Deity
Chapter 8: нолль
нолль - noll (nohll) – nothing
'It is so much simpler to bury reality than it is to dispose of dreams.'
- Don Delillo, Americana
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Itachi let Sasuke splash lukewarm handfuls of water onto his face until the liquid that dripped down into the sink ran clear, and the washcloth that had been dabbed at his bleeding lips and nose was splotched a messy red. At first, Itachi had protested being taken care of by and before Sasuke (with a sticky feeling of guilt swelling up in his throat).
"It's fine…," he had murmured, the words sounding foreign to his ears as he spoke them, but Sasuke wouldn't have it. His behaviour – silent, sullen, responsible in an understated way – had surprised Itachi, who had remained equally as quiet while he leaned over the sink. No, it still hadn't quite sunk deep enough to become real to him. The memory that floated on the rough surface appeared like a dream threatening to capsize any moment, and leave him with nothing but a whim and the hazy, wishful figments that were the result.
Once Itachi's face had been rinsed clean, he took the washcloth from Sasuke and laid it over the neck of the stainless steel tap to dry.
"Thank you," he said, coming close to inaudibility. "And now you… where did…"
Sasuke directed a reluctant shrug at the floor tiles. "I'm okay."
"Sasuke."
In the edges of his vision, he could see Itachi's fingers stiffen, their boney structure becoming more visible through his skin as they grew more rigid. Why now of all times did they start feeling distant, each word putting a little more space between them. Probably just some adjusting, Itachi felt himself thinking, our minds are having trouble absorbing what happened, and soon things will return to normal (well, not normal, but as close as they could come).
"Really," said Sasuke. "Just bruises."
"Sasuke."
His name again, formed by syllables strained and pleading, the type he didn't usually (and didn't want to) hear coming from his brother's mouth. But they persuaded an upwards glance from Sasuke nonetheless, the look in his eyes… Itachi found he could not place it.
"We should probably get to bed, then…" he mumbled, daring one hand forwards slowly to Sasuke's shoulder, but quickly withdrawing at the sharp flinch it elicited from his brother.
As they headed out into the badly lit hallway, they could hear their mother's hushed voice drifting up from downstairs, speaking teary run-on sentences into the phone between staggered breaths. Her bare feet slapped against the kitchen floor as she paced around and around, tracing circles…
When they reached the door to his room, Itachi paused, one hand resting idly on the doorknob.
"If you want," he said quietly after a few seconds. "You can stay in my room tonight, with me."
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My fault… this was my fault in the beginning, wasn't it?
I can't tell. I can't remember anymore. Any memories I managed to keep (masochist, masochist, what a bloody masochist!) have collapsed into themselves, leaking into and polluting each other. How do I know if all these things I have in my head… if they ever actually happened? I could've made them all up, altered them to fit my ideals, colours and shadows bleeding into each other as I mislead myself, separate myself, distract myself, fool myself.
Is that it? I can't tell…
That's the problem with humans, you know. We are more entranced with our fantasies than reality. We become obsessed with them, weaving ourselves into them… we don't want to face our mistakes and our emotions for what they really are, so we distance ourselves, wanting to get rid of them to make us less human, to perfect ourselves. So we look at them as if through a piece of distorted glass ("Now we look through a glass, darkly"), fascinated with the image of ourselves we see here and the fatality of it.
And that's it, isn't it? Selfishly, and foolishly; we're afraid, and it becomes beautiful to us, yes, we just get caught up in it, and obsessed until it consumes us until we're too fascinated with death to really live at all…
(You've got to live for me.)
So is it still my fault?
Yes… it's still my fault. I've been so stupid. All my distractions are gone, a step taken too far, and I can almost see this for what it really is. For what I've managed to do, what I created (like an artist, fashioning this tragedy, almost like God, wasn't I? Almost).
Forgive me… it was all a mistake.
I don't want this to be real anymore.
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Half lost in thought, it took a while for Itachi to notice a pyjama-clad Sasuke sitting on the edge of the mattress beside him, legs swinging gently like pendulums so his toes brushed against the carpet below. Sasuke stared at his knees, swing after swing kept in perfect time. He heard Itachi exhale deeply, not quite a sigh, raising one hand to his head if trying to hold his thoughts in. It had seemed so simple just ten minutes ago, everything sick and brilliant, but now it was faded and a frenzy of thoughts had bombarded him…
An image of Sasuke curled up on the floor had become stuck in his mind (was this my fault?) and refused to leave. A new memory, a terrible one, but a real one and he was sure of that.
(I don't know… I can't tell…)
It was in one gradual motion that Sasuke came to lean against Itachi in the same hesitant embrace they had shared during the funeral. Itachi almost choked on the intoxicating warmth he could feel hovering about Sasuke's body, though at the same time, he was repulsed by the pulls of jealously echoing in his own chest. He ignored them, making his arms pull Sasuke in a little tighter (protected).
And here it came, finally, washing over him. Every little detail buzzing about the room became entirely unimportant in this coming undone, and realization, and release!
Because, if only for the moment, they were safe. Sasuke was safe. Sasuke was okay, and breathing softly against his neck. Alive in the true definition of the word, filled with a fluttery heartbeat (pulsing blood, this glorious proof) as Itachi pushed a few fingers up through the back of Sasuke's dark hair.
"I'm sorry," were the first words that came from his mouth, feeling far too heavy to stay on his tongue without forcing him to gag.
He felt Sasuke stiffen.
"Why?" the younger asked in alarm. "What did–?"
"It shouldn't have gone on for as long as I let it," said Itachi, cutting him off. "I should've done something… to stop him, Dad. Stop him from hurting you. Said something, or done something."
"It doesn't matter…," Sasuke responded, awkwardly.
"No." Itachi's fingertips against Sasuke's scalp (closer), caught up in his words. "It was my fault, because I let it happen. I let him hurt you."
"But it wasn't," Sasuke said as he pulled back from the embrace. "He was just… I deserved it."
"Don't you dare say that!"
Sasuke's eyes squeezed tight as he winced, Itachi's hold on him getting tighter despite his short outburst. (I've got to keep you safe… got to keep you unlike me.)
"You didn't 'deserve' it," Sasuke heard his brother mumbling to him, frantically. "Not at all. I don't care what Dad might've told you, the only reason he hurt you was because he was… he was demented; it wasn't you who was at fault. No mistakes you could ever make could make you deserve that. Look at me, Sasuke."
Again, the pleading, nearly desperate tones of Itachi's voice convinced Sasuke to comply, head tilting back at the lead of Itachi's lithe hand. His neck was at such an angle that one of the arteries could been seen clearly, throbbing rhythmically in allegro through razor blade thin layers of skin.
"You never 'deserved' any of it." Itachi whispered, desperate to make his brother believe him. "Okay?"
"But because of me –" Sasuke started, "because of me, look what Dad did to you!"
"This wasn't because of you."
"It was," insisted Sasuke. "He did it because you tried to defend me! My punishment went to you, and–"
"Stop it," said Itachi. "It wasn't right what he did, either way, and I chose to get in the way. I just needed to – wanted to protect you, and I did." He smiled a little, though it looked a little off. "Please stop thinking it was because of you."
"But–"
Itachi thought for a moment of covering Sasuke's lips with his fingertips, but caught himself before the impulse was acted upon.
"It wasn't. Listen to your big brother, okay? Please. Trust me. You never deserved any of what he did to you."
Pausing, and then tentatively nodding, Sasuke lifted his arms in attempt to return the safety of Itachi's embrace, the reassurance.
"And neither did you, Nii-san."
Itachi descended into silence. The moment pulsated twice, strongly, bringing everything into sharp focus before it faded all at once.
"I…"
(That's the problem with humans you know… more entranced with fantasies than reality. We become obsessed…)
The distances between them were quiet for a long time, and soon Sasuke could feel Itachi shaking, first his fingers, just a bit of unsteadiness, but like an infection, it spread until his entire body seemed to be shivering. Overwhelmed, and filled with a sudden awareness.
"Right?" Sasuke urged.
But Itachi found himself unable to answer. The mess of thoughts in his head was thinning, becoming a little clearer with each one he could identify as bitter truth (…and we just get caught up in…), the kind people always ignore. He was the same as everyone else even if he tried to deny it, resplendently and chaotically human. He had been naïve, trying to separate himself when he was just wading deeper in. He had tried to protect his brother, but ended up abandoning him (selfishly). He had tried to distract himself, but became more attached (and foolishly). A hypocrite (just like…), believing he was 'living' when all he was doing was destroying what he had, piece by piece, and revelling in it. There was so much more, but essentially, wasn't that it?
It was a mess, of course, and a beautiful one. But was there anything more to it than that?
"Oh, God…," Itachi heard himself murmur, feeling the heated sting of vomit in the back of his throat.
This… all of this. It was his fault. Blatant and vivid in front of him, he felt suddenly naïve and vulnerable with no more distractions to hide in, manipulating himself in plain sight.
"Nii-san?"
(I was just trying to save you… to try to make you something unlike me. You had a chance)
Sasuke was peering up at him with frightened eyes, lips parted slightly in a selfless worry as he rose up on his knees as to be at eye-level with his brother. Every detail was too brilliant and too genuine, the likes of which a painting could never compare. No one could ever capture it; the feel of Sasuke's fingers pressing into him, the intricate shadows – shadows, only the blockage of light, nothing more, nothing more – out of which he emerged, messy eyelashes… this was no painting at all, no idealistic art…
(and look what I've done to you.)
This was real.
"Nii-san, are you okay? Did I say something…?"
The only words on his tongue were 'I'm sorry' again, but he forced a swallow to get rid of them, even if he was only pushing them back down into himself for the time being. Clinging to the feeling of Sasuke against him, he managed another semi-controlled smile, slowly opening the space between them.
"Of course not," he said. "I'm just a little… tired. And there's a lot on my mind. We should probably get to sleep, and things will work out in the morning," followed by a whisper under his breath, as if by force of habit: "I promise."
"A-alright," said Sasuke, clearly unsatisfied but not willing to press Itachi any further.
They lingered in their embrace for reassurance, among other things. Neither dared to move, and Itachi could feel just how desperately he wanted them to stay that way, to stay in that safe moment. Breaking away from Sasuke's warmth was undoable. Now that all the illusions had come away, Sasuke seemed to be the only thing he had left to cling to, keeping him stable and distracted. Later, he would smile with this memory, eagerly sure that it was real, and the vivid echo of sensation as he leaned down over Sasuke until he could feel his chest against his brother's and the heartbeat there in, the same as his.
One last indulgence… one last distraction… He couldn't help himself. There wasn't any point in trying to deny it, not anymore.
(Selfish…)
And then his lips were upon Sasuke's, greedily drinking in sensation to block out any chaotic thoughts that might seep in and keep him from the reprieve of sleep. Breathless, he managed to lose himself in it – careless bliss achieved if just for one instant before a half-muted sound stuck in Sasuke's throat caught his attention and he pulled away. Eyelids fallen shut, he listened to Sasuke's unsure breathing while he ran one hand along the side of his brother's face, memorizing every bit of it. Oh yes, now he was aware, not fooling himself in the least as he touched his mouth to the rapidly throbbing spot on Sasuke's neck, where blood was flowing and delivering life.
One last time, to taste it…
With his right hand, Itachi reached over to shut off the lamp that had been the sole light of the room and plunge them into darkness entwined, slowly lowering Sasuke down onto the mattress with him despite the churning in his stomach that made him want to vomit every "I'm sorry" right back up. He was bitter, and as he numbed himself of guilt, he began to feel sick of it. Sick with it.
"Nii-san?"
Sasuke forced himself to stay motionless as he felt Itachi's hands leaving him.
(I was supposed to get you away from me… save you from me. And look at what I've done.)
"Just go to sleep, Sasuke… it'll all be okay in the morning."
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Three times during the night Sasuke did recall waking up, and each time he had drifted back to sleep just as quickly as he had originally. Despite all the strange happenings of that night and his frustration at being unable to understand them – especially concerning Itachi – he was able to sleep soundly for the majority of the night. There was a certain comfort that he found in Itachi's room – on Itachi's bed and wrapped in Itachi's sheets – which lingered even then. Acknowledgement.
The first two times he woke, the room was still dark, and he could feel Itachi near to him. They held each other close in sleep, bodies entwined, ignorant to the noisy passing by of cars on the road outside, radios blaring, and dogs barking loudly in neighbouring yards. Sasuke always made sure to reassure his grip on his brother before shifting into a more comfortable position and falling back into dream.
The third time, though, lamplight cut through the darkness and he could see the dim silhouette of Itachi sitting at the desk across the room, muttering to himself as he wrote. His pen was loud as it scratched against the paper, constantly pausing, scribbling something out and replacing it with something better. The space in the bed beside Sasuke was cold.
But perhaps, Sasuke had thought as slumber reeled him back in, it was nothing but a dream…
Then dawn had broken, and sunlight was overflowing from the window to illuminate the room. Any shadows were banished, the light saturating the air. Sasuke could only half open his eyes against it as he raised his heavy head from the pillow to glance around, at the rumpled sheets and the glinting of a picture frame in the pallid winter sun.
Itachi was gone.
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"Good morning," said Mikoto gently as Sasuke entered the kitchen. The smell of greasy eggs was thick in the stale morning air, but Sasuke couldn't bring himself to focus on any of it for more than a few seconds. His mind was in too much a defensive fog for much to get through, subconsciously unaware. He pulled himself up onto a stool cautiously, so that the cushion beneath him didn't slip off.
"Did you sleep well?" he heard his mother ask.
He nodded. "I guess."
"Good. You slept in a bit this morning."
A loud sizzle rose from the frying pan as Mikoto flipped over an egg, glancing back at Sasuke over her shoulder before she resumed cooking. Frustrated, Sasuke pressed his fingers into the fine grain of the countertop, the exact same as it was the day before.
"And… you're okay?" she asked. Her body was positioned awkwardly, as if stuck undecided about whether she should approach him physically or not.
"Yeah," was his curt answer, cutting what could've been a lengthy conversation short. Mikoto seemed to take his word for it, going on with her cooking just like any other morning before this – a re-enactment of their previous reality before… all that. Sasuke bit down on his lip.
Was this it? Was this all?
"Um… Mom?"
"Hm? Yes, Sasuke?" She flipped another egg, trying to hide the uncertain tremor in her voice.
"Where's Itachi?"
"Oh… He just went out for a walk, a little while ago actually. Don't worry, honey." She turned to smile, as best she could. "He should be back soon. I think he's just gone to get some things out of his system, he'll be fine. And your, uh… your father called. He's gone straight to work, so he won't be home until dinner. Okay?"
Sasuke nodded again.
"Kay. Now, do you want just one egg or two? And after breakfast, can you put some clothes and other things you'd want to take with you in a bag? We're…" She paused, but filled it in with the flipping of another egg. "…going to be staying with one of my friends for a while. Like a little vacation."
"All right," Sasuke answered quietly. "And just one egg is fine."
On the windowsill, a light layer of snow glittered in the cold sunlight, casting spots across Sasuke's vision as their brightness caught his eye. Despite how his vision blurred and the edges of his eyes began to sting, he couldn't look away. He kept staring, even when his mother's arms wrapped around him from behind and her sobs drowned out the scratching of wind against the walls of their house – the walls of their home, to which they were prisoners. Walls that were supposed to keep them safe.
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Hours passed. The snowfall that had started early that morning continued, getting thicker and thicker, the temperature plummeting. Mikoto kept the radio on the local news station, perking up at any new mention of the weather. However, it was always the same – the storm was getting worse, and Itachi was still out, somewhere. By mid-afternoon, she had started phoning anyone she could think of to see if they had seen him, though each response was negative. She had even phoned Shisui's parents three times, but they weren't home, or were refusing to pick up.
Yet it was a bit refreshing, Sasuke had to admit, that his mother wasn't just telling him his brother ran into some friends and got side-tracked. Actually, that could have been the pure and simple truth, but judging from the night before, Itachi's disappearance was something more.
There was something wrong.
The flakes continued to fall, creating a thicker and thicker blanket on the world. With nothing else to do – he had packed, finished his homework, and even cleaned up his room – Sasuke sat by the window in their living room that overlooked the street. It was a bit strange being in that room again, with Itachi's books still spread out on top of the piano and the empty spaces like scenery, waiting for another act, but Sasuke tried not to let it get to him. Of course, that was easier said than done.
Maybe, he found himself thinking as another gust of wind tossed up the snow, maybe his brother had just vanished.
The thought was smothered immediately. How childish. It obviously wasn't that. His brother had… his brother must have…
"Sasuke? Oh, there you are." Mikoto peeked in from the hall, cautiously. "Where's your bag, dear?"
"In my room."
"Could you run up and get it, quickly?"
"What about–"
"Itachi's been gone too long… It's nearly six," she said quietly. "I'm going to drop you off at my friend Akari's, and then drive around to look for him."
"I want to come."
Mikoto looked a bit surprised at his forthrightness.
"Oh honey, the roads are really bad right now. If there's an accident –"
"I want to come."
And Mikoto found she was unable to argue with him, despite the fact that what he suggested went against her better judgement, and every motherly instinct she had. Even though she wanted to ignore his request – she wanted him to nod meekly and curl up in her arms, her child – the hard-set determination in Sasuke's eyes told her she couldn't. Somehow, he seemed drastically older then. Older than he should be, anyways.
"If you want to," she told him. "I'll just go call Akari and tell her we'll be there a bit later…"
After she drifted back into the hall, Sasuke stood and made his way up to his room, subconsciously making his footsteps lighter as not to disrupt the silence that was the result of vacancy. He hated when their house was so empty like this. It had become barren, a pristine wasteland that was rotting away from the inside out. Soon all the supports would be gone, and all that would be left would be a thin layer of paint framing the shells of their furniture. And what then?
As he passed by Itachi's room after retrieving his duffel bag, Sasuke couldn't help but peer in. (Just one look, he told himself. Because it wasn't like Itachi was going to be there, or anything might've changed… it doesn't work like that.) The sheets were still a mess, as he had left them there that morning, but there, sticking out from beneath the pillow… Sasuke squinted, but in the darkness, he still couldn't quite make out what it was.
It's probably nothing, a voice inside of him remarked, but he ventured in anyways. It was funny, how different the room felt from the night before. The only differences were that Itachi was not there anymore and the lights were off, and yet it felt like another place entirely. This room where… again, he got rid of the thought before it could take root in his mind. He knew he was not ready for such things to haunt his mind on a regular basis; he needed a bit more time to try to figure them out before that, else he felt they might overload him. And he couldn't have that. No, he had to stay stable and rational until there was a time and a place where he could afford to break down. Being weak would do no one any good. He knew that much, at least.
Sasuke didn't bother looking for the light switch (though he knew the place exactly), going straight for the shape of white framed by the dark sheets and ignoring the darkness of the room. To get it over with?
Perhaps, he thought.
But as his fingers grasped it, he realized it was just a piece of paper, folded once in half. Feeling like an intruder for whatever reason, Sasuke was about to put it back down where it had been before, when a sudden burst of curiosity stopped him. Taking a step towards the door, where the light from the hall made everything clearer, Sasuke carefully pulled the paper open and recognized his brother's scrawl.
Dear Sasuke,
Please keep this letter to yourself, and only yourself. It was written for just you, little brother, and feel free to burn it with the matches in the third drawer of my dresser (the one I hide the chocolates in) if you feel it necessary. You can have what's left of the chocolate too.
I guess the first thing I should say is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I've dragged you into this and that you'll be…
"Sasuke!"
He startled at the sound of his mother's voice, quickly shoving the paper into his pocket and rushing out to the top of the stairway.
"I'm coming!" he called, making a mental reminder to finish reading the letter in the car, or whenever he had time – which should be soon, he urged himself shamelessly. One foot after another, he sped down the staircase and into the hall with his bag held tight against his side. However, he slid to a stop as he was in sight of the open doorway, a pile of melting snow brought in with the person now standing there.
He caught his father's eyes and froze.
Sasuke wouldn't deny it – he was horribly afraid at that moment, and a little guilt was creeping up inside of him. No, he shouldn't feel guilty for anything, right? That was what Itachi said, and he had to trust Itachi. Even though his brother had seemed… well, a little strange again – a little sick, a little off, somehow – the night before, and things had changed, but… he could trust his big brother. He had to.
Another thought was extinguished, but afterwards Sasuke could feel a lingering, almost pleasant burn on his lips. He wasn't sure… his brother's actions had not seemed right in a way, but it was still acknowledgement. To see Itachi looking at him in that way, holding him that tight; it was all so gratifying. It made everything worth it. It made Sasuke feel like he was actually worth something.
"Welcome home," Mikoto was saying to her husband in the meantime, though Fugaku seemed to be dutifully ignoring her. Her lips stayed firm, and there was nothing polite about her tone.
"There are leftovers in the fridge that you can heat up to eat. Sasuke and I already did, so we're leaving now."
One eyebrow raised, Fugaku turned to his wife.
"And where are you going in this weather?" he sneered, glancing at the bag in her hands with disdain. However, he was losing control and they all knew it. His words were lacking their usual smarting heaviness. They were only words, after all – vibration in the air, unable to do physical harm.
"My son," said Mikoto coldly, "is missing."
Fugaku let the door fall shut behind them as they headed out, without protest. An empty house greeted him, buzzing with the vast quiet and the nothing that filled it. Completely hollow. Ruins – the remains of the castle they had started building on their wedding day. After working for so long to make it right, to make it the best it could be… looking at it now, he found how terribly short it had fallen of expectation.
'Where did it go wrong?' he thought bitterly, and dropped his briefcase onto the floor, if simply to hear the sound.
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The snowflakes whirling around them shone vibrant and white when they were caught in the headlights, some sticking to the windows and glistening wetly as they melted. Though the storm had let up a little since the afternoon, there was still enough snow falling to make driving difficult.
"Damn it, where is he?" Mikoto muttered to herself, clutching the wheel tightly. They had been driving for the past hour or so, and as they had secretly expected, the streets were bare – Itachi was nowhere to be found. It seemed silly, Mikoto knew, for them to be out looking for him like this, but Itachi was the type that would call if he was going to be late or had to stay due to bad weather. It just didn't make sense.
She glanced back in the rear-view mirror at Sasuke, who sat huddled in the backseat. Catching her glance, he shifted the paper on his lamp down a little. He had been reading the messy letter as best he could with the faint light provided by passing cars and streetlights, and was almost halfway through despite the trouble his mind was having with taking in what was written there.
…and don't let him hurt you anymore. Please. I have a feeling I won't be around to protect you for much longer…
"Sasuke, do you have any idea where he might be? Any place at all?"
Mikoto watched her son avoid looking up at her in her frantic state, and instead focusing his eyes out the window as she braked for a stop sign.
"I don't…" he started softly, but at that moment his eyes rose, catching sight of the road name. Balsam. How pleasant, he caught himself thinking, not cynically but…
"Turn left," said Sasuke, leaning forwards to make sure his mother heard him.
"Left here?" she asked, gesturing, and he nodded to confirm. What he could see of the street was run down; none of the small houses had lights on in them, yet if he squinted, Sasuke could see the park at the end of the street. The impulse might be wrong, and he could feel his stomach stirring, however, at least they had somewhere to look now.
"…this park?" Mikoto murmured. "You two used to come here in the summer, didn't you?"
"Yeah," answered Sasuke. Yes, there were the trees, their branches spindly and naked, benches piled with snow, and the empty space where the playground equipment used to be, save that lone swing set. On the leftmost seat, Sasuke could see someone hunched over, their head bowed so that their chin nearly touched their chest. The person remained immobile as the ends of the snowstorm whirled around them… statuesque. A work of art, abandoned.
Mikoto had barely stopped the car when Sasuke abandoned the letter and burst forth from the vehicle, kicking up magnificent sprays of snow all about him as he ran across the lawn. His coat had been left open, but it was only when he reached the swing set did the temperature really set in.
"Nii-san?"
Itachi didn't stir, though his body continued quivering from the cold. His eyes, just barely visible beneath the dark curtain of hair that had been blown over his face, were open, but he remained unresponsive to his brother's voice. Sasuke dared a hand on one of his brother's shoulders, pushing lightly.
"Nii-san, come on. What are you doing?"
No answer.
The snow continued to fall, adding another layer of white to the flakes already settled on Itachi's head and shoulders. Sasuke shook his brother again, calling him a little louder this time. Behind him, he could hear his mother's feet dragging through the snow as she made her way over, arms wrapped around her abdomen for warmth.
"Sasuke–"
Sasuke ignored her, and started shaking Itachi even harder. Frustration was spilling out of him, and as his brother refused to respond, Sasuke could feel his inadequacies piling up, one by one…
"Nii-san! Nii-san, what's wrong with you? Come on… stop this. Answer me… God damn it, Nii-san, stop!"
"Is he okay?" Mikoto asked anxiously.
"I don't know!" shouted Sasuke, taking a step back from Itachi. His loudness had surprised him, and his tone weakened to compensate. "He won't… something's wrong with him."
"He's probably got hypothermia," Mikoto said. "We should get him to the car."
Carefully, Mikoto looped one arm around Itachi's abdomen and the other under his knees, somehow managing to lift him and carry him bridal style to the car. His senses had returned by the time she placed him gently in the backseat, looking up at them in dark-eyed confusion. It was painful, just how vulnerable he looked then, how childlike, how broken… Sasuke found himself unable to meet Itachi's gaze, and stared off at the playground instead.
"Get in," Mikoto urged Sasuke as she settled into the driver's seat. "We need to get to the hospital. And do up your coat – I'm going to have to turn down the heat a bit so he doesn't go into shock."
A little surprised how level a head his mother was keeping, Sasuke did as she said, sitting with his body pressed against Itachi in attempt to warm him up with body heat. It felt empty, their not-quite-embrace. Sasuke pressed his face into Itachi's shoulder, clutching his brother's arm tightly, but Itachi did not respond. He tried one desperate and weary, "Nii-san", but his throat closed up before anything more could come out. He felt stupid, he felt childish, he felt pathetic but he couldn't help himself. And he damned himself for not even being able to look up at Itachi's face.
He knew he was too afraid of the possibility he would see that the Itachi he used to know was gone, and not coming back.
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Sasuke didn't remember much about the hospital that night besides the smell and noise. There was too much noise, he thought scornfully, too many voices – some crying, some laughing, some talking in hushed voices and others yelling, desperate.
People were dying in this hospital. People were dying, and the secretary behind the desk was putting up goddamned Christmas decorations. It was only two weeks away, wasn't it? He could barely think. He just kept staring at the wall.
"Nii-san…"
Curled up on an old couch in the waiting room with the letter clenched in one hand, Sasuke eventually managed to fall into a restless, dreamless sleep.
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The storm had let up sometime during the night. Snowploughs had since cleared the streets, piling the snow into dirty mounds by the side of the road, melting beneath the rays of a cool December sun. The ferocity of the storm had been forgotten, dissolved into a cloudless sky that stretched on above them, a perfect shade of blue.
Mikoto woke from a restless night spent on a floral couch in Akari's living room, and found she was exhausted. For a while she let herself stare at ceiling tiles, listening to cars drive by outside. It was the second Sunday in December – usually she would spend this day out with Sasuke and Itachi, Christmas shopping. They would get hot chocolate on the way home. Maybe later in the week, they would go skating… Wiggling her toes against the quilt thrown over her messily, Mikoto giggled girlishly to herself. She had always loved winter, particularly the days leading up to Christmas; they were always so much fun.
A siren wailed in the distance, and Mikoto sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The quilt began to slide to the floor, and she remembered.
Today she had to go see her eldest son in the hospital.
After a short breakfast provided by Akari, a short but outgoing businesswoman in her mid-thirties Mikoto had met at one of Fugaku's business parties years ago, Mikoto and Sasuke drove back to the hospital. The ride there was silent, and after observing Sasuke's behaviour earlier that morning, Mikoto had already figured out her son had woken in a similar, perhaps worse mood than hers. He had a right to of course; they both did, after what happened…
"Don't worry," she told Sasuke softly as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. "Last night, the doctors said he's going to fine. He'll just need lots of rest, lots of care from us. It'll be okay."
She smiled, but he still did not look at her. It felt as though she had been talking to herself.
"Sasuke?"
"I know."
The sound of the car door shutting behind him made her flinch. Once more, he seemed older to her as she watched him walking away from her, blending into the washed out scenery around them.
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So here they were again, surrounded by white walls, white floors, white bed sheets and white coverings on the windows. The hospital was the same as it had always been.
There was only one chair in the small room, which Mikoto had offered to Sasuke. She stood beside him on the right side of the bed, hands clasped. On the opposite side of the room, Fugaku leaned against the wall, looking out of place from the rest in his immaculate business suit. Mikoto had decided it was necessary that he knew, and had called him reluctantly on a payphone the night before.
Though none of them could look at Itachi directly, especially Sasuke, they would all sneak glances now and then. He had propped up a pillow against the headboard so he could sit, but he looked like a limp rag doll who been dropped into that position. Unwashed hair fell across his pale face, darkened in places with bruises – he looked much paler, and much skinnier for that matter, than he had before. Almost corpse-like.
(…of course, some people could be dead inside even though their bodies were still alive and moving, and that is the worst kind of death of all…)
"Alright, Uchiha Itachi…"
There was a sudden burst of noise from the hall outside as the doctor came in through the door, flipping to a new page on his clipboard and straightening his glasses. Mikoto had met him the night before.
"Hi there," he said, nodding to Fugaku. "Good to see you, sir. You're the father?"
"Yes."
"I see. Well, your son suffered from a moderate case of hypothermia. It was fortunate your wife brought him in when he did – another half hour out there and he would've lost some fingers, though he did get some frostbite on the ends of the, as well as his ears, nose. That was a real bad storm last night, eh? Anyways, we warmed him up, so he should be doing fine as long as he takes the next week easy. I've put together a suggested diet plan too, so he can get back to good health faster. Yep, looks pretty good. They want to keep him here one more night until he gets a little more of his strength back, but after that you can take him home."
"Thank you very much," said Mikoto.
"Oh, it's no problem. Actually, it's my job." The doctor was the only one that laughed. "There was also, uhm… right. There are quite a few bruises on your son's body; not just the ones on his face, there are some on his chest too, and it looks like one of his shoulders is lightly sprained… I was just wondering if–"
"He came home like that Friday," Fugaku interjected. "He said he was in a fight."
"Ah. Well, that explains it," mumbled the doctor. His eyes scrolled over the page on his board, expression faltering as he reached the bottom paragraph. "Oh," he said, then "oh," again. He glanced at Mikoto and Fugaku.
"May I please see you two outside for a moment?"
"This doesn't concern her," said Fugaku, but Mikoto ignored him and followed the doctor out into the hall. The room felt large and vacant all of a sudden, as only Sasuke and Itachi remained in an uneasy silence. Sasuke kept staring at his knees, fingernails digging into the bottom of the chair.
Out in the hallway, the doctor's former sociability seemed to have vanished, replaced with a deep-set concern.
"It says here," he started, "that you arranged for Itachi to be sent to a mental facility in the next town over."
"What?"
"I did," said Fugaku. "I called the hospital this morning to tell them – the arrangements were made last night."
Mikoto tried to protest, but Fugaku continued.
"Do you remember the news reports about the teen who committed suicide a few weeks ago, doctor? That was my son's cousin and best friend. Of course, it's had a tragic effect on the entire family, but… well, you know how unstable adolescents can be. Itachi has been acting strangely for the past few weeks, and I think the strain put on him by schoolwork and extra curricular activities has pushed him to a point where he… broke." Fugaku glanced at the door. "And you saw him in there. The boy's not right."
"But that doesn't mean you have to send him to a goddamned asylum!" Mikoto said.
"The arrangements have already been made," Fugaku said sharply, disregarding her, "and he can resume school once he's in the proper condition to do so. You do want what's best for our son, don't you, Mikoto?"
The doctor jumped in before the argument could get any worse. "Well, it can't hurt, Mrs. Uchiha. It would probably be good for him, getting him away from stress and all. Anyways, I have to go. Best of luck to you both."
Mikoto waited – head bowed and hands clasped tight – until the doctor was gone to lift her head, glaring at Fugaku. He met her gaze with an apathetic stare of his own. The space between them had never felt so large, so empty. And that makes us all fatally human; there are over six billion people on this planet, and yet we are all alone, and unable to do anything about it. We can share our lives with people, but at the end of the day, you're the only person you can really trust.
"You probably saw this coming," Mikoto said, "but I'm filing for divorce."
"I know," said Fugaku. "Your lawyer called while you were out. You're moving in with your mother for the time being?"
"Yes."
An unsteady few moments passed where neither spoke.
"I want both of them – Itachi and Sasuke," Mikoto told him. "You can have the house and everything in it. I don't care. Just as long as I get the boys. I'm prepared to–"
"Mikoto, I'm not going to fight you for them. I don't want them so do what you want, and we'll work the rest out later," Fugaku said. Then he shook his head and left.
Mikoto sighed and let her body fall back against the wall. Though undoubtedly relieved, she knew she would probably end up crying about it later, if not now. There were still memories of when things had been different stored somewhere in her mind – when they had first started dating, when he made her a cake for her birthday and failed miserably, when he first made love to her… all those things would never change. Yet she still had no regrets. She had a small amount of personal possessions, an even smaller amount of money, no job, and two sons she would have to care for. But no regrets.
She thought to herself then, "Is this freedom?"
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"Sasuke."
That was his voice, of course, just the way it had always been but a little thinner, and yet…
"Sasuke, please look at me."
The mattress creaked again, and an alabaster hand entered Sasuke's field of view. He refused the urge to lean backwards in his chair to distance himself from it.
"Please."
It was a little painful, but Sasuke forced his eyes to travel from the floor, up the stainless steel legs of the hospital bed and over the soft folds in the white sheets…
"Thank you." Itachi's lips curved in what could have been a smile as he slowly retracted his hand. His eyes were still heavily glazed (partially from the drugs, Sasuke realized), but not as much as they had been earlier. There were places Sasuke felt he could see familiar bits of his brother – not this dazed, skeletal boy, but his older brother, his idol – and Sasuke savoured them, trying to memorize them before they flittered out of focus and Itachi seemed a different, hollow person again.
"Did you get the letter?" asked Itachi softly.
Sasuke nodded.
"I knew you'd find it." Itachi closed his eyes for a moment, letting his body go limp again as he leaned back against the pillow. The room was too bright, and angular and ugly – Sasuke (inwardly blissful at more recognition from his brother, though it did feel off, maybe jaded) could understand why looking at it for too long would make Itachi want to close his eyes. Or maybe he was just tired. Sasuke didn't know, and didn't want to think about it anymore.
"I'm sorry," Itachi murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," Sasuke tried, as he couldn't bring himself to blame his brother for any of this; however, Itachi didn't appear to be listening. His eyes were fixed intently on a point just past Sasuke, his expression slipping away from stoic to reveal features distorted with pain.
"I thought…" Itachi whispered, and Sasuke wasn't sure who the words were directed at. "I wanted to see how close I… but… I thought I was going to die. I could hardly feel anything, and I was so scared…
"It was wonderful."
(In death, we become more aware of how glorious life is. There is only life because death exists as a comparison. Light and dark, cold and warm, meetings and partings, sanity and insanity, perfection and imperfection – these things can only be defined when the other exists. And when we see death, we can then see life, as if again for the first time. Like children, we're in awe, we retain some of that innocence, able to find and protect the little bit of goodness left within us. We no longer need our illusions – instead, we can see the perfection in what is right in front of us. Innocence is not naiveté, no…
Now, we can learn how to truly live!
However, some look back at life and find they prefer the cold breath of death, that taunting beauty, and become possessed by it. Some do not have a choice.
In both death and life now, we find ourselves able to witness God…)
Sasuke, startled and unnerved by his brother's behaviour, tried to pry his eyes from Itachi's face, though this proved an even greater task than getting them up there in the first place. He watched in an awe tinged with horror as a smile curled onto Itachi's lips, cold, and haunting, and frightful, and lovely. The elder stared down at his skeletal hands, clasped loosely in his lap.
(…and was it worth it?)
"Look at this. Look at what I've done. At what I've created – destroyed. Sasuke," he said without looking up, "do you hate me?"
Choking. "Do I –?"
Sasuke found he couldn't answer. He was too afraid to answer.
"After all of this," Itachi continued quietly. "Can you hate your big brother?"
"I –"
"But such a human thing it is, to hate or to love. We're all just a bunch of fools, loving and wanting things we can't have. My foolish little brother," whispered Itachi, but his smile faltered. "Oh God…."
One hand shot up from Itachi's lap to press into his temple, his eyes squeezing firmly shut (I can't look at you now) in pain. Sasuke watched Itachi's shoulders rise with each ragged breath he took, but was only able to watch. It was captivating in the same way it scared him so badly he doubted he could move. He didn't understand any of this, he realized bitterly, feeling childish, and foolish, and–
"Sasuke?"
Mikoto's smiling face in the doorway, Itachi staring quietly at the opposite wall – why were they acting like this? Everything looked almost the same, but the difference was obvious even to him, as if he were looking through a filter at the world.
"Sasuke, we have to go now," she was saying. "We should give Itachi a chance to rest."
"O-Okay," he said, getting (easily) to his feet and pausing a moment, uncertain, before Itachi (whom he was afraid to touch now, for what if his hand went straight through?) spoke.
"Good-bye, little brother."
And here was the touch of Itachi's hand on his wrist, pulling him closer, and Itachi's arms folding around him, yes. It should have felt familiar, but for a reason Sasuke didn't know, the embrace was empty and alien, as if they were strangers. Here were Itachi's soft lips on the corner of Sasuke's mouth (and Mikoto's averted eyes), so light it almost wasn't felt during that crushing embrace, squeezing tight, tighter, and then all of a sudden they had let go of each other. Sasuke waited while Mikoto hugged Itachi lightly, pressed her face into his hair (he was only 15, you know, he was still a child – they were all just children), mumbling to him, "Take care," and then without explanation, "Thank you."
As much as he wanted to, Sasuke forced himself not to look back as they walked out of that small hospital room, through the halls and then out into the bare parking lot. It felt strange, he thought, to be standing in the ruins of it all and looking back on it as a memory that felt barely real. But it had been real, all of it. And he had survived it.
Sasuke leaned back against the car door, warm from being in the sun all morning; he pressed his hands against it to soak up the heat. The sky was the same cloudless, burning blue it had been that morning, bright against the distant snow-covered rooftops and tangles of naked tree-limbs. There was a light breeze playing absentmindedly with the ends of his hair and brushing against his neck. A perfect winter day.
Sasuke closed his eyes and exhaled.
(…you've got to live…)
