it would be foolish to challenge me, itachi-kun. i have killed many uchihas before. and you would do well to fear me, and who i am."
"you are the one who ought to fear me. i killed them all."
the uchiha compound is full of ghosts. every single floorboard bears the imprint of death. sasuke had not allowed it to fall into disrepair, to the best of his abilities, but he had been a mere child, left with a legacy of blood. coming back now, seeing it through the eyes of an adult – through itachi's eyes, he recognizes that his efforts have been misguided.
he is grateful to have his brother by his side. or well. maybe not grateful. but certainly something. he listens to itachi's steps beside him, slow and rhythmic and dignified. the wooden heels of his geta, and the tapping of his thin long ivory cane, the white color marking his blindness, and soft swishing of the many-layered silks he wears have all become a familiar sound now.
he slents a glance at his side – sure enough, itachi is there in the image sasuke is used to seeing – slender emaciated after all the long weeks spent in hospital, and paper pale, his long hair held up by the jeweled pins sasuke had fished out of the bottom of mikoto's polished dowry chest, the one thing he had taken into his apartment when he'd left the compound all those years ago – he'd dusted the carved mahogany lid off, undone the golden clasp holding it closed, and found them wrapped in a strip of her wedding kimono silk, under the rest of the jewelry she had stepped into the marriage with. he'd presented them to itachi in hospital, the first day that he had woken up after surgery. itachi had felt them, recognized the familiar pattern of the stones, and cried.
he is quietly beautiful beside sasuke now, in his long crimson kimono, embroidered with black crows all over, and the uchiha crest meticulously stitched high on the collar. sasuke thinks that itachi looks more like a courtesan these days, than a shinobi, but it is only fair. he his brother deserves nice things.
his eyes stare ahead at the road, unmoving. they are beautifully polished, smooth glinting orbs of onyx, unsettling in their obvious artifice. itachi's own eyes dart anxiously in sasuke's sockets. no one dares speak a word when they are walking like this, side by side, though he knows the whispers will start as soon as they move from hearing distance. sasuke had wanted to take to the rooftops, but itachi wasn't ready to face his old anbu comrades yet. he walked with quiet dignity as though the glares did not affect him.
sasuke couldn't breathe until after they passed the threshold into the compound. itachi's expression did not change. he did not throw himself on the ground, kissing it, and weeping for forgiveness, and screaming in guilt-stricken anguish. sasuke wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. they continued walking at the same slow pace. itachi turned his head a few times, as though looking around, or maybe following along the ghosts of memory as they faded in and out of existence.
itachi only stops in front of their house.
sasuke recalls the afternoon after shisui's suicide all those years ago. the mark from the kunai itachi had thrown is still there, cracking their crest. the fence has aged poorly.
itachi kneels on the street. sasuke winces inwardly. the dust will mess his lovely silks up. he doesn't say anything though. itachi folds himself into a bow, his palms flat on the ground, forehead almost pressing to the dirt road. his lips move, but no sound comes out. maybe it's prayer, or maybe he is asking for forgiveness. he stands up, picks his cane up again, and dusts himself off with surprising accuracy. his fingers curl around the cane again.
he passes the threshold and freezes, as though he expects the furious spirits of the parents to storm into him, and drag him under the soft ground.
sasuke had spent the weeks of itachi's hospital stay ensuring the main house would be liveable for them. now his childhood home sprawled ahead, shiny and new. itachi did not falter further, as they walked down the familiar path.
sasuke had given itachi their parents' old room. it opened right into mikoto's flower garden, which was now made up of entirely empty flower beds waiting to be filled with dragon teeth, and the smoke from itachi's opium would drift into the open space.
sasuke's own room was as far from itachi as he could get while sharing the same living space, but he had no intention of actually spending any time in the house, asleep and vulnerable. he figured he could always crash with sakura and naruto, and maybe even kakashi.
he could always just go back to orochimaru. but itachi was … there. his last family, at last. in their home. with all the blood washed clean, and their truths laid bare. itachi, who was blind, and sick, who had given sasuke everything who had taken everything. and sasuke couldn't leave again. he just could not.
in the kitchen, itachi sits at the table gracefully. as de facto clan head, itachi had spent most of his hospital time going through documents, reviewing the state of the trust, the information on their properties. sasuke was grateful that someone else could handle these things now. it was always meant to be itachi's job.
"i'm indefinitely suspended from active duty," itachi says quietly. he has produced his opium pipe, and he is preparing to light it.
orochimaru had indulged, sometimes, taking long deep inhales, ad breathing out violet smoke tinged with a sweet smell. the scent then clung to his long hair, and pale hands. sasuke knows, consciously, that itachi needs to smoke, for his pain.
tsunade had looked paler and paler as he'd been listing to her the chemicals he'd been taking over the years to keep his body going. he had never been trying to heal. just waiting. waiting, and waiting for sasuke to kill him.
"what will you do then?" sasuke asks. he wants something to do with his hands.
"i'm sure they'll put me to some work, or other," he says airily, but underneath the forced lightness his voice is hard. he moves his hand, and sasuke recognizes what is being signed to him. it's the sign language of oto anbu.
the house is under surveillance. we are being listened to. watch your mouth.
i recognize four.
sasuke sighs.
"i wish we had more time to spend, niichan," he crosses the kitchen, and puts his hands in itachi's, so he can feel him signing.
are they watching me? or you?
itachi squeezes his hand briefly. probably both.
sasuke sighs. "how about i make us lunch," he suggests, moving away. fuck this. fuck konoha, and fuck coming back, and especially fuck itachi. he doesn't want to play anymore games.
he should just run again. become a tomato farmer in rice country. or something. maybe he can change his name, and go to wave, and tazuna will take him on as an apprentice, and he will build bridges. that would be nice.
the kitchen is full of smoke and ghosts.
itachi's blank eyes follow him as he starts chopping up vegetables for their meal. in the countless memories imprinted in itachi's sharingan are more than a few recipes that he can easily replicate.
he wonders if this is what his life will look like from now on, and he does not like it.