Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto > To End is to Begin Again
Bittersweet
0 reviewsHe's been waiting for this day for fifteen years, years full of training, sacrifice, and bloodshed.
0Unrated
Disclaimer: uh...no, not mine, that much is obvious
A/N: Originally called "Bittersweet Reality" on LJ (working on my titling abilities...). This story goes both forward and backward at the same time, just me attempting to be "creative", many apologies if it causes brain hemorrhaging.
As always, comments/critisms/suggestions are greatly appreciated and loved.
*------*
He thinks she is a hallucination when she walks through the door of the cabin, the way her image flickers and stutters. It's a reasonable assumption; the days and weeks have bled into one long fevered dream and he doesn't know anymore what is real and what is imagined. It is only when she touches his forehead with cool hands and speaks that he realizes she's as human as he is.
*------*
He is dead. Finally. The head he takes, a bittersweet trophy at best, leaving the rest of the body to be picked apart by the wild things that thrive in forests such as these. He realizes, suddenly, that he has lost the other body, the one disregarded for the heat of battle. There is a name that belongs to that body, an important body somehow, but he is forgetting it, has forgotten it. He stumbles, weakened, and it takes all of his training to get through the thick tangle of undergrowth to the hideaway. It is only once he's safely in the cabin that he realizes he's forgotten his own name as well.
*------*
He wakes again at some point, the cabin still shrouded in darkness. The fever is a demon fire in his skin and he tosses restlessly on the cot, tangling the sheets around his legs. Before he remembers her she is at his side, smoothing the hair from his face before running a damp cloth over his skin. Struggling against her ministrations she shushes him, as one would quiet a child. Mesmerized by soft comfort of her voice, he doesn't notice the prick of the needle. For the first time he can remember he sleeps without dreams.
*------*
They are fighting with little brute physicality, a battle of genjutsu and ninjutsu. For the first time, his goal, his purpose, is within reach and he grasps it with both hands. If he is affected by the complete lack of emotion in his brothers eyes as he buries the chidori in his chest it passes swiftly. He has proven himself, his strength, has finally avenged his family. His pleasure is short lived as a jutsu slams into him, cast in the second between life and death. It plows through him, leaving behind a sensation of emptiness; his brother dies with a humorless smile on his face.
*------*
"Hullo bastard."
He startles out of sleep, feeling those words soul deep, an unidentified wave of regret washing over him. There is a blond man sitting on the end of his bed, feet on either side of his, staring, as distressingly familiar to him as the woman. His mind twists around the mystery of their identities, trying to untangle the knots that bind his brain, but he is unable to recall what they may have once meant to him. Without the knowledge of them he has no knowledge of himself. When he wakes again later he cannot determine if the man was really there or not.
*------*
He's staring at the man on the other side of the clearing, cataloguing features nearly as familiar as his own. The man across from him stares back at him, sharingan swirling, eyes as expressionless as they've ever been. Sprawled unconscious in the tall grass between them the only person he's ever considered a friend is dying. It might be possible to save him but an entire life dedicated to the death of his brother has left him with no other viable path. With a whispered apology he steps around him, hands already forming the seals that will herald the end.
*------*
The knock startles him awake and he listens as the woman fumbles around before answering the door. To his knowledge there have been no visitors other than the woman and whoever is out there speaks softly; he cannot make out the words and only her choked reply is audible.
"Thank you for the information Anbu-san."
There is a tightness around her eyes when she comes to tend him, lines branching from their corners, and in an instant she has aged. For the first time since she came she has no words for him.
*------*
They have a sordid past between them, years of love and hate, rivalry and betrayal, invisible bonds that link their destinies together. Each became who they were in response to the other, twisted into one another's makeup, and though he shouldn't be here, he can't say he's surprised by the blond's intrusion. They've been playing cat and mouse games for a decade or more, each with their own one sided obsession, fanatical in the pursuit of their own quests. He wonders, watching his former friend fall, if there will be anything left of him at the end of it all.
*------*
She has been crying, face puffy and eyes red, and she looks broken somehow as she tends to his wounds in silence. Avoiding his questioning gaze, she smears salve over nearly healed injuries before twining bandages around the deeper cuts that crisscross his body. It is disconcerting, her silence, and he feels the need to ask her about her tears. She chokes on her next breath, hands fluttering momentarily before calmness settles like a mantle over her. Rising she turns her back to him, busying herself with the medicine box before finally answering him.
"Someone I cared for deeply is dying."
*------*
He is standing there, fierce and furious, a physical barrier between men for whom this is the last, decisive battle. The blond hair is longer and the uniform is regulation but the face hasn't changed significantly in the few years that have passed since they last met. Time has lent him a measure of maturity but done little to dampen his intensity, as though the force of his will alone is enough to alter events already in motion. There is no place for him amongst them, they who would commit fratricide.
*------*
The next time he wakes she is gone, the cabin cold and dark, her bag no longer propped against the wall. He is well enough to move now, though his legs shake beneath him as he crosses to the table. There is a note there, the words flowing illegibly across the page, the handwriting masculine and he wonders at the identity of its' author. It says little beyond stating that she has left to attend to some personal business but that he should expect her back.
*------*
He's gotten better at stealth but they both hear him coming, louder than any shinobi of his rank should be. When the blond tumbles out of the forest, ready to fight, he can't help but grind his teeth in annoyance. It occurs to him, not for the first time, that he is being tracked just as he tracks his brother, that he can never seem to evade the man positioning himself between the last of the Uchihas.
*------*
When she returns a week later she brings a blond woman with her, a doctor, who spends her time drinking sake and observing him. One night he hears them talking as he is drifting to sleep, the softness of their voices garbling the words into nonsensical fragments;
"Amnesia...Itachi, Naruto was too late...jutsu...no threat anymore...any chance at all...already declared dead...we'd like to...."
When he wakes the doctor is gone. She smiles at him for the first time in weeks as she offers him tea. He's too intent on his breakfast to notice the look on her face when he smiles back.
*------*
He's been waiting for this day for fifteen years, years full of training, sacrifice, and bloodshed. The wind whips past him as he flies through the trees, coldly confident and prepared, more sure than he's ever been that this will be their last confrontation. Today nothing would stop him and nothing would stand in his way; his grin is razor sharp and predatory. He drops down across from his brother, a safe distance away, and Itachi turns to meet him. Today was the day....
A/N: Originally called "Bittersweet Reality" on LJ (working on my titling abilities...). This story goes both forward and backward at the same time, just me attempting to be "creative", many apologies if it causes brain hemorrhaging.
As always, comments/critisms/suggestions are greatly appreciated and loved.
*------*
He thinks she is a hallucination when she walks through the door of the cabin, the way her image flickers and stutters. It's a reasonable assumption; the days and weeks have bled into one long fevered dream and he doesn't know anymore what is real and what is imagined. It is only when she touches his forehead with cool hands and speaks that he realizes she's as human as he is.
*------*
He is dead. Finally. The head he takes, a bittersweet trophy at best, leaving the rest of the body to be picked apart by the wild things that thrive in forests such as these. He realizes, suddenly, that he has lost the other body, the one disregarded for the heat of battle. There is a name that belongs to that body, an important body somehow, but he is forgetting it, has forgotten it. He stumbles, weakened, and it takes all of his training to get through the thick tangle of undergrowth to the hideaway. It is only once he's safely in the cabin that he realizes he's forgotten his own name as well.
*------*
He wakes again at some point, the cabin still shrouded in darkness. The fever is a demon fire in his skin and he tosses restlessly on the cot, tangling the sheets around his legs. Before he remembers her she is at his side, smoothing the hair from his face before running a damp cloth over his skin. Struggling against her ministrations she shushes him, as one would quiet a child. Mesmerized by soft comfort of her voice, he doesn't notice the prick of the needle. For the first time he can remember he sleeps without dreams.
*------*
They are fighting with little brute physicality, a battle of genjutsu and ninjutsu. For the first time, his goal, his purpose, is within reach and he grasps it with both hands. If he is affected by the complete lack of emotion in his brothers eyes as he buries the chidori in his chest it passes swiftly. He has proven himself, his strength, has finally avenged his family. His pleasure is short lived as a jutsu slams into him, cast in the second between life and death. It plows through him, leaving behind a sensation of emptiness; his brother dies with a humorless smile on his face.
*------*
"Hullo bastard."
He startles out of sleep, feeling those words soul deep, an unidentified wave of regret washing over him. There is a blond man sitting on the end of his bed, feet on either side of his, staring, as distressingly familiar to him as the woman. His mind twists around the mystery of their identities, trying to untangle the knots that bind his brain, but he is unable to recall what they may have once meant to him. Without the knowledge of them he has no knowledge of himself. When he wakes again later he cannot determine if the man was really there or not.
*------*
He's staring at the man on the other side of the clearing, cataloguing features nearly as familiar as his own. The man across from him stares back at him, sharingan swirling, eyes as expressionless as they've ever been. Sprawled unconscious in the tall grass between them the only person he's ever considered a friend is dying. It might be possible to save him but an entire life dedicated to the death of his brother has left him with no other viable path. With a whispered apology he steps around him, hands already forming the seals that will herald the end.
*------*
The knock startles him awake and he listens as the woman fumbles around before answering the door. To his knowledge there have been no visitors other than the woman and whoever is out there speaks softly; he cannot make out the words and only her choked reply is audible.
"Thank you for the information Anbu-san."
There is a tightness around her eyes when she comes to tend him, lines branching from their corners, and in an instant she has aged. For the first time since she came she has no words for him.
*------*
They have a sordid past between them, years of love and hate, rivalry and betrayal, invisible bonds that link their destinies together. Each became who they were in response to the other, twisted into one another's makeup, and though he shouldn't be here, he can't say he's surprised by the blond's intrusion. They've been playing cat and mouse games for a decade or more, each with their own one sided obsession, fanatical in the pursuit of their own quests. He wonders, watching his former friend fall, if there will be anything left of him at the end of it all.
*------*
She has been crying, face puffy and eyes red, and she looks broken somehow as she tends to his wounds in silence. Avoiding his questioning gaze, she smears salve over nearly healed injuries before twining bandages around the deeper cuts that crisscross his body. It is disconcerting, her silence, and he feels the need to ask her about her tears. She chokes on her next breath, hands fluttering momentarily before calmness settles like a mantle over her. Rising she turns her back to him, busying herself with the medicine box before finally answering him.
"Someone I cared for deeply is dying."
*------*
He is standing there, fierce and furious, a physical barrier between men for whom this is the last, decisive battle. The blond hair is longer and the uniform is regulation but the face hasn't changed significantly in the few years that have passed since they last met. Time has lent him a measure of maturity but done little to dampen his intensity, as though the force of his will alone is enough to alter events already in motion. There is no place for him amongst them, they who would commit fratricide.
*------*
The next time he wakes she is gone, the cabin cold and dark, her bag no longer propped against the wall. He is well enough to move now, though his legs shake beneath him as he crosses to the table. There is a note there, the words flowing illegibly across the page, the handwriting masculine and he wonders at the identity of its' author. It says little beyond stating that she has left to attend to some personal business but that he should expect her back.
*------*
He's gotten better at stealth but they both hear him coming, louder than any shinobi of his rank should be. When the blond tumbles out of the forest, ready to fight, he can't help but grind his teeth in annoyance. It occurs to him, not for the first time, that he is being tracked just as he tracks his brother, that he can never seem to evade the man positioning himself between the last of the Uchihas.
*------*
When she returns a week later she brings a blond woman with her, a doctor, who spends her time drinking sake and observing him. One night he hears them talking as he is drifting to sleep, the softness of their voices garbling the words into nonsensical fragments;
"Amnesia...Itachi, Naruto was too late...jutsu...no threat anymore...any chance at all...already declared dead...we'd like to...."
When he wakes the doctor is gone. She smiles at him for the first time in weeks as she offers him tea. He's too intent on his breakfast to notice the look on her face when he smiles back.
*------*
He's been waiting for this day for fifteen years, years full of training, sacrifice, and bloodshed. The wind whips past him as he flies through the trees, coldly confident and prepared, more sure than he's ever been that this will be their last confrontation. Today nothing would stop him and nothing would stand in his way; his grin is razor sharp and predatory. He drops down across from his brother, a safe distance away, and Itachi turns to meet him. Today was the day....
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