Chapter Eight: Stress

"You want us to look after your brother?" Karin folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. "In shifts? Why? Thought you were going to finish him off."

The look I gave her not only served to silence her, but cause her to shrink back slightly. "Shifts. Sure. Great. Yeah."

"Juugo, you can take the first one," I said. "I'll call you in after Suigetsu and I get him dried and into bed, hopefully, without drenching the entire room in blood."

He nodded. "Yeah."

Suigetsu yawned loudly, tossing his sword against the hall floor. "Coming." He fell in step with me as I handed him the medicines I'd taken from Madara's stash. It wasn't considered stealing, really. We were from the same clan, so would technically, everything that belonged to him belong to me?

Well, either way.

Itachi was as I'd left him. The glass I'd given to him was empty, standing beside the sink, some blood around its rim. He wasn't leaning against anything anymore, and he visibly tensed, acknowledging that he heard my entrance.

"Hell," Suigetsu knelt opposite him. "You look like shit."

I shot him a Look. He shrugged, half-pouting. "Well, he does."

Itachi smiled sardonically. "I agree, although I haven't looked in a mirror for about three days."

I kneeled beside Suigetsu. "I've medicine. Can you take it without…backing it up? Have you eaten anything in the past few hours?"

Itachi frowned slightly—for what reason, I didn't know, although now, I was sure it was something trivial that could be looked over. He wasn't as pale as he'd been…but he'd mentioned about how spontaneous the vomiting episodes were.

"Of course I can." He sounded infinitesimally miffed, and for a split nanosecond, we were back in Konoha—I was seven and he was thirteen, and he was shaking his head after I'd sprained my ankle, only to smile exasperatedly and offer to carry me back.

And then, all too soon, I was fifteen again, and he was twenty, and reality splashed us both awake.

He was retching again in that nanosecond that was spent. Suigetsu's eyes popped open and—though I think he meant to reassure Itachi—slapped my brother's back and shouted, "Holy fuck!"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, and focused on Itachi. He pulled himself slowly out of the basin and threw his head back, propping it limply on the edge of the tub. "It's full. The basin needs to be emptied."

"Empty the basin, Suigetsu," I ordered casually.

He wrinkled his nose, but nonetheless hoisted it out of its metal holder and dragged it outside to dump it into a drain—we couldn't just toss blood outside, when there were a herd of nin-dogs probably searching for us.

"If you can keep the medicine down for at least two hours, you won't throw up anymore—at least not until it runs out," I explained, unscrewing the cap from the medicine bottle.

"I'll keep it down," he said quietly.

I nodded, exhaling shakily. "Yeah…how come Madara told you…to put the bandages over your eyes again?"

"To save the time I have left. Extended use on them…I'll go blind in half a year—even just regularly, excluding the Mangekyou and any other Sharingan."

"Six months," I whispered to myself thoughtfully. "If you didn't use them…left the blindfold like this…what would happen? How long would you have then?"

His face turned my direction. "I should guess…perhaps a year."

"Not very long, then."

"No," he agreed. "Not long at all. I assume you understand what this means?"

I frowned. "No. I'm afraid I don't. Do enlighten me."

When he spoke—which wasn't until a few minutes after—his voice was barely audible, turned down to a murmur. "You need to take my eyes before they expire. Before the limit is done."

I'd never before intentionally assaulted an injured man, woman, or child—especially not while they were recuperating. I never had any intentions of doing so in the future. But clearly, my brother was determined to break that honorable streak. In fact, he might be out to destroy everything. I wouldn't be surprised.

My punch had sent him staggering, side hitting the slick, tiled floor with a cavernous slam. The blood pooled at the corner of his forehead, soaking into the roots of his hair—red on black. He straightened with a painfully slow effort, his face towards the ground, blood streaming from his mouth. It wasn't long before the stream thickened and turned into a flood, washing out onto the tiles.

If Suigetsu didn't come back with the basin in the next three seconds, he'd be spending the next seven nights outside.

I knew all too well now that Itachi wasn't about to verbally lash out at me, let alone, strike back physically—even if he could. But as I attempted to ignore the coughing sounds, the gasping…it was as if my conscience (you know, the one I thought I'd gotten rid of) struck me back for him. A blow stronger that Itachi himself would've been able to administer, the guilt dug into my stomach, clawing at me, until I found my hand around his bare, fevered shoulder, and my other catching the blood-vomit that was pouring out.

"You deserved this one," I defended myself, which made me seem like more of an idiotic imbecile, since no one was accusing me anything in the first place.

"How come?" he asked hoarsely, yet the amusement was evident in his voice—the sort of amusement only a doting older brother could have for his younger brother.

"Because I'll push Madara off a cliff before I let you have the chance to request that he perform a transaction of that sort. And don't talk—at least not until Suigetsu comes back from wherever the hell he went."

Itachi only smiled—simple amusement for him, spiraling worry for me.

I sighed shakily, just noticing that my heart beat was threatening to send the vital organ through my chest and pulsing on the ground.

"I've gotten blood all over you," he mentioned indifferently, plucking at the sleeve of my shirt.

"It's not as if it'd be the first time," I said.

He froze, utterly stilling to a point where I felt his muscles contract beneath my hands. They were tightening, and he was wounding up, which wasn't good because 1) he'd throw up again since his body wasn't up to handling the strain and 2) the guilt was preparing to sock me in the ribs again.

"Never mind," I amended. "I…it wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?"

"No."

He exhaled swiftly. "Who's then?"

"Konoha's," I answered promptly. "Uchiha's. You name it—take your pick. Either one, but I'd say both. I know you love both of them, but they were both wrong to make you do that."

He shook his head, coughing slightly. "And why is that?" Again, he sounded like only an older brother could—doting and doubtful.

The thing was…I wasn't just his younger brother anymore.

I was so much more.

"Because if Konoha or Uchiha had had any sense in their members at all…then they wouldn't have taken advantage of someone like you—who'd probably sacrifice, and has, more than any of the rest of them ever would."

He stared—I assumed he stared—at me for about another three minutes before slumping back against the tub, body limp. "You shouldn't say that."

"Why? Because it's true? It is. You know it is. It's time you stop being ridiculously absurd and take what you're due—what you deserve. You've given up and given the village more than any of the Hokage ever did."

Itachi held a hand over his already covered eyes. "I'm terrible."

"If you say anything like that one more time, I swear I'll punch you again."

"Go ahead."

"What is wrong with you?" I asked calmly.

"I'm a man who's caused his own brother to hate him—and if our clan were still alive, they'd hate me to. I know that Konoha hates me—that one's a given."

"Konoha is an overrated village that'll be taken down one way or another—whether by other villages or Akatsuki." My voice was flawlessly indifferent. "Our clan was corrupt."

"And you?"

I was a step away from saying something, but my mouth resulted in simply hanging there, open and empty.

"Sasuke?"

"I…" I closed my eyes, sighed, and then reopened them. "I don't hate you. How could you hate someone who's lived their entire life for you? Not just that…how could you hate your own brother?"

His lips twisted into a wry smile. "I wouldn't know, would I?"

"You wouldn't." I looked him over—his fever seemed to be getting out of control, his face was flushed, and even his body was too warm…his breathing also seemed labored. And at this rate, if we continued to stay in the steamed washroom, I'd get a fever—or at least a cold—as well.

"Come on," I stood up. "You need to get out of here. The blood is stopping, and there's medicine. You said you could keep it down, right?"

I slung his arm around my neck and heaved us both up. He felt like he'd lost weight—which wouldn't have been uncalled for at all. I mean…he'd been fed from IVs for the past two weeks.

He said nothing as I gently brought him to the bed, helping him onto it. Even without seeing his eyes I could sense how tired he was. "You should sleep," I said. "Just let me go get Suigetsu and Karin and then I'll let you sleep—you've to take medicine first."

I turned around slowly and crossed the room, heading for the door.