A/N: First of all: thank you for clicking!
This is a religious/mythological interpretation of the Sharingan and its usage. In a nutshell, it essentially reimagines the Uchiha as shaman. The story is going to draw off some of the lore already present in Naruto, some Japanese religious traditions, and some things that are just from my own imagination. That being said, I'd like to emphasize that, while I'm drawing inspiration from a few real-world traditions, this is ultimately a made-up religion and I mean absolutely no disrespect to any actual beliefs or practices.
I hope you enjoy! And, of course, your feedback is welcome!
The Sharingan, as a dojutsu, is greatly misunderstood. Most believe its power is derived from the chakra of its user, fueling the eye with rare and terrifying abilities. But that is hardly the truth of the matter. See, the Sharingan is really a conduit, a channel between the spiritual and earthly realms — its power extends far beyond the mundane capabilities of the person wielding it.
After all, these eyes look upon the gods themselves.
.
Sasuke
From a young age, Sasuke is taught stillness. Control. Learning how to breathe through his emotions, to keep his mind calm and tranquil. He meditates every day, right when he wakes up, and every night, right before he goes to bed. The life he lives is quiet and placid, filled with the chirring of insects, the trilling of birds, and the jingling of wind chimes.
And he absolutely hates it.
He can't remember a single day when he hasn't been painfully aware of how loudly he's breathing, of how heavily his steps land. His entire clan keeps themselves still, controlled, floating around like ghosts and barely interacting with the world around them, and so he is expected to follow suit. He would be happy to do it, he thinks, if someone would just tell him why. They all say the same thing when he asks, though, giving him a small smile and a light pat on the head: you're still too young to understand, Sasuke. But one day, you will learn.
Well, one day still has yet to arrive, and he's becoming quite sick of it.
He'd thrown a tantrum about it, once, yelling so loudly his lungs burned, his screams tearing apart the carefully structured silence built around his home. He'd reveled in its annihilation, savored the way the sound bounced off the walls and reverberated through the floorboards. It was noise — glorious, glorious, noise.
His father had never hit him before, and he has yet to hit him a single day after. But he hit him then. Hard.
And the silence returned.
Sasuke chokes it down now without complaint. He doesn't understand, maybe never will, but he keeps the pain that blossomed across his cheek that day at the forefront of his mind whenever the frustration begins to build in the pit of his stomach. He imagines the feeling as a physical thing, starting as an amorphous tendril of smoke that slowly builds, swirling and pressing against his insides. Eventually he starts to feel it inching its way up his throat, bleeding into his lungs, and so he'll focus on it during his meditations, drawing it back in and condensing it until the smoke hardens into a small, dense mass. It lays in his body like a stone, dragging him down with every step until he can hardly stand it.
And then he goes to the river.
He's walking out of the house, on his way there now, when he sees his brother.
Itachi is still a ways down the road, making his way slowly to their house. A surge of joy rushes through Sasuke at the sight, and the heavy stone lying in his body is momentarily forgotten.
His first instinct, of course, is to run towards him. It had been well over a week since Itachi left for his mission, and Sasuke had been beginning to grow antsy, restlessly staring at the street as he waited for his brother's return. He'd spend hours like that, just sitting on his front steps and trying to ignore the deep ache his brother's absence left in his chest.
But now, he's back. Finally.
Sasuke takes one, stuttering step towards his brother, his mouth widening into a smile, before he stops abruptly, the front of his shoe dragging loudly on the ground. His eyes widen as a small amount of dread settles in his lungs.
Itachi is practically dragging his feet down the road, still dressed in his ANBU uniform. It's caked in dirt and one of the pant legs is torn, the fabric dangling around his ankle. His mask bobs against his hip, and a sharp panic jolts through Sasuke when he sees that there's a chunk missing, the left ear of the weasel gone completely. He watches his brother closely, narrowing his eyes against the blinding sun, and that is when he notices how pale he looks, how he's grimacing and limping ever so slightly.
The anger that overtakes him is intense, acute, the stone rolling in his stomach and threatening to snap wide open.
I prayed, damn it.
He'd spent every day at the shrine, praying for the gods to protect Itachi on his mission. His knees are still bruised from the hours he'd spent kneeling on the hard floor, his lungs still heavy from the amount of incense he'd inhaled — and yet, still, his brother is returning hurt.
The stone flips and he bites at his lip, worrying it between his teeth. He must have done something wrong. That has to be it. He thinks he grabbed the right supplies, but he had only brought what he could safely spirit out of his mother's cabinets, things he'd known his parents wouldn't miss. Maybe he'd taken the wrong ones?
A blunt terror suddenly begins to build in his throat as Itachi inches closer to him, Sasuke watching the broken mask shift against his brother's pants with every small, shaky step he takes.
Or maybe I've angered the gods.
Sasuke isn't technically supposed to go in the shrine alone, is supposed to be escorted inside by an adult until he either awakens his Sharingan or turns thirteen. He's always thought it to be a stupid rule, created by his clan for who knows what reason, but perhaps it's something the gods made themselves. Perhaps he'd provoked them by breaking it, his presence angering them because he's only seven and doesn't have his Sharingan yet. And so maybe they'd decided to take his prayers and twist them, refusing to protect Itachi and instead riddling him with pain and injuries to punish Sasuke for his insolence.
Is Itachi hurt because of me?
Sasuke's palms start to sweat, and he wipes them hard against his pants. The stone is still rolling, gaining speed, spinning round and round his insides and making him feel sick. He needs to get to the river, knows he'll burst into a million pieces if he doesn't — but his brother.
Itachi walks up to him. He glances down at Sasuke with bloodshot eyes, gives him a single nod — a simple, exhausted motion — and reaches a hand out, clasping him lightly on the shoulder. Then he's moving past Sasuke and stepping inside the house.
Sasuke watches as the door shuts behind Itachi, his breath coming out hard and his shoulder left prickling from his brother's touch.
Is it my fault?
He makes a decision at that moment: first the shrine, then the river. The gods will surely want him to apologize — he'll stay outside, this time, will kneel on the steps and hope they take notice of him. He'll apologize profusely, tell them he didn't mean any insult; he just wanted his brother to return home, safe. And he'll be sure to thank them for that, as well, because while his brother might be hurt, he'd still come back in one piece.
Sasuke sets off down the road with a decisive nod. He'll just have to keep the stone from bursting for a bit longer. Appeasing the gods, after all, is of much greater import — his father is always telling him how fickle the gods can be, so they'll surely want their apology right away.
The streets are empty as he walks, quiet, as usual. His shoes scrape against the dirt with every step, and he kicks at a few rocks in his path, makes them skip across the earth. He listens to the birds chirp, to the wind chimes shift against the breeze, and he tries to imagine what it would be like to live in the center of the Leaf, with all of the shops and people. It would be loud, surely, everyone talking and moving around and not worrying about controlling themselves. They would embrace the noise, celebrate its presence. He thinks he'd like to live there, someday. Far, far away from the silence of the compound.
The shrine soon rises above him, and he stops.
It's a plain, traditional building, the colors subdued and sun scorched. But, given how ancient the shrine is, it's still in rather immaculate condition, something that should probably be regarded as a miracle in and of itself. That is hardly an act of the gods, though — really, the shrine's appearance is all thanks to Old Man Suou's effort. He's been the groundskeeper for as long as Sasuke can remember, checking on the shrine and keeping it absolutely spotless. The man is dedicated to his job, critical in his assessment of the shrine and the land surrounding it. Sasuke had once seen him staring at the trees above the steps for hours one autumn day with a broom clutched in his hands, almost daring the trees to drop a single leaf on the marble below.
The steps are perfectly clear when Sasuke ascends them that day; Suou must have stopped by just a short while ago. He makes his way up and up and up, walking until he reaches the top step and is standing before the red gateway. The Uchiha insignia is proudly displayed in its center, the colors bright against the wood.
Sasuke kneels.
The sound of his claps is dull outside, though he makes an effort to cup his hands together, hoping that the gods will somehow still hear him all the way out here. He bows his head low to the ground, after, leaning until his forehead kisses the marble. His hands are spread wide next to him, the coolness of the stone seeping into his skin. He keeps his body still as he counts his breaths — one, two, three, four — before lifting himself back up. His eyes are closed as he clasps his palms in front of his chest.
The language that pores out of his mouth is age-old. Sasuke began learning it as soon as he could speak — according to his father, it's the language of the gods themselves, and any well respected Uchiha ought to be fluent in it. He's only ever used it for prayer.
Sasuke doesn't know how long he stays on the steps, whispering his apology over and over and over again. He keeps telling himself he'll go over everything just one more time, to be sure that at least one god hears him. He still isn't totally satisfied when he finishes, but his knees have started aching again and the back of his neck is stiff, so he lifts his head and opens his eyes.
Shisui is sitting cross legged in front of him, an eyebrow raised and an amused smile spread across his face.
Sasuke blinks at him, mildly taken aback by his sudden appearance. He doesn't flinch, though, which is the reaction he assumes his cousin was aiming for, and that, for Sasuke, feels like a small victory. He takes a breath and collects himself, regarding Shisui in what he hopes comes across as a very calm and cool manner. "Shisui."
"Sasuke." The older boy's smile widens. "Now what might you be doing here all by yourself?"
Sasuke looks down at the marble beneath him, then back up at his cousin. "I'm not in the shrine."
"You're not," Shisui agrees.
Sasuke stares at his cousin, a deep confusion settling in his bones. "I'm allowed to be here by myself," he insists. "Just as long as I don't go inside."
Shisui leans back and places his hands against the tile, nodding his head sagely. "You absolutely are."
They watch each other, Sasuke still terribly perplexed and Shisui still clearly enjoying it. Sasuke feels himself beginning to frown. "So why —"
"Did you happen to see your brother?" Shisui asks, changing the subject completely. "He's supposed to come back from his mission today."
An image of Itachi walking down the street suddenly flashes across Sasuke's mind. Despite his prayers, the guilt comes back in a rush, starts eating away at his chest.
I got Itachi hurt.
"Yeah," Sasuke mumbles. "He's at home."
Shisui cocks his head to the side. "You don't sound too happy about that. What's wrong, don't like your brother anymore?" Shisui's only teasing, Sasuke knows, but the remark still prickles along his skin, making the guilt flare.
"I think he's hurt," Sasuke admits. And I think it's my fault.
"Oh," Shisui draws out the sound, chuckling to himself. "So that's why you're here." He cranes his head over his shoulder, then, considers the shrine. "I can bring you inside to pray properly, if you want."
Sasuke feels his eyes widen. "Really?"
Shisui nods, hefting himself to his feet with a grunt. "Let me just go check on your brother first. We'll go a bit later, okay?"
The smile that unfurls across his lips makes his face hurt. "You're the best, Shisui!"
"And don't you forget it, twerp." His cousin ruffles his hair as he walks by. Sasuke swats at his hand, but Shisui's already pulling it away, laughing. He raises an arm as he descends the steps. "See ya."
Sasuke watches his cousin disappear down the road. His shoulders feel considerably lighter, now — Shisui will surely make sure his brother is alright, and then he'll take Sasuke inside the shrine later today. He'll get to pray right before the gods; they'll be sure to hear his apology then. It's perfect, really.
The stone wobbles, reminding him of its presence, and so he gets to his feet.
The Naka River is only a few streets over from the shrine. He's there in a matter of minutes, hurrying down the grassy hill until he hits the dock. The wood creaks under his feet as he walks along it slowly. He reaches the edge and pulls his shoes off, placing them to the side. The wood is cool against his skin, the entire thing covered in shadows.
He takes a deep breath, looks down at the still surface. The stone vibrates.
And he jumps in.
The water engulfs him, wrapping around his limbs and dragging him down, down, down. He lets himself float for a moment, focuses on how it feels to be suspended in the river's grasp.
Then he screams.
Itachi
Itachi's eyes burn. They burn, they burn, they burn.
He lays prone in his bed, a cool, damp cloth spread over his face. His body is still covered in dirt and grime, Itachi not having the energy to drag himself into the shower, but he at least took off his armor before collapsing on top of his sheets. His aching joints had weeped in relief as they settled into the comfortable embrace of his mattress, but he could hardly enjoy it, not really, not when his head was pounding, his eyes throbbing against the heat building in his skull.
His mother had poked her head in a few moments after he'd laid down, asking if he needed anything. She was trying to be quiet, he could tell, but her voice shot straight through him nonetheless, making his brain ache. He managed to shake his head no as he closed his eyes against the pain.
She came in anyway, laying a towel over his face. "It'll help," she whispered as she pushed his hair back with a warm hand. She kept it there for a moment, rubbing her thumb across his temple just like she used to do when he was a child. He twisted his head slightly and leaned into her touch. It was the most comfort he'd received in weeks.
His mother pulled away all too soon. He had to swallow the protest that bubbled up his throat; instead he listened to her walk across the room, listened to her slide his window open. A crisp breeze blew across his burning skin. "I'll be down the hall if you need anything," she murmured. And then his door closed with a soft click.
He hasn't moved since. The towel and air bring him some relief, but the hammering behind his eyes is merciless, never ending.
Thump, thump, thump...
He grimaces and a low, quiet groan escapes from the back of his throat. Gods, his head fucking hurt.
The pain has never been this bad before. He's called on plenty of lesser deities since awakening his Sharingan, and while he always gets a headache after their departure, the pain has never been quite so strong, and it certainly has never taken this long to subside. In fact, this headache only seems to be getting worse, the pressure increasing around his eyes by the second.
He knew he had fucked up when it happened. The goddess he beseeched had been wholly foreign to him, and she had refused to tell him her name. He shouldn't have accepted her help, should have listened to the small voice in his head warning him against it, telling him that he should only commune with deities that he was familiar with. But he had called upon a god and she was the only one that had come — he didn't have another choice. And besides, she didn't feel any stronger than the deities he was used to dealing with. He figured he'd be able to handle her just fine. And so he accepted.
Her power had thrummed through him quickly, bitter and acidic as it boiled in his veins. She had cast a devastating illusion on his enemy, incapacitating the shinobi completely, and then she was gone. Her presence had been brief, fleeting, but it left his body weak and feverish. He'd been able to hold himself together for the duration of the mission, had managed to make it back into the Leaf without unraveling completely. But by the time he stepped foot in the compound, he was a mess. His eyes had already begun to ache, and he was nearly delirious with the pain of it when he finally reached his house. It was all he could do to force his body the last few steps to his room, to shrug out of his armor and fall onto his bed.
He hadn't been overly concerned, at first. But a muted panic has started collecting in his stomach, growing larger the longer his agony continues. He keeps telling himself to relax, to accept the pain for what it is. It's only temporary, he assures himself, just the result of channeling too much power. The goddess has not left him crippled, she hasn't unhinged his mind from reality; his body just needs time to recover from her strength. And then he will be fine.
He sips in a shaky breath, counts the seconds in his head as he holds it in his lungs. Breathe. Just breathe.
And that's when a sharp tap raps across his window.
The air leaves his body in a harsh, choked gasp, the sound exploding across his eyeballs and reverberating through his bones, making him cringe. The voice that follows is soft — or as soft as Shisui's voice can be — but it still pierces through Itachi like a knife.
"Heard you're hurting," his cousin says. "Pushed your Sharingan too far, eh?"
Itachi only groans, the pain blossoming stronger in his head.
"Given the state you're in," Shisui muses, "I'm gonna go ahead and guess that you did something really stupid." Suddenly a finger is jabbing against his side, digging hard between his ribs. He hadn't even heard Shisui move. "Am I right?"
"Go away," he moans, in no mood for a lecture. His head will surely explode if he has to deal with the pain and Shisui's bitching.
"I should really let you lie here and suffer," Shisui points out, ignoring him entirely. "Might teach you not to be such a dumbass all the time. But, since I'm just such a nice guy," Itachi hears fabric shift, followed by the snap of a button, "I brought you some sweet, sweet relief."
The towel is lifted off his face and Itachi finds himself squinting at the white expanse of his ceiling. A sharp pang runs across his eyes as he shifts his head over to see a blurry image of Shisui standing at his bedside, holding up a small vile.
His cousin pops the top off, motions for Itachi to open his mouth. "Say aaaah."
Had Itachi not been in absolute, unadulterated agony, he would have rolled his eyes. But, as it stands, he obediently opens his mouth wide enough for Shisui to rest the glass against his lips, his cousin tilting it gently and allowing the contents to pour down his tongue.
The liquid is flavorless as it rolls across his tastebuds and lands coolly at the back of his throat. He swallows, forcing it down. A moment passes, and a delightful numbness settles in his limbs. He takes a breath.
Then his body seizes.
Something hard lands across his chest, and he belatedly realizes it's Shisui, wrapping his hands tightly around Itachi's wrists and using his weight to keep him pinned to the bed. Itachi strains against his cousin's grip. He feels himself gasping, desperately trying to get air into his lungs.
Shisui's voice is a mere echo in his head. "You're okay, you're okay," he soothes. "Just ride it out. I've got you."
Minutes go by. He's still convulsing, still has no control over his body. But then, suddenly, his body relaxes, the tension leaving him all at once. Sweat trickles down his forehead and his breath comes out hard, unsteady.
The headache is gone.
He looks down, sees Shisui grinning up at him. "You good?"
Itachi musters up enough energy to glare at his cousin. He's still panting, his chest rising and falling erratically.
Shisui's smile twists into a smirk as he starts to lift himself off Itachi. "Wow, thanks Shisui," he says, pitching his voice low to mimic Itachi's. The mattress dips under his cousin's weight as he turns around and sits on the edge of the bed. "I have no idea what I would do without you." Shisui makes a face then, waving a dismissive hand down at Itachi. "It's no problem, Itachi," he answers. "My pleasure, really."
Itachi's throat is still thick, and he has to force the words through it. "What the hell —" he wheezes "— did you give me?"
"Special concoction." Shisui winks at him. "Don't expect to be taking it all the time, now; that shit will kill you after awhile."
Itachi wipes a hand over his face. His eyes still sting mildly, but it's a vast improvement over the scorching pain that had been burning through them before.
"Yeah, alright," he mumbles to Shisui, his breathing starting to even out. Whatever the mystery medicine is, he's sure he can get his hands on more of it, even without his cousin's help.
He feels something flick against his arm. Peering between his fingers, he sees Shisui leaning towards him, his gaze boring into him with a sharp, focused intensity.
"So," Shisui starts, his tone deceptively light, "who the hell did you call down?"
Itachi keeps himself entirely still under Shisui's scrutiny. "A goddess," he answers.
Shisui rolls his eyes, leans in closer. "Which goddess?"
Itachi sighs, rubs his hand hard against his eyes. Better to get it over with now, he supposes. "I don't know."
Shisui pauses. "You don't know," he repeats, incredulous.
"She wouldn't tell me her name," Itachi admits.
"She wouldn't —" Shisui's moving, now, and Itachi looks up to see his cousin standing above him, staring at him with his mouth hanging open. His eyes are comically wide, his face flushed, and Itachi can't help but think that, under different circumstances, he would have found Shisui's expression quite amusing.
He counts down the seconds in his head: five, four, three —
Shisui flails, starts gesticulating towards Itachi wildly. "Holy shit, Itachi!" He says it in a barely contained whisper. "What the fuck — you fucking — I can't believe —" Shisui lets out a frustrated, wordless yell as he runs his hands through his hair. He's pacing now, glaring at Itachi as he mutters under his breath. Itachi stays quiet.
Shisui stops and closes his eyes. He takes a deep inhalation, his chest lifting with the motion. He holds the air in his lungs for a brief second, then expels it hard through his nose. Itachi can hear the rage pulsing through his voice when he speaks. "Could you be more stupid?"
Itachi pushes himself up with a grimace, leaning back against his headboard. "I thought I could handle it."
"Itachi," Shisui sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're not supposed to be calling any deity down without the Mangekyou. The fact — no," Shisui raises a hand towards him, evidently predicting Itachi's forthcoming argument. "Don't you dare say a fucking word. The basic Sharingan isn't meant to channel the gods, and you fucking know that."
He realizes it's in his best interest to let Shisui throw his little fit, but Itachi can't help but feel mildly defensive. "My Sharingan can handle —"
"Just because it can doesn't mean it should!" Shisui throws his hands in the air. "You being some sort of phenom doesn't change the fact that the Sharingan is only meant to siphon spiritual energy. You need the Mangekyou in order to channel the gods, you moron —"
"I've done it before and it's been fine, it was just this time —"
"You didn't know her name, Itachi!" Shisui is practically yelling now. "You channeled a deity whose name you did not know. You had no idea what she was capable of! And, and —" he jabs a finger at him, "and you did it without the Mangekyou!" Shisui laughs, then, the sound colored with disbelief. "Do you realize how dangerous that is?"
Itachi stares down at his sheets, picking at a few loose threads. "I know."
"You could've died."
Itachi pulls at the thread harder. "I know."
Shisui stays silent for a moment, the only sound in the room his ragged breathing. Then he sighs, a loud, defeated noise. "Just —" He pauses, takes another breath. "Please, please, be more careful, alright?" Itachi glances up, sees Shisui looking at him soberly. "You might have a natural propensity for all this, but even you have limits."
Itachi nods, tries to keep the shame from slinking through his bones. "I will," he promises, his voice quiet.
"And next time a god shows up whose name you don't know, maybe don't accept their help? Think you can do that for me?"
After the agony he'd just experienced, Itachi doesn't think he'll be all that tempted. "Yes."
"Good." Shisui sighs again. He rolls his neck to the side, rubbing at his shoulder. "Okay, okay." He nods down at Itachi. "Well, you're not dying so, mission accomplished." He looks off towards the window and starts speaking under his breath, the words low and incoherent. Itachi knows that Shisui isn't explicitly talking to him, is more so just releasing his thoughts into the air, but he listens to his cousin's mumblings anyway. "I'll have to go pay for that medicine. Was really hoping I wouldn't need it but." A small shrug. "Should probably bring Sasuke to the shrine first —"
Itachi looks up at the sound of Sasuke's name. "Why are you taking Sasuke to the shrine?"
Shisui turns to him, blinking. He probably hadn't even been aware he was speaking out loud.
He recovers soon enough, though, giving Itachi a hollow smile. "He was on the steps praying for you," he explains. "I told him I'd bring him inside later so he could do it properly."
Itachi pictures his brother at the entrance of the shrine, bowing his head low and whispering prayers under his breath. Something warm bubbles in Itachi's chest at the thought.
It soon freezes over.
Shit. He'd fucked up. He only vaguely remembers walking by Sasuke on his way into the house, but if he had looked as bad as he felt, he'd probably scared the ever living shit out of his brother.
The guilt claws at him.
Itachi starts to ease himself off the bed, spurred into motion by the apprehension his thoughts have caused. "Mind if I come?"
Shisui watches him struggle, a mild concern creeping across his face. "You should rest," he says.
"I'm fine, really." He has to hide a grimace as he hefts himself to his feet, a dull pain spreading across his side.
Shisui considers him silently. He still looks wholly unconvinced, but he eventually shrugs. "Fine. But," he holds out a hand as Itachi takes a step towards him, warding him off, "go take a shower first, please." Shisui gives him an apologetic smile. "Suou's going to lose it if he catches you inside the shrine looking like that and, gods help me, I am not sitting through that lecture with you again."
Shisui
Shisui leaves Itachi's room once he hears the water turn on down the hall. He figures it'll take Itachi some time to clean up, so he decides to make his way to the kitchen, idly hoping Aunt Mikoto has something lying around that he can pick at, and tries not to curse Itachi under his breath on his way there.
Really, for such a smart guy, his cousin can be a real fucking idiot sometimes.
He rolls his eyes to himself. A goddess. The moron called down a goddess with a basic Sharingan. And it was one he didn't even know. The amount of stupidity that takes is astonishing.
Though, maybe stupidity is the wrong word. It's more an issue of confidence, Shisui thinks, and the fact that Itachi doesn't seem to be lacking it in the slightest. Sometimes Shisui is convinced that his cousin believes he's invincible, using his Sharingan to draw from the spiritual realm with a distressing amount of ease. He doesn't fear the gods that reside there, is instead convinced of his own ability to control them. And that is dangerous. Terribly, terribly dangerous.
But no one seems at all willing to point that out to Itachi. Instead, they praise him for his nonchalance, calling him a prodigy and fawning over how much skill he exhibits over his dojutsu. Fugaku is probably the worst offender, urging his son to push himself even harder, to try and reach farther into the realm and see how much power he can draw out.
Shisui has to quell the rage burning in his stomach when he thinks about it.
Itachi is talented — it's an undeniable fact. But he is still human, still susceptible to all of the risks posed by the spiritual realm. To have him testing the limits of his Sharingan is reckless and irresponsible, and it puts Itachi at risk. But Shisui seems to be the only one that particularly cares about that. He supposes it's partially because, so far, Itachi has been relatively lucky when it comes to the Sharingan's side effects. His worst symptoms have been his headaches, and though this last one was considerably stronger than the rest, it was hardly the worst thing that could have happened to him after the stunt he pulled.
They've all heard the cautionary tales, had them drilled into their heads the second they awakened their Sharingan. The stories themselves are nauseating, accounts of bodies rotting from the inside out, of minds being completely untethered from reality, of a deep, insatiable rage consuming a person's entire being — all the result of taking on too much power through the Sharingan. The stories scared the shit out of Shisui when he first heard them, and they continue to scare the shit out of him now. Those stories taught him one of the most important lessons he's ever learned, though; it's the one he keeps at the forefront of his mind whenever he activates his Sharingan, the one that he thinks about every day when he wakes up, and every night before he goes to sleep. Because while the Uchiha clan stresses stillness and tranquility, arming each generation to the teeth with ancient meditation techniques, Shisui knows that none of that will truly protect him from the strength of the gods. Only fear will keep him safe, will keep him from falling victim to the alluring power he's been granted access to. He is of the earthly realm — he may be able to commune with deities, to channel their energy through his own body, but he cannot forget that he is still only flesh and bone. It will surely be the end of him if he does.
He's tried to instill that same fear into Itachi, to stress the dangers of their dojutsu to him, the consequences of it. But, evidently, prodigies have no time for such caution.
Shisui sighs as he walks into the kitchen, his feet dragging as he heads towards the cabinet that Mikoto keeps the sweets in. There is only so much he can do to keep Itachi safe, unfortunately. Maybe going to the shrine with Sasuke will actually help — Itachi certainly won't hold back for his own sake, but perhaps he'll be a bit more careful once he realizes just how devastated Sasuke will be if something happens to him.
The cabinet opens with a soft creak. Shisui assesses its contents diligently, frowning and reaching his hand inside, moving around a few boxes — his options are hardly compelling.
"We have a front door, you know." The voice is light, teasing. Shisui turns around to see Mikoto observing him from across the room, a basket of laundry resting against her hip. She's smiling at him.
He returns the expression with a grin. "Sorry, Auntie," he apologizes.
She rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation. "I swear, I could leave the door wide open and you'd still choose to come in through a window."
Shisui feels his smile widen — she was absolutely right.
She tilts her head to the other side of the room, then, motioning towards a cabinet with her free hand. "I made those cookies you like the other day, by the way. I hid a few in the cupboard for you so the boys wouldn't find them."
His eyes widen. "The chocolate ones with the —"
She's already nodding. "Those are the ones."
It's childish, he knows, but he hurries across the kitchen, his mouth practically watering. Mikoto's laughing as he pulls the paper bag out and peers inside.
He beams at her. "Thank you, Auntie." He pulls out a cookie and takes a large bite, balancing the bag underneath his chin so the crumbs fall into it.
"You're welcome." She shifts the basket to her other hip, taking a quick glance down the hall. The water is still running.
She looks back at him, worry lines creasing her forehead. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice low.
Shisui nods immediately, nonchalant. Best not to worry her. "Oh yeah, he's doing a lot better now." He takes another bite of the cookie — fuck they're good. "I got him to take some medicine and it cleared right up."
Mikoto lets out a breath, peering back down the hall with a hand against her chest. "That's a relief. Did he say what happened?"
A slight hesitation grips at him. He knows that he should tell her. She deserves to know; she's his mother, after all. Undoubtedly, she's already aware of the pressure being placed on her eldest son, of the things he's being conditioned to believe he can achieve. It can't be easy on her.
Shisui shakes his head. "No, he didn't say."
She purses her lips, looking back down the hall. "Probably did something reckless," she mumbles, mostly to herself.
Way worse than reckless, he thinks dryly, picking up another cookie from the bag.
Mikoto turns her attention back to him just as he's shoving it into his mouth. The sight evidently amuses her, because a small smile appears on her face.
"Thank you for taking care of him," she says softly.
Shisui pauses, crumbs falling from his mouth. He tries to give her a smile, but the gesture feels hollow, empty. "Of course."
I'm just sorry I can't do more.
A beat of silence passes between them, and then Mikoto is moving back down the hall, calling back to him over her shoulder. "You better not leave any of those cookies here — you either eat them or take them with you."
He leans against the wall and takes another bite of a cookie, laughing to himself. His mouth is full when he replies. "Sure thing, Auntie."
He's alone for awhile, then, listening idly to the melody of running water and his own chewing. He looks back into the bag. There are three cookies left. Surely, he can eat them all now, but he also thinks it might be nice to have a few later, after —
The front door bangs open. "I'm home," a young, childish voice announces. Quiet footsteps echo through the house, drawing closer and closer, until Sasuke appears, stepping into the kitchen. His bare feet squelch against the tile, and it's then that Shisui realizes.
He's sopping wet.
Shisui sighs, rolls his eyes. How either of his cousins have managed to survive this long is a mystery to him.
Sasuke catches sight of him and jumps, obviously not expecting someone to be standing there. Shisui raises an eyebrow. He holds up a hand, crumbs still dangling from his fingertips, and points at Sasuke. "Why are you wet?"
Sasuke stares at him. Then he looks down at his body as if just realizing that his clothes are, in fact, drenched.
His cousin looks back up at him, his cheeks beginning to redden. "I went swimming."
Shisui's other brow lifts. "In your clothes?"
Water drips off Sasuke's shirt, splashing lightly on the floor. "Yes."
Shisui presses his lips together hard, tries to hold back the smile threatening to break free. "That's the story you're gonna go with?"
Sasuke starts to chew on the inside of his cheek. "That's what happened," he says, his voice unsteady.
"Okay." Shisui keeps his gaze locked on Sasuke. His cousin starts to shift his weight uneasily between his feet, and Shisui finds himself inordinately amused by his discomfort. He bites into another cookie.
Neither of them hear Itachi come in, a towel wrapped around his shoulders and a fresh pair of clothes on. "Hey, I'm ready when —" He catches sight of Sasuke and stops in his tracks. He blinks down at his brother, his brow furrowing. "Why are you wet?"
Shisui reaches into the bag. "He went swimming," he supplies helpfully.
"You —" Itachi tilts his head to the side, considering Sasuke. "In your clothes?"
Sasuke says nothing. He only stares at Itachi with wide eyes.
"Psst." Sasuke looks over at him, still stupefied. "You gotta stick with the story," he mock whispers, jerking his head towards Itachi. "It's too late to back out now."
A forlorn sigh escapes from Itachi's mouth. He sounds absolutely exasperated when he speaks. "Shisui, what are you —"
"I went swimming in the river." Sasuke says suddenly, turning back to Itachi. "In my clothes," he adds.
Itachi frowns down at Sasuke. "Why?"
Sasuke peeks back over at him. Shisui gives him a thumbs up and a nod. "Keep going," he mouths.
"Because I...felt like it?" he answers lamely, meeting Itachi's gaze once again.
Itachi is staring at them both, now, his eyes darting back and forth between them suspiciously. He takes a breath, pushes his tongue against the side of his cheek. "What exactly is happening right now?"
"Well." Both brothers look at him. "Sasuke was just about to go get changed so we can head to the shrine." Shisui picks up a cookie and waves it in the air. "And I'm going to eat this last cookie." He smiles serenely at Itachi as he pops the entire thing in his mouth, making his cheeks bulge.
He sees Sasuke zero in on the bag from the corner of his eye. "Hey," he pouts, "where did you get —"
Shisui squeezes the empty bag in his hand and points at the doorway. He tries to say go get changed but, given the large quantity of food in his mouth, it ends up sounding more like "gah geh hane."
Sasuke seems to get the hint, regardless, and rushes out of the kitchen, squeezing past Itachi. His footsteps thump lightly down the hall as he heads to his room. Itachi watches Sasuke for a moment, and then he's turning back to Shisui, leveling him with a flat glare.
Shisui's mouth is still full. "Whah?"
Itachi crosses his arms over his chest. "Do I want to know?"
His jaw hurts as he chews through the cookie, trying to force some of it down his throat so he can give Itachi an answer. Unfortunately, though, he realizes that the cookie is just a bit too big to manage that without choking, the baked good taking up just about every square inch of his mouth.
He waves a hand at Itachi, motions back towards his face as spit starts to dribble down his chin. Give me a second.
Shisui presses a hand against his mouth to stop the cookie from falling out, focusing hard on working it into a pulp with his teeth. Itachi watches him the entire time, the intensity of his gaze hardly lessening in the face of Shisui's admittedly ridiculous predicament.
It takes a bit longer than a second, but, eventually, he swallows the cookie. He raises his arms in victory when the last bit of it drops down his throat. The bag is still crushed in his hand. "I win."
Itachi's staring at him, this time with narrowed eyes. "How you get through a single day," he marvels, "is absolutely beyond me."
Shisui bares his teeth in a grin. "That's funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you."
The sneer that overtakes Itachi's face is immediate. Shisui returns the expression, giving Itachi a sneer of his own, and soon they're standing across the kitchen from each other, making ridiculous face after ridiculous face.
Sasuke runs into the room just as Shisui's reaching into his mouth, using his fingers to pull his lips apart.
Sasuke pulls up short, stares at Shisui curiously. "What are you doing?"
Shisui pauses. He slides his saliva-covered fingers out of his mouth. "Nothing."
Itachi's standing next to Sasuke, smirking. He sticks his tongue out at Shisui quickly, and somehow manages to compose his features entirely just as Sasuke turns to look up at him.
Bastard, Shisui silently grumbles.
"Ready to go to the shrine?" Itachi asks.
Sasuke's mouth opens into a small o. "You're coming?"
"If that's okay." Sasuke's nodding eagerly before Itachi even finishes speaking.
"Yeah but — does that mean you're feeling better now?"
Shisui watches closely as Itachi's expression softens, ever so slightly. "Yeah," he says. "I'm feeling a lot better now."
Sasuke's grin is blinding. He grabs hold of Itachi's arm and turns back to Shisui. "Let's go, then!"