Correspondance
...Orochimaru has done it.
After endless hours of painstaking research, of searching, of hoping- Orochimaru has finally done it.
He hurts. Oh, he hurts everywhere, and moving in this new body is strange and alien, but his hand doesn't shake anymore, and his muscles aren’t stiff, and his mind is so blessedly clear that he almost relishes the agony.
It had been a gamble, very much so. He’s far away from any village, from anyone who could help him if something went wrong. But, as all the best things are, it was worth the struggle.
So now, he rests, alone, in one of the underground lairs he’s been secretly setting up and securing since it became clear that he would never be Hokage. He rests, and savors the knowledge that (for now, at least) he won’t have to die. He rests, more peacefully than he’s rested for years.
(He won’t have to die, and all that it cost him was everything he had.)
He’s been away from Konoha for maybe a month now, hidden in the mountains, trying to adjust to this body that isn’t really his. Marvelling over this new flesh and its lack of scars- a blank canvas yet to be written on. Trying out the new jutsu which are embedded in his memories now, borrowed from the unfortunate soul he took this body from.
It’s bitter cold outside, snowing, but inside, underground, is warm. Orochimaru curls up with a mug of tea and some books he’s recently acquired for his research, intent on studying them thoroughly. He becomes so absorbed in his reading, and his furiously scribbled notes (his handwriting is different now, how odd), that he jumps about a foot in the air when there’s a small poof and a puff of smoke behind him.
A thin white serpent slithers onto the tabletop, flicking its tongue at him.
Oh. Oh.
It’s been so long now that Orochimaru wondered if, perhaps, Itachi had forgotten about him.
He allows the snake to wind up his arm and around his shoulders; it shares what the serpent on the other end is seeing.
Crisp white linen, harsh, bright lights, immaculate white tile.
A hospital?
“Orochimaru-sama!”
Itachi looks- well, Itachi looks dreadful.
The raccoon circles under his eyes look like bruises, harsh and deep and horrible. His skin is sallow and sickly, a thick IV needle jutting out of his tiny left hand.. His voice sounds raspy and weak, his breathing reedy and strange. But the poor little bird still smiles.
“Itachi-kun?”
“I’m really sorry we couldn’t talk earlier. I got really sick right after you left- I think this is the first time I’ve been alone since-”
His sentence is cut off by a wet, hacking, horrid cough that wracks his entire little body. It’s a miracle his lungs don’t force themselves up out of his throat.
Orochimaru tries not to let the concern show on his face.
“It’s quite alright, Itachi-kun. I haven’t been feeling all that well myself.”
(It isn’t entirely a lie.)
“Are you alright? Are you feeling better now?” Itachi asks, and his innocent concern melts the coldness in Orochimaru’s heart.
(Here this child is, looking on the brink of death, asking if he’s alright.)
“I’m just fine- no need for you to worry about me.”
Itachi makes a small sound- something like a squeak.
“I’m glad!”
Itachi leans closer to the serpent, so close Orochimaru can hear the thin, paperlike fabric of the boy’s hospital gown crinkling.
“I’m really happy I got this room, Orochimaru-sama. There’s a nest of crows right outside my window, and I can see them perfect!”
“Oh really?”
Itachi turns the serpent’s head, pointing it toward the window. Indeed, a pair of rather large crows are attending to their young, nudging them toward the edge of the nest.
“The babies are learning how to fly today!” He chirrups. “And they’re gonna migrate with their mom and dad and the rest of their flock!”
He sounds so jubilant, so elated, that for a moment he seems to have forgotten he’s so gravely ill- even his thin, labored breaths sound less painful.
“Orochimaru-sama, did you know that crows remember faces? I’ve read that they recognize people who are nice to them and people that are mean to them, and they tell the other crows in their flock who’s good or not- isn’t it cool?”
Orochimaru raises an amused eyebrow.
“Is that so?”
“I know it’s true! Dad always chases off the crows in Mom’s garden, and now whenever he passes one they try to chase him too!”
Itachi is so emphatic about this that Orochimaru has to chuckle. The image of the stoic, level-headed Uchiha Fugaku being chased down the street by a gang of angry birds is an amusing one, to say the least.
“I believe you, Itachi-kun.”
Suddenly, Itachi yelps, and the snake’s vision goes black as the boy shoves it under his pillow.
“Itacchan, it’s time for breakfast!”
Orochimaru hears footsteps, as the cheerful nurse approaches the bed.
“I’m not really hungry-”
“-You still need to eat,” the woman scolds him. “You’ve lost weight since the last time you were here. That’s not good for a boy your age.”
Itachi is pouting- Orochimaru doesn't have to see him to know that.
“I’ll be back to check on you later- I expect you to eat all of that!”
More footsteps, and the sound of a door shutting. Itachi huffs, and tugs the miffed snake back out from under his pillow, scowling at the miso and rice in the tray on his lap.
“-I’m not hungry,” he grumbles again.
“You should still eat,” Orochimaru tells him. “You won’t get better if you don’t.”
“The medicine makes my stomach hurt,” Itachi protests. “I feel like I’m gonna puke all the time.”
“At least try.”
Itachi whines. Childish. Petulant. But he obeys.
His throat works hard- it takes Itachi a great deal of effort to fight back his nausea enough to swallow a few mouthfuls.
“I’m gonna throw up,” he complains, hand clamped over his mouth.
“It’s alright, you’re doing well,” Orochimaru assures him.
With a little more coaxing, Itachi manages to get half the bowl down before he absolutely refuses to eat any more. He curls up on his side, caressing the little white serpent with one hand, the other pressed against his stomach.
His eyes are fluttering shut, unfocused as he grows drowsy.
“Orochimaru-sama,” he says, voice heavy, “I’m not gonna die, am I?”
The unexpected question causes an uneasy fluttering in Orochimaru’s stomach.
“...Why would you ask that?”
The arm around his middle tightens.
“I feel like I’m dying,” he whimpers. “And Mom and Dad are having another baby- is it because I’m gonna die, and they wanna replace me?”
Orochimaru isn’t sure what the white-hot anger that surges up in his throat is directed at.
“I don’t want to hear another word like that out of you,” he commands, making Itachi flinch and making tears well up in his eyes.
(Guilty. Why does Orochimaru feel so guilty?)
“Your parents aren’t trying to replace you, Itachi-kun, and they couldn’t even if they wanted to. Because you’re one of a kind.”
He wishes he were there, to properly comfort that poor, poor child.
“Shh, you’re going to be okay. Tell me more about your crows, Itachi-kun,” he urges, wanting to make that sad face go away. “What are they doing right now?”
Itachi glances upward.
“They’ve flown away,” he says, melancholy. “I don’t think they’ll be back.”
“I bet they will. They remember faces, don’t they?”
“Yeah-”
“I’m sure they’ll remember you, Itachi-kun. When they come back, maybe they’ll find you again.”
Itachi half smiles.
“...I’d really like that.”
He allows his eyes to close fully, the snake’s flickering tongue ghosting across his forehead.
“When you come back...I’d like it if you found me, too.”
(When. What a joke.)
“Of course. How could I ever forget you?”
The twin snakes suddenly disappear- the boy must have fallen asleep.
Orochimaru tries to get back to his books, his research- but finds it rather hard to concentrate, now, with Itachi’s words echoing in his mind.
“I’m not gonna die, am I?”
He knows that fear all too well. It’s what he’s been running from for years now.
He wonders-
It’s true, he knows precious little about the cause of Itachi’s condition. But that’s the sort of thing he could find out, with a little digging. He can use the connections he has left in Konoha to get a hold of his medical records. Find some texts about whatever’s wrong with him. With a little time-
Maybe he can spare the poor child the fear of having to endure the terror he’s endured. After all- he has all the time in the world, now.