Work Text:
“Kisame, you need to sleep.”
Kisame blinks, refusal fighting to break through the bleary haze as he lifts his head. Thunder rumbles in the distance as he squares his shoulders and turns back to Itachi. From his place on top of his pack, Itachi huffs at his partner’s grumble of denial.
“It’s been four days. Even with your endurance, it’s only a matter of time before your brain shuts down. Especially with how much blood you lost.”
“Eh, I should still be okay for a little bit.” The layer of light-hearted ease is thin, but it’s still there. “No hallucinations of dead teammates or fear that the tree over there will burst from the ground and eat me just yet. Besides, when those shinobi catch up, that ought to wake me up, right Itachi-san?”
“Which shinobi?”
Kisame scrunches up his brow, thinking. “I….it would be those Kusa chunin, wouldn't it? And hunter nin, there’s always hunter nin. We already got the bounty hunters, right?”
“Not these ones. And we killed the Kusa nin three days ago.”
“Ah. Right, the giant fireball….” He shakes his head slightly. Itachi watches him from beneath the tree, watches the raindrops slide down the curved silhouette of his nose, watches his shoulders slump. “I’m pretty sure I can still manage it,” Kisame says eventually, voice now even thinner.
“You don’t need to.”
Kisame goes very quiet, and even through the rain Itachi can hear his own ragged breathing. He pulls himself up from his pack slowly, trying to angle himself to avoid the stabbing pain in his chest.
“It’s not safe, Kisame. For either of us. You know better than anyone what happens to shinobi who fall asleep at their post." Itachi makes a point of going through his pockets and holsters, counting shurikan and avoiding Kisame's gaze. "And I can’t sleep anyway."
Kisame pauses only a moment this time before sighing and shuffling back further into the canopy towards him, letting Samehada rest against a tree. This time, even he doesn’t ask if it hurts; he knows what the answer is, and knows Itachi is tired of answering. Itachi finds the outline of Kisame’s shoulders in the dim light and pulls him closer. Kisame lets himself be led down to rest against Itachi’s lap.
“Sorry, I’m probably getting you all wet.”
“You’re no worse than me,” Itachi murmurs, raking his fingers back through Kisame’s sopping hair. It’s not entirely untrue; the mud on his own sandals is so thickly caked they’re practically boots, and wringing out his hair could only do so much. But Kisame is soaked to the bone, water still dripping from his clothes to Itachi’s, and skin tightening from the flare of his gills.
They need a fire. They need to get out of these wet, muddy clothes. They need a better meal than the stripes of rabbit jerky their supplies have whittled down to. They need to rest, and talk about things that aren’t surviving and killing and dying. They need time.
They have maybe a few hours; hopefully in his current state it’ll take Kisame less than one to fall asleep.
Itachi twists around to undo the buckles of his sodden pack to grab their thermoses, passing Kisame his before returning to rummage through maps and kunai. He likes to think of how the ease of knowing it would be in its usual place is due to their years of quick escapes and the need for easily accessed supplies; he likes thinking of how he could already do it blind slightly less. Though it is convenient, if not comforting.
He thinks his is Blue Mountain Tea, but even after he first few lukewarm mouthfuls he can’t be sure. Still, it helps wash down the blood. He glances down at Kisame and isn’t surprised to see his cup almost untouched.
“Here,” he murmurs, reaching for the abandoned cup. He presses it close to his lips and breathes a steady stream of flame until he can taste chamomile flavoured steam. The chakra leaves a dull burn from his chest to his throat, but if it’s worse than the usual ache he’s grown numb to it. He thinks some hurt must show though, from the dull, defeated look on Kisame’s face. He must be little more than a silhouette with glowing eyes, but his partner can still read too much of him. As Itachi grabs his own cup, he watches the flames dancing in his partner’s pale eyes and wished the light reached the rest of him. Kisame’s lips move, and for a moment Itachi wished his vision had gone far enough that he couldn’t read the words.
I’m sorry
Itachi’s sharp intake of breath stabs deep within his lungs and he can’t meet Kisame’s eyes. He lifts his gaze to the canopy above them, letting the stray drops dash against his cheek.
“Please don’t be.”
“I’ll try, Itachi-san,” Kisame says softly, but he finally lets himself settle back against Itachi. While he holds his gaze, he can feel, more than see, the slow flicker of his eyelids as he drifts off.
He gently strokes the wet hair back from Kisame’s forehead, pushing back the strands sticking to the stitches. The rain has managed to wash out most of the blood from his hair, and hopefully the stitches would be able to come out tomorrow. Or was it today? Hard to tell in this light.
He had to admit it had been a good shot. They’d noticed Kisame’s healing quickly and gone straight for his head. Itachi had only managed to throw the last one slightly off track. The rest of the squad had not been given an opportunity to replicate their teammates attempt.
Nor would the ANBU or the hunter nin over the next week. Itachi hopes that they will head the flee on sight broadcast for Kisame and himself, but resigns himself that they likely won’t. By now, they’ll know they’ve been spotted, and believe there’s no turning back. Itachi supposes there isn’t.
They’ll be able to take them, him and Kisame. Even now as they slowly fade away, they can take them. But the hunters will keep coming for Kisame long after Itachi is gone. He might be able to take them alone. He could if he tried.
if he tried
‘Kisame?’ he whispers, but the only answer is Kisame’s soft breathing. His own mouth opens again, but the words are choked in his throat.
Promise me…..I wish I could….I know you can…I need you to…please try…
Kisame doesn’t stir when the tears hit his cheek.
I’m sorry too