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Itachi never liked how the story ended. Sparks bounced about like dandelion seeds, spreading far and wide with no heed for where they went, igniting and leaving behind trails of ash. Beneath his feet the earth is barren; it had been scorched hundreds of times by fire jutsu, so much so that nothing could ever grow there. The shadows twitter and whisper as he tosses pebbles, peering out from under the leaves and between the branches and around the petals. Water is calm and collected, lapping softly at the rocky shores. Wind is soothing and playful, a breeze nudging at his shoulder; come with me! Earth is grounded and ancient and carries a heartbeat. Fire will destroy all of it. "Nii-san," his little brother says, bouncing over. His skin is burnt around the corners of his mouth. Itachi feels a twinge of sorrow. Sweet, innocent Sasuke, who does not see just how his own fire will scar him so. "Don't you want to hear the rest of it?"
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Dim 25 Fév - 16:48
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 | The scroll is clutched in one chubby fist, fingers crumpling the fine paper. Lines of ink peer up at him. I know what you are thinking, they seem to say, and when he looks at Sasuke those doe-wide eyes - just like their mother's - are the same shade. I see you. I see through you.
The clan does not love him. Sasuke waves and smiles at everyone as they head back, so happy to merely be alive. They wave and smile back. How are you doing, Sasuke? Itachi, how was your latest mission? My, you've both grown so big! Itachi is not of fire like they are, no matter the seals his hands shape.
To him, fire is just a tool. He uses it because he is good at it, because that burn is quite handy when it is directed outwards of the Leaf. But the Uchiha personify it. Their eyes burn red as embers. They love with dangerous passion and they die with that same fervour. They refuse to be tamed. They refuse to be civil.
sous forum 2.1.1, sous forum 2.1.2 | 1 | 1 | test test
Mar 19 Avr - 4:57
Admin | | Shisui was different. They were the same. Then he died and what is Itachi, now, without him? Left to wear this gilded crown alone, watching from between two worlds as the Uchiha pace about like tigers in their cage, snapping at the bars, at the hands that reach inside to feed them. As they clamour for freedom, to run wild where the world is so vast.
Paranoia and resentment. Itachi can taste it, permeating the air like petrichor after rain. Like smoke.
He looks down at his brother. Sasuke is trying to learn the Katon, already, chasing after Itachi's shadow. Spitting out cinders - just cinders, for now - over the lake, whose waters expel plumes of steam upon contact. Burning his lips, his tongue, his cheeks, oblong blisters which he determinedly applies cream to, smearing white over the semi-translucent pustules, tears sparking in inky eyes as he does so. His little brother, kind as the ocean's waves, mischievous as a gust of wind, determined with every step to leave his mark on the earth. His little brother who shouldn't be burning himself so he can ignite others.
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Mar 19 Avr - 4:57
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| Sasuke can't be corrupted. Sasuke can't turn into another ember to dance in the flames. Sasuke is sweet and pure and perfect as he is now, six and happy, still a blank canvas. Still whole. Itachi won't - cannot - allow it. When Danzo and the Sandaime come, Itachi does not run away. Itachi does not refuse. He kneels and listens, and the shadows whisper but it is in approval.
Different characters are different people with different beliefs, ideas and obligations. A dialogue is not a synchronized chorus for you to sing the same thing out of several different throats. Different characters are different people with different beliefs, ideas and obligations. A dialogue is not a synchronized chorus for you to sing the same thing out of several different throats.
Young Itachi glances over at him with a guarded expression. It seems almost like he longs to speak, but isn’t sure how to start a conversation.
Sasuke feels suffocated. His hands are trembling. Young Itachi’s expression tightens when he sees them, and Sasuke moves them to his lap.
He looks so young. Sasuke didn’t expect him to be like this. It’s not how he recalls him in his memory.
Young Itachi offers him a hesitant smile. “This is strange,” he says. “Isn’t it?”
Sasuke’s hit with a wave of hatred, so strong it steals his breath. He attempts to shove it down, to keep it from bursting out of him.
“Yeah. I guess.”
He realizes that he’s on equal ground with this Itachi. They’re close to the same age. Young Itachi clearly recognizes this, which is why his attempt at conversation is so stilted and awkward. He can’t treat him the way he treats his otouto.
Sasuke wonders, briefly, what this Itachi sees when he looks at him. Sasuke looks at him and sees a liar wrapped in a fake skin.
In some ways, it hurts even more to look at this Itachi than it does to look at the current one. This is the Itachi he remembers teaching him how to throw a shuriken. This is the Itachi he remembers bandaging his sprained ankle.
This is the Itachi he remembers shattering his entire world.
(Wooden floorboards stained with blood—red eyes twisting—)
“There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” Young Itachi says. “My older self… your brother… he said he was on an undercover mission when this happened. But you clearly weren’t on the same mission, because you weren’t wearing the same outfit. So how did the two of you end up coming back together?”
Sasuke’s hands shake beneath the table. The voice is like sharp nails scraping against his brain.
“It’s none of your concern,” he snaps.
He doesn’t bother with pretending to be nice. There’s no point now that their mother is gone, and he’s too angry to manage it properly anyway.
A flash of surprise crosses Young Itachi’s face before he hides it away. “I see,” he says stiffly.
He doesn’t understand why Young Itachi is keeping up the act with him—pretending to be the kind older brother. Surely he knows that Sasuke knows what he’s planning?
Unless he isn’t planning it. Was the massacre something he decided on a mere whim? Did the idea simply pop into his head that night, and he decided, sure, why not?
Did all of it truly hold no meaning to him?
Sasuke’s hands curl into fists. I’ll kill you. I swear, I’ll save all of them.
He imagines it vividly—what it will feel like. He imagines lightning in his palm, his arm punching through Itachi’s chest. He imagines the way his chest cavity will cave in, the blood spilling from his lips.
He imagines the betrayal Itachi will look at him with—the same way Sasuke looked at him on that night—he imagines his name falling from Itachi’s lips in broken syllables—Sa-su-ke—
Sasuke’s chest feels tight. He’s sitting across from his clan’s killer, and he can’t get the smell of blood out of his nose. He’s standing in a blood-soaked room, empty eyes bearing into him.
The present blurs for a moment, merging with memory. Sasuke socks in a sharp breath.
Young Itachi gazes at him in worry. “Sasuke? Are you okay?”
He tastes blood in his mouth. He can feel it against the clothes that he’s wearing. His clothes—
The boy reaches out to touch his hand. “Sasuke—"
(The sharp snap of his wrist—)
Sasuke jerks back. “Don’t touch me!”
He slaps Itachi’s hand away hard. Itachi freezes, staring at him with stunned eyes. Sasuke stands, breathing hard and nearly knocking over the chair.
His pulse is racing in his ears. He can’t breathe.
Itachi’s eyes are staring at him with such concern.
I can’t. I fucking can’t—
He turns around and spins from the room. His mind is cycling through images, throwing them in front of his eyes. Red eyes twisting, a sword slashing down—
His mother is at the door, talking with someone in a police uniform. Sasuke changes direction and heads for the back door instead. He bursts outside, onto the porch.
The same porch where he and Itachi once sat—I’ll always be there for you—where they once dragged their sleeping bags out to sleep under the stars—you’ll surpass me—
He keeps going until he outruns the memories. Until his heart is pounding like a drum in his chest, and he leaves the Uchiha Clan’s crest far behind him.
He's not inside the compound anymore. He’s standing in the familiar streets of the village.
He places his hands on his knees, bending over. He struggles to breathe.
You’re fine. Pull it together. He feels a burst of self-loathing for his own behavior. Itachi is right. You're fucking pathetic.
“Hey, uh, are you alright?”
Sasuke startles at the young voice. He looks up from his knees, and his heart jumps in his chest.
A seven-year-old Naruto Uzumaki is standing in front of him.
Sasuke stares, speechless.
The kid stares at him with blue eyes that seem to stab straight into his soul. “You don’t look good. Do you need help?”
“I’m fine,” Sasuke manages after a moment. He has a vivid recollection of the last time he saw his old teammate—punching a hole straight through his ribcage—
“You look a lot like a friend of mine.” Naruto pauses, his face screwing up. “Well, actually, he’s not really a friend. He’s a jerk and I hate him—but you look like him. You have the same stupid hair.”
Sasuke is feeling strange things that he can’t parse out. The folded-up picture in his pocket is burning a hole.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “Go bother someone else.”
For a moment, Naruto’s face drops. Hurt flashes across it—hurt that he learned to hide when he was older. “Fine!”
Sasuke’s heart twinges slightly as the blonde spins around. Before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s calling out.
“Wait!”
Naruto stops. He turns to look at Sasuke with a mulish look on his face, his arms crossed. “What?”
“What are you doing now? Shouldn’t you be in class?”
The seven-year-old hesitates before he answers, looking at him distrustful.
“Iruka-sensei is teaching us book stuff today,” he says with a huff. “It’s super boring. And I was really hungry, so I was going to get some ramen from Ichiraku's. But I dropped my money somewhere, and now I can’t find it!”
“I can pay for you.”
His mouth makes the offer without his consent. Sasuke wants to immediately yank the words out of the air. What the hell is wrong with him? Why should he care if the damn moron starves—
Naruto freezes, staring at him. “You will?”
He could take it back, but… he supposes it doesn’t matter. He’s not ready to go back home yet, anyway.
“Sure. Whatever.”
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