His mother doesn't remember him no matter how close his face, mumbling and shaking with wide, vacuous eyes. "Itachi," she begs. It makes him see red. A curtain comes down and no one can reach them anymore. His uncle told him as much after watching his wife slip away when Sasuke was little. A disease that robs the faculties; a corpse with the breath still in it. Sasuke tries to forgive but it's so difficult, hearing his name day after day. He knows she can't comprehend but he wants her to so much, imagines his knuckles able to wrack her skull hard enough to make her realize. He hurt us, they'd say. He hurt you. The vacant gleam never leaves. The name on her lips never leaves and she always utters it when she sees him. When she loses sight of Sasuke she wails like a wounded animal. He moves her bed closer to the front door for his own sake, apologizing every night he leaves Sakura to watch over her. Sakura assures him it's fine but his belief in her is waning.
The moment he steps foot inside it's always: "Itachi? Baby?" Then Sasuke sees red. Sometimes he pretends just to sate his needs but pretending is very hard for him to do. He never corrects her. He learned his lesson the first time. Mercy won over truthfulness. Sasuke wishes he could receive some, too, if it were possible.
His father is no better a comfort, demoralized and irritable in his old age. Growing old is the hardest thing I've ever done, Sasuke. He's a pitiable sight to behold. He burrows in his study and rarely comes out, ashamed of their clan but more ashamed of himself. Sasuke finds him in his childhood room one day, tearing his clothes in some demented state, carving up any trace of their clan's insignia. Sasuke attempts to scold him, holding back all the anger that unfolds when he clutches the scraps of his childhood. His voice is uncertain. It causes profound discomfort: realizing his father isn't his father anymore, not really. What does one do when they become the parent? Fugaku just shakes his head and mumbles, "I don't want to look at it anymore."
It makes him feel so helpless and that makes him feel so angry. They might as well be dead—Sasuke knows he shouldn't think that way. At the very least Fugaku is often lucid, unlike his mother. It drives him to hide in the dark corners of their house. The curtain has come down and he can't reach them anymore. Sasuke tries not to be angry but he still is. The hatred is an animal all its own; alive inside of him, harboring a stomach separate from his, hungering for more than he can supply—for more than he's willing to supply. A dog with their guts shoved up against their spine as wicked as the master who starves them.
Angry, they snarl when he's looking into his mother's pleading eyes and she sees someone other than him. Someone he hates. Someone she should hate.
"Itachi, is that you?"
Angry! they snarl, and Sasuke can't help but clench his jaw in agreement. It hurts so much. His body is stuffed with nails and every time he moves it hurts. He reaches out to touch her and she screams because she's confused—because he's not what she wants and what she wants isn't here. He can't give it to her even if he wants to. The fact burns holes in the gaps of his ribs and sends smoke out his nose; a failure of a son, a failure of a brother, a failure of husband. I don't know how to explain to you just how worthless you make me feel.
Sakura does her best to soothe him, draws circles on the skin of his back and writes letters across his bare chest. If only he could read them. Even in the same room Sasuke feels so far away from her. I'm so happy you're home, she always tells him. He never admits that, for him, home is agony. Better to be somebody out there than a failure in my own house.
"It's okay to grieve," she whispers in their bedroom during the afternoons when the sun is high and his mood is low. "I know what it's like. To lose them." She does. Sasuke knows it. He's too scared to share his anger with her. He's spilled enough anger for a lifetime. The dog inside is not remorseful. Every failure I suffered was their fault, they seethe against the drum-tight membrane of his liver. Every success I found was in spite of them.
The way he makes love to her is mindless. His dull fingernails drag down Sakura's sides and leave blushing trails. She gapes her mouth to breathe in his scent and Sasuke turns three shades of crude, fucking her into their wedding bed with hungry hips. He feels alive. Loving seems a lot like eating, Sasuke thinks. His eyes are feral as they scour her body. The dog inside him nestles in their hollows, their sickly heart beating rabbit-like beside his, poisoning his veins with indifference. When his mouth comes down over hers the dog barks. There's nothing in here to eat! they rage. Sasuke gnashes his teeth when he comes because the pleasure isn't enough anymore. He cries and Sakura holds him.
"Oh, god," he whimpers in the hideaway of her throat.
You're just saying dog backwards.
Sometimes late at night, when his mother is sedated and she won't scream at his touch, Sasuke holds her hand. I want you to tell me that you love me. He sees all of her; the soft curve of her brow, the shadows in the lighting of her eyes, the carriage of her neck as it weaves her head back and forth. Even if you don't mean it.
"Itachi?" she asks when he leans closer. The dog inside of him bellows furiously but Sasuke is quiet and timid.
"No, mom. It's Sasuke."
She doesn't scream this time. Mikoto's eyebrows knit in confusion as if she's never seen him before, as if he isn't her second son. I came out of that womb, too! The dog rips his guts with newfound fervor. What makes me worth any less than him! She's quiet beneath his private storm, unaware of his turmoil and Sasuke unwilling to burden her.
When he's alone he holds himself. Sasuke holds the dog, too. They froth and snarl and moan in anguish, I'm starving to death! but there's nothing he can do to calm them. He can't calm his mother, either. She dies two weeks later while holding his hand and begging for his brother. Sasuke doesn't forgive himself. The dog doesn't forgive her. The grief eats his insides and the dog looks on enviously. He sleeps until he can't sleep anymore and when he rises back up the dog comes with him. In his anger and his frustration and his despair, Sasuke doesn't bid them calm.
He lets them bite his father whenever they want to, leaving gashes and bruises and open wounds so horrendous Sasuke feels validated just looking at them. Fugaku submits to the punishment as if he's delivering the lashes himself, and Sasuke hates him for it—and he hates himself for it. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. But the dog rolls their dirty hide in his grief, coats themself in his father's shame. Look at what you've done to me! they yowl. It's all your fault!
Sasuke stares at the ceiling when the dog pushes and writhes inside his guts; unable to find peace, unable to make sense of Sasuke's crowded organs, aching to be birthed.
And one day, when his father doesn't respond to him and his body has no more breath in it, Sasuke burns him down to ash and lets the wind carry it away. That day, the dog turns their jaws onto him; rakes claws over the rungs of his ribs, pushes bile up his throat, forces their snout out his mouth and barks so loud his ears ring until Sasuke can hear nothing but snapping teeth. His body becomes a puppet.
Now empty, his childhood home is a sanctuary, filled with dreams and visions and memories. Sasuke doesn't understand why death changes places so much, but he does. Sakura tells him she's worried when he begins sleeping there instead. I know you need to grieve, but—please, Sasuke, don't hide from me anymore. Her pain is the worst part of all. She deserves to understand but Sasuke can't find the words to explain himself.
He lies down at night alone and begs the dog to sleep. The stomach beside his own rumbles.
Did you think I wouldn't eat you too
