Chapter Forty-Eight: Terror in a Dream
AN: I've been working on pieces of 'Dream-Landscape' more and more in Vehemence. They're very important and find their way into real-world mood descriptions, as well. Pay close attention to them.
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She stood in the soft light of the sun, pouring in through the paper-screen in the window on the right. It was a single beam, big and long. Shadows lay deep-blue like scroll-ink behind the large cupboard that stood towering over the small desk before it. An open scroll was lying across the surface; a wooden pen left on the scroll moved a little as the breeze moved past it—such a quiet piece of tranquility.
There were so many scrolls arranged to create a neat pile in each shelve. She narrowed her eyes and breathed in the cool air in the room. The brazier and the fireplace were cold. There was fresh coal there, but it was not lit. She could see a little mist leak into the room through the gap under the door that led to the small garden. It was still so early in the morning.
She moved her eyes around and found more shelves in the walls. There were so many books and scrolls arranged in the shelves. Moving her eyes over them, she let go of the door-frame and walked in. A moist mist in the room tickled her cheeks. It was so cold in here. The servants had left it alone in his absence. This was a library.
She stopped by the one with a large blue book and touched it with the tips of her fingers, stealing glances at the low-table like he actually sat beside it, and she would receive a reprimand for being a naughty little girl. She smiled, lost in her own thoughts. That was when she heard creaks of footsteps on the wooden floor. She turned around, pushed the book back in, and her eyes fell upon Sasuke's face. He stood in the door frame, dressed in his office uniform, and he looked irritated.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked, his cheeks a little redder than usual. She could tell it was not just the cold doing that to his skin.
"I was just . . . " she paused to draw in the air that felt colder than before, " . . . looking around. I've never been to this part of the manor."
He pushed the sword into the sheath on his back and stared at her in a most unfriendly manner. "This is Nii-Sama's library, Izumi. You can't go anywhere you please. You have no business here," he said in a rough voice and did not look any less cold.
Izumi let out a small sigh of exasperation. He never liked her when she came by with her family to visit. When he was a little boy, he snatched the letters she wrote to Itachi from her hand and threw them into the pond. It would ruin the ink and her mood. She always intended to leave them under Itachi's makura or slip them under the door. She never got the chance to tell him how she truly felt.
Now, standing here, looking at him was evoking so many of her memories. Izumi did not think he had ever grown up: he was still the same selfish little boy who wanted his brother's undivided attention, and Itachi always coddled him. He let Sasuke hide behind him when he would come running into the room, chased by her to punish him because he threw her letters away.
Itachi would never listen. She remembered how a frown would rise to his calm face, barely disturbing his features, when she would plead before him to punish him for being so mean to her. He would tell her that it was unbecoming of a girl of her age to be so angry with a boy so small, that boys were used to mischief. And Sasuke would look at her from behind his back, the top of his head barely coming up to Itachi's neck, little white hands curled around his brother's arm, eyes sparkling and peering over his shoulder, his mouth smiling that he had won. He was a small and impish one.
Izumi never really liked him. He stole her letters, and Itachi never looked her way when he was around. She felt as though Sasuke did it on purpose. Whenever she got a chance to talk to him in his office, it would not take long for Sasuke to come running with a big smile on his face. He would collide into him and hug his arm; and then he would tell Itachi, with such innocent excitement, what he did at the academy, dragging Itachi's bag over to pull his things out to play by his side. Izumi was simply forgotten; Itachi never stopped him and it infuriated her.
Her heart was beating faster under his hard gaze. She looked up again, seeing the same selfish small boy in his face. That same look of triumph glinted in his playful eyes, and a curl of indifference was in his smile. He was still the same—he had not changed at all. But had Itachi changed, even just a little? She did not know, but she would tell him this time that she loved him and Sasuke would not stop her.
"Itachi-Sama told—"
"Nii-Sama said that you can stay in your room. He gave you no permission to do as you wish," he cut her off. A little smile came to his lips, and then it faded again. In the light of the sun, his face looked hard as a stone, broken just a little by that naughty smile to give an illusion of softness. He was just a mischievous boy in a man's body.
"Sasuke, you don't have to hate me so much," she said and lowered her eyes to look at her cold feet peeking out from under the kimono. "I just came here to look for a book. There isn't much to do in this manor. Itachi-Sama's away, and you don't sit with me, either. It gets lonely for two women living in a guestroom."
"Leave," he said in a cool voice and walked towards the shelf in back of the desk. The light from the window was blocked by his body now, and it cast a shadow upon her and her heart. A slow kind of anger came over her, and she did not like the way he commanded her.
"Itachi-Sama wouldn't like that that you are snooping around in his library, too. Why are you here?" she asked childishly, the colour in her cheeks growing deeper.
He turned his head to look back at her eyes, which were seething with anger, and threw her a playful smile that was as mean as ever. "Because I'm his brother, and this is my house," he said, stressing on the word 'my' and gave her a fake innocent look.
"Oh, you're such a disrespectful imp, Sasuke. I'll tell your brother that you quarreled with me," Izumi said heatedly and stormed out of the library.
"Let's see where that takes you," he said from behind her, and his tone was one of childish triumph.
She did not stop till she reached the guestroom. She slid open and closed the door with such force that it gave the old woman sitting beside the fire a start.
Rao put her hand to her bosom and blinked rapidly. Her eyes were not as good as they used to be. "What's the matter, Izumi?" she asked in the same rough, old voice, her eyes upon Izumi's pinkish cheeks as she flopped down on the futon in a huff.
Izumi's cheeks were so red now, and she had a deep frown in her forehead. She pulled at the pins in her hair and threw them on the futon in anger. "Nothing," she said sternly and turned her face away.
Rao smiled. She closed the book she had in her hand. She had asked Sasuke last night to get her a few from Itachi's library. Though, still bright and clever, she was bent by age. She could not see the colours and words that clearly. Everything was a little hazy to her aged eyes. These books had special chakra ink in them that made everything look bright and clear.
"Did Sasuke say something to you?" Rao asked and put the book aside. She brought her hands together and rubbed them briskly.
Izumi looked at the door and listened to the groans of the floor as Sasuke walked in the corridor outside. She heard him open and close the large door, feeling a draft of air rush into the room that made the flames flicker.
At last, she looked back at Rao, frowning. "I'll tell Itachi-Sama that Sasuke was hurtful to me again," she said, taking deep breaths. "He told me to leave the library. He commanded me to leave the library. He's so rude."
Rao pressed her fingers to her lips and laughed. The tinkle of her merry laughter rang in Izumi's ears and anger slowly faded from her fair face. Her mouth turned down a little, and she lowered her eyes and looked at the bracelet on her wrist. She felt the coolness of metal on her skin. The room suddenly began to feel a little colder. The fire in the fireplace needed more coal.
"Come here, my dear," Rao said and lightly tapped her hand on the cushion beside her. Izumi looked at her, and then made her way around the fireplace. She sat down and adjusted her kimono carefully. She felt Rao's hand on her head and then on the side of her cheek.
She spoke again, and this time, more softly than before: "he will need time to accept someone else in his house—someone in Itachi's life. It has been just the two of them for so long. Have a little patience."
Izumi raised her soft eyes to meet hers. There was a glint of such warmth in their depths. Rao always talked so fondly of Itachi. "But, Sasuke, he—he makes things so difficult. He—" Izumi stopped and mashed her lips together. Then she sniffed a few times and blinked as though she was trying to hold back the tears.
Rao smiled, and it was such a sweet and warm smile. "Sasuke isn't that difficult to understand," she said and stroked her head as she gazed into her questioning eyes. "If you want to win Itachi's heart, be kind to Sasuke—overlook his little mistakes. Itachi loves him so. He's all that he has. Don't be so hasty and try to think that you'll be able to lessen Sasuke's value in Itachi's eyes by telling him of his boyish anger and innocent faults."
"But, Rao-Sama, I didn't mean—"
"It's all right, Izumi," she said her name tenderly, taking her face in her hands, "it is all right to be selfish. There's no harm in desiring someone for oneself, but Sasuke's so precious to him. He treats him like a child, because he considers him one. He's been his parent since he was but a fourteen-year-old boy himself. He let that mere child get away with so many things, because he knew he had no one left to love him."
Rao lowered her gaze and then slightly turned it to the right. The guttering flames were going out. It was getting so cold in the room now. The sun was bright, but she knew that the clouds would cast a shadow over this manor soon; then a cold rain would not be that far behind. She pulled her hands away and looked down towards the fire. She heaved a sigh—lost in thought.
"Treat Sasuke will love. Give him more value. Then, perhaps, Itachi might start appreciating your love, too," she said in an anguished voice, smiling. "He's become so cold over the years. It would be . . . difficult for you to find a small place in his heart. Sage knows what lies there now. He's no less cold towards Sasuke even, but his love for him overcomes that deep cold inside him. I hope you find happiness with him—I really hope." Then she looked at her, and she was smiling a warm smile and Izumi could not help but feel a shiver in her heart. Itachi was . . . too cold?
Clouds were spreading wide. The sky was dark. A feeling of gloom descended on them. The wind was still soft and calm, but with a single clap of lighting, rain came pouring down. It was colder than usual. Winter was coming. He looked up and passed his hand over his face several times, groaning.
"I hate these rains," Sasuke said and leant back against the tree. Water was still dripping from the branches above, but it was bearable.
"Imagine how I feel," Suigetsu said and adjusted the cowl on his head. "I feel like I might get swept away by water. Hold me, Sasuke." He faked a gloomy face and stepped closer to him so that the crow could not see his face now.
"Yor brother's nasty crow's as persistent as ever," he said with a smile, tilting his head slightly to peer through Sasuke's messy, wet hair to see that it was still sitting there. It was twisting its head around and sat way up in the tree on the far right. It really behaved like a real bird. It made him shiver, and he chuckled in amusement. "Ya said it would disappear, but it's still here. Losin' yor touch, are ya? Bet it can even hear my silent, windy farts. Life's so unfair."
"It can't hear us," he said and closed his eyes as if he was tired, "but it can see the movement of our lips. As long as you don't flap your gums carelessly, it wouldn't see anything. It'll disappear in a week. Have patience."
"Deaf!" he said with a gasp, and his brows rose up distinctively high, " . . . so weird, yor brother. Why did ya send that stutterin' wife to do a fetch quest for ya? That scroll would do us no good ta find what we want. I can't believe ya actually thought she might get somethin' for us." He twisted his lips in irritation and spat water out of his mouth.
"Of course not," he said, frowning. "I'm really surprised we even got this lucky about Minato's past. I just needed to know where the scrolls are stored."
"Ya couldn't have asked Naruto 'bout 'em?" he asked and put his hand on his hip and adjusted his hood thoughtlessly again.
"No, Naruto would've been suspicious of my sudden interest in his father. It was better this way," he said and started walking to the east.
"I hope ya know what yor doin'," he said and hurried forward to match his stride. "The bandits are cooped up in the cave close ta that outpost. Konoha ninjas aren't very bright, if ya ask me. I've been sendin' my masked clone ta them regularly. They're gettin' impatient." He breathed out loudly and shoved his hands into the coat's pockets. It had gotten too cold.
They walked silently and said nothing, listening to the dissonant sounds of the gentle rain and the tinkle of drops as they fell from the branches—left nearly bare by autumn's mercy. The sparse leaves left on them would, too, die in winter. This was their fate. So they shushed, caressed by the cold breeze as if protesting their coming deaths.
Big drops of rain coursed down with haste on Sasuke's face. He moved his hand again to wipe them away. His white skin was almost pink in every visible area on his face and neck, except his nose: it was red. He slightly turned his eyes up to look at the flash of lightning. It did not take long for thunder to come at them with haste. It brightened the sky and left an afterimage in his eyes.
"Well, I hope you gave them the money to keep their mouths shut and stay put," he said gratingly and cleared his throat. "I wouldn't have even resorted to this had there been another option, but with Nii-Sama handling them with Kikyo, this was the only way."
"Ya think he'll figure this out?" he asked and ducked under the crooked branches, adjusting his cowl again. He wriggled his ears and listened to the faint flap of the crow's wings; the evil-bird was still in pursuit.
"The bandit problem had gotten out of hand. With Konoha involved to kill their men," he paused and let out a soft chuckle, "there's always a chance of retaliation, especially now that Tsunade has sought out Okami Clan to aid them—these thugs. Besides, that's one of our biggest outposts. If it's attacked, it'll cause mayhem here. Everyone will be assigned to protect Konoha's borders and the forests. That'll be our chance—our only chance. Hope you haven't been neglecting your duties." He sniffed loudly and took in a great breath, letting out a shaky one afterwards.
Suigetsu's smile turned into a laugh. He closed his eyes and continued to laugh a loud mischievous laugh. "Don't worry yor pretty lil' head," he said and he still sounded so amused. "I've been meetin' Torune close ta Rain's borders, givin' 'im those useless scrolls like ya told me. He thinks my imaginary men are on ta somethin'. The guy ain't bright, I tell ya." He smiled and started running immediately in Sasuke's wake.
"And the Root men?" he asked and stopped for a split second to leap up to a thick tree branch some fifty feet above him. Suigetsu followed. His water-repellent coat was noisy in the rain, and its wet tails streamed behind him.
"Yor clone's as mean as you—such a bully! It barks orders at me every day. Some things never change," he said and his mouth pulled into a mean grin, his white teeth sparkling in the beams of sunlight. "The masks are good, and I carry soldier pills with me every day. The clones won't go poof, don't ya worry. Torune treats us the same. Well, it helps as the Root bastards hardly ever talk—bunch a mute faggits!
"Was it even necessary ta kill both of 'em? It could get messy, Sasuke. When it all goes down, we're talkin' three dead sons a bitches here. Just thinkin' about yor brother makes my wet balls grow tighter . . . and not because I'm horny. We're gonna be in deep shit, I'm tellin' ya."
Sasuke took a huge leap towards a tree beyond the stream and landed smoothly on the branch. Suigetsu followed. Wind was too cold in their faces; rain had thinned to a pleasant drizzle, but each drop was a little needle on their skins. Lightning and thunder came in succession again. The branches beneath their feet shook, losing more leaves that were barely hanging onto them with the last bits of their strength.
Sasuke jumped across two more trees, and at last, he spoke in a grave voice: "it was necessary. Those men were involved in funding rebels in Rain against other villages. Typical Konoha." His face suddenly grew stern as it came under the sharp morning light. The clouds were breaking. "No one knew about Rain more than them. They were also Torune's guards, and the only ones in contact with the middleman. There was no other way."
"If ya say so," he said and looked down to see the water falling down on the leaves lying rotten on the ground.
Sasuke twisted around in midair and looked him in the eye and there was a spark of childish wonder in the reds there. It reminded Suigetsu of the time when Sasuke used to play with him in the forest. One was the bandit and other, the relentless chaser. Sasuke always chose to be the bandit. He did not understand it then, but he did now—he was just a mischievous child. His games had grown sinister, but the boy in him chose them to satisfy his heart, unwary of the distinct malignancy that loomed behind them.
"Try to keep up—we're already a little late," he said mischievously and Suigetsu's face mimicked the grin that split his face so perfectly. Sasuke's hand shot out to grab the branch as he fell back. He flipped in midair and landed smoothly on the ground and ran off into the trees with immense speed, and when Suigetsu blinked once, he could see him no more.
Suigetsu shook his head and let out a throaty chuckle. He looked up to see that the crow was flying after Sasuke. He adjusted his coat and landed into the mud and ran after him. It took him a couple of seconds to reach the meeting place. It was a small clearing by a stream. Water flowed well there and the naked trees were filled with straw-nests. Few were destroyed by the winds. All that was left hanging there, in the trees, were wisps of wet straws. He saw a few chicks lying on the shallow bottom; they had drowned.
Sasuke looked over to him as he approached the stream. He stood next to Kai and was talking to him about their mission in the forest to the south. The crow was sitting on the branches above his head. Its neck was bent down, and it let out a nasty caw when Sasuke looked up to stare at its red eyes. Suigetsu met Hinata's eyes and could not help but lower his face to smile at her foolishness to chase Sasuke. She was pink in the face and looked as shy and enamoured as ever. There was a little unmistakable boldness in her eyes that he had not seen before. Sasuke had moulded her well into his perfect little puppet.
Suddenly, Sasuke moved away from Kai and sat down by a stream; then, almost without a thought, he scooped one chick out of the water. Its skin was wrinkled beyond belief, and he stared with an unknowable grief in his breast as a grey film appeared over its eyes and it went completely still. It, too, had died . . . and Suigetsu looked on, not understanding Sasuke's interest in such a small death . . .
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Winds and rains were more merciless here. Everything lit up with sharp glares over and over again and the room shook. The vibrations moved up his feet and arms, all the way to his heart and eyes. He walked with firm, arrogant steps to the room. The double door was open, and there she sat, appearing like a kabuki actress sitting behind the two sunken fireplaces.
He stepped through the door and stopped short of the fireplaces. Light flashed into the room, lighting his hard face in the darkness for just a moment, his eyes as red as two ambers in the brazier. "Leave, all of you. I need to speak to this girl," he said so coldly that a shiver ran through the whole room.
The masked men looked at their mistress, and she nodded silently. They left the room with quick steps and closed the door behind them. Suddenly, it was so quiet, but thunder was quick to remedy that. It shattered the momentary calm without any kindness, and their ears were left ringing with the unpleasant noise it created.
He narrowed his eyes to slits and had a frosty look on his face. His red eyes saw so clearly in the dark: the soft powered face, eyes set alight by a bit of red makeup, flickering look of cunning that he was beginning to loathe so much. There was a bit of greed in the corner of her painted mouth, and it made his heart shiver with such anger that he had not even thought possible.
"Back so soon, Itachi-Sama? You look so red and so wet. I think the cold journey was not so easy," she said and her voice unnaturally boomed in the large room. The partition screens behind her looked so bright and yellow in the light of the fire.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, breathing out a warm white breath through his teeth. Water was still dripping from his clothes, face, and hair, but they were slowly drying out in the heat.
Kikyo emitted a sweet girly laugh, picked herself off the cushion, and rose to her feet as daintily as possible. She inched by the edges of the fireplace, drawing her kimono away from the flames with her hand. She stopped a few feet short of him, staring at his face with such rapt attention as though she was about to receive a bit of heavenly revelation.
"Whatever do you mean? We agreed to take care of bandits. Isn't that what you did?" she asked in such a fake, simpering tone as if she were dealing with an inept little boy, and it angered him.
A look of cunning came into his spectral red eyes and face that was a little pink with cold about the cheeks; it gave his wan face an air of such sinister contempt that, for a moment, she could not help but feel fear overpower her womanly heart, make it shudder.
His mouth twisted up very slightly in what he must have thought to be a smile, but he did not look any less fearsome and dangerous. "A silly child like you may be used to playing small, childish games in the marsh, but this is so dangerous for someone so young and girlish. So I will ask you again, what is the meaning of this? I hope you choose your words as wisely as you always pretend to," he said, his voice firm, unwavering, threatening.
She looked a little shocked by his honesty. Then, slowly, a smile came upon her soft lips, and her face seemed to change—it became harder and colder—though she could not manage to work her features with the same perfection as he did.
"You may be so beautiful, but you are as cold as stones in our temple," she said lowly, and her eyes became hard black stones on her face."Forgive my honesty, Itachi-Sama, but I had to say what was in my heart." And she pressed her fingers delicately to her bosom as though she was seducing him. He did not seem moved—his countenance was still as hard as ever.
When no words came from him, she spoke: "I didn't do this to create trouble for you. Believe my words. Cloud has grown . . . impatient. We've collected so many of their Jutsu-scrolls for them, and I've grown weary of it. The treaty between Konoha and the foolish Raikage gave me a moment to reconsider the choices of my father. They've been sending in men to reduce our numbers in the mountains. Military expansions as they call it. I believe otherwise."
Itachi was still silent. No words fell from his lips, and she continued after the shattering voice of shattering thunder passed into a peaceful silence: "they're oppressing us to aid them in their war against Mist. It's only inevitable. I simply want to slip out. Is that so hard for you to imagine?"
"You used me to kill the men sent in for investigation of your activities in the mountains. You stole their scrolls and killed their men one after another. An emissary named Kuma was attacked by a group of thugs against his establishment. He was on his way to Konoha some moons past. Someone paid those men. They had no headbands on them. The bandits do. They consider themselves an army of the free lands, but they are no thugs. They simply desire freedom from the constraints of the Villages. But you," he paused, appearing cold and cruel, "you did all this to drive me into a corner. Do you think I am some fool?" His red eyes widened, and she felt skewered to the ground like a hunted, wounded animal that awaited a merciful death at his hands.
Suddenly, his shadow looked so sinister and evil in the dark, and she gulped, her fair face breaking out in sweat. She heaved in a deep and unsteady breath and stood straight. "Not all stories are true, Itachi-Sama. I'm more interested in—"
"I am not even slightly interested in lending my ears to your foolish yarns," he said, his voice cool like the winter's wind, almost hissing from his mouth; and he drew closer, dragging that aura of danger with him. "You want to threaten me with the possibility of an end to this treaty. Cloud might find out what happened to their men. Who knows what kind of silly clues you have left in those rat-holes up in the mountains for them to find. Tell me something, are you so eager to meet your end by my hand?"
Fear flashed in her young eyes, but she quickly controlled it and met his gaze with a challenge. "Are you so eager to kill me? Are you so eager to miss your chance to gain something? I thought you were so clever?" she asked and smiled that infectious womanly smile of hers.
"I could just kill you right now along with your clumsy army and burn this place up with little remorse. Your tale will end with your lovely theatrics, and no whisper will reach any ear to know of your foolish schemes," he broke off to breathe in, and his smile widened, "but, I wonder, what do I hope to gain from this child's play? Nothing at all. What truly matters here is what you want from this mess. What do you desire?" He tilted his head a little and gazed down to see the skin on her bosom trembling in cold fear. She was afraid.
"You," she whispered softly and came near him, and the seductive look in her face became more intense with a new fire, "I desire you to make an alliance with me. I have something that might interest you—a scroll about a terrible secret that concerns you so intimately. You can choose to kill me and earn the wrath of Cloud. They will never suspect us. They will suspect you and your men. An Anbu leader involved in such an upheaval . . . the scandal will ruin you. But you can end it all by accepting me. The choice is yours, Itachi-Sama."
Itachi bent his head, and the chill in his eyes made her flinch. The smile faded from her pretty face little by little, but she forced herself to keep up the act. "You are just a foolish child playing with dolls and beautiful things. You are not as clever as you pretend to be . . . and that will be the end of you," he said in an uncaring voice and turned around and walked away from her.
He grasped the handles of the door, and she spoke in a manner that gave her voice an alluring tone: "I hope you reconsider my offer, Itachi-Sama. You look so lovely with a little colour on your skin. Let no one dye that throat red. That would be so unfortunate."
He did not stop and left the room in silence, closing the doors behind him.
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It was so bright. No matter where he looked, it was just an endless shade of white: there was no colour in the space around him. He turned his Sharingan on and it failed him, too. Then he looked down, and the small body standing by his feet was filled with such a wonderful and strong colour. He could sense each beat of the young heart move the blood through that tiny body. It coursed through the veins that had yet to gain the heat of youth. It was young. Innocent. Pure. Free of the touch of life . . .
His clever eyes saw that pure heart throb and send blood moving through the whole form, and it quivered with the warmth of a new life. The small body was a little vessel, a little piece of himself: the scent of that chakra, its colour, and its soft feeling were so familiar that he sat down crossed-legged and gazed upon the soft face of a small child, with a warm smile on his lips . . . Sasuke.
"Sasuke," Itachi spoke, and his voice echoed a little in the empty, forlorn space, "are you still angry with me?" Itachi grabbed the child's wrists with care, and he lowered his eyes in a manner as if he did not want to look back at him.
"No," Sasuke replied, his voice small, soft, mellow. He looked no older than four. His face was so baby-like; his cheeks were soft and big; his mouth was small and red. There was a rosy blush rising to his cheeks, and he kept raising and lowering his eyes; he wanted to say something.
"Then tell me, what bothers you? I will listen," Itachi said and pulled away one hand to brush his fingers across Sasuke's small forehead.
Sasuke twisted his mouth and bit his lower lip and such sadness came into his eyes. "Nii-San, it hurts," he said and his soft mouth began to tremble and his big eyes grew red with tears. They trickled down his round cheeks and his small breast panted and deep emotions worked his delicate features that he looked in great pain—lost.
A look of concern and fear came across Itachi's eyes. Sasuke was crying so bitterly now, and he did not know what to do. "Where does it hurt, tell me? Where here does it hurt you?" he asked, a note of an odd kind of panic hidden in his deep voice.
Sasuke pressed his small plump hand to his breast and hiccupped, his face warping in pain. "Here, Nii-San. It h-hurts here—" he said, as hiccupping sobs shook that small body as though he was spasming, and tapped his hand where his heart was.
"Your heart?" he asked and focused his Sharingan on that tiny thing beating in his breast. His heart was red and alive, thundering with emotions and strength and vigour children possessed in abundance. He could not see what was wrong with it. "Sasuke, it is fine. Do not be afraid. I am here," he assured him, but the child would not stop weeping.
"But . . . but it hurts," Sasuke spoke, and his voice grew rough, raspy in a way that he sounded older than his years; Itachi saw his form grow, his body elongate, his muscles ripple; and Itachi felt the curl of his fingers around that wrist get tighter. And then, Nature cast Sasuke's white face in such a fine, beautiful mould. His features grew and matured into their perfect, accurate contours in a manner that was so familiar to his eyes, leaving the soft lines of that child behind. Green veins, innocent before, flickered with a new heat under his skin. His blood was hot with the touch of youth, and as the musk of his male scent went up Itachi's nostrils, he knew he was no longer a child, but a man. Sasuke had grown right before his eyes, and he felt as though he hardly ever noticed it over the years, and it saddened him . . .
Sasuke was still looking down, sitting cross-legged before him now. He saw that heart beat inside him. It was a different heart, a new heart—a heart corrupted with the stains of natural youth; but his spirit, a white wisp flickering before the shadow in the deep reaches of his heart, was still so pure. If Itachi could just save it, keep it shielded from the smear of this world, he would be so happy.
"It hurts, Nii-Sama," Sasuke spoke again in that rough, young voice, his eyes still lowered to the wrist Itachi still held firmly in his hand, "it aches."
Itachi did not understand him. So many words sat upon his tongue like the fleeting taste of spices, but he could not speak. He watched as Sasuke slowly raised himself to his feet, and he lost his grip and stared up, almost mesmerized by the hollowness of Sasuke's eyes; and Itachi realized it then: it was fear. Itachi was afraid. His heart would not let him admit it, but he knew—he just knew. The slow, vibrating feel of it covered his heart like a black shroud. He did not know when he stood up, looking at his brother's face that was almost as white as the world around him. And it did not feel right. He was losing his colour—it was not right.
"It aches and it hurts," he said shakily and winced, "let me show you. Would you see?" And he was looking at him odd, and Itachi was speechless.
Sasuke fisted a piece of his black shirt and ripped it away. Itachi's eyes fell upon his heart leaping under his ribs. "You would see wouldn't you, Nii-Sama—wouldn't you?" he asked in a child-like manner, the way he did when he was but a small boy, and the sound passed into distance and was gone. Sasuke was emotionless; then he brought his hand up, contorted his fingers into a claw, and started pushing it into his breast. Itachi saw blood ooze from where his fingers were breaking his skin, digging in further. Little by little. Inch by inch. He heard the sound of the bones crack and break, and blood flowed down his breast in streams.
Itachi stood stock-still, his eyes growing wider; then he finally opened his mouth to suck in the air and found his lost voice. "Sasuke, what are you doing? Stop," he said in a loud, unfamiliar voice, and his hand shot forward to grab Sasuke's wrist to stop him from wounding himself.
But Sasuke was silent. His eyes were just staring at him. His hand was going in further and further. Itachi curled his fingers cruelly around that wrist, enough to bruise and injure Sasuke's skin, and yanked at it with all the strength he could muster; but Sasuke's determined hand would not move back. The fingers were still moving forward, and Itachi found himself panting with exertion. Sasuke was not budging.
"Let me show you. You would see where it hurts. You would see—" he spoke again, and his voice and face were still so emotionless; and his countenance was wounding Itachi's heart so . . . horrifically.
"Stop!" Itachi finally shouted, and it did not feel and sound like him, at all. He pulled and pulled, but Sasuke's hand kept moving forward and forward—it had a mind of its own. He was a stone statue, and Itachi did not have the strength in him to move him, stop him. Blood sprayed upon his hand and arm as if his precious little brother was experiencing the death of a martyr. He could not look away as the large bone in the middle snapped, and Sasuke curled that red and cruel hand around that thing, still beating in his breast, and pulled it out.
Veins and arteries elongated like elastic bands and ripped away from the heart as he dragged it out, and a large spray of blood streaked across Itachi's face. Blood went into his eyes, and the whole white world was bathed in red. His breaths were gone, his mouth open, and then he tasted the metallic flavour of his brother's blood on his tongue.
At last, Itachi heard his own heart beat once, then twice, and he inhaled the stone-cold air in short shivering breaths. He felt something warm and briny come out of his eyes, and droplets fell upon the heart Sasuke held in his hand. It was growing so black. Thick black goo was pouring out of it. It was dying.
"See, Nii-Sama? It was hurting. It was aching in me," Sasuke said, and his skin grew more and more pale that Itachi could barely make out his features in the whiteness of this world.
"Sasuke," Itachi spoke in such a shaky voice that he did not know he even possessed and grabbed Sasuke's hand and directed it to the gaping wound in his breast, "put it back in. Put it back in—don't disobey your brother. You're a good boy, aren't you? You're . . . "
Sasuke slumped down onto his knees in exhaustion, and the slowly beating heart fell out of his hand and hit the ground in a splatter of black and red. He went completely still, his skin growing hard like a stone. He was not moving. He was not breathing. His head was bowed, and he had gone completely still, white as a marble.
Itachi fell down to his knees and picked up the heart and tried to put it back in, but the marble that was his brother's dead body, cracked under his touched and crumbled away; and the dead heart that beat no more, turned to ashes in the palm of his hand. He felt something come up to his throat, and he shut his eyes as if he did not want to look upon his dead brother anymore and opened them again to find the dim light of the fire flickering on the roof. It was still night, and the room, warm . . .
Itachi's heart was beating so fast. His mouth was dry, and his head spun painfully in the grip of heat. He was suffering from fever. Suddenly, the shirt on his torso felt heavier than the heaviest weight he had ever lifted. He sat up with great difficulty and reached to his back. Then he pulled it off and threw it away.
His skin was shivering and glistening with sweat. His limbs ached and so did his heart. It was still throbbing so painfully in the grip of fear and anguish. He bent forward, putting his face in his hands. It was just a dream—just a dream . . . he assured his heart, but it would not listen. The heart still beat and trembled with great sorrow that he had never felt before.
Itachi coughed and felt the vomit rise up to his throat. He forced it down and stood up on his shaking legs. His vision was blurry, and his head was hurting. A dull pain was spreading in his skull. He staggered to the door that led to the garden and opened it. The cool wind hit him, and the smell of it made that vomit come up to his teeth. He fell down on his knees and fell forward, slapping his hands on the cold floor to keep his balance, and that set him to retching.
He vomited till his stomach was empty. The he finally pulled himself up and fell back against the frame of the door. He wiped his mouth and sat there like this with his eyes closed, feeling the breeze and soft drizzle fall upon his shivering torso and cool his fever. He opened his eyes when he felt something itchy crawl down his right cheek. He lifted his hand and touched his cheek with the tip of his fingers, and when his hand came away, there was blood on it. His right eye was bleeding.
Itachi watched the raindrops hit and dilute it. It trailed down his white arm till even his Sharingan could not tell if it was ever red. His heart had picked up the pace again, and the fear—the mortal fear he had felt in his sleep—came back once more: had he just seen a vision from Izanagi . . . ?
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