Body Heat

13 | when the night changes

A/N- Warning: Like horrible violence related stuff and all... Keep children safe, guys!  

{sasuke}

Sasuke had always been a nice kid, did his homework. Only stole a cookie if he was absolutely peckish and never before a meal, only after. He never picked on anyone. Always did his homework. He was on top of his bed-making game. And, above all else loved, very deeply, his once perfectly functional family.

However, shortly after he'd been taken, he'd tasted a life of freedom, a life with no rule. A life where he did whatever the hell he wanted,whenever he wanted, with whomever he wanted. The little taste and his general hormonal teenage angsting had turned him into a power-crazy maniac.

Being smarter and stronger and mean was a rush. Having people look at him with a mix of want and fear was a rush. Being Orochimaru's prodigy and receiving his approval had been the biggest rush of all.

Until he saw the child Orochimaru wanted him to assist with cutting to pieces.

Suddenly, the floor was out from under him. The doors he'd willingly walked through had been bolted from the outside. He found himself in a deep, deep snake pit he never knew he'd non-verbally asked to be thrown in simply because he'd proven he could survive in it. Thrive, even.

So there he was, in the face of the pale-skinned and red-haired child-sized ghost. He saw that while his choice had saved him from being the child in the bed, it had also put another child in his vacated spot.

It also placed him in the spot of the man with the scalpel and the blood-thirsty smile so unnatural it couldn't possibly be his own lips on his face. Looking at the shoes he'd stepped into had made him actually throw up in his mouth a little.

The very real fact that Orochimaru had at some point sold him on this horrific idea of being his apprentice... The very thought that Orochimaru had thought Sasuke was so far out into that darkness that he'd be ready to take a scalpel to a child's sternum simply for explorative pleasure was disgusting to him.

He couldn't help the twist of his face, the clenching of the scalpel and the violent stab to the throat he aimed at Orochimaru.

He'd completely disengaged his mind as it had been overcome by blind magmatic rage, each stab was a satisfaction he'd never experienced. Every twist of the tiny blade that disfigured the man's face was a heady victory to the countless little ones who couldn't or wouldn't or were never given the millisecond of a chance to get the jump on this sorry excuse of a man,

All it had taken to receive this prized opportunity was to have completely fooled his proud predecessor so much so that the monster had basically handed him the scalpel and bared his own chest, asking to be carved open. And what a performance he'd put on, shame Orochimaru wasn't able to see the final product. What a fitting end it was, despicably disfigured. Finally the outside matched the inside.

When a weak, pale hand stopped him, he looked up into deep sunken eyes and lips so pale they looked bleached of life and blood and hope. The face made for a terrifying present and an even more haunting memory as it twisted and folded upon itself in his mind with time, adding layer upon layer to what he'd almost become.

No, not what he'd almost become, what Orochimaru, thankfully, had severely failed in turning him into - he was neither the victim nor the perpetrator. Even so, he'd become something else in the end. He was still a murderer.

His hands were bloodied with the death of something so distasteful, instead of finding a way to bury the body he simply vacaated the suburban home-turned-laboratory and torched it. Watching the very fabric the stained memories were on go up in flames.