Warning: this story contains rape.

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"Are you alright?" The question was not a display of sympathy. For Kisame, it was the mark of his increasing impatience to wait at every post. His partner was not keeping pace.

A glance behind answered his question. Kisame frowned, before coming to a stop. In a single motion, he buried his Samehada deep down into the ground. The action conveyed his intention: they were stopping. It had been a while since they had a decent rest anyway.

Itachi did not say anything, but both knew he was grateful at the gesture.

On the ground, Kisame exhaled, his back supported by the bark of a monstrous Fire Country tree.

Itachi was sick. He had been sick for a while now. Kisame could tell from the color in his skin, drained of color. His hair lost its shine years ago, now dull and limp. The shadows under his eyes had become permanent, which were inevitable given how rarely Itachi slept.

If the wilting appearance and unsteady movements had not clued him in, there was still the shift in Itachi's battle movements. He was quicker now. Less experimental and more blunt. His sharingan swirled, but it too was fading.

Itachi was sick. Kisame knew he was not going to get better.

Kisame closed his eyes. The forest they were in was misleadingly serene, a slow and airy type of eden far removed from the ravages of the ongoing war. Itachi had also relaxed, his gaze cast low.

Three tomoe swirled to life. Kisame sprang to his feet as well, Samehada armed at his side.

Intruders.

They both sensed it. The chakra approaching them was dim, so dim that it was dangerous. Dimmed chakra meant suppressed chakra, and for a group to do that so well only meant one thing.

ANBU.

Kisame should have known. He made a note to never let Itachi pick their journey routes again, which always landed uncomfortably close with the State military.

The enemies were gaining in; they were spotted. It only meant blood. ANBU were unreasoned with, and the chance of escape was small. It was to kill or die.

Four figures landed in the clearing, each geared in military uniforms, with smooth black masks securing their faces. Not the painted white masks with animal-like resemblances, with individuality.

Kisame cursed their luck. Not just ANBU. ANBU Root.

Both sides gave no warnings, just metal against metal. The two Akatsuki members divided, each engaged in combat with two others.

The first victim fell, paralyzed by a kunai in his chest, driven in at lightning speed and precision. The second one had his arm torn off, followed by his head. The third joined shortly after, his insides shredded. The fourth was finished inside a genjutsu. He stumbled to the ground, saliva dripping from inside his mask.

There was one more, stalking in the shadows, observing, his presence concealed so well that only with the penetrating sharingan was he discovered.

"Come out," Itachi said.

The figure appeared, with a black mask as well. But his armor was slightly different, with a coal insignia at his shoulder and a heavy scarf around his neck. If remembering correctly from his own days at ANBU, Itachi guessed this was the captain.

The captain seemed unfazed by the death, walking past each corpse.

"What fools, to think they can match their powers with a sharingan user."

With each word, Itachi grew more numb. He stared into the slits of the mask and saw a mixture of red and black, swirling uncontrollably.

"We meet again, nii-san." A layer of twisted delight beneath each word.

Itachi breathed. "Sasuke."

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The Akatsuki. The so-called outlaw elites, the saviors of the world. The captain never expected to find them here, but the thought now had him licking his lips. He had not been entertained for a long time, not since Orochimaru, the bagged head delivered to Danzou's feet.

Even better, one of the two Akatsuki was his brother. The captain had not immediately recognized him, just felt a continual, vexing familiarity that his brain could not pinpoint the center of. But all it took was the sight of the sharingan for everything to come back.

"Itachi!" From his peripheral, Kisame saw collision, a tree trunk cracked and splintered.

The captain seized hold of Itachi's wrists, applying pressure until there was a twist, the sickening crack of bone.

Kisame was stopped by the edge of a kunai against Itachi's jugular. He considered his options..

Itachi made the decision for him. "Kisame, leave."

Like the hell he was. Kisame snarled, readying his Samehada. Captain or not, one ANBU did not faze him.

"Leave," Itachi commanded. "There are four more-" His voice was stifled by a blow, the weight of his body collapsing to the ground.

Against his better judgment, Kisame obeyed. No matter the circumstance, Itachi held seniority over him, and his words were never without reason.

The captain did not bother to tail him. Instead, four different ANBU arrived to give chase, gaining speed. Kisame barely escaped their tracks, and had he lingered, he would have been cornered. Two, he could handle. Four, that would have been a tough deal. But inevitable stalling would have only lured in more State troops, which left him no choice.

"You better know what you're doing, Itachi," Kisame muttered, vanishing into the trees. Heavy mist enshrouded his trail.

The captain watched his squadron follow, before returning his attention to his own prey. He lifted Itachi's chin, examining his face with intrigue, how it was so similar to his own. Yet, not. Something about it seemed so worn. Vulnerable. He realized he liked that, as his fingers itched, his nails wanted to scratch away at some of that delicacy.

"I hope your sacrifice was worth it, Uchiha Itachi." He sharingan flashed. "Because as of now, you are a prisoner of the State."

Bright and bloody pupils matched a dulling one.

When the captain let his fingers drop, his brother's head dropped as well, eyes closed.