Author's Note: I may continue this, either here or in a new story (depending on how well it fits with this). I will leave this as complete for now. If you are interested in the continuation, you can follow this story, and I will either add a new chapter or update this chapter's author's note letting you know it has been continued in a new story. I cannot guarantee when or if it will be continued. I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Summary: Sometimes, Itachi stares. What happens behind his eyes?
Staring Eyes
Focussed eyes took in his surroundings, scanning and observing. Despite Itachi's young age, he was a trained ninja, and had an alertness about him more than that of ninja his age, of ninja older than him.
He was always alert, aware of movement around him. Even when sleeping, he reacted to the slightest touch, woke at the slightest sound. Over his short life he had learned to recognise what was a threat, and what was innocent. If he woke from the sound of a family member going to use the bathroom, he could fall back to sleep quickly.
It was hard to take him by surprise, and it rarely happened. When it did, he made sure it did not happen again. He was even more alert for days, sometimes weeks afterwards.
However, his eyes were not always so focussed. Sometimes, they were blank. The blank eyes stared ahead of him, with no presence in them. Staring at nothing, seeing nothing.
Occasionally, people would notice. They would walk into his line of sight, and he would continue staring blankly, right at them. They would wave a hand, to get his attention. He hid his dazed look well, as he glanced at their face and questioned why they were waving at him. They simply put it down to him being odd.
A sharp noise usually caused him to conceal his dazedness, and continue with his work. He was quite adept at pretending to be normal, once he realised what he was doing. He was still alert, even in his unfocussed state. He would still perceive and respond to a threat. He was, however, more oblivious to harmless things. A person walking past him would not cause a blink. Conversation and laughter would not gain his attention. They were a blur of noise and movement, separate from him.
There were even times when a sharp noise would cause him to become even more dazed. His eyes would not register movement at all unless it was threatening. A person could move across the room and he would have no idea it had happened until he saw them there after he came out of it.
Despite this, he was aware of changes in physical sensations he felt. His hair moving against his face, the chair digging into his back, a person brushing past him. While he did feel them, these things did not bring him out of it. He would move; adjust his position or move out of the way. The sensations could bring him out of it slightly, or send him deeper into it.
He stared, he worked, and he held conversations. His blank eyes saw but did not take in, showed but did not reveal.
Behind his eyes, inside his mind, his senses displayed things that were not there. Images flashed past him, smells seemed as though they were coming from right under his nose, the sounds surrounded him. The touch stunned his system and the emotions raged beneath. Emotions that never made it to the surface.
The bloodshed felt never ending. The overwhelming taste lingered in the air and in his mouth long after it eventually ended. It was all he could see. It was all he could feel. He could not escape.
His blank eyes stared, his mind was locked behind his eyes, and he could not claw his way out.