[Video | Week 9, Day 3]

[a_for_tiori]

[The video feed captures only a blue sky, broken up by the leafy branches of a huge tree. A pair of birds fly overhead, and there are the sounds of late summer, cicadas buzzing and birds shrieking

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[Video]

[a_for_tiori]

[That's not - possible. But of course it actually is. Of course here, in this place. This reality. He is here, alive. And his death. That had been so long ago, the time when Itachi was dead.

And it had been brief, really. Sasuke had nothing, then he fell, then he woke up and there was Itachi. Dead Itachi, Itachi's ghost in a world of dead things and dreams. It had made no difference. Dead things and living things. There was little distinction in a world that was not real, anyway.

Dead, but he had been there. Solid. And warm, even, when -

It is the same now. Back then. Fall, open your eyes, and he is there. This is the same. Open your eyes, and he is there. Saying your name. Saying, otouto.

It is not the same.

Because he is here, holding the Hitomi. Not looking at the screen, because he sees nothing behind the bandages. But hearing the voice. Wishing he trusted himself to be able to find the right place to touch, to hear it again. Wishing the bandages were ready to come off. And if his head didn't hurt so much. If he did not feel dizzy from the pain. If he could fucking see, he could go now. Walk on his own two feet and find Itachi. And stop the feeling.

The longing, which was always present. Even when Itachi was there with him, it stayed, a quiet background murmur. White noise. Which had been present from the first day that Itachi left him. Hate me, curse my name. The desire for revenge, Sasuke had thought. And he wasn't wrong.

But when Itachi was dead, and the revenge fulfilled - still. Still he had wanted. There in the real world, he had ached. And it had been quiet at first, and he had kept it inside. But as time passed, as the world kept moving forward, it had gotten worse. And nothing could satisfy it. Not the company of Taka, nor of his last living family. Not the comfort of his memories. Not even the red hot violence, the jarring satisfaction of killing Danzou. It couldn't stop it. And even taking Itachi's eyes, finally. He had thought perhaps... but no. It had only sharpened it, because it was almost but not really what he wanted. The longing. The wind blowing through the hollowed out parts of him. Howling.]

Itachi.

[He whispers, and then goes quiet. His face is only half in the picture, as he cannot see the camera to aim it properly.

Itachi. He should be calm. He should. He should not be squeezing his eyes shut behind the bandages. Feeling them burn. Thinking, please. Please, please. Please please please please come. I can't wait anymore. His hands should be still, not shaking.]

I can't see how to send coordinates.

I think I may be... by the tree.

[Video]

[behindhiseyes]

[ Into what world had his brother gone. Itachi wonders.

Shrouded eyes. Wrapped, bandaged, injured eyes: eyes concealed behind the pale blood-speckled cloth. Their shared genealogy, muted in this world of relative peace: Sharingan. What Itachi had once called my new light. Now dimmed to darkness. Placed away. Who has done this to Sasuke? And Itachi swallows, palms hot. Who has done this to his brother? By what power has this light been removed? And Sasuke. Sasuke, stumbling in the darkness. Sasuke, alone, unseeing, in this world of endless brightness. How must the sunlight be burning him.

Itachi closes his own eyes for a long moment. Unseen by his brother. Opens them in silence. Traces his fingers along the image of that face, as though seeking ley lines -- as though mapping the history of their brotherhood, the history of their family, and its inevitable future. And Itachi's own face is bereft of expression, his response measured.

But he is breathing a little more quickly.

Sasuke.

Was it him? Was it Itachi who was responsible for having done this to you? In the long run, by whatever hand the crude mechanism of your blindness (is it temporary, only, or -- ) had come about, was it not Itachi who forged the knife? Who blew the sparks from the fire against your eyelids?

(Remembers your lips, on his own eyelids.

Another spark, then; a curl of heat at the base of his spine.

And -- )

Yes.

He must do this. He must kneel before you, his most long-lived sacrifice. ( Must place his lips to eyelids. Must dip his fingers in the water and wipe the crusted blood, the unseen tears, from your face. Push your hair back. And sacrifice you not one more time again. ) ]

I'm coming, Sasuke.

[ Because when he came to this world, shrouded in another variety of darkness -- the darkness of ignorance, of a life without a kind of hope -- you did not leave him to it, alone. You never would, would you, Sasuke? Leave your brother alone? You would sooner end his life than leave him to the darkness. ]

Wait for me.