Horror: All In One

Firebrand

by Lys ap Adin

Mukuro likes strong things, and pawns who are loyal to him. Alternate canon history; dark, violent, and twisty.

He leaves a message behind for whatever Estraneo survivors there might be. It’s written in smoke and blood, and it says, quite simply, Don’t do this again.

The two children who had survived the labs trail after him. Their eyes are wide and dark, and they look at him like he is a hero. He does not disabuse them of the notion.

But they are children, for all that they are strong—he saw the dark one make two kills, and the light one rip the throat out of a scientist with nothing but his teeth—and for now they are a burden to him.

He toys with the idea of killing them; the fewer people who know of him, the better. It would be simple enough to do. Given the way they look at him, they might even bare their throats for him.

Instead he renames them. The names come from an early life, perhaps his first, and though they no longer have faces attached to them, he recalls the sense of camaraderie that goes with them. “You will be Joushima Ken,” he tells the light one, and to the dark one, he says, “And you will be Kakimoto Chikusa.” They accept that, solemnly, and then he finds them a home.

The Rossi are a small Family, and, in the way of small, weak factions, have made up for it by building one of the finest information networks in Italy. Their boss is a sentimental fool, and adopts the two orphans without a single thought in his head but charity.

Before he leaves Ken and Chikusa to the Rossi’s mercies, he gives them instructions. “Grow up,” he tells them. “Become stronger. Listen. Learn. Be ready for me when I come for you.” There are other things, ones he leaves unsaid—their minds are open to him now, ready for him to stroll through any time he chooses.

They accept that, too, and then Ken—already the brash one—asks, humbly, “What should we call you?”

“You shouldn’t,” he says, and they flinch. But it’s true enough that he needs a name, and the one the Estraneo gave him won’t do at all. “Mukuro,” he says, finally, picking the name that goes with theirs. “You may call me Mukuro-sama.”

The linguistic niceties are lost on them, to be sure, but they nod. When Mukuro leaves them, they are forming the syllables for themselves, eyes wide and shining.

He drifts through Italy on his own, possessing people and discarding them after he’s learned the things they won’t tell someone wearing a child’s body, and what he learns is that he wouldn’t give two figs for any of the Families or their so-called values. The Estraneo had been rotten at the core, and so are the rest of them. The more they bleat on about their honor and their codes, the more it disgusts him. They have no honor that they will not sell. They have no codes that they will not break.

The Mafia—humans—are revolting. There’s nothing they won’t sacrifice if it means gain, not even their own children.

The whole thing should be destroyed.

And then Mukuro thinks, Why not?

He drifts northward, towards the Rossi, with the vague intention of letting himself be adopted along with Chikusa and Ken. The Rossi are as good a place as any to stay while he plans his destruction of the Mafia.

That changes when he hears the rumors coming out of the Vongola—that the Vongola Ninth is getting old, and will select his heir soon. The favorite is Xanxus, his natural son. All the Barassi peon Mukuro is possessing knows of this Xanxus is that he’s strong—incredibly strong.

Mukuro absorbs this, and smiles.

He likes strong things.

He goes strolling that evening, walking through his own world until he comes across Chikusa. The boy looks startled to see him, but takes his hand without hesitation. “Mukuro-sama,” he murmurs.

“I have need of you,” Mukuro tells him, and pushes Chikusa’s consciousness aside.

The Rossi are careless among their own people. Mukuro strolls Chikusa’s body through the Rossi base unchallenged, conducting his interrogations here and there, gleaning what they know of the Vongola, of this Xanxus. He pays no mind to the bodies he leaves behind him, and is pleased to note that Chikusa doesn’t either.

It is terribly useful to have loyal pawns.

What the Rossi know of Xanxus dwells on the fact that he is rumored to be the Vongola Ninth’s bastard son, and that he wields the Vongola Flame. He is said to be arrogant and short-tempered, and widely-expected to be named the Tenth any day now. In the meantime, he has taken control of the Varia.

Mukuro thinks that he will do nicely.

Xanxus is even better than he’d hoped.

It takes a while for Mukuro to weed through the man’s underlings—killing the weak ones, disabling and marking the stronger ones for later use, if necessary—and reach him where he’s brooding in his lair. When Mukuro walks in, carrying his trident and flicking the blood off his fingers, Xanxus is slouched in a chair. Mukuro doesn’t make the mistake of assuming that the casual posture means that Xanxus is unwary; the man’s eyes are burning.

Xanxus does him the courtesy of not assuming that the child’s body Mukuro is wearing means that Mukuro is harmless. “Who the fuck are you?”

He smiles. “You may call me Mukuro,” he says, and rolls out of the way of the gunfire—the gun had appeared in Xanxus’ hand almost before he could see it. Delightful. “Oh, you are going to be fun to play with.”

Xanxus snarls something wordless at him; his Flame sears through the air and Mukuro barely escapes being burnt. He laughs again and vaults out of the way, pivots on his staff and launches himself at Xanxus.

He’d dipped into the minds of the higher-ranking Varia, to see what their experience of Xanxus was. The uniform impression that he’d received was that the only thing Xanxus respected was strength. In that sense, he’s a man after Mukuro’s own heart. So Mukuro dances with him, trading blows and dodging bullets until the room is in ruins. He lands a hit early, a glancing blow as Xanxus turns his trident aside, but it lays the back of Xanxus’ hand open. That’s all the opportunity he needs.

He pays just enough attention to what’s going on around him to keep Xanxus from injuring him, and goes for a stroll through Xanxus’ memories. He’s looking for confirmation that Xanxus really is going to be the Tenth. What he finds is something else entirely.

“And to think all of Italy believes you really are his son,” Mukuro says, beyond entertained by it. The rot goes all the way to the heart of the Vongola, who pride themselves on the purity of their Family traditions. It’s too delicious for words. “To think he even let you believe it—!”

Xanxus howls and lunges for him, but it’s too late now. Mukuro has seen to the heart of the man, seen all his doubts and insecurities and the intangible things Xanxus hungers for and knows that he won’t ever have. Mukuro steps out of his way and reaches out his own Will to seize control of Xanxus.

The man goes down like a rock, but his spirit struggles against Mukuro’s, fighting against the grip Mukuro has on him. “You are strong,” he says, going to Xanxus and standing over him.

The man glares at him, eyes fierce.

Mukuro considers him, and crouches. “Very strong,” he says, softly. “And yet they don’t want you. They fear you and what you can do to them.” The spirit of Xanxus flinches in his grip. “You will never belong to them, and they know it.” Xanxus flinches again, but Mukuro’s hold on him is too strong now, and Mukuro refuses to let him look away. “But they don’t mind using you, do they? They don’t mind lying to you, and letting you destroy their other enemies. You make a very pretty little pawn, don’t you?”

He tips his head to the side, studying Xanxus. “I wonder how long it will be until their fear of you outweighs their need for you, and they decide to kill you? It can’t be long… I see you’re already planning to take what should be yours. They won’t let you, you know. The old man who calls himself your father will see you dead by his own hand before he lets that happen.” He smiles as Xanxus’ spirit goes still against his. “Remember, it’s always the Family first with them. And you? You’re not even family, let alone Family.”

That has him; Xanxus’ will flinches against his one more time, and then goes limp, bleak with despair.

Mukuro starts to shoulder him aside, and reconsiders it. “I wonder what you even want with that,” he says. “Whited sepulchers, all of them. Corrupt to the very core of them. Weak little men who can’t even do their own killing, and rely on monsters to do it for them. Liars and cheats, all of them.” He lays his hand against Xanxus’ cheek, lightly, and can feel Xanxus listening to him, intent as a flame. “You are much finer than that, aren’t you? You’re stronger than they are. Purer than they are, for all their fine bloodlines.”

Xanxus’ spirit flexes against his; Mukuro relaxes his hold just a bit, enough to give him a voice. “What do you want from me?” he rasps.

Mukuro smiles at him. “I want you to help me burn it all down,” he says. “Right down to the ground. All of it—the whole rotten, stinking thing.”

Xanxus’ eyes change, go bright and fierce. “Yes,” he whispers.

Mukuro can see the future burning in his eyes. It’s a beautiful sight.

– end –

Psychological Warfare

by Lys ap Adin

The Cradle Affair, this time with more Mukuro. For cliche_bingo, prompt: “Darkfic.” Part of the Firebrand ‘verse. Dark like a very dark thing.

Character(s): Rokudou Mukuro, Timoteo Vongola, Xanxus

They began with the Vongola itself, because Mukuro was well aware of the psychological asset that taking out one’s strongest opponents first could be, and because he wanted to test the mettle of his new acquisition. Xanxus agreed to the mission readily enough—had, indeed, been planning on a strike that would have installed him at the head of the Vongola when Mukuro had come in search of him. Mukuro stepped back to let Xanxus restore order among those members of the Varia who had survived Mukuro’s assault, and was satisfied with letting them get on with planning the strike.

He rather liked the pragmatic way the survivors accepted him without question when Xanxus growled, “He’s with us now,” at them. Such practical people, these Varia. It had been a good decision to seek them out. They accepted Ken and Chikusa, too, with only a minimum of muttering, especially after Mukuro had the two of them demonstrate how strong they really were by setting them against a pair of soldiers from one of the squads. After all, if there was anything the Varia did respect, it was strength, and they had a long tradition of new members making places for themselves by removing their predecessors from it by force.

And so they plotted their assault on the Vongola, with Ken and Chikusa as pint-sized mascots and Mukuro himself drifting among them, watching Xanxus’ scrappy little second conduct the planning as Xanxus himself brooded in the background, cultivating the detached, lordly pose he had created for himself.

Mukuro wondered, sometimes, whether his new tool was having second thoughts. If Xanxus was, he wasn’t showing them outwardly, or on the surface levels of his thoughts.

He didn’t let them show when they finally struck, either, as the bulk of the Varia’s forces struck at the Vongola’s army, while their most elite members punched through the defenses of the main house like a sharp knife driving through soft flesh. Xanxus and his second took the point of that force, driving through the mansion themselves and slaughtering anyone who stepped in their way. Mukuro followed after them, at a rather more leisurely pace, savoring the carnage and the running battles as he picked his way through the winding hallways. He kept a corner of his attention on watching the battle through Xanxus’ eyes, enjoying the taste of Xanxus’ unholy satisfaction at cutting down all the people he’d suspected of slighting him in the past.

It was amazing how well Xanxus could motivate himself. Mukuro hardly ever had to nudge him into the appropriate direction at all.

The Vongola were old, and canny, none of them more so than the old man who led them. Mukuro had been expecting that, even if Xanxus hadn’t, and arrived in the large vaulted room where Xanxus was facing his erstwhile foster father just in time to hear Xanxus’ furious denial of the old man’s true strength. “This is impossible!” he raged, and Mukuro could feel him straining against the Ninth’s Will, trying in vain to break the seals that the old man had placed on his Flames.

“It is,” the Ninth told him, inescapably gentle. “Xanxus, my boy, you can’t beat me. Stop this, and we can—”

That was quite enough of that, Mukuro decided, feeling the flicker, almost as of longing, in Xanxus’ will. “Perhaps he can’t beat you,” he said, stepping out from behind the pillar where he had been observing. “Fortunately, he brought me along, too.”

The old man did him the courtesy of taking him seriously despite the child’s body that he wore. “And you are?” he asked, raising his scepter.

“Oh, they call me Mukuro.” He called on his trident. “Rokudou Mukuro.”

He already knew that the old man was good from having watched him fight from behind Xanxus’ eyes. He was, however, an old man, and heartsick at his adopted son’s betrayal and tired from having battled him already. What was more, his Flame’s secret power was for use against other Flame users, which Mukuro was not. It was a lovely fight, really; Mukuro laughed when they finally closed with each other and the Ninth’s scepter bore down on him, heavy against the child’s strength of his body.

“Why are you laughing?” the old man asked him, frowning and wary. “You’re losing.”

“It’s because I know something you don’t know,” Mukuro told him, smiling, and drove Xanxus’ fist through the old man’s chest.

Really, he decided later, when Xanxus had finally stopped screaming, it was a good thing he’d come to the Varia when he had. There was no telling what kind of a hash of things Xanxus would have made of it if Mukuro hadn’t been there to nudge things along.

– end –

It’s Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You – Chapter Seven

In which Sakura insinuates herself into Hidden Sound and the dance of mutual deception and seduction commences among her, Orochimaru, and Kabuto. Also featuring the beginning of Akatsuki’s plan emerging. Drama, Angst, Horror, I-5

Character(s): Haruno Sakura, Orochimaru, Yakushi Kabuto

Kabuto tapped politely on Sakura’s door before looking in. “Orochimaru-sama wants to see you.”

“About time.” Sakura rolled up off her bed, where she’d been examining her ceiling and getting increasingly bored, and strode after him down the hallways of Sound’s hidden heart.

She blended into the torch-shadows like they did, now. The one thing Orochimaru had done, in the three weeks she’d been waiting, was give her the run of Sound’s outfitting supplies. Sakura suspected it was a test of sorts, but that was all right. She was done hiding what she was (and that made the best cover of all). She’d tossed her chuunin uniform into storage and chosen instead a snugly zipped leather vest, loose pants, and half gloves. All in black. She was done trying to be pretty and unthreatening, too. Orochimaru had chuckled.

Today he waited for her in one of his laboratories, smiling and cold-eyed and avid. “You’ve been wanting an opportunity to prove yourself. Here’s a bit of research that I believe your skills might assist me with.” He waved a hand at the table spread with diagram scrolls.

Sakura studied them and gave him a faintly disgusted look as she flipped them into what had to be the proper order. What was this, an exam? She ignored his smirk as she read. The heart of it was the Earth, Wind and Fire seal, but so woven into grounding channels that all its force seemed to be siphoned off. A strange approach for a technique that was supposed to tear a whole battleground into fissures and rubble. But the grounding also seemed to circle back. A feedback loop? “A power source,” she finally said, slowly. “Looping the explosive energy until it’s concentrated in one path. There’s no outlet, though.”

“Well, that’s up to the subject, isn’t it?” Orochimaru asked.

Sakura’s world flipped over and she imagined the seal drawn on a person, not the ground. She snorted and let the scroll under her hand roll up. “I didn’t come here to be your guinea pig.”

“It’s a technique still in development. You wouldn’t be the first tester, of course,” Orochimaru purred. “But I’m sure you’ll wish to oversee the stages of testing and refinement.”

(I can’t do that, I can’t…) Sakura forced down a twist of sickness and curled her lip. “I didn’t come here to be your own personal torturer, either,” she said and jerked her chin at Kabuto. “That’s what he’s for, isn’t it?”

Orochimaru raised his brows. “Scruples, little kunoichi?” he murmured, and there was danger in his voice.

Sakura crossed her arms. “What you do is your business. What I do is mine. I’m here because you have something I want, and I have something you want; don’t think that means I’m going to swear myself to Sound or follow your path. I’ve got my own.” She stared back at him with all the fury of finally speaking and acting her mind, after all those years of muffling herself; she wasn’t going to just accept a new blanket to throw over her own will, having finally fought free (it only made sense that she wouldn’t).

“Hm.” He studied her, finally smiling again. “I suppose I’ll have to send you on a field assignment, then, to see what you’re made of.”

Sakura shrugged. “That’s what I like best. Just as long as whatever goons you assign me know the difference between ‘betraying Sound’ and ‘halfway decent strategy’.” She smiled back at him, chilly. “I wouldn’t like being killed by accident, and you wouldn’t like how many you’d lose doing it.”

He laughed low in his throat. “Very practical. How refreshing. Kabuto,” he waved a hand, turning back to his diagrams, “introduce her to Sakon’s new team. She can plan the trip into Earth Country.”

(Sakon, only survivor of the snatch for Shizune, has one of those seals like Sasuke’s.) Sakura prepared herself to show no sign of recognition as she followed Kabuto out into the halls again. Filing clerk, she reminded herself; pissed as fuck not to have known about the attack despite working for Intelligence, if they mention it.

“He seems to like you,” Kabuto said conversationally. It took Sakura a moment to remember he was talking about Orochimaru, not Sakon. “I think he sees himself in you.”

After the conversation they’d just had about testing (torture), that was a jab. Sakura snorted and jabbed back, as he’d surely expect her to. “What, because I finally figured out, after years of trying, that what I am is never going to be good enough for the precious Leaf? Never acceptable, no matter how good I am? Never right and normal? I suppose I can see how that would seem familiar, yes.”

She could feel him stiffening beside her, just for a flash of an instant, and for that same instant his glance was dangerous. And then he smiled again and murmured, “Perhaps.”

“I’m very good at what I do,” she said softly, feeling for her footing in this exchange, remembering Kakashi’s words about Kabuto being the real danger to her cover. She had to convince him, and that meant pushing back against him. “I hid it for years and years under sweet, soft manners. I know what can hide behind a polite smile. Kabuto-senpai.”

His smile turned more genuine for another flash, dark and sharp. “Will that knowledge keep you alive?”

She shrugged one shoulder, starting to enjoy this sparring though it made her pulse run faster. “You said yourself that he sees himself in me. As long as he can get something he wants out of me, there’s no reason to kill me. And,” she added, gambling that a man who kept that sweet mask, even here, would have his own agenda, even here, “as long as I’m not a threat to your ends you’ll enjoy me while I’m around.”

Kabuto’s smile was inscrutable again and he laid his hand on a door. “Perhaps. Here we are.” As she walked past him into the room, he murmured, “Just remember that I did swear myself to Sound.”

So. Either he was saying that he didn’t actually have any agenda separate from Orochimaru’s, and was genuinely loyal; or else he was saying that he was even more ruthless in pursuit of his separate agenda than she was, even to giving an oath he meant to betray. If her answer assumed either one, and the other was true, Sakura would be dead. Sakura felt a flash of the same thrill she’d felt facing Fuunotora across the sands of the Exam arena, and smiled back.

“I’ll remember, senpai.” And let him make what he would out of that.

Sakura didn’t like Sakon, or his team. They were arrogant. They were careless. They were idiots. She found herself wishing, a little wistfully, that they really would mistake her sensible precautions for sabotage and try to kill her, so that she’d have a really good excuse to activate the trap seals she’d prepared for each of them. Unfortunately, she suspected that Orochimaru, who was mad but not stupid, had told them to just report her actions back, whatever she did.

(It nauseated her, at night, when she was falling asleep and sliding down deeper than her persona, to feel that callous urge to eliminate them and know it was at least partly real. She buried the disturbance under her persona as soon as she could, every morning.)

She’d certainly have preferred a more subtle group with which to track two of Akatsuki, who were reported to be, in turn, tracking the host of a tailed beast. Especially considering that one of those Akatsuki seemed to be Uchiha Itachi.

A field test indeed. Her lip curled. Orochimaru was subtle, even if his tools weren’t.

(She wanted, so very much, to get this information back to the Leaf; another sighting of Itachi, after years of traceless silence. But she didn’t dare. That would be just what Orochimaru was watching for.)

“What the hell, so we only get to watch them?” The one called Kagura lounged back against the sandy rock of their vantage point. “Boring.”

“Orochimaru-sama’s orders.” Not that Miyu was watching anything but her knives as she sharpened them.

“You and your weird crush on the boss,” Kagura muttered, turning over to take a look over the edge of the boulder again. “If we’re watching, we should be closer.”

“Not while Uchiha Itachi is down there,” Sakura said flatly. Again.

“Like he could handle all three of us.” Sakon paused and added. “Well, all four, I suppose.” He gave her a smirk that said, clear as words, that he meant his brother-self as the fourth, not her.

“Don’t be more of an idiot than you can help,” Sakura directed, cold. “I realize that may not be much, since you apparently can’t read a background briefing. Itachi has a new level of the Sharingan; one look and you’ll be down for days with the after-effects. None of you are careful enough to be trusted to avoid it.” Ah, it felt so good to just say that.

“Illusions,” Kagura sneered.

“Physical effects,” Sakura corrected. “Now shut up and watch; I think they’re making their move.” At least they were finally approaching the tall shinobi in the red armor they’d been tracking. They seemed to actually be talking to him. Trying to recruit him?

Apparently not, since the Rock-nin leaped back, steam suddenly spinning around him like a vortex. Itachi’s partner tossed his head back as if he’d laughed and pulled his enormous sword off his back.

“So if the Uchiha is all that, why’s it the sword guy going in?” Kagura demanded.

“The swordsman seems to be enjoying himself,” Miyu observed, fortunately before Sakura gave in to temptation and strangled Kagura.

It was true enough that the swordsman—one of Mist’s Seven Swordsmen according to the briefing—seemed to be amusing himself, fighting with broad, showy strokes whose flash didn’t conceal their brutality. (Sakura remembered Zabuza with a shiver. But she could feel that glee, that enjoyment inside herself, now.) And Itachi stood quietly aside, waiting with every appearance of patience.

“Huh,” Sakon commented, elbow on their concealing boulder. “That’s some chakra the red one’s got going.”

Sakura wondered if that was what Akatsuki was after; the chakra of the tailed beasts, the greatest weapon of the hidden villages. But how did they think they could control the hosts? Surely the beast’s chakra would overwhelm any brainwashing technique attempted on the host.

…or perhaps that was what Itachi was for, with his strange, new Sharingan.

(Naruto!)

Sakura watched the fight below with narrowed eyes and hoped the white knuckles of her hand gripping the rock would be taken for fear. Her breath hissed in as the host started to manifest visibly and she said to her temporary team, low and tense, “Be ready to move back.”

“What, more?”

Sakura didn’t even look at Kagura. “You weren’t there when the One-tail got loose, were you? Stay if you want; I’ll report back on how small a smear you left.” Chakra was whipping around the red armor below, though the Swordsman’s strange blade seemed to be keeping him clear; absorbing chakra, or deflecting it? She couldn’t tell from here. Hints of a long, narrow head rose above the host.

And then Itachi stepped forward. He just stood there, unmoving, but abruptly the gathering chakra blazed, ragged and wild. And collapsed.

“What the fuck did he do?” Sakon demanded.

“I told you,” Sakura said through her teeth, trying to keep her voice from shaking with the sudden knot of cold fear in her belly. “Come on,” she added, as Itachi’s partner hauled the tall Rock-nin over his shoulder. “We’ll follow them as far as we can. But if any of you get too close and get caught, you’re on your own.”

“Yeah, fine,” Kagura muttered, looking unsettled.

Sakura directed them out into a tracking formation and started after the two Akatsuki as soon as they were out of sight. Which took a while as the two strolled across the plain below, careless of concealment.

She would report all her suspicions to Orochimaru. And would not seek any of her message drops to Konoha. Not yet.

(Naruto! Sasuke! Oh, stay safe, be careful, don’t let them catch you!)

The wind, here in Earth Country, was making her eyes tear up and she blinked to clear them.

A scream rang down the hall and in an instant Sakura had her back to the thick stone wall and a knife in hand. Another two weeks of waiting after her "test" mission had pulled her nerves tight.

“Admirable reflexes, Sakukra-san,” Kabuto murmured, “but unnecessary.” He looked down the hall. “Shall we see if the latest tests were successful?”

(Because of me, no, no, no…) Sakura took a slow breath. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known from the start where the power Orochimaru promised came from. She made her kunai vanish and followed Kabuto down toward where greenish light spilled out of an open door.

Inside, Orochimaru stood with folded arms, watching a man in the middle of the bare, stone room with an expression of dissatisfaction. He looked up as they came in and made a small tch of annoyance. “The Eight Gates won’t do for this at all, Kabuto; I was on the right track with the first seal. If the power released is internal, there’s no chance at all of limiting it.” He waved a hand at the man.

Sakura swallowed hard, knowing her eyes were stretched wide. The man looked like he was on fire, crouched on the floor with heat and sweat and chakra boiling off him, shedding themselves into the visible spectrum. He made another sound, hoarse and desperate, and abruptly collapsed onto the stone. The raging heat and light around him died down and down and finally out, along with his last, faint movements.

He wasn’t breathing.

Orochimaru sighed. “No, that won’t do at all. But don’t worry, little kunoichi,” he smiled at Sakura, slow and more than a little mad. “There’s always a way, if one just searches for it deep enough.”

(Deep enough in nightmare, no, don’t think, don’t think, don’t feel, anger, that’s all there is) Sakura cleared her throat. “I hope so. I certainly have no interest in power that’s too unstable to use.”

“I assure you, I’m working diligently on it,” Orochimaru murmured, watching her with dark amusement. "And for your part?"

Sakura folded her arms, looking down at them. “All right. As long as you’re working on that, I’ll work for you.”

“Excellent!” He clapped his hands, sounding pleased. “I’m sure there will be plenty of missions that will suit you, here.”

She knew it was true. (Would have to be true.) That was why she’d come here. She was shinobi, and she’d killed before. She would again. She clung to the bitter anger she’d fanned up in herself and turned her back on the body sprawled over the floor.

It was a little strange, how familiar missions made life. No matter the country, the wants of the people never seemed to change that much. Some people wanted protection, and some people wanted others gotten rid of. Someone always wanted to know what someone else was doing or saying. And all of those people came to the shinobi for help. So here she was, with a new team, lounging in the most upscale baths in Sound’s capital and waiting for the mistress of the mayor to make her daily visit with her friends so that Sakura could find out where the mayor would be tonight. Even Orochimaru couldn’t wring financial support out of a Daimyou without taking on some political jobs.

Kikyou slipped through the curtains and murmured, for Sakura’s ears only, as she passed, “She’s coming.” Sakura nodded just a hair and swished her fingers under the water to send ripples toward the far corner. Kikyou waded that way and sank down into the water with a contented sigh, apparently indifferent to the two women already in the pool.

There was the one difference from her old familiar missions, though. This time, Sakura was in charge. Openly and officially, with no hidden orders to watch her.

(And so the message, finally dropped for Leaf after two and more months of waiting: the location of Hidden Sound, the tight-coded map, the warning about Akatsuki on the move, the don’t-come-yet signal because he hasn’t trusted her yet with the locations of more than two of the other bases. One tight roll of onion-skin paper she’d dropped blind and had to believe would be picked up.)

She liked the taste of being in control; it was a delicious contrast to her previous missions.

A drift of laughter preceded four beautiful women through the curtain.

“…and he brought the most gorgeous flowers, but I suspect it was his assistant who actually picked them out.” Kotone of Kamura, the mayor’s mistress waved one elegant hand, her laugh sweet and low even as she heaped scorn on her client. “I imagine the poor woman is relieved when I take up his attention.”

None of the women had brought anything in with them and Sakura stretched her left arm out along the pool edge, signalling. Akemi slipped out of the pool and by the four women, bobbing her head timidly as she passed. She would check their clothing and things for any written assignations.

“So where is he taking you tonight?” one of the other women asked, coiling up her long, sleek hair.

Kotone touched a soft fingertip to her red lips. “It’s a secret.” She laughed as her friends protested. “Well, I’ll tell you this much. It’s in Fujiura territory.” She slid into the water and leaned back with a full, pleased smile as her friends gasped with scandalized delight.

So it was true; the mayor was using his mistress’ contacts to make deals with the city’s yakuza clans. It remained to be seen whether he really thought he could replace the country’s lord, as the Daimyou feared, but it was starting to look like that was the plan. Sakura closed her eyes and leaned back more comfortably, listening as Kikyou took the signal and stood. Under her lashes, she watched Kotone’s gaze sharpen and follow Kikyou, and nodded to herself. Kikyou would lay a false trail, ending in perfect innocence, while Sakura and Akemi slipped into the Fujiura-run Mana restaurant to find out the details of this deal.

Everything was running smoothly, and exactly to her orders. Sakura relaxed into the water and fed her inner bitterness on satisfaction, drawing its veils more firmly around her heart to suppress worries about her message.

Yes. She liked the taste of this quite a lot.

Sakura stared at the twisted flow of stone in front of her. “This is what you call working?”

“It demonstrates that the principle is sound,” Orochimaru lectured, as if this were a classroom. “Despite the subject’s failure to control the process, it is, in fact, the correct process.”

At least she didn’t have to listen to any screaming this time. Actually, insofar as the thing still had a face, the statue (statue, not person, statue, think that) looked rather peaceful. It just wasn’t human. “I’ve seen plenty of transformations before,” she said, pushing down her flickers of queasiness and distress, “but none that ended in stone. Not unless it was a bloodline talent.”

“Mm, yes. I do have samples of such things, but grafting them is always touch and go. In this case,” Orochimaru flicked casual fingers at the statue, “the petrification is the result of an overflow of energy. The body can no longer withstand it and crystallizes.”

“I trust,” Sakura said dryly, “you can think of a way around that problem.”

“In time.” He looked down at her with the predatory edge she was actually getting used to. “There’s a way around every problem in time, my little kunoichi.”

Working with, and for, Orochimaru could be troublesome and disturbing, but it had been four months and she’d managed to get used to that. Traveling with him, on the other hand, was turning out to be unexpectedly and utterly exasperating. Orochimaru was finicky about where they stopped to sleep and would press on for extra hours to reach a town with lodgings he considered acceptable, but he was also distractable as a cat when some new thought struck and would stop them nearly midstride in a tree to write up experimental possibilities. Sakura was having downright (painful) flashbacks to Naruto in pursuit of ramen. And she could not, no matter how she protested or lectured or, eventually, in desperation, cajoled, get Orochimaru to keep to his alleged travel schedule. (So familiar, miss it so much, but not, no, never Orochimaru…)

And that wasn’t even mentioning the actual route.

“How do you ever manage to visit your other bases often enough to keep them running?” she demanded as they rounded yet another switchback to a hidden gate. “It’s going to take longer to get in than it does to inspect the place.”

“If it bores you, I suppose I can bring Kabuto along as I usually do, instead,” Orochimaru murmured, fingers flickering over the door, completing seals of unlocking.

Sakura ground down her sudden flare of alarm, checking their backtrail so he wouldn’t see anything she couldn’t conceal, and managed to grumble, “Why didn’t you bring him this time, then?” (Have to be here, have to find all the bases.)

“Kabuto has a job of his own this month.” He glanced at her sidelong, slyly. “One of the places I’m afraid I can’t send you.”

Spying in Konoha most likely, then. (Have to trust my cover holds.) She shrugged. “If this is what you need me for, fine. But, honestly, this is overkill.”

“You’ll see.” He completed the seals and the door opened.

There were at least ten ninja behind it.

“Orochimaru-sama!” One of them hurried forward. “Suigetsu has escaped, please be careful!”

“Again?” Orochimaru sounded more intrigued than worried and Sakura fought the urge to roll her eyes, keeping a sharp eye on the room around them. “Show me the container. How did he get out this time?” He turned back to close the gates, head cocked at the man who’d warned him, and a silvery shimmer flashed out of the shadows, striking for his back.

Sakura was moving before she thought, following hard on her thrown kunai, watching as it went through what was attacking, driving her hands through the seals for Earth Wall even as she dove forward. She rolled and slapped a hand down to initiate the technique and breathed out as a thin wall of stone shot up just in time to intercept the attack.

And now, as the other ninja present started shouting and throwing around earth and lightning attacks, calculation actually caught up with her, murmuring in the back of her mind. (Chance to kill him, but might not, escapee, captured before, surprise attack but how often is Orochimaru really surprised? fifty-fifty chance, not good enough, defend him.)

That calculation wasn’t why she’d moved.

Sakura crouched by Orochimaru, most of her waiting, poised, to defend again if necessary. But a little part of her, hidden and sheltered as long as she’d been able, was shivering. (exasperating, familiar, my team, miss it so much, acted to defend that memory, he’s not them, but it feels so close…)

As the base ninja finally blasted earth through the attacker, who resolved into a half-liquid human figure, Orochimaru stepped up beside her and touched her shoulder in passing. “Well done, little kunoichi.”

Satisfaction edged his voice and the base ninja nodded respectfully to her as she stood. It was the same way the people at the Sound village looked at Kabuto, Orochimaru’s right hand. Trusted. Sakura took a silent breath in and deliberately pushed the wail of (not them, not the same, not!) further down inside.

(I’m shinobi. Whatever it takes. Use it.)

She followed Orochimaru into the base, alert at his back as she would be to guard any shinobi she was assigned with.

(not team!)

Her new team, she supposed.

Another month, another experiment. Whoever had given Orochimaru a science kit as a child had a lot to answer for. There was an unholy light in the man’s eyes as he explained the changes he’d made since his last experimental subject had exploded all over his lab.

“Absolutely not,” Sakura said flatly, stepping back from the table full of diagrams and seals. “This one draws on your control to supplement mine. The instant you let that lapse, I’m either soggy shreds or else a stone statue. An extremely strange one. You’re just circling back around to the conclusion you reached with the elemental seals.”

Orochimaru gave her a sour look, seeming right on the edge of pouting, and Sakura leaned her hip on the counter and snorted. “You like challenges,” she reminded him. It was a lot of why she was still alive, she sometimes thought. That and his amusement at her measured insolence. “This approach is stalled; you need another. Tell me how the core of this works.”

Orochimaru’s brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

Sakura sighed and rubbed a gloved hand over her face. He could be such a temperamental, pain in the ass, diva to work with; worse than Sasuke, honestly. (Want it back. Don’t think about that.) “For one thing, I’m not letting you do anything to me that I don’t understand. For another, I’m a damn good researcher, and I’ve been reading your library when you don’t have any missions for me.” She waved a hand at his papers. “I can already see what you’re doing with the outer seals, channeling and looping the force to stabilize it. But why use a glorified explosive tag as the core in the first place?”

Now he smiled, slow and pleased. “Ah, but it isn’t. The Earth, Wind and Fire seal is far more than that." He settled into a chair and crossed his legs. “Do you know the actual power source for that technique?”

Sakura cocked her head. “Isn’t it the shinobi’s own chakra? The warnings on it make it look that way; it draws chakra out so abruptly and in such volume that it can kill the user if they’re not strong enough.” That was, in essence, how every technique worked.

His smile got wider. “Oh, no. The reason the warnings call for only jounin rank to use this is because it requires that much strength to control the power source. Which is the energy of nature around us, you see. That is what kills the users.”

Sakura blinked. “But… wait a minute. There are plenty of techniques that link the user with the energy of the world around them. That’s the source of every elemental technique there is!” She paused in thought for a moment and added, slowly, “Though… not the power source, I suppose…”

“Precisely.” Orochimaru leaned back in great good humor. “Ninja use the resonance between their personal energy and that of the natural world to form techniques. But not to power them. Because, unless the user has both great power of their own to balance the inrush, and also phenomenal control to shape what is, after all, an alien energy… well. The results can be very interesting.”

Sakura reflected on what kind of thing Orochimaru found interesting and had to hold back a shudder. “And this is what you want to draw onto me, like I was some kind of really big parchment tag?” she asked. It wasn’t actually a rhetorical question, considering who she was talking to.

“Ah!” Orochimaru held up a finger, eyes brightening again. “But you have the control. You will be able to shape it, once you have it. What must be supplied is a backstop, as it were. Some bracing to hold you steady against the flow and aid you in cutting it off before it runs out of balance.”

“Hm.” Sakura gave him a long, narrow look, and finally turned back to the diagrams, examining them with a new eye. “Are there any other techniques that use that source?” she asked absently, and looked up, startled, at the disgusted sound he made.

“The so-called ‘Sage’ techniques. That fool only made it work by having helpers, though, summons who could feed the energy to him. That seems to tame it a little.” He smiled, very unpleasantly. “Though it also transformed the user a little bit into the form of his helpers. Very appropriate, I thought.”

Sakura considered Orochimaru’s sour expression, and the only person she’d ever heard referred to as a sage, and nodded to herself. Jiraiya. Interesting. “Well, then, what we need here are some ‘helper’ seals, isn’t it? Separate seals to receive the force from Earth, Wind and Fire and feed it into a whole different channeling system. I bet I know one that would work, too.” She grabbed some paper and started writing, chewing the end of the brush now and then as she thought back to how, exactly, these had gone. “Not the Summer River seal; that will contain it but not smooth or slow it at all. Channel it through the Three Gates and the Dragon at Dawn, and then smooth the output through Summer Rain.”

(Seals that Tsunade had used to let Sakura channel Naruto’s—no, the Nine-tail’s—chakra to her. With Tsunade’s work to contain the force, just maybe Sakura could trust this to be used on her.)

She smiled with tight satisfaction as she wrote the last line. “There.”

Orochimaru examined her work closely, brows slowly rising. “Hmm. An unusual approach, but, as the source is external, this might work yes.” He glanced at her, eyes gleaming. “It will rely wholly on your judgement, to stop the inflow before it burns you out.”

Sakura raised her chin. “My control is second to none. I can do it.”

(It will work, oh god it will work, this is it and it’s too soon, can’t delay any more, wait!, yes, can…)

“Well, then,” he murmured, and she cut him off.

“After that’s been tested to my satisfaction.” She crossed her arms and stood firm against his burning excitement, hard and unmoving. No one was going to control her or burn her out for his own amusement. No one. That was her only concern. (Has to be.)

He looked at her for a long moment and finally laughed, low. “Very well, then.” His mouth curled. “Sakura.”

It jolted her. He’d never used her name to her before. Never… recognized her like that. The change struck her breathless and flustered, habitual anger easing. Whatever else Orochimaru was, he was one of the Leaf’s Sannin, and he acknowledged her.

“Come.” He gathered up the papers and swept out the door. “Let us see how this works.” Knowledge lay dark under his smile as he looked over his shoulder at her.

(can’t go there!)

(Have to go there.)

She nodded silently and followed him down the shadowy halls toward the sturdy stone testing areas.

Sakura slung her pack into the corner by her bed and stretched. This had been a long mission, though at least her subordinates were finally jumping properly when she told them what to do. Orochimaru had assigned her yet another team (not her team, remember somehow) over a month ago, and it had taken her a while to harry them into shape. She suspected Orochimaru of using her to train the less experienced shinobi of Sound, but she couldn’t do a very fast job of it when he was also pulling her aside after every mission away to watch people attempt to use the seal he’d… they’d created. Attempts that had failed so far (Good, it’s an excuse to wait, to build more information.), and when he asked, she’d chosen a mission over watching the latest round.

(she’d dropped the next message, they’d be ready to come when she showed herself, would brief Naruto and Sasuke to play their parts)

At any rate, the rural lord whose ambition the Daimyou of Sound had been worried about was dead, and the country’s leader bound that much tighter to his “Otokage”. She rolled her eyes a little over that self-bestowed title. Though Orochimaru did have the ability to match it. Not the clout, not the influence, and not the country, but the ability. No one could deny that.

“Sakura-san?” She turned to find Kabuto standing in her doorway. “Good timing! I think your procedure is ready for you.”

Adrenaline spiked through her. “The seal? It’s ready?”

He smiled. “The final tests went very smoothly. The subject managed to halt the power before he lost control, and showed significantly increased speed and reserves.”

She took a slow breath. Power. Orochimaru’s half of their bargain, she was going to have power to match almost anyone. And once the bargain was fulfilled, she’d agreed to show herself openly enough to attract Naruto’s notice and bring Sasuke in his wake.

(Over half a year, this is it.)

(counted every day)

(Still don’t have the last base location, but have to keep him from suspecting, have to be trusted, have to do it…)

She looked Kabuto in the eye, flushed with anticipation. “Let’s do it, then.”

Kabuto set down a small box on her table. “Take these before you sleep. They’ll help calm your chakra in preparation for binding the seal to you.”

“‘Calm my chakra’ hm?” She flipped open the box and eyed the two pills inside. “You’re saying I have to make myself vulnerable to the imprint of the seal for it to take?”

For a breath, his eyes glinted. “I’ve admired the quickness of your understanding from the start, Sakura-san.”

Another move in their constant sparring, always full of double and triple meanings. Did he mean she understood him? Understood Orochimaru? Understood only the surface, the technicalities?

“I’m flattered, Kabuto-senpai,” she murmured. She only called him that when they spoke alone like this. Double and triple meanings.

“Only the truth.” He slipped back out, closing the door softly behind him. “Sleep well, Sakura-san,” drifted back through it.

She took the pills and slept deeply and walked into Kabuto’s operating room the next morning with a firm step. She thought he’d probably put sedatives in there, too.

Orochimaru turned, smiling. “Ah, Sakura. There you are.” His eyes were bright, but more focused than was usual when he was in the grip of experimentation and invention, which was reassuring. He’d already gotten the early, jittery excitement out of his system, apparently.

Kabuto made a reassuringly normal medical fuss around her, getting her prepared and onto his table. “I’ll need to work along your spine, so if you’ll lie on your stomach,” he directed, draping a sheet modestly over her.

“I have watched this before,” she pointed out, settling herself. Kabuto laughed, warm and comforting.

“I know; it’s just medic patter. We’re trained to do this, you know, to set people at ease.”

“No wonder you’re such a good spy,” she muttered. “You were trained to lie.”

Kaubto paused and she could imagine the quirk of his mouth that went with his suddenly darker tone. “Well, yes, I suppose I was.” He chuckled and added, “I won’t downplay how much this will hurt, then. It’s chakra re-alignment, after all.”

“I’ve noticed that, yeah.”

“And have the will to pursue your strength, even so,” Orochimaru murmured, and a startlingly warm hand rested on her back, almost as soothing to her nerves as that acknowledgment was to her anger. “Let us begin, then.”

Sakura set her teeth into the bite-pad under her chin and closed her eyes. As ink traced over her shoulders and down her spine and wrenched harder and harder at her nerves and soul, she held tight to her purpose. She would have power, and she would never be ignored and set aside again.

(She would keep what was important to her safe.)

(love them, love them, kill him...)

As the seal sank into her, burning like fire, the screams broke loose, layers of her self running together in the unified rush of pain. Orochimaru’s voice followed her down into the dark.

“Everything will be well, Sakura.”

It actually helped.

Up on the Angel’s Shoulders

Kakashi achieves the Mangekyou Sharingan, turning to his past to do it. His past visits him while he recovers. Takes place just after Chapter Seven of Half Without Another One and "And We’ll Laugh About It". Angst, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Did I Mention Angst? Also Gore, I-5

Character(s): Hatake Kakashi, Namikaze Minato, Uchiha Sasuke

Hatake Kakashi was known and feared through the five great countries and a dozen little ones. Sharingan Kakashi. The Copy Nin. The man who copied a thousand jutsu.

What no one seemed to remember was that Kakashi had graduated as a genin at five. Had passed his chuunin exam at six. And he had been jounin at thirteen, before he ever received the Sharingan.

Of course, that forgetfulness was mostly his own doing. The Sharingan’s greatest single use to him was not expanded perception, or the ability to copy others’ techniques, or even intimidation value. Its greatest use was as camouflage. No one had to wonder why the man with a thousand jutsu kept winning; the answer was self evident.

It was also wrong.

Kakashi was not a collector of jutsu. He was a scholar of them. He rarely used what he had copied except as a psychological ploy. Instead he studied them, looking for patterns among them, looking for the deeper answers to why one technique succeeded and another failed, looking for the weaknesses one could point out in another. Looking for the reasons and roots of chakra itself.

Right now he was sitting on the edge of his apartment building’s roof, staring into the wind and thinking about the Sharingan.

Common knowledge, if a clan secret could be called such, said the Sharingan activated under great stress or emotion. Kakashi thought he saw a much more specific pattern than that, though. Of the three activations he had seen himself, all of them had been in the field. None of them had been triggered by fear for the Uchiha’s own life. No, all three had been triggered by need, an absolute, driving need to protect, not themselves, but their fellows. To protect an emotional bond of great importance.

Really, it was no wonder the First had offered the Uchiha guardianship of the village itself; it was a purpose wedded perfectly to the nature of their bloodline. It was almost the mandate of their clan—always provided the bonds of the village were ones the Uchiha cared for. Some generations that worked out better than others.

That was a conclusion Kakashi had come to years ago, though. It wasn’t what brought him up to the roof today. No, what brought him up to the wind and height, seeking perspective, was something new.

Something Sasuke had brought to him earlier that day.

“Kakashi-sensei.” Sasuke stood at the foot of Kakashi’s tree, looking up and frowning. “You know a lot about seals, right?”

Kakashi raised a brow. Not the usual kind of question from Sasuke, who liked direct attacks and large explosions almost as much as Naruto did. He dropped lightly to the ground beside his student, head cocked. “Quite a bit, yes. Though I should warn you right now, I’m not going to help the three of you break into the library at the Hokage’s Residence, or the Records room at the academy.”

Sasuke gave him a faintly annoyed look, but didn’t rise further to the bait. Kakashi guessed it must be serious, whatever it was. Sasuke held out a scroll. “Is there a seal on this?”

“Hm.” Kakashi took the scroll and unwrapped it’s tie delicately. It was an old one, the paper dry and crackling under his fingertips. “Where is this from?”

“The Naka Shrine,” Sasuke said quietly, eyes fixed on the scroll, and Kakashi’s hands stilled for a moment. He’d only been an affiliate of the Uchiha clan, not formally adopted; he’d never taken part in most clan rituals. But he’d at least heard of a few, and the Naka Shrine was where the deepest and oldest had been held. Records from the shrine could only be clan secrets.

The thing was, he’d never actually told Sasuke he was affiliated with Uchiha. As far as Sasuke knew, he was asking an outsider to unseal a clan record.

“Sasuke,” he said softly, “what is this about?”

Sasuke shifted under his eyes, fidgeting. Kakashi waited him out. “There’s… a record tablet there,” his student finally muttered. “It talks about the Sharingan. Itachi told me to find it, when he… left.” Sasuke swallowed hard, hands fisting for a moment. When he went on his voice was a little ragged. “It’s mounted, and the mounting is a box. There were three scrolls inside. I took them out, then, but I… I never read them.”

“Probably a good decision, considering everything on your hands at the time,” Kakashi murmured, when it seemed like Sasuke had run aground in his explanation. “Did something change your mind?”

“Jiraiya-san,” Sasuke said to his feet. “He said… I mean… He was always making me think about clan things. Really think.” He half-laughed. “I hated it. But this last mission.” Finally, he looked up, and his eyes were haunted. “I need to know everything. What if we did something like that man in Hidden Stone did? The Mangekyou Sharingan is bad enough! What if there’s worse?!”

Kakashi rested a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder. “Easy, now.” He waited for his student to take a good breath and asked, “What is it about the Mangekyou Sharingan that’s so bad?” The way Sasuke was talking, he didn’t think it was just that Itachi used it.

Sasuke chewed on his lip for a few moments. “It’s…” His eyes slid away again, but not before Kakashi caught a flash of shame in them. “It’s wakened by killing your closest friend.”

Kakashi sucked in a sharp breath. Now he understood why their last mission, and the absolute betrayal of Stone’s shinobi by one of their own researchers, had brought this back to Sasuke’s mind. He spared a moment to hope, very hard, that the fact he’d never heard of the Mangekyou before Itachi returned meant that it was an aberration, that only a very few of his second clan had ever been tempted into that kind of depravity. No wonder Sasuke was so tense. All he said, though, was, “All right, let’s see what this scroll can tell us.” He unrolled it carefully.

It wasn’t all that long and he skimmed through it quickly. Warning followed dire warning about the method of waking the Mangekyou Sharingan that Sasuke had mentioned; a handful of names were listed, renegades who had taken this path and been executed for it. The death of both soul and chakra were cited as consequences of attaining the Mangekyou that way.

It was all curiously vague, though, and his fingers tingled faintly with each turn he unrolled.

“Hmm.” Kakashi traced his fingers over the back of the scroll thoughtfully. “I think you may be right; there’s probably more information hidden in here. Well, there’s always the obvious thing.” He nudged up his forehead protector and looked with his Sharingan.

“I tried that,” Sasuke said quietly. “It didn’t change anything, though.”

“Mmm.” Nothing was changing, no, but Kakashi’s eye itched just a little, the back-of-the-eyeball itch that he’d felt sometimes trying to look through something that had a barrier seal on it.

Or something that had a very strong genjutsu shielding it.

“The curious thing about the Sharingan, you know,” Kakashi said, peering closer, “is that it’s an extremely localized technique. No chakra touches the object of your vision unless you deliberately turn it outward; rather, an alteration to your own chakra and eye structure changes the nature of your perception. Your own chakra control has a great deal of impact on how deeply you can perceive through the Sharingan.” Sasuke was frowning at him in puzzlement and just a little annoyance at this recitation of the basics, and Kakashi’s mouth quirked. “Remind me to teach you this.”

He sent his hands flashing through the forty-three hand seals of the focusing technique Kazuo-san, his tutor among the Uchiha, had taught him long ago, focusing his chakra pin-point tight until his vision telescoped and the scroll’s characters burned in his sight.

Burned and divided. Sentence lay over sentence, on the scroll, each one in the overlay continued by the one beneath it in the underlay.

“I learned that because my chakra isn’t completely compatible with this eye,” he said, jaw clenched against the disorientation of reading two layers at once. “It isn’t usually taught to beginners. It burns chakra faster, but it deepens your perception.” He broke the technique with a short gasp, squeezing both eyes shut for a moment to clear his head. “You should read that yourself,” he said at last, “but in short it details all the consequences of awakening and using the Mangekyou Sharingan, none of which are pleasant.”

Sasuke’s shoulders relaxed all at once from their tight line. “Nothing else?” he asked, relieved.

Kakashi re-rolled the scroll carefully and handed it back. “Nothing else.” At least, it recorded no more demons in the Uchiha past. Fortunate, that. The ones already mentioned were bad enough. Sasuke held the scroll in both hands, head bowed, and nodded.

After a moment, though, he took a deep breath and looked up, chin set and determined, shrugging out of his demons’ hold. “That technique you used. Teach it to me.”

Kakashi smiled, quiet and proud behind his mask. “Of course.”

Kakashi drew up a foot against the edge of the roof and folded his hands around his knee. He’d told Sasuke the truth. The scroll spoke of nothing but the Mangekyou and its consequences: madness, blindness, corruption, death. But there were little turns of phrase in how those warnings were given that kept coming back to him.

The scroll spoke of those consequences following the forbidden awakening.

Was there, perhaps, another way?

Three times, he had seen the Sharingan awakened by the need to protect an emotional bond. Not always a completely friendly bond; indeed, in two out of three, the bond had been downright adversarial. But each had been powerful and deeply meaningful.

The best known way to awaken the Mangekyou Sharingan appeared to be taking just such a bond and breaking it.

Madness, yes. But that pattern suggested something more to Kakashi’s scholar’s eye: not only madness but conflict. The tension of opposites. In the beginning, the user killed to protect what he loved. In the end, he killed what he loved and had bloodied his hands to protect. Tension like that could tear a heart in two.

Tear it open.

That, he thought, might just be the key. Any path to the Mangekyou Sharingan must tear open the heart, right down to the core, far deeper than the first awakening. That wasn’t the kind of pain any sane person would court. It was, however, a pain that came to shinobi sometimes, sought for or not. It was a pain Kakashi had known himself.

Could that knowing serve his village?

His lips quirked as he came face to face with what he was thinking. No wonder he’d sought the roof today, and not the Memorial. This wasn’t a decision Obito could help him with. Obito would almost certainly have told him he was an idiot to even consider it and that he needed to spend more time healing his poor, battered heart instead of cutting it open all over again. Obito would have had a good point. But, for all his passionate attempts to keep Obito’s spirit alive in his actions, Kakashi’s life and heart had always been dedicated to Konoha’s service. That was what had led him to war, to ANBU, to teaching, of all things, in the end.

“I’ve already paid this price,” he murmured to the wind, to Obito’s memory. “If handing over the measure I got for it will buy more strength, protection for my people… I’ll do it.”

Idiot, he could hear Obito chide, but the memory of his teammate smiled crookedly, the way he’d smiled at Kakashi that last day when they’d finally worked together as one. Kakashi closed his eyes and smiled back, wry. The high wind over the village kicked up in a gust for a moment, ruffling his hair and curling down the back of his neck. Kakashi bent his head, reminded of another counter in his measure, one who would surely have had his own words to say about this plan. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “Your student is still as reckless as always, Minato-sensei.”

The wind sighed, but gently.

Kakashi sat in the middle of his apartment, table and cushions pushed back against the wall, paper spread over the floor mats to hold the rings and radials of the seal he’d drawn around himself. There was another on the door, a barrier. He didn’t want to be disturbed, and he didn’t want any neighbors to be injured if he lost control. He could have requested one of the sealed rooms under Intelligence, of course, but then he’d have had to say why. He wasn’t at all sure he could explain, at least not in a way that wouldn’t get him bundled off at once to whoever was doing operative evaluations this year, to have his head examined.

“I never claimed to be sane to begin with,” he muttered to Minato-sensei’s memory, as he knelt in the middle of his seal rings. He could almost see his teacher’s disapproving look as he set a cloth weapons roll in front of his knees and slowly unrolled it. This one didn’t protect kunai. Instead, each section held a memento—the dark ones he hid away and never looked at.

Kakashi took a slow breath, closing both eyes for a moment. Today his forehead protector, with the muffling seals stitched and etched into the underside, lay beside him; he could already feel the hum of chakra through his Sharingan, released of all restraints. One by one, he released the restraints he normally kept on his heart as well—the light humor that hid his ferocity, the careful distance from his fellows that hid his passionate attachments, the pretty books that distracted him from the blood and shadows of his work, the cool calculation that kept at bay his wild need to act. He released them all until the core was bared, blazing free.

Love. Guard. Protect. Whatever it takes.

Slowly, flinching, he reached out to rest his fingers on the first memento, the knife his father had killed himself with. A faint sound forced itself out of his throat as he let himself feel the full weight of conflicting need and reality, of his hot need to protect and the cold memory of death and failure, of his father’s body still and lifeless and a pool of blood soaking into the tatami. It hurt, like steel claws in his stomach.

He forced himself to touch the next one. A scrap of Obito’s jacket, stained at the edge with blood. He’d cut the scrap away just before they left him behind, bones crushed to fragments, half his organs burst under the falling stone, eye socket empty. The empty body of the teammate who’d admired him, railed at him, challenged him, not with jutsu but with his heart—they’d left him behind, the one who’d made him understand Minato-sensei’s words, the one he could have loved if he’d only known sooner! Love. Protect. They wrenched against Dead. Lost. Kakashi hunched in on himself, teeth clenched as water gathered in his wide, staring eyes.

One after another, he touched them and made himself remember. Rin’s forehead protector, scratched and bent from the ambush that had killed her on a routine relief mission he hadn’t been there for. A charred bit of wood from where Uchiha Hiashi, the only one he’d been willing to call his clan head, had been found, surrounded by dead Cloud-nin, both his eyes pierced by his own hand. The long lock of silky black hair that Haruko, ANBU’s Swallow, had left him, her captain, along with her note of forgiveness the night she’d hunted down her own cousin unflinchingly and then walked out into the dawn and into the river to drown. An embroidered Uchiha insignia that he’d taken from the shoulder of Mai’s uniform when he’d found his sometime lover dead in the streets with the rest of the clan, guts sliced open and sprayed up the wall beside her, laughing eyes empty and staring at the dark sky. With each memory, he fanned all the wild fire of his love and urge to protect as if there were still something he could do, even as he held the mementos tight and reminded himself of reality, the chill of death in their flesh when he’d found them.

Finally, the last memento was under his shaking fingers. One of the marker tags from Minato-sensei’s final battle, edges torn and charred. Memory stabbed at him, of coming too late, far too late, of arriving only to see the Third straightening Minato-sensei’s limbs and brushing blank, staring blue eyes closed. He’d been too late, followed too slowly when the Nine-tails turned away from the village and he’d seen flickers of Minato-sensei’s chakra in the distance. He’d failed. Failed to protect his teacher, his Hokage, the one he loved and had sworn in his heart to serve with his life. The one he’d needed, above all, to guard.

Memory piled on memory, of love on love and death on death, and he clung tight to his burning need to protect over against the stony chill of failure until they both screamed in his mind and heart, shrieked and howled with all the fire and grief that was in him and the fragment of mind left sensible wondered if this was madness. Red darkness clouded his vision.

And broke.

The very air stilled and brightened around him. He could see every current of it and every dust mote, every thread of wood grain and every fiber of straw. Drawn to the snapping point between the two poles of need and reality, his chakra shifted and his Sharingan answered. Here was strength to serve his need, to break reality if need be.

The world warped around him.

The next thing Kakashi was aware of was someone banging fast and hard on his door.

“Kakashi?! Kakashi! Open this fucking door and let me in or I’ll blow it in, I swear I will! What the fuck is going on?! Kakashi?”

Anko. Of course. He tried to speak, to reassure her that everything was fine and there was no need for property damage, and only managed to cough in a very raw throat. He noticed he was flat on his back, too, looking up at his ceiling. Maybe he could get up and go to the door, where he wouldn’t have to speak as loudly. Yes, that was a good idea. Only he didn’t seem to be able to move much. Kakashi frowned to himself, considering this dilemma.

“Kakashi!” The door burst inward, barrier seal smoking and shredding under the force of Anko’s kick. She stopped short just inside, eyes widening. “Sweet demons fucking, what did you do?!” She swooped down on him, heaving him efficiently upright, hands moving fast in an ungentle damage check. Kakashi’s eyes widened as he saw the mess in the middle of his room. The paper of his containment seals was shredded and there was a hole or a crater in his floor, where he’d been sitting.

The mementos were gone.

“New technique,” he managed to rasp, leaning on Anko’s shoulder heavily. “Stronger than expected.”

“I’ll say it fucking was!” Anko glared at him. “Why the hell are you experimenting with new jutsu in our apartment building and not—” Abruptly she broke off, staring at him. No. At his eye. “Kakashi-san,” she said, low and sharp, “what did you do?”

He grinned wryly behind his mask. “Clan secret.”

She frowned, but didn’t argue. Anko always had been serious in the field. “I’m getting you down to the medics. Hospital or Intelligence?”

“Neither.” As her frown turned darker, he sighed. “Shizune first.” He didn’t want news of this going any further than was absolutely necessary. He saw comprehension in Anko’s eyes, even though her mouth was still tight and disapproving.

“Fine.” She propped him roughly against his table and hunted through the shredded paper until she came up with his forehead protector. Both of them eyed the end of the band that had been cut or torn away. “Other end doesn’t seem to be here,” Anko observed flatly.

Kakashi smiled. “Interesting.”

Anko glowered at him and clapped it over his left eye. “Tie that. I’ll be right back.” In the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder and added, quietly. “You’d better know what you’re doing. I don’t think we can afford to lose you right now.”

Kakashi knotted the band clumsily as she propped his door shut behind her. His fingers were shaking. Chakra drain, he judged, feeling the chill of his extremities—not completely incapacitating, but he was undoubtedly in for a little bed rest. Well, maybe he wouldn’t argue too hard. Once Shizune and Tsunade were both done yelling at him for taking stupid risks, he figured they could all keep busy talking over this destructive or warping ability he seemed to have gained.

Part of him hoped they’d take a while yelling, though, because his heart was shaking worse than his hands. He felt wrung out, scoured, but still vibrating with an edge like a combat high. Part of him felt stricken, bruised, that those mementos had probably been destroyed. Another part of him felt settled, contented that they had been lost in this way and for this cause, as though they were a suitable price. At the same time, he felt numbed, as if he’d burned the memories out by focusing on them so hard. He still remembered; there was still pain. It was just the bloodletting edge that felt a little dulled. He didn’t know whether that was a relief or a betrayal of his loved ones.

“Was it the right thing to do, sensei?” he asked thin air, softly.

In answer, the door banged open again and Tsunade herself strode through it with Anko shadowing her. “What the hell did you do to yourself this time, brat?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

The breeze from the swinging door ruffled through his hair like light fingers, and Kakashi bent his head into it for one moment, yearning with all his torn heart for the lost touch of his teacher’s guidance and forgiveness. And then he looked up at his current Hokage with the most insouciant expression he could manage.

"Well, there was this scroll…"

Kakashi drifted up out of sleep to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair.

"That was an extremely foolish thing you just did," Minato-sensei said quietly.

"Mm. Had to," Kakashi murmured, sleepy but stubborn. Minato-sensei’s sigh was familiar.

"You did not have to, but I don’t expect you to admit that." He could nearly hear the quirk of his teacher’s mouth. "Not out loud, at any rate."

Kakashi turned on his side and curled up against Minato-sensei’s knee, the same way he’d hidden from and silently apologized for reprimands so long ago. So many years since he’d done it last, since he’d heard Minato-sensei’s soft huff of amusement or felt gentle fingers tugging on his hair in answer. So long.

Wait.

Kakashi slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the man sitting beside him on his hospital bed. It really was Minato-sensei, long pale coat folded and crushed under his thigh, smiling a little at his shock as Kakashi leaned up on one elbow. "What…" he managed, raspy and harsh.

Familiar blue eyes were sober. "You tore your chakra, Kakashi-kun, right down to the root. The damage is echoing in both your body and spirit. Tsunade-san is wise to keep you under observation, here." A small smile, quiet but bright as anyone else’s laugh. "But it does mean you’ll be far more sensitive to the presence of spirits for a time, so I took the opportunity to scold you in person."

"You’re… really here?" Kakashi whispered, shaky. "I’m not… I mean…" Of course, years in the field reminded him, if this was a dream or hallucination, it was perfectly capable of telling him it wasn’t, so nothing was proved. In fact, he told himself sternly, bracing for the inevitable disappointment, any claim of being real should probably be taken as evidence that this was a figment of his own pain and imagination.

Minato-sensei leaned back against the wall beside Kakashi’s flat hospital pillow, crossing his arms. "Define ‘really’." Kakashi choked on a disbelieving laugh at that, and his teacher smiled, eyes glinting like he knew exactly what Kakashi had been thinking. "I’m as here as I’ve always been. And you are… not exactly dreaming."

That was not the answer he’d expect from a dream, no. It was definitely a Minato-sensei original. But then… "Why have you stayed?" Kakashi demanded. "How have you stayed?" None of the Hokage were in-shrined; the First had forbidden it, saying that no one who dirtied his hands and conscience with the things a good village leader had to do should ever be venerated.

"The Hokage Monument makes a very good shintai, actually," Minato-sensei observed lightly. "There are even offerings left there, sometimes, by those who feel too soiled to stand on purified ground in the shrines. As for why…" He looked down at Kakashi, eyes level. "Do you really have to ask that?"

Kakashi’s eyes fell. "I suppose not," he said softly. The Monument. Which meant that Naruto had been clambering all over his father’s actual face and painting it new and interesting colors; Kakashi wasn’t sure whether that was unbearably sad or incredibly funny.

Wait. Naruto. He looked up again sharply. "Minato-sensei, if you’re still here why haven’t you spoken to Naruto?" Surely the village’s host was spirit-touched enough to hear.

Minato-sensei slumped a little against the wall, sighing. "I wish I could. But the Nine-tails holds more than a bit of a grudge and drowns me out whenever I come too near." Sadly, he added, "I can’t even really blame him."

As badly as his own heart ached tonight, Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to press further against the darkness in his teacher’s eyes. "I’m sorry."

Minato-sensei gave him that small, true smile again, and warmth curled through Kakashi. He’d cherished that look for as long as he’d known Minato-sensei, very nearly living from smile to smile and hoarding the reassurance and approval in them.

And then he’d lost them.

Abruptly his eyes were wet and he hastily flopped down again, turning his head a little into the pillow to blot them.

"Kakashi." Minato-sensei’s fingers brushed his hair again, stroking through it gently. "I haven’t left you. No matter how my most bullheaded student has infuriated or terrified me over the years, I haven’t left you."

"I couldn’t… I wasn’t in time…" Kakashi started into his pillow, thick and choked, and his teacher’s hand closed on his nape and gave him a light shake.

"Enough of that," Minato-sensei told him firmly. "It wasn’t your job to save me. You didn’t fail."

"But," Kakashi started, stubbornness waking again. He’d been a jounin already, surely it had been his job to support his Hokage! And then he gasped softly as Minato-sensei’s hand tightened a little, strong and warm on the back of his neck.

"You did not fail." That was his Hokage’s voice as well as his teacher’s, and Kakashi subsided, just a little daunted, as always, by Minato-sensei’s rare sternness.

"Yes, Minato-sensei," he murmured, lying quiet as that insistent absolution settled into his heart.

"Better." His teacher’s hand was gentle again, stroking his hair. "Sleep now, Kakashi. Rest. Heal up from doing such a damn foolish thing."

Kakashi’s cheeks were just a little hot. "Yes, Minato-sensei." He curled back up against his teacher’s knee, and heard Minato-sensei’s soft chuckle. Slowly his eyes did slide closed under the steady stroke of Minato-sensei’s fingers through his hair.

"Remember," Minato-sensei’s voice said quietly as he drifted back down. "It wasn’t your fault or failure. None of it was."

When Kakashi opened his eyes again it was daylight, and there was no one sitting beside him. No sign anyone ever had been.

But his heart didn’t hurt as much.

End

A/N: Looking at the scene with that record tablet, it doesn’t look like there’s room for much detailed information on it, even in two or three layers; I’m assuming that it’s actually just the summary, what was written by the first generation to deal with the Mangekyou. Other information was added later in the form of those scrolls tucked away inside/behind the tablet.

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