tw: anxiety/panic attacks, trauma, death, dissociation.
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will you be there when it all burns down?
(excerpt from "arson" by klr)
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"Suffering is reserved for the living"
...
ayumi is not having a good time.
SHE WAKES GASPING.
Her shaking hands reach up to clutch at her throat, shoulders curving inward to protect her stomach.
It's dark. She tries to blink. Once, twice, eyelashes clumping together as she squeezes her eyes open and shut tightly, then rapidly as nothing changes.
She can't see.
She can't see.
Her pulse pounds loud and frantic in her ears.
She doesn't know when she starts to scream, only vaguely aware of the resulting burn in her throat as she claws at her eyes.
There's shouting and a panicked, beeping sound, all muffled like she's underwater.
The thought of water has her sobbing unabashedly, high shriek cutting off as she suffocates. She can't breathe. Brilliant red blooms burst behind her eyes. She's drowning, drowning, drowning like S—
Her wrists are grabbed and pulled away from fluttering at her neck. Flinching, she scrambles back blindly and yanks her wrists free. The touch follows after her persistently, even when she lashes out. Her fingernails catch on to a pliable surface and dig in until it gives.
Liquid gushes and coats her fingers before her hands are quickly secured and held down with something that cuts off her panicked chakra. She kicks out. Connects with a snap-crunch sound that accompanies the breaking of bone. Her feet are pinned and dragged away, legs extending into a full stretch.
Trapped alone in darkness with her wrists and ankles bound tight enough to pinch her skin, she struggles and thrashes about incoherently.
"...letmegoletmego..."
Is she supposed to beg? Plead for release?
"An Uchiha never bows their head in fear."
She refuses.
"LET ME GO!" she screams.
The only response she receives is a sharp pricking sensation jammed into the soft skin of her inner forearm. She jerks away, but her arm is easily held in place. The pain dulls to a numbing ache as something is injected into her vein. Her movements and racing heartbeat slow until she finally stills. Head lolling to the side, the proud set of her jaw stubbornly remains, even while unconscious.
With their patient stabilized, the medic-nins withdraw. They casually prod blooming bruises and wipe at the bloody scratches on their arms. One heals their broken nose with a grumble, green chakra flaring. Another nin rolls their eyes and mutters about "wasting chakra." After checking the patient's chart and heart monitor one last time, the medics file neatly out of the room.
Uchiha Ayumi rests undisturbed.
She sleeps through the unwrapping of thick, seamless bandages over her eyes and removal of the constraints containing her limbs.
On the twenty-fourth hour of her induced slumber, black curled lashes sweep open to reveal dazed, dark eyes. Mind still hazy from the sedative, she wakes slowly and this time, to light and a white ceiling. A quick glance around with sharpening eyes confirms the rest of the room is the same color. The sharp sting of disinfectant is as good as embedded into the walls of Konoha Hospital.
Her mouth presses into a flat line. Sitting up, hands feeling the firmness of the mattress beneath her, she glances around the bare room. Her eyes linger on the closed window where gauzy curtains have been drawn back. Light filters in and pools in bright patches along the white-tile floor.
She leans forward.
The thin sheet shifts with her movement. A tree branch sways in the wind. She can almost see a head of dark curls outside the window when she stops and turns her head to the door entryway, meeting the blank gaze of a medic-nin.
Her heart stutters, the monitor beeps. They look unsurprised to see her awake and bow before entering the room.
"Hello, Uchiha-san. I am a medic-nin of Konoha Hospital."
Ayumi blinks. She dips her chin in greeting, maintaining steady eye contact. "Why," she coughs, only then realizing the dryness of her tongue. The medic-nin waits. She swallows with a parched throat and opens her mouth again. "Why am I here?"
"Ah," the medic-nin doesn't quite shuffle, but there's a pause, a delayed second of silence. "Uchiha-san, you activated your Sharingan."
Her Sharingan, but when—
Distantly she hears the medic add, level voice lilting into an unsure cadence, "Congratulations."
—the compound had been quiet. too quiet. sacchan was supposed to be with her. where was he? where had he gone? she found bodies. unmoving and still. bloody. aunts and uncles and little cousins on the ground. big sisters and... brothers, slain and slaughtered. crumpled uchiwa fans hung limply from the walls. she stepped over an arm severed from a body before she began to run, refusing to look anymore. she ran and ran and ran, until. until she's stopped—
"—Uchiha-san, Uchiha-san?"
"... Hn?"
They approach her bed slowly, walking to the small cabinet near the bedside.
"Uchiha-san, do you remember the activation trigger for your Sharingan?"
The medic fills an empty cup with a pitcher of water and set it down on the cabinet top, stepping a length away to maintain distance from her. Ayumi stares, then reaches over and brings the cup to her lips to take careful sips. The activation trigger—
itoko. itoko is there. she is safe. his hands, usually cold, are warm on her shoulders. the warmth seeps through the fabric of her shirt. she reaches for him. wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face into his chest, so she doesn't have to see their faces. his chest is warm too. almost wet. then, she smells it. the bitter, unmistakable scent of blood. she gags and pulls away, a question on her lips. her eyes meet his—
Ayumi refocuses on the nondescript features of the medic. Heartbeat deceptively even, she takes another small drink of water.
After a moment passes, the medic gives a nonplussed nod at her silence.
"A week ago, Uchiha Itachi was declared a missing-nin of Konohagaku—"
The cup drops, liquid soaking into the bedding. Dampness spreads across the bottom of the yukata she is wearing. Ayumi's face twists into a snarl as she surges forward.
"What?"
The medic's eyes widen.
Ayumi soundlessly opens and closes her mouth, shaking her head—
"i-itoko?" she stutters, tottering a step backward. his blade, streaked with red, raises and presses to her neck. dark eyes glow. behind him, the moon is full in the sky. a pale shimmer streaks down his cheek in a silver trail. the necklace around his neck glints, metal chain clinking. hot pain slashes across her throat. (s—!) she chokes. (sui—) her eyes burn. (sui-nii?) and then everything bleeds red—
"Itoko?" the medic murmurs.
Ayumi's shoulders stiffen, unaware she had said that aloud. The medic looks as if they have come to a sudden realization.
"Apologies for startling you with that information, I only mention it to preface how you arrived here. As I was saying..."
The information is delivered in the same way they are trained to report a mission: concise and matter-of-fact.
"... Uchiha Massacre... the dead have been collected..."
Methodical, if not for the faint quake of the medic's eyelashes.
"... ANBU found you and... in the street..."
At no point do they attempt to move closer to pat her shoulder or perform any other type of useless, consoling platitude.
"... fled... the Hokage will go into more detail..."
Cup empty, Ayumi plucks it from the sheets and sets it down on the cabinet with a trembling hand.
"Be careful of eye strain the next few days, but aside from that, your physical recovery is looking steady."
"Hn," a mumbled sound.
The medic continues speaking. Again, the volume of their words fluctuates strangely. Too loud at times, then too quiet to hear, then back to a piercing echo ringing in her ears.
"Bleeding... found to be standard... first-time Sharingan activation... you had... excessive amount of bleeding and inflammation... likely linked to the stress of the trigger... wrapped them... believe that led to your initial disorientation upon first waking, Uchiha-san."
The sensation of bound wrists and blind darkness feels like a lifetime ago, but still (drowning—). Ayumi glances down at her hands. Clean. An overlay of (redredred—) blood flashes over her hands before disappearing. There's nothing, no grime or blood or flesh, even beneath her fingernails. She pushes the sleeves of the cotton yukata up her forearms to expose bare, unbruised wrists. (let me go!) Folding her hands together in her lap, she lowers her head. Dark hair slips past her shoulder and falls over her eyes.
The activation trigger memories cannot be falsified, it is known, but hers are confusing and distorted and she doesn't want them. Not when the only face she wants to See is the one she cannot ever see again. (Too late, too late. He's gone. GoneGoneGone. Away.) The Sharingan is a gift, a blessing; cursed. -(-H-E- -L-E-F-T- -H-E-R-)- She will always See and never forget. (You must, you must, you must. Look and watch and S E E.)
Itoko. A traitor.
It's hard to believe even the idea of it.
(Family, blood, clan, the Village, eyes,eyes,eyes, youyouyou. If not herself, who does she believe then? Sui-nii, Itoko, Sacchan, red,red,red, the eyes See all.)
She had always known he was skilled, dangerous, but to slaughter the entire clan, shinobi and civilian alike, and try to kill her and Sacchan, his beloved brother, as well?
It wasn't like him. It just wasn't.
-(-S-u-i-c-i-d-e- -w-a-s-n-'-t- -l-i-k-e- -S-u-i—n-i-i- -e-i-t-h-e-r-)-
Itoko was her favorite older cousin. He braided her hair with trinket gifts of hair bands and clips. Refused to share his sticks of dango, but bought her any other kind of sweets. Itoko was a shinobi that let butterflies land on him like he was some benevolent kami. He carried her in his arms home when she was tired.
Solemn Itachi was quiet, reliable, dedicated. Never quick to anger, Itoko had a seemingly endless amount of patience for his loved ones.
Despite refusing to answer to her brother's nickname for him, he still begrudgingly allowed himself to be affectionately called "'Tachi." Itoko was her brother's closest friend and dearest companion. He had looked after her in the wake of Sui-nii's death. It had been his request for her to move and live in the Main House with the Clan Head's household: her uncle, aunt, and cousins.
"To be with family," Itoko had said, pressing a light tapping fingertip to her forehead.
Family, the Clan, they were all highly valued to him. He cared for her and Sui-nii especially, but Sasuke, Itoko would never harm Sacchan. Never. Not even in a spar or to teach a training lesson.
Under the assessing eyes of the medic-nin, she raises steady fingers to her throat and finds smooth skin in place of betrayal.
"We healed the laceration there, Uchiha-san."
"Ah."
Her gaze drifts to the window.
So if it was true, then, why?
Ayumi lets out a quiet huff of air when she sees him.
"Sacchan."
A breathless sigh echoed by his matching exhale.
"Yumi."
He stands pale and thin beneath the hallway lighting with dark circles lining his eyes that don't detract from his beauty at all. Sasuke looks like a doll: pretty face, blank shining eyes, an empty expression adorned with the illusion of warmth in pink cheeks, completely breakable. A flicker of lucidness splinters through his glazed eyes.
They reach for each other at the same time. Cold arms entangling, paper-thin hospital yukata rustling, dark hair getting in the other's face, they embrace and the relief almost melts her. Nose pressed into the crook of his neck, she takes a deep shuddering breath in. Beneath the sterile hospital smell is the scent of flame and woodsy smoke.
For just a moment, Ayumi allows her eyes to fall shut and relax minutely, reassured by the brush of his chest against her own with every inhale, before she pulls away. A short, desperate sort of sound emerges from the back of his throat. Sacchan tries to keep holding onto her, releasing only when she slips her hand into his and squeezes gently. He squeezes back and becomes porcelain again.
The medics performed their jobs well, it is only right to express proper gratitude. She turns to the waiting medic and bows to show her appreciation. At her side, Sasuke repeats the motion stiffly. (hot pain slashes across her throat—) She jerks her head up and takes a half step in front of Sacchan. It's not subtle or casual in the slightest. She doesn't care. Ayumi yanks on his hand until she feels him straighten against her back from the bow.
"Thank you for the care, Medic-san," Ayumi said evenly in a quiet tone, as if she hadn't just suddenly moved into a defensive position. "Please pass along our thanks to those involved in healing us."
She doesn't apologize for any injuries she, or Sacchan for that matter, caused. The medics are professionals. It would be insulting to imply they are incapable of handling damage.
A hint of a smile curves onto the medic-nin's face and they return the bow.
As if that was the signal they had been waiting for, an ANBU drops down soundlessly from the ceiling. Sacchan and her startle, shoulders rippling; a slight flinch. She bites the inside of her cheek and presses the bottom of her feet more firmly into her temporary slippers, grounding herself. The ANBU angles their head, indicating they should follow, then turns on their heel and begins walking on foot. She glances at the unresponsive Sacchan before trailing after the shinobi from a distance, still holding his hand.
They walk in silence to Hokage Tower, ignoring the whispers and gawking from the villagers. She stares coldly at anyone who meets her eyes, taking a distant kind of pleasure in the way they look away, guilty and shame-faced and horrified, under the weight of her gaze. Some seem as if they are about to approach, but think better of it at the sight of the ANBU. No one gets within twelve feet of them and Sacchan's hand is warm in her own. They are small comforts.
Along the way, she finds herself thinking about the Hokage. She has never met him, only seen him from a distance. There had been mutterings within the clan about disrespect from the village and Hokage. She had overheard displeased members gossip about his pipe and smoking habit.
When they enter the room, he is not smoking. His pipe is nowhere in sight, but the air is heavy. He looks tired, serious, and old.
She doesn't bow. Sacchan follows her example.
"Greet your Hokage properly," the ANBU said, voice monotone and unrecognizable.
The Hokage lifts his weathered hand. "Peace," he said, staring sadly down at them, the last of the Uchiha. The ANBU disappears.
He is not her Hokage, Ayumi thinks.
She didn't claim him, but Sui-nii's voice whispers a caution: "Elders have lived long for a reason. Tread lightly." Phantom fingers tug at her hair. There's no wind, but dark strands move as if there were. (The windows of the room are closed. Nobody seems to notice.)
So she listens. And watches. (But does not See.)
The Hokage details That Night and offers his condolences. He tells them nothing new about Itachi.
At the end of the meeting, they have the key to an apartment, ANBU escorts, and hospital appointments for the next month. She doesn't bow. Sasuke doesn't either, just waits for her direction. The Hokage doesn't force them to.
She walks out in a daze and finds herself in front of the Uchiha compound, clutching Sasuke's hand. They stand there, looking at the blood stained and seeping into the ground. She Sees slit throats, impaled chests, and dismembered body parts. An Auntie's arm in the street. Uncle's leg over by the storefront.
Ayumi ran last time.
She wants to run again.
(Why are they alive when everyone else is gone?)
Sasuke's breath starts to become shallow. He is still lost, not all present yet. She's the older one. It's her responsibility to guide him, he's her responsibility now. The ANBU from before appears and gestures for them to follow again. They turn away from the compound with its Uchiha bloodstains and don't look back.
The ANBU disappears when they reach the apartment building. They find the door that matches the number on the small silver key and enter the room. It's large, presumably for their space and comfort, but much too exposed.
Ayumi drags Sasuke with her to the spacious bathroom and locks the door.
Sliding to the floor as her legs finally give out, she wraps her arms around herself, shoulders trembling. Sasuke's blank face begins to crumble. He joins her and aligns the side of his body with hers so they are pressed together. The touch sets them both off. He starts to cry, low, keening sounds and she sobs without tears, panting for air.
Normally, she would hate for anyone, even family, to see her break like this. But these aren't normal times. Sui-nii is deaddeaddead. -I-t-o-k-o-— Itachi is a traitor and killed everyone else. It's just her and Sasuke left.
She doesn't want to be alone for this.
The ANBU make it impossible to grieve privately and she would never dishonor her clan (even if they're just a memory now) by letting outsiders see her in such a way, but at least in here, they cannot see, only hear. She can almost pretend they're safe.
They huddle close on the cold bathroom floor with their backs pressed flat to the pale yellow wall, scared and wide-awake. Curled against Sasuke, her hands shake on her throat and she wishes she at least had a kunai for the semblance of protection. She can taste her own fear, sticky and rotten, in the back of her mouth.
They are alive.
-(-S-h-e- -d-o-e-s-n-'-t- -k-n-o-w- -i-f- -t-h-a-t-'-s- -a- -g-o-o-d- -t-h-i-n-g-)-
It is a miserable night.
notes:
edited: july 2021
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disclaimer: i do my best to use words and terms correctly, but please don't take my application and/or meanings as the proper interpretation of the japanese language.
nin - short for ninja/shinobi
nii - suffix meaning older brother
itoko - cousin
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"—" has been overused in this chapter. rip 💖(•ω•*)💖
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additional (trigger) warnings for the future: codependency, possessive & obsessive behavior, cousin incest, and the story will likely be changed to M later on.
xxx
Please be respectful and don't post or translate my work as your own. Go to my profile for more details and information on ✨writing updates✨