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God Loves Ugly	By : Cannibalistic_Chickens Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Itachi/Sasuke Views: 553 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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When Sasuke again regains consciousness, he is first aware that he has been laid out on something soft. The damp mildew smell was gone, replaced with clean linen and a hint of dust.

His eyes open slowly, sticky with sleep, and he finds a traditional room with lacquered paper walls and thin shoji that allow the fading light of the day to slip into the room. He turns on his back and stares at the beams on the ceiling, turning to look at the door on the other side of the room, faint light spilling through the cracks.

He pushes the blankets away as he sits up, feeling out of place. He takes in the futon he was lying on. The tatami floor. There is an alcove on the far side of the room with a few dusty scrolls stacked in its space. A once beautiful scroll of wolves on a snowy mountain hangs on the wall to his right, now faded over the years.

His mind is foggy and out of sorts, but something is wrong. He moves to push the blankets down his legs and stops. Black lines marring the skin of his arms, his legs. He lifts the shirt he’s wearing, no longer the same one he wore before he lost consciousness, and sure enough it’s on his stomach, on his back.

Seals.

Blocking his chakra.

Etched into his skin, still sore to the touch.

Taming the threat.

Keeping him compliant.

And Sasuke is livid.

He stares at the characters marring his skin and feels the boiling pit of his rage surge. His distaste for Konoha’s regulations was bitter on his tongue.

How dare they do this to him.

He hears movement in the hallway and directs his rage at the door as a soft knock comes and the door slowly slides open.

He meets his brother's eyes and the anger fades. Though he tries to hang on to it, it slips away leaving him feeling confused and small in the gaze of his older brother.

“You’re awake,” Itachi says with a small smile. He slides the door open the rest of the way, letting in the light from the corridor, and steps inside. He’s holding a tray with food, a glass of water, and a pot of tea with two cups.

Sasuke’s eyes follow him as he makes his way over, sets the tray down next to the futon, and sits beside it.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be hungry so I only brought something light.” He says as he pours two cups of tea. A bowl that contains apple slices and a few biscuits is placed on the tray. He hands Sasuke one of the cups of tea and retrieves the other for himself.

Sasuke can't stop staring. He can't believe Itachi is right here in front of him, sitting with him, speaking with him.

“Dinner is almost ready so if this isn’t enough we can….” Itachi trails off and looks at him surprised. Sasuke had set his cup down, turned, and leaned forward to touch his brother's shoulder. He was solid and warm beneath his fingers. He meets Itachi’s eyes and pulls away slowly, apologizing, his voice quiet and small in the dimness of the room.

He lifts his tea and takes a sip, still reeling in the situation.

Itachi smiles and places a hand on his knee for a moment before he too returns to his tea. Sasuke eats a few pieces of the apple, and Itachi eats the biscuits. Sasuke’s confusion lingers, but the silence is comfortable, he doesn’t wish to break this moment.

When Itachi finishes his tea he sets his cup back on the tray and turns to Sasuke. Takes him in, sitting on the still messy futon nursing his, by now, cold tea. Sasuke can feel Itachi’s scrutiny of his skin, the black marks stark against his muted pallor, and turns away to gulp his tea. He grimaces at the taste causing his brother to let out a small laugh, a whisper of breath on the air.

They both turn as movement comes from the hallway and a moment later Mikoto appears in the still open doorway. She smiles at them, and Sasuke looks away. He can't look at her, he tries to ignore the image of her lying on the floor in a pool of blood that his mind supplies him. The growing pit of fear that bubbles just underneath. But it’s there, tearing at his heart and leaving him feeling hollow and angry.

“Dinner’s ready.” She says softly. And breaks him out of his mental torment, shaken and exhausted he continues to stare at the futon beneath him, as after images of his memories fade into its soft blue folds.

He hears Itachi shift beside him. His hand comes to gently lift the cup with the last dregs of tea from his fingers. Hears the ceramic settle on the wood as the cup is placed on the tray.

“Would you like to join us?” Itachi asks. And he can't reply, too numb to find his voice. So he just shakes his head and stares at the soft fabric beneath him. After a moment Itachi lifts the tray and gets to his feet, shifting slightly towards the door.

“I’ll come back later to see how you're doing,” He says. “Try to get some rest.”

The shifting of the floor beneath him announces his retreat. The soft hush as the door slides closed, leaving him alone in the dim slivers of light left behind. The sun has set in their shared silence, the room is darker now. Shadows play in the corners, creating images of a time long past, his hand's fist in the bedding as his breathing turns shakey.

Why is he here?

He would’ve preferred prison, left to rot in the depths of the earth somewhere.

At least there the dead don’t speak.

His breathing quickens, and he pushes himself to his feet.

He needs fresh air.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking as he crosses the floor and reaches out to push the shoji aside, steps out onto the engawa to stare across his mother's garden as he sucks in the cool night air. His bare feet hit gravel as he continues into the garden and stops. Staring out at the trees over the garden wall.

He could just leave.

Leave this nightmare behind, find a way to remove the seal on his chakra, and make his way back to his own dimension.

“Are you planning to leave?” Comes from behind him, as if reading his thoughts.

He turns to look back at his brother, standing in the doorway he had just opened.

“No one will stop you,” he continues when Sasuke doesn't answer.

“But I’d like it if you’d stay.” He finishes after a moment.

Sasuke sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. Torn between disappearing into the night, and giving in to Itachi’s wishes. He doesn’t want to be here, in this place that means nothing but death and anguish to him,
clawing at his insides till there's nothing left.

But his brother stands before him asking him to stay because it's what he wants, and how can Sasuke deny him? He could never ignore Itachi, had never wanted to.

And he finds himself crossing the garden once more, to step back up onto the engawa, and stand in front of his brother.

Itachi takes his hand and leads him back inside, he leaves Sasuke standing in the middle of the room as he closes the shoji once more. Before leading him back toward the futon, coaxing him to lay down, the blankets brought up to his chest.

Sasuke stares at the ceiling and allows his brother to handle him. A hand is brought to his cheek and tilts his face to look at Itachi as he leans over him slightly.

“I know this must be a lot to take in... But try to get some rest. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.” Itachi’s hand retreats as he pulls away. And Sasuke grasps his wrist before he can leave entirely.

“Stay? Please.” He rasps out into the quiet of the room.

And Itachi relaxes back down to the floor and nods his head. Making himself more comfortable. Sasuke pulls his hand away, only for it to be grasped lightly. Itachi’s fingertips sliding against his palm to gently curl around his fingers.

They sit like this for a while, just listening to the other breathe in the darkness. Before Sasuke allows his eyes to shut and his mind to slowly drift away into nothing.

________________________________________________________

The morning light wakes him from his slumber, filtered through the shoji, casting the room in a dim golden glow.

He’s alone, tangled in the blankets, groggily staring out across the floor. He didn’t expect Itachi to stay all night, but to say his absence didn’t make him feel empty would be a lie. He closes his eyes and enjoys the comfort of the futon and blankets surrounding him for a few moments longer, drifting in and out of consciousness till his body tells him he needs to get up and relieve himself. He curls into the blankets for another minute, pressing his face into the pillow, before pulling the blankets from around his face and opening his eyes once more.

The room is brighter now, the sun higher in the sky. He rolls onto his back and straightens out. He stares at the ceiling as he rubs a hand over his face before pushing his fingers up into his hair. He scratches idly at his scalp before pushing the blankets back and sitting up. He stares out over the room taking it in, in the morning light. Nothing has changed, still an empty forgotten room, hastily put together for an unexpected guest. Dust is still clinging to every surface, every corner. Only the shadows have moved, finding new homes amongst their dreary landscape.

He pulls himself from the futon and stands, slowly crossing the room to open the garden door. He stares out at the garden in the light of the day, takes in the stone path, his mother's flower bushes showing the first hint of blooms, the large maple whose branches reach out casting the path in shadow, the koi pond beneath it. He breathes deeply, taking in the fresh air, before quietly closing the door and turning to the other, on the far side of the room.

His feet push him forward until he stands before it, his hand caught in the handle, and his eyes close as he pushes the door aside. When he opens them the far wall of the hallway stands before him, muted white and honeyed wood. The polished floor gleams beneath his feet as he steps out into the hall and slowly slides the door closed behind him. He traces the grain of the wood down the hall to the corner where it disappears. His feet make almost no noise as he rounds the corner and steps into a doorway on his left. There is a sink and a washing machine in the room, both of which he ignores in favor of the door to his right that hides the toilet. When he’s done he returns to the sink to wash his hands.

There’s a mirror over the sink and he takes a moment to look himself over. The black markings are stark against his arms, shoulders, and neck where they’re exposed by the wide collar of his borrowed shirt. He looks paler than usual making the dark circles under his eyes stand out. The soft violet of his Rinnegan seems dull and is lacking its tomoe. He sighs and splashes cold water on his face, before drying off and turning back to the hallway.

He continues to follow the corridors to where he can hear voices, the smell of the morning's meal still lingering in the air. He slowly pads his way to a doorway near the end, and the voices grow louder. He stops a few steps from the door and listens to voices he never thought he’d hear again. His mother's light feathery lilt, sliding softly between the valleys of his brother's smooth baritone, punctuated by the deep husk of his father's few prominent comments.

His hands clench as he raises one to steady himself against the wall. His eyes close and he pulls in a slow deep breath to quiet the panic trying to claw at his mind. He opens his eyes and trails his hand along the wall as he takes the last few steps to the doorway and stops just beyond the threshold. Quiet overtakes the room as he stands there and stares at the wall to the left, gripping the door frame like it's the only solid thing, and forces his breathing to stay slow and relaxed.

“Sasuke,” Itachi says after what seems like hours before the silence settles back into the crevices.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, just stands there unsure of what to do next. And as if she could read his mind, his mother's soft voice calls out and asks,

“Would you like some breakfast? I made sure to save you some.”

Her voice drifts upon the air, filters through his head and he can't help but turn and look at her. Her soft smile was welcoming and untroubled, with no hesitance or tension, just a genuine question of his well-being. Sasuke finds himself nodding as he takes the final step into the room, before he stops, unsure of how welcome his presence was.

“Why don’t you join us?” Itachi states, and settles his hand upon the space at the table beside him as Mikoto stands and moves back into the kitchen to collect the food she had set aside for him.

Nothing seems real as he takes the last few paces to the table and sinks down onto the vacant zabuton, folding his legs beneath him. He stares blankly at the table and everything placed upon it though he sees none of it. Mikoto returns and places a tray that holds a few dishes and a pair of chopsticks in front of him, before she sits back down.

“Thank you.” Sasuke breathes out, his voice is barely above a whisper as he gingerly picks up the chopsticks and lifts the bowl of rice. He stares into the murky liquid of his soup as he mechanically picks at his rice.

“Did you sleep well?” his mother asks, pouring him some tea. “I'm sorry we couldn't provide more for you at such short notice but we’ll make sure to get you what you need soon. Until then itachi has offered to share some clothes with you and you’re welcome to anything in the house.” She rushes out, hopeful to make him feel at home.

But it only makes him feel more out of place. The rice in his stomach turns to lead so he sets it down and reaches for some of the grilled fish, trying to chase away the uncertainty with some shred of normal. But the fish turns to ash on his tongue and makes the pit low in his stomach grow. He forces himself to take a few more bites, before settling his chopsticks back on their rest and grabbing his cup of tea. The bitter liquid spreads across his taste buds and helps to ground him slightly. The room has gone quiet again and it takes him a moment before he realizes he was asked a question. Sasuke nods and forces out the words, “I slept well.” And takes another sip of his tea.

A low hum comes from across the table, and Sasuke looks up at the other three occupants of the room. Itachi calmly nurses his tea, and Mikoto smiles as she returns to what remains of her breakfast. Fugaku’s eyes are upon him though, stoic and calculating. And it irritates Sasuke. It’s the same look he remembers from his childhood. The one his father would stare him down with as he lectured him with his disappointment, sore and exhausted, bruised knees pressed into the tatami as he was reminded that he would never be good enough.

The anxiety in his stomach spikes along with his anger and he looks away to stare down into his tea, watching the surface of the liquid quiver as his hands shake. He counts each breath and wills his hands to still. Why was he here? The question plagues him, makes him feel frail in its uncertainty, and has his anger settle under his skin.

“I’m so sorry if this is such an inconvenience for you, ” He snaps, annoyance articulating every word. “but I didn’t ask to be here.” He finishes, his voice flat as he sets his cup back on the table. He concentrates his gaze on his untouched soup once more and focuses his fury on the scallions and seaweed shifting within the broth.

“Sweetheart. Don't say such things, you will never inconvenience us.” He looks up at his mother, her expression worried, hands clutched to her breast. He ignores his brother and instead returns Fugaku’s stare, his gaze hard and piercing.

“That doesn't explain why I’m here, trapped like this.” He barely gets out before he is interrupted.

“You are here because as head of this clan, you are my responsibility. And until we determine you are not a threat to this village you will stay here, under my supervision.” It’s said in the same dismissive authoritative tone, quick and cutting.

“Fugaku!” Mikoto says to his left, but his eyes are only on this false father figure, and his attempt to coerce him with his authority.

“I wouldn’t still be here if this fucking village had just left me be.” He seethes, tone low and severe.

“Sasuke…” Itachi starts, voice soft.

But Sasuke doesn't hear it, done with the conversation. He stands, fists clenched at his side, nails digging welts into his palms. The pain grounds him enough to let out an atonal, “ Thank you for breakfast.” before he leaves the way he came.

The hallways his feet carry him through, no longer seem bright and homely, shadows of his past seep through the cracks in his mind and cast everything in a dreary ashen hue. He barely registers where he is, his mind unable to fully process his surroundings before he moves past them. The door to his borrowed room is pushed aside in front of him, not fully aware of his movements he closes the door behind him and steps to one side, his back hits the wall and his shirt bunches upward under his arms as his legs slowly give way under the weight of his body. His fingers grip the hair at the nape of his neck as he cradles his head between his knees. His nails scratch at his skull as he wills the thoughts to fade, insecurities long past dredged up making his stomach sour, his teeth gnash.

He stares at the door to the garden and crawls toward it before standing on numb legs. Slowly, quietly he opens the door letting in the midday light, steps out into the damp summer air, and onto the stone path. He turns and pulls himself upon the roof, the clay shingles warm against his toes. Makes his way to a spot where the upper roof hangs over this one, creating a small dark pocket of shade, and eases himself into it.

I don’t belong here, he thinks as he watches the breeze shift the trees, their leaves fluttering. He pulls his knees to his chest, folds his arms across them and settles his brow against his forearms, closing his eyes.

He thinks about the rest of team seven. Thinks about Kakashi, Sakura, and Naruto trapped in the ever-shifting nightmares Kaguya conjures for them, being played with like toys.

And he has to wonder if they’re even still alive.
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God Loves Ugly