A.N: Hi again! I'm so sorry it took me a bit to update this story.
Okay so...this chapter is longer - Thank God! - and, hopefully, will be rather enlightening. There isn't too much action on this one, but i ensure you that in future chapters there will be. However, even if not very very action-ed, this chapter is rather revealing and doesn't lack a dose of suspence. So i hope you like it.

These characters belong to © Kishimoto Masashi.

Thank you so much!

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Chapter 2 - Eyes

Sleep didn't come again that night. It never did when he had these…"seizures"…Damn! That made him feel like a sick person under ineffective medication. Which was partially true. He did take….used to take….sometimes…..rarely…some kind of medication that had nothing to do with his "problem" and, conclusively, was ineffective towards it.

At least in the way it should be.

The medication had its neurological effect alright….the parts of his brain responsible for his imagination, his phobia responses, his body fluid movements, even his memory in general, were completely frozen under medication – Hn! Who was he kidding? Under those drugs!...
He pretty much felt like a vegetable with the "medication".

The worst part was that, when he did happen to have taken I, even though he felt like a vegetable, the proneness to his "seizures" didn't diminish in the least. On the contrary, they increased. It seemed like the shut off energy induced into some parts of brain and body by the medication, was led to feed the parts of his brain responsible for his "seizures"; increasing them ; impossibilitating his body to synchronize with the tension of the "seizures" and leading to the accumulation of a kind of semi-traumatic stress in his body, brain, mind, damn! Even his heart – he was sure to die from a heart attack this way! – in the after effects of the medication.

Even after realizing this, countless of times, and telling himself and his uncle – ok!...so maybe only a couple….a few…times to his uncle – he still felt useless. And mostly. He felt sleepless.

It wasn't uncommon for him to not sleep much. He was used to it. Deep inside, he was grateful for not falling into the claws of slumber and let his nightmares and visions weaken his mind and his defenses.
Not that sleeplessness had ever stopped his visions – "seizures" – now!...that was more…..sounded more considerate of his mental status…..or health.
And not that his visions or "seizures" had ever…."weakened" his mind or defenses!

But in either way….he was sleepless and visionless…well…after vision-visionless.

The worst was, for now, hopefully, closer to over than before. And even though…"gladly" or "gratefully" sleepless, he was tired. So no, it was not useless to reinforce his opinion on the situation.

"Shit!"

Ok….so maybe it was useless. But it still felt therapeutical and that had to count as a smart move.

He moved around in his bed a little, trying to get comfortable. When he felt well bed-placed enough he stopped to look at his surroundings. He knew them too well.
Mostly because they hardly ever changed since he came living here.

His almost black closet, bed-side-table, desk and bed. His very, very little light, almost grey, almost blue – he couldn't, exactly, tell which – walls. His laptop above his desk, right next to his window. His closet right in front of his bed, in the right wall to the bedroom door. And his bed on the other of the window, opposite to his desk and laptop.
He "slept" facing backwards to his window.

It all looked plain and simple to an outsider's eye.
Just like his life.
But that all were lies.
His life had hardly ever been simple and plain.
Upon, between, hidden in his, apparently, simple and plain surroundings were always hard to deal with, complex, scattered things.
He knew that above his desk, his bed-side-table, or anywhere, one wouldn't find a family picture. And that same would always be filled with books related to neurological problems, history of psychology, math, anything and everything, whose words would be underlined in all colors and forms, pages marked, notes written…very similarly to his laptop documents… that could easily, wrongly mislead loneliness, obsessive-compulsions, inner fights, stress induced investigation for…hard work, interest and natural scientific talent knowledge of some sort – or a nerd as many would call it…or was it a geek?

He knew that his closet would hold nothing more than his social and every day clothed masks; his and everybody's most used articles of clothing for everyday life. Nothing more. He also knew that his bed would always be waiting for his sleepless nights, for his ill, mental body, for his seizures and nightmares and unforgiving self – those sheets were, always, soaked in…with them – and nothing more, just like his bedroom floor.

It was his curse but, nonetheless, it kept him alive somehow.

His parents had been brutally murdered by his brother. Right in front of his eyes…or, at least, his mind's eyes. He had a vision of it that happened during the massacre, with mere seconds of delay – certainly.
When he'd "woken up", their blood had already been spilled all over their beds.
The room destroyed from the inside-out, much like their corpses.
It was like a piece of art, sickenly fascinating – he could no longer remember having woken up, or how he got out of his room and walked to theirs.
His mind couldn't hold it in and neither did his stomach.
The police was already there by then but so wasn't his brother. He passed out after that.

When he woke up, again, he was in the hospital and his uncle was by his side.
The absence of his brother was enough to confirm his suspicions and his biggest nightmare.
He was eight then. He left his deceased parents' house without much say but his uncle's: "You're under my guard, so you'll be living with me from now on, Sasuke".

He didn't….wasn't allowed to go to his parents' funeral – but he didn't need to. He had already seen it, weeks before, mistaking, again, another seizure….another vision for a horrible nightmare. He knew more then but, not enough.

But now, here he was, after 9 years of suffering. But that was for another few more sleepless night's introspections.

"Shit!"
God! It was getting very unoriginal, cursely speaking. It must be his dead brain cells due to his seizures…visions! Yeah, visions!

"Ah Fuck!"
Ok…that was better. Originality back on track. Or not.

He looked at his bed-side-table watch and it read "6:40 am" in white lights. Might as well get up and get ready for another day of summer holidays.

He got up from his bed and opened a window to freshen up the bedroom's air and bed.
And walked towards his bedroom's bathroom; locked the door and stripped. He got on the shower and efficiently took one fast and clearing – and cleaning – shower.

Once done, his hand searched for his dark blue towel and dried himself. He took his toothpaste and toothbrush and washed his teeth, while his towel was forgotten wrapped around his waist.
His movements stopped when he locked eyes with himself in the mirror.
His black hair – untamed due to the wetness's remains.
He was average, he assumed, maybe about 5'8'' in height. Slim, toned body. But not bulky. He was fit; his abs's lines sliding gracefully across his upper body.

Tearing his eyes way, suddenly, he mentally frowned.
He was thoughtless, for now, about his sudden reaction. So he proceeded with dressing.
He took his black boxers out from one of his bathroom's drawer. What? He was a practical and reserved person! Minimal clothed composure was necessary.

He put on his boxers, dried his hair and put his towel in place. He used a bit of gel to spike and style his hair, though it naturally took its "stirk", like he liked to call it – style + quirk.
Unlocking his bathroom door he headed for the closet.
He dressed fit black pants and a sleeveless white shirt and on top of it he put on a small, sleeveless, sober dark red vest. Dark red snickers would do just fine.

He closed his bedroom window and arranged his bed worth of the first prize in "Tidiest bed" competion, if there was one.
Grabbing his house keys and mobile phone he headed downstairs, to the main dinning-room.

The maids had made breakfast but he ignored it.
He approached his uncle, who was sitting in the dinner table reading the newspaper, and bowed his head slightly in respectful acknowledgement and then raised his head again.

"Uchiha-san." He was never informal when it came to his uncle.

Said man raised his eyes from the newspaper.
"Sasuke". He nodded slightly. "Won't you be joining me for breakfast?" he asked.

"No, I apologize, Uchiha-san". Sasuke said. "I'll be heading to school to solve some important student matters". He continued.

"Haven't your summer holidays started already, if I am not mistaken?"

"Yes, Uchiha-san. But there was a delay in the solving of some problems in the school's students association". After all, he was the head of the student's association.

His uncle kept his eyes locked with his for while, as if in contemplation, and then nodded in understanding, getting back to his newspaper.
Sasuke nodded back, again out of respect, even though his uncle wasn't looking at him anymore and headed for the door of the house – one could argue that said house lingered on a type of "mansion"- house side.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

He walked to his school. It was hot and the air was warm – it was summer after all - and even if winter was his most preferred season he couldn't stop loving the antagonism between grey days and frost and orange days and sunburns. Not that he sunbathed much but, either way, he appreciated it on his own way.

School wasn't that far away. About 30 minutes away on foot.

When he arrived at the school's gates he noticed, with a sigh of relief, that the school was very deserted – Thank God…

Walking in through the gates he headed for the 3rd floor of the main building. Room 311.
Opening the door he suddenly became aware of the noisy contrast between this room and the rest of the school campus and rooms. As well as the misplaced chairs and tables…and let's not talk about these people's posture… They were supposed to be civilized God damn it! Focus and other yoga shit were required for good decisions!

Ah Fuck! He was screwed. This was going to be a long day.

His thoughts had nothing to do with elite crap. He just valued – more than others… – calm atmospheres and sober – and civilized! – minds and social postures. Well…this wouldn't get him anywhere to think about.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

By the time all matters were solved it was already 18:00 pm. Or so his watch said so.

Once again he walked home. He couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. But he ignored it.

He watched the warm summer wind blow the tree's leaves.
And how the sky was tinted with very few redish clouds.
And how the slow setting of the sun seemed to dilute its spectrum on the horizon.
Who was he again?

He teared his eyes away from the sky. He was not meant for it. So there was no need to waste himself with the visual dreams it made his eyes desire and ache for.
After all…he was an Uchiha! Composure was above it all. He was beyond, they had always been beyond the emotional bandage.

As he neared the "mansion" he decided to enter through the back door, which was manly used by servants. It was always more discrete.

He entered the access code and walked through the back gates. The main back door was right ahead around the corner the house made with garden.
The door was connected to the servants' kitchen.

Once he got in, the few that were in the kitchen bowed respectfully. He nodded back in acknowledgement.

"Uchiha-sama, do u wish something to eat or need something else?"- one of the servants asked. Her name was Icha-…Icho...-Ichiro. Yeah, that was it.

"Yes. A glass of milk and sandwich will do, please" – he answered.

"Of course, Uchiha-sama. In an instant." – and sure it was just an instant and she was back with what he had required.

He took his sandwich and glass of milk to his room - like he said….he was a reserved person; he liked calm atmospheres. And he liked to eat in silence, or something similar to that - as close as possible.
He took a seat on his desk and ate in silence.
He had been a little hungry. He hadn't had lunch due to the…unorganized plan of decisions his group of the student's association seemed to have set – Hn! As if they had set anything. Right. Improvising.

Finishing his food he got up from his chair and went to his bathroom, to wash his hands – Yes, he was a, somewhat, clean-freak, thank you very much. He got back in the room and sat again in his desk's chair. He laid his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on the table desk – headache…or more like migraine - he rubbed his temples. Trying to relieve the tension of his stress-induced migraine. Those fools were trying to kill brain, for sure.

He hadn't taken off his jacket. He hadn't bothered since he arrived.
Getting up from his chair, he decided to change that.
Taking some steps to his closet the ground, suddenly, disappeared from under him. Or so it seemed.

It was so hard to breathe!
His body was on fire and he felt his heart speed up. He felt ill!
His eyes were shut; his muscles shaking. He had fallen down to his knees and his mind screamed at him! His migraine got worse and without warning his head was filled with the image of those eyes! One red, evil – he could feel it so strongly! It made his stomach churn! – the other eye was blue – and it did nothing to tame his sickness!
They were bleeding…crying torrents of crimson tears…and he felt his heart break and his soul was soaked with the stench of those tears…of that blood! He couldn't take it!
He blindly got up and ran into the bathroom and heaved on the toilet. His stomach scorching madly, even though he had so little food in.

He breathed deeply, heavy, shaky pants of ache. His eyes still closed.
He could still smell the blood…the tears…
Thankfully though…his mind was shut, for now. The seizure having reached to its end. For now. Only for now. Always, only, for now.

Who did those eyes belong to?

Uhg!He was trying to fight the inevitable. Trying to understand what was bound to happen.

Getting up from the bathroom floor he flushed the toilet and washed his hands and his mouth with soap and toothpaste, respectively. He dried himself and looked into the mirror.
Once again, he was helpless towards himself. His face as stoic as ever. But he knew his eyes told otherwise, for now, in the after-taste of the seizure.

Shaking his head a little and rubbing his temples in a tic motion he tried to put his mind, his heart back together and diminished the persistent migraine.

Who was he? Whose eyes were those?

Ah! He might as well ignore it for now.

His bedroom door was suddenly open – don't people around here know how to knock? He had warned about so.

Unexpectedly, his uncle came in looking quite uneasy – Uchihas never look uneasy!

"Sasuke," – he said. His voice was not broken, but the tone was what kept him on the edge, more than his uneasy appearance.

"Uchiha-san, is there something you need?" – Sasuke countered.

"I need you to meet someone, Sasuke. He is an old acquaintance of the family. And his affairs here concern you deeply."

"Uchiha-san, why do I need to meet this person? Is there anything wrong for the need of this rushed meeting?"

"Sasuke. This is not a business meeting. This man is here to meet you, for your protection. It concerns, not remotely, your…seizures" – he answered carefully.

"I.." – he didn't know what to say, but even so he was cut off by his uncle.

"You have to pack your things, Sasuke. You'll be leaving with him for a while. But first let's head downstairs. Some things have to be cleared first. And fast. Understood?" – his tone was tight. Leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, Uchiha-san. I understand." – he didn't. But he had no say in it. And he had to meet this man first for further conclusions. Personal ones, of course.

They head downstairs swiftly and silently. The apprehension was evident.
Once they reached the main living room, Sasuke noticed a man with odd appearance standing in the room. Waiting.

He tried to further analyze, inconspicuously, his appearance but he was caught, frozen by his eyes. His heart constricted. Those eyes were very similar to some of his visions. But. Mostly…those eyes were tearing his composure apart. He didn't know how or why. But they did, and those eyes knew it.

"Sasuke, this is Hatake-san." – his uncle said. He knew then why his composure was shaken.

I'm still alone.

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A.N: Please R&R! I'd very pleased. And it would make me want to write more even more ^^.