![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fic - What If They - 1/1
Title: What If They...
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Genre: Gen
Warnings: AU liek WOAH, Hidan's mouth
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: The Akatsuki never went missing-nin.
AN: Written for the What if? Meme on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
naruto_meme for the prompt: what would have happened if the Akatsuki never went missing-nin.
They had almost exhausted their chakra. They stood facing each other by the side of the canyon they’d just created, remnants of demonic chakra still lingering in the air. Senjuu Hashirama gasped for air, clutching at a wound in his side. Madara, who was in slightly better shape, grinned maniacally. His face, his beautiful Uchiha features, were ruined, his armour was tattered, and there was blood everywhere, but he was in better shape than Hashirama.
Hashirama collapsed to his knees, still gripping his side. Madara’s grin widened and he opened his mouth to gloat, only for a choked gurgle to escape him instead. Behind him, a mud clone collapsed back into the earth, leaving the katana it had wielded buried to the hilt in Madara’s chest, its blade running right through his heart.
Madara choked. Blood spattered the ground. His knees trembled and gave out and he toppled face first into the mud. Hashirama grimaced in regret, before curling up on his non-wounded side. Madara was dead. He could rest for just a moment.
*
They kept him in the cell for weeks. Months passed, and they seemed to forget him, and Kakuzu found his own food by snaking his threads through the bars of his cell’s single window – it was tiny and close to the ceiling and it opened onto the grass, showing he was underground with no way of escaping - and catching whatever unfortunate rodent happened to scurry past.
Months passed. The rodents started to become scarce, and one morning, when he sent his threads questing through the bars, they found cold. Snow. He had fought Senjuu Hashirama in the spring, and now winter had set in. Was he supposed to have died, he wondered. Had his mother and his sisters mourned him?
He thought about escaping. He thought about taking back his dignity and using his threads – the most powerful jutsu that Takigakure had to offer – to rip out the hearts of the village elders and avenge himself for this unfair punishment, but…the world had forgotten him. He was dead to them. Avenging himself now would do nothing.
*
“Can I help you with something, Kazekage-sama?”
Akasuna no Sasori didn’t defer to anyone except his grandmother. His tone as he addressed the Kazekage was mocking, and the honorific was only there to prevent him from being accused of being openly disrespectful, although it was an open secret in Sunagakure that Sasori thought that the Yondaime Kazekage was a complete moron.
He was the only one who could get away with the disrespect, other than his grandmother. Sasori was unnerving. He was creepy. He was powerful and talented and probably should have been elected as Kazekage instead of the Yondaime, but the council had decided that having someone with Sasori’s habits in a position of power wouldn’t be good for future alliances – as if he’d go around poisoning the other kages and the Wind Daimyo and turning their bodies into puppets.
He’d been given control of the Puppet Corp and the Torture and Interrogation departments as a consolation prize instead.
“I am requesting that you take my son, Kankurou, on as an apprentice,” the Kazekage ordered. “He will need his skills improved before the invasion of Konoha.”
Sasori – and his grandmother – was the only person in Suna that the Kazekage requested things from.
He tilted his head to one side. “Kankurou has some talent,” he said, “even if he is a hot-headed idiot.” The words ‘like you’ hung unsaid between them. “Though I’m curious, Kazekage-sama, as to why you think that Orochimaru will hold up his side of the bargain.”
He was the only person in Suna who could get away with questioning the Kazekage to his face.
*
“I need you to break the seal for me Kisame.”
The Mizukage was little more than a child. He looked weak in the watery light filtering through the window, but the strange stitch-shaped seal running down his left cheek was a reminder that his childlike appearance was nothing more than that. An appearance. A front. A lie.
“I can’t do this anymore, Kisame,” he continued. His voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the feeble chirping of the birds outside. “Our country is on the brink of civil war. Our bloodlines have died out or vanished. Our people are frightened, and it’s all because of me.”
He seemed strangely lucid that morning. Kisame wondered if he had taken something, or – more likely – hadn’t taken something. There had been a masked man in black seen around the village several times during the past few years. They’d never caught him, but the young Mizukage – normally such a calm, kind young boy – had become violent and irrational, and with him, Kiri had become tainted.
“You’ll die, Mizukage-sama,” Kisame told him.
“I know, Kisame,” the Mizukage replied. “I have made my preparations. You are to succeed me.”
Kisame blinked. “Me, Mizukage-sama?”
“You’re strong, and a good leader. This village needs that. It needs you.”
The Mizukage looked up at him, and Kisame saw how tired the Mizukage looked. He didn’t really want the position. He liked working with the Swordsmen, and the paperwork would be hell, but…he loved Kiri more than he hated paperwork.
“You, Kisame, are the Godaime Mizukage.”
“Yes sir.”
*
The people of Ame loved them. After Pein had defeated Hanzou, they had flocked to his banner, trusting him to stop their country from ripping itself apart; trusting him to give them something to be proud of. Only Konan and Yahiko had shown that much faith in him before. Not even Jiraiya-sensei had believed in him that much.
It was humbling.
Pein started with the governing body. With Konan by his side – his beautiful angel – she destroyed any and all of Hanzou’s supporters. Then he meticulously rewrote the academy programme in the hopes of producing stronger genin, and placed Konan in charge of it to make sure that his will was done.
Any skirmishes were dealt with ruthlessly.
Change filtered through the Land of Rain. From his tower, Pein saw the changes in his people. Stronger, more united shinobi. Happier civilians. Better business.
The sky stopped crying for the dead; instead it wept with joy.
*
The missing nin wasn’t nearly as talented as the trouble he had caused would have suggested. He was frightened too, and Zetsu could smell the fear wafting off of him as he perched on a tree branch, a kunai gripped in two shaking hands. Maybe he had realised what his actions were going to bring upon him.
“He’ll be no challenge at all,” Black Zetsu said.
White Zetsu tilted their head to one side, and studied their prey. Before he had left the village, he had cut a slash through the grass symbol of his hitai-ate; a symbol that Zetsu wore proudly. He looked like he might be regretting that decision.
White Zetsu sighed. “This is almost insulting,” he said.
Black Zetsu nodded. “But he’ll be tasty. Look at the meat on his arms.”
White Zetsu licked their lips. “Yes,” he said. “Shall we go?”
Black Zetsu didn’t reply before they melted into the trunk of the tree that they’d been perched on. Zetsu was the perfect hunter-nin, and Kusagakure’s secret weapon. He hunted eagerly, and left no trace of his presence.
There was a short scream, and the missing nin died.
*
A small, white spider inched closer to the largest stack of paperwork. The chakra that had been moulded into the clay guided towards the pile. Its creator fiddled with his pen not two feet away; his head bent over his desk to hide his devious smirk behind curtains of long blond hair.
The spider moved closer. It was almost there…
A large hand slammed down on top of it, and Deidara froze. He looked up into the face of the Sandaime Tsuchikage and his smirk faded into a weak smile.
“Ounoki-sama, it wasn’t what it looked like, un!” he said quickly.
“Really?” the old man asked. “So you weren’t going to blow up that stack of paperwork, then?”
Deidara glanced at the pile. It almost swamped the whole desk. He looked back up at the Tsuchikage, trying to look as innocent as possible.
It didn’t work. “Deidara-kun, if you’re going to be my successor, you need to stop playing around with these little toy bombs of yours,” the Tsuchikage said.
Deidara’s eyes narrowed at the insult. “They’re art, un!” he said.
“Yes, yes,” the Tsuchikage said. “All the same Deidara-kun, no blowing up the paperwork. You agreed to this so that you could display maturity, not showcase your, ah, ‘art’. You need to show me that you’re ready for this before I step down.”
Deidara sighed and made the remains of the squished spider wiggle out from under the Tsuchikage’s hand and limp back across the desk to him. It was painful to watch. His art, ruined, and him unable to even detonate it.
“Good boy,” the Tsuchikage said once he’d squashed it down completely and slipped the clay back into the pouch on his thigh.
Deidara grit his teeth. All of them. The hat had better be worth it.
*
“What…the fuck? A tourist destination? Are they fucking serious? This is a ninja village! We’re meant to be killing people and sending their souls to Jashin-sama for judgement, not bathing people. Fucking hell. Fucking council. It’s full of morons, seriously. They’ve just compromised their way into the afterlife. Jashin-sama’s going to smite them, and I’ll fucking be there laughing my ass off when he does it.”
There was a chuckle. Hidan paused in his pacing and looked up. Sitting at the table in his tiny apartment, was his Father. Not his biological one. That motherfucker had died years ago. Hidan’s Father was the priest who had raised him. A deceptively gentle-looking old man, who had passed on his devout faith – though not the cussing; Hidan had developed that all on his own – to the child he had raised.
“What the fuck’s so funny?” Hidan demanded.
“It is true that Jashin-sama will smite them when their time has ended, bloody may that time be,” he said. “But that doesn’t answer the question of what you’re going to do now that Yuugakure is removing its ninja corps.”
Hidan paused. “Fuck if I know,” he replied. “Kill the fuckers and go missing nin? That would be original. I’d be the only one this shithole’s ever produced.”
“It’s a possibility,” the priest admitted, “but it would be a waste. Why not join the priesthood, Hidan? You are already a remarkable follower of Jashin-sama, but you would make an excellent priest.”
Hidan raised an eyebrow.
“I always wondered why you wanted to be a shinobi when you were already so ideal for the priesthood.”
“There’s knives and killing and shit,” Hidan said absently. “There’s room for me there?”
“Hidan, my child, there will always be room for you.”
Hidan grinned. “Alright then,” he said. “Retiring to the priesthood it is. At least I won’t be running a fucking onsen like some of those retards. Seriously, remember Sanji, that dickhead I got stuck on a genin team with? Yeah, that’s what he’s going to do. His wife fucking pussywhipped him into it…”
The priest sipped his tea and smiled.
*
“I’ll never forgive you!”
“Sasuke…”
“How could you? How could you do this, Itachi? Why? Mother…Father…everyone…why did you kill them?”
“They were going to betray the village, Sasuke,” Itachi explained. “I had to kill them to save the village.”
“I hate you.” Sasuke wasn’t listening. Itachi leaned his forehead on the closed door to his brother’s room and listened to the soft sobs from inside. He’d known Sasuke would take this badly. “I hate you! You’re not my brother anymore!”
Itachi sighed. “Sasuke…I’m all you have left.”
There was a pause from the other side of the door. Itachi leaned back just in time before it opened, revealing his little brother’s scowling face. His eyes were puffy and red, his nose was running, and he was clutching a blunt practise kunai in his fist. “You’re all I have left? It’s your fault, Itachi! It’s your fault they’re dead! I’m going to…I’m going…to…”
Itachi knelt on the tatami and wrested the kunai out of his brother’s grip. He pulled the younger boy forward into a hug, and felt Sasuke’s hands raise to grip his shirt.
“I’m sorry Sasuke,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Genre: Gen
Warnings: AU liek WOAH, Hidan's mouth
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: The Akatsuki never went missing-nin.
AN: Written for the What if? Meme on
naruto_meme for the prompt: what would have happened if the Akatsuki never went missing-nin.They had almost exhausted their chakra. They stood facing each other by the side of the canyon they’d just created, remnants of demonic chakra still lingering in the air. Senjuu Hashirama gasped for air, clutching at a wound in his side. Madara, who was in slightly better shape, grinned maniacally. His face, his beautiful Uchiha features, were ruined, his armour was tattered, and there was blood everywhere, but he was in better shape than Hashirama.
Hashirama collapsed to his knees, still gripping his side. Madara’s grin widened and he opened his mouth to gloat, only for a choked gurgle to escape him instead. Behind him, a mud clone collapsed back into the earth, leaving the katana it had wielded buried to the hilt in Madara’s chest, its blade running right through his heart.
Madara choked. Blood spattered the ground. His knees trembled and gave out and he toppled face first into the mud. Hashirama grimaced in regret, before curling up on his non-wounded side. Madara was dead. He could rest for just a moment.
*
They kept him in the cell for weeks. Months passed, and they seemed to forget him, and Kakuzu found his own food by snaking his threads through the bars of his cell’s single window – it was tiny and close to the ceiling and it opened onto the grass, showing he was underground with no way of escaping - and catching whatever unfortunate rodent happened to scurry past.
Months passed. The rodents started to become scarce, and one morning, when he sent his threads questing through the bars, they found cold. Snow. He had fought Senjuu Hashirama in the spring, and now winter had set in. Was he supposed to have died, he wondered. Had his mother and his sisters mourned him?
He thought about escaping. He thought about taking back his dignity and using his threads – the most powerful jutsu that Takigakure had to offer – to rip out the hearts of the village elders and avenge himself for this unfair punishment, but…the world had forgotten him. He was dead to them. Avenging himself now would do nothing.
*
“Can I help you with something, Kazekage-sama?”
Akasuna no Sasori didn’t defer to anyone except his grandmother. His tone as he addressed the Kazekage was mocking, and the honorific was only there to prevent him from being accused of being openly disrespectful, although it was an open secret in Sunagakure that Sasori thought that the Yondaime Kazekage was a complete moron.
He was the only one who could get away with the disrespect, other than his grandmother. Sasori was unnerving. He was creepy. He was powerful and talented and probably should have been elected as Kazekage instead of the Yondaime, but the council had decided that having someone with Sasori’s habits in a position of power wouldn’t be good for future alliances – as if he’d go around poisoning the other kages and the Wind Daimyo and turning their bodies into puppets.
He’d been given control of the Puppet Corp and the Torture and Interrogation departments as a consolation prize instead.
“I am requesting that you take my son, Kankurou, on as an apprentice,” the Kazekage ordered. “He will need his skills improved before the invasion of Konoha.”
Sasori – and his grandmother – was the only person in Suna that the Kazekage requested things from.
He tilted his head to one side. “Kankurou has some talent,” he said, “even if he is a hot-headed idiot.” The words ‘like you’ hung unsaid between them. “Though I’m curious, Kazekage-sama, as to why you think that Orochimaru will hold up his side of the bargain.”
He was the only person in Suna who could get away with questioning the Kazekage to his face.
*
“I need you to break the seal for me Kisame.”
The Mizukage was little more than a child. He looked weak in the watery light filtering through the window, but the strange stitch-shaped seal running down his left cheek was a reminder that his childlike appearance was nothing more than that. An appearance. A front. A lie.
“I can’t do this anymore, Kisame,” he continued. His voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the feeble chirping of the birds outside. “Our country is on the brink of civil war. Our bloodlines have died out or vanished. Our people are frightened, and it’s all because of me.”
He seemed strangely lucid that morning. Kisame wondered if he had taken something, or – more likely – hadn’t taken something. There had been a masked man in black seen around the village several times during the past few years. They’d never caught him, but the young Mizukage – normally such a calm, kind young boy – had become violent and irrational, and with him, Kiri had become tainted.
“You’ll die, Mizukage-sama,” Kisame told him.
“I know, Kisame,” the Mizukage replied. “I have made my preparations. You are to succeed me.”
Kisame blinked. “Me, Mizukage-sama?”
“You’re strong, and a good leader. This village needs that. It needs you.”
The Mizukage looked up at him, and Kisame saw how tired the Mizukage looked. He didn’t really want the position. He liked working with the Swordsmen, and the paperwork would be hell, but…he loved Kiri more than he hated paperwork.
“You, Kisame, are the Godaime Mizukage.”
“Yes sir.”
*
The people of Ame loved them. After Pein had defeated Hanzou, they had flocked to his banner, trusting him to stop their country from ripping itself apart; trusting him to give them something to be proud of. Only Konan and Yahiko had shown that much faith in him before. Not even Jiraiya-sensei had believed in him that much.
It was humbling.
Pein started with the governing body. With Konan by his side – his beautiful angel – she destroyed any and all of Hanzou’s supporters. Then he meticulously rewrote the academy programme in the hopes of producing stronger genin, and placed Konan in charge of it to make sure that his will was done.
Any skirmishes were dealt with ruthlessly.
Change filtered through the Land of Rain. From his tower, Pein saw the changes in his people. Stronger, more united shinobi. Happier civilians. Better business.
The sky stopped crying for the dead; instead it wept with joy.
*
The missing nin wasn’t nearly as talented as the trouble he had caused would have suggested. He was frightened too, and Zetsu could smell the fear wafting off of him as he perched on a tree branch, a kunai gripped in two shaking hands. Maybe he had realised what his actions were going to bring upon him.
“He’ll be no challenge at all,” Black Zetsu said.
White Zetsu tilted their head to one side, and studied their prey. Before he had left the village, he had cut a slash through the grass symbol of his hitai-ate; a symbol that Zetsu wore proudly. He looked like he might be regretting that decision.
White Zetsu sighed. “This is almost insulting,” he said.
Black Zetsu nodded. “But he’ll be tasty. Look at the meat on his arms.”
White Zetsu licked their lips. “Yes,” he said. “Shall we go?”
Black Zetsu didn’t reply before they melted into the trunk of the tree that they’d been perched on. Zetsu was the perfect hunter-nin, and Kusagakure’s secret weapon. He hunted eagerly, and left no trace of his presence.
There was a short scream, and the missing nin died.
*
A small, white spider inched closer to the largest stack of paperwork. The chakra that had been moulded into the clay guided towards the pile. Its creator fiddled with his pen not two feet away; his head bent over his desk to hide his devious smirk behind curtains of long blond hair.
The spider moved closer. It was almost there…
A large hand slammed down on top of it, and Deidara froze. He looked up into the face of the Sandaime Tsuchikage and his smirk faded into a weak smile.
“Ounoki-sama, it wasn’t what it looked like, un!” he said quickly.
“Really?” the old man asked. “So you weren’t going to blow up that stack of paperwork, then?”
Deidara glanced at the pile. It almost swamped the whole desk. He looked back up at the Tsuchikage, trying to look as innocent as possible.
It didn’t work. “Deidara-kun, if you’re going to be my successor, you need to stop playing around with these little toy bombs of yours,” the Tsuchikage said.
Deidara’s eyes narrowed at the insult. “They’re art, un!” he said.
“Yes, yes,” the Tsuchikage said. “All the same Deidara-kun, no blowing up the paperwork. You agreed to this so that you could display maturity, not showcase your, ah, ‘art’. You need to show me that you’re ready for this before I step down.”
Deidara sighed and made the remains of the squished spider wiggle out from under the Tsuchikage’s hand and limp back across the desk to him. It was painful to watch. His art, ruined, and him unable to even detonate it.
“Good boy,” the Tsuchikage said once he’d squashed it down completely and slipped the clay back into the pouch on his thigh.
Deidara grit his teeth. All of them. The hat had better be worth it.
*
“What…the fuck? A tourist destination? Are they fucking serious? This is a ninja village! We’re meant to be killing people and sending their souls to Jashin-sama for judgement, not bathing people. Fucking hell. Fucking council. It’s full of morons, seriously. They’ve just compromised their way into the afterlife. Jashin-sama’s going to smite them, and I’ll fucking be there laughing my ass off when he does it.”
There was a chuckle. Hidan paused in his pacing and looked up. Sitting at the table in his tiny apartment, was his Father. Not his biological one. That motherfucker had died years ago. Hidan’s Father was the priest who had raised him. A deceptively gentle-looking old man, who had passed on his devout faith – though not the cussing; Hidan had developed that all on his own – to the child he had raised.
“What the fuck’s so funny?” Hidan demanded.
“It is true that Jashin-sama will smite them when their time has ended, bloody may that time be,” he said. “But that doesn’t answer the question of what you’re going to do now that Yuugakure is removing its ninja corps.”
Hidan paused. “Fuck if I know,” he replied. “Kill the fuckers and go missing nin? That would be original. I’d be the only one this shithole’s ever produced.”
“It’s a possibility,” the priest admitted, “but it would be a waste. Why not join the priesthood, Hidan? You are already a remarkable follower of Jashin-sama, but you would make an excellent priest.”
Hidan raised an eyebrow.
“I always wondered why you wanted to be a shinobi when you were already so ideal for the priesthood.”
“There’s knives and killing and shit,” Hidan said absently. “There’s room for me there?”
“Hidan, my child, there will always be room for you.”
Hidan grinned. “Alright then,” he said. “Retiring to the priesthood it is. At least I won’t be running a fucking onsen like some of those retards. Seriously, remember Sanji, that dickhead I got stuck on a genin team with? Yeah, that’s what he’s going to do. His wife fucking pussywhipped him into it…”
The priest sipped his tea and smiled.
*
“I’ll never forgive you!”
“Sasuke…”
“How could you? How could you do this, Itachi? Why? Mother…Father…everyone…why did you kill them?”
“They were going to betray the village, Sasuke,” Itachi explained. “I had to kill them to save the village.”
“I hate you.” Sasuke wasn’t listening. Itachi leaned his forehead on the closed door to his brother’s room and listened to the soft sobs from inside. He’d known Sasuke would take this badly. “I hate you! You’re not my brother anymore!”
Itachi sighed. “Sasuke…I’m all you have left.”
There was a pause from the other side of the door. Itachi leaned back just in time before it opened, revealing his little brother’s scowling face. His eyes were puffy and red, his nose was running, and he was clutching a blunt practise kunai in his fist. “You’re all I have left? It’s your fault, Itachi! It’s your fault they’re dead! I’m going to…I’m going…to…”
Itachi knelt on the tatami and wrested the kunai out of his brother’s grip. He pulled the younger boy forward into a hug, and felt Sasuke’s hands raise to grip his shirt.
“I’m sorry Sasuke,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”