Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Torn ❯ Torn ( One-Shot )

I have no claim on anything in or affiliated with Naruto, nor anything that appears in this story other than my original plotline.

 

Summary: Itachi will never allow himself to be brainwashed by the clan. But that doesn't mean that he'll ignore his little brother, either. Pre-series.

 

Torn

 

It was a breath of fresh air— he was free from the tyrannical rule of the village, if only for a moment. His legs propelled him further than he could see from the boundaries of the village. It was beautiful, it was liberty, and it was delight of the purest kind. It was the one freedom he was allowed in that oppressive place.

 

The village called themselves nin, but feared the death of a comrade. The village called them tools, but was afraid to use them. What was the use of such a place of fear? It was nothing if not loathsome. Their beliefs, their ideals—they were blind to the fact that all meant nothing after you were dead. It was sad, he thought, but it was something that would naturally happen after a time. There was nothing else to the things that they called `friendship'. And if there was, it would slowly slip away when it was needed the most. You weren't supposed to have friends, only expendable nin who called themselves comrades. You weren't supposed to show the despicability of your clan, only your devotion. There was only one thing that you were allowed to do in the name of your clan: kill.

 

He slit the throat of the useless target and watched contemplatively as the red began to drip. It wasn't the first time he had slain another. It wasn't the first time his group had proven themselves useless. They were ANBU. Why weren't they better than that?!

 

They should have been better, he thought. They should have been better, if only so that they wouldn't be shown by their leader how much he really didn't need them. If they let such a thing happen, what was the point of having a team in the first place? The very reason of teamwork was outdated. Teaming weaklings with the stronger was the reason nin got killed. Skilled nin, that he was willing to team up with. Strong nin, that wouldn't die when left to their own devices. He stood, and though his mask was still firmly restrained against his face, his team knew him well enough to know that he wasn't pleased.

 

Two began helplessly blather excuses. He said nothing, only mentally taking note of them—he would have them transferred immediately. The others, he was (slightly) pleased to note, began to make themselves useful. He nodded to them, and quietly flicked the blood off of his katana before sliding it into his sheath. Rusting weapons were of no use to him, so he would clean it more thoroughly when he returned to the clan. Not his home—that was only the place where he was praised and doted on and used by self-serving, arrogant fools. Fools that only saw themselves reflected in every street, that only saw themselves and their future, no matter what price it may have to others. A useless clan where everyone was weak, but gathered so that they may look strong. He had no need for such a place. It was something that he would never need to succeed. He only needed the ability he had been born with. It was foolish to think that he would ever need anything otherwise.

 

The mission had been accomplished, and he looked to his team (when had it become histeam?). He knew they realized the significance of such an action, and they moved back into formation, ready to begin their long trek to the village of nin from whence they came. It was a long trip, but he was quiet, and he was still and he ignored the team.

 

They arrived within the village by moonrise. The other members of the team had been dismissed upon sight, and he went to carry the message of his team's success to the Hokage. The moon was rising, slowly, and he thought that he would much like to die on a night like this one as he approached the office of the leader.

 

The old man accepted his statement with a short nod, and he bowed to the small man behind the table. He was stopped, however, from leaving with a, “I'd like your report on my desk tomorrow, Itachi-kun.” He frowned from behind the mask with the implied `you're doing your clan proud' in the man's voice. He did nothing for the clan. Itachi knew his shoulders must have tensed, or his must have somehow let out a bit of his discomfort at the implied statement, because the cheer was gone from the Hokage's voice. Instead, there was only sad acceptance. What did that man think he had to accept about him? Itachi had no idea what he was expecting from him, but he took the dismissal and then ran to his current dwelling. The streets blurred and curved, and he silently scowled at the distance from the large office to the clan's abode.

 

He did not speak to anyone on his way, and entered the ancestral home silently. He was going back into the cage he had lived in, and was reintroduced to the stale air. He didn't think that anyone would be able to stop him even if he decided not to go home, but habit stopped him from even allowing his footsteps to be audible. Then, he heard a noise that was out of place in the otherwise silent home.

 

Thump.

 

The noise came from down the hall, and the most likely suspect was Sasuke. Itachi ran a list of `so-called' important dates that Sasuke had old him once (or rather, silently begged him to notice). None were today, nor were any tomorrow, Itachi thought as he noticed that the blood had finally finished drying. He picked at a corner with his nail, and the blood chipped onto the otherwise pristine floor.

 

Thump.

 

What was Sasuke thinking, making such a noise at night? It certainly wasn't very stealthy. But Sasuke was still a child, still small. Itachi supposed he would have enough time to grow out of this silly habit. Itachi wondered if Sasuke would act this way after a mission with a small smile. It certainly would be interesting if that ever happened. He could imagine his younger brother as a school teacher. He was terribly interested in routines, after all.

 

Thump.

 

The room went again, perhaps thinking that it was losing the attention of the older brother. Itachi sighed. Really, as a child he had been far less annoying; he had instead poured himself into the ways of the nin, which Sasuke didn't seem to have very much luck in, much to the clan head's chagrin. Itachi's half-smile turned sour. The clan head. His father. The useless man who thought nothing of abusing his children to gain a coveted status. Itachi had hated himself for the longest time when he realized he was being used for something other than a son. “I'm proud of you.” His father had said. “You are truly my son.” The man said. Give me more power. His eyes said.

 

Thump.

 

The thought was broken yet again by an obnoxious noise, and Itachi sighed, knowing a bath would have to come later. He supposed he should get changed first, though—Sasuke didn't like it when he smelled like blood. The younger boy pretended to not be put-off by it, but Itachi knew that he hated it.

 

Thump.

 

Or perhaps he should just go as he was. It would serve Sasuke right for making such a noise. (It would make him feel better to see that face scrunched up in irritation before breaking out into a beam.) Inevitably, Itachi chose to change first, and entered his room, silently stripping the ANBU uniform off of his strong frame.

 

Thump.

 

When he finished undressing, he took a small cloth and ran it over his arms and face to wipe away any blood that might have gotten on his exposed skin. Itachi was pleased when he found there was no excess blood on him, and pulled on a navy yukata. The clan had not had this one embroidered with their symbol, so he wore it with a small amount of pride.

 

Thump!

 

Was Sasuke getting worried? Itachi couldn't see why, but that last noise had certainly been more forceful than its predecessors. Sasuke was impatient after all. He stood and stepped out of the room before sliding his door shut with an audible `clk'.

 

The noises stopped. Itachi wondered quietly if this meant Sasuke knew he was home, or if the boy had simply decided that Itachi wasn't going to see him?

 

THUMP!

 

Ah, he was just getting impatient, then.

 

THUMP!

 

RIIIP!

 

Itachi raised a slender eyebrow at the noises coming from the room. Perhaps Sasuke was just a little too over-excited. The younger boy was prone to doing silly things, after all.

 

Itachi smiled softly as he stepped down the hall. The noises stopped again, and Itachi knew that Sasuke had either broken something or hurt himself. It would not do for the boy to allow himself to be so open. He sighed quietly, and touched the screen door that kept him from the other. What would greet him there?

 

Would it be a child—a weak being that yearned for attention?

 

Or would it be Sasuke—a being that would always bring him back?

 

Itachi slid open the door, and found himself staring at a mess of blankets, futon, pillows, a stuffed rabbit (that he could clearly remembering giving Sasuke for his fifth birthday, as it was the first gift he had ever given anyone), and an adorably mussed Sasuke.

 

He couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled from his throat. It rang clear and true in the solemn establishment, and Sasuke, who looked at him from half beneath the futon, pouted.

 

And then Itachi grinned, bringing up the stuffed rabbit, one ear almost torn off.

 

 

 

 

Word Count : 1,646

 

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