PART I: ITACHI

ii. i felt a funeral in my brain

"I don't want Sasuke living there," Itachi tells the Third the next day, standing in the center of his office.

Sarutobi looks up from his desk, looking no less exhausted than he did yesterday. "Living where?"

"The compound," Itachi answers, his mouth a thin line. He won't budge on this.

He remembers Sasuke's empty face, his eyes with their hundred-yard stare. Looking through him instead of at him. It's a familiar look, and not one he ever wanted to see on his little brother's face.

"When I found him last night… he was completely vacant. Like he wasn't even there." Dissociation, Itachi's mind helpfully supplies. Very common response to trauma— "He can't live there. I won't let him. It's not healthy."

The Sandaime sets down his pen. He folds his hands in front of him, giving Itachi his full attention.

"You misunderstand me," he says. "I have no intention of forcing Sasuke back into that house. Not after what he just endured."

Itachi blinks, but before he can say anything else, the man continues, "Legally, your brother is old enough to make these types of decisions for himself. Had you not been here, and had he asked to continue living in the compound, then I would be obligated to let him."

Itachi frowns at the thought of not being here for his brother. His mind once again flashes to what Danzo had planned for him, the images that haunted his sleep last night, that nearly came to pass, but the idea is so horrifying that he shies away from it immediately.

"Sasuke is old enough to manage his own affairs, should he have to," the Sandaime says. "However, I'm assuming you would rather assume guardianship over him?"

Itachi straightens. "Yes. I would."

It won't be much of a change, anyway. Before he joined ANBU and began going on extended missions, he was already his brother's primary caregiver. Father and Mother were never home.

(Too busy with the clan to worry about their son.)

"Are you sure?" the Third asks. "He's been through a lot. The both of you have. He's going to need someone to be there for him. It's a lot of responsibility for someone so young."

If anything, the Sandaime's words only reinforce Itachi's feelings. Only make it that much clearer to him why he has to remain by his brother's side.

"It's nothing I haven't already done. I've always taken care of Sasuke." Sarutobi still looks uncertain, and Itachi looks him in the eyes. "I'm not a child, Hokage-sama. I haven't been for a while."

(Remember, this is a battlefield.)

The man looks at him for a long moment, then sighs. "No," he says. "I suppose you're not. I suppose I have myself to blame for that."

Itachi opens his mouth to contradict him. It was his clan who did this, his father who placed him in this position, who forced him to stare death in the face at the tender age of four.

Except that the village put him in this position too, placed a sword in his hands and taught him how to kill with it. And while he doesn't blame them, knows they were only doing what needed to be done, that doesn't make them any less responsible.

"You and Sasuke will be provided with an apartment to live in," the Third tells him. "You can begin settling in there in a few days. Don't worry about the money. After everything, it's the least I can do for you."

Itachi bows his head, his gaze on the wooden floorboards in front of him. "Thank you, Hokage-sama."

He straightens back up. Assuming he is dismissed, he turns to leave through the door, but the Hokage calls out to him before his feet can complete their step.

"Itachi, wait. Speaking of responsibility, there's something else I need to discuss with you."

Itachi frowns as he turns back around, trying not to show how anxious he is to get back to his brother. Sasuke was still sleeping when he left, and Itachi doesn't want him to wake up and panic when he isn't there.

"I thought about waiting to bring this up," the Sandaime says, a hesitance in his voice. "I know you have a lot to deal with, and I don't want to add any more weight to your shoulders. But with the Uchiha dead, there are certain decisions that need to be made. Decisions which now fall to you."

Itachi feels the feeling wash over him again—the feeling of denial, of avoidance. It makes his chest feel tight, his head feel too crowded.

"Your father was the Clan Head. With his death, the position now falls to you."

Itachi doesn't want to think about this. He can't think about this. He can't think about the fact that his father is dead, that his parents are dead, because if he lets it sink into his brain, then he's going to actually feel it. And he can't let himself feel it, because then he's going to break, and he isn't allowed to break, because he has to take care of his brother.

But the Third won't let him avoid it, won't let him pretend it doesn't exist. He keeps talking, uncaring that his words threaten to send Itachi spiraling.

His father is dead. His mother is dead. They're not coming back, he'll never see them again—

(He doesn't even remember the last thing he said to them.)

"There needs to be decisions made regarding the Uchiha compound," Sarutobi tells him. "Without you and Sasuke living there, the property is vacant. It's up to you what happens to it. Then there is the matter of the Police Force. It will most likely be shut down, but you could also choose to keep it running, if you decide to allow other jounin from the village to join. Obviously, it can no longer be exclusive to just Uchiha."

Itachi listens to this, and it shouldn't be as overwhelming as it feels. He's always known that he would take over for his father one day; Fugaku prepared him for it from the day he was able to walk. He knows what all his responsibilities will be, knows exactly what being Clan Head entails. There's no reason he shouldn't be able to handle it.

There's no reason for his hands to be shaking. No reason for him to be feeling like this.

The Sandaime looks at him, and some of his near-panic must show on his face, because his expression immediately softens. "There's no rush, Itachi. You have time to think about it. I don't need an answer right now."

Still feeling slightly like he's fighting to keep his head above water, Itachi nods. "Thank you," he says. "I just… I don't know…"

"That's okay," the Third reassures him. "Take some time with your brother to figure everything out. And I'm putting you on leave. No missions. You can return to your duties whenever you feel ready."

Itachi's throat feels too tight to speak. He inclines his head. The Sandaime's eyes are filled with a deep sorrow as he dismisses him, and Itachi leaves through the door, fighting past the heavy weight that feels like it's crushing him.

He and Sasuke move into their new apartment three days later. Their belongings have been collected and brought over for them, so they don't even have to step foot back into the compound.

Sasuke is quiet as they settle in. He's always been quiet, but this is different, more. He clings to Itachi's side like he's afraid Itachi will disappear if he ventures more than five feet away. Itachi hates it, the haunted look in his eyes, the docile way he moves. His brother seems a shadow of the person he was when Itachi left him, and nothing he does seems to reach him.

"What do you think?" Itachi asks, glancing around the small apartment. "Think it'll do?"

"It's small," Sasuke says, scuffing his feet on the floor.

Itachi presses his lips together. He feels off-balance and uncertain in a way that he's never felt. "It'll be a bit of an adjustment. But I don't think we need a place too big, anyway. And the Third is paying for it personally—"

"I don't want anything from him," Sasuke says, and the sudden vitriol in his voice causes Itachi to look down at him sharply.

It's the first real emotion that he's shown in days, and the fact that it's anger toward the Hokage is something Itachi finds more than a little concerning. Sasuke isn't an angry person. He's never been an angry person.

And Itachi wonders, not for the first time, how much his little brother saw. How much he knows. He remembers Sasuke's tears and the wobble in his voice as he asked why would they do this to us, and he wonders what his brother was thinking when he saw Konoha shinobi slaughter their family. How has he puzzled it out in his head?

It's been three days, and Itachi still hasn't asked him exactly what happened. He doesn't think Sasuke would answer him if he did.

But the sharpness in his expression is gone as soon as it appears. It's replaced quickly by his previous despondence, and Itachi doesn't know if he's disappointed or relieved.

"I miss our old house," Sasuke says quietly, and Itachi hears the words he doesn't say. I miss them.

I miss them, too, he wants to tell him. But he doesn't say it, because it isn't true. Itachi doesn't miss them, because missing them would require thinking about them.

The proud edge to Father's smile. The soft affection in Izumi's eyes. Shisui's head thrown back in laughter—

("I didn't know you had a sense of humor!"

"It's not a joke. I'm being serious…"

"Ha! That just makes it even funnier! You should write a book or something—"

"Dammit, Shisui—")

Itachi digs his fingers into his palm, focusing on the sharp sting of pain. The memory dissipates.

He can't think about them. He won't. It's the only way he knows he'll make it through this.

They settle down for the night, and nothing feels right. Their belongings are all around them, but to Itachi, the apartment doesn't feel like theirs. It's too new, too different, too unfamiliar. There are no photographs on the walls; Itachi couldn't bring himself to take them out of the boxes.

He'll do it tomorrow, he tells himself. He's too tired to do it today.

(He knows he won't do it tomorrow. A week from now, those photographs will still be in their boxes.)

He puts Sasuke to bed, tucking him in and staying with him until he falls asleep, something he hasn't done since his brother was five. Normally, Sasuke would push him away in embarrassment, complaining that he's not a baby, but now he clings to Itachi like a lifeline, like he's afraid he might drown if his brother moves out of sight.

Itachi retreats to the kitchen once Sasuke drifts off—the kitchen, which is cold and unlived-in, and nothing like their large dining room back home (what used to be home). His head is so loud, his thoughts whirling and spinning and making it impossible to actually think. It's been screaming at him for days now, hasn't stopped since he dropped his katana on that bar floor and left his squad-mates in River Country.

He pours himself a glass of water and sits himself at the table. His hand is shaking slightly, and he curls his fingers into a fist, knuckles white against the marble surface.

The water tastes like ash going down his throat. He's never been a fan of alcohol—he doesn't like the way it makes him feel—but in this moment, he wishes desperately for something stronger.

His father took him out for his first drink, when he became ANBU. Eleven years old, eager to prove himself a grown-up. Mother hadn't approved.

("You will take him to do no such thing, Fugaku! He is a child—"

"He is a shinobi. If he is old enough to kill a man then he is old enough to have a drink—")

A sharp pain pierces Itachi's heart, and he clenches his teeth. He digs his nails into his palm, just like earlier, but this time, the sting of pain isn't enough to distract him from the flood of memories.

They crash over him like a tidal wave, tightening in his chest. His father, guiding him through his first fire-style jutsu at the end of the dock. That's my boy. His mother pulling one of her swords from his too-small fingers, scolding him for his carelessness. I told you, not until you're older! You'll poke your eye out!

Izumi holding out her stick of dango for him to share, her cheeks dusted pink. Shisui's face lit by the soft orange of the campfire, the flames dancing in his eyes—

Fuck. Itachi hunches in his seat. His nails scrape against the edge of the table as he tries to breathe around the knife in his heart. Shisui—

They were supposed to keep them safe. Together. Both the village and the Uchiha. And instead—

I'm sorry, Shisui. I failed you.

He doesn't know how long he sits there. It could be ten minutes. It could be an hour. He digs his nails into his palms, tastes blood in his mouth. He hones in on the sharp sting, allowing it to push away the crushing grief in his chest.

When he picks up the glass in front of him, his hands are no longer shaking. His expression is once again composed.

(Remember, this is a battlefield.)

A scream pierces the apartment. Itachi startles violently, his calm disrupted just as he finds it. The glass of water is knocked to the floor.

Sasuke.

Fear bursts to life in his chest, his heart leaping into his throat. He practically flies to his brother's bedroom, throwing open the door.

Sasuke is thrashing. Body twisting and limbs flailing, he fights against the sheets restraining him. And the way he's screaming… his screams are like jagged glass, razor-sharp with terror as they're ripped from his throat.

Itachi's heart stops. For a moment, he's unable to move.

Because he's never heard his brother sound like this. He's never heard anyone sound like this.

Sasuke's had nightmares before. Awful things that leave him pale and whimpering, shaking in Itachi's arms. But nothing like this, nothing that ripped such terrifying sounds from him—

Sasuke's arms and legs are flailing, wrapped up in his bedsheets. He fights to tear himself free of them, wild and desperate—

He's going to hurt himself.

Itachi snaps quickly out of his shock, springing into action. In less than a second, he has his brother pinned—arms in his hands and legs beneath his knees.

"Sasuke," Itachi says loudly. "Sasuke, wake up!"

Sasuke continues to thrash, struggling against Itachi as if trying to escape death. Itachi tightens his hold. He's no doubt bruising his brother's arms, but it's the only way he can stop him from injuring himself.

Sasuke is still screaming, tears glinting on his cheeks in the darkness of the room. And Itachi realizes then that Sasuke's eyes are open. His Sharingan is activated, the three tomoe in his eyes whirling, spinning, transforming—

A six-pointed star forms in the center of his eyes. Itachi's breath leaves him like a punch.

"No!" Sasuke screams. Blood trails from his eyes. "No!"

Itachi presses down on his arms. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, his pulse racing. Sasuke twists his head, his eyes bright and bleeding, and that pattern—

"Sasuke! Sasuke!"

Itachi feels like sobbing. His own panic makes him dizzy. His brother is screaming, isn't responding to him, and he doesn't know what to do—

(He wants his mother. Wants to run into her room so she can help him, help Sasuke, because he doesn't know what to do, but she will, she'll know, he just has to get her and it will all be okay—)

He has to handle this. He has to calm down. But he can't do anything, he's useless, and all he can do is sit here holding Sasuke's limbs in place—

(His mother would know. She would know what to do.)

Eventually, Sasuke settles. The screaming dies down and his muscles go lax. Hardly daring to breathe, Itachi lets his hands slip from Sasuke's arms.

"Sasuke?" he whispers.

Sasuke's eyes have slipped closed. Whatever visions tormented him seem to be gone. He sleeps peacefully.

The Mangekyou. His seven-year-old brother has the Mangekyou.

Itachi's hands clench on the edge of the bathroom sink, his knuckles turning white. He closes his eyes, and he sees the unfamiliar pattern in his brother's eyes: a black iris, a red six-pointed star in the middle.

His father's words, from years ago, come back to him. The Mangekyou is a higher level of the Sharingan only achieved under certain conditions. An Uchiha must be complicit in the death of the person closest to them—

Itachi closes his eyes, his mind whirling. How is it possible for Sasuke to have it, then? Was his father wrong? But Shisui also claimed the same thing—so how can it be possible?

He couldn't have awakened it tonight. He must have already had it. During the massacre? But Sasuke didn't even have the ordinary Sharingan then… is it possible to unlock both in the same night?

Itachi doesn't know. And he never will know, because there's no one left for him to ask.

God. He can't deal with this.

His brother is only seven. He's seven years old, and he's in possession of a power most Uchiha never achieve—a power that will one day, years from now, result in him going blind.

Sasuke's going to be blind.

Itachi falls to sit on the closed toilet. He rests his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. His breathing is shaky.

He doesn't cry. He thinks he's forgotten how.

Sasuke doesn't remember anything in the morning. Itachi doesn't tell him.

Days pass. Itachi and Sasuke both struggle to settle into their new place—their new life.

It's harder than Itachi expected it to be.

The apartment is small, two bedrooms with a kitchen and a living space. Completely unlike their old house, which often felt much too large and spacious for just four people. It's an adjustment for Itachi, who is so used to having his own space, isn't sure how to function without it, but he deals.

He has a brother to take care of—not that he didn't before, but it's different now that their parents are gone. He can't just retreat from the world like he used to.

Sasuke doesn't have anyone anymore. No one but Itachi.

The Sandaime has placed Itachi on indefinite leave. This is a good thing, because Sasuke needs him more than ever right now. Going on a mission right now is unthinkable. They need more time to adjust, to accept this new reality they're living in.

Unfortunately, being taken off of active duty—or any kind of duty—leaves Itachi with way too much time to think. He knows Sasuke needs him, knows he can't leave him alone so soon, but suddenly he has all this time, and he hates it.

(Hates it because he can't stop thinking about them—their faces, their smiles, the way their eyes must have looked when—)

Even worse, Sasuke's horrible nightmare becomes a nightly occurrence. He screams and thrashes, and Itachi holds him down, waiting and praying for the moment his eyes slip closed and his struggling stops. Itachi doesn't know what the incidents are, doesn't know what's causing them. But they scare the hell out of him, and he doesn't know how to help.

Weeks pass and nothing changes. Itachi hardly gets any sleep.

He assumed it would be easy, taking care of his brother. He's done it all his life, after all. It's never been difficult. He's never thought of it as a burden; he would have taken on the responsibility anyway, even if his mother hadn't given it to him the moment she placed the bundle in his arms.

(Take care of your baby brother, alright?)

As it turns out, there's a big difference between watching out for someone and being their primary caregiver. Numerous times, he made it his duty to care for Sasuke. But he was still always a brother, never a parent. Now he finds himself having to fill a different role, and he quickly finds that he's not prepared for it.

Itachi, as it turns out, is not cut out for domestic work.

He's a horrible cook. He learns this the second night in their new apartment, when he tries to make mapu tofu for dinner and the kitchen nearly catches fire. They end up having instant soba.

He messes up the laundry. He puts one of Mother's gold-inlay plates in the microwave. He sets off the smoke alarm at least five times.

He's a mess. Give him a weapon and a target to aim at, he's golden. But give him everyday household chores, he fumbles like a child handling their first jutsu.

In different circumstances, Sasuke would probably find the situation amusing—looks like I finally found something you're not good at!—but there's nothing amusing about this now, and these days Sasuke resembles a shadow more than he does a person.

The nightmares—if that's what they can be called—only increase in frequency. The extreme clinginess has begun to abate, but now Sasuke has begun to retreat from him, which is worse.

They still haven't talked about exactly what happened that night. Itachi keeps trying to bring up the subject, but the words keep getting trapped in his throat.

(They get trapped there because he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to hear what happened, how they died, because hearing it will make it real—)

It's not all bad, of course. There are good moments—rare, brief, but they're there. And ANBU has consumed Itachi's life for so long, it's nice to finally be able to spend time with his brother. Nice to be able to smile and say sure, instead of poking him on the forehead and saying next time.

Sometimes, Sasuke almost smiles. And in those moments, Itachi lets himself hope that things might be okay.

"You're adding too much soy sauce," Sasuke says.

Itachi frowns, his gaze flickering behind him to his brother at the kitchen table. "I am not."

"Are too. You're only supposed to add a cup."

"This is a cup."

"That's way more than a cup."

Itachi's eyebrow twitches slightly, and he forces himself not to scowl. He pours some of the soy sauce from the measuring cup, holding it up for his brother's inspection.

"There," he says. "Is that better?"

The seven-year-old squints at the numbers on the side. He nods sagely.

Itachi returns to the saucepan on the stove, adding the soy sauce to it. He moves onto the sugar, measuring it meticulously and pushing down his aggravation.

It's fine, he tells himself forcefully. We're going to have a nice dinner, and this time, I'm not going to burn anything or set anything on fire.

He turns on the stove, but accidentally twists the knob too far. The flames flare up too high, and Itachi hisses, jumping out of range.

Behind him, Sasuke sighs. "Just admit it, Nii-san. You can't cook."

Itachi presses his lips together, not looking at him. "I can so."

"It's okay, Nii-san, really," he says. "We can just have cold soba again."

Itachi is so, so sick of soba. He knows Sasuke is, too, even if he's too nice to say anything.

"No," Itachi says, adding the sake to the ingredients in the pan. "We're going to have an actual meal, and you're going to like it. You'll see."

He goes to pour the mirin into the pan—

"No, not the mirin! Mother always substitutes it with vermouth and sugar!"

And Itachi, despite what a lot of people seem to believe, isn't perfect. This is the fourth time Sasuke has corrected him, and he's not even done with the first part of the meal. He loses his patience.

"Fine," he snaps, banging the measuring cup down on the counter with more force than necessary. "You do it then, if you're such an expert!"

He feels guilty immediately. It's been a while since his brother has made him annoyed enough to snap, and he knows it's not Sasuke's fault. He's just so tired, and he can't even make simple sukiyaki sauce, and it's making him irritable.

Sasuke doesn't look hurt. Instead, with a put-upon sigh that sounds much too exasperated to come from a seven-year-old, he stands from the table and leaves the room. He comes back with a stool.

"Move," he says, elbowing Itachi aside and placing the stool on the ground where he was standing.

Itachi steps back. He blinks, watching in shock as his little brother easily takes up the task, only with much more ease.

He moves as if he's done this a thousand times, quick and efficient. He adds the remaining two ingredients to the saucepan, and he lowers the power of the stove. He mixes the sauce together and leaves it to boil, then goes to the refrigerator to retrieve the frozen noodles. He puts them in a different pan, leaving them to boil on the opposite burner. Then he begins slicing up the vegetables.

Itachi moves to stand next to him, his gaze on the knife in Sasuke's hand as he cuts the cabbage. "You're good at this."

His surprise is obvious. Sasuke glances over at him briefly, before returning his eyes to the cutting board.

"Mother taught me. She said you've always been hopeless, so she taught me instead. We cook together all the time."

The knife Sasuke's holding freezes briefly, as Sasuke realizes his mistake in using the present tense. His face becomes pinched, a shadow passing over his face.

Itachi's heart twists, but he doesn't call attention to the slip. "When was this? I don't remember it."

"It was when you were on missions," Sasuke says. "You're always gone for so long, and… I miss you. Mom always tried to cheer me up. We would hang out until you came home."

Itachi looks down, feeling regret in his chest. Living with his brother, taking time off from ANBU, is really highlighting how much of Sasuke's life he missed before. All those times he took off on a mission that lasted weeks, all those times he promised Sasuke they would hang out later, only to break that promise for another mission…

He should have taken the time. He's a shinobi, but he's also a brother. He should have made the latter more important than the former.

"So what did you guys do?" Itachi asks. "Just cooked?"

"Mostly." Sasuke's moved on to cutting up the tofu now. "Sometimes we hung out in the dojo and she showed me all these cool sword moves. She even let me hold the sword once."

There's a soft smile on Sasuke's face. Itachi's heart hurts just looking at it.

He's so angry at their mother. Angry at her for going along with Fugaku's plans, for not trying to dissuade him. This is the woman who tried to help her husband overthrow the Hokage, who plotted against her own village. This is the woman who was part of the cause of the Uchiha Clan's downfall.

But this is also the woman who bandaged his cuts after training, who sat with him when he was sick, wiping the sweat from his brow. The woman who held him close after he awakened his Sharingan, after his genin team died. It's okay, sweetheart. Even shinobi cry sometimes—

Itachi closes his eyes for a moment. Sometimes, his own inner conflict makes it difficult to breathe.

He turns to his brother. "Do you want to use a sword when you're older?" he asks. "I'm not as good as Mother was, but I can still try to teach you."

Sasuke drops the knife. He looks at him with wide eyes. "Really? You mean it?"

"Sure. If you really want to. Your birthday's coming up, isn't it? We can get you a sword—"

Itachi is unprepared for the hug he receives. Sasuke throws his arms around Itachi's neck, and the impact is nearly enough to knock him over.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Itachi is stunned for a moment, unable to move. It's the most emotion he's witnessed from his brother in two weeks, and the unbridled joy in his voice is enough to steal his breath.

He had forgotten what a smile sounded like in Sasuke's voice.

Itachi slowly brings up his arms, hugging his brother back. A smile lingers at the corners of his lips—the first one since he came home.

Sasuke finishes up the sukiyaki himself, with Itachi supervising. He serves the two of them, and they sit down at the table to eat.

"Wow," Itachi says, after tasting it. "Sasuke, this is amazing. Maybe you should do the cooking from now on, huh? Less fire hazards."

Sasuke doesn't respond to the jest. He's looking down at his food, his previous lightheartedness wiped from his face. He looks crushed—possibly even on the verge of tears.

Itachi frowns. "Sasuke? What's wrong?"

Sasuke stares down at the food he cooked sadly.

"It doesn't taste the same as Mother's," he says.

Itachi feels something twist inside him. With another despondent look at his dinner, Sasuke pushes his chair back. He retreats to his room without another word.

The good moments are there—a brief smile, a flash of happiness—but they're few and far between. The shadow of grief is always lurking, waiting to cover them like a shroud.

There's a conversation that Itachi has been putting off for far too long. The night before Sasuke returns to the Academy, Itachi finally sits him down on the couch to have it.

They haven't talked about the massacre. Itachi knows they need to, that Sasuke needs to know why their clan was killed, why they were slaughtered by shinobi who were meant to be comrades-in-arms. Itachi knows the villagers have been talking about it, scorning the Uchiha for their betrayal.

Sasuke's going to hear all about it once he returns to the Academy. Itachi needs to be sure that he hears it from him first.

So, Itachi sits him down and explains. He begins to talk about the coup d'etàt, their father's plans, the reasons why this could not be allowed to pass…

He's surprised when Sasuke interrupts him, only a few minutes in.

"I already know all of this. Sandaime-sama already explained it to me."

Surprise flashes through him. "You—he told you about it?"

Sasuke nods. He stares down at his hands on his knees.

Itachi supposes it makes sense. Sasuke was in the hospital for two whole days before Itachi arrived back in the village. It's logical for the Third to have spoken to him during that time. Still, the way Sasuke spoke to him… he assumed his brother was still in the dark.

Itachi thinks back to Sasuke crying against his chest, voice fragile as he asked, why would they do this to us. He remembers the anger in Sasuke's voice, when Itachi mentioned the apartment was being paid for by the Hokage. I don't want anything from him.

And Itachi wonders if Sasuke even understands what he was told. It's a complex situation, after all, and it would be difficult for a seven-year-old to be able to comprehend it.

Sasuke knows. But he still doesn't truly understand. He can't see the massacre for the only choice that there was—he doesn't understand it the way Itachi does.

Sasuke's never witnessed a war. But Itachi has. He knows what it takes from people.

"Were you a part of it?" Sasuke asks. "The coup?"

Itachi blinks at the question. It seems the Hokage didn't tell Sasuke everything, then. He told him about the general situation, but it appears he emitted Itachi's involvement.

Why? Itachi wonders. Did he do it simply because he thought it would be better for Sasuke to hear it from Itachi? Or does he not want Sasuke to know?

"No," Itachi answers. "I wasn't a part of it."

"Oh." Sasuke is silent, looking down at his knees, before asking, "Did you know about it?"

Itachi pauses, feeling cold. Because did you know about it is a completely different question from were you a part of it, one with an answer completely different.

"No," he lies.

He knows the moment the word leaves his lips that it's probably a mistake—that he's probably going to end up regretting it later—but the answer is out there now. It's no use to take back.

"No," he repeats. "I didn't know about it."

Sasuke stares down at his hands in front of him for a long moment. His face is unreadable, his eyes swirling with a thousand different thoughts that are impossible to understand.

"I'm tired," he says finally, in a blank voice. "Can I go to bed now?"

Itachi is so startled by the non-reaction, he says yes without thinking about it. By the time it occurs to him to call him back—we need to talk about this, are you okay, what are you thinking right now—Sasuke is already closing his bedroom door.

Itachi sits on that couch for a long time, certain he's screwing up and with no idea how to do better.

He wishes his mother was here.

AN: Sorry this took so long! But I hope you're enjoying the story, and please review to tell me what you think!