The pride in his chest swells beyond admission. Though his face portrays nothing, within does he feel euphoric, immense relief, so much so his body goes lax for the first time in years before the heresy is discovered and the muscles seize back up. He's never felt so assured, so proud; of course—of course Sasuke defeated him. The cathartic rush of endorphins floods him the same way it always does when hearing of Sasuke's success, the same way it always would. Even as children Itachi believed he held more pride for Sasuke than their own father—if only sometimes.

"Although . . ."

Itachi's eyes fixate on the darkness ahead, thoughts stuttering to a halt. He holds his breath so softly he barely recognizes it himself.

"It appears Sasuke has died as well."


It's raining outside, puddles standing in the hen-cut grass of mother's garden, Itachi's elbow resting on the lip of his bedroom window with his sharingan glowing through the greyness. A peaceful hobby of solitude: watch the leaves of his mother's tomato plant bounce with breathtaking clarity, slow enough that he can see every raindrop, every ripple in the puddles collecting in the low end of the garden. Rain is very intimate, he thinks; a curtain between himself and the world, a soothing touch from a nobody. Droning sound beneath which he can hide himself away.

Sasuke, however, does not seem partial to this activity, bare toes kicking the wall with each swing of his dangling legs, perched beside him on Itachi's desk chair. He's got his arms crossed over his chest with a pitiful pout, doe-eyes flickering toward him every now and then in sheepish search of attention. A low boom of thunder rolls out from somewhere far away behind the overcast. Three more pounds of Sasuke's feet and Itachi lifts his chin from his palm.

"Sasuke," he begins. His brother perks, kicks slowing to a stop. The glimmer in Sasuke's eyes gives him pause. "Why don't you go play in your room for a bit?"

The glimmer fades, quickly replaced by a hint of defiance. "I don't wanna," mumbles Sasuke. He starts banging his toes against the wall again. A muscle in Itachi's back quivers but he keeps the annoyance out of his face.

"Are you still upset with father?"

Sasuke takes a moment, then nods with a sour frown, hiding his eyes behind his bangs. Itachi leans back in his chair with a sigh. Another boom of thunder vibrates up through his legs. Sasuke stops his thumping.

"You knew what you were doing," Itachi scolds him softly, acknowledging Sasuke with a turn of his head. His brother slumps down into the chair until his toes brush the floor, glowering over the rim of his high collar. Ah, the deep, deep pout: Sasuke's favorite weapon of choice. It is deadly, turns Itachi into a simpering pile of goo.

"He only talks to me when he's mad at me," his baby brother's voice creeps out. Itachi almost loses it in the thunder. The admission garners a stretch of silence neither breaks. Sasuke doesn't repeat himself. He tucks his chin down further behind his collar and stares into the black fabric. Itachi spots a crease of frustration between his thin eyebrows that makes his stomach clench. Looking out into the garden, Itachi readjusts himself, left ankle finding place over his right knee. Though he pretends not to, he watches Sasuke's brow relax. Gaze still aimed down into the nothingness of his shirt, the resignation glistening Sasuke's eyes is a mule's kick to his guts.

He's speaking before his brain has a chance to catch up. "Sometimes . . ." Itachi holds his mouth open around a word he isn't sure of, squints thoughtfully at the rain. Sasuke's lashes flutter drearily. "Hm." His chin lowers. An apologetic bow, if anything. "I don't know, Sasuke." It's a very hard thing to admit. The response is even harder to stomach. Sasuke is completely still. The tiny sigh he attempts comes out shivering and wounded; putting on a brave face, swallowing it down as best he can. It makes him feel useless, but Sasuke must feel far, far worse. The first tear strikes the blazing center of Itachi's sharingan like a hammer, pounding the image into his brain, surfacing memories he will spend the rest of his life taming.

Do something.

Say something.

Be a big brother.

His hand slips from his lap and reaches out, brushing a thumb across his little brother's cheek to catch the tear. "Hey." Sasuke manages a glassy stare from the corner of his eyes. "Father cares about you." It comes off stilted, wishful. The only person he can't lie to is Sasuke, even if simply by omission. Years of ANBU meant nothing when faced with his baby brother's tears. He becomes mush. Shisui, too, for the most part.

Despite his best effort, Sasuke looks back down at the inside of his collar without so much as blinking. "You don't know," he mumbles.

Ah, so encouragement won't work this time. Itachi looks out into the garden and uncrosses his legs. Sasuke's chair creaks, Itachi noticing him stiffly drag himself back up straight. He scoots forward to the front of his seat and thumps his elbows on the windowsill, resting his face in his fists, knuckles pushing up the plush of his cheeks. Itachi leans forward to join him. Resting his head over his arms on the windowsill, he stares at Sasuke, humming for his attention. His little brother ignores him. Another echo of thunder shakes the house. Blinking innocently, Itachi makes a show of scooting closer. Sasuke eyes him briefly and returns to moping. Itachi's chair scrapes as he inches even closer. A low mewl leaves Sasuke, a halfhearted warning.

"Stop, Itachi," he whines. Itachi continues, beginning to scoot Sasuke off the windowsill, steadily overcoming him with his arms. Sasuke bares his teeth—the fresh, gummy gap is charming—around a smile and snags the outside ledge with both hands. "Itachi!"

"Hm?" He's practically on top of him now, Sasuke giggling and sniffling and swatting at his ribs. "What is it, Sasuke?" With a high chirp, Sasuke manages to escape the cage of Itachi's limp arms, shaking his head dog-like. Itachi grins at his performative annoyance. At least he isn't crying anymore.

"When—" Sasuke pauses for a clap of thunder. "When are you leaving?"

Stooping forward, both hands gripping the front of his seat between his thighs, Itachi stares out into the garden. "Soon." He hears Sasuke whine again. Red eyes flicking down to his brother, Itachi playfully whines back in a low voice. "You can sleep in my room if you get scared."

"I'm not scared," mutters Sasuke below his breath. Itachi laughs to himself, leaning sideways to look him straight in the eye. His little brother's pouting mouth wriggles into a grin.

"Good. Then I won't worry about getting your lantern out."

Sasuke straightens up at that, eyes widening over a blossoming blush. Itachi cocks his head, ponytail slipping over his shoulder. His little brother's shocked face illuminates before a clap of thunder.

"My lantern?"

"Mhm." Itachi nods. "You won't need it, right?"

There's a moment of silence as Sasuke gulps, apparently battling something within himself. "Yeah," he blurts. The storm answers with a rumble. Even in their onyx depths, Sasuke's pupils noticeably dilate. He's adorable, as always. Itachi lifts two fingers to poke his forehead and Sasuke yips in surprise.

"You're growing up too fast," says Itachi. "Slow down for me."

The gap in Sasuke's bashful smile burns into his sharingan's memory.


Fugaku doesn't mind thunder so much as he minds lightning. His ears have long since made peace with the booming nature of war—and he must remind himself there is no war right now, just thunder. Uchiha eyes, on the other hand, have an incurable vigilance to them. Every flash must be noted, cautioned, inspected; they act with a will not his own and that will has kept him alive, but right now all it is doing is keeping him awake. He rises slowly from their futon with a bone-deep stiffness. Before he moves any further, Mikoto's hand finds his thigh beneath the covers and briefly squeezes. You may go, it means. Fugaku leans over her and delivers a chaste kiss to her hairline. I'll come back, it says. Rolling over, Mikoto brushes her nose across the length of his throat, lips parting against his skin to say something.

A sudden bang from the hall draws both their attention, two pairs of sharingan homing in on the screen door. The following silence is broken by a long, high-pitched whimper and the sound of bare feet padding the floor. Fugaku lets out a sigh and feels Mikoto settle underneath him.

"What is he getting into now?"

"The storm has him up," mumbles Mikoto with a hand over her eyes. Fugaku stands and begins dressing himself. "Fugaku," she warns from their bed, "be patient." He answers her with a relenting sigh, sliding the screen door open and stepping into the hall.

"Sasuke?" His voice carries through the house. Down the hall, his son peers out from an open closet. Fugaku watches a broom handle fall out behind him. It hits the floor and Sasuke nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Father!" he stammers, hands nervously fisting over his stomach before clasping behind his back. Fugaku makes his way toward him and inspects the mess inside the closet. Sasuke has stacked up whatever he can find into a makeshift ladder against the inner right side. Returning his gaze to his son, Fugaku sees Sasuke visibly stiffen.

"What are you doing?" he asks. "What is this?" Fugaku motions at the pile in the closet. Sasuke fidgets and rocks on the balls of his feet.

"I—my lantern. I wanted it."

Fugaku looks back at the closet. Above Sasuke's ramshackle mountain there is, in fact, a paper lantern on the top shelf. Their family crest looks almost black in the darkness. A muscle in Fugaku's back tenses at a flash of lightning that illuminates the nearby room.

"Why?"

Sasuke continues to fidget under his gaze, sucking in his lower lip. "I don't know," he whimpers. Fugaku's stare softens. Even if Mikoto knows him better than he does, Sasuke's timidity is no secret.

Reaching out to snag the paper lantern by the hook, Fugaku gives it to his son. "I can light it for you," he says. "After you clean up the mess you made." Sasuke furiously nods before bounding down the hall to his room, returning empty-handed and beginning to clean the clutter from the closet. Fugaku remains close, slipping a hand into his yogi and ignoring a flash of lightning as best he can.

"I can light it, father."

Fugaku looks down at Sasuke knelt in the closet, surprise lifting his brows. Sasuke's face brightens at his shock.

"Is that so?"

His son nods. The edges of his mouth are twitching around a subdued smile. Fugaku hums in his throat.

"Itachi's been showing you?"

Sasuke shakes his head. It gives him pause.

"He hasn't?"

"No, father."

Fugaku is quiet as Sasuke goes on to dismantle the pile of items in the closet. When he's done, he stands back to allow him to approve. Another hum is all that is required.

"Sasuke," Fugaku says before his son can scamper off, "show me." The look of excitement spreading across his son's face warms his chest like fire. Stepping into the doorway of Sasuke's room, Fugaku's eyes snap to the window when it lights up, the following thunder rumbling the house. Sasuke kneels down by the lantern and peers in through the top, carefully forming hand signs and whispering to himself. To his surprise, Fugaku sees a small puff of fire light up inside the lantern, Sasuke sliding two fingers into the hook and lifting it up for him to see. In the orange glow, Fugaku notices the gap in Sasuke's smile.

He crouches down with a stifled grunt, his son's anxious eyes glued to him. "You taught yourself?"

"Yes, father."

Fugaku looks inside the lantern and is further impressed by the lack of singing. "And you can control it?"

There's a second where Sasuke looks to his left, tonguing his cheek from the inside. "A little." He holds up his hand for Fugaku to see. There's a blister on the pad of his index finger. "I was—" His son hesitates, but Fugaku can tell he wishes to say something.

"Go on."

Sasuke takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. "I—I was—Itachi said to use alcohol when I get hurt, and—so I was looking for it. Because my finger." Fugaku's face softens further, Sasuke nervously picking at the lantern's metal ring beneath his stare. His mouth is open but his voice comes out as a trembling exhale.

"Ah," Fugaku says and looks down at their crest on the front of the lantern. So Mikoto was right: He had been impatient. A small grimace tugs at the edge of his mouth, brutally aware of how inept he is when it comes to what his youngest son requires. Raising Itachi rarely differed from commanding a small soldier. Emotions were easy to set aside.

Raising Sasuke is . . . quite the opposite.

As much as that fact condemns him, he allows for nothing else. They have just two sons. The first is already fading. An odd inevitability of parenting: By the time the second child arrives the mistakes have already been learned from. The eldest suffers the brunt of their parents' inexperience. If nothing else, Fugaku sympathizes with Itachi on that. Perhaps one day he will be able to talk with him about it.

"Father?"

He blinks. Sasuke is still looking up at him with the glowing lantern in his hands. Fugaku takes a breath and reaches out, frowning when his son flinches. His fingers brush Sasuke's coarse bangs from his face as gently as they can.

"I should have known better," says Fugaku. His palm over the top of Sasuke's skull, he gives him a rough scratch. Sasuke closes one eye and grunts. "You're my son." A wide grin spreads across Sasuke's face, blushing red in the glow of his lantern. Fugaku rises back to his feet. For a moment they simply stare at each other, Sasuke twisting one leg with a bashful giggle. Fugaku nods and turns to leave.

"Goodnight, father," Sasuke calls. When he returns only moments later, Sasuke blinks. "Father?"

Kneeling down again, Fugaku motions him over. "This is what you were looking for," he explains and shows Sasuke the bottle of rubbing alcohol. His son stares, allows him to take his hand and disinfect the blister on his finger. The tenderness with which Fugaku moves is foreign, yet innate. If he can be gentle with his wife, he scolds himself, he can be gentle with Sasuke. "Keep it. You will burn yourself again." Sasuke watches his hands as they wrap his finger, expression muddled, apparently at a loss for words. Fugaku, when finished, gives his palm a light squeeze. "You want to learn, don't you?"

Dark eyes snap up to him. "Y-yes! I do!" His gasped agreement warms Fugaku's chest again, a small hum rumbling in his throat. A flash of lightning vaguely catches his attention, but Sasuke's wide eyes are a suitable distraction.

"That's my boy."


He returns in the early morning hours, the rain finally having let up enough that he isn't entirely soaked through. Slipping his wet sandals off at the front door, Itachi gently unties his ponytail, careful not to damage his tangled hair. He's moving like a ghost down the hallway toward Sasuke's room before anything else, impatience biting his nerves. Noting the orange light behind the screen door, Itachi breathes out a soft huff. He will have to compliment Sasuke when he wakes up; reaching the top shelf is a difficult task when father and mother are trying to sleep. Sliding open his brother's bedroom door, Itachi's entire body stiffens at the sight of his father sitting against the back wall. Sasuke's lantern is held in his hand, the glow illuminating his brother sound asleep on the floor. They stare at one another until Fugaku soundlessly rises. He hooks the lantern up and Itachi steps back to allow him space to exit. It seems his curious gaze is enough to tip his father off. A callous hand finds his shoulder and squeezes.

"I'm proud of you both," his father murmurs. The hand leaves his shoulder and Fugaku disappears down the hall into his bedroom. Itachi remains frozen in Sasuke's doorway, his baby brother's snores cresting in and out between distant rolls of thunder.


There's a crack of lightning shooting off in the distance, his sharingan catching its electric fingers spreading root-like down from the clouds before erupting white. A gust of cold wind hits Itachi's face and his arms become gooseflesh inside his robe. The standing puddles outside the mouth of the cave remind him of his mother's garden and he watches them intently, every raindrop that ripples their glass surface. Kisame's presence is behind him beating hot, having stayed silent since Itachi took up his wordless staring. If not for how long they've traveled together Itachi would suspect him to be uncomfortable. He knows better. Kisame is incapable of feeling most anything.

"Well," muses Kisame in a low voice. "What a shame."

Itachi blinks as water drips onto his head. He says nothing. Much like Sasuke, Kisame doesn't appreciate the intimacy of rain. It annoys him. The world should fall silent when a storm blows through, Itachi thinks. If only that were possible.

"Sorry about your little brother," Kisame apologizes. Turning to look at him over his shoulder, Itachi ignores the way his partner's teeth demand he grin. Anyone else mixing that expression with those words would set fire off from Itachi's eye. "It's a shame," he repeats. His hollow sympathy is as much as he can afford and Itachi silently accepts. He faces forward again. "You can take a minute."

Thoughtful, but unwise—and unnecessary.

He will take one anyway.

Stepping out into the rain, Itachi hears Kisame make a rumbling noise. At times, it's easier to understand him if Itachi pretends he's a beast; he vaguely reminds Itachi of his father. Kisame's appearance alone offers enough to glut the imagination without his bewildering vocalizations. In fairness, his partner has managed to devise a way to translate his silence into language, an impressive feat. They are both weird. They all are. At times, it humbles him. The rain is cold as it soaks through to his skin. He looks up.

"I know it's an odd thing to say," Kisame calls through the pounding rain, "but from here, it looks like you're crying."


AN: Absolutely set to Wolfcat by Still Woozy. Stop me from writing Uchiha family fluff. It's too sweet.