Chapter 8
"You know what's soft and sweet and fluffy? Cotton candy. I want tooth-rotting sugary cotton candy, not teeth-shattering yucky charcoal-texture asparagus and broccoli. Life doesn't really give you what you want though, does it?"
Masaru woke up in a hospital bed and screamed.
Unfamiliar people flooded the room instantly, surrounding him in a sea of blurry white forms. Burning pain continued to cloud his mind, leaving him barely aware of his surroundings. His stomach, his ear, his eye, it all hurt so bad, so so bad. A swirling kaleidoscope of red and black flashed in his mind, his heart spiking in fear as he tried to lurch to his feet and flee.
Firm hands pinned his legs and arms to the mattress though, and he began thrashing and flailing against them, shrieking again in a voiceless plea for the pain to stop. Slick latex-coated fingers brushed his hair away from his face and more hands held his head down, keeping it steady as a mask slipped over his mouth.
Masaru had no memory of passing out. He simply woke up in bed feeling groggy and sleepy, his mind hazy and wanting to go back to sleep. Quiet voices murmured around him, whispering about vitals and trauma and permanent injury. Masaru ignored them and rolled onto his side, snuggling into his pillow as he tried to let sleep claim him. As he did the voices mercifully stopped, making it easier to fall asleep.
Of course they wouldn't let him though.
"Uchiha-san?" a soft voice prodded, and his eyebrows twitched in annoyance, hugging the pillow tighter. "Uchiha-san, please don't go back to sleep yet." No, he wanted to sleep. The voices didn't give him a chance though, and soon he found himself forced to roll over, the back of the bed lifting with a mechanical whir to leave him reclining rather than lying flat.
Moaning, Masaru tried to voice his irritation but found himself unable to conjugate his thoughts aloud, his voice little more than a slurred groan when he tried to speak. "Here, you need to drink," another voice said, and he felt something press against his lips, a straw. Suddenly realized just how thirsty he felt, and so he eagerly sipped it, allowing the cool refreshing liquid to wash down his throat.
With his hydration came a renewed alertness, his senses rousing and becoming clearer. He was inside a hospital room, he realized. Medical ninja flitted about the room, their baggy white uniforms and puffy hats gradually coming into focus as the last remnants of sleep faded from his eyes. An IV drip dug into his left arm, the sensation slightly uncomfortable but not particularly painful.
Frowning, he raised his other hand to rub his eyes only to wince as he felt a dull ache in his side. Glancing down, his eyes widened as he glimpsed bandages swathing his torso, several layers of thick, plushy white pads pressed against a singular spot on his stomach. Flashes of a red-stained blade flickered through his mind, the sharp pain blooming in his abdomen in time with the blossom of red—
Masaru didn't even notice he was screaming before nurses rushed forward, doing their best to soothe him.
Needless to say, the first few hours after waking up were... unpleasant.
"I am sorry, Masaru-kun."
The last thing Masaru ever expected to hear was an apology from the Hokage, but here he was, listening to the strongest shinobi in the village offering his sincerest condolences with a sympathetic look. Masaru just stared at the ceiling blankly, only refraining from curling up into a fetal position due to his reluctance to stretch the wound in his stomach further. The Hokage's words echoed in his brain, making his thoughts churn violently.
Four nights ago, Uchiha Itachi had gone on a rampage within the compound. In the span of a single night, the near entirety of the Uchiha clan had fallen to his sword, from ten-year-old rookie genin Akira to old bedridden Aunt Himiko. Masaru had returned shortly after the massacre began, yet by that time so many of his clansmen had already fallen. Itachi had shown no mercy to them, and yet—
And yet, Masaru survived.
He was battered and bleeding, his mind permanently scarred, but he was alive. He almost wished he wasn't though.
"Akari," he rasped, pressing his hands into his eyes and pushing down until spots swirled behind his eyelids. "What about, Akari..."
"I am sorry," the Hokage replied simply, and Masaru felt the world shatter.
Masaru would be spending the next few weeks in the hospital. According to the doctors, Itachi's sword had missed any vital organs, the most damage simply rising from blood loss. The wound would barely even scar, they assured him, offering him reassuring smiles meant to assuage any anxiety. Not like he particularly cared.
However, his head was another story.
Scratchy bandages wound tightly around his skull, digging into his skin and hair as they secured another white patch over the right side of his skull. He remembered how Itachi had forced his head to turn on its side, blood seeping into his vision as the world grew partially muffled. Masaru now knew it was because his ear had been sliced almost clean off his skull, attached only by a thin sliver of flesh.
Doctors managed to reattach it, so his head wouldn't look lopsided, but their repairs only extended to a cosmetic level. Irreparable damage had been done to the inner workings of his ear, physically shredded by the kunai and too delicate for them to completely repair. Perhaps someone else could fix it, but no one at the hospital had enough experience working with ears to feel comfortable attempting it.
In short, Masaru would most likely never hear from his right ear again.
The realization had been mind-numbing. Partial deafness could be a crippling blow to any ninja's career, it provided a significant handicap. But somehow, Masaru found he didn't mind too much.
Itachi's bone-chilling whispers about the importance of eyes echoed in his mind, the memory of the cold steel of the kunai pressing against his cheek just inches below his eyelid making him shudder even now. Everything about his words and actions led Masaru to expect Itachi to gouge out his eyeballs. He'd even felt a bit of pain in his right eye when he woke up that first time, his mind in utter anarchy. In comparison, losing his hearing in one ear barely bothered him.
But he'd gladly give up both eyes if he could change the outcome of that night.
A soft click drew him from his thoughts, and Masaru exhaled softly through his nose as he let his eyelids droop shut. The stream of visitors never seemed to end, whether it be doctors or ANBU guards, and it exhausted him. Footsteps approached his bedside, soft and light on the tile floor before stopping. Fingers hesitantly brushed his arm, trembling as they brushed against his skin, and his eyes snapped open in surprise to find a pair of black orbs boring into him.
Uchiha Sasuke stood beside him, staring at him wide-eyed. His hand snapped away from Masaru's arm upon realizing he was awake, so fast his arm became little more than a dark blur, but he didn't look away. "You're... y-you're..." He began to whisper but his voice quickly tapered off, unable to vocalize his thoughts.
A long moment of silence passed, neither boy speaking as they just soaked in each other's appearances. Heavy bags hung under Sasuke's eyes, suggesting he hadn't particularly slept well, and his skin seemed paler than usual. Aside from that though he seemed fine, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. Though Sasuke had always been a bit withdrawn when it came to showing his emotions, right now his eyes looked empty. Unfeeling.
Dead.
Yet as the pair continued staring at each other, something sparked in Sasuke's onyx orbs. Hesitating, he reached out a shaky hand and carefully wrapped his fingers around Masaru's wrist. Reflexively Masaru's fingers curled inwards and a breath caught in his throat, the touch sending a shockwave of tingles through his body. Sasuke's hand jerked back as if shocked—and maybe he was shocked, if he felt anything close to what Msaru just felt—and he stared at Masaru with widening eyes.
"You're alive," he breathed, sounding disbelieving. Then his face scrunched up, gritting his teeth as he obviously tried to keep himself from crying. "H-how?"
The question made Masaru wince, feeling his shock fade into a blank mask as he recalled the hellish experience. The cold look in Itachi's eyes, the sharp pain that had clouded his senses, the intense terror that had dominated his entire being. The rush of memories washed over him swift and heavy, yet instead of panic and anxiety, he felt... nothing. Only numbness remained in its wake.
Next to him Sasuke stiffened, the spark fading from his eyes as his face fell blank, quickly averting his gaze. "...Don't answer," he muttered. "You... don't have to." Masaru just nodded, his gaze focused on his lap. Thick silence lapsed over them once more, this one heavier than before.
The next few weeks passed in a blur, Masaru mostly restricted to bed rest as he recovered from his injuries with daily physical therapy sessions. He missed the memorial held the day before he woke up, but Sasuke assured him he missed nothing, his voice taking on a slightly bitter note as he said so. Whether his bitterness was directed at the event, the situation, or maybe even himself, Masaru couldn't tell. But he at least knew that it wasn't directed at him.
While Sasuke treated everyone else coolly and kept them at a distance, he let the facade slip around Masaru, his cold glower softening to a simply hollow look. He visited Masaru in the hospital every day, sitting in the chair by his bedside for hours on end even if they never spoke. During this time Sasuke's eighth birthday rolled around, and they spent the day in his hospital room, both glaring at the two slices of cake a nurse brought them.
"I don't even like sweet stuff," Sasuke grumbled with a pout.
"I don't think I'm allowed to eat it yet," Masaru complained sullenly. Having a hole in his stomach meant he couldn't eat whatever he wanted, which made staring at the cake torture. All in all, Sasuke's eighth birthday was not a happy one for either Uchiha boy.
The next day Sasuke returned to the academy with promises to visit after class. Masaru still had another two weeks before the doctors would allow him to return to class, and even then he'd have to refrain from the more physical activities. The sterile hospital room felt suffocating by this point, leaving the bedridden boy feeling as if he'd been locked in a bright white prison.
When the doctors finally permitted Masaru to leave the hospital for a walk, Masaru jumped on the chance. Dressed in a clean set of clothes someone kindly retrieved from his house, he slipped into the streets and silently made his way across town, careful to avoid the busier areas. Whispers echoed around him as pedestrians glimpsed the red and white fan emblazoned on his back, the proud symbol of his once-great clan making him even more notable now that only two remained in Konoha.
Distantly, Masaru wondered where he was going, his legs seeming to be on autopilot. Sasuke would still be in class at the moment, but he didn't particularly feel like going to the academy and facing the barrage of questions. The Uchiha clan compound and his house briefly crossed his mind, but he shuddered at the memory of the corpses strewn about the streets, the overwhelming terror as Itachi easily mutilated him on his mother's bed.
Ultimately, he hardly felt surprised when his path took him to the cemetery.
Slowly walking past the rows of headstones, his gaze briefly flickered towards the large marble slab erected towards the edge of the field, the stone shiny and unworn just like Shisui's grave had once been. Mountains of flowers surrounded it in a blend of red and white, a respectful tribute to the Uchiha clan's crest.
According to Sasuke most of the clan had been cremated, their remains scattered to the wind and their names engraved on the single memorial stone. Only a precious few relatives received their own burials: those who either already had immediate family already buried there, like a child or spouse... or those who held particular importance to the two survivors.
Gaze gliding over the colorful flower arrangements decorating a handful of graves scattered about the cemetery, suddenly Masaru found blackness overtook his vision. It took a moment to realize he'd pressed his hands into his eyes again, and he gritted his teeth, allowing the spots to spin and swirl behind closed lids as he turned. His legs took a mind of their own once more, weaving expertly through the maze of tombstones as his feet mechanically traced a path he'd followed countless times before.
When he finally removed his hands and allowed his vision to clear, he stood before the empty grave of Uchiha Obito.
Masaru plopped down on the grass next to it, leaning his back against the slab bearing his deceased pseudo-uncle's name. A shuddery breath passed his lips, the young boy tilting his head back towards the sky and closing his eyes. The sounds of the world seemed to grow more muffled, the world receding into nothingness until only he and the stone slab remained.
Vaguely, he felt like someone was watching, but then, he felt that a lot when he came here. It comforted him, made him think maybe Obito was watching over him.
"I don't want to talk to them," he whispered after a long while. "I'm used to you not saying anything, but... Mom and Akari..." He trailed off, his heart wrenching painfully. He had grown up speaking to Obito only as a name on a tombstone; he had never heard Obito's voice, never actually had a conversation with him. His family, on the other hand—
He'd never his mother's laugh again. He'd never hear his sister's delighted gasps. He'd never hear their synchronized giggles carefully timed to thoroughly unnerve him. Ryoko would never wake him in the middle of the night with her nightmare-induced screams. Akari would never whisper soft lullabies to herself as she tried to ignore the raging thunderstorms.
They would never kiss him on the cheek, pull him into a tight embrace, hold his hand and whisper soft words of encouragement when he felt down. Never again would his mother lift her paintbrush and stroke life onto blank canvas, never again would Akari's shuriken hit the targets dead-center, never again would he and Akari argue over what flavor of cake they wanted for their birthday or whose favorite dinner should be served that year.
Blackness consumed his vision once more as his palms buried into his eyes, his body wracked with violent tremors.
Akari, his twin sister, his other half, his greatest friend, was dead.
No loss felt as heavy as hers, not even their mother's. He and Akari had been together from the moment they were born, their personalities growing around each other to fill in the gaps the other left. Even if they drifted towards different people at school no one could compare to the bond they shared, no one had the same magnetic pull that they felt towards each other.
Bitter tears leaked from beneath his palms and rolled down his cheeks, a choked sound escaping his lips. "Why," he croaked. "Why...?" Why was she there? Why wasn't she at the hospital? Why did she die? Why did he live? Why did he have to be the one who was alone? Why couldn't they both live? Why couldn't they both have died?
Masaru just spent hours grieving next to the grave of a man he never met, his eyes burning under his palms as he mourned the loss of his most precious person.
That night, Masaru dreamed of a boy strapped to a table in a dark room, thick cloth stuffed into his mouth and bandages wrapped around his eyes.
Delicate fingers slowly untied the knot and began unwinding the gauze one layer at a time, and when the final layer fell away the boy's eyelids twitched before the right lid slowly parted. A dark onyx orb stared blankly above, unfocused and unseeing. Flecks of crimson flickered and red swiftly bled into the blackness, spreading to fill the iris and smoothly flowing around the outlines of three tomoe.
"Live," a voice commanded in a whisper, and the eye exploded into a bloody sunburst, the tomoe stretching into slender, wispy tendrils extending from a small black sun.
The eye still burned into his mind as his eyes shot open with a ragged breath, cold sweat clinging to his skin.
Live, the whisper repeated in his head, and all Masaru could do was whisper, "How?"
(A/N: There's still one more chapter of angst to go, and then this arc will be over and we'll move onto the beginning of canon! But at this point the angst is starting to get to be a bit much, so if you need something lighter, I wrote a story called "The Great Akatsuki versus Spider Battle" which you can find on my profile.
Some other story recommendations from my favorites: "Dead Parenting" by FriTik, "How to Obtain a Reverse-Harem in Naruto" by darkpetal16, and a lot of stuff by Ninjagrrl but I specifically want to recommend "Peace, Love and Unicorns," "Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Owe" and "Curious Itachi Meets the Friendly Puppy". If you guys have any other funny story recommendations, let me know in the comments! I think I can use some more humor too.)
