A/N: Was digging through my old folders and refound this one-shot. Out of like two hundred other SasuIta one-shots. I'm probably going to be on this ship until the heat death of the universe.

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It was the bugs that first alerted them, the field of genjutsu that no one could detect. Once within range, Kiba's nose guided them to the hideout, and Hinata's eyes took care of the rest.

He was below. Five hundred meters deep, but it was the undeniable outline of a human chakra system, at rest inside a room approximately six by nine. After further scrutiny, Hinata found the entrance way, a metal cellar door hidden by tall grass and rocks.

The lock should have been their first sign that something was wrong, but their minds were too busy preparing for confrontation. Uchiha Sasuke was the deadliest missing-nin alive. For most shinobi, the order was flee on sight. They could not afford to be caught off guard.

Team 8 assumed their formation, careful in their descent. The space was narrow and damp, but showed signs of frequent visitation. Though dark, there shone a light at the far end of the stairwell.

The chamber that came to view was austere, with expansive hinoki floors and walls that were bare of everything except two torch fires and a banner of the Uchiha. The minimalism was meant to highlight the centerpiece.

Raised on a platform was a bed. And on the bed lied not Sasuke, but his most treasured and beloved trophy.

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When the captive was first presented before Uzumaki Naruto, his first reaction was, this is not Sasuke. His second reaction was befuddlement, as he could not ascertain the identity of the individual.

As far as he knew, Sasuke broke ties to all bonds and allegiances. He was a ghost to the material world. All except those who once knew him believed he was an urban legend, some nightmare cooked up to scare away debt collectors or keep children from misbehaving. There were no rumors of any lover.

His eyes trailed down the angry red marks and bruises, the burns from rope and electricity. It was said Team 8 had found him with chains and a scroll in his mouth. A scroll was not the only thing forced inside him.

He looked like a lover, bound like one, wrapped like one, but he was not a lover. There was too much cruelty here for love.

Karin had once confessed that Sasuke was not cruel, not really. In his entire time with Orochimaru, he never took a life, never caused unnecessary pain. When Ibiki noted how this appeared contradictory to the ideals of an avenger, she quieted to give the matter more thought.

In the end, Karin had corrected her statement. Sasuke did have a capacity for cruelty. But his cruelty, like many other things, was reserved for only one person.

This led to Ibiki's next question.

Karin was one of six witnesses to attest to the death of Uchiha Itachi.

Naruto's suspicions were confirmed with the fall of the captive's blindfold. It would appear all six of those witnesses had lied.

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Itachi did not say anything. His lips were sealed, his mind impenetrable, all attempts at genjutsu deflected as easily as the light off a mirror. Some would say he was not even there.

There were other interrogation methods, ones more brutal, but they would do no damage that had not already been done onto him. In this case, Konoha was not so much a captor as it was a savior.

In the following months, Itachi was kept in a secured medical ward. People would come and go, and some would talk, and all would leave in disappointment. His fingers would move, and his heart would beat, and his eyes would stare. But nothing was there.

It had been eight years, after all, that Sasuke kept his brother. Eight years that he fed him hurt, fed him hate. If it was not the abuse that broke him, something else did.

Only Ino was convinced he was not as dead as everyone believed. She continued her visits long after all the others stopped. She needed to. News of the hideout discovery had left Sakura shaken, hidden behind stiff smiles and stiffer hands. Even if Sakura tried not to show it, Ino knew. More importantly, she cared.

On this visit, Ino decided to try something a little different. She prefaced with a story. It was the most basic story she could think of, just a retelling of her day. She told him the breakfast she ate, the customers she met in her shop, the streets she passed on her way to the market. Noise from the construction three blocks down had ruined her sleep, but once she reached the outskirts, it was just wind in her hair and the smell of a new season in bloom. She looked up.

It was usually difficult to tell if he was listening, if he could even hear at all. But this time, when she stopped to look up, he looked up with her.

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During the council meeting, the advisors were persistent in an immediate execution. Itachi had slaughtered a clan, slaughtered many more in his days as rogue-nin. It was not wise to keep a criminal that dangerous on village grounds.

Their Hokage did not listen. Akatsuki was long gone, and it mattered little whether Itachi received his sentencing now or three months from now. What Naruto cared about was Sasuke. As long as they had his brother, Sasuke would come to get him.

It was questionable how wise it was to bait such a man into their village.

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After Ino left, the doors opened for the second time. Danzou had a few questions.

His answer did not require words, just a look. He studied the branching scars and rupture of capillaries, the bruises that were surprisingly fresh. Eight years time had done no mercy, brought no forgiveness.

How deep did such hate run, he wondered, for a punishment to last this long. An abhorrent crime Itachi did, but one done out of love. Nothing but blind, desperate love.

It was then Danzou understood.

Itachi truly never said anything. Not to them. Not to his brother.

At the next council meeting, Naruto was pleasantly surprised when the old advisor changed his position. The execution will be held off, at least until Sasuke was found.

Danzou was much more adept at persuading the others than the Hokage was. Homura had passed away two years ago and Koharu shortly after. Danzou was the last remaining person to carry the wisdom of the old generation. The secrets of the old generation.

And for that, his word carried weight.

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Ino's patience paid off. The conversation was not very long, but it was something.

She asked him if he knew where he was.

He told her, here.

And where was here?

Home.

Their next conversation was a little longer. And the following, longer still. Itachi was listening to her stories. He was listening to her descriptions and recounts of the small things.

Ino noticed the lack of color on his skin and wondered when was the last time he had felt sunlight. The last time he had seen a road or was allowed to walk.

The new season was in bloom. She presented him a freshly plucked poppy, to study his reaction.

He stared at it, a black eye surrounded by petals of red.

Then something happened that Ino did not expect. He accepted the flower into his hands.

Cautious, she asked him what he was thinking of.

Without looking up, he told her.

Home.

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Ino sweated, eyes darting across her collection of notes, before rushing to report her findings to the Hokage. There was something suspicious about Itachi, something Naruto needed to know before Sasuke got here. Naruto complied with her request, dropping his paperwork in favor of his cloak. They would find a private space to talk.

By then, it was already too late.

Reports came in that Sasuke had been spotted in the southern perimeter, reports that reached the village intelligence. And so, Sakura was gone, recruited to be of one of the nine members to constitute the detainment team.

Soon, a figure stood at the village gate, but it was not Sakura. Nor was it any other member of the team.

Sasuke had not a single falter in his step.

Halfway through, the shinobi stopped trying. They held their weapons, held their words, watching with a mix of fear and reverence. There was a corporal god in their presence, one that left behind a trail of black fire.

As Naruto had wished, Sasuke finally returned to the village.

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For years, it was expected that if Naruto and Sasuke ever reunited, there would be fight. And either they would reconcile, or one would die at the hands of the other.

What Naruto never knew was that Sasuke had abandoned his sword years ago.

The katana was wet, as were Itachi's footprints, the streets blossoming with puddles as red as the poppy.

The ANBU froze at the sight of their Hokage dead. Across the table, his assassin also lied dead. Loose around Ino's fingers was a vial of the deadliest poisons birthed from flora.

Much later, the ANBU would also find Danzou in his personal chamber, his stomach open to the air. Itachi had said nothing, and neither would he. As far as history was concerned, Konoha played no part in the creation of this monster.

Sasuke swallowed when his brother stood before him, untouched by the world, by the violence around him. Instead, the longer Itachi stood before him, the more his expression broke into a smile, heartbreakingly vulnerable and tender.

It was a smile that made Sasuke want to scream.

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The wounds across Itachi's body were tearing open once more. Itachi was filthy, disgusting. He needed to be cleansed, the evil in him pouring out onto the bedsheets. His brother, stained by patricide, matricide, his crown one of ashes and bone. His brother, the manipulative liar who stripped him of his family and now his only friend.

Everywhere Itachi walked, a slaughterhouse followed. His back arched.

And it was all so beautiful.

For eight years, Itachi had kept his brother. Eight years that he fed him hunger, fed him hate.

The kiss lingered on both their lips. So they pulled each other closer for another one, desperate and gasping, broken in each other's embrace.

Outside, leaves rustled softly from the night breeze, an air redolent of their childhood spring.

It had been a long time since either of them returned home.