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.

The yard still needed to be mowed, and the old guy noticed that as well, offering his grandson up as a form of cheap labor for whatever the boy needed help with. Sasuke only grunted agreements here and there, stopping in the sorting when it occurred to him…

…How much he was beginning to sound like his brother. Silent all this time, Sarutobi didn’t notice the change in his thoughts, only continued on about his own family experiences. Deep down, the Uchiha heir was thankful that the old man left out instances where his own family had been there, or anything remotely involving himself.

Dinner passed by… without incident.

That was three years ago. In that time, everything had been a blur. Within four months he had been allowed to resume his education, and aside from the visits his relatives made every other month, the excitement of new things in his life was seldom.

After he finished his high school classes within two years, he had attempted to move on to college. That had failed miserably due to his lack of interest. Rather, he had taken up a job at the bakery downtown, coming back to the house on his bike and going through the front door with the delicious stink of yeast on his clothes.

He had moved in to his brother’s room. With it so much like his own had been, that place now covered in plastic and barren much like most of the rooms in this house, it had been little change in his general atmosphere and routine.

But it took getting used to, falling asleep with his brother’s scent infesting everything. Even his own clothes, as they marinated alongside the older, missing Uchiha’s in the closet. It took some getting used to.

In some ways, Sasuke felt like he too had been murdered in this house. He was a phantom, prowling around and keeping the memories alive and scaring off neighborhood children that attempted to catch glances of him from the windows, and run away screaming with their over-active imaginations. There had been a tiny satisfaction, in being feared like that.

They never found his brother.

And Sasuke was getting sick of waiting for him. Sick of taking showers to rid himself of his own odor and retreat to a room that wasn’t his to sleep on pillows that managed to never smell like his shampoo. Tired of waking up feverish and consumed in longing a presence that wasn’t there.

Disgusted with no matter how many times he washed his sheets after lonely nights he still couldn’t bring himself to find a diversion in someone else.

The solitude always reminded him that his brother was out there, terrorizing him from afar with the fact he had gotten away with it all.

And that Sasuke had let him.

Today was another boring, pastry-scented day in the bakery, filling out forms of inventory and the like as he worked the front counter. Weekly orders for restaurants, and birthday cupcakes.

One little gaggle of black-clothed punks had slipped in, giggling and leering at things in the windows. Easily Sasuke assumed that the only way a place like this could be very fun was if they were on some mind-altering substance. Or too easily amused.

It had been so long since Sasuke had been around people his own age, instead of those exceeding their thirties, that he forgot how… stupid they were. Scowling, he went back to the papers, only glancing up through the silken thicket of his hair every now and again to make sure their hands stayed away from their backpacks and pockets.

Now that he thought about it, they didn’t sound like they were from around here. There were troublemakers, like that Kiba group that insisted on walking his dogs on the properties of kids he didn’t like. But other than that, this place was blissfully free of troublemakers and broken windows. As boring as it was, he wouldn’t have it any other way. These kids either had to be from downtown, or some other region.

His eye ticked when one of them pulled the glass window open. “Hey! You ask for stuff before you get your dirty hands on it.” He wasn’t in the mood for kids today. Sure, they looked older than him, but it didn’t change the fact they were just brats.

“Kyaa~! Sasuke-kun!! I knew it was you!” The only blond in the group appeared at his counter with a jiggle, bending over it and cooing excitedly as he straightened himself. “What are you doing in a place like this huh?! I thought you moved!”

Inky disks flattened in how she continued to wiggle her ass at her party, her huge marble-blue eyes pulling shut as she set her cheeks in her hands before they could fill with stars.

Silence reigned, some distracted by the show of her hiked miniskirt and fishnets, and Sasuke’s in part by the fact he didn’t recognize her.

“…If you’re not going to buy anything…” Suddenly he became conscious of flour on his cheek, swiping at it.

There was no great surprise in how she had not recognized him. With his smock and hair longer than his days of attending school, it had flattened out behind him. Even it had gotten tired of the monotony, the rebellious crest tapering off to a satin frazzle that made his head sit in a more childish pride on his shoulders.

She didn’t seem to notice that she was taller than him, especially with that high ponytail carrying a rich mane of platinum braids and curls.

“Sasuke-kun?! You don’t remember me?” She almost looked offended, if it wasn’t for her quick, huge smile and digging in to her dark purple bodice to free a card she kept… close to her heart. If it could just get through the boobage. Flashing it to him almost like a badge of esteem, the other fist landed her round hip as she chirped, “Yamanaka Ino! Sasuke-kun Fan Club Member Number 000-9!! I’m one of the originals!”

“You know this kid?” A tan, scruffy-jawed boy came up beside her, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts as a half-jacket hung over his mesh shirt. For a long moment he looked like he was calculating – or constipated, which matched Sasuke’s expression evenly. Then he blinked, putting on a grin. “Uchiha Sasuke, right? Damn, we thought you died after you left school man.”

Chouji came up beside them, carrying meaty armfuls of bags that explained all of the empty trays in the windows, putting them down with a polite, “I’ll take these.”

Racking them up on the register, Sasuke turned the display so that Chouji could fish through his bloated clam wallet while he sat back on his stool. “…I’m not dead.”

“Yeah, I can kinda see that. You look kinda dead, though.”

Ino snarled and elbow’d the lazy-mouthed jerk around her, Chouji perking up with an ecstatic, “EXACT CHANGE!!!!”

All three of them stared at the fatman that began to scarf on his treats, right on the floor and out of the main sight of them. Skikamaru scratched at his head and delivered a snicker, while Ino held up her hands as if she was making them a camera on Sasuke’s face while he leaned over the counter to stare.

There was hushed whispering from the blond in to a pierced ear.

“Eh…?” Dark eyes went over to the Uchiha, then blinked and he straightened. “…That could work…” Pulling away from her and stepping around the bottomless blob to put his elbow on the counter. “Sasuke, hey, you ever sing before?”

Eyes narrowed dangerously as his arms folded, long sleeves rolled up to his biceps. “No.”

“You uh… Tch, Ino, you ask him.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, bouncing in to place and nearly throwing herself over the counter. “Sasuke-kun! Some of our friends have a gig in a few days, and they still don’t have anyone that sounds right for the lyrics! You had such a smooth, manly voice back in school oh come on PLEASE?! You could really help them out, with who you are!!”

A slender brow arched, growing more offended by the second. “Who am I?”

“You’re THE Uchiha! Everyone in town knows you! You’re like Clorox for trauma!! And their songs are pretty awesome in that gruesome, dark kinda way.” Suddenly she sounded like she was reconsidering it, until she was blushing and squealing out, “KYAA! We’ll even pitch in for your outfit!”

All three of the boys in the room scoffed. ”Outfit?”

…Well. It would be something new. Maybe give him something to vent on.

Or get him a date. Someone trashy and worthless, so he wouldn’t have to really invest in them. But, more than that…

“…Sounds like fun.”

It had never occurred to him that he was still famous. That people are attracted to the dangerous and the obscene. Double homicide, of a police officer by a police officer, could get people’s attention.

At the center of it, he had been dismissive of the impact it had on everyone else.

Maybe, if everyone else wanted to be close to that, he could lure in the one that mattered most.

He had gotten bored with trying to live out a shadow of a normal life, anyway.

His life had been made anything but normal, thanks to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Billboards and neon signs reflected in his glasses and blotted out the ever-analyzing eyes behind them. Every now and again the lenses would slip down his nose and he was forced to adjust them.

His master had been looking for a place to enjoy a drink for some time now, stalking the sidewalks littered with bars and late-night vendors and the all-around life of celebration and alcohol that was this district. As easy as it would be to simply drive through and pick a place like throwing darts, the man insisted on looking at each place one by one.

One of the names on a guest board made him stop, snowy tendrils lapping at his rims. “…Orochimaru-sama. Perhaps, this place?”

Ochre eyes fell away from the sickly orange light on the clouds hanging above the buildings, releasing an inquisitive noise as he looked back to the youth that aimed his finger to one bar before adjusting his glasses. “And what makes you pick that one, Kabuto-kun…?” The explanations were always intriguing and unique, not to mention amusing.

It had taken him a long while to get used to the lecherous, devious hiss the other had in his voice at all times. A childish glee that came with his antagonism towards everyone in the business. Kabuto was convinced he got off with tormenting people, if not from personal experience. Hands folded behind him, the silver tail of his hair hung over a shoulder of the dark purple business suit lined in gold.

“…Because of one of the groups performing…”

A long brow arched and he turned around to advance on the boy, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Oh…? Is it K-non? You know I’m not very fond of them, but their lead has this adorable thing he does with his fingers…”

Ears burned, restraining the urge to bunch his shoulders as the other swooped in on him with such elated demand and fanciful thoughts. “Yes, it’s adorable. Absolutely – but, that wasn’t what I was talking about, Orochimaru-sama. Does… the name on that board look familiar?”

“Hm…? You know I don’t like it when you’re so secretive…” He didn’t like ruining surprises for himself by looking, but carefully he glanced towards the lit sandwich-board outside the youth café, straightening with revelation as he blinked. “Oh… my…”

Kabuto shivered and bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the way his spine iced over as the other contained his giggling in the back of his hand and strutted inside.

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

“So you memorized the lyrics, right?”

“God – for the sixth time, yes. And -OW! That shit got in my eye!”

Ino squeaked and thumbed at his cheek to get at the eyeliner before it dried. “Well you moved! And stop fidgeting!”

“These pants are too tight!”

She huffed and grabbed him by the chin, fluttering inside at the ability to touch him, even if it was only to apply his face. It didn’t take a great deal anyway. He had a charming opalescence in his skin and eyes deep enough that she was putting on the only touch he really needed. “That’s because they haven’t fitted yet. That’s real leather you’re sitting in, so you’ll need to wear them every day if you want them comfortable by the end of the month!”

“Ah, Ino-chan… I think it’s cuz he wore his tighties with them.” The guitarist threw his finger in the direction of a second black layer creeping out on to the mesh.

Ripping him down by the shoulder, Sasuke released an irritated grunt at his face being buried in her cleavage. “Sasuke-kun! I told you that you can’t wear anything with these!! They already have lining so you can sweat in them! That’s why you’re so tight!”

The one with the pink hair snickered to his friend. “Right. I think he’s tight on his own…”

He was trying to say he heard that, but everything was muffled. After he was freed, he was shoved off behind the changing stand to get it right this time. Well… Now they fit much better, but they still felt like they were going to fall right off his hips.

“Can’t I just wear what they’re wearing?” He pointed to the other four that had a mix of cargo shorts, vests and sleeves, all of which he didn’t have the privilege of wearing. Instead, he was being made to go on the stage in nothing more than a second skin of a sleeveless crop-top that bore an oversized collar, and over that a mesh shirt that gave alluring shadows and masked his true definition without erasing its appeal.

Fisting her hip, Ino tsked at him and wagged a berating finger. “Now now, you’re the lead singer tonight! We have to make sure they’re looking at you! We can’t go making the Uchiha anything less than the main attraction!”

“This is still our gig, you blond little piglet. He’s just here to get our name out there. He looks kinda spoiled if you ask me.”

That was fine… He didn’t mind being used. Their plans were weak, poorly thought out compared to some he was privy to. And at the same time, they were being used too. So there was no real evil or sin at stake, nothing to guilt his conscience later.

Bickering ensued, and Sasuke tossed glitter-ridden hair from his face before stalking off to approach the stage. Intelligently the rest filed in behind him, prowling on to their lighted X’s and starting the show.

Down in the crowds there were no familiar faces, but there was still a thrill in him for coming out to them like this. Behind him he could only hear trash of the guitar and the drums, and whatever else these people had added in that made them think came together as music. Internally he grimaced, generally looking like a thorn was stuck in his tongue as he glowered over the crowd.

Girls – and boys – were flashing things in the air, and he could only suspect they were more of those stupid fan club cards that had been kept since his first days of school.

At one of the booths in the back, an older man not belonging in this crowd at all with a cigarette dripping its ash from his knuckles and dressed in a butter yellow kimono shivered. A rapturous hiss trickled from his parted lips, his tongue darting out to moisten them as tattooed eyes widened. Beside him, the young man adjusted his glasses before reaching out to take a sip from his drink.

Orochimaru had stopped paying attention to the cigarette as soon as the leader of the small pack had come on stage. In Kabuto’s mind, there was no denying it.

That boy was definitely related to a former associate of theirs.

Even with all of the interference, he could feel the thrill. These people had heard of him. Wanted him. And no matter what he did, they would still want him. A sardonic grin lit his glossed lips as they brushed the mic he grabbed, chuckling in to the amplifiers and sending a hush over the screeching crowd.

“…You’re all so pathetic.” It was just a breath, laced with the summation of his anger and solitude. All of them responded to his venom and repulsion with adoration and cheers.

He could hate them – expel his hate on them, and they would worship him for it.

This was his kind of crowd.

His voice cracked with longing, whispers almost lost in the cheers. “I must have him, Kabuto.”