Title: Catharsis and Absolution: Sasuke's Journey "Home."

A/N: If you can, listen to the song "My Weakness" by Moby while reading. That song was my inspiration, and, imo, it adds more emotions to the piece.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto nor do I own the lyrics used at the end. They are owned by Masashi Kishimoto and Moby, respectively.

iiiii

Wearily strong, his gait appeared to those who saw him in passing. Determination to reach no where, yet everywhere he wanted to be. There was no wind, but air moved around him. Air that was cool yet warm and inviting. His eyes gazed nondescript faces which were both recognizable and comforting. Were they…?

Is he seven years old again?

Wouldn't that be a strange twist of irony- to relive, again, the freedom of innocence only to have it darkened by his present knowledge, to be in child's form with an adult's mind.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was not seven. He was too tall, too his present self. However, the faces were from that time.

So is he dreaming? Is this comfort falsity?

He is… tired.

If it was a dream. He would be asleep. He wouldn't be tired if he was asleep. But, he was exhausted so it was not a dream.

Heavy feet- his feet felt the weight of the ground. Would he physically feel if he was asleep? There was no wind, yet he felt the air, so cooling, so warming, so comforting. His dreams were never comforting, not since he was seven years old. However, he just logically proved he wasn't seven, but…

It doesn't make sense. Everything here was paired, harmonized with it's opposite. It was preternatural and unusual and… welcoming.

Meals were eaten at the food stand to his left. His mother would eat dango, tease him about not wanting sweets. She would say her men were too serious. Only his mother would indulge in the sweeter foods. She would ruffle his hair then and say how he was so grown up, not eating sweets and training in the academy. Her smile was so beautiful, and her laugh was as warm as the smells now coming from the restaurant. His memories and reality mingled, intertwined just like the wind, cool and warm and inviting.

To his right was the shop where his father bought weapons. His father would let him tag along, let him hold the weapons. It was a right of passage. When he correctly handled the weapons, his father, with approval, would smile slightly. The proprietor would say how grown up he looked, and his father would reply with it was as he should look. He heard the weapons being unsheathed now. The sound merged with the smell of the dango. Harmonized were both his vivid memories.

He is… heavy.

The type of heavy felt when blood was lost. Is he wounded? However, there was no blood on his person. Tired and heavy, it made no sense. How can he feel this without being wounded, and how can he feel weighed down yet be so light? Wounds brought pain not…

Is this peace?

Even with all the cruelty shadowing him, in him, peace was here because, here, even shadows gave absolution; here, even shadows were uncharacteristically warm.

Walking, tired, heavy, but determined. He was close to where the path, his path ended. He didn't know the end, but, illogically, he knew it was close.

Then as quickly as he started, he ended. His eyes linked with eyes that were genetically identical. Her hair, flowing in the wind, was the same color and texture as it always was, as he remembered. Her arms expanded, he smiled gently.

Here, the path's end, his end was home. Finally, he was home.

weakly, mind, weakly
oh, I go home
weakly