The Stage's Avenger

The Stage’s Avenger
by Peaches

Chapter Two

It was a long time that Sasuke simply cried in the ambulance. Not even cried so much as continuously wiped his eyes in their provided blanket. His arrival at the countryside hospital had been a success, while police handled the demanding news reporters at the closer facility.

As they could tell, the Uchiha’s injuries had been… reasonable, and not life-threatening. They could take their time keeping him out of the media’s eye.

That didn’t keep him from seeing the media’s view of it all on the television of his room. From all he could gather (and his father’s friends refused to disclose to him), it turns out that his brother’s best friend and their distant cousin, Shisui, had broken in to the house. He was in the middle of his atrocities when Itachi must have come home, caught him, and protected his baby brother before giving chase.

Sasuke knew better than that. They were missing the fact that even if Itachi must have said he had been at the office, he was home long before even the younger boy had been.

And planning it.

The concept made him close his eyes and settle fingers on his tenderized neck. He could still feel where the tie had wrung him in to blacking out under his brother’s controlled application. Because it was mere bruising that left his throat swollen now that he was awake, questioning was being held off. If only to help him sleep and recover from his strange fatigue he was attached to an IV.

The mild sedative didn’t take away the pain in his rump; of course, they didn’t know anything was wrong with that area. And he wasn’t about to tell them.

Nearby on the chair, was his brother’s cornflower blue shirt. The shirt he only wore before he was going away for a long time. It was thin denim and folded on the visitor’s chair that had thus far remained very empty during his stay. The shirt that he would be tucked in to bed with, so that there was some part of Itachi staying with him no matter where he went.

And because it was his, he would have to come back some day, if only to arrest his little brother for theft.

Remembering all the care his brother had put in to this made him cry all over again, mutating in to a pile of weeping and dolor under the sheets.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“We know it’s hard, Sasuke, but we really need your statement. Your dad practiced that with you, right?”

The Uchiha responded only by nodding as he stared out the window. This was the first time he had ever needed to be in a hospital; he was sick of it already.

There was a click, and Sasuke assumed that the shuffling that followed was from a tape recorder being set down. “Good. So, can you state your name for us, please?”

“…Uchiha Sasuke.” His throat was still tender, but the doctor agreed that the sooner he got this out of the way, the sooner he could start his therapy. Sasuke personally, didn’t see the rush.

“Can you tell us, what happened on the twenty-sixth day of July?”

Coal eyes lost some of their luster, fingers curling in the blanket over his middle. His vein had been subtracted of the nourishment needle, leaving only a thick wad of medical cotton taped to his inner elbow. In his head he was going over the list of procedures that police used for gathering a witness report, collecting what details were relevant. More importantly, where to begin.

“I guess… I left the house a little before seven… Kaasan was still in the kitchen. Tousan and Niisan left for work before me. I went to school…” They made no complaint to his order, and he made no complaint about the itch in his throat. “I jogged home. Came in the back door, through the kitchen. The clock said three-forty. Got my snack. Went upstairs—“

One of the officers that had been taking notes lifted a finger to interrupt him. Sasuke glanced over, eyes heavy as he calculated. “So you didn’t see the wrecked TV or the coffee table?”

Almost affronted, but much too tired to put his voice in to it he only delivered a look that silently told the man not to ask such a stupid question. “No. …I didn’t. I don’t go all the way around my house just to get to the stairs.”

Their family had one of the largest, oldest homes in all of Konoha. Originally that had been the base of police operations, until the official building had been established in the beginning of the village’s turn in to a city. As a very traditional structure, most of the rooms were quartered off from each other to always denote a sense of privacy.

“We just have to be thorough, Sasuke. Did you have any idea something was amiss? That someone was in the house?”

Even through the drugs he was becoming more than irate. Adolescent fury glossed in his eyes while he set his jaw. In a few more minutes, they would know it had been his brother. They would close in on him, and he would never see the light of day again. They wouldn’t forgive him, no matter how great he was.

In a few more questions, he was going to lose the chance to get answers out of his brother forever. He would have to rely on that shirt forever. He would lose the last direct string of his family while he was forced to live with lesser cousins and their mother’s sister who would grudge him and always mourn for the loss of her sweet Mikoto. Would remind Sasuke every day how much he looked like her.

He would lose everything he had grown accustomed to. Yet, had that not happened already? After all, it was the middle of the day and he was not in class, nor in his room studying. And yet…

…He was the only one that could clearly say his brother did it. Could aim the finger, and make all of that happen. In a few short words all of southern Japan would be looking for his brother. His personal recitation of would-be history would unfold.

But there was Shisui. Shisui, who had been close to his brother since Sasuke was old enough to learn his brother was close to anyone. In the times he could tag along on his brother’s back, they hardly ever said a word to each other, and still the tiniest of them could feel the thick air of understanding. He had always liked how Shisui made his brother feel; he was so much easier to cajole for a night in the same bed without the nightlight (a feat which, at the time, had been extraordinary) after one of those long days in the park.

Shisui, who was dead and could not defend himself against any allegations the youngest Uchiha could forge. Shisui, whom he knew had been nowhere near their house that day. Whom miraculously ended up in the river the same day, supposedly short hours from the time Sasuke had been ambushed.

“…Sasuke?”

“I,” he gasped, recovering his train of thought. Glazed eyes gained their focus, brows knitting. “Didn’t notice anything. Kaasan wasn’t in the kitchen, but their door was shut. I… just assumed she was in there. It’s always shut when they want privacy. In the shower or something.”

From the looks they gave each other, the boy had no doubt they were piecing things together. The when and where of things. And ignoring him to do it. All of his father’s subordinates, whenever they were around for get-togethers, always assumed he wasn’t nearly as prodigal as his brother since their father said so little about him. And every time they were over, their father was always flaunting Itachi, while Sasuke cloistered himself with his studies.

“Continue, Sasuke. You went upstairs…?”

“I went upstairs,” he huffed, already tired of this necessity. Anxious to get to the part where it all fit in to place. “Went to my room, and started on my homework. I guess I was at it about… fifteen minutes, when I heard something behind me.”

They both looked up. They had been bored too, until the action started. “And then?”

“…I don’t remember.”

“You don’t,” one started, the other tipping back his hat and finishing with, “…remember?”

Sasuke fought to hide the music in his voice. Given how much he wanted to sleep, it wasn’t hard. “I don’t remember. I guess that’s when I was strangled.”

Both of the officers deposited sighs, then went back to their writing.

“…Hey,” the boy spoke up, snagging their attention. Even though he had just lied, he didn’t need to anymore. “…Did you guys find Niisan, yet?”

Apparently they didn’t know how to answer them. The one that had been questioning him grew crestfallen, and the other scratched at his head. But the latter one braved explaining it to him, even if he didn’t look at him. “Well, judging from how we found you all, we think Shisui… killed them, before you got home. Itachi might have been elsewhere in the house, but we can only assume, since your statement is lacking, that he came in the middle of the struggle with you.”

The imperative tone that surfaced from the delicate frame in the bed brought the pair to full attention. “That doesn’t answer my question, idiots.”

The first one chuckled forlornly, no doubt used to the treatment by his father. “Guess not… We were only able to include Shisui-san as a suspect when his body was found downriver, near Irikawa. It was suspicious, given who he was, and Uchiha-san hadn’t reported in yet… That’s when we came over.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything, Sasuke? Before the police arrived? How you got in your bed as you did…?”

Sasuke flushed at the memory, and the presence of his brother’s shirt around him. Just his brother’s shirt around him. “…Nothing. Where… is he…?”

“We… got a report of gunshots, around four-thirty in the morning, over on the northwest side. There was blood at the crime scene, and standard police pistol rounds. It was Itachi-san’s gun, from the registry markings on the shells. Shisui-san’s body was recovered without a bullet wound, but… we haven’t been able to find Itachi-san anywhere… But we’re still using river patrol, in case he…” he grumbled the last part, afraid to know what the brother of a very lethal Uchiha would do to him from so many feet away.

Dark eyes merely widened, righting his head from the pillow to gape at them. “So… you’re telling me…”

“It’ll all be in the press release tomorrow evening, Uchiha-kun. We really can’t reveal more than we don’t know.”

They almost didn’t hear him, leaning in to the whisper. “Get out…”

“…Excuse me?”

“I said GET OUT!” A tiny fist and a pointing finger thrust towards the door, the other tightly balled in his sheets as his head hung. His voice scratched his own nerves and exposed them to vinegar. “Get out get out get the FUCK out!”

As they gathered their recorder and shuffled for the door, the Uchiha heir dropped back in to his pillows and sobbed. Or at least, pretended to sob until the door was shut. From beneath them he freed the cornflower blue shirt, clutching to it and taking in a pull of air from its stock of his brother’s scent.

Itachi really had thought this through…

Had been hoping to get away with it. …No… not hoping.

Expecting. Trusting. Trusting him.

A few days later the Uchiha sat in a bed of the police psychiatric hospital, a white, patient’s pajamas upon him. Nearby, both a child psychologist and the police criminal psychologist played their roles of evaluating him.

Sasuke cooperated as much as he felt he had to. He wanted to cry, at the fact his father, and especially his mother were gone, but his ego and his fury towards the culprit kept him mute.

Besides. He just didn’t like them. During the time he stared at the badge reading ‘Morino Ibiki’, they asked him questions he only replied to with a solid, vacant glare.

They couldn’t make him talk. Unlike his brother, they had guidelines.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So…” The headmaster meshed his hands, old knuckles creaking over the student file that was played out with Sasuke’s information. Sarutobi delivered a tender smile to the boy across from him in the chair. “They tell me you aren’t cooperating with their counseling. Hoho, I could have easily told them you wouldn’t if they had dropped you by sooner.”

Folding his arms, Sasuke stared off to a point of the floor. Without the sterile environment and the too-white walls of the hospitals, blended in with the years he had watched the old man’s hairline fade away, he wasn’t comfortable feeling his pangs here.

“I hope you know me better than to force anything out of you.” He watched the boy’s lip jut harshly as black eyes settled on him, waiting for the fine print no doubt. “As you can obviously understand, given your situation, we are left with a very difficult choice. Your aunt and uncle watch the news, too, Sasuke. They’ve asked that I help gather your school paperwork to be ready for transfer to their district up—“

“If it’s all the same, Sarutobi-san, I would… like to stay here.”

Nodding with a low hum of understanding, the old man lowered his eyes to the file. “If your brother is still alive, and if it’s determined that Shisui was killed in Itachi-san’s line of duty, then he would be able to play as your legal guardian.”

Just the name made all the nerves in his spine grow painful in their existence from thinking about it all at once. How elated he may have been at one time to be under the vigil of his brother, and how furious he was now that everyone was oblivious.

But they were oblivious because he had wanted them to be. The entire nation clamming for this tragic story depended on his say-so. Because of that, he said nothing.

“…I was reading, somewhere,” he started carefully, shifting his crossed leg so that he could sink in the chair.

“…Hm?”

“That, at the age of thirteen, a person’s eligible to inherit property as the direct or sole relation. So, if I got my parent’s house, I could just stay there couldn’t I?”

There was no getting around how loathsome the boy sounded at the prospect of living in that place, but also how much he wanted to stay here. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle with smiling. “At thirteen you are also a candidate of sound mind and body to present your case before a court for legal emancipation.”

“I already filled out the paperwork.”

“I’m afraid that won’t cut it, Sasuke.” Greeted by demanding, puzzled silence he continued, turning over one of the schedule sheets on his desk. “There are still variables. You have responsible, living relatives, and your brother is only missing. They can’t rid you of a legal guardian for the simple sake that you wish to live by yourself. I don’t think the evaluation of your mental state will help you, either.”

So even after all this, he was still going to have to hear from that woman about how beautiful his mother was, and how great his father was, and just how super-duper his brother was and all that… bullshit. His head fell back with the weight of that, releasing an annoyed groan.

“But…”

Cautiously, he lifted his fluffy black head to eye the principal.

“I suppose I’ve seen you grow up more than your aunt and uncle have. They most likely don’t have a clue about your fight with that fellow at the college for misunderstanding that age doesn’t quite equal wisdom…” he faded off, eyes lighting with mischief as the Uchiha gaped at him. Mindfully, Sarutobi lifted the sheet it was written on, proving that his intelligence gathering was second only to the police force.

“…And here, I would be able to keep an eye on your progress every day… You only live a kilometer away if I remember correctly? I would see you boys on morning jogs, but I suppose walking that every few days will do me some good.”

The heat of how much this guy did for him (and all the students around here, really) reached his ears, looking away bashfully as his arms unfolded and hands settled in to his lap. In some distant way, he had always wanted an awesome grandfather like this guy. Nervously he strung them together, a hushed, “Thank you,” peeping out of him.

“You’re very welcome, Sasuke. But, regarding your schoolwork…”

“I’ll… get right on that, sir.”

“On the contrary, I’ve made a recommendation to the school board that you be exempted from finishing this trimester.”

His voice sharpened, knuckles gathering on his thighs. ”Why?”

Having expected the other to object, he removed the glasses from his nose to pinch between his own eyes while he spoke. “You’ve been subject to a tragedy, Sasuke. The medical doctor that released you did so because your physical injuries have healed. But because you’ve declined cooperating with their grief councilors, they cannot determine when, if, or how you could have a lapse in your judgment given your adolescence and situation. And, I don’t need reporters swarming this office taking away from your schoolwork, demanding interviews. Do you understand?”

“…Whatever.” Dammit. Now he wasn’t going to have anything to keep him busy.

He’d worked on those take home tests and fretted about isotopes and equations for nothing.

Later that evening, when he got home, it was the first time he had been there in almost three weeks. The grass needed to be mowed, and there was no doubt in his mind that he needed new milk. On his hand was a bag of groceries and take-out, staring at the entirety of the kitchen as he stood in the doorway. For a long time, he said nothing.

Then, startling even himself with how timid it was, he murmured, “…I’m home.” Part of him had expected… some kind of response.

For his mother to come out from another room with having attended to something, smiling and welcoming him home with the promise of dinner being ready soon.

Or for the stairs to creak at the arrival of his brother, demanding his shirt back and calling him some favorite name before asking what he had for homework.

Weakness in his limbs warned him to set the pair of bags down before they fell with the weight of molten hot lead in his stomach attempting to crawl upwards.

It didn’t have to try very hard when he buckled, the sick of his empty stomach spilling on to the linoleum flooring.

Sluggishly he collected himself and went to the sink to clean it up, staying on the floor a long time after that. Between spurts of tears rolling down his cheeks and staining the blue denim shirt repeatedly, he ate the boxed, fried rice and meats. Slowly. He wasn’t in a hurry to throw up his progress, or rub his snot in to his sleeves. It burned his nose, but he used the napkins instead.

Eyes settled on the cuff, large over his wrist and sagging over his eating hand. He should be hating this shirt… Burning it, condemning it, blaming it in his brother’s stead. His insides should be alight with hatred for that man and stealing away precious things from him. Leaving him weak and alone and lonely like this. Yet, he just couldn’t… bring himself to do so.

Instead he dragged himself, half-full and restless to the fridge to put the milk away, and plodded in to the hall. He couldn’t decide, whether to go down there and peek at the crime scene, where the ‘Crime Scene : Keep Out’ tape had been and was now removed with the cleaning crews having gone through. There was no new evidence to glean, and they already had their suspect, thanks to him.

His parents didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t want to, either. Didn’t want to consider that they might never forgive him for lying, and be out to make the rest of his life a living hell with guilt.

Yet, he didn’t feel guilty. There was no way he could, when he knew that Itachi had been a man that always did what he wanted, regardless of how it made others feel. He had a way of making everyone around him powerless and useless, mindless and left only to follow his elaborate, silently-conveyed plans.

There was nothing wrong with being subject to his brother’s whims. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Didn’t have to like the mural of photographs that lined the hallway as he advanced on their parents’ room.

Maybe even hate it.

The sound was thrilling. The shrieks of glass as it crashed in to the wood flooring. In some small way it was like controlling where his brother fell and ripping in to the vessels of his photo-captured soul to rip him to pieces. Thrown in to the other walls, taking frames and old sunny days at the beach or family visits, portraits, and accomplishments.

Te lone witness was cabinet, also injured in the tantrum and stood sentry as its master flung photo after photo and glass skittered away. Stomped them and kicked them and screamed curses at them. When he ran out of curses he simply yelled, trembling until his wrath fizzled out and he collapsed to the shard-dusted floor.

He laid there as eternity dripped by silently, trapped in a world of his own labored breathing and the feeling of edges slicing mildly in to his ear and scalp and cheek. Lungs scalded him from the inside and his knuckles pulsed angrily, but he couldn’t bring himself to care or open his mouth further to remedy it or lift his busted hands out of the mosaic’s pieces. Or wipe his face dry as clear fury leaked from his dazed eyes.

Long after the sun went down did consciousness visit him again, never having really closed his eyes to call it slumber. He was kept company by the nightlight nearby that let him bask in its green, indifferent glow. By that light he made way to his fours, wincing as glass threatened to tear in to his palms and knees like it already had on the side of his head. Thoughtfully he brushed glass dust away from his skin, making way to his feet and listening to the only sound in the house: glass crunching under his sneakers. He swatted more debris from his chest and shoulder, his pants as he made his way to the coat closet, freeing the vacuum cleaner inside.

It was something to do, cleaning up his own mess. He didn’t have to talk to anyone, or even really think about it, but it kept him busy as one by one, the damaged photos were freed from their shattered prisons.

That was the start of his numb, private new schedule. Sasuke collected the pictures, one by one not looking at them lest he bring himself to feel something. The cabinet kept them safe as he wandered the house. And for the next few days, he was obsessed with erasing the traces that anyone aside from himself had ever lived – or died, there.

Sasuke’s head picked up from one of the packed boxes, swearing he had heard something. Something other than the moans that haunted his fitful naps, moans he had made in the throes of his brother. Heavy lids diluted his search around the room, a maze of cardboard pillars with eerie shadows playing in to the world below from the lame yellow light in the ceiling.

There. Again. It occurred to him it was the doorbell, a sound that had been foreign in all but his memory. Realizing that it must mean someone was at the door, he unfurled himself from the box of kitchen wares and navigated himself to the basement’s stairs.

The fourth ring yielded his presence at the main door, popping the latch and sliding the heavy wooden door away to reveal an old man just shorter than himself, smiling from behind his unlit pipe. He was smiling until he opened his eyes, taking in the Uchiha and almost losing his pipe for his jaw watering.

“…Sasuke? You look terrible, boy.”

From him there wasn’t any response, not until his bruised eyes slid their gaze elsewhere. “. . . I’ve been busy,” he stated, croaking from the lack of use his voice had gone through since his fit in the hallway. Curiosity tugged at him, returning his eyes to the worried, wrinkled visage of his principal. “What… did you need, Sarutobi-san?”

Fingers lifted to right the pipe in his mouth, easing a weaker smile to his face and digging in to his jacket to free a stack of envelopes. “Your mailbox was overstuffed, so I was worried.”

He didn’t sound very convinced, not making a move to take the overdue notices and invitations and who knew what else from the old man. “…If that’s all…”

“It isn’t,” he hummed, nodding to himself. “Actually, I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with the grandson and myself?”

Neither said anything while Sasuke’s stomach gurgled with delight at the idea of something other than canned corn and frozen pizza. Hesitantly he looked away, retreating from the door to sit himself at the stoop and work at tugging on his shoes.

“Should I put this..?”

“I’ll look at it on the way,” he decided quietly, extending his hand for the stack of mail.

“You should lock up, you know.”

“There’s nothing in there to steal.” Sasuke slid the door shut behind him, nearly stumbling off the steps. It had been a while since he had been exposed to daylight, stinging his eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If you want the rest of this chapter – and this fic, visit this story in the AU section.