on the light. “Naruto, don’t break anything.”
“Hey!” Naruto yells. “Why just me?!”
The house has become dusty in the month Sasuke has been away. Despite being the only one living there, and never having any visitors, he usually attempts to keep the place in shape. He hasn’t moved anything since the massacre, and everything is still ordered the way his mother liked to keep it—except the picture frames with his brother in them, which have been taken down.
Sakura moves to examine one of the pictures still up on the mantel—one of his parents when they were younger.
“Is this your mom?” she asks. “She’s really beautiful. She looks a lot like you.”
Naruto goes to look as well. Sasuke bites his tongue to stop himself from snapping at them not to touch.
“Enough,” he says harshly. “Let’s just get my stuff and go.”
Sakura sets the frame back down carefully. Sakura and Naruto share a look they think he doesn’t see before following him up the stairs.
The three of them pack up his room quickly. Despite it not having any specific bad memories attached to it, it’s still difficult for Sasuke to be there, remembering what occurred in the room almost directly below them. His senses play tricks on him, and sometimes he thinks he can smell the metallic scent of blood. Or hear screaming. The schtck of a katana—
Sakura and Naruto are mostly quiet. Even Naruto doesn’t run his mouth, seeming to sense Sasuke’s feelings without him needing to speak. They pack his clothes and weapons and other sparse belongings up into his backpack.
At one point, Naruto is digging through his closet and steps on something. A sharp crunching is heard.
Naruto swears under his breath. He steps back, looking over to Sasuke with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident—”
The dark-haired boy walks over to where his teammate is standing. He looks down, and he freezes in place.
There’s a photograph on the ground—an old one, with years of dust covering it. The glass has broken, dozens of tiny cracks spiderwebbing outwards.
“I’m sorry,” Naruto says quietly.
Sasuke doesn’t respond. Slowly, he crouches down, picking up the wooden frame. He shakes the shards of glass away, revealing the picture beneath.
It’s him and Itachi. He looks around four years old, his elder brother nine or ten. He’s clinging to Itachi’s back, his small arms wrapped around Itachi’s neck. He’s grinning widely at the camera, and Itachi—Itachi is smiling too, his eyes light and happy—
Sasuke stares down at the picture—Itachi’s arms holding onto him by his legs, Sasuke’s chin digging into his shoulder—and it feels like someone has punched the air from his chest.
Sakura and Naruto both peer over to look at the picture. Sakura bites her bottom lip and doesn’t speak.
“I didn’t mean to,” Naruto says again, his voice more hushed now. “Sorry.”
Sasuke swallows. He tears his gaze away from the picture. His eyes are stinging, but it’s only because of the dust. He blinks it away. “Whatever. We’re done here, let’s go.”
Sakura and Naruto look at him for a moment longer, then turn back toward the bedroom door. On a split-second impulse, Sasuke pulls the picture from the frame and shoves it in the side-pocket of the backpack.
Sasuke hikes the backpack high on his shoulders, shutting the door behind him. They walk down the hall, and Sasuke doesn’t look at Itachi’s bedroom door as they pass it. It’s been closed over five years now.
“So about you living with me,” Naruto says. “I’m not sharing the bed, so you’re going to have to sleep on the floor—”
Sasuke rolls his eyes. “Fine. But you’re cleaning your entire room. I’m not sleeping on the floor if I can’t see the floor.”
“I told you, it isn’t that bad! Oh, and no waking me up before ten on the weekends! And no taking super long showers, because I don’t have a lot of hot water—also, stay away from my ramen, because if you eat any of it, I swear—”
“You mean your disgusting cup noodles? I don’t eat that crap.”
“Crap? Oh, you better take that back right now, bastard!”
“Naruto! Sasuke-kun! Can’t the two of you ever stop? How do you expect to live together if you can’t even get along?”
“It’s only for a week at most,” Sasuke says. “Just until I can get my own—”
Sasuke cuts himself off as the three of them step over the Uchiha District boundaries, back into the village street. He freezes, eyes catching a familiar figure across the street.
“Hey,” Sakura says. “Is that—”
“Kakashi-sensei!” Naruto yells, waving wildly at the silver-haired man. He turns to Sasuke, nudging him, and says in a trying-too-hard-to-be-casual voice, “Look, Sasuke! It’s Kakashi-sensei!”
Sasuke’s heart picks up as the man begins walking toward him. He pins Naruto with an angry look. “What did you do?”
“Do? Whaddaya mean?”
“Naruto.”
Naruto sighs, quickly folding beneath Sasuke’s irritated demeanor. “Alright, fine! So I might have told him we would be here… and I might have told him he should come help with the moving…”
Sasuke feels an emotion akin to betrayal spark in his chest, though not quite as sharp. “I can’t believe you!”
“You talked to him?” Sakura says with a smile. “What happened?”
Sasuke grits his teeth. “I thought you were mad at him,” he says, ignoring Sakura. “Why would you invite him? I don’t want him in my house. And we’re already done getting my stuff. What did you think we were moving, my entire house?”
Naruto glares. “Don’t yell at me, asshole! Sakura-chan was right yesterday. I’m not saying you have to forgive him, because I don’t even know what it was he was keeping from you, but you should at least talk to him!”
Sasuke’s jaw tightens, and he prepares to snap back, but suddenly Kakashi is in front of them. Sakura elbows them both sharply in the ribs, turning to face their sensei with a smile.
“Kakashi-sensei!” she says brightly. “I didn’t know you were coming! How have you been?”
Kakashi smiles beneath the mask. “I’m good. Naruto told me this morning that Sasuke was going to be staying with him for a while. I thought I might be able to help?”
“You’re late, as always,” Sasuke says coldly. “We’re already done, so we don’t need you.”
Kakashi winces, looking visibly disappointed. Naruto glares at him pointedly. Talk to him, he mouths, jerking his head toward the jounin in an obvious gesture.
Sasuke glares back. No, he mouths, much more subtly.
Naruto and Sakura trade glances with each other. They seem to communicate silently, without using words. They’ve been doing that a lot lately, and it’s annoying. When did they learn to do it? When Sasuke was in a coma?
Sakura grabs Naruto by the wrist. “Well, we have to go,” she says, a plastic smile on her face. “Naruto and I have a—we have a—”
“A date!” Naruto yells, as Sakura flounders. “We have a date! Come on, Sakura-chan! See you, Sasuke!”
Naruto drags Sakura away before Sasuke can attempt to protest, pulling her past Kakashi and across the street.
“A date?!” Sasuke hears her echo incredulously as they grow farther away.
“I panicked! And it’s not like—I’m sorry, I’m sorry! No, please don’t hit me—!”
Their voices fade as their backs disappear, mingling with all the other villagers walking the streets that afternoon. Sasuke is left alone with Kakashi, standing in front of the abandoned compound.
“Idiots,” he mutters. “They’re so obvious.”
Reluctantly, he lifts his gaze to look properly at his sensei. He has the immediate desire to drop it again. Kakashi’s visible eye seems to see him, to strip him bare.
Sasuke thinks Sakura was exaggerating a bit in the hospital when she said that Kakashi looked awful. But Sasuke will admit that he looks a bit worse for wear; more tired, and the usual slump to his shoulders his more pronounced.
Sasuke feels his anger rise up again, seeing him. But he hasn’t seen him since he banished him from his hospital room, and there’s a sliver of guilt there as well. Naruto and Sakura are both right—even if he can’t forgive him, he can’t just keep avoiding him either.
“I guess we should talk,” Sasuke says, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly.
“I would like that,” Kakashi says. “If you’re open to it.”
Sasuke nods. The two of them fall into step together, beginning to walk. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but silence between them. He can feel Kakashi’s gaze on him; he stares straight ahead, not knowing what to say.
“Sasuke, I’m sorry,” Kakashi says finally. “I shouldn’t have kept the truth about the massacre from you. I know that you feel betrayed—”
“Why did you?” Sasuke asks abruptly, cutting the man off. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kakashi sighs. “There were… reasons. The top of which being that I was ordered—”
“Orders,” Sasuke says sharply, scoffing. “I’m sick to death of Konoha’s orders. Who are they to dictate what’s right and wrong? To decide what I’m allowed to know about my own family?”
Sasuke feels his ire rise again rapidly, swirling in his chest, and his nails bite into the straps around his shoulders. It seems like everyone is manipulating him these days—whether that’s controlling the information he receives or attempting to make his decisions for him. The Third Hokage kept the truth from him about his family—let him go on wanting to kill his brother. Orochimaru was trying to manipulate him, to possess his power for himself. Kakashi kept silent, knowing how Sasuke might react.
And Itachi… Itachi is the worst of them all. His brother does love him, Sasuke is sure of that now. But he plotted Sasuke’s entire life out for him, not a hint of care as to what Sasuke himself would want.
“I’m so sick of everyone trying to control me.”
Kakashi compresses his lips at the words, looking down briefly. Sasuke expects a lecture—he isn’t stupid, he knows he’s being watched closely. Monitored for any signs of disloyalty. And Kakashi is nothing if not a loyal shinobi—just like Itachi is.
But Kakashi surprises him. “You’re right,” he says. “You have a right to certain information. You have a right to know it and decide for yourself how you’re going to react, without someone else making that choice for you.”
Sasuke looks at him in surprise. “Then why did you keep it from me?”
Kakashi exhales slowly, looking forward. “When you were in your coma,” he says slowly. “When you were trapped in your brother’s genjutsu… I went into your head and attempted to pull you out. Do you remember?”
Sasuke thinks back—but is forced to immediately pull away, as the memories threaten to overwhelm him. He shakes his head. The only thing he can remember is blood and screaming and Itachi’s cold voice.
“Well, I was there. For just a moment. And I saw you… I saw you curled up in a corner on that floor… shaking and covering your ears…” Kakashi’s jaw tightens. “I saw you. I couldn’t get out of my head how fragile you looked. And when Tsunade told me the truth… I remembered again. I imagined telling you… but you already seemed so broken, and all could think about was how the knowledge would shatter you.”
Sasuke swallows, hearing the roughly spoken words. He looks away, unable to look at his sensei as they walk. It burns through him, the realization that Kakashi saw him like that. At his lowest moment, nothing more than a helpless child.
“I thought I was protecting you,” Kakashi says. “But Itachi thought the same thing, and look how that turned out.”
Sasuke bites his lip. The cut at his throat tingles, and Sasuke wonders how Kakashi would feel if he knew about it. If he knew keeping this secret almost resulted in Sasuke not standing next to him. He was trying to stop Sasuke from breaking… but it was the not knowing that almost succeeded in doing that exact thing.
Sasuke looks at Kakashi, and suddenly, he can’t bear the thought of doing that. He truly does look horribly, terribly guilty—and how can Sasuke burden him with the knowledge of what his actions nearly caused?
And so, Sasuke makes a decision. Because looking into Kakashi’s eyes, he sees something that’s very familiar to him. Something that he’s also seen in his own eyes.
“I understand,” he says. “I don’t forgive you, but I understand.”
Kakashi stops walking, turning to look at him. There’s a moment of silence, where he eyes Sasuke uncertainly, as if unsure what to do. Then, he places a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder, pulling him forward slightly so he falls against his chest.
Sasuke’s eyes widen in shock, and he isn’t sure what to do. It isn’t at all like the way Naruto and Sakura embraced him yesterday—it can hardly even be called a hug, just an arm thrown lightly around him, his forehead pressing against Kakashi’s vest. It’s stilted and awkward, and it’s over before Sasuke can even process it, Kakashi stepping quickly back out of his space.
Kakashi clears his throat awkwardly. “Right. Um. Just know that, uh, I’m here for you. For whatever you need.”
His hand hovers above Sasuke’s shoulder, falling there for a moment before dropping back down. Sasuke, still processing the horribly inexperienced attempt at affection, just nods.
“…Thank you.”
It isn’t all okay, of course. In fact, most of everything still isn’t okay at all. He’s still angry and hurt and betrayed, and that hasn’t gone away. He still doesn’t know how he feels about Konoha, about the hitai-ate on his forehead that seems to burn against his skin. He doesn’t know where he and Itachi stand, if they’ll ever stand anywhere, if Sasuke will ever be able to look at him without remembering everything he put him through.
He still closes his eyes and sees visions of death. He still smells blood in the air, still hears the screams.
But Kakashi holds his hand out, offering to take the heavy backpack from his shoulders. And after a moment of contemplation, Sasuke lets him. The two of them are walking again, in the direction of Naruto’s apartment, and Sasuke asks about training. Kakashi responds, and it almost feels normal.
Things aren’t alright. But for the first time in over five years, Sasuke feels like maybe they don’t have to be. Maybe that’s okay.
Three months later, Obito Uchiha stands alone on the parapet of the Akatsuki’s tower. He stares out at Amegakure’s horizon as the sun slowly disappears from view, resting the drink in his hand on the edge of the balcony.
Damn that Itachi Uchiha, he thinks, raising the glass to sip at the amber liquid.
The alcohol burns pleasantly as it goes down his throat. His mask is resting on the balcony’s edge next to his right hand. If he had normal skin and muscles on that side of his body, then his knuckles would have been showing bone.
Taking Itachi into the Akatsuki was a risk. Obito had known that from the start. His loyalty to Konoha was unshakable, and his mind refused to be poisoned by the Akatsuki’s ideals. Still, he was a threat that was safer to have next to them instead of actively working against them.
Except now, the exact thing that Obito feared would happen has. The boy’s love for his brother has caused him to break from his plans—and now he is back in Konoha’s hands, no doubt giving them every scrap of intelligence he has.
Kisame claims to have killed him. Obito doesn’t believe him for a second.
Killed? Not Itachi. Obito knows him, and he would never be so careless. When Itachi Uchiha dies, it will be because he plans to, and not a moment before.
The only possible good thing about Itachi’s defection is that Obito doesn’t have to worry about keeping his promise anymore. The Akatsuki is now free to attack the Leaf Village and go after the Nine-Tails—except that it’s too soon and they aren’t ready. Launching an assault on Konoha now, when they are still recovering from the Sand’s invasion, would be smart, but it also draws too much attention. Attention they aren’t ready for.
The Akatsuki is a secret organization. They aren’t at the correct stage in their plans where they can afford being at the forefront of things—the five nations seeing them as a proper threat. But now, with Itachi spilling all their plans, they can’t afford to wait either. The longer they wait to move, the more time Konoha will have to prepare.
Obito will have to accelerate the plan. But Konoha will retaliate—backed by the other hidden villages. One tailed beast, hosted in the body of a small child, will not be enough power to hold them at bay.
They will need to start collecting the Tailed Beasts. The Ichibi is in Suna, and their village is a mess after their failed takeover. Currently leaderless. He will have Nagato send Sasori and Deidara—it should be easy for them to—
Obito freezes the moment he senses a chakra approaching him—and not one he recognizes. He sets his drink back down on the ledge, returning his mask to his face and turning around.
“Who’s there?”
A figure steps further into the room. Obito remains on the open balcony, watching them. They are slight in stature, their face concealed by a dark hood.
“Your subordinate let me in,” the figure says. The voice is male. “I told them I wished to speak to the leader of the Akatsuki.”
Obito scowls beneath the mask. Which one of those idiots let this stranger just stroll into their headquarters? Most likely Hidan, that damn lunatic—
“You’re not welcome here,” Obito says. “I don’t know how you came to be here, or why they would let you in, but I’m not—”
“I told them I wished to speak to their true leader.”
Obito stills. Slowly, he focuses on the man, now giving him his full attention. “Did you now?”
The man steps forward further, more into the light. He throws back his hood, revealing pale hair. His skin is pasty and scaly, and one of his eyes—
Obito’s face twists at the sight of familiar golden eyes, when he recognizes the despicable chakra of that traitorous snake. “Orochimaru.”
“He was my master, yes,” the young man replies. “But he is no more. I assure you, I come to you now not of his will, but of my own.”
It takes Obito a moment to place the name. “Kabuto Yakushi… Sasori’s informant.”
Kabuto inclines his head. He has clearly been busy since the months since his master’s demise; even without the physical alterations, his entire essence reeks of Orochimaru. It’s unnatural and sickening.
“Your own will, are you?” Obito echoes. “Given your appearance, I doubt that very much. Well then, Kabuto Yakushi. What exactly is it that you think I can do for you?”
“You’ve got it wrong,” Kabuto says. His lips stretch into a smile. “It’s not what you can do for me. It’s what I can do for you… Obito Uchiha.”