I'd long ago left behind the concept of dreams and nightmares. There was nothing but darkness when I slept, and if my mind happened to treat me to a blur of images, it was nothing but my subconscious toying with me.
But I was beginning to re-question that, for this could only mean I was having a severe nightmare—hopefully the cause of listening to Karin and Suigetsu bicker too much.
If only.
I wanted to break something. I wanted this building that I was in to collapse and kill me. I wanted Madara Uchiha to bash his head into a bloody mess against a stone wall and die.
I wanted anything other than to go to the place my feet were mindlessly walking me toward.
Yes. I did believe everything the oldest living Uchiha had told me a mere three days ago. And because of that truth, I hated my brother even more.
So close. The lifeline he'd accidentally hung on to was shorter than half a millimeter, and yet he'd lived anyway. Half his plans for me—according to Madara—wouldn't work unless he'd died, but there were ways to fix that. Easy ways, that for some reason, Madara hadn't thought of when his own brother was still alive. And apparently, he hadn't thought of them in the present, either.
But I had.
My brother couldn't do anything. He did everything for me, but he couldn't even fucking die already.
No. That wasn't why I was so angry my nails bled into my palms. The rational part of my mind knew perfectly well that I was furious at Konoha, my clan, and myself. Itachi was the last person I was angry at, in truth.
But blaming him was so much easier.
Although I was most irritated with Madara. For what he'd said right after telling me Itachi had somehow survived and was being nursed back by Akatsuki—even though his wounds would take over a month to heal, if at all.
"You're in Akatsuki's headquarters. The same part of it as Itachi is in. You can kill him if you want. Kisame and Zetsu are on guard, but you could get rid of them yourself, couldn't you? His life is yours now, Sasuke. Your choice."
I must have gone crazy. If I'd retained any sanity, Itachi wouldn't be breathing right now and I wouldn't have to see him.
It'd been three days. Three days since those supposed-to-be last words. They'd played over and over in my mind, depriving me of the sleep I needed.
Three days was enough for me to heal—even without Orochimaru inside of me anymore. Itachi was said to still be unconscious—seeing him would be easier this way.
As foretold, Kisame and Zetsu were standing on either sides of the door. My brother's partner grinned widely. "Sorry, Sasuke. No can do. Your little friends from Konoha have done some damage to our family, so we'd really rather not lose another member."
I merely looked at them. With a small sigh, I slowly closed my eyes. I didn't even feel the air move or hear a rustle. When my eyes reopened, mere seconds later, Suigetsu was sword-to-sword with Kisame; Zetsu was attempting to block a punch from Juugo, and Karin was holding the door open for me.
"Don't kill them," I said carelessly, as I walked through the doorway. The door swung to a close neatly behind me.
I'd faced death plenty of times before, and once I was a pace away from his bed, I wanted dearly to face death once again.
My darling older brother was shirtless, torso wrapped tightly with bandages, and strapped to the bed with a blanket. A tube was down his throat, and I couldn't begin to count the number of IVs stuck into him—most of them attached to the cloth over his eyes. The oxygen mask over his nose and mouth fogged steadily with his breathing. His hair splayed out over the pillow.
I needed to puke.
This was what I must have looked like after the Chunin Exams.
I'd never before hated our resemblance as I did now.
If one were hearing my current thoughts, they'd most definitely make the idiotic assumption of "knowing" that I hated my brother and our resemblance because he was alive—because I couldn't kill him.
But that was so wrong. So wrong, because I didn't hate him for living, even after everything he did. I hated him because of everything he did. I hated him for not telling me. Thinking that I'd be better off ignorant and not knowing, but safe in Konoha was an immense mistake. Why couldn't he have seen how much better I'd have been if he'd taken me with him? How badly did he know me?
I snorted softly to myself as I took the chair at his bedside. I really shouldn't be one to talk about knowing and not knowing people. He might have not known me very well, but I hadn't known him at all.
Why couldn't he have died? Died, so I could mourn his memory and my mistake of not knowing in peace? Died, so I wouldn't have to face him, knowing everything and knowing that I was facing the man that loved me more than my parents and my self-proclaimed friends—I spat the word in my head—ever would and ever had?
For a moment, I wished Naruto had been here to witness Madara's telling of my brother's tale. His look of shock and disbelief would have been greater than mine, and worse but best of all: he wouldn't have been able to deny it. To watch him find out that his precious Konoha wasn't as honorable as he thought, and that a renegade ninja had done more for the village than the elders ever had.
The gurgle of one of his many IV stands brought me back suddenly.
I stared at the unconscious form. A thousand different things were bubbling in my throat, waiting to be said, shouted, murmured, and sobbed.
I couldn't decide which to do first.
There weren't any more sounds coming from the doors, which obviously meant that Kisame, Zetsu and my team were all dead, or that they'd left.
I took it to be the latter.
I forced my eyes back to him.
I understood what Madara meant. Right now, all I needed to do was pull out my sword and stab him. No, maybe not even that. A chidori to the chest. Pulling out one of those IVs or tubes. Taking off that oxygen mask. Any of those would suffice in killing him.
The steady beeping of his heart monitor sounded like a time bomb. Counting down the seconds until he would inevitably wake. I had no idea what in hell I was supposed to say to him. Everything that was a possible statement ran through my head, and I quickly classified all of them as pathetic.
His scratched Konoha head protector was folded on the table. I traced the fissure line through the symbol gingerly. I was the one who'd done the ultimate action that signified his broken bond with Konoha.
And killing my brother's heart.
"I hate you," I whispered, knowing perfectly well that he couldn't hear me. "You should have let me die. Or died when you were supposed to. Either is fine."
My eyes had been hooded this entire time. The only reason I could bear looking at him was because I couldn't see his eyes. Eyes that he'd meant to give to me. Eyes that would one day only be able to see darkness.
I stared at him a bit longer, before returning to my feet and leaving.
Once Sasuke had left, Itachi's fingers shifted slightly, gripping the mattress.
The cloth over his eyes was damp.
A/N: Do you think Sasuke is OOC in this? Is Itachi? I really need to know for continuing this fic…..tell me in the reviews?
