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celticfeather · 5 years

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Akatsuki Fic: Campfires

A brooding clan-killer and a man who prefers to see himself more shark than human are not the most likely, or friendly, of new partners. But hunted and hated, their backs on are the wall, and the Akatsuki starts to form a complex refuge for its members. Their missions blur the lines between men, beasts, and gods, and Itachi must either accept his complicity in evil, or contemplate revolt.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863

-Chapter 1: Dawn

The tongues of flames danced against the stars like heathens frenzied before a war, springing into the night with a fibrous crackling. The one called Pain stood like a preacher, tall and black, his shadow painted by the leaping blaze onto the rockface behind him. His voice was low and commanding, yet vibrant, like velvet over steel. From everywhere and nowhere it echoed around the chasm like the voice of a god. “And if you join us, Uchiha Itachi, make clear your mark.” Itachi raised his arm and the thick kunai glinted black and orange. The metal fang plunged down, and with a jumping spark, the knife slit a ragged slash across his headband’s gentle leaf. “You are damned to the world, Itachi. May you find refuge in our Dawn, and together we shall light the world in the rays of a new peace.” No devilish cheering welcomed their new member. There stood a half dozen of his new comrades in black robes with red clouds, their dark eyes peeking out from high collars. Among them he noted the bandages of a Mist swordsman, and he recognized the grinning snake eyes of Orochimaru.

Now at least, damned by his nation as he was, Itachi had no orders to follow but his own. He would protect the Leaf from the shadows. And from this Akatsuki, whatever it was. He was washed with a strange sense of peace. It was not relief. What was done was done. Compared to yours, our pain will be over in an instant, his father’s last words echoed through his mind. He was unsure if they were sympathetic or the curse of a dying man. But it mattered not. The deed was done.

He wondered what had happened to Sasuke. The Hokage himself must be consoling him now. Maybe the boy would be sent to live with another family, or an orphanage. No, probably not, unsavory types would be waiting to adopt the boy. “Hey, you.” Itachi looked over, his thoughts of family broken. A man older and taller than he had prodded him on the shoulder. “Name’s Kakuzu. Follow the rules, don’t be brash, and I won’t kill you.” He gave Itachi a small leather pouch. “What is this?” “Ten thousand yen.” An unexpected gift. But since his days in Anbu, Itachi was reticent to show surprise around people he wasn’t sure he liked. “That’s for the month. If you need food or an inn, buy it. Petty theft is beneath us, and attention costs money.” Ten thousand yen was hardly generous for a month’s travels. In fact, an ordinary human would die of exposure. The inflation rate had been such that fifty years ago one could travel a few weeks on 10,000 yen. Now it would suffice for only a few bowls of ramen. “Hey now, Kakuzu! Let him live a little bit! No one lives forever! Oh wait, you do, heheHAHA!”

Kakuzu narrowed his eyes hatefully at the interruption. The high pitched voice sounded like it belonged to a teenager. Itachi looked in its direction, and giggles simmered from the orange mask. Kakuzu growled, and ‘Tobi’ yelped and wilted. Finding the boy sufficiently scared, he did not press his advantage. Itachi suppressed his unease: the disguised, giggling, Madara was also alive far beyond a human lifespan. It unnerved him to see him manifest this boyish farce after they had worked together only hours prior to massacre their clan. But Itachi‘s face was an aloof, slightly irritated mask. “Rumor has it,” a woman’s cool voice uttered to him, “Kakuzu fought the first Hokage.” “Is that so,” Itachi echoed. If true, this Kakuzu would be eighty-five years old at minimum. He only looked forty. It seemed that Orochimaru and Madara were not unique among those who experimented with eternal youth. He would have to tread carefully here.

Itachi studied the woman. She was older than him, early twenties maybe. Her hair was bluish. He had only now seen her leave Pain’s side, and she was the only female member of the group. He wondered if she and pain were romantically involved. It was strangely like an academy clique: the one woman had chosen the highest ranking man of the group. “Konan is my name,” she told him. “I hope you can find a home here.” “Uchiha Itachi. A pleasure.” She did not seem terrible. The mist ninja with the executioner’s sword and red face paint stepped forward to Itachi. He smiled his mangled, filed, teeth at Itachi, and extended his bandaged hand. “Looks like you’re the only other shoe without a mate, kid. Biwa Juzo.”

“Now,” the gravelly voice of Pain claimed order. “Our organization needs to gather funds if we are to achieve our goals. You have your partners and your missions-- you are dismissed.” (keep reading)

A long time later, Juzo was dead.

Itachi did not know if the swordsman understood he would die when he jumped to shield Itachi from the Misukage’s strike, or if it had been an impulse he did not live to regret. The Kage’s blast had shattered his sword, and sated its iron-hungry blade in its owner’s abdomen. Not risking a burial, Itachi had returned the hilt to Juzo’s hand and fled the Land of Water for his life.

He wondered if he was still there— if the crows found him. He hoped they had. If it were him, he would prefer crows to the Mist intelligence corp-- and especially Zetsu.

Itachi’s newest partner introduced himself a few hours ago. The eyes that now walked beside his were white and devoid of mammalian emotion, and Itachi had not yet noticed Hoshigaki Kisame blink. The ex-mist ninja was of hulking stature, maybe two meters, which brought Itachi’s highest hairs up only to his jaw. He might have been thirty, but he had a strange face and it was hard to tell. His skin carried a faint bluish sheen, and his cheekbones were slashed with what could best be described as partial gills. Itachi had once pondered a similar thought with Orochimaru: Were you born looking like an animal?

Itachi found the Mist ninja’s desire to be partnered with him ignoble. By the end of the bizarre introduction speech involving live shark births, this Kisame seemed to advocate fratricidal cannibalism. Respecting Itachi because he killed his family was a poor way to gain his admiration.

“Isn’t this a mission for state ninja?” Kisame’s voice broke his thoughts. “A jounin could handle this.”

“The Land of Iron has no ninja village,” Itachi said. “The Ishikawa tiger, too, is an endangered species, and I do not think the neighboring waterfall ninja would agree to hunt it.”

Earlier, the pair had debriefed each other on their strengths and strategies. Kisame, as far as he had trusted to self-report, had massive stamina, lethal dexterity with water style, and was skilled with the chakra absorbing sword he carried. Itachi had listed fire style, shuriken, and genjutsu as his advantages. It seemed a profitable marriage of skills.

“Hm. Now, how to find the poor sap?”

“My tracking skills are… above average,” Itachi said. Red gleamed out from under his high collar.

“Right. I’ll let you lead.”

His world flared in the expanded spectrum of colors and avian detail of the sharingan. Itachi looked at the tree limbs above them, where a bird’s nest balanced lithely on a swaying branch. In the nest’s carefully woven lining was a tiny tuft of orange fibers: a mixture of orange guard hairs and slightly lighter whitish underfur. Among the orange was a single black hair of the same length.

A few minutes later he saw some twigs broken by a large quadruped. Then he saw a smeared paw print with retracted claws. They continued into a shallow ravine. Kisame followed quietly, but a crackle came from his direction: his living sword was excited.

Itachi peered from the bushes and signaled to Kisame. Through a leafy window they spied a massive cat, far larger than an ordinary animal, nearing the size of a horse carriage. Bunches of muscles rippled on its haunches as it lapped a sandpaper tongue at the creek. Facing profile to them, it yawned, and fangs longer than kunai flashed in the light. Itachi reached into his robe to draw a single knife. A strike to the brain would be sufficient.

“Allow me,” Kisame said, unshouldering the huge, blunt, Samehada from his back. “Pity to let such nice chakra soak the sand.”

Itachi tipped his knife back into his robe in consent. More than he would like to see this over, he would like to observe how this Hoshigaki Kisame operated.

Kisame alighted before the beast in the clearing. Surely the tiger was unaccustomed to being approached by anything living, especially not something smaller than it. It sprang with coiled fury at the man that dared, but its front claws met only earth. Shiny brown river pebbles sprayed loudly into the air and clattered back down to the ground.

Brandishing the thirty-kilo sword, a grinning Kisame landed spritely five meters from the tiger’s impact. With the darting grace of a tropical fish, he danced away from the cat’s frustrated strikes, his sword carving the air around it, but never cutting it, until the cat grew weak. At last it stared at the two men, panting, black lips curled back over yellow teeth.

Kisame had to turn his whole head to look at Itachi. For, perhaps like a shark, he was incapable of moving his eyes much in their sockets. “Can you sedate it, Itachi?”

The cat’s pupils, black slashes on yellow disks, dilated to wide spheres as Itachi set the animal under a genjutsu. It was always a strange procedure with beasts. Genjutsu involved manipulating chakra flow to the brain, and in a brain that was not human, it was a coarse process. Itachi could not communicate complex images like he could with humans, so instead he instilled it with feelings of darkness and warmth.

Kisame approached the sleeping tiger and drew the broadside of Samehada along its jugular. The sword’s scales rippled, and Itachi knew the cat was dead. Itachi revealed his kunai.

“Could probably get some gold for the pelt, too,” Kisame said, slinging the purring Samehada to his back.

Probably they could. But Itachi was not Kakuzu, and he did not desire to carry a bloody tiger pelt around for a few extra yen. Itachi crouched over the carcass, and with careful incisions he removed its teeth. They clattered against each other in his leather pouch. Whatever some royal leech would do with them to cure his presumed impotency, Itachi did not know.

“Someone’s coming,” Kisame warned him.

“Just merchants,” Itachi said. The rogues sprang into the trees. They heard the surprise of the men to find the freshly killed tiger. They’d feed the village! Get drunk! They invoked the gods for their luck. Kisame smiled devilishly but Itachi was unamused. Soon enough, the two rouge ninja were over the border of the Land of Rice.

Obtain the teeth, the scroll, the real or metaphorical scalp-- the object was the only variable. Then he brought them to a collection office. He gave the reward to Kakuzu and awaited further orders. The string of missions seemed to be the only constant in Itachi's life since the Uchiha massacre.

The sun yellowed and sank as they traveled. Juzo, his senior, was usually the one to suggest respite. But now that Juzo was dead, Itachi supposed this responsibility fell to him now. He slowed, halted, and sprang down from the tree to the clayish earth. A shaded wood surrounded them, and willow boughs trailed gently on a narrow, clear river with a sandy bank. The sinking sun painted dappled golden strokes on the surface of the water, and fish tail slapped from the waves. Kisame alighted after him.

“What do you say, Itachi? Fancy a fish dinner? We’ll see who can catch the most.” Kisame’s gently rough voice was surprisingly only baritone for a man his size. As many fish as two elite ninja could catch? “What a wanton slaughter.” “I can eat a lot of fish,” Kisame said. “We’ll do first to catch five,” Itachi decided. “Fine.” Kisame strode to the bank. With a blur of signs and motion of his arm, a sphere of water rose, and a wriggling green bass shimmered inside. He released it from the water prison jutsu and the first thrashing fish tumbled to the earth, and he removed its gills with a stomp. Kisame raised his hand to snare his next victim. Itachi slid kunai between his knuckles like bear claws, three in his right, two in his left. He ignited his sharingan, and like an osprey he saw through the water like glass. He pinpointed the motion of five adult fish, observed the current, and noted the water’s angle of refraction. He jumped high, extended his arms, and let the kunai fly. Easily as wooden targets, each knife struck its living mark. “Impressive,” Kisame said with restrained mirth, dispelling a ball of water and depositing a fish on the bank. “But in my book, fish don’t count as caught when they’re pinned to the bottom of a creek.” There may have been a flicker of perturbance on Itachi’s face. But it must have been a trick of the light. Itachi was not annoyed.

Itachi shed his robe and with a few launching steps he pierced the chilled water in a shallow dive. The fish were weighted by the knives to the riverbed, their eyes wide and mouths open. He snatched the knives by the handles and kicked hard towards the surface. When Itachi breached, he looked to the bank to see Kisame perched on a tree root, one elbow on his knee, grinning widely. His five fish were lined up in size-order at his feet, each about the length of a sandal. “A bit too slow, unfortunately,” Kisame grinned. “I knew I lost the moment I had to dive in,” Itachi said, stepping drenched to the bank. Having to retrieve the fish was a technicality— losing gracefully was not a skill Itachi had to often practice. “No, Itachi. You lost the moment you humored a shark to a fishing match.“ Doubtful, Itachi thought. But he said nothing as he removed the knives and placed his five fish on the bank. “Would you go find some sticks to spit them on?” the victor asked with a gesture to the forest. Itachi did so. Upon returning, Kisame had gathered kindling and larger branches, and arranged them into a conical shape

“Be a pal and light us up?” Itachi wove a sign and blew a thin jet of flame at the base of the cone. Which, aerating nicely, set the tiny pyre ablaze. “We both have our fields Itachi. You’re not terrible... for a leaf ninja.” Kisame said. The two rogues speared their ten fish in a radial pattern around the flames. Perhaps a bit too soon, Kisame selected a fish and sank his huge teeth into its head. A wretched, wet, splintery sound crunched across the flames as Kisame ate his catch skull, spine, organs and all. Maybe he was doing it to see if it would bother Itachi. Kisame grinned. Or maybe that was just his face. Either way the mist ninja’s huge triangular teeth made quick work of the food. Itachi bit into the side of his fish, now especially careful not to eat its needle thin ribs. Its flesh was moist, hot and salty, and he felt strength flowing back into his body. He allowed his spine to sink against the tree trunk he leaned against. He was cold and tired, and it felt good to have a hot meal around a fire… Even with company as reptilian as Kisame.

At that moment, a sudden jab of pain split behind Itachi‘s eyes and he coughed into his hand. He discreetly curled his fingers into a fist to conceal the blood on his palm.

“Eat a bone?” Itachi cleared his throat and swallowed the blood. “No.” Kisame grunted, his eyes flashing from his soaked partner to the icy stream. “Do you drink, Itachi?”

“Not alone.”

“You might as well start the fun kind of sinning. It’ll warm you up.” Kisame tossed the greasy stick into the forest and reached for the next largest fish. As he bit a steaming, flaky hunk out of it, he reached for a waterskin on his body. He removed the cap, and passed it to the young man. “Kakuzu would not be pleased to hear what you spend your allowance on,” Itachi said. “That stinge gave me his speech. He can try to punish me.”

“Kakuzu has already killed two members of the Akatsuki.” Kisame laughed. “You’re kidding!” “Afraid not.” “Did Pain punish him?”

“No. Our leader has many killers, but only one bookkeeper.”

“Hm. Better hope we develop new talents then, eh?”

Itachi took a few swallows of the sharp but sweet rice wine and returned it to Kisame. Kisame sniffed the lip of the waterskin: he closed his eyes but made no remark.

The fire flickered lower. Itachi had gathered a little pile of fish bones at his feet. Fish were pretty animals, not frivolous, with graceful spines and streamlined skulls. He counted three heads in his pile. He was comfortably full. Kisame had eaten seven of them, bones and all.

“I learned something today. I wasn’t sure you could use genjutsu on a tiger,” Kisame said. He picked his huge teeth with a shard of rib, then chewed on it as if it were a stem of wheat. He did this until it was pliable, and then swallowed it.

“Men and beasts are very different,” Itachi said.

“Are they?” It was a challenge rather than a simple reaction. Kisame’s contracted eyes studied him.

“Unquestionably.” Itachi held his gaze.

Kisame grunted but said nothing. Instead of glancing down in defeat, his hard eyes swept deliberately and coolly to the side. Thus, Kisame postponed a conclusion to their discussion, at least until he was certain he could win it. The mist ninja sat with his hands clasped over his stomach. They rested by the fire until it elapsed into smoke and the spirited flames sobered into glowing black and red coals.

“So Itachi, how does this work? Do we sleep on the ground? Take watches?” “In peaceful conditions, I don’t watch. But I do sleep in a tree for concealment,” Itachi said. “Leaf ninja,” Kisame muttered. “Sleeping in trees like a bunch of monkeys.“ In a flicker, Itachi had climbed the oak above them to its lowest fork. Kisame covered the ashes with a kick and leapt to the limb opposite him. They faced each other for a moment, chins down, listening in the silence for possible observers. Sensing no one, Kisame turned his back and fastened Samehada to the underside of the branch. The weave of his robe was tight and warm, and Itachi tipped his chin inside its high collar. His breath filled the cavity with warm air, and it was not uncomfortable. Crickets chirped. Neither of them said good night.

Day 2----

Dawn corded its cold light through the pine needles and onto Itachi’s eyelids. As he parted their red curtains, he saw a young crow. It stared for a moment, curious at the oddly placed human, then shuffled its wings and darted off. Rising gently, Itachi stepped to the other side of the trunk to rouse his new partner.

Round fish eyes opened on his approach. “Did you know, sharks never fully sleep?”

Great.

“Let’s get these teeth to the collection point,” Itachi said.

He led the way until the building became visible from the forest. As was often the case, the underground bounty office had its cover as a mortician’s practice. Morticians had plenty of space for storing bodies, and arriving there from the country with a corpse on one’s shoulder was considered only slightly rude.

“Who goes in?” Kisame asked.

“I’ll go. You watch.”

Itachi entered the building: he tipped his chin under his collar until only his coal black eyes peered out. Itachi was not an immediately intimidating man. He was of average height, average build, perhaps even thin. There was nothing special about his coloration. But the representative at the counter knew the red-clouded robes, and rising from his collar, Itachi’s eyes gleamed garnet.

The collection man’s knuckles tensed a tendinous white as he stared at the approaching Akatsuki. Itachi halted, and hailed him as stipulated:

“What rings the Dawn, and shall bring Man to his haven?”

“Our world glimpses Death’s yawn: the hoarse call of the raven.”

Good. Itachi placed his pouch with the teeth on the counter. The man inspected the smooth oranged teeth and accepted them. He set a case of cash on the counter and displayed it to the Uchiha. Itachi did not count the money: no contractor had been foolish enough to short change the organization since a recent incident involving Kakuzu.

One million yen. Not bad for a glorified pet hunt. Now they just had to deliver the money to the Akatsuki’s ancient master of coin or one of his henchmen. The zombie pair were conducting a mission some forty kilometers away; they could meet them in just a few hours.

“I’ll carry that,” Kisame said when Itachi emerged with the large briefcase. Itachi gave it to him and they set off north. They traveled a quiet hour before Kisame spoke.

“I smell blood.”

Itachi had sensed nothing unusual. Kisame’s strengths were complementary to his indeed. With a gesture of his hand, Itachi instructed Kisame to lead. The shark-ninja’s sense of smell was better than his, but not at the level of a ninja hound’s, because in just another few long leaps, Kisame had grounded himself on a dirt cart path.

Hung upside down on a tree was a human body. The victim’s feet were tied together with a strip of cloth and jabbed through with a stake into the trunk. Itachi thought the man was less than thirty minutes dead. Blood dripped down from his death wound, down his sternum, his throat, to collect on the jut of his jaw and dye maroon swirls in the muddy water of the cart treds.

“Huh,” Kisame surmised, wrinkling his wide nose. He looked at Itachi.

“This is the Akatsuki’s doing. One of us makes such displays,” Itachi said.

Itachi cut down the corpse. He strode powerfully, urgently, along the path. Between the trees appeared a traditional inn with the peaked roof of mountain tribes, dark wood paneling, and pale stucco walls. An inn of the piquant sort, judging by the oiran fan and floral carvings on the upper balconies. A familiar black robe with red clouds lay discarded on a bench outside. “Do Akatsuki go to brothels?” Kisame asked. Itachi didn’t answer. On the ground outside the brothel was a circle drawn in blood. “He’s going to kill those women.” “So?”

Itachi rushed forward.

At the instance of his arrival, an individual strode out of the building’s door. He was young, zealous, handsome, and walked with his smooth chest bared bared. His muscled arm was wrapped around the thin waist of a pale woman with long black hair. Mid sentence, he recognized Itachi.

“Hey hey, Itachi! Wouldn’t think I’d find you at a place like this. Where’s your new partner?” Hidan greeted.

Itachi’s voice was low. “You paid these people for a service. Their deaths were not part of that.” Like a friendly dog Hidan smiled. A friendly dog, who just in case the friend was a foe, smiled to remind him he had teeth. “Well! I haven’t paid anyone yet, and I think Lord Jashin will appreciate their talent!”

The woman’s smile faltered. No sooner had she realized the danger, Hidan threw her against the wall and held her by the throat. He drew his pike.

That damn Kakuzu. Maybe if he wasn’t squeezing Hidan’s purse, the cultist would not have extra incentive settle his debts with death. Or maybe Hidan would just kill anyone weaker than him regardless. Itachi’s patience for negotiation had elapsed. Flickering, he grabbed the girl and deposited her next to Kisame in the yard. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Kisame said, but Itachi had already flickered back to Hidan some ten meters away. Now Hidan’s teeth flashed impatiently when he spoke. “You’re annoyingly noble for a member of an evil organization, you know that?”

“Where is Kakuzu,” Itachi asked, though as customary for his questions, his voice lacked a submissive rise pitch at the end. The bothersomely rational waterfall ninja would surely restrain his partner from this idiocy if he were around.

“Think I need him, huh?”

“Idiots require supervision.”

Shrieking, Hidan raised his scythe and sprang at Itachi.

Sharingan! Hidan froze. Inside the fictional realm, Hidan was tied to a tree trunk. Itachi created a replica of the retractable pike he tried to use on the prostitute, and with its sharp point, Itachi punctured the man’s intestines. Drawing it out, Hidan flexed his fingers in convulsing pain and howled like a jackal. Itachi felt a presence in his realm he did not invite. A hulking black monster lumbered out from behind the trunk, humanoid in shape with flesh of black fire revealing a white skeleton. It had a skull like a goat and its glowing pink eyes regarded Itachi hungrily. Hidan’s trembling lips parted in rapture as he beheld it. With a bony talon the monster pressed Hidan on his sweating forehead. The brothel, the forest, the yard had returned. The genjutsu was broken. Itachi seized a reactionary few steps back. Hidan was not skilled enough to break out of that on his own. What was that skeletal monster? Did he just witness his god? “You,” Hidan said breathily. Trembling and weakened, he leant on his scythe as he stood. "You'll pay for that!" he swore, swinging the blade at Itachi's throat Itachi would have to fight Hidan without genjutsu. His ninjutsu wouldn’t kill him. And close quarters taijutsu was risky, since one graze could make that blood ritual of his troublesome. He would have to incapacitate Hidan. Chop off a limb. That was how he would win.

Hidan swung at Itachi with the graceless zeal of a chunin, and each time, his weapon only met the air. Itachi drew his tanto blade. Hidan smashed his scythe into the earth on another missed strike, which grounded him. Placing all of his strength in the blow, Itachi cleaved through Hidan’s tibia, crushed his fibula, and Hidan was gracelessly grounded, separated from the bottom half of his leg. Bleeding heavily, Hidan’s severed shin spun to a halt a few meters away.

“FUCK!”

In the corner of his vision Itachi was aware of Kisame standing tense: he had been ready to act, but must have decided it unwise. Itachi paced forward, shortsword swinging, and when he swung it through the air, the blood leapt off in a fine spray to speckle a tree in red. The blade had cracked beyond repair: he had been reckless to cleave the two bones in Hidan’s shin in one strike. To the music of Hidan’s curses, Itachi began to wipe the soiled blade in the grass. He would have to bury the thing, better children did not find it.

The toothed crown of a plant, like a venus fly trap, emerged from the grass nearby. Zetsu’s head had materialized from the dirt and Itachi’s hands stilled in surprise.

“Hello, Zetsu,“ Itachi greeted the head.

“Hello.“ Then, “They’re here, Pain,” the strange plant ninja said.

Pain appeared. Robe billowing, he stood between Hidan and Itachi. His presence was magnetic and every head turned to him. “What,” Pain growled, “is the meaning of this infighting?” “I was just... behind on my sacrifices...” Hidan breathed from the ground, and struggled to prop himself up. “When this prick insulted me, gutted me in a genjutsu, and then. Lobbed. Off. My. Fucking. Leg.” “Hidan. Killing civilians and leaving witnesses awards you with the bounty of the five nations. We can not afford this attention.”

“Sorry about that, sir,” Hidan muttered, looking diffusively at the ground.

Pain’s attention swiveled to the next unruly young adult. “Itachi, we are no heroes. Never compromise our goals by attacking our members.”

Itachi dipped his chin in an acknowledgement that was not quite submission. Pain strolled forward to the wooden building. The brothel’s matron, three prostitutes, and a few men stared out at the colorful flock of S ranked ninja from the porch and balcony. Pain extended his right arm. “What are you doing?” Itachi demanded. Pain unfurled his fingers. “Shinra Tensei.” The wooden house exploded in a rain of splinters and structure. Wooden beams and ceramic roof tiles hailed down around them. Itachi searched Pain’s expression for a reason. Instead, Pain’s ringed eyes fixated at the surviving girl who stood shivering next to Kisame. “Kisame,” Pain ordered. Massive Kisame took the girl, placed either hand on the side of her face, framing it in a gesture that seemed almost intimate. But a ligament in Kisame’s forearms twitched, and she was dead before her corpse hit the ground.

Fire erupted from the uprooted gas pipes and ravenous flames quickly devoured the wooden house. The black beams stood like a skeleton among a roaring, moaning fire that devoured the wood and paper structure. The intense dry heat prickled against the moisture of Itachi’s scleras, but despite it, he could not blink. Pain rounded on Itachi. Backlit by the flames, he saw his own face reflected in the rippling fog-colored eyes that locked him.

“Our enemies hunt us as we speak. Because of you, Itachi, too many saw too much. If I decide that anyone is disloyal to the Akatsuki, I will kill him.” Itachi stared into eyes more ancient, more evolved, and more knowing than his own. He learned then he was not free in his outlawry. Even he must tread the line between light and dark as closely as he dared. Should his steps toward the light be too obvious, he would find his own neck on the rope, and dead men can protect no one.

—

Author’s Note:

暁 Akatsuki = Dawn

A step away from my usual work, but I recently fell in love with Naruto Shippuden. I have chapter two, Cannibals, about finished and will post it soon.

*Special thanks to myochiikurin for her hard work beta reading this chapter and the next!

I thought the life of Itachi and the others members settling into their lives in the Akatsuki was the most compelling and underexplored aspect in the Naruto universe, and thought I’d give filling the gap of this organization my try.

Feedback is greatly appreciated,

Celtic

Next Chapter on Tumblr: https://celticfeather.tumblr.com/post/188589156066/akatsuki-fic-campfires-ch-2-cannibals

(Follow on FF or Ao3:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863 )

#I worked on this fic for months #basically a fic on life in the akatsuki #with a twist #I have 40 pages already written #naruto #akatsuki #itachi #kisame #kisaita #if you squint #campfires #naruto fanfiction #this is on both FF and Ao3 #celticfeather #thanks for reading all my embarrassing tags

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