Chapter Text
His brother was dead.
In all his fantasies he’d never gotten to this part. Their battle was glorious, as predicted. Itachi was insane, as expected. Sasuke had won, as he’d needed to.
Now it was over, and he was sitting next to a corpse.
It was amazing how a victory could hollow you out, how an achievement could just feel like an ending. He had nothing now, no reason to push forward, no reason to keep living. He was the perfect killing machine, a weapon for one single bloody purpose, and now his time has passed, his purpose fulfilled.
Was there supposed to be something after this?
Sasuke looked at the body next to him, the one who’d extended his hand to steal Sasuke’s eyes and had instead poked him in the head, with a gentle grin he’d thought he’d never see again. Sasuke now curled his lip. Was there no memory Itachi wouldn’t corrupt? With his final breath he’d given Sasuke a glimpse of the brother he’d lost and-
He gagged, doubling over suddenly as bile tried to choke him.
Why? Of all the things he could have done that was the worst. Trap him in tsukuyomi again, stab him, burn him, who fucking cares. Instead Itachi had given him a glimpse of softness and he ached.
It wasn’t fair. Killing Itachi was supposed to be the end of his pain, a way to put his ghosts to rest. Instead it felt like he’d just added to it.
(Had he…held out hope that he could save his brother? That he could get him to smile at him and scold him and love him like he had so many years ago?)
Sasuke suddenly wanted to kill him again, but to do that Itachi would have to be alive. And he wasn’t.
He was dead.
Lucky.
Sasuke flexed his jaw. Suicide was shameful. Everyone agreed. The coward’s way out.
Since when did he give a fuck about what other people thought.
His breath stuttered in the ghost of a laugh. A rush of relief chased away his bleakness, though not all the way. He’d hunted Itachi to avenge his clan, and his clan would be shamed at his actions. He cared, couldn’t not care when he considered the few people he’d ever wanted to make proud, but the depth of his pain had somehow grown in the last few moments and he’d been teetering on insanity for years now. It would be better to die.
He looked to his brother again, scowling at the contented smile on his dead face. Well, fuck him. He’d be joining him soon enough, and maybe in the next life Sasuke could kill him properly.
The kunai that sliced across his throat felt better than anything he’d ever done.
***
He woke up in a hospital.
Naruto, I hate you.
He knew this hospital, sterile white beds pressed against mint green walls. He was on the second floor, I.V uncomfortably tugging at the inside of his arm. His throat felt sore, and when he inspected it his probing fingers met bandages wrapped thickly around his neck. He hummed, an experimental sound, and found it didn’t hurt that much. That, combined with his weakness, made him believe he’d been in this bed a while.
He wondered if he’d be able to kill himself before the nurses came storming in, but decided not to risk it. He wanted to die, not get strapped down and kept half-alive like the insane were.
Good thing to, as a med-nin knocked gently on his door, entering with a timid smile and a clipboard. He didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t mean anything, though he’d expected Sakura to be dominating his case.
“Hey,” the nin asked, gentle and caring in a way that felt fake. “How do we feel?”
He grimaced, and said nothing. Demure countenance or not, she was still a nin, not just a nurse, and he wouldn’t be lowering his guard.
She didn’t seem to need an answer, clicking a pen and inspecting the sheet in front of her.
“Do you remember your name?”
He raised an eyebrow. The nin laughed, taking a seat on the adjacent bed.
“Sorry. These are just questions I have to ask.”
“Uchiha Sasuke.”
She hummed, jotting something down on her clipboard. “Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Can you tell me the date?”
That threw Sasuke for a moment, as logically it had been a few weeks if he’d been able to heal so thoroughly. He rattled off the date it had been when he’d killed Itachi, vaguely realizing he’d never forget that date again.
She hummed again, and didn’t deign to give him the actual date. Annoying.
“Who’s the hokage?”
“Senju Tsunade.”
She jot down his answer, a bit more furiously than before. Sasuke narrowed his eyes.
“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
He pursed his lips. He didn’t want to admit to trying to kill himself, though he guaranteed she already knew.
“I killed my brother.”
“And your brother is?”
He snarled, sitting up suddenly in a way that had the woman tense (though her smile never faded). “Fuck off. You know who he is.”
“I’m sorry, Uchiha-san. I’m testing your comprehension, not trying to insult you.”
Sasuke wiped a hand down his face. “Uchiha Itachi. Where’s Naruto?”
She took a moment to furiously jot down notes on her paper. “Oh?”
Sasuke scoffed. “I know he brought me back, though I have no fucking clue how he knew where I was.”
But Naruto was resourceful and fucking persistent. He was back in Konoha, not in some hole in the ground or one of Orochimaru’s hideouts, which meant this could only be him.
“Naruto..?”
No, Sasuke was done with this.
“Am I under arrest?”
The nin looked at him, eyes wide. “Do you need to be? For…” she looked at the form in front of her. “For killing your brother?”
Sasuke sneered. “Bring me the hokage. Or Naruto. I’m no longer speaking to you.”
The nin wasn’t offended, just gave him a pitying look, bowed, and left the room. Well, it was the most respect someone had given him in years, so he couldn’t hate her too much.
He was left alone for over an hour, and he spent that hour fuming, staring out the window at the peaceful village with the familiar stone of hatred in his gut. The longer the hour dragged on the more the feeling faded, and that hollow feeling returned. It was like a ghostly hand was slowly sinking into his gut, scooping whatever it found there and oh-so slowly removing them. It was intolerable, and if Naruto didn’t get here soon Sasuke would simply break the closest metal equipment and plunge the sharp end in his chest.
He wondered what it would feel like to skewer his own heart, and immediately had his question answered when his father walked through the door.
Of all the people to torture him with, of the mountain of dead loved ones to shock him with, they’d chosen his father. He looked…exactly like Sasuke remembered, though that wasn’t saying much considering how long ago it had been. Sasuke hadn’t had his sharingan and memories were fickle. More than once he’d angsted over forgetting his parents, over forgetting their voices and faces and how it felt to be held by them. Shamefully, he’d thought he’d actually forgotten, yet obviously not as he recognized the man in front of him. Knew him like the back of his hand.
“Sasuke.”
He hadn’t cried when he’d killed his brother, hadn’t cried when he’d made the decision to take his own life. He wouldn’t cry now.
“How dare you.”
He was on his feet, uncaring about how he only had those awful hospital gowns on and was essentially naked. His sharingan was twirling in his eyes, lips pulled back on a snarl. It wasn’t a genjutsu, unless they’d resurrected Itachi just for this cruel and unusual form of- what? Interrogation? They’d have to have known this shit wouldn’t work, and he honestly didn’t care about keeping Orochimaru’s secrets, something they should know considering he’d killed the man.
“Sasuke, sit down.”
Sasuke laughed bitterly, eyeing the man wearing his father’s face with disdain. His eyes glittered. “I’ll kill you first.”
The fake Fugaku slid his eyes to the small crowd of nin that came up behind him. Anbu, for the majority of them save an old man who-
Sasuke eyed the third hokage, his eyebrow twitching. His father made sense, but he had significantly less affection for the sandaime than his own family and he doubted Konoha thought he felt anything for him considering he’d trained under his killer. Trying to guilt him? But that didn’t make sense either, since Sasuke had already fucking killed himself. If they’d wanted him to pay for Orochimaru’s murder they should have just let him bleed out, death and disgrace all wrapped up in one.
“…I take it you recognize me?”
“Recognize the face you’re wearing, yes. I have no clue who you are.” Or what you could want.
Sasuke was feeling more and more unnerved, eyes flicking around the room and trying to take in information that could possibly explain what this was. He breathed deeply, tasting sunlight. Was it..spring? How long had he been unconscious?
“You killed Itachi?”
Sasuke didn’t answer, letting his fake father have his little skit. The man sighed. “Did you take his eyes?”
“Oh go fuck yourself,” he snarled, taking a few strategic steps back towards the window and concealing it with violent gestures to punctuate his words. “I killed Itachi because he needed to die, not because I give a shit about some bullshit power.”
The fake Fugaku grimaced. “Language.”
Sasuke almost lunged, but kept it in.
“Is that why you…” the fake Fugaku trailed off, dragging a hand over his throat.
Sasuke laughed mockingly. “Why do you care? Why save my life? Outside of Naruto’s bullshit, that is.”
God, where was he? It was somehow stifling to be in the village without Naruto’s boisterous presence.
Fake Fugaku hummed. “Naruto’s bullshit?”
Sasuke pursed his lips, shoving down his instinctive flush as he imagined how he could explain Naruto’s behaviour without shaming himself through association. He decided to simply wipe a hand down his face, shaking his head.
He took a few more casual steps towards the window, noting the flowers on the trees. It was spring, so he’d been under for months.
Wait.
Sasuke bodily turned towards the window, ignoring how the people in the room were getting a good look at his bare ass. The hokage monument had been defaced, childish paint spelling out crude characters and cartoon characters down the massive stone faces.
All four of them.
He clutched at the sill, feeling lightheaded. This wasn’t a genjutsu, but there was no way they’d disgrace the hokage monument for one interrogation.
He faced his father, head shaking in disbelief even before he asked. “What’s going on?”
His father sighed.
***
Vomiting while not having eaten for several weeks was, unsurprisingly, very fucking painful.
“Wherever you came from,” some random nin explained, “we’re almost certain it doesn’t exist anymore.”
Wherever. There was a debate on whether he was from the future or from a different dimension.
“My son is eight.”
Sasuke violently shook his head, before needing to stop as his vision blurred. He was in the bathroom adjacent to his hospital room, bent over the toilet with his ass still hanging out. His father was in the doorway, the other nin clustered behind him, and the image was almost funny. For a moment he was just a boy with a stomach bug, seeing his father awkwardly hovering in the bathroom doorway while his mother cleaned up his bedding, arms crossed and tense as if he wanted to comfort Sasuke but couldn’t, because they didn’t have that kind of relationship.
He loved his father.
But his mother.
“What’s to be done with me?”
It was the hokage’s turn to sigh, backing out of the doorway of the bathroom to make room for Sasuke to leave. He settled back on the bed, his vague irritation at being the center of attention the only emotion he could identify in the churning sickness in his gut.
“Normally you’d be completely detained until we can grasp the threat-level you present,” the sandaime said, “but considering…circumstances I’m prepared to give you more leniency.”
No one in the room looked at his neck, but Sasuke could feel their gazes nonetheless. A man who’d tried to kill himself is not a man with ambition, or one who particularly cared for the future.
But he wasn’t in the future, was he?
“Can I take him home?”
Home.
Sarutobi sighed, and crossed his arms. “With the condition he’s under constant surveillance by anbu.”
“Well,” Fugaku said idly, his eyes never leaving Sasuke. “That shouldn’t be too hard for you.”
From the new tension in the room, Sasuke assumed that was some sort of jab.
His father was the first to break, lowering his eyes in deference to the hokage. Sasuke felt his chest clench, but didn’t understand why.
They brought him clothes; hospital scrubs the same mint green as the walls. Sasuke changed right then and there, only vaguely annoyed that none of the adults cared to remember his privacy. They badgered him with further questions, but it was all pretty useless. They didn’t know what they didn’t know, and they spent the afternoon simply comparing Sasuke’s childhood to what had already passed, but again, Sasuke could only recall vague details. It was an exercise in futility, and Sasuke was growing gradually more pissed off as well as exhausted, and his father could sense it. He called an end to the questioning when the sun had fallen low, and Sasuke was allowed to leave. With his dad.
He felt disconnected, letting himself be pulled by his father’s grip on his elbow. He was pretending to believe it because to be frozen in shock did no one any good. He was a shinobi, and he needed to act, but the emotions he’d pushed away to deal with the now violently struck him when they entered the Uchiha compound. He’d indulged the present because, well, he’d meant to die hadn’t he? What did he care if he was thrust somewhere completely different?
Unless I’m dead.
All the people around him were ghosts after all. Guards he could barely remember greeted Fugaku as he entered. His auntie called out a greeting. His neighbors waved. The houses were all clean and well-kept, the gardens weeded, the paint on the Uchiha crest whole and unbroken.
Restore my clan.
He’d never thought he’d have this again. Did he have this?
Sasuke jerked, and his father shot him a wary look, no doubt scared he’d be sick again. But no, something much worse was coming.
When he finally sobbed it was like a wounded animal, wresting from his chest like a pulled scab. But this pain wasn’t from a fresh wound, it was from a horrible scar that had disfigured his life, left him nothing but an embittered kid who’d walked into the snake’s den for an ounce of power. He was suddenly remembering what he was before the massacre, what life was like. Joy could hurt worse than despair, his brother’s fingers against his forehead worse than a knife along his throat.
Sasuke fell to his knees, his breath coming in too fast. His tears fell without care, his eyes wide and unable to understand the community around him, the familiarity, the love. These people all supported each other, the clan. They fought for each other, they lived together, they grew together. There was no loneliness in this place, and suddenly feeling so full hurt. He sobbed again, and only vaguely understood how the clan watched him, unnerved at the display of an Uchiha breaking down in such a public place. He felt their judgment, and he thanked god for the feeling, so unbelievably grateful.
He had to believe this was real, because the only other alternative was that Sasuke had gotten rewarded in the afterlife, and he simply didn’t believe he’d done anything in his life the afterlife would honour.
***
“You can’t hurt him.”
He didn’t ask who, couldn’t process the idea in his mind. He nodded anyways, because he knew.
This was his house, and he’d lived in this place for years after it was only him, the sole survivor. This house, the one standing warm and full in front of him, is one he hasn’t seen in too long. He didn’t wait for his father to open the door, reaching out like he’d done it a million times.
It was already dark, the hallway black, but almost immediately he heard the rapid pads of a small pair of feet. He tensed, and his father idly reached beyond him to flip on the light.
“Tou-san!”
The footsteps slowed, and a child peeked out from beyond the door frame of what Sasuke knew as the living room, excited yet trying to contain the feeling, flushing as he grasped at the frame.
Sasuke swallowed, toeing off his shoes based on instinct as he couldn’t look away from the child. The kid had sought out Fugaku first, but quickly met Sasuke’s eyes.
This was the kid that saw his family die.
“Um…” The child bowed. “Hello.”
Sasuke waved, and at that little bit of acknowledgment had the kid blushing, a pleased smile on his face.
Yeesh.
A hand came down on the child’s head, ruffling his hair in a way that almost had Sasuke crying again. His mother was in front of him, looking at Sasuke like she knew him, but didn’t know where. Oh, he was crying again.
Sasuke pressed both hands to his face, watching the smaller version of him through the lace in his fingers. The kid scrunched up his nose, turned around and looked up at his mother. “He’s weird.”
Mikoto sighed. “Go find your brother, Sasuke.”
He wanted to call out, to tell her not to even if all Itachi would do during this time period is listen to Sasuke’s babble with (what his child mind had perceived) gentle interest. It didn’t matter if Itachi was kind, because that kind memory would be just as painful as any bad one. All memories of Itachi were painful.
He heard his father explain the situation in hushed tones, watched his mother’s confusion slowly morph into amused disbelief, to just disbelief, to horror. She approached him, and Sasuke only then registered how he had sunk to his knees again, holding his stomach like it was about to fall out.
Her hand came under his chin, lifting his face for her inspection, and he could see the recognition in her eyes.
“Sasuke.”
She’d said his name, the name given to him by his parents, now both alive and whole and in front of him.
And then he was that kid again, falling forward into his mother’s arms to bury his face in her shoulder and sob and sob and sob until his sobbing became screaming, until his despair became horror, with no force strong enough to combat it except the timber of his mother’s voice and her hands patting his back.
He was home.