middaeg | [closed] too fast, never ask, if the life don't last

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[closed] too fast, never ask, if the life don't last

Who: Uchiha Sasuke

eyeforaneye and planned dream-sharers!
When: Aereuer 13th
Where: Looking-Glass House
What: Memshares, man
Warnings: Violence, bodily harm, pharm drug references, child soldiers, child abuse, murder, drama, etc.

[ Sasuke's mirror is a dark, plain wood, one that appears gnarled with considerable age and without polish. Casual cr will see the twisting coils of serpent-like grooves down the sides of it, curved and nondescript. Closer cr will see those coils for what they truly are: roots growing downward from a large tree cresting the top of the mirror itself. His closest cr will see even more detail in the form of great beasts overtop those roots, a nine-tailed fox on one side and a skeletal warrior facing it on the other.

Itachi will be the only one able to see faces along the bottom, not just of his teammates but Itachi's and their family's as well... though these are scratched and faded, bearing dark stains over their eyes.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The shift in air between the Looking-Glass House and the dark, cavernous tunnel is marked. The humidity alone is choking, with the dank smell of mildew hiding in the crevasses between stones that make up the walls. Candles flicker every few feet and dance their light upon two figures, both robed, one an older man with long dark hair and a hand settled between the shoulders of the younger to guide him, and the other a clearly recognizable Uchiha Sasuke. He may be a few years younger and hasn’t yet lost that left arm, but the similarity is unmistakable.

I know where I’m going, he tells that smirking man with no hint of affection, shrugging off his touch when they take a sudden left into a blue-lit room that’s choked with wires running along the floors. A sandaled shoe steps over one coil as Sasuke willingly approaches a gurney at the center, sidestepping a wheeled tray of scalpels, syringes, vials, and even weathered scrolls upon which unrecognizable symbols are scrawled. A white-haired man sitting at a desk on the far side of the room sighs with a little smile, shaking his head as he rises to his feet.

Ah, Sasuke-kun, in such a hurry as always… I thought we could discuss your results from last time.

Forget it. Just do it.

Another sigh precedes Kabuto’s approach, briefly checking a computer monitor before he’s examining that tray of medical items. Already Sasuke has laid down in place, a complete lack of emotion in eyes pointed up at the ceiling as a syringe is lifted into his line of sight.

Be gentle with him, Kabuto, rasps the watchful man in the corner at long last, piercing yellow eyes watching over Sasuke just as they had in the hallway. You know what this body means to me.

Of course, Orochimaru-sama. Kabuto’s voice raises on the last few syllables to compensate for a sudden gasp from the teen prone before him, that needle finding its mark as the man speaks and whatever’s injected feels like fire in his veins. He chokes as his head turns to the side, world spinning, and the edges of the memory start to curl in shadow as his consciousness fades. ]

[ One step into the mirror and immediately Jonas will find himself seated on the edge of a stiff mattress, staring straight ahead at an open doorway to a dark, wood-paneled hallway. The competing but equally pleasant scents of crisp evening air and warm home-cooking (salty broth and earthy rice stand out amongst the others) marry in a haze of nostalgia, and the indistinguishable chatter drifting in on a breeze from outside only adds to a feeling of security.

Suddenly the background noise has competition, however, in the form of a purely delighted little laugh from the floor. A small boy is seated with his legs folded under him just by the bed, hoisting a stuffed dinosaur over his head with both tiny arms.

We finally caught you! Um… um… Toshio the Bandit!

The dinosaur is planted firmly in front of him with an exaggerated little lean forward, fingers fumbling for one of the many plastic toy shuriken surrounding him. He hesitates for a moment, clearly debating with himself… before he switches out for one of the few shiny metal ones instead, far heavier. Real. He weighs it for a moment, face pinched in concentration before he’s satisfied. Next he brandishes it at that dino, chest puffing.

This is a serious arrest. And a big bust. You hurt a lot of people… but now everyone is gonna’ know you were caught by Uchiha–

The words cut off as the sound of a door sliding open downstairs causes him to raise his head, cheeks suddenly flushed as his grin spreads wide. In an instant the boy is on his feet, nearly tripping in his haste to run out of the room and thunder down that hallway. The steps are taken two at a time and he practically flies off the landing, arms locking tight around an older boy who’s hardly had a second to even take off his shoes.

Nii-san, welcome home! Hey, hey, let’s play together, okay? What should we play?

Sasuke’s face tilts up to look at his brother, full of hope and expectation, as the memory fades into darkness. ]

(sasuke's mirror is the only one jonas finds on his own, not an accidental viewing but a purposeful one he knows he'll come to regret. but fondness takes over when his hand falls back on the frame he remembers tracing with his fingers weeks ago. nothing was present then, a blank slate that left him wondering as he and sasuke discussed their relationship. what that meant for them at the time, what it lead to when they prayed in the church together, seems so different now. it's all rose-coloured and appreciative, and jonas can only think to smile despite his ignorance of serpents, roots, and great beasts, concentrating in a way that feels fondly for the edges of his bonded's consciousness.

it's a dream, his—assumed—imagining of what he'll find within, therefore harmless and unobtrusive. no further convincing is needed as he steps in, throwing his own momentary hesitance to the wind.

jonas isn't disappointed, heart swelling in the seconds it takes his weight to settle over blankets that don't so much as wrinkle at his presence. it smells divine. while it doesn't remind him of home, it does make him of his mother in a way that brings about a softer look even before he spots the young boy playing. he's what his eyes are naturally drawn to, hardly paying the room at large any more attention than a cursory glance as he sinks to place his elbows on his knees. not good enough for jonas who quickly tires of taking backseat in the memory, soon pitching forward to get onto his knees and fall heavily to his rear on the floor opposite sasuke and his toys. there's comfort in watching something so ordinary unfold, a child mucking around and yelling for a tyrannosaurus rex to put its stubby arms in the air like a true police officer would.

he can almost hear the miranda rights, the corner of his mouth tugging into an affectionate grin... the urge to respond to him when no one else is around forces his arms into the air in mock surrender, sure he won't be heard when he laments the situation loudly:) The building blocks ain't mine, Officer, I swear; Toshio set me up.

(the little stammers, the kind eyes—he's a sweet kid and to imagine the expression on his friend's face now is a bizarre enough thought that his elbows bend into a falter. he still holds some familiarity in wayward hair and dark eyes but the likeness stops there, a thought that causes a deep creasing between his brows. as he is now, in the months that he's known him, sasuke's never seemed this happy or lively and the discussions they've had tell him why. the things that have happened to him after this small pocket of glee, his struggles, his mistakes, his worldliness, and his vast strength have all changed him into the willful, uncompromising, serious soul he's been lucky to catch vulnerable glimpses of. every route they take inevitably leads to that development, bad or good. it doesn't make looking on any less bittersweet.

jonas has to clear his throat to continue, getting caught up in a memory he's not ready to leave. it helps that this petite version of the man he can feel stir in his chest reaches for something sharp, causing his spine to run rigid and his hands to quickly lower out of his play-along.)

Oh, no, no, no. What is that? That's waaay too sharp for you, dude! (announced in mild alarm, trying to make a swipe for the blade that his hand phases through in such a disappointing way that his face burns in sudden frustration, momentarily beside himself.) Is that a throwing star? What kind of– huh? Woah!

(sasuke dashes, throwing the shuriken down in his haste where it clatters to its side. jonas can barely get up in time to spot where he's gone, struggling with a surprised laugh to pull his legs out from underneath him in a hurry to the open door leading to a hall of wood slats and old, charming floors. it's clear where they're headed with an unconscious outstretch of his fingers in a naively hopeful effort to catch him should he take the stairs too quickly and tumble, but itachi's quick to supplement. a sudden jerk back from the witch has him staggering back to sit firmly on a low step, attention rapt even as the memory begins to vignette: the older brother freshly home, barely through the door; the younger brother clutching him at the sides, pleading for his attention. a bright relationship seen through an uninformed lens that becomes glassy with an overwhelming feeling of envy.

to have a sibling is something jonas had always considered but never asked for, his and his parents' lives too busy with working hard to make ends meet to even dream of a second. a boy, a girl, a friend to rely on when things weren't great. a compass for him to focus on, the way sasuke's eyes follow itachi's every movement. the love there that makes him long to be at sasuke's side where itachi's supposed to stay.

and then it's gone, leaving his eyes wet and his heart sore, left to surface out of a darkness that's become atmospherically foreboding.)

[ The light of that dream, both literal and metaphorical, is sapped quicker than the sound. The memory wrapping around Jonas is a void, pitch-black and empty but for whatever surface is beneath his feet, when the last childlike giggle echoes into silence.

It’s someone like Itachi that should’ve been hokage.

A much older, darker, colder voice cuts through the weighty silence, a jarring departure from the joyful tones of an innocent boy but just similar enough in stresses to still be recognizable. It's buffeted by a steady rumble, only made louder as Sasuke seeks to be heard above it.

That inky expanse suddenly explodes outward with a pronounced crack, vibrant colors shining through as the next memory sharpens into existence. Wind tosses Jonas's hair as he's given a moment to look around, the steady thunder that had heralded the scene's start turning out to be a massive waterfall stretching out before him. It tumbles just beyond two statues, upon one of which stand Jonas and Sasuke – younger, clothes dirtied by recent battle and one eye a startling red while the other is a vibrant purple – while the other plays host to a blond teen roughly this Sasuke's age. He's equally disheveled but a deep frown and determined blue eyes show no signs of tiredness, hands balled into tight fists at his sides as he listens to Sasuke speak. Each word only seems to set him off further, somehow heard over the expanse between them.

It's someone like Itachi that should've been hokage. Not someone chosen by the people, but rather someone who will take hatred without complaining. And then, I began to understand Itachi’s actions. Why he chose to protect the village, that sort of thing. But he made one mistake… and that mistake was leaving me, his own brother, alone and in the dark. I’m sure he did it to make sure I wouldn’t be so full of hate. But… I’m not like him. My father, mother, brother… I didn’t have anyone I could call family. I am alone, and I can most definitely shoulder this hate all by myself. I will deal with it alone. All these shinobi problems we face, I’ll come up with solutions. Judgements and executions, I’ll do all of it. I’ll make sure that this hate is focused on myself alone, and that will unite the villages. Hate will never disappear, so if that’s the case…

Here finally Sasuke pauses, that placid tone interrupted and his expressionless face turning downcast and almost regretful. Everything he's saying, no matter how practiced or calm, is impacting him deeply. He just has reasons to hide that from the man in front of him more than from most. His gaze flicks back up, eyes narrowed. Then a true leader to me is a person that could light the darkness that plagues all five villages. One that could go through that and survive.

Naruto's finally heard enough, words bursting forth like he'd held them in with every fiber of his self-control that he had left. You don’t understand anything about Itachi’s life! There’re times you can’t do everything by yourself! He's bent forward into his shout, almost as if willing the force of it to knock some sense into a friend who sounds nothing like a seventeen-year-old should. He's mapping out his life – no, his duties, his existence with a disaffected air and nonchalance that the blond could never hope to match (or fear to emulate).

Things will be different soon. A revolution… this will be the start of a new future. I will destroy the past.

Sasuke's words seem to flick a switch in the teen just barely containing himself as he barks back how rich that is coming from someone as caught in his memories of his family as Sasuke is, further driving home just what the past means to him. Lost mentors, lost parents. Valuable memories that he can't fathom Sasuke throwing away, and the longer he tries to sit with that knowledge and justify it in his head the angrier he gets.

Should Jonas so much as blink he might miss the way the blond suddenly flies across that gap at them, fist drawn back tight, but it's clear from an instantly lowered stance that Sasuke was anticipating it. He catches Naruto's strike with his forearm, both pushing back from each other with enough force to send them flying apart with Sasuke taking the high ground on the upper part of Madara's stone face. His hand seals are equally instantaneous before a short inhale has him breathing out a massive stream of flame that curls into whirling fireball, careening straight for his friend. What looks like a dramatic show of power is seemingly nothing judging by Naruto's almost calm reaction, however, as he stares down the incoming attack. Chakra is suddenly made manifest around the teen, given physical form as it wraps around him in an imitation of a cloak, orange-tinged and nearly opaque. A part of it seems to bubble and stretch before it forms a massive orange hand, one that catches the blast and shields Naruto from all but the worst of the redirected embers.

Before the smoke can even clear, however, Sasuke is gone.

Even Naruto fails to anticipate the level of speed required for the dark-haired ninja to appear behind him unnoticed, electricity lancing up an arm that strikes the blond hard enough to rocket him down towards the water below. He spins, feet catching the surface as he shakily regains his balance.

Sasuke!

The only reaction his yell gains is the sprouting of a massive skeletal ribcage around Sasuke, one that grows with the rapid addition of a spine, skull, arms, flesh, and armor as he readies a bow and arrow that spring to life in cold, violet fingers. He doesn't speak as he launches his next attack, still silent even when Naruto dodges and Susanoo soars after him with a quickness no being that size should ever possess. It's not Naruto himself that catches the warrior's fist, an equally goliath fox being formed around him barely in time to meet that strike. Knuckles crack against one another and the force reverberates outward in a shockwave that turns ripples in the water into waves, both ninja locking eyes on one another from the safety of their chakra beasts' forms.

What… is that all you’ve got? You’ll die if you keep slacking like that.

There’s no way I’m letting you kill me. You going on with the whole lone wolf act again… and then choosing this place precisely because you knew what it meant to both of us. There’s no way I’m leaving you alone!

They clash again, this time with a chidori that coats not Sasuke's arm but Susanoo's and a sphere of raw densely packed energy that swells in front of that demon fox's muzzle before it's released, and in the moment of impact the very earth beneath them trembles. It doesn't take long still before the next engagement as man and monster tear at one another, one sent crashing into the mountainside before the other is knocked skyward. Each artful swing of Susanoo's sword is dodged or deflected while claws repeatedly miss their mark.

It's only when Sasuke untangles himself from the latest clash and suddenly soars above the valley that the tides of the battle itself begin to turn. The unsettling calm air between them is nevertheless electrified as they each gather chakra for a new blow, one that Sasuke has every intention of ensuring is decisive. Susanoo shifts, jaws unclenching and ripping apart to reveal a face that's almost blindingly luminescent as he readies a new arrow crackling with pure black lightning. On the ground below, the monstrous multi-tailed fox digs his claws into the earth with a new burst of chakra and raises forelimbs upon which to generate two massive, rapidly swirling spheres of energy that whip through their rotations with a dull hum of restrained force.

We've got a lot of burdens to carry, Naruto begins, but you know, I... when it comes to battle, I really do want to beat you. But– Limbs blur as he sends those projectiles whizzing towards his best friend with all of his force, aim deadly in its precision. But not this you, not when you're like this! You know that, don't you, Sasuke?! The two rasenshuriken, one dark and one light, orbit each other at high speed as they hurtle towards that new loosely arrow that crackles deafeningly through the sky, electricity arcing from it in thick bands that streak back towards Sasuke. Whatever the impact of their last contact, it's nothing in comparison to this.

The ground will disappear out from under Jonas's feet as the world turns a stark white for at least a full second, no instantaneous flash but an eye-searing glow that illuminates the land as chakra rages out from the point of contact. The two statues crack first and begin to fall in huge chunks of stone as the valley itself is carved wider, waves roaring up from the basin of the lake and the river below it to swallow whole swathes of trees. Lighting cuts a path from newly generated storm clouds packed with explosive energy down to the ravaged earth below in spontaneous bursts, and soon to fall alongside an unharmed Jonas are two battered teens too blistered by their own attacks to soften their falls. They hit rock with sickening impact and blood is immediately coughed from Sasuke's lungs as he forces himself to sit up far before he's ready, gasping for air as he turns his head to see Naruto struggling to do the same. Sasuke's belt and sash are gone just as Naruto's jacket is, destroyed in the same blast that's rendered them burned and bruised.

Don't– the blond tries to protest in vain as black flame suddenly bursts into life near his shoulder, that coat of orange chakra only barely shielding him so that he can cast Amaterasu aside. Blood seeps from a left eye that Sasuke is then forced to cover as a lance of pain shoots through his body, smothering a sound as he braces his other hand against the ground. Still, it's foolish to believe Naruto will give him any chance to rest. In a heartbeat where once stood a single blond shinobi there are now four, each charging Sasuke in a flurry of fists that send him crashing back down to Earth. The black-haired teen is just as quick to retaliate, however, ripping away one of his armbands to reveal a summoning scroll affixed tightly to his wrist. Three shuriken suddenly fill his hand and are thrown even before he makes impact with the ground, each finding their mark in a clone that's instantly extinguished, before the fourth meets its fate at the hands of a chidori strike the second Sasuke is back on his feet.

Back to square one. Both perfectly evenly matched, though now just with their bodies pushed that much closer to the brink.

Naruto's even gives out when he rushes forward for his next attack, knee shaking and sending him crashing down against stone with a newly scraped chin and grit teeth, head lifting only in time to catch sight of Sasuke's leg drawn back. The kick catches him directly in the face, knocking him fully onto his back as a newly frenzied Sasuke clambers on top of him with renewed vigor and a wild expression. Knees squeeze tight at his waist to keep him trapped as he readies his punch, right fist colliding with his face first and painting a splatter of blood onto rock. The left hook follows, then another right, then another left. Each punch comes slower and slower as he exhausts himself, a loosened tooth spat to the side by Naruto just in time for him to face a new crack of knuckles. Only when the Uchiha pauses too long does he manage to secure a shaky hold on his shirt, yanking him down for a vicious headbutt that sends him flying back.

Just... give up... Sasuke growls out viciously, nails scraping rock as he launches himself forward at his friend.

Naruto is there to meet him with a tight fist that sinks itself beneath Sasuke's ribs with enough force to break bone, but he trades security for the hit and gets a knee to his gut as his reward. A crack to the jaw. A snapped finger. An open slap to an ear to rupture its drum and disorient long enough for an elbow to snap a collarbone. A sideways kick to a knee to cripple for a flying windmill strike to the temple. Every strike is malicious, well-timed, and enough to debilitate any normal human but they absorb the blows almost gratefully, both knowing that once this is over it's over. One way or another, this fight will decide everything. The sun hangs low in the sky as the hours pass, chock full of their shared brutalization of one another's bodies, and as its final rays shine on them they struggle to land exhausted petty blows.

They've stumbled into knee-deep water by now, a weak backhand from Sasuke still managing to fell Naruto who catches his breath before throwing his weight against the dark-haired shinobi's legs. They're practically seeking leverage against one another in order to scramble back onto their feet, nails digging where they can and fingers grasping at clothing. Naruto's eye is swollen shut and a gash above it is openly bleeding. Sasuke's drenched in sweat and bruises mar his face. Neither's ever looked more desperate, open, and still stubbornly unwilling or unable to acquiesce.

Two punches land simultaneously, Naruto's against Sasuke's forehead and Sasuke's in the center of Naruto's chest as they both collapse to their knees, leaning fully against one another.

For a second it seems like it might be over as a blond head slowly lifts, lips parting to speak... but as soon as he does the barest amount of orange chakra can be seen coating Sasuke's fist. It's not being generated by Naruto willingly but rather being drained from him, a fact he soon confirms.

This is one of the rinnegan's powers... it's me that's destined to win, Naruto... He stumbles backward into a stand, electricity newly chirping along his forearm as he channels what little energy he's managed to steal. See you... my only– Whatever word is destined to follow is cut off by his sudden move forward to strike, fingers positioned for a smooth jab certain to pierce any target where it lands.

The last thing he expects is for Naruto to be fast enough and keen enough to make sure it doesn't, barely evading the attack with a ducked head and slam of a fist against Sasuke's chin in a powerful uppercut that sends him flying back. He collides with the rock wall behind them with such force that it fractures, cratering around an abused spine and broken body whose screams of pain he refuses to heed.

Over... and over, and over again! His voice raises from a whisper to an enraged shout, fist bludgeoning that stone face with each repetition hard enough to crack it. Just be a good boy and let me kill you!

No way... I'm the one and only, he returns, cut lip curved upward in a tired smirk that only seeks to enrage Sasuke further. He teeters on the edge of his new vantage point, staring down at Naruto with an unblinking stare before he's raising that left arm of his. This time it's that black flame that rests over the center of his palm, lightning chakra again shielding it a moment later once he's channeled the last of his energy into the attack. It's clear now just from looking at them that this is the end, and Naruto's expression turns grim as he realizes the same thing. Sasuke's left, his right. As always. The orb of wind energy hums back to life as he readies his rasengan, waiting until the last moment when Sasuke pushes away from rock to do the same, one descending while the other leaps up.

Both attacks meet in another flash of white light, then the memory blinks into blackness.

When next it resumes the moon is high in the sky and the two teenagers are lying side by side, a groan of pain marking Sasuke's return to consciousness. ]

[ Awake now, huh? Naruto's voice is deceptively calm, undeniably tired. Sasuke looks over at him first, then to the source of agony that had forced him awake. His left arm... or what remains of it. Newly darkened eyes widen as he stares at the pool of blood contributed to not just by him but by the teen at his side, right arm shredded away by that last attack just as Sasuke's had been. Both limbs are cut short midway between elbow and shoulder, and the shock slowly fades as he slumps back down against earth.

It's just as you see it... if we move too much, we'll bleed to death.

... just look at you. Why do you insist on getting in my way? He sounds somehow even wearier than his friend, voice thick with restrained emotion. He's tired. Every last barrier is crashing down around him. I... fell into darkness and gained powers to cut everything in my way. It didn't matter who it was... I tried to cut the ties I had with everyone around me. But you never thought of cutting ties with me. No matter what happened... why the hell do you care so much about me?!

Don't you already know? Heh, look at you, talking so much now just 'cause you can't move...

Shut up and and answer me!

Naruto sighs, smile fading. Because you're my friend.

You already said that once, Sasuke begins cautiously, stare turning evasive. What does that mean to you?

If you want me to explain it I'm not really sure how to put it... It's just that when I hear you blabbering about carrying everything your shoulders, I can kinda'... feel the pain too. Shock overtakes Sasuke in that moment, eye wide and fixated on Naruto as he draws in too sharp a breath.

And it really hurts! There's no way I can just ignore it... I mean, well, today I'm hurting all over so there isn't much I can do, he adds with that grin of his, even here and now. The Uchiha doesn't match it, somber and reflective as he watches him laughing at his own joke. Even when he goes still again his gaze stays on him, studying every line in his face until Sasuke too falls back asleep.

Another blip. Another silence. It's day again, with the sun high in the sky. Neither teen has moved, undiscovered still and unable to do anything to improve their conditions on their own.

Ugh... where are we? Don't tell me it's heaven.

Looks like we've slept until morning. Once again you're still alive.

Shit! I still can't even move! I wanted to punch you until you opened your eyes once and for all!

Silence reigns between them for a moment or two before there's a quiet snort. Another follows, growing into a full-fledged laugh from a boy unaccustomed to ever giving into that level of amusement. Even Naruto seems shaken by it, staring sidelong at his friend.

W-what?!

Do you still want to fight... in your condition?

Of course, I'm not giving up–

I'll admit it, Sasuke interrupts suddenly, stunning Naruto into silence when he looks over at a bruised face wearing an ill-fitting, helpless smile.

I... lost.

Idiot! There aren't winners and losers in this fight! I'm just trying to punch reason into a friend that won't listen to me! The real fight is after that.

Naruto. I finally acknowledged you... if I die now, the destiny that has bound us so far will end too. The blond sobers up instantly, mouth a grim line. That would be revolutionary too. I... wanted to deal with you myself, but–

You can't deal with anything when you're dead! Live and help me out instead of dying! My dream is for all shinobi to work together. That includes you!

Well, even if that sits well with you, what about everyone else?

Ugh, stop nitpicking or I'll beat you up! The ludicracy of the statement isn't lost on Sasuke even if this time he maintains his composure, merely quirking a brow instead.

I might come after you again, you know.

Then I'll stop you again! Plus you wouldn't even do it.

How... are you so sure?

Don't make me repeat myself again! You still don't understand, do you? Huh... who knew you would be that stupid! Naruto lands his insult with a glance back over but what he sees has him cutting it short, blue eyes widening when he catches sight of the tear tracks streaking through the blood and dirt on Sasuke's face. He turns away too late and it's clear by the silence between them, right up until he breaks it.

Shut up... you idiot.

[ What the hell are you saying?

Sasuke’s voice cuts through stale air that feels heavy and sucked of oxygen, like the indeterminate space in which he’s seated – shirtless and bandaged, a blanket drawn over his legs – is a graveyard of sighs and exhalations. He looks younger but only just so, several scars missing from his torso and left arm still present. To his side stands a man clothed all in black and hiding his face with a spiraled orange mask, a single hole carved over one watchful eye. A torch lights only their corner of the cave-like room, stalactites reaching down from up above them.

You think you know about your brother, but you know nothing, returns that deep voice that will be unrecognizable to Stiles, disdain somehow coating an otherwise firm tone.

If you continue with your lies… I’ll kill you.

You’re not making this easy, are you? I suppose that’s to be expected, hearing a story like this from a stranger like me… but what I tell you is the truth.

Get out of my sight – I don’t want to hear this! Sasuke’s fingers clench tight in that blanket, dragging it up higher as his torso bends to curve over hiked up knees. His breathing’s quicker now, teeth clenched.

No, you will listen. You need to… it’s your obligation. Do you even know why Itachi planted that Amaterasu into your eye? He was determined to make sure that you and I would never meet, because I know the truth. I know how he longed to protect you.

… what is he saying? comes the disjointed mumble from the teen whose head is now fully bowed, pupils mere pinpricks when he looks up with widened eyes. What is… what is this guy saying? Protect me? He barely seems aware that the words are being spoken aloud, gaze again dropping to the palms of his upturned hands as if he can still see something staining them.

Think back and remember the truth… about your brother, about his kindness–

No! He… he tried to kill me! He tried to take my eyes! Sasuke’s words are cut short by a sudden heave of his stomach that has him pitching forward, hand covering his mouth when he chokes on the acidic bile that creeps up his throat. In an instant the stranger is at his side, a gloved hand suddenly forcing the teen’s head back with a tight grip on his jaw.

Calm down, he orders sharply, and breathe slowly.

Don’t touch me! It’s becoming harder and harder for him to breathe now, lungs full to bursting as Sasuke gasps for air he doesn’t feel like he’s getting. His arm swipes at the man to dislodge his grip, immediately collapsing his weight onto it when it hits the floor. He remains slumped there, sweat adding a sickly sheen to a panicked expression, right up until those eyes lose their focus and roll back into his head. The vision blinks out then, almost like a glitch in the dream itself, and where once Sasuke laid hunched on that futon he’s now propped against the stone wall, thick rope binding his hands behind his back with another coil strapping his arms to his torso.

I took the liberty of tying you up, since you weren’t going to just stay still and listen to me. The other man is closer now, arms folded and body leaning against the adjacent wall with an expectant cock of his head. For several seconds there’s no reply, energy sapped from a boy with no will left to do anything but deny.

He was… Itachi was my enemy. Dark eyes lift to meet the single one fixated on him through that mask, ever-watchful and red.

It’s here that the dream finally fades for good, and Stiles will find a new presence at his side. ]

Stiles. [ He doesn’t try to explain, doesn’t say anything else to show he’s willing to address what can only called a nightmare for him. ]

Edited 2020-04-14 23:57 (UTC)

[ Arms crossed over his chest in a concerted effort to prevent himself from touching the frame, Stiles stands before Sasuke’s mirror. Thus far, it’s the only one that he’s been able to identify the owner of based on carvings. Yet he remains dissatisfied; the bottom portion of the frame is completely unadorned, a suggestion that something there is invisible to his eye. It’s frustrating, like the missing piece to an otherwise completed jigsaw puzzle. Crouching, he stares hard at that section as if willing a design to appear. When that fails, Stiles falls to temptation and traces the wood with a hand. Nothing. Whatever carvings decorate the bottom of Sasuke’s mirror, they aren’t meant for him to know. Goddammit. As he rises from the crouch, his hand glides over what he can see. The roots, with their serpentine pattern, remind him of a quiet, shared moment that followed inexplicably on the heels of an ugly panic attack.

“Four snakes,” Sasuke had corrected him, imperious even in reviewing a foreign language. “The fish hook and the serpent.”

Stiles huffs a soft laugh at the memory, gazing up at the tree upon which two creatures appear to be squared off. The nine-tailed fox, a kitsune, is what had tipped him off about who this particular mirror belonged to. Though it feels so long ago, he recalls a conversation in their early acquaintance comparing the Monsters of this world to the ones found in their own. While Sasuke never specified that the demon kitsune from his world was a multi-tailed fox, Stiles recognizes the connection from his research on kitsune mythology. Supposedly, the more tails a kitsune has, the older and more powerful it is. From what Scott explained to him, Noshiko had nine before she sacrificed them all to defeat the Nogitsune. Kira has a single tail. The Nogitsune, over a millennium old, surely had nine when it still possessed a body of its own. So, for “one of the most famous” demons in Sasuke’s world to be a nine-tailed fox and for it to appear as a personal carving here? It seems significant. Stiles just doesn’t know the story behind it. Maybe he’ll find out now.

Wasting no more precious time, he pushes through the glass surface.

Immediately, his attention is arrested by the ominous figure wearing black and a bizarre orange mask, a strong sense of unease crawling down his spine. The sound of a familiar voice drags his gaze away from the man – to Sasuke, surprisingly whole with his left arm intact. Despite the knowledge that this is a memory where nothing can harm him, Stiles draws nearer to Sasuke on instinct. The ensuing discussion, argument, shoots back and forth over him, words that he comprehends paired with context that he cannot. Itachi tried to kill Sasuke? he thinks in bewilderment, trying to reconcile what he’s hearing with what he’s personally seen. There’s been a weird level of awkwardness between the brothers, sure, but he’d attributed it to the fact that these were two intensely private men reunited after the death of the elder. It occurs to Stiles, in that moment, that both this younger version of Sasuke and the unknown man are speaking of Itachi in the past tense. He’s already dead? Brown eyes flick down again to Sasuke’s arm. This was at least two years ago, then. So, that means…

Sasuke lurches forward. Unthinking, Stiles reacts as if to catch him – only to be eclipsed by the stranger as he passes through Stiles to seize Sasuke by the jaw. ]

Hey, back off, asshole!

[ The sharp protest goes unheard, of course. Helpless to interfere, he watches in resigned dismay as Sasuke unmistakably suffers from a panic attack. Stiles doesn’t know the last time he felt so useless, is unable to describe the impossible feeling that constricts his chest so tightly he can hardly breathe. This is Sasuke, the same young man who was present for both of his own panic attacks, who guided him through each episode with undemanding patience and care. Witnessing his friend succumb to a panic attack with no one around to return that kindness makes him so sick he thinks he might actually be ill. This can’t be happening. This can’t have happened. Sasuke –

The memory winks out, though not long enough to give Stiles a chance to believe it has ended. When it picks back up, he must have blacked out, the sight of Sasuke bound against the wall ignites the ever-eager kindling of rage stacked within his heart. A surge of hate, black and cold, has him committing the details of the stranger to memory, as if he’ll ever get a chance to meet the man in person, as if he’d ever be able to actually do anything to force him to pay for this transgression. Blinded by emotion, he nearly misses the rest of the conversation. It washes over him like dialogue heard from underwater, muted and indistinct. If little else can be gleaned from the memory, it’s this: Sasuke and Itachi’s relationship is more complicated than he dared imagine.

As he straightens, fists clenched into balls at his sides, the memory concludes and he’s joined by a new presence – not unexpected, but one he’s utterly unprepared for regardless. ]

Yeah. [ It’s given like an answer to some unasked question. His tone is terse, a result of speaking through clenched teeth. ] Listen, I get it might not mean much coming from someone who obviously doesn’t know your history. But.

[ But. ]

I need you to know that you – you deserved better. [ And some of that righteous fury relents, his countenance starting to soften. ] That…

[ Stiles turns to face him, wishing he could express himself through physical contact, through an embrace or a hand on a shoulder or anything. The frantic desperation in Sasuke’s voice from before, “Don’t touch me!” stays his hand. ]

Thanks, [ he says sincerely, expression fraught, ] for offering better to me than you were given.

[ Sasuke doesn't rush his response, instead stepping forward into the space where once there were two men – or perhaps one man and another still too naive to be called one – who have now vanished from sight, flickering out of a past memory that's seared itself into his mind with disturbing clarity. His footsteps echo on stone as he glances dismissively down at the bedroll where once he laid, fingers passing absently through the flame of a candle that fails to burn him. ]

... things were complicated then. I don't know how much you saw, but you shouldn't draw conclusions about anyone you know based off of this. My brother, me... even that man. There was a great deal I deserved back then.

[ His head lifts, glancing back over his shoulder now as he tries in vain to lock his heart to how it makes him feel to hear it, even so. You deserved better. Words he's craved his entire life, and now that he hears them he feels both immeasurably grateful and disgustingly selfish. ]

You've given me no reason to feel the same way about you.

[ “…no reason to feel the same way,” Sasuke tells him – but that’s only because Stiles has just started this self-destructive process of digging a hole to bury himself in. Comparatively, Sasuke seems to be at the final stage: filling those holes that were created through his past actions, whatever they might have been. Stiles thinks about the kind of person he’s becoming, considers the road that even today he’s willing to take in order to protect his loved ones, and simply thinks, Fooled you once, shame on me. ]

You deserved better, [ he repeats with an adamant confidence unusual for Stiles. ] I don’t need to draw conclusions – I know who you are now. That’s not complicated. It’s enough.

[ His feet carry him over to the empty bedroll. Though the memory has played out to its end, Stiles is still haunted by the sight of Sasuke doubled over, vulnerable and anguished. An illogical idea has buried tenterhooks in his heart; if he lingers long enough here, maybe the memory will repeat. Maybe he can do something. Anything. It’s foolish at best, egotistical at worst. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Stiles forces himself to turn away. ]

[ He wants to bite back with something derisive and cutting, feeling a quiet surge of anger in response to the repetition that momentarily tightens his throat. The reassurance feeds and soothes a captive weakness deep within him, and in response every safeguard he's spent years cultivating rises up and lashes out. It's unnecessary and it shouldn't placate him. That's not what this is about.

Instead he looks back at Stiles, expression unreadable as he allows his hand to drop to his side. ]

That man wasn't a friend of mine, nor was he a trusted ally. He was a family member who knew I'd done something unforgivable and exploited it for his own gain. I used him and betrayed him too as soon as I had the chance.

This isn't a case of a victim being treated poorly; I made my mistakes and I paid for them.

[ So, the idea that he deserved better in this situation is a sticking point for Sasuke; interesting, and perhaps something Stiles should have anticipated. He can sense that he’s hit a wall that Sasuke isn’t willing to let him climb. The best solution to this impasse would be to surrender his case and allow the matter to drop. Naturally, Stiles does not do that. ]

No. You don’t pay for mistakes by being mistreated worse than a dog. [ The explanation has done nothing to change his stance. Stiles doesn’t blink an eye at the double-crossing that Sasuke details. ] Even criminals deserve to be treated like human beings. If this, [ and he cuts a finger at the wall where the memory of Sasuke had been propped against, ] had happened to me or Jonas, you’d recognize it as abuse.

We aren't the same. You and I... we're too different.

Different in how the world has shaped us and in how we've responded to it; of course I won't judge what happens to me and what happens to you in the same light.

[ "We have different paths we must walk. I wanted to believe that my path was with the three of you. But after everything my heart tells me... I will never be like you or Naruto." Back then they were words used to drive a wedge between himself and Sakura regardless of his true feelings, but now he has no such agenda. It'd be easier if he did as opposed to just buying into the idea wholesale.

His chin lifts, refusing to follow the line of Stiles's finger as he watches him. Finally, the edges of that memory start to fade, and that sharp stare remains on him until it blurs out in its entirety until Stiles is finally forced back out of the mirror and into the Looking-Glass House, entirely alone. ]

[ Whatever response he might have dredged up from the archives of old, pretty ideals that he no longer actually believes in, Stiles is given no chance to speak. The memory fades and, in the blink of an eye, he’s once again in the Looking-Glass House. With a sharp noise of frustration, he spins in a circle – looking for Sasuke to continue the debate, pointless though it may be. There’s no one else in the immediate vicinity, however. ]

Always has to have the last word, [ he huffs, scowling darkly as he stares at the mirror. ] Asshole.

[ But the insult lacks conviction; if anything, it’s muttered in a gloomy undertone.

Stiles paces back and forth before the mirror, jaw working, and then finally gives into temptation on the third circuit when Sasuke doesn’t make an appearance. He enters. ]

[ When Stiles steps back inside, there's no Mirrorbound Sasuke to be seen. Instead the world before him expands into a ravine with a river cutting through its center, a low-hanging stone bridge stretching its expanse that's looking worse for wear. An entire segment of it is missing, a huge semicircle cut from its top – one of two signs of a battle fought here.

The other is a familiar teen standing on the very surface of the water, just like Stiles will find he himself is if he looks down. His clothes are scorched and flecked with dirt, sleeve ripped, and blood smeared beneath his left eye. He's facing three others: an older masked man with white hair, a girl his age with pink hair and piercing green eyes, and a blond boy that bears the entirety of Sasuke's focus. Dark eyes appear lighter now and they narrow sporadically as if he's struggling to see, though that doesn't impede the smirk that twists his features.

Sasuke, begins the blond boy, Sakura-chan is a part of Team 7, just like us. The girl behind him straightens, gloved fingers flexing as she watches with clear uncertainty and hesitation.

In case you've forgotten, I'm ex-Team 7.

Enough, Naruto, interrupts the eldest amongst them, a kunai already readied in his hand. Was that proof enough for you? Sasuke isn't the same person that you used to know. Silence hangs heavy amongst them for a few seconds before Naruto steps forward, suddenly raising his voice in disregard of his teacher's words.

Sasuke... Tobi told us the truth about Itachi. I don't know if I believe him or not, but either way, everything you've done... I understand why you did it! Shock wipes that smirk off of Sasuke's face as his eyes narrow further.

I told you once before... You never had parents or siblings. You never had anyone to lose. So shut the hell up, you outsider!

Finally Sakura steps forward, teeth clinched with the anger that spills forth all at once. Naruto's had faith in you, Sasuke-kun! No matter how badly the world slandered you, he considered you a friend! He... even now, he still does... Her emotion fades and with it, her resolve. Her eyes avert even as Sasuke snorts.

Just now... Just moments ago I finally got revenge for Itachi on one of his betrayers. One of Konoha's top brass, Danzou. It was a high unlike anything I've ever felt. Like I was finally cleansing the Uchiha name of the stigma that's dogged it for years. Like I was freeing the Uchiha from being associated with this corrupt shinobi world. In a sense... it's what Konoha has always wanted. After rejecting my clan for generations, I'm finally going to wipe it from your memories.

By killing every last one of you, until Konoha is crushed forever. Any link to the Uchiha will be severed and our name will be purified! That is how I'll revive my clan! ]

[ A gasp tears free from his contracting throat on instinct before he can master himself; with the sudden appearance of the river below, Stiles fully expected to plunge down into the waters. That he doesn’t makes a weird kind of sense – this is a memory and strange logic is at play here – but the sight of a younger Sasuke likewise standing on the river’s surface unsupported has him staring in slow, stupid confusion. What the hell. It takes him a long moment to drag his eyes away from the nonsensical spectacle, looking at the other three figures almost reluctantly. Okay, “what the hell” really is lacking. How about, what the fuck. These people could have been designed for some JRPG with those flashy color palettes. Sasuke seems almost comically bland in comparison.

Cautiously, he takes a few steps away from his friend to better study the three. Despite the name, Team 7 must be the four-man squadron that he’s been previously told about. If that’s true, then these three individuals are important to Sasuke – far more so than the young man now indicates. According to that recent text message from Sasuke, two of these three tried to end him while the last one continued to try to save him. Not even five minutes into this memory and it’s painfully apparent to Stiles who is who.

He commits faces to memory. The pink-haired girl is Sakura. The blond boy is Naruto, undoubtedly the friend who tried to save Sasuke. But unless the third is Tobi – it seems unlikely given Naruto’s tone when he mentions Tobi – Stiles can’t place the older man. Thoughtful, he glances back at his friend, watching in vivid interest at how Naruto’s words seem to impact him. It occurs to Stiles distantly that he’s observing these interactions in far too biased a manner. Sasuke lashes out with a cruel, heartless retort that might have repulsed him at an earlier point in their relationship, yet Stiles remains unjudgmental. Probably not a good sign, he thinks. This kind of blind loyalty got him into trouble with Scott, after all. Even when Sasuke begins detailing his master plan like a stereotypical Hollywood villain – inclusive of killing old friends and crushing villagers – Stiles is unflinching.

Dismissing nonexistent moral quandaries for another time, he tries to sort the influx of information based on what he’s learned. From the start… Sasuke and Itachi are from the Uchiha Clan, a large extended family that lived close together in a compound. This compound was part of Konoha, which Stiles believes is a Hidden Village. For reasons he doesn’t yet understand, the clan was in poor standing with Konoha despite the fact that the police force seemed to be mostly comprised of Uchiha members. Itachi was meant to go into ANBU and use that position to communicate back to the clan what ANBU was planning. At some point, Itachi kills their parents – an event Stiles thinks must have happened long in the past, well before these recent memories. In the last memory, Sasuke was convinced that his brother couldn’t be trusted. Now Sasuke claims to have gotten “revenge for Itachi.” This memory must proceed the last. Arm is still intact, so it’s at least two years ago.

Stiles hesitates, mind stumbling over the specific wording of “revive.” Sasuke likely means…the revival of the clan’s reputation? Dread, ever present when delving into the Uchiha brother’s memories, builds. ]

Edited 2020-04-27 22:32 (UTC)

[ Silence follows Sasuke's declaration beyond a clearly shaken Sakura's murmur of his name, and it's their teacher that's the one who chooses to break it with a sudden step forward. This is my job, he says, arm outstretched to block the two behind him. Three, once Naruto forms a few hurried hand seals he's clearly practiced a thousand times in order to create a clone of himself seemingly out of thin air. Both him and his copy stand ready with eyes focused on Sasuke, but that attention shifts to Kakashi when he utters his next words: Sakura, get out of here.

But Kakashi-sensei–!

He explains to her that he doesn't want them to see what it is he's about to do and that her attempts to poison Sasuke would've been ineffective anyway thanks to the fact that Orochimaru would've ensured the teen was immune. Even as he speaks, doing what he can to placate Sasuke's two rattled teammates with a stern voice and hardened gaze, the dark-haired shinobi opposite them is taking a step forward. A stream of electricity suddenly bursts to life in a rapidly arcing current spanning his left forearm, the sparks of his chidori crackling in the air with sharp high-pitched tones.

Kakashi-sensei, are you... are you going to kill Sasuke? Naruto's question receives no answer beyond the sudden bark of an order from Kakashi to leave, one that anyone could see the blond is already readying himself to ignore. There's only a half-second of silence before his clone is suddenly grabbing Kakashi from behind with both arms locked under his, freeing the original up to dart around him and start the charge towards his best friend. Where Sasuke had chosen a lightning jutsu this teen chooses air, a perfectly condensed sphere of concentric gusts of wind whipping around one another at high speed and hovering in the cradle of his right palm.

You've left him vulnerable, shouts Sasuke, already matching Naruto's strides forward with a burst of his own speed, I won't hesitate!

The protests of Sakura and Kakashi fall on deaf ears as the two combatants meet in the center of that river, a screech of electricity and a low pulse of sheer energy filling the agonizing void between the two of them in the instant before they collide. For a half-second there's silence... and then those two jutsu clash, water immediately exploding out from beneath them in a massive tidal wave. It only gains height and momentum when it reaches Stiles, cascading over him in a thunderous end to a memory that fades into blackness. ]

[ When in doubt – ]

What the fuck.

[ – express yourself with a robust and vigorous “fuck.” Stiles has seen doubles before, of course; when it was exorcised from his body, the Nogitsune stole his likeness. “Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it, Stiles?” A shadow. But what Naruto does is clearly different. Maybe more importantly, his teammates don’t seem surprised by the clone. Guess this is run-of-the-mill for shinobi, or Naruto specifically. Still, it takes him a moment to swallow back the mouthful of bile that the sight of the double elicited. He very nearly misses the older man being named. Kakashi. (Disturbingly similar to “Katashi,” Stiles notes.) That’s all of them, then. Kakashi, Sakura, and Naruto. Sasuke’s former teammates. As they continue to talk, another name is mentioned – a name that tugs firmly at his memory. Orochimaru. If he closes his eyes, Stiles can almost recall the ugly background color of the relevant website page. The name is absolutely related to Japanese mythology, though he can remember little else.

The sharp crackle of electricity yanks his attention back to Sasuke, who is currently doing a trick not unlike the foxfire Kira has unconsciously produced when in danger. Even if none of this is real, Stiles takes a healthy step away from his friend. Where’s the limitation of shinobi abilities? As a Thunder Kitsune, Kira can handle the electricity her body generates. How does Sasuke channel that kind of power without burning himself? While he wonders this, Team 7 struggles to agree on how to handle Sasuke. Despite the man’s apparent seniority, Kakashi seems to lack any real control over Naruto. And Stiles would normally approve of the blond’s actions – this has to be the friend who tried to save Sasuke, after all – but he doesn’t understand the logic at play here. Naruto disables Kakashi from fighting Sasuke, then…rushes forward with the obvious intention of fighting Sasuke himself. Stiles is reminded of something Sasuke told him during training one day. “A conversation that we couldn't have any other way.” Jesus Christ. Idiots.

Naruto and Sasuke meet in an explosion of energy, a scene straight out of a Michael Bay movie, except instead of a lens flare there’s a tidal wave building in his direction. ]

Just a dream, [ he reminds himself in a vaguely panicked whisper, bracing for impact. ] Just a –

[ Back in the Looking-Glass House, he gives himself a short break from plumbing the depths of Sasuke’s memories. While he’s wary of the possibility that the mirror’s owner might catch him loitering around, Stiles needs a minute to get his heartrate back under control. Once he’s done two laps around the room, earning him various curious looks from other dreaming Mirrorbound, Stiles returns to the mirror and pushes through a third time. ]

[ It’s night, a full moon high in the sky as the memory opens on fractured earth. A ridge stands tall in the middle distance, cradling an area of jagged slabs of rock that look to have been struck by powerful impacts, and haphazardly slumped over one is the mirror’s owner himself. His palm presses into dirt and gravel as he slowly eases himself up, blood pooled beneath him, soaking through his clothing at his torso, and smeared in drying lines from his mouth down his chin but he doesn’t seem to notice. It’s clear this round of consciousness is a new one, with a few strange figures flanking him even wearing expressions of wariness and concern. A red-headed girl with glasses, plainly dressed in what appear to be pajamas. A white-haired boy, cloaked and with his back to Stiles. A large, muscular teen with orange hair and ill-fitting clothes, looking older but with a strange gentleness to his face. A second white-haired man, this one also bespectacled and looking not unlike one of the monsters back in Aefenglom – his skin is scaly, rough, and there are horns protruding from just above his ears.

Then there’s the last man, gaunt with snake-slit eyes and long black hair, and it’s this one Sasuke sets his sights on first. He doesn’t speak to him as he stands, instead soon shifting his focus to his own lifted left palm: emblazoned on that hand that Mirrorbound Sasuke no longer possesses is a small crescent moon, perfectly inked right in the center.

Sasuke! shouts the girl, but it doesn’t crack his focus.

… time for me to go, is all he offers in reply, turning away from them in favor of a last figure all but made invisible by the topography in conjunction with his prone positioning. He’s laid out flat in a sea of rubble but Sasuke moves toward him as if he’s all his eyes can see, looking almost dismissively upon the man rendered immobile by the slender obsidian rod piercing through his abdomen and skewering him to the ground. His fingers wrap around its upper edge wordlessly, no particular care given to the older man’s comfort when he wrenches it free.

Can you teleport, Second? A weary head lifts itself up and suddenly reveals a face riddled with cracks that web out over his features, eyes with black scleras settling on the Uchiha heir. He’s moving now as if any possible injury from his impalement is a laughable thing of the past, not a single drop of blood on his clothes as he stands to present himself head and shoulders over Sasuke.

Yes… but sorry, at my current strength I can only send one person.

That’s plenty. I alone need to go.

A curt nod is all he gets from that solemn man with the unearthly features, a hand dropping onto Sasuke’s shoulder as the dream shudders and glitches. The scenery distorts, stretching as if caught in an unseeable event horizon, before suddenly it snaps back into place like a rubber band. Only now the players have changed.

They’re still within a battered cradle of rock and stone but this is a different front for a new battle. Sasuke appears at the side of the blond from the previous memory – Naruto – though his appearance has changed; he’s cloaked in visible orange chakra, grasping two of those jet-black poles to use as weapons, and his focus is directed right where Sasuke’s is. A man hovers weightlessly in the air before them as if suspended by some unseen force, chin lifted and cold eyes sizing up this newest opponent whose gaze is a mismatched whirl of red and violet. Behind him stands a great tree, ominous and stretching impossibly high into the night sky. Naruto looks to be in better shape than his friend but it doesn’t mean he’s spared obvious cuts and bruises, and with the way that robed man with the wild hair is staring them both down? It’s safe to say he stole the first engagement with him before Sasuke appeared.

So you awakened the rinnegan, huh… That deep voice reverberates with nothing to absorb it, admiring Sasuke’s eye with one that matches it – his other eye socket is empty and closed. My power versus yours. We’ll finally settle who’s superior once and for all. Inky black hands tipped in claw-like points are clasped together in a hand seal to punctuate his declaration, a half-second warning before two bolts of lightning are shot towards the teens in wildly splitting branches. Naruto’s instinct is to use one of his weapons as a projectile, one that catches in the center of one bolt as arcs of electricity coil around it like a lightning rod.

Where Sasuke once stood, however, there’s nothing but smoke and shattered rock from impact. He’s gone– no, shifted several meters away in the blink of an eye, an instantaneous teleportation that takes their opponent visibly by surprise. With his attention focused on Sasuke Naruto takes advantage of his opening to attack but is quickly repelled by a second Madara, one the much sharper-eyed teen identifies when it becomes clear the blond can’t see him. A shadow. His chokuto’s withdrawn and thrown suddenly with deadly accuracy at that wraith to test its imperviousness, only clicking his tongue when it phases through him ineffectively.

Physical attacks won’t work on this other Madara.

A second opponent that Stiles will be able to see courtesy of this being Sasuke’s memory. And whatever the powers of Sasuke’s eyes are, it’s obvious that they allow him to suss out this hidden doppelgänger and that’s too much of a threat for their opponent to risk. He shifts his target from Naruto to the young Uchiha instead, suddenly shooting toward him poised to strike.

I’ll take those eyes of yours – I think they’ll suit me just fine! The threat causes those same eyes to narrow as Sasuke barely lowers his stance, waiting until Madara’s almost upon him–

–before again, he vanishes. Where once his chokuto was embedded into stone from his throw there now stands the shinobi, and in his place the blade is now piercing entirely through his opponent’s chest. Madara stumbles, hand grasping at the hilt as he recovers with a rushed glance back over his shoulder at where Sasuke now stands, place switched with his weapon.

Then try it, he returns calmly, That’s not enough to kill you, is it?

Those black fingers curl fully around Sasuke’s sword as Madara’s shadow fuses back with his main form, seeming altogether unconcerned by the splatter of blood that coats the rock beneath them when he wrenches it free. His eyes remain on the Uchiha that turns his attention on his still stunned and confused friend, one that has little patience for Naruto’s commentary and questions as he starts dictating a quickly formed strategy: Naruto will be sent after the shadow, Sasuke will handle the other Madara, and they’ll attempt to seal the two together and strike accordingly.

Listen… until then, this is our other chance. He and his shadow will likely stay together for a little while. I don’t care what it is, but get a sage power justu ready… preferably something that seals movement. This time Naruto shelves any of his grumbling, expression turning ponderous before he nods, hand outstretched. A sphere of energy swells over it at the same time that another of those lightning jutsu sparks to life over Sasuke’s arm, far stronger than the one from the past memory and this time streaked with black.

Naruto! he calls out suddenly, Aim your attack at me!

It’s only twice that Sasuke has used his new rinnegan’s powers, both times to move himself. Something easy. Something known. But he immediately leaps to a new level of mastery when Madara himself is suddenly materializing between their two joined attacks that are directed straight at one another. Sasuke teleports him right in the center and the shock on their opponent’s expression quickly twists to anger as he’s bound by a shell of crackling electricity and the magnetized jutsu which Naruto had prepared.

The victory, however, is short-lived.

Their actions aren’t fast enough to lock Madara down before he’s again able to separate himself from his shadow, leaving the doppelgänger trapped by their joint efforts as he darts away with a new awareness of the unique threat the Uchiha’s jutsu pose. It’s too fast for them to react in time to stop him, a curse lost under Sasuke’s breath as he twists on his heel far too late. There’s no chance of him reaching him before Madara locates his next target, an injured Kakashi kneeling clear of the fight but well within reach of a being as supernaturally quick as their opponent.

Hurry, Sasuke! He’s heading for Kakashi-sensei! Naruto’s able to admit that his former teammate is faster than he is but with that headstart they can both only watch as dark claws cut into the side of their teacher’s face, his single red sharingan eye dug from its socket in a splatter of blood before being fitted in Madara’s own skull like it’s nothing. The exchange takes all of one second, but it’s enough time for a blur of movement to streak past Madara in a screech of electricity. Sasuke, with the chakra of his chidori now molded into a sword itself comprised of pure energy, so sharp that it cuts clean through flesh and bone without an ounce of resistance.

He bisects him in one fluid motion, slicing smoothly through his body just above his navel to sever torso from legs. Too late, again, and Sasuke knows it when that lower body stutters, severed from brain activity, before slumping to the ground only for the upper body to vanish with a ripple in the space surrounding it.

He just–!

That uneven fluctuation in space doesn’t yet smooth back into place as the inky backdrop of a deep night sky just yet, however, and where Madara vanished there appears a girl: pink hair, the same one from the last memory. Sakura. Almost instantly Sasuke’s questioning why she’s here and where she’d gone, with their teacher interjecting that she’d been taken to another plane using an ability called Kamui. The ability of Kakashi’s own sharingan, the one that Madara had stolen from him and abused to escape to the same realm. Sakura begins to heal that profusely bleeding eye socket as they speak, a light green chakra glowing visibly over her fingers as she presses them to her teacher’s face while Sasuke looks on. He’s quiet, in fact, until Naruto joins them, only then piping up to question him on his sealing of Madara’s shadow. He’s assured that everything is now taken care of before Sasuke continues to warn him that Madara will soon be back, barely enduring Naruto’s explosive incredulity and retorts with a put-upon tone and a hand firmly placed on his hip.

A group of teenagers. Almost as if he didn’t just slice a man in half.

Madara took Kakashi’s eye and went to where Obito is. He’ll emerge next with both rinnegan in him.

What? For real!? Sasuke–

Sasuke. All three go quiet when Kakashi speaks, heads turning towards him in unison. What is your current goal? He remains silent as Sakura chimes in, quieter.

What’s the true meaning behind you saying you’ll become hokage?

I feel that it might be fate that the former cell number 7 has reunited like this. If you don’t want to tell us what you’re thinking right now, Sasuke, then that’s fine… but us being a team once is an irrefutable fact, right?

Nothing in his expression changes. No sense of reflection, no indication that he’s even heard Kakashi at all as he instead focuses his gaze on the center-point of Kamui’s last portal. Not a second too soon as it suddenly distorts, two bodies returning instead of one: Madara, and the other man that must clearly be Obito.

This time it’s Sakura that attacks first in spite of an immediate protest from Naruto, though she’s almost instantly rebuffed by an attack from the shinobi so clearly outside of her league. Even as a diversionary tactic it does little more than get her injured – a stab wound to the abdomen – and the concern she receives as she begins to heal herself is overwhelming, even if it comes entirely from only two of her teammates. While Kakashi and Naruto worry, however, her eyes are on Sasuke and her expression twists into something disappointed in the face of his disregard. He’s waiting on the next move from Madara, and when their opponent pushes off the ground with a burst of chakra that sends him dozens of meters above them it’s clear he doesn’t have to wait long.

A few hand seals precede a low hum as small black orbs begin to grow into existence around him, perfectly dense and spherical and opaque. He inhales a long deep breath before that new matching set of violet eyes reopen and the very ground beneath them starts to shake. Stone slabs crack and slip away from the earth in which they’re lodged, drawn to those spheres like specks of matter to singularities, growing the size of each until the sky is peppered with massive chunks of rock that hover above them in one agonizing moment of stillness. Then they begin to fall, slow at first before picking up the momentum of sheer tons of weight.

Tch–! There’s no fear in the eyes that stare upward at the meteorite closest to Stiles's friend, stretching its gently curved expanse out over nearly the entirety of his vertical field of vision with its sheer size.

There’s agitation and determination.

A skeletal frame of violet chakra suddenly blooms to life around him, bones clacking into place as they stretch and grow. A gaping mouth roars as it fills with teeth and sinew stretches over its skull, armor quick to snap over its body with fingers grasping a newly created set of swords. When fully formed it stretches to its full height of well over a hundred meters, expansive wings launching that monstrous warrior into the air with Sasuke at its head. Dual swords are charged with chakra before being swiped outward in a lightning fast horizontal strike, cutting clean through rock that’s then pulverized by a second pass.

Rubble rains from the sky as Susanoo seeks out his next target, the edges of the memory finally beginning to fuzz and fade out when glowing, inhuman eyes set deep within dark sockets seem to lock briefly with Stiles’s. ]

[ Where most memories that he’s observed tonight have unfolded as if Stiles stumbled across a story already in progress, this one feels different. The scene takes a moment to gain focus, like he’s just waking from a dream, and when he spots Sasuke Stiles understands why. Jesus Christ, he thinks with no small amount of horror as he takes in the sight of those blood-soaked clothes. There’s no visible injury that he can make out, even as he hops haphazardly closer across fractured fragments of rocky earth. Surrounding Sasuke are five individuals Stiles doesn’t recognize, though that comes as no surprise given how little he actually knows about his friend. The man crouched at Sasuke’s side draws his eye first, with Stiles grimacing in disgust at the unnatural, monstrous visage. As he notes Sasuke gazing at someone else, he turns to similarly regard the androgynous-looking figure standing somewhat away from the rest of the group. No names are provided to identify these people, but Stiles tries to memorize their faces regardless – unable to circle around to the white-haired boy’s front before Sasuke is moving.

This memory is still at least two years ago he decides as he follows along behind Sasuke, studying that intact left arm and, more importantly, the curious mark on his friend’s palm. The shape is too deliberate to be anything except some kind of tattoo, which naturally prompts Stiles to wonder if the mark had been present in the last memory as well. His thoughts scatter like dust in the wind when he sees the sixth individual they approach, nauseated by the impalement. A faint protest catches in his throat as Sasuke rips free the rod, not born from concern for the man’s wellbeing but out of projected dismay at the idea of releasing a potential enemy. Stiles has to weakly remind himself that this person isn’t Donovan. He isn’t even human, if any shinobi technically qualifies as one, given how easily he recovers from being pinned to the ground by a sizable pole. It’s unnerving; much like his opinion on Aefenglom’s magic, Stiles is both intrigued and wary.

There’s just enough time for Stiles to find it strange that an obviously older man is deferring so readily to someone as young as Sasuke before the scene shifts. We teleported, he realizes in a daze, struggling to reclaim his mental footing. Naruto is recognizable immediately despite the strange incongruity between his appearance in the last memory compared to this one. What the fuck. Barely sparing the massive tree a glance – the same tree from the chakra origin story? – Stiles pauses to openly stare at the teens’ obvious opponent. By this point, nothing should continue to surprise him about the absurdity of the shinobi world. But he gapes at the man, “Madara” as helpfully supplied by Sasuke, in total disbelief. Madara is like a villain straight out of a comic book, cliché monologues and all. Sensing that the action is about to pick up, he glances at Sasuke in anticipation and freezes. Naruto isn’t the only one who has changed; Stiles almost can’t reconcile the sight of those alien-looking eyes set in his friend’s face. The right one is, as he earlier suspected when speaking to Itachi, the Sharingan. Even having witnessed the Sharingan earlier on their father, it’s a striking, disconcerting color of irises that he’s so accustomed to seeing a flat dark. According to Madara, the left eye must be the Rinnegan. Dangerously curious or not, Stiles doesn’t peer at that left eye for long; it disturbs him deeply.

Battle ensues. While he stiffens instinctively as lightning forks through the air toward them, Stiles does manage to restrain himself from flinching away. In doing so, he’s able to better appreciate how each teenage shinobi responds to the attack. Naruto is ignored in favor of watching Sasuke, naturally, though it takes him a moment to comprehend what happened. Teleportation again, seemingly effortless and instantaneous. For the first time, Stiles feels an inkling of tentative hope in regards to Sasuke’s chances of actually rescuing Jonas from Edwards Island should the young man regain his powers. Hope is something he’s always been so careful to ward against, and yet…

And yet, Sasuke…

Shinobi are beyond his ability to fathom, Stiles discovers as he watches the showdown. He was right to be so skeptical and cautious about the idea of helping Sasuke regain these powers, even if he’s since changed his mind on the subject. What kind of world do they live in, where impossible abilities like these are available to use and abuse? Nothing makes sense. The answer, of course, is to stop trying to apply sense to such a world and its inhabitants – but that’s the kind of reluctant allowance you make for bad movie logic, not for the existence of a flesh-and-blood friend. Stiles remains in a state of dull shock for the remainder of the encounter, heart beating sluggishly in his chest under the weight of sheer inconceivability. When Madara plucks out one of Kakashi’s eyes, another Sharingan, and transplants it into his own socket, he can only think in hysterical wonder, Sure, why the hell not. Sasuke cuts through Madara like papier-mâché, a moment of brutality that has Stiles’ stomach roiling, and then the man’s upper body disappears as if by a portal.

Team 7 is reunited, apparently aligned against Madara despite their previous fallout. Stiles takes this period of relative peace to sit down near Kakashi, feeling strangely exhausted by the insanity of what he’s seen in the past few minutes. The violence is hardly a new experience, even coming from a friend like Sasuke; he’s witnessed the pack and pack-adjacent allies do similarly grotesque things during battle, after all. But chakra and jutsu are beyond him – beyond anything that he’s remotely familiar with. Noshiko and the Nogitsune are two of the most powerful creatures Stiles knows of in his version of Earth, and yet both pale in comparison to what Sasuke and Naruto are capable of. It’s obscene.

Kakashi remarks on the fact that they were once a team, a comment that has Stiles shooting him a nasty look as he recalls the man’s readiness to kill Sasuke in the last memory. How convenient of Kakashi to insist upon that now. Before Stiles can begin to build a case of casual, lukewarm loathing against Kakashi, Madara returns to the scene accompanied by another: Obito. Sakura leaps into action as if to attack, though she’s met with such an unconcerned response from Madara that even Stiles recognizes how sorely outclassed she is. What the hell was the point of that? A question that answers itself as she stares purposefully in Sasuke’s direction, a look that he knows he’s worn too many times while chasing after Lydia’s affections. Well, at least teenage love drama is consistent everywhere. It’s almost comforting. Almost.

His heart finally starts to pick up pace again as Madara summons meteorites, with Stiles anxiously glancing at Sasuke while waiting for that disorientating sensation of teleportation. But Sasuke makes no move to flee the scene. There are no words in his vocabulary to describe what follows, except for maybe, This is stupid. Disbelief becomes frustration as his friend takes to the sky in a translucent simulacrum of a winged samurai warrior. This is so fucking stupid. What passes for normal in this goddamn place? Where are the boundaries of what’s possible and impossible? How is any of this bullshit real? As if hearing these blasphemous thoughts, the thing Sasuke pilots glances down at him and Stiles feels a trickle of cold trepidation. The memory ends without conclusion, a persistent ringing buzz echoing in his head as silence falls.

Stiles attempts to make order out of disorder, first by categorizing what is known. The tree, Madara, Obito. If it’s the same tree from the origin story, where does the woman who ate the fruit come in? Sasuke said that he met her two years ago. Is Madara a precursor to that event? Kakashi has – had – a Sharingan, like the Uchiha patriarch, Itachi, and Sasuke. Rinnegan. The marking on Sasuke's left palm. The skeletal creature that Sasuke conjured up, just like the carvings on his mirror frame. The disparity in power levels between Sakura and her teammates.

Back in the Looking-Glass House, he exhales heavily, pivots on a heel, and walks right back into the mirror. He knows that if he hesitates, mental fatigue is going to dissuade him from entering again. This will need to be his final trip. ]

[ Where one memory had featured a Sasuke of seventeen years of age, overly aggressive, cold, seemingly all-powerful, and ruthless... this one opens on a boy sporting that same telltale hairstyle over a decade prior. He's seated on a small step in the entryway of a traditional Japanese house, sliding doors before him and a pile of neatly stacked shoes to his left. Tiny fingers pluck at the drawstring of his bow, dressed in light armor that nevertheless still seems too large for him, before he's lifting it to hook it over his shoulder... only his instincts fail him, getting poked in the eye by the edge of that bow for his trouble.

Ouch– ow, ow... His attempts to soothe that eye are cut short when he hears footsteps, head perking up before he's immediately rising to his feet just in time for his father to round the corner.

F–

Sasuke. What's the meaning of this? Why are you dressed this way? Fugaku questions his son, one not quite seven years of age, and for a moment it's as if he might be concerned over his clear readiness to enter combat. But only for a moment. I don't have time to train with you today.

Oh... no, it's not that. Brother's– There's that wild boar that's been ruining a lot of the fields, and he was given a mission to take care of it. He hasn't had time to train either, so I asked if I could help.

Itachi said that?

Sasuke's gaze falls, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Mm.

... very well. Don't get in his way. Almost immediately those wide eyes lift again, meeting his father's guarded expression with a beaming smile.

I won't! I'll take it down, you'll see. He's already heading towards the exit, door slid open hurriedly as if he expects his father to change his mind and refuse him permission to go ahead.

There's a clan meeting tonight. Make sure your brother is back on time for it.

Yes, sir! Any obvious disinterest on his father's part only shows in the barest flicker of hurt before it's quickly overwhelmed by excitement. After all, once he succeeds he'll be able to return to him with the good news and actually warrant his pride. It's with this in mind that he turns his smile on a young Itachi, waiting just outside for his brother to join him.

He said I could come along.

Ah, is that so... Good, it's about time you got some experience in the field. Itachi's stone-faced demeanor doesn't flicker but he does let his gaze linger on his younger brother a moment or two longer than is necessary, and Sasuke's own expression turns more playful.

I know, soon I'll be catching up to you.

Sasuke, you need to take this seriously, it isn't a game.

Yeah yeah, I know... you'll see. I definitely won't screw up.

The words fade into an echo as the memory itself draws to a close, far shorter and simpler than one before it. It almost strains belief that they feature the same person at all. ]

[ While this may not be the first time tonight that he’s seen Sasuke as a child, the sight is still so unexpected and strange as to warrant a dramatic double take. Crouching down, he studies the boy with a sense of bittersweet curiosity. Are all kids this age so small? Maybe it’s an illusion created by the overlarge armor Sasuke swims in, or maybe it’s his own sentimentality playing tricks on his perception. Regardless, it feels impossible to imagine this child wielding that bow in combat, even knowing how stupidly capable and powerful his friend is in the current day. As if on cue, the memory of Sasuke fumbles the bow. ]

Relatable, [ he tells the boy wryly, moving to stand. ] “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”

[ There’s no one to hear him or understand his movie references. He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Before he can begin to inspect the interior of the house, footsteps sound down the hall.

Fugaku’s presence is unwelcome enough to inspire a reflexive scowl from Stiles. It seems significant that he hasn’t seen a single memory from Itachi or Sasuke’s childhood without this bastard. Where the hell is their mother? Her absence in these memories is just as telling. Sneering, he watches the exchange between Fugaku and Sasuke with a critical eye, searching for any excuse to dislike the man more than he already does. Naturally, Fugaku doesn’t disappoint; when Stiles notes that moment of blatant hurt crumbling Sasuke’s face, he sees red. God, and he thought Rafael would win Worst Dad of the Year. The change in scene is almost a relief as he’s forced out of the house and away from Fugaku. What a garbage parent. Dickbag.

Outside, Stiles wills his boiling blood to cool. Given the sad reality of the situation, it’s all too easy to do. These two children are preparing to hunt and slay a boar, an animal that Stiles knows is considerably dangerous. Itachi can’t be much older than thirteen here. Worse, the palpable excitement and mischief from Sasuke is so heartbreakingly at odds with the stoicism of his current Mirrorbound self that Stiles feels sick. Obviously, something happened to change Sasuke – something that probably had to do with Itachi and their parents. When the memory ends, Stiles stands there in silence for a prolonged spell, heart heavy with melancholy.

This time, after he exits the mirror, he doesn’t reenter. He’s seen enough. ]

[ Sasuke has yet to inadvertently share a memory that the viewer was also a part of, so for Itachi to cross into that warped mirror and be brought back to a familiar, wide hallway and meet a doppelganger of himself standing at its center must be enough at first to convince him he’s entered one of his own instead. But the memory doesn’t begin where it might logically for the older brother: there’s no rapping of knuckles against a hotel room door, no brief discussion with Naruto, no threats from Kisame that a younger Itachi failed to curtail.

It’s been a long time… Sasuke.

Instead it begins with a quiet, calm address from one brother to another, with Itachi’s back to him and eyes still focused on Naruto. Would it have been possible for him to miss that level of killing intent? Even now, with a much older Uchiha Sasuke watching his younger self, he can see it. The hatred Itachi had belittled in a way he still remembers, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing at the memory that’s chosen to appear.

Hoh, the sharingan… and he looks a lot like you, Itachi-san. Who is he? Kisame chimes in with barely hidden amusement, clearly enjoyed at the expense of his stoic partner. Nevertheless, the question is entertained: He’s my younger brother.

Strange, since I heard the entire clan was wiped out… by your hand.

It’s only now that the older Sasuke becomes aware of a presence at his side, head turning only for him to freeze in place when he sees someone so similar yet so different from the man in the memory, a teenager barely seventeen who had filled him with so much fear and hatred that he could’ve choked on it. It’s startling in a way he could never prepare for. ]

… so you’re here too.

[Of all the mirrors he's crossed since entering the Looking-Glass House, this one stands out to him. It is easily the most decorated and recognizable. No other mirror comes close to its level of detail, so the understanding of who it belongs to is obvious even before he spies his own face, carved into dark wood, eyes marked out in distinct black. By now he has a vague and hazy awareness of what this trading of consciousness means, and he knows if he steps over, he's going to find himself somewhere deep inside of Sasuke's mind. Regardless of what the memory will show him, it belongs to his younger brother.

There's no possibility not to cross over that threshold. Even still, Itachi recognizes it as a transgression of privacy. He'll have to bear that.

... Immediately, he knows where he is. The figures in the hall, their voices, the battlefield laid out between brothers. Himself, younger and red-eyed at one end of the hall. Itachi looks over this scene and views it again from a different vantage, remembering how it felt to be in this place, how it was to see Sasuke for the first time in years. How even then it was an encounter with a purpose. The only sense of measurement would be their abilities, to gauge how far Sasuke had come in the lives they now lived apart, with the hope he would be fueled toward strength and purpose.

More than that, however, it was self-punishment.

This is what he understands as he stands there and hears the trade of words, as his brother draws a crackling handful of electric chakra up, throwing long blue shadows on the wall. Black eyes slide to the older version of Sasuke a short distance away.

I've held this hatred for you all this time. I've lived my life for one single purpose. ... To see you die!]

It seems so. [He turns his head, gaze falling. Sasuke's younger self is screaming somewhere in the background. Added ambience, with the giant crater blown out of the side of the wall next.] I wasn't aware memories could cross in this way. [Itachi turns, searching behind as if he might uncover an exit path back through the mirror's portal, though there's nothing there.] This was... some time ago.

Edited 2020-04-17 05:44 (UTC)

With the two of us I suppose that possibility would be present. I saw my younger self in one of yours as well, earlier.

[ Watching himself, even as objectively removed from his own physical existence as he is, is unpleasant to him. Nevertheless he refuses to look away from the charge forward, expression steeled into impassivity instead of giving into the risk of showing one emotion that could easily turn into more.

He can't remember the last time he had a nightmare about this day, only that it was still far too recent for him to fully stomach. ]

... I saw you had the sharingan active and still I went for such a sloppy strike. My form was better than that back then but I lost my head, [ he critiques placidly, unsure why it is that now after so many years he still feels a need to defend himself. As if some fucked up part of him longs to impress the seventeen-year-old who proceeds to call his younger self a "bother" and say that he "doesn't have any interest" in him right now before he cleanly snaps the bones of his wrist in two. His eyes return to the mirrorbound Itachi when his younger self cries out in pain, finally seeking an excuse to avert his gaze. ]

I was pretty blind back then.

[A younger self? Itachi thinks to question this, yet the thought is soon lost to his brother's next words, a dry assessment so far outside the situation that unravels before their eyes.

He remembers well what happens here, and so he does not allow himself the privilege of looking away. Can this version of Sasuke be blamed for an emotional reaction? In those years of their separation, all that boiled inside of him was a deep and festering pit of spite and hatred. Itachi had ensured there was no room for anything else. In a confrontation, it would likely rise to the surface. Unwise when a shinobi's survival against a powerful opponent depends on foresight and coolheaded deduction. Is this the lesson he had intended to teach Sasuke here?

As Itachi watches, this past version of himself begins to beat his younger brother, each sick thud of a foot or fist resounding in the hall. The physical assault goes on until—as he remembers, as he knows—Tsukuyomi takes violent root in Sasuke's mind. To break him as easily as he's broken countless others, like a doll over his knee. Not only had he proved to Sasuke his own weaknesses in that moment, but he also entirely destroyed them, shattering his own brother to the brink of collapse. Just as he had on the night of the massacre. And he recalls, dimly, how empty he had felt in that moment. Unhinging himself from the acts he was committing. Analyzing Sasuke, finding the holes in his attack, exploiting him, demonstrating the extent of those flaws to a point of extreme.

To who he was, in this memory, Sasuke had represented little more than a weapon he was sculpting to turn upon himself.

Sasuke's screams rend the air, Naruto and Jiraiya gazing on in horror, Kisame in detached awe. Itachi speaks in a low voice when he finally addresses the present, Mirrorbound version of his brother.] You don't need to see this again. You should go.

[To say nothing of himself.]

[ The memory itself is almost impossible to watch and it's one of the reasons that Sasuke breaks the silence with his objective commentary. It's made ten times more difficult by his brother's lack of response, however, left without distractions and without a basic acknowledgement of him having said anything at all. It leaves him with this, a claustrophobic hallway and muscles tensing in response to the very visceral memory of each and every blow landing on his body.

There, that one had stunned his diaphragm and left him unable to breathe for a few seconds. That one gave him a concussion, only realized later. Another one, coupled with a distinct sharp crack, brings with it the pain of a broken rib.

None of it at all even remotely compares to what he knows is coming next.

He wills his eyes to go out of focus while keeping them pointed straight ahead, even now unconsciously imitating his older brother's composure as if that defines how a shinobi should act. "A shinobi must never show weakness"; hadn't they both learned that at the Academy years ago? It feels like a lifetime. He finds his gaze drifting to Naruto, chest tight when he hears screams echoing in a juvenile reflection of his own voice while his best friend's features twist with hatred and concern. Would that he could defend both Naruto and Itachi from one another in this moment.

Finally, his brother speaks. ]

It isn't showing what I saw. The worst of it is over. [ No flashes of his brother's illusion. No hint of the dreams that had begun to torment him immediately when his body gave out. Indeed, the memory itself is starting to blank out, to fade at the edges when its owner's consciousness is cut from the scenario. ]

... I'm sorry. My arrival here back then complicated things. It can't have been easy on you.

[The worst of it is over. Tsukuyomi is a experience wholly within the targeted individual's mind, so they won't see the images Sasuke was forced to see, how he was made to relive that night's events. This should tell him something about how these memories operate. He recognizes an instinct to pay attention to that, but it feels secondary to having his brother here next to him, addressing him.

That apology turns his head. Dark irises and a cool expression, except the way his gaze eventually skates to the left to avoid direct eye contact.

What words can he offer in the face of it? What possible explanation? Sasuke is shouldering blame for the cruelty Itachi had inflicted upon him—for a purpose, perhaps, but one which becomes so much more vague and unspeakable when looking backward. What had he hoped to accomplish beyond tormenting his brother to a point that his love no longer existed? If he burned every good memory out of Sasuke, then it would allow his younger brother to kill him with no regret, no hesitation. It would mean something good. It would give Itachi further reason to want himself dead.

He had never stopped to think how Sasuke might interpret it outside these rationalizations, and he doesn't know what to do now, in the absence of hatred or resentment.]

No. I thought you would find me, so I wasn't surprised. [A low and quiet admittance. Hoped, maybe, hidden in some selfish desire to see him again.] You did nothing wrong here. How I handled this was my choice, not yours. You were only responding to a situation outside your control.

[The memory is almost gone. So he turns around, exiting back through the mirror without waiting for Sasuke's reaction.]

[ It occurs to him, dimly, that so much has changed and yet so little at the same time. "You were only responding to a situation outside your control" Itachi tells him before wrenching control away from him yet again, leaving him in this shrinking memory with no recourse or final word. The option to chase him, as always, exists. But right now he scrounges up enough internal wisdom to allow his older brother the same space that he recognizes he himself might need.

That, at least, is an actual choice he can make for himself. For both of them. It's the slim agency he hadn't had in this particular memory or in any shared with his brother after everything changed between them, forever convincing himself of his free will while actively working to destroy it.

Itachi had always been more quick-witted than him. ]

[ The memory opens with Lance stepping from the mirror into a dark hallway, the only source of light coming from an open doorway just ahead that will reveal itself to lead to a small kitchen when he steps forward. There’s a low table placed right in the middle of the space, a man seated on one side while two small children crowd the other. A woman – clearly the mother – busies herself at the sink, listening to her sons as one excitedly recounts their day to their father.

Hey, we were playing hide-and-seek today, but then he used a clone jutsu just to trick me and run away… and that’s cheating, isn’t it? The man turns his attention away from the spiky-haired boy who’s speaking, instead addressing the elder of the two siblings.

Oh, you’ve mastered using the clone jutsu?

The younger boy’s expression immediately shifts if only for a split second, momentarily crestfallen when he’s ignored. His recovery is nigh instantaneous, however, turning a beaming smile on the other child. Big brother, hey, wait, you could teach me the clone jutsu after we finish dinner, okay?

Finally the woman tidying the dishes turns off that squeaky tap, glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow and stern expression. No, homework first, she chides, inspiring a greater frown from her youngest, watching him deflate with no mind to buy into his emotional manipulation. The elder brother adopts a softer smile, however, offering a sympathetic tilt of his head when he raises his hand to gently poke the smaller boy’s forehead with two fingers, affectionate.

Sorry about that, Sasuke. We’ll do it another time, I promise.

His words ring out in the fading space as the memory comes to a close, darkness encroaching around its edges. ]

[ how is it that sasuke manages to be recognizable even as a kid, lance wonders. it must be the hair. it's...definitely the hair, because sasuke here just seems a lot...happier, so it can't be his personality, right. he seems especially happy when he turns to his brother. (oh, there's two of them. that's great. but that's a thought he'll quickly push to the back of his mind, because this memory of probably-sasuke is...really nice.)

he can't help but laugh a little when he hears sasuke ask his brother to teach him the "clone jutsu", whatever that may be. it reminds him of when he asked his older sister, veronica, to let him try chocolate milk. it's a shame that ended up just being dirt in the end, but that excitement brings back old memories. good ones.

and when the older boy says sasuke's name, it reaffirms that this memory is his, and suddenly lance feels like he shouldn't be here. he threw the guy under the bus for no reason and they don't exactly like each other -- even then, he feels like this is an invasion of sasuke's privacy. this memory should only be for sasuke to see and nobody else, as happy as it is.

suddenly, before lance can have a bigger crisis over this, he's engulfed in the darkness...and the memory ends. he blinks, standing outside of sasuke's mirror.

he turns around, hoping that sasuke isn't there. if he is, well...lance will look at him like a deer caught in headlights. if sasuke isn't there, though? ... lance will take it upon himself to seek the guy out. might as well be honest with him, for once.

either way, he's going to make this awkward and start off by clearing his throat. ]

[ Sasuke has left his own mirror in waves, feeling a strict protectiveness over his own memories but the lucid state of the dream has him regularly overwhelmed by emotion over logic, a desire to seek out other past events from people he's met. He's only just returning from one such event when he spots Lance emerging, momentarily freezing. He's tense even when he finishes his approach, actually seeming more wary than accusative for once in his life. ]

So you went in there. [ ... ] What did you see?

[ His good memories are few and far between, after all. ]

...Nothing bad.

[ he swears. he's actually not going to be hostile towards sasuke, for once -- these memories are pretty personal, and it'd be a real dick move to tease sasuke about this when he looks so worried. ]

You asked your brother about...a clone-someting? Clone... I don't know what word you used, it started with a J.

[ he rubs the back of his head. ] You were also with your family. It was...surprisingly pretty sweet.

[ Those first two words are difficult for him to believe but nonetheless offer him a marginal amount of relief, seeing nothing in Lance's expression to hint at him having witnessed anything traumatic. Good. That makes things easier. ]

... "j". [ It doesn't translate properly, not for someone whose native language is Japanese. Luckily he's been studying the Latin alphabet since his arrival in Aefenglom, never one to take anything for granted. ] With the sound that letter makes, you must mean "jutsu". It means "technique".

[ He's lingering on this topic for far longer than he needs to but it's easier to discuss than his family will ever be. ]

I didn't expect you to seek out my memories.

[ oh. that doesn't translate, huh? now he feels kinda bad that he's making sasuke translate, but it can't be helped. thankfully, sasuke catches on and gives him the proper word. ]

There we go, that's the one.

[ jutsu, huh? interesting. he's learning something new every day, and he's finding that he actually doesn't mind it too much, considering this is coming from sasuke.

he's called the fuck out though promptly afterwards, and lance's eyes go a little wide before he clears his throat. ]

I wasn't seeking you out, your mirror was just fancy! [ ...which is like. only partly true. he walked into the looking glass idly wondering whose it was, and sasuke was one the people he thought to match to the mirror. that's all. ] ...I'll admit though, that memory was a nice breather from some of the other stuff I've seen.

[ Fancy? He could debate the point but all that does is open himself up to further scrutiny, both of his mirror's features and of himself for being so fixated on Lance's motivations. Why are any of them going into the mirrors of those they know well or poorly or not at all? Because they have the opportunity to see more. It doesn't need to be more complicated than that. ]

I remember the night you're describing. [ A bit odd on its own, really, considering how generally nondescript it had been, but he remembers all of his time spent with his family perhaps a little too well. His next question, however, is sudden and unprompted. ]

Are you alright?

...Did I hear you right? You -- asked me if I'm okay, right?

[ lance is just so incredulous at the idea that sasuke is actually checking in on him. is there an ulterior motive to this? there has to be -- but also, if sasuke and keith are as alike as lance said they were... then well, maybe the guy really is just asking without trying to be a menace.

eh. after some consideration, lance is willing to take his chances. ]

I'm fine. Could be better, but I'm fine. Just...didn't realize what I was getting myself into with some of the other mirrors. That's all.

Edited 2020-05-13 06:44 (UTC)

[ He could defend his words.

He could explain that simple harmless dislike or criticism doesn't mean he doesn't bear any concern for Lance's wellbeing, and that serious psychological or physical suffering is something he'd actively attempt to protect him from. He could say all of that. Or he could stay silent and let Lance continue on, which is what he does. ]

I see. I don't believe you're alone in that belief. [ He pauses for a moment. ] ... don't go back in. You may see something else that's difficult to forget.

Whose memories have you seen so far?

[ When Jonas next steps into that darkly-framed mirror he'll find himself on a plain street on an equally nondescript night, the air warmed by a recent heat wave and eerily still. The main thoroughfare itself is little more than a dirt path but it suits the dated architecture, the likes of which he might recognize – with a keen memory and keener eye – as having been visible through a younger Sasuke's open window in a previous trip into his mirror. The moon is still low enough yet in the sky to hint at how recently the sun has set but even still there are no lights on in any of the houses. No voices. No movement.

The only thing to break the silence is approaching high-speed footfalls, with Sasuke – much younger than his present day version but older still than he'd been in the first memory Jonas witnessed – hurrying into view. His bag is almost too large for his body, continuously knocking against tiny legs as he runs, but he hardly seems to notice. It's clear he's on a singular mission, and with the symbol embroidered onto the back of his clothing matching the design on various paper lanterns and painted onto the bordering walls outlining the compound, it's safe to guess he's returning home all too late.

It's all the more striking then when he suddenly stops, struggling to catch his breath as wide, curious eyes settle on a distant telephone pole perfectly backlit by that moon. No, not on it... on top of it, as if he'd seen something there. Whatever it was is seemingly enough to force him out of the thoughts that had previously captivated him, looking upon the surrounding streets with a fresh pair of eyes. Shock visibly overtakes him then even if he doesn't voice his thoughts aloud, realizing perhaps far too late just how dark and empty the streets are. Suddenly he's moving again, darting around the next corner leading to his home, and it's then that he gasps.

Those same lanterns are cut, shuriken and kunai embedded in storefronts, in homes, splattered with fresh blood. But it's the street itself this young boy is staring at, motionless. Several bodies line his path forward, one or two with defensive wounds and blades still grasped in hands yet to be stiffened by rigor mortis, but the rest... some women, some children, clearly cut down in the midst of attempting to flee from an unknown assailant. There's a visible change in the boy then but it's not a showing of reluctance, rather a determination that suddenly propels him headlong down that street, only hesitating long enough to identify two bodies in particular. ] Uncle... Aunt...

Wait, then that means Father and Mother are– [ He briefly checks his surroundings with a rushed desperation, chest tight and expression one of new fear as he again sets off in the direction of his home. The sliding door is all but thrown open before he steps inside, that sense of dread manifesting itself now in a heavy swallow and a slow, instinctual removal of shoes before he forces himself to press onward. It's the same entryway where a delighted Sasuke had thrown himself at his brother in an excited embrace, but now it's dark, silent, and foreboding.

He's methodical in his check of each room in the house, starting with the living room and kitchen before he's looking up towards the stairwell–

And that's when he hears a muffled thud with a second, louder one following right after it, head immediately turning towards the source of the noise: the clan meeting room. Bare feet slap against wood panels as he darts into the hallway, navigating the twists and turns before it opens into a porch wrapping around the rear of the old home. He's breathing harder now and it's not from exertion, even when he loses his balance in his haste on a sharp turn. Teeth grit as he quickly catches himself with his next push forward, unfaltering right until he reaches the double doors at the end of the walkway. A hand raises, fingers drawing back from the handle as if expecting to be burned. Sasuke's head hangs as he takes an open-mouthed breath, then two, then three as both hands slowly grasp onto one handle each.

He freezes in place, sweat trickling down his temple. ]

(he’s dressed too warmly in his wine-coloured sweater, one layer too thick for the weather that gives a rolling breeze its clinging humidity, his first inhale in inherently wrong. it’s more of a startled inhale in followed by a relieved sigh out when the noise of sasuke’s jog brings him into view, wondering why he’s so on edge, area smelling off like sweat on metal.

it’s nothing he can pinpoint as he instinctively turns to follow his friend’s route, and the buildings distract him better than the boy’s anxiety does. it’s a complex, neat rows of homes with bordering walls keeping each section of land contained and shielded from the prying eyes of the main road, and it’s filed away as the quaint memory of the uchiha clan’s home. a lot of charm, and a place he imagines would look similar to someplace in rural japan—out in the countryside, maybe, or tucked away somewhere at the foot of mountains.)

… hey. Hey, you okay? (eyes are drawn back to sasuke, who’s stopped dead to stare sightlessly at something that turns jonas’ face up, but he sees nothing that’ll explain the foreboding sinking over the memory like an oppressive fog. his skin feels uncomfortable as fleece fabric sticks with his t-shirt in a way that makes him haul it up and over his head to ball up in his hands, heading after the boy while clinging tightly to the material as though it could prepare him for what they turn the corner to see next.) Sasuke?

–Jesus!

(blood paints the road, bodies littered down sasuke's path home like a macabre trail, faces young and old wearing twisted expressions of fear and agony, eyes stinging without the prompting shake in his friend’s voice as he spots people he seems to recognize. jonas’ chest tightens with the pressing need to press the fabric of his hoodie over his nose and mouth to stifle the dry retch at his aunt and uncle lying together, wondering how he has the fortitude to move away from them at eight when he'd be frozen in place at eighteen. even for his parents, for his mom and dad.

it's as bad as the battlefield a four-year-old stood on, itachi's memory fresh in his head in a way that shakes him into action like he had once before in an effort to stop him, hide his eyes, and steal him away from the scene—as if he could. but it's all already happened, helpless to watch things he should've never been able to, chasing after the boy who's already clattering into his home.

this he recognizes and such a sweet scene is now clouded by watery eyes that track sasuke as he tears across his vision in a panic, unwittingly a tragic guide that's revealing one of the darkest segments of a past jonas knew was upsetting... but to this degree? to have seen things so horrifying at such a young age, and somehow have weathered it all into adulthood? this is the same person he's bonded to now, who's shared intimate thoughts and emotions with him, who's protected him and encouraged him, who's always seemed so fucking unflappable. this child, running like the devil's on his heels across wooden hallways and patios to trip, fall, and rise in an effort to rescue his parents from something jonas knows they don't live through.

that'd be too happy, too big of a relief. and it's clear to jonas now that sasuke's known neither.)

Stop! Wait, please, don't– (his sweater's been forgotten somewhere behind, hands reaching out for the child as though he's able to prevent him from drawing open those sliding doors. but his fingers sink through him; he is little more than a ghost.)

[Since locating Sasuke's mirror in this strange midnight dream, he hasn't strayed far from it. The memories he's viewed—one alone, the other endured at his brother's side—were both a drastic invasion of privacy such that choosing to enter again is a temptation he can't surrender to, no matter how he may wish to glimpse Sasuke's mind and access all those missing years between them. It's not a consideration he's certain he would have had in the past. Right now, in this place, it's better to mediate that want.

Instead, he keeps guardianship over Sasuke's mirror as much as he can by restricting himself to the area closest to its location, choosing the mirrors of strangers in a near proximity. So when Jonas appears and crosses through the frame soon after, Itachi is hot on his heels.

There's risk here. Many of Sasuke's memories are bound up within memories of himself. Further than that, they're violent and painful, and he's had to rescue Jonas from one such experience already. Perhaps this will be innocuous in comparison... but it's unlikely.

He's crossing the floor in pursuit when he notices his brother appear in the doorway of the room.]

Jonas went into yours.

[As if this is all the explanation needed—suspecting or anticipating Sasuke will follow—Itachi steps into the mirror.

And at once he realizes his surroundings. The dread sinks leaden in him, Itachi turning to see if his brother has arrived on the dark street they will know by the scar it has left on both their consciousnesses: one Itachi himself has carved into them so they would never forget.

He doesn't wait for words. He's started off, navigating the street with a hyper-awareness that demonstrates he knows (and knew) exactly the route his younger brother once took to reach their home. Not that it would matter. Sasuke's destination is the same as his own, if only mere minutes behind.

It's Jonas' voice he hears before he sees the boy, plaintive and desperate, and just as Jonas' hand passes through the memory of his younger brother, his own spindly fingers hook into the back of that wine-red sweater. Much like their previous encounter on that hellscape of a battlefield, Itachi hauls him forcibly backward before he has a chance of entering the room that lay beyond.

Strange, that this time he feels a far greater surge of panic for Jonas witnessing this particular memory. Fortunately his voice remains level (and his hand still, white-knuckled) as he says,] Jonas, don't.

[ His trips back to his own mirror have been numerous, bracketing each exploration into the memories of someone else. All in all he couldn't entirely pin down why, unable to give a singular reason for his desire to monitor who might be snooping around in his past – he isn't even sure that he wants to stop it from happening. But as soon as he sees his brother and hears what he has to say, unconscious lingering fears find their basis in reality. Good memories in his life are few and far between, and even if he were to hold out hope that Jonas had won the lottery by grabbing ahold of one of them, the sudden shock and panic he feels through the Bond immediately causes him to move.

He follows his brother wordlessly through the mirror and is struck by warmth and stillness, a muggy windless night that still features as the backdrop for some of his worst dreams.

No.

Any other memory, any recollection that isn't this one–

Sasuke's throat is tight when he breaks out into a run, route still remembered with the same clarity with which Itachi recalls it and he hardly needs to so much as glance to his side to know he's keeping pace. There's only one destination that could possibly matter, and with that secondhand anxiety from Jonas snowballing into something greater and greater he knows the other teen has already reached it.

No similar time is wasted on exploring the house when they arrive and it's those few seconds saved that allows them to intercept him just before this memory can descend into something even more hellish, allowing his older brother to restrain Jonas while he instead positions himself between the two of them and the door that's finally opened, refusing to move until its firmly shut again. ]

We're leaving. [ It's the most he can manage, and even on those single two words there's a waver to his tone. Everything Jonas is feeling is filtered through his own lens, redoubled and returned as Sasuke fights for any scrap of calm. ] It's fine now; this isn't for you to see.

[ As the owner of the memory he hadn't previously known of any ability to affect them but it's his very will that manifests a portal at the end of that hall, a way back out that he's already urging them towards... as the sound of metal hitting wood sounds from the other side of closed doors. ] Now.

(time seems to stop when the child's fingers find the door, the first creak of wood in its frame. his breath catches, his eyes widen, and for the briefest of moments he feels as though he may catch a horrible glimpse of what's lying in wait on the other side. he doesn't want to and yet it's impossible to look away.

which is why the hand twisting into the back of his sweater is shouted at as loudly as it is, once again trying to wrench himself free of itachi's hold.) Get off– stop fucking grabbing me! (jonas has half a mind to duck out of the hoodie that's already gathering high up the hip, but settles almost immediately when a voice he trusts raises over his older brother’s.

they came to get him. here, in this traumatic memory none of them wanted to see. making sasuke relive this is the last thing he wants to do, even if it’s already too late to run out in a way that might save him from having to see his dead aunt and uncle and other distant members of his family lying cold and abandoned on the ground. sick to death of this, terrified, jonas spots the portal that manifests along with a body of goosebumps that prick uncomfortable at his skin. it gives him a horrible start and—in some sick, maladjusted way—affects him more than parts of the memory have, a knee-jerk dread that makes him wonder, for a moment, if the sunken have found him. if this is it, they’ve found him and come back to retrieve him.

and then he’s forced towards it.

heels dig in. every muscle in jonas’ body tenses and his shoulder is thrown out of itachi’s hold before he’s hauled back through the portal. it can’t be by anyone else’s will that he crosses the barrier, so panicked that the obvious sound of bodies hitting the floor barely filters in. it’ll sink in later, after he wakes clutching at his sheets, alone and vulnerable in his bed.)

I’ll– I can do it myself! I-I’m going, just– y-you– (an incomplete stammer, turning his face away with a grit of teeth.

and when jonas disappears through the mirror’s rippling surface, a retreating back is all they’ll see on the opposite side. exiting the looking-glass isn’t possible while they’re still trapped in this endless fucking dream, but he’ll try no matter how many times it redirects him or spend the rest of it barring people from entering his memories.)

[Where at first Jonas' struggle is met with a cold and immutable strength holding him in place, this doesn't last; Jonas resists when the portal is manifested, and Itachi lets him go, feeling that dead weight lurching from his grasp in panicked flight. He says nothing in the face of those fearful words. This moment is irrevocable, as real as the sound of dropping bodies through the door behind him. An echo of memory never truly gone from his mind. Perhaps it is made more stark by someone else's witness, someone so uninvolved and removed from the dark and nasty reality sheltered between brothers.

Jonas disappears through the mirror, its filmy surface split around broad shoulders—black eyes watch it ripple back to calmness after the boy is gone.

The stillness and quiet afterward doesn't last. Sasuke's younger self has begun to cry and plead in terror on the other side of thin closed walls, and he can hear his own performed diatribe undercutting it, each cruel word so known to him it may as well be written somewhere on his skin.

In light of that, he can say nothing else, not even to suggest Sasuke go after Jonas—knowing his own presence won't be tolerated.

So he simply walks after Jonas and vanishes through the portal. Even if Sasuke hurries, it will be difficult to catch him, and even more difficult to pursue conversation. He's ready to wake up.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[closed] too fast, never ask, if the life don't last

closed to jongdae

closed to jonas

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1/2

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closed to stiles

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closed to itachi

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmd1qMN5Yo0

MMM WHATCHA SAAAAY

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AND SCENE

closed to lance

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i have no idea how i lost this thread, i am so sorry

NO WORRIES!!

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closed to itachi and jonas

ARGHHHHHHH

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