Chapter Text
Any member of the Uchiha Main House, over the decades of being residents of Konoha, have quietly agreed that they aren't alone.
From head to partner to children and alike. The first home built in the Uchiha district by Senju Hashirama himself — to honor the Uchiha, as recognition for peace agreements and to welcome them — is at the edge of the Uchiha district. Before the Uchiha were pushed closer and closer to the furthest reaches of the village in silent subjugation. The Main House is the core of the Uchiha clan, but overshadowed by hate, rotted down and down.
The first elected Head of the Uchiha clan in Konoha is a quiet, pragmatic man. Now, the Elders would move out of the Main House. The day of, the Elders brought him to a secluded room in the Main House. Do not listen to him . They had said. Rotten he is. He failed us. Only his disgrace will live on.
The Head did not fully understand their warning, but he knew who they referred to.
They left. His family moved in.It didn't take long to realize their meaning.
Dead leaves litter the garden whilst autumn's harvest moon hangs low in the early evening. The Head listens to the gentle breeze whistle through the sparse trees, the cool engawa under his legs.
Creaking floors alert him. He turns, expecting to see his disheveled daughter asking to help her with nightmares. But that's not right — he would have felt her tiny chakra flux and move to him.
He doesn't feel anything living behind him.
"I…"
The Head stares into the shadows of the room, the sliding door open wide. Not even the moonlight dares to move further.
"Izuna? "
Cold fear grips his lungs seeing red spin violently in the dark. It drips to the floor.
Drip, drip, drip
"No… Fake. Foolish."
There's no sound, except for the bloody tears and the words of a vengeful ghost.
"Leave. Now!" The ghost screams.
Gone. Echoing throughout the home. The leaves flew outward, the wind died.
When his daughter wakes in tears and tremors, he tells her to ignore it.Ignoring it is what they do. From one Head to the next, the main family murmurs this absolute rule to their children. Anyone who visits for more than a few days is only given heavy stares and shaken heads; the visiting Uchiha understand who it is with that and the drip drip drip they hear in corners of dark rooms.
A couple of decades pass tumultuously. The First Hokage falls. Young, strong. The day of his death, the ghost is found in the garden; surely looking towards where Senju Hashirama had his final battle. Opaque in the rising sun's rays, no one could see the face of the specter that lingered in the garden. The blood that leaked from his eyes usually vanished after hitting any surface. But there was a copious amount of blood that pooled on the ground. No one dared to step a foot outside that day. When the wife of the current Head looked out late that night to see if he still hovered there, the ghost had disappeared.A pond of red was what was left. She spent the night cleaning it.
Senju Tobirama's reign is when the vengeful soul is most restless. Loud as the coming First World War.
"Leave! Go! He will be the end of us!"
He screams in the hallways, the main rooms. Doors open, windows shut, anything to bring notice to the warnings of the ghost. They ignore him. The Second has given them reign as the Police. Though wary, they are grateful for his recognition.
"This does not benefit us. This is against us. To outcast us! "
The day Senju Tobirama dies is the first time the Main House is ever quiet. An uneasy peace drags out. Konoha revels in it. It is not long lasting.
"This peace is false! Listen!"
Members of the Main Family have become more practiced in ignoring the wails. Their eyes roll over the haunting ghost that watches them, lock the door leading to the room upstairs. If they don't think about it, or acknowledge it, then it should cease to exist. This increased ignorance changes the vengeful ghost.
"Listen… "
No longer does he wail. He talks which turn to inane mumbling. Like prey trapped in mud, the vengeful ghost begins stopping mid-sentence; hovers motionless for hours in corners with back turned or the middle of rooms. The families are grateful for the quiet. Their ignorance is strong and so they no longer see him and soon no longer hear him. Only old legends of what used to roam in the house. Jests of ignoring the ghost are common and an opener for any visitors.
More war; a new Hokage who drives for peace but is too lenient.
"Weak… weakweakweak." It falls on deaf ears.
It isn't until the Third Shinobi War that someone sees him. A cousin of the Main Family who visits frequently to declare his dream of being Hokage and seeking advice on how to take care of his ailing grandmother.
"Ignore it," they tell him one sweltering summer day. He came to bug his older cousin, Fugaku, because at least he doesn't outright say he's a loser to his face. Maybe even Mikoto, too, with little Itachi so they can have a good time.
Obito Uchiha tilts his head in confusion. Ignore what? They laugh at his confusion, leaving him alone in the kitchen.
"It's Obito. The kid's too dense to see what's right in front of him," he hears one of his cousins say outside. "Disgrace to the Uchiha. Like him too!" Jeering laughter erupts, growing faint as they leave the property.
No he isn't crying! He rubs viciously at his eyes. Stupid cousins, stupid Fugaku not being here, stupid rusty smell permeating this kitchen. That's what's making him cry! Obito wipes his nose. How did his cousins not smell this? It's so strong! And it's too hot. Those idiots wearing their high collar mantles. Obito took his jacket off before the sun even rose with how much he was sweating.
Harrumphing, Obito throws open a door. This place is just too big for any one family. He should bring his team over one day to get them to help him annoy the main family. Today, however, he'll just ransack Fugaku's room but apologize to Mikoto at least! She understands that Fugaku is a stick in the mud who needs to be teased sometimes. His fault for not being here! And he bets it won't smell like blood like the kitch-
Drip, drip, drip
Obito steadies himself against the hallway wall, looking back over his shoulder to the kitchen.
A child born in war, he knows what blood smells like. But… Why is it so strong in this house?
Oh gods… Did his cousins leave a dead animal in there to freak him out?! That's so rude to Mikoto and Itachi (and maybe Fugaku)! And… not the first time they've done that to (successfully) scare him. Jerks. Obito curses them in his head profusely. He better find that animal and give it a proper burial.
Drip, drip
Did he leave the tap on accidentally?
Obito heaves a heavy sigh. The Third decreed to conserve their water and foods for the war effort. He better turn that off.
Each step closer he takes to the kitchen, the small distance he made before, is somehow chilling. It creeps up his spine, goosebumps rising and the back of his head is tingling. This is unsettling. It's not like battles where he can eventually see whoever's hiding to ambush him. This unnatural chill, rising heart rate, this isn't like normal. At the threshold of the opening, Obito halts. He needs to turn the tap off, but…
There's someone there.
Obito's hands begin to shake. His cousins just left, he's alone in the house.
Drip, drip
Their back is to him. Long, black, wild hair wisps faintly in a nonexistent wind. Dark armour, nicked and burnt and red as the blood of enemies contours to its see-through body. Its visibility becomes nothing towards its legs; just a mere outline of what could be feet.
Red droplets splatter onto the hardfloor.
Obito can't breathe.
But he hears it breathing. Quiet breathes.
Drip, drip
He tries to think logically (shut up, Kakashi!) about what to do now. Minato taught them to stay alert, not to jump straight into battles. It goes against every fiber in his being, but right now… he decides to listen to his teacher.
Obito toes forward slowly without a sound. The being is nearest the sink, almost looking like an average person staring outside. It is still. Doesn't move even as Obito elbows a low cabinet. It-
"Ignore it. "
Obito's breath catches in his throat. Is this the "it" they meant?But… It doesn't react to him. It's more like it is ignoring Obito.
Drip, drip, drip
One deep breath. He pushes onward to circle it… the ghost. He stops behind the counter, able to view its front but from the side, out of reach.
(Hopefully)
"Oh Gods," Obito whispers.
It...his face. Pale as the waxing moon above. Deep bags hang below his eyes. His red eyes. The Mangekyou Sharingan. Blood leaks from one eye down his cheek that is scratched and worn and empty. A face that is reminiscent of the Main family; regal and alluring. Long, pitch black hair that wisps to nothing at the ends, floating in dead air of its own accord. The armor looks traditional from the time of The First and Second Hokage. Old, motionless. His eyes are empty.
Would it be rude to throw a kunai at a ghost? Well, it would be rude to impale the kunai in the Head's kitchen cabinets if it passes right through. Obito grabs an orange off the counter. He lofts it at him. Straight through like he thought. No reaction.
Well, he is better at talking than say Kakashi. Sometimes. (Rin would laugh if he heard him now)
"Um… Hello?"
Nothing… Low breathing. Ghosts need air? Obito doesn't want to get closer. He hasn't stopped shaking and his heart rate is higher than his grandmother's, now. Of all days for his stupid cousin to not be here. Even baby Itachi being here would bring Obito peace of mind. Obito gulps, taking a step closer to the ghost.
"Are you okay?"
His head audibly snaps to Obito. He thought Minato's disappointed face was intense. This is worse than any family member's glares, any enemy's ire. Obito's breathing hitches. He stumbles backwards into the doorway that leads outside.
"I-I'm sorry! I-"
"I …." Oh no, he does talk.
"I...zu .."
The ghost's head twists sharply to the side, and Obito swears he heard it snap like it broke. Then to the other side.
"Izu… " His body rotates slowly to Obito. No no no-
"Please, I… W-What do you want?" He pleads, holding himself against door frame. The only thing keeping upright. He squeezes the wood, hoping to ground himself.
"No...t Izu… na…"
"O-Obito. I'm Obito," he introduces himself. Dang it, grandma, drilling manners into him!
"False… Disgrace… Leave."
Obito's stomach leaps to his throat. "Sh-Shut up! I will be Hokage and show you all!"
The ghost's head hangs limply, neck almost cleanly broken. His Mangekyou never shuts off and never wavers from him. Almost like he is assessing him.
Drip, drip
"Not… safe.."
Obito's eyes are overflowing. From fear, anger, dread. "Shut up! I will make this village safe! I will , you see-through bastard. Just s-stand there and watch me!"
The ghost is in his face in an instant. "Wrong… Leave."
"I'm not a coward! I won't run away!"
"Leave!"
Obito can't even yell back a response. The ghost's eyes roll back, his head snapping backwards fully and he screams.
Obito runs.
The vital mission in ensuring victory for Konoha in the Third Shinobi War is completed; securing Kannabi Bridge. Praise is given all around to the team and forces in securing it and helping end the war. Obito Uchiha's name is scarcely mentioned; just a new name engraved in cold stone.
"He wasn't that much of an Uchiha, anyways," people said in the village.
"That eye stealer," most of them sneered (mostly Uchiha). They watched the stoic Hatake leave the Main House with Minato Namikaze. The last members of Team 7.
"More like friend-killer. Did you hear what he did? Killed both of his teammates."
"A hero but really… How different is he from his father?"
Days after the war, tentative peace slowly trickles back into the village. Obito's grandmother is invited to the Main House to give her their regards for her last direct family. Fugaku sits in for the final meetings before he takes over as Head. He hasn't the will to look Obito's grandmother in the eye, shame sitting heavy in his chest at how little he stepped up for his cousin.
"Keep your pity to yourselves," she spat, eyes red rimmed and hair disheveled. Her condition only worsened when Kakashi and Minato broke the news to her.
"I beg your pardon?" The Head asks. Fugaku stays silent.
She raises a knobbly, skinny finger to the couple. "You spoke of my boy like he was worthless and disgraceful his whole life. Most of this cursed clan had, and it swayed the village's minds of him, too. Now he's just a name on a rock and will be forgotten. You dishonor the name of Uchiha. I don't have many years left but I will be spending it outside of this wretched village."
She left that night.
In the grips of the sleepless night, the current Main Head awoke to the vengeful ghost hovering above him.
"Dishonor ."
The Head ignores him, as always. This is his first time seeing the specter and cold dread does build in his gut facing what has been haunting their family for generations. The ghost is more clear, more furious than in past years. He lifts the man by the collar and rises from the floor.
"Your foul presence brought ruin to one of our own, even in death!"
The Head chokes, trying to grasp at the hands at his neck but to no avail. "Y-You're one to talk, Leader ."
A snarl rips out of the ghost's throat, animalistic. The Head is thrown to his bed, breaking it. His wife and he fall into the center. After that, the house is a deathly chill and no one dares stay indoors for longer than necessary.
With more Uchiha being killed in missions, the ghost moans.
"Taken…. He takes them… "
Now enjoying the days without fear of being called to the front lines, Mikoto sits with her husband. She hasn't stayed longer than a day in the house since they've been wed 3 years ago. Itachi was rarely home, too.
"Ignore the ghost."
Mikoto looks back in question at her husband who is gently combing her hair. "Don't say that, or Kushina won't want to visit," she chides back in humor. Fugaku grimaces. Probably at the thought of her loud best friend who could eat out their entire kitchen if ever over. "It isn't a joke, Mikoto. Ignore it and it will be quiet," he says seriously.
Mikoto is speechless. Ghosts? Really? But Fugaku stands, kissing her head.
"The Hokage summoned the clan heads for a meeting. I'll be back after dark." Mikoto waves him off down the walkway, admiring the way the setting sun began to bleed into a deep red.
They have an early dinner, courtesy of Minato trying out some new recipes and bringing them for her. But now she finally has the time to explore this old home without Fugaku telling her to take it easy with new changes. She snorts to herself. Worrywart.
Mikoto hops up from the entrance and begins her snooping. Old house with even older rumors. She just never thought her husband was one to spread them himself.
Mikoto makes her rounds from the kitchen, then through the garden. Big. The stepping stones are nearly spotless and the grass perfectly cut. She makes a mental note to ask if they hire someone to take care of it, or is there a seal that keeps it this clean because she will not be cutting grass. Walking over a particular stone, Mikoto sees a dark spot on it. Well, almost all of the are spotless. She knows it's an old blood stain and she doubts over the decades this home has stood that there hasn't not been violence. They are shinobi, after all.
A shiver goes down her spine, much like when someone is watching her. Mikoto doesn't react outwardly, but she throws her senses out to see who's nearby. It is just her and this house. The nearest people are two streets away. Mikoto turns to the house, looking at the open sliding doors and the upper windows. Empty, as it should be. As she hopes.
Graceful as she is when tracking and hunting enemies, Mikoto returns to the house. Each step she takes is silent and she suppresses her chakra to near nonexistence. She walks the halls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. And she does.
Drip, drip, drip
It's in an old, large writing room. Mikoto's eyes grow wide seeing what should be impossible. She knows her senses, trusts them indisputably.Ignore the ghost, Fugaku said. How can she when there's a ghost of a man hovering dead center in the room. The doors are fully open in this room for some reason, when she knows Fugaku closes the unused rooms from any birds coming in. The engawa reflects the deep red hues of the sunset through the ghost who illuminates already, but it now looks as though he is drenched in blood. Befitting with his outfit; like a warrior born of blood and died in it.
Mikoto knows she didn't make any movement or stopped suppressing her chakra, but the ghost's head snaps back lopsidedly. His Mangekyou Sharingan spins rapidly and is honed in on her.
"Taken… " His voice echoes in the open space, otherworldly.
"What's been taken?" She asks gently.
"He takes… " he nearly whispers. Has him being ignored skewed him? Made him unable to talk fully? Mikoto steps forward. Like a string is attached to the head to lead, the body of the ghost swivels to face her. His armor looks much like what her grandparents wore in the Warring Era, when their clan was still nomadic.
"Let me help get back what it is you're looking for."
The ghost is quiet for a long time."Dif… ferent… " he breathes in a shaky, ghastly, breath. " Like… him… "
Mikoto is worried for a moment that the 'him' he refers to is whoever has taken what the ghost is looking for. "Him? Is he the one who took what's yours?"
His broken neck wobbles side to side. No then.
"Dead… Long dead… "
"Where is the one who took it?"
An arm twists unnaturally and raises. But it points towards the high grounds outside. Grave? "Dead?"
"No… He … st… ill walks… steals ."
So not dead but… Underground?"Steals what?" Mikoto asks.
The finger is gloved and illuminates much like it's been dipped in so much blood. It points to Mikoto. "People?" Not a thing but living creatures. Humans.
His eyes are so sorrowful, so deep and in pain. "Steals ," he emphasizes.
Mikoto is stricken with horror realizing that he is pointing to her lower torso. She grasps her flat stomach. "Children?"
"Chi...ldren ," he repeats, like he's learning it again. "Unwanted." Mikoto watches his Mangekyou spin slower and slower. "You fi… rst to… to— "
Mikoto's heart lurches, knowing what he means. First to speak to him directly without annoyance or anger. Or at all. His visage flickers as if he is fighting to stay with her in this moment. She lifts her hand to his, her palm open. He watches curiously. His hand falls to meet hers. It is cold like Land of Fire's most furious snows.
"I will do what I can," Mikoto promises to the grieving ghost.
"Pro… tect ," he uses his other hand to point at her again.
"I will be careful."
"Too… protect ." His arm points up to Itachi's room. Mikoto's heart leaps to her throat.
"Of course. For him, anything."
The ghost's wispy hair is fading, his blood tears no longer splattering the floor. She doubts this is a forever goodbye, but this probably took a lot of energy for him to converse. But she has to know.
"Who are you? What is your purpose?" The grief and unbridled hurt is now prominent on his otherwise masked face.
"No… " his sentence trails off.
"I won't ignore you. Tell me, you are deserving."
"Failure… Not protect ," his voice is growing quiet. With the rapidly setting sun, his figure becomes blurred; except his eyes.
"But you still try, now. You are not a failure."
The red rays that can pierce through the oncoming darkness emphasize his last visible features. A bloody smile creeps on his face. "Like him you," he says.
"Mikoto," she introduces herself. There is nothing there, but she grips his hand nonetheless.
Fading finally with the darkness and his hand gripping back, the last Mikoto hears is gentler than the rustling leaves.
"Madara."
