I know I said that this would be up sooner, but time just kept getting away from me. Between uschool and some minor health problems, I just haven't found the time. But I hope this makes up for it :D I own nothing.

He was on the ground. It was dark, it was cold, it was silent. He felt sick, his stomach hurt. His head felt heavy, his body light. He curled into a tight ball, joints cracking with the slight movement. Master would visit him soon. He would make it better. He shivered, though he felt sweaty. He couldn't be cold if he was sweating, but it was cold. It was very cold. He wanted a blanket. A heavy, fluffy blanket like the ones Mommy would cover him with when he was sick, when he was cold. Where was Mommy? He failed to stifle another tremor that rushed through his body just as he began to cough, violently. He wrapped his thin arms around his heaving chest, his head hitting against the cold floor with every new shake.

"M-Mom-m-my?" he groaned again. Mommy was here. Mommy was here, she'd be here soon. Master too. Master would make everything better soon. He had been a good boy, just like Master had told him to be. He hadn't made a mess, just like Master had wanted. He tried to focus on the promise Master had made him: If he didn't make a mess in his bed, he could sleep with Master, in Master's warm bed. Soon, Master would be here soon.

He heard footsteps, the squeak the old door made as it opened in that painfully slow way. "Good morning, Sasuke." He felt a hand, a cool hand, caress his sweaty brow. "M-Mas…'as-t-ter?"

"Shhh,, shhh. Poor little Sasuke." He opened his eyes as he was straightened into Master's lap, his head against the man's chest. "You were having a bad dream, weren't you?" He nodded as the man rubbed away a trail of drool that ran from his mouth to his chin.

"It hurts," he snuggled against the man's chest, breathing in the smells that coated his clothes. Another tremor seized him, almost knocking him out of Master's protective hold. But Master held him tight. "Make it stop…".

"Tsk, tsk," Master was looking down at the straw he used as bedding, "Look at the mess you've made-"

"Master…M-ma-"

Master dropped him to the ground, his head hitting the stone hard. He knew what was next, he tried to curl into a ball, as tight and close as he could manage, but was not able to get away from Master's sharp kicks. Again and again, in his side, against his back.

"You little bitch," Master said, his voice as calm as ever. Master was never angry. Master never yelled; but Master would hit him. Master would kick him. Master had to correct him. But he hadn't made a mess-

A swift, sharp kick connected with his upper back-

he knew he hadn't made a mess. But he must have. He felt hot tears spread down his cheeks, a cry clogged in his swollen throat.

The kicks stopped. Master grabbed his chin, rough, forcing his neck to turn, forcing him to look into the man's golden eyes. "You are so stupid" He slapped him. "You can't do anything, can you?" Another slap. "All you ever do is cry and shit yourself." A harder slap. Master slammed his head to the ground.

"I'm sorry! I'm-"

"-sorry! N-no…"

Kisame wiped the cool, wet clothe against the boy's hot skin. Itachi held his hand as tight as his weak muscles would allow. He laid to the left, Sasuke to the right, Kisame, patient, tired Kisame, in the middle. The young boy trembled as he attempted to kick away the blanket. But Kisame stopped him. He held him down as another tremor passed through the boy's thin frame. "M-mommy? Mommy, please….Mommy!"

"It's alright," Itachi held tight to his hand, feeling it tighten and loosen as the tremors kept their steady pace. "Brother's here, Sasuke. I'm right here!" He raised his voice over the minor screams and yelps that admitted from his little brother's sore, tired throat. He wanted to kick off his own blankets, to grab Sasuke tight, to kill Orochimaru again and again. Because that horrible old man just couldn't die enough.

"He's getting better," Kisame loosened his hold of the body of the boy, turned to Itachi, who laid pale and clammy under Kisame's cloak and blanket. A loud roar escaped the clouds that floated above their campsite. More ran followed, heavy and loud through the thin, brown material. "Really."

Another smile, another tired sigh as the boy mumbled out more sounds, half-words and whimpers, before he was silent, sweat trailing down his pale, ashen face. Kisame turned to Itachi, careful not to get in the way of his view of Sasuke. "Go to sleep," he straightened the cloak, righted the pillow.

"He needs me," he sighed, the sweat on his brow made bright by light of the oil lamp.

"You're sick. You should've said something earlier, not when he's spazing out."

In fact, Itachi hadn't said a word when Sasuke's seizures had begun some half hour before. He had merely slumped to the floor as Sasuke's bizarre yelps and whimpers filled the tent. He had been out some minutes before he had awoken to find Kisame covering him in his own cloak while Sasuke, still in the clothes he had worn throughout the day, thrashed and cried out beside him. He wanted his mother, for Master to stop, for someone to make the pain stop. Or, more likely, he would make those strange yelps, his body contorting and straightening while Itachi, his own chest tight, his body feeling as if it could all just collapse in on itself at any moment, laid helpless as Kisame worked and worked to make them comfortable.

He tightened his hold on the small hand he held once again. Sasuke groaned, turned his head to the face away from him, his free hand gripping at the thin blanket Kisame had given him. But it was better now.

Kisame sighed as he placed the cool clothe on Itachi's brow before straightening Sasuke's bedding. The slight rustle of the fabric was accented by the rain and wind that tried its best to make itself known to its small audience. The peacefulness was only interrupted by Itachi's shallow breaths, by Kisame's curses, and by Sasuke, who was sick.

XXX

The night stayed quiet, the world it enveloped, for the most part, asleep and at rest. There were only small clusters of activity which the rain periodically, and quite happily, broke up. The small villages and towns that littered the continent were dark, silent places. The windows were bolted, the doors locked, the children tucked in tight under warm, heavy covers. The world, as anyone cared to call it with little regard for the other piece of land some ways away, was asleep, which is a very different thing from being at peace. Sleep often carries with it no hint of peace, despite what you've been told. Sleep, so often plagued by those horrid scenes from the waking hours, is only useful for preparing oneself for those said horrid waking hours, the ones so many do whatever they can to horridly leave behind for the safe confines of sleep. It's so easy, really, to go to sleep. Just close your eyes, relax your head and wait. The whole process doesn't take but a few minutes. And the best part? You can come back anytime you want.

But maybe this easiness is what keeps it so far from peace? thought Itachi Uchiha as he did his best to quietly slide nearer to where Sasuke, wet with sweat and shaking with fever, lay. Kisame, he knew, had taken a moment to calm himself by the fire after the rough beginnings of the night. He would be angry with Itachi, both for over exerting himself and perhaps waking Sasuke. But, he thought as he gently uncovered Sasuke just enough to give himself room to move beside him, it seemed to calm Sasuke when they slept together. To know that he was with someone who loved him, someone who would protect him, it allowed him easy sleep. And Sasuke, he decided as he adjusted the blankets over their bodies, deserved sleep, deserved to escape from the Hell he had helped to send him to.

XXX

Kisame yawned, continuing to ignore the cool rain that calmly slipped past him to its way to the ground. The campsite was cold, drenched in the wet rain that fell from the dark clouds that blanketed the skies high above. He sat on the ground, his cloak still in the tent with Itachi. His sword, not minding the rain and relishing the cool mud, sat quietly the tent's small opening. Its job was simple, as was his. He sighed, enjoying how the moon reflected off of the small droplets that fell. When he had first met Itachi, he had some understanding that he would be a chaperone for the boy. It wouldn't have made sense otherwise. Truth be told, it had been easy, really. Others would have scoffed or laughed outright at being asked to do something which seemed so silly, so beneath them. To Kisame, it had been fun, for the most part. It had been interesting, to watch Itachi grow little by little, to see him slowly change. And yet, it had been sad, to see someone so young already so doomed. But, he tried to ignore that. He had, in fact, done a fairly good job of ignoring it too.

And then Itachi got sick. It had started as a very simple thing, his illness. As a cough, as chills, a slight fever and weakness. The illness, at the start thought of as a collective until it became clear to Kisame that it was of one singular design, never left entirely. Sometimes it would loosen its hold on poor Itachi, leaving him almost normal, almost as strong as he had been before. And then it would almost snap him in half with its strength, leaving Kisame with nothing to do but do what he thought himself incapable of doing until he was forced to. The cleanings, the feedings, the holding and coddling's. All in secret, of course, he thought as the clouds uncovered stars in the distance.

He sat back, almost enjoying how the cold water seeped into his clothes, his skin, through the fabric. The world was dark, save for the light that reflected off of the small drops that fell down and down until they could fall no more. While most shinobi thought they would most likely die young, Itachi knew this to be fact. Even Kisame could pretend that he may reach the ripe age of sixty. But Itachi could not even give himself that. He would die young, probably alone if it wasn't for Kisame. He would die without a wife to mourn him, without children to remember him for the small bit of good every man is entitled to, no matter their sin. He would most likely die in the cheapest room in the cheapest hotel; alone save for medication and Kisame, alone.

XXX

When the morning finally came, the sky was still grey and heavy with the potential of more rain. The air was cool, far too cold for that particular time of year. The forest around the small camp-site was very silent, save for the water that occasionally made its way to the ground or the trees that stretched in the cool morning air. The smell of sweet stale rain and grass shifted through the air while the birds adjusted their wings, their voices silent. The sound of retching broke through the silky silence, the smell invading the seemingly holy solitude of the forest.

Itachi hung out from the opening of the tent, held safely off of the ground Kisame, who looked almost indifferent to the small scene. Sasuke stared at the back of the scene, his mind still muddled and adrift. He brought his blanket closer to his face, the dim morning sun stirring thick nausea that threatened to put him into the same position. It only lasted a few minutes more, however, as Itachi had very little in his stomach. It did not take long for Kisame to settle him into his own respective spot beside Sasuke.

"Good morning, Sasuke," he said as he covered Itachi in two or three layers of blankets and clothes. "Itach just got a little bug. Probably something he ate." He smiled, invisible in the dark of the small tent. "How are you this morning?"

"M'head hurts…" he groaned, shifting a bit under his own heavy covering. "Itachi?"

"I'm fine," he forced his voice into a strength he most certainly did not possess.

"What's going on?" Sasuke voice was suddenly high, shaky.

"I'm fine, Sasuke, just a little sick, that's all. Kisame is taking good care of me."

"Would you like a little medicine for your headache, Sasuke?" Kisame moved around to face the boy, now a mere outline against the dark.

"N-no…"

"I know it doesn't taste good, but it will make you feel better." He pulled the boy, still too weak from the seizures and fever, into a sitting position, holding the bottle as Sasuke obediently sipped the bitter liquid before settling back into a deep sleep. The morning was quiet once again after that.

I'm sorry this took so long. The worst thing is that I'm not 100% on it, but I wanted it out of the way.

The truth is, I was working far too many hours at my job. Sure, the money was great, but between that and school, the stress was apparently killing my liver LOL That's not something to really laugh about, but believe me, the whole thing was just a little funny in retrospect.