Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, yada-yada
Warnings: Rated T for mild BL/yaoi, (past)attempted suicide, an overload of angst, (side)character death... Reader discretion is advised. You have been warned.
Song: "Sorry" by Daughtry

Enjoy.

Rain Catcher

"It is said that the darkest hour of the night comes just before the dawn." The Alchemist

The rain falls thunderously against the roof and windows of his empty mansion; the cascading ocean of water and raging gusts of wind scream incessantly in his ears. The occasional streak of lighting slices through the black, inky sky, and a clash of angry thunder soon follows after. The branches and leaves of the nearby trees snap back and forth in the unrelenting wind, smacking loudly against the outside of the house. Storms are strangers to silence. Everything is so loud, so clear, so unforgiving. The sky is made momentarily brighter again as another bolt of lightning flashes, yet in the extended darkness that comes, a roaring thunder falls upon him and he lets out a soft cry, hoping, wishing, that it will all go away.

The storm does not leave him.

Curled up in the corner of what was once his parents' room, he hugs and buries his face into his knees and cries. The pure indignity of a grown man sobbing and crying stinging tears is lost to him, and the only thing that matters now are the memories burning so clearly in his mind. His soul shrieks with the rain, sounding louder, longer, endlessly. Hot tears roll down his flushed, pale cheeks, and he can't stop screaming; he can't stop yelling, cursing, crying, whispering. His heart pounds deafeningly in his ears and his chest, lungs and throat become painfully raw, but he has never felt so unalive before. He thinks, for a passing moment, that perhaps he should've gone with them that day, so long, long ago. He shuts then squeezes the tears from his reddened eyes and embraces himself, shaking.

He should've died with them, and yet…

He is alive.

Alive.

He should be happy.

Should be.

He stops and tries the muffle the sounds of the surrounding chaos by pressing his hands against his ear. But no matter what he does, he cannot rid the horrid memories from his mind. He is falling apart at the seams, he knows, and he hates the feeling of being drowned with an ocean of memories and not being able to pick himself back up and just move on. He hates being reduced to a mere shadow of what he could have become, and he begins to hate himself for being just so damned pathetic. He hates this feeling of not being able to let go. Silently, he is afraid that in the end he will be consumed with his inner demons and ultimately hurt the ones close to him. He is helpless, and it scares and humbles him.

He remembers.

The raging winds tore across the air and the stinging rain fell harshly onto the streets and windows of buildings and cars. The sky was grey and heavy and loomed over the bustling city like a dark omen. He remembers being called from class and to the office. He remembers being secretly nervous and he remembers the empathizing expression on the principal's face when she told him that they, his mother, father, and brother, had been in a car crash and that his parents were already dead when the ambulance arrived. His brother was in the hospital, his life hanging between life and death.

When he heard the news, he remembers not understanding anything, not understanding what it truly meant to die and that they would never be aliveagain. His mother would never again smile and hold him in his arms, and his father's eyes would never again hold the pride that flashed whenever he caught sight of his family, happy, successful, and together.

He remembers the vague sensation of wanting to laugh, to cry, and to scream all at the same time. Instead, he merely stood there in shock, not comprehending, not understanding, and wishing that the day could start all over again. He wished that when he went home that day, his mother would be waiting for him with some slices of fresh apples and his brother would be sitting in his room, studying and teasing him. Surely, when he went home that night, they would all be there, and his father would be back from work several hours later. They would sit and eat dinner together again, not for the last time, and they would never have to leave him. And he would never have to be alone.

Later that day, one of his teachers had volunteered to drive him to the hospital. He doesn't remember much of what happened next, but he does recall running to his brother's bedside and holding the older boy's weak, cold hand, crying, crying, and crying. His brother had looked at him with his warm, black eyes and told him not to worry, not to cry, go to sleep, and that things were going to be okay tomorrow. He had nodded, believed him, and obediently slept in the chair by his brother's bedside through the night. That was the first school night in his life in which he did not complete his homework nor touch his textbooks.

The next morning, he woke to the sound of doctors and nurses shouting and scrambling, here, there, everywhere. He was scared, surrounded by all those strangers, and so he curled himself into a ball and sat on the chair, hands covering his eyes. He was confused, too, because he noticed suddenly that the machines hooked to his brother weren't beeping, unlike the previous day, and a sort of irrational fear gripped at his heart and he realized that his brother had lied. He should have worried, he should have cried, he shouldn't have slept so soon, and things weren't okay, because now his brother was dead.

Dead.

The word stings his tongue and the aching feeling doesn't ever seem to leave him.

He had leaped out of his seat and had screamed his brother's name again and again, until a nurse had to hustle him out of the room and into another, where a social services agent and children's psychologist were waiting for him. He cried hot, burning tears, and he yelled a string of incomprehensible words, and all he wanted was to die and be with them,too. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want them to leave him. He didn't want to live his life with only their shadows and memories as companions.

He shudders.

That was exactly thirteen years ago, maybe even down to the precise hour, when he was ten years old, when he was young and naïve, and when he did not understand what it truly meant to die. Today is their thirteenth anniversary and he cannot even gather the strength to face the storm and offer flowers to their rain-washed graves.

He truly is pitiful in so many ways, and it disgusts him.

He remembers, also, a night much like this one, with raging, angry storms shrieking outside, three years ago when he was in college. He was alone that night, and the promising gleam of the convenient razorblade sitting on the bathroom counter proved to be too tempting for his tortured mind to resist. He remembers dragging the sleek blade across his pale skin and closing his eyes, counting the seconds until he would rid the world of himself and leave everything behind. The rest of the day was a blur to him, and the next thing he remembers is waking up to the steady beeping of monitors. It had almost seemed, in those brief moments, like they were mocking him.

A branch snaps violently from a nearby tree and crashes onto the battered lawn below it, disrupting his flow of thoughts. His head jerks up at the noise as he winces from the cold. The battered door groans against the massive force of the wind. If the frame and locks were any weaker, they would have surely been torn off its hinges. He squeezes himself tighter into the bleak corner of the room and digs his naked toes into the white carpet. The storm will not leave him.

A streak of lighting rips across the faceless sky. He counts the seconds until the roll of thunder follows, but he can't concentrate on the numbers or the fading lights outside. He screams again, a choking, anguished noise, and the roar of thunder that comes moments later soon drowns him out. With a strangled cry, his arm leaves his side and lunges at the closest thing next to him: the small desk standing besides the antiquated king-sized bed.

A small, framed photo titters dangerously then falls from the desk and lands beside his foot face down. Gasping in trembling breaths, he trembles and reaches for the fallen photo, his fingertips just grazing the frame. With a quiet whimper, he edges his hand closer to the metal frame and wraps his fingers around its strangely smooth edge. He can almost swear the last time he saw that picture, the frame had been different, somehow. But he blinks and the sudden revelation is forgotten.

His throat tightens and he feels like crying again, even though the previously shed tears are still wet and fresh on his cheeks. He almost doesn't want to see their familiar faces again, smiling at him through long-dead eyes. And even when he feels his heart and eyes burning, he drags the photo up his clothed leg, inch by inch, and takes in a deep, shaky breath. He turns it over.

He blinks and his eyes sting.

No. This is wrong.

He doesn't see the warm, caring eyes of his mother, the stern yet proud gaze of his father, nor the bored look on his older brother's face. Instead, he sees pure, unadulterated happiness shining in his own dark onyx eyes and a slight smirk resting on his lips. He sees a pair of passionate cerulean orbs beaming and a mess of bright blond hair and that unmistakable grin. He sees Naruto and him hugging, smiling, and laughing into the lens of the camera.

Naruto.

The rain batters against the windows, the noise echoing hauntingly in the empty halls of the mansion. Softly and silently, the tears slide from the corners of his eyes and he sighs, pressing his forehead against the cold glass of the frame. He realizes then that he needs Naruto now, more than anything, and he does not stop to think that it is weak of him to feel this way. He clenches his jaw as another flash of lighting torches the sky.

"Naruto," he chokes out, leaning his head back against the white wall. His arms hold the framed photo close to his chest, over his beating heart. "…Naruto."

Uchiha Sasuke closes his eyes and hates the feeling of this devastating weakness simmering and filling his soul.

Naruto races down the soaking streets, the rain drenching his blond locks of hair and his heavy clothes. He is tired, cold, and wet, but all these things seem so trivial to him at the moment, for he had forgotten about Sasuke's fear of storms and the fact that the bastard is currently home alone in the mansion on the anniversary of his family's death. He knows that Sasuke is prone to doing the stupidest of things, sometimes, when it rains and thunders and when the memories start coming back.

The sheer disappointment in himself and the burning guilt of making such a foolish and selfish mistake yet again presses Naruto to run faster and faster. He blinks the rainwater from his eyes and tells himself that no, he is not crying. But even so, a part of him refuses to believe in such a blatant lie. He pushes the thought from his mind and instead tells his feet to move quicker.

He cannot be late.

He had almost lost the bastard for the same mistake of leaving him alone on that stormy night, back when they were in college together, and even today he still remembers a bloodied razorblade in Sasuke's loose grip and the growing puddle of blood seeping into the carpet and clothes and the musky, metallic stench of blood hanging in the air of their shared room. He faintly remembers walking headfirst into the bloody scene and screaming at his limp body and string of obscenities. He had whipped out his cell phone from his pocket and started punching in the numbers 9-1-1 with trembling fingers and had yelling frantically into the phone, panic seizing him fully. He had started crying in the middle of his words, he remembers, because his roommate and best friend was lying motionlessly on the damp, bloody carpet, bleeding his life out, and he was too scared and helpless and damned stupid to read the signs and prevent it. The blood was everywhere, warm and pungent, like a cruel reminder of his barefaced guilt, and he couldn't escape it.

When the paramedics came five long minutes later, he couldn't see through his tears as they monitored Sasuke's vital signals, inserted an IV through his good arm, and proceeded to bandage his injured wrist. He couldn't even stand properly and collapsed onto his knees moments later, all the walls around him cracking and crumbling, leaving him screaming hoarsely into the palms of his sweaty hands. The scrambling medics, the quiet stares of worried teachers, the muffled noise gossiping students… It was too much for him, and he screamed again, louder, and he moved his hands to cover his ears. He wanted everyone to just go away, for he had truly believed that those were the last moments he had with Sasuke.

If only he could stop screaming-

I'msorry-Don'tleaveme-You'resuchastupidbastard-Can'tdieonme-I'msorry-I'msorry-Iloveyou-

-Then maybe he would be able to say all the things he'd never had the chance to say to him before.

He had passed out from fatigue before the paramedics left and was consequently brought to the hospital, too. He remembers waking in clean, white sheets and to the steady beeping of monitors. When he turned to look at the patient in the neighboring bed, he remembers crying at the sight of familiar pale, porcelain skin and a mass of disheveled raven-black hair. He was released from the hospital a few hours later, but he spent the rest of the day sitting by the raven's bedside, reveling in the fact that Sasuke was alive.

Sasuke woke up two days later and spent the next week at the hospital recovering from his physical injuries. For another year, the he was required to pay weekly visits to a local psychologist concerning his borderline phobia of storms, but otherwise it seemed almost as if they were able to put the incident behind them and move on. But for some reason, though, Sasuke had never truly seemed happy about the fact that his attempt at suicide had failed.

About six months later, he learned that that the hospital was the same one in which Sasuke's brother had died. The bitter irony is not lost to him.

Through the years from then, he has learned about Sasuke's family and sensitivities; he has grown to befriend and even love the bastard, and he finds that sometimes the lines between loving a friend and loving on whole other level of love become blurred.

And, with every passing day, he finds that he, too, is starting to fear the coming of storms.

His foot slips on a slick leaf and he stumbles. With a muttered curse, he ignores the pain in his pounding heart and hurting muscles, and continues on. Looking up into the distance and through the black blanket of falling rain, he recognizes the dimly lit street leading to the Uchiha mansion up ahead and feels a stirring of hope grow within him.

He is close now, and he thinks that if he just pushes himself that much faster, he will make it this time. With a great, heaving breath, he steels himself for the last stretch of the race and runs up the street. Even devouring flames and wretched burning cannot stop his heart from beating for that one person he loves.

He closes his eyes for a passing moment and allows himself a slight, tired grin.

Wait for me, bastard.

Another flash of lighting lights the sky, and he prepares himself yet again for the clash of thunder that will inevitably follow after. He clenches his hand and curls his toes, his muscles growing tense with the mounting apprehension. However, when the roll of thunder finally washes over him, he blinks his tired eyes and finds that he is not trembling anymore. His breaths are more even now and even his heartbeat is not quite as fast. He is confused and is really too weary to dwell any more on that revelation. He sighs a quiet, shaky sigh and closes his eyes, but no matter how much his body craves sleep, he finds that it is just short of impossible. He swallows and finds his throat still raw.

Sasuke does not know what he is waiting for, but he can feel somehow, in a small, neglected part of him, that he is not alone anymore. The rain is still pounding and the winds are still screeching, but it is the first time in a long while in which they did not sound so frightening or so daunting. He feels a bit relieved in a strange sort of way, and he does not know why. And so, his fingers tighten around the warming frame of the photo and he finds himself waiting for the answer.

He is finally here, drenched, panting, sweating, and standing in front of the imposing doors of the Uchiha mansion. He swallows nervously and curls his fingers around the spare key Sasuke had given him long before. Inserting the key gently into the keyhole, he turns it once, twice, before the lock clicks and unbolts. He twists the cold, wet doorknob and pushes against the sturdy door. It swings open easily. He takes a few tentative steps inside. Looking around, he sees no one; he hears nothing. He shivers and closes the door behind him, blocking out the wind and rain, and slips the key back into his jacket pocket.

He blinks the rainwater from his eyes and calls out softly, "Sasuke?"

The only reply he receives is his own faint echo and the howl of the winds. He frowns and runs a hand through his wet, matted blond hair. Drops of water run down his arm and face and it takes a moment for him to realize that he is making a sizeable puddle on the polished hardwood floors. He curses softly and walks up the carpeted, winding staircase where the bedrooms are located. It is too silent for him, and a brief pang of fear stabs painfully through his heart.

"Sasuke?" he shouts, panic seeping clearly into his voice. He runs up the stairs, two at a time, and the only thing he can hear is the raging storm outside and his deafening heartbeat.

"Sasuke!"

He winces.

His muscles are sore and cramped from staying in the same position for too long, but for the moment he doesn't have the strength or the will to move. Trying to find a distraction from the unending storm, he rests his head back on the wall and focuses on the throbbing pain in his legs. After a while, they begin to numb. Biting back a growl, he exhales slowly and straightens his legs out in front of him. The blood begins to circulate again, and it hurts to move or even touch them. But the pain, like everything else, will pass.

He closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing next. In and out, in and out…

Sasuke.

His eyes snap open and his muscles tense. He thinks he hears his name being called from a hazy distance, but maybe he really is just going insane. Maybe he is hallucinating. Maybe he is hoping. He quiets his breaths and listens closely; maybe he will hear his name again. He pauses—

Nothing.

He bites his lips and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment washing over him. There is no one there. No one. He doesn't know why that fact bothers him so. He has no reason to hope, after all; he knows and it hurts him.

Sasuke!

There! He sits up straighter and flinches when his muscles protest. He hears his name again, and his ears are not lying. His eyes grow wide and his heart runs faster; the sound of that voice is breaking him. His throat is parched and raw, but he doesn't care and he screams again.

This time, he will be heard.

There are so many rooms, too many to search through one by one. His eyes narrow and he is growing more desperate by the second. His breaths are labored and he slams open the door of the room next to him. No one. Sasuke is not there. His hands are sweating and he cannot think properly anymore. All he knows is that there are too many doors and not enough time. Swearing, he moves on.

His fingers brush against another metal doorknob. "Sasu-" The name catches in his throat as a choking, anguished scream resonates through the once-empty mansion and pierces his heart and ears. For a fleeting moment, he feels as if his heartbeat had gone and abandoned him.

"Sasuke," he gasps as he scrambles frantically in the opposite direction.

The mantra –the name- plays repeatedly in his mind. The twin white doors of the master bedroom loom just beyond his reach. With a strangled cry, he leaps and lunges his body against the delicate locked doors. His muddy, wet sneakers have probably destroyed the snow-white carpets with a thousand footprints and his weight had probably broken the frame of the door in pieces, but all those things can wait until later.

Right now, Sasuke is here, and in the end that is really all he needs to be happy.

Moments after the scream dies from his tongue, Sasuke hears rapid footsteps heading his way. His heart begins to fill with a sort of intangible hope and all he wants to do is see Naruto's face and hear the blond's voice drown out the rain. He grits his teeth and pushes against the floor and the wall. His muscles flame with pain and fatigue and his knees quake beneath his weight; he cannot stand.

Suddenly, there is a thunderous clash of splintering wood from across the room and there is a chaos of broken doors and ripped frames. The man tumbling headfirst and clumsily into his parents' room is dripping with rain and sweat and the pair of muddy sneakers trail globs of dirt, leaves, and soggy twigs onto the pristine carpet. The room he holds sacred is completely trashed now, but all he can see is a mop dirty blond hair and a pair of blazing cerulean eyes.

Naruto stumbles into the master bedroom, the frame of the door snapped in pieces and the two doors caved in and laying awkwardly in the room. His cheeks are flaming from exertion and adrenaline. After a few gulps of much needed air, he lifts his heavy gaze and promptly freezes at the sight of pale, sweaty skin, tangled black hair, and wide, onyx eyes.

Sasuke…

"Naruto." Sasuke's voice is gravelly and hoarse, but he feels tinged with the slightest hint of happiness. "You came."

For a moment, the blond was afraid that if he spoke, only incomprehensible sobs would come out of his throat. Instead, he swallows and moves unhurriedly towards the raven. Seeing Sasuke's reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks makes his chest tighten with a strange, unknown type of sorrow and he feels like pulling the raven into his arms and holding him, never letting go. The sensation confuses him, really, but he blinks and his lips curl up in an earnest grin. Crawling on his hands and knees, he settles himself close to Sasuke and sits next to him, reveling in their shared warmth. He shrugs of his drenched jacket, slips out of his wet, muddy shoes, and tosses them all carelessly away from them and leans his head tiredly against the plain white walls. The bastard is unbelievably warm, and the heat is starting to make him feel blissfully happy.

"Yeah," he replies dimly, closing his eyes, "I guess I did."

Sasuke blinks at the exceptionally ineloquent reply but says nothing. Even when soaking wet, the heat radiating from the blond is positively mesmerizing. He relaxes next to Naruto's sturdy form and grunts a simple and unspoken 'Thank you.' To Naruto, though, it is enough and he smiles and hums a lucid 'You're welcome' in return. Sasuke gives a brief nod in acknowledgement and frowns a bit at the streams of water dripping down the blond's tanned skin; Naruto merely shrugs and shakes the droplets of water from his hair halfheartedly. The raven grunts and turns away. It is quiet, and nothing else needs to be said. They are alive and together, and that is all they really need. He breathes out a faint sigh and allows himself to finally succumb to his aches and weariness, drifting off in a muddle of passing thoughts.

Just like so, time flies over them as they sit comfortably and sleep contentedly with their backs resting against the wall, their shoulders pressing together reassuringly. Many long hours after its harsh beginning, the storm is finally fading. The black night sky begins to wane and soon gives way to a misty, tranquil dawn. The rain subsides into soft, peaceful drizzles, and the grey clouds transform into light, ivory puffs floating harmlessly in the clear sky. Rays of sunlight filter into the room bit by bit through the small cracks in the window blinds, and the dark room brightens.

Through his muted, hazy dreams, Naruto thinks for a fleeting moment that he can hear the faint yet steady beating of two hearts and the tranquil, breathy exhales of the man resting next to him. He feels the heat glowing from their bodies, the cold wrapped all around them, and he leans his warming cheek against the neighboring mass of smooth, raven black hair. He sighs gently, and his hand inches across the plush carpet, moving towards Sasuke's own. His fingertips brush against a breadth of pale, soft skin.

Sasuke twitches involuntarily at the contact, but then he stills and relaxes; he doesn't pull away.

Naruto smiles contentedly through his snores and thinks that perhaps he knows now what it means to be happy. With each hushed breath, their fingers slowly start to intertwine. Eventually, unconsciously, they hold the other's hand…

After they wake, with the soft shards of dawn spilling through the window, Sasuke frowns darkly at their newfound intimacy and quickly extracts his hand from their warm grasp. He tries to pretend that he hadn't noticed or felt a thing, but Naruto, with eyes brilliantly alight, only points and laughs at the light blush dusted across his pale cheeks.

The End.