Genjutsu
“You got something on your mind?”
Fugaku peers up from his coffee mug, raising an eyebrow at his eldest son. The boy’s eyes are a bit glassy, unfocused, staring at nothing while he picks idly at his breakfast. He shrugs his skinny shoulders, swirling his spoon around in his bowl of oatmeal and jam.
Frowning, Fugaku sets his mug down.
“Something wrong?”
Itachi jolts back to reality.
“Hm? No, nothing really..."
He takes a bite of his oatmeal to appease his father and mother, feeling their concerned gazes burning into him. But his mind still wanders.
“...Mom? Dad?”
“Hm?”
Itachi takes a breath.
“Would it be alright if I went to the library today?”
His parents blink in surprise, and Itachi feels his face go warm from embarrassment.
(He should’ve expected them to be shocked, really. As hermit-ish as he tends to be, wanting to go out in public- especially by himself- is probably not what they were expecting.)
After the initial shock wears off, Fugaku smiles.
“Heh. Of course you can. What sort of books are you looking for?”
Itachi shrugs again.
“Genjutsu stuff, mostly.”
“What’s got you interested in genjutsu all of a sudden?” Mikoto asks.
“Well-”
Itachi taps his spoon against the edge of his bowl repetitively.
“...When my team got...well, when we got attacked, the man used a genjutsu. I was so scared I couldn’t move.”
He sets his spoon aside so he can fidget with his fingers.
“I want to be strong enough that I never have to go through that again.”
He averts his eyes so he doesn't have to see his mother and father’s worry.
“...A-and since I have my Sharingan now, I should be able to learn genjutsu pretty easily, huh? It’d be good for me- I don’t know when I’ll get sick again, after all- it’ll help me still be able to fight even if my body isn’t working right.”
Itachi feels his cheeks grow hot once more when his father laughs and ruffles his hair.
“That’s my boy!” he declares, glowing with pride.
“Well- tell Sasuke I’ll be back this afternoon,” Itachi says, rising from the table and abandoning his breakfast before his embarrassment becomes too noticeable.
“Be careful, sweetheart!” Mikoto calls after him.
“He’s a shinobi- he’ll be just fine!” Fugaku gently chides her.
“I’m just-”
Itachi doesn't get the chance to hear what his mother is “just” doing- he grabs his bag and shuts the door before he does anything to humiliate himself further.
Itachi takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he steps into the library. The building is mostly deserted, with only the staff around this time of day. He keeps his eyes intent on his goal, not meeting the curious look a librarian gives him. He scans around for the section on genjutsu, zeroing in on his goal and quickly hiding himself amongst the shelves.
(It’s one of those times he’s grateful to be so small- it’s easy for him to find places to hide.)
After a half hour of perusing the volumes upon volumes of books and research scrolls about genjutsu, Itachi encounters a problem- he knows this stuff already.
It’s so...basic! Boring! A lump of frustration lodges in his throat; he swallows it down, and tells himself how stupid it is to start crying over something so trivial.
(A shinobi never lets his emotions run away with him- it’s better to focus on important things than to trouble yourself with minutiae- shinobi guideline thirty-nine.)
A deep breath of the crisp, papery air of the library successfully soothes his aggravation. He peers out from his hiding spot, trying to analyze the situation to see if there’s anywhere else he could look. His eyes settle on the section that sits behind a closed door, marked with a sign in big, red kanji.
Restricted: Access is forbidden to those below Jounin rank without proper permissions
Well.
Itachi lets out an angry puff of breath that sends his bangs fluttering upward. He has a better chance of getting struck by lightning than getting permission to those archives. He knows that well.
He stands there for awhile. Furrows his brow. Regards the bored Chuunin watching the door. Slowly, an idea takes shape in his brain.
...Oh, how delightfully devious!
The world around Itachi becomes sharp and more defined; the Sharingan lets him see so much it almost makes him dizzy.
The bored Chuunin casts brown eyes dully around the room, perhaps desperate to find something to hold his attention. When his eyes briefly connect with Itachi’s, he takes his chance.
The Chuunin’s eyes go hazy, and he starts to sway back and forth. His back hits the wall, and he slumps onto the floor.
Perfect.
Making sure nobody else is around, Itachi darts over to the now-sleeping Chuunin, looking him up and down to make sure he’ll be alright. Then, before anyone comes around, he ducks into the room and shuts the door behind him.
Oh, this is so bad. So naughty- he imagines all the trouble he could get into if (when) he gets caught poking around where he shouldn’t be, even as he browses the shelves.
He finds an enormous, ancient book, laying forgotten in the corner of the room. The cover is blank, but when curiosity entices Itachi to open it, he finds exactly what he came in here for.
Scarlet eyes wide, he eagerly takes in the archaic writing, the faded diagrams. He runs his fingers along the pages, committing every detail to memory. He becomes so absorbed in his reading that he doesn't register when the door opens again.
He nearly jumps out a skin when a hand taps on his shoulder.
“I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you’re not supposed to be in here, little one.”
Instinct takes over, and Itachi is aiming a fist at the sudden arrival before he can stop it. Just as quickly, however, the man catches his fist, stopping the boy cold.
A single dark eye looks him up and down, a low chuckle escaping him.
(It’s that man. That same man he’d seen at his Academy graduation. Shimura Danzo, the chief advisor to Sandaime.)
“Easy there, boy. I don’t bite.”
From one blink to the next, Itachi’s eyes fade back to charcoal; he swallows audibly while the man stares straight through him.
“...Am I in trouble?” he mumbles, sheepishly.
“Well, I’d say that depends what you’re in here looking for.”
Bashfully, Itachi holds up the book in his hands.
“I-I wanted to learn more genjutsu. So I can- I mean, I want to-”
Itachi knows he’s rambling, and it nearly causes him physical pain. But something inside him is desperate to explain himself.
“-I never want to be helpless like I was again! I want to be stronger! Strong enough to keep everyone safe! I want-”
The man lays a hand on top of his head, the barest hint of a smile gracing his lined face.
“-I suppose a boy like you wouldn’t find much of use in the main library, eh, Itachi?”
Danzo laughs again when Itachi turns a bright shade of pink. Reaching over, he plucks the book out of Itachi’s hands, and strolls lazily over to another shelf and starts browsing.
“If you’re truly serious about mastering genjutsu, you’ll need to do better than that old thing- half the research in it is probably decades out of date by now,” he muses, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Itachi wrings his hands anxiously.
“You’re...not mad at me?”
“How could I be? It’s rare to find one so eager to learn these days- ah, this should do it.”
Danzo pulls out a book far newer than the one Itachi had been reading.
“This should be a good starting point for you. If I checked it out in my name, I don’t think there should be a problem if you took it home.”
Itachi’s eyes go so wide they might fall out of his head.
“You’d really let me?!”
“Well-”
Danzo pulls a face like he’s mulling it over. Itachi’s stomach ties itself in a knot.
“-I’m a very busy man, see. I don’t have much time to sit and read a book myself. If I let you borrow it, would you be able to report back to me about what’s in it?”
Itachi lights up.
“Yeah! I could do that!”
“Well then-”
Danzo turns his head toward the door.
“It seems our little friend won’t be waking up for a bit. It might be best if you went and picked out a few books for yourself. I’ll meet you at the front desk.”
Itachi can hardly believe his luck; he beams at this man who has been so kind to him out of nowhere.
“Yes sir!”
Itachi keeps his eyes glued to Shimura as he speaks to the pretty lady at the front desk, trying very hard to act casual. The knots in his stomach are back- he’ll get found out, he’s sure of it-
“-Here you go, sweetheart,” the librarian says, handing Itachi the stack of books he’s grabbed. Itachi does his best to smile back at her, because he knows it’s polite.
“Just this one for me, thank you,” Danzo says, handing over the book from the restricted section. He has an impressive poker face- Itachi can’t read any hint of emotion on it at all.
“That’s all set for you, Shimura-sama!”
“You might want to scold that young man at the restricted session, as well. Disgraceful, falling asleep on duty.”
“Oh? Of course, Shimura-sama.”
The lady offers a bow. Danzo doesn't acknowledge it, merely gesturing with his head for Itachi to follow him out. The boy obeys, trailing after him with his head down, unable to believe what he’s just gotten away with.
Outside, the air is warm, and people mill about happily- although the occasional passerby casts Danzo a wary glance.
Deftly, Danzo slips the heavy book into Itachi’s bag alongside the others. Itachi opens his mouth to utter a thank-you, but it dies on his lips when the man reaches out to brush a stray wisp of hair out of his face.
“I expect a detailed report from you, Itachi.”
“How did-”
“Sandaime and I met with the Daimyo last week to discuss the unfortunate circumstance that dissolved your genin team. He spoke very highly of you, boy- he believes you’ll be a top shinobi despite that minor setback.”
Minor…?
Itachi doesn't dwell on his uneasy feelings for too long. He shakes his head to clear the fog away.
“...Nobody else I care about is ever gonna get hurt again,” he says, steeling himself. “I’m gonna make sure of that.”
There’s a glint of something wicked in Shimura’s eye, but Itachi doesn't catch it.
“I look forward to it, little bird,” he says, before strolling off like and disappearing in the crowd.
Itachi frowns, tilting his head and watching the man leave his view. Then, he can’t help but giggle.
He feels so wonderfully naughty. So sneaky and devious. He barely manages to restrain himself from squealing in delight.
Excitement coursing through his veins, he bolts off down the street toward Shisui’s house, his heavy bag smacking against his side with every step.
“You seem distracted.”
Orochimaru doesn't turn his head or scold Sasori for interrupting his work.
“So you killed another one, eh?” Sasori muses, strolling up behind Orochimaru to peer at the corpse strapped to the steel gurney.
“...It appears so.” Orochimaru answers, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice.
Sasori reaches out and touches Orochimaru’s shoulders, working cold fingers up his neck before working them into silken black hair, pulling it back out of his face. Orochimaru makes a point of not reacting.
“What a shame. He was pretty strong, wasn’t he? I thought he’d last longer.”
“Do you have a point?” Orochimaru grumbles, miffed at both the intimate contact and his failed experiment.
Sasori leans in closer, resting his chin on his companion’s shoulder.
“Mmm. I just feel it’d be a real shame to let him go to waste. If you get what I’m saying.”
Orochimaru pauses, his hand hovering over the corpse’s open torso.
“Planning one of your art projects, are you?” He asks, with a soft smile.
“Always,” Sasori replies, lifeless doll hands sliding around Orochimaru in some simulacrum of an embrace. “You break your toys so very quickly- but I think I could get a little more life out of them yet.”
The way Sasori speaks is chilling, unsuited to that lilting, childish voice. Orochimaru would shiver, if he weren’t well past the point of being unnerved by Sasori.
“If you’d like to play around with my failed experiments, I suppose it’s no loss to me.”
The man in a boy’s body practically purrs in delight.
“Being your partner isn’t so bad after all,” he coos cheerily.
Orochimaru reaches for a rag to wipe his bloody hands.
“Well if you don’t mind, I need to mop up the mess before you go fiddling around with cadavers.”
“If you insist,” Sasori pouts, withdrawing his arms and watching as Orochimaru cleans up his failed test subject (some Jounin or something from Iwa, he vaguely remembers).
“It’s best to have fresh bodies for my work,” Sasori states, in a flat, almost bored tone. “It’ll be nice cutting out the busywork of getting them.”
Orochimaru doesn't feel much like responding, too concerned with trying his experiment again to care much about his chatter.