Itachi fic: The Haunting Party
Title: “The Haunting Party”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Summary: There is no greater hell than being a ghost and haunting Uchiha Sasuke. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.
A/N: This is, uh… crack? Or, uh… idiocy in full swing featuring posthumously OOC Itachi. Anyway, humour me, I deserved a break from all the angst.
THE HAUNTING PARTY
I want to affect things to make something happen!
Anne Rice. ‘The Vampire Lestat’
People beyond certain age tend to plead disbelief in ghost stories to hide their fear of the preternatural. They persist in their erroneous convictions that ghosts are a product of imagination, and there are quite a lot of facts to prove them right. Seeing is believing, they say, so unless you have actually seen a ghost rather than heard about it from some centennial grandmother of a friend of your friend’s brother, ghosts do not exist.
That is what you usually suggest before you become one.
I find myself wishing I had believed and taken some precautions. But obviously killing off your entire family to protect peace and prosperity of your homeland, betraying your brother’s trust, making him believe you are after his eyes and working for the most notorious criminal organization in the world is not enough to earn a one-way comfortable ride to hell.
No wonder I’ve become so grumpy over the past few weeks.
These days Sasuke is so broody and quiet that I’m not really sure who haunts who in our duo. I tag along with his squad only to witness more havoc they wreak and do what I do best: try to think up a plan to reverse all the damage the boy is doing. This is where I begin to doubt he really is my brother. Should have asked the parents for a birth certificate…
When he puts on the Akatsuki cloak, I can’t hold back a smirk.
Not going my way, eh, Sasuke? First you get yourself a fish-boy with a big sword, then my eyes and my former patron, and now my cloak!
I sternly forbid myself to feel responsible for this mess and attempt to drive away the dismal thoughts: that he is beyond saving, that Naruto-kun will have to use the ultimate weapon I have given him, that I will have to haunt Sasuke for all eternity…
I resist the urge to groan.
So my dear little brother puts on my cloak and, thinking he looks all tough and badass, goes to look for the last remaining Jinchuuriki except Naruto-kun. By the time we have found him, I’m already feeling much more relaxed. The man actually sings. Or rather, raps, but that’s not the point.
Are you going to rap, too? I wonder with venom. That almost makes this haunting thing worth it.
Alas, Sasuke has inherited my fighting style. It makes him look cool, but insanely, terminally boring. I can predict the outcome of the battle long before it’s actually over. If ghosts could sleep, I’d be snoring by now.
“We go back,” Sasuke says as his pet giant grabs the unconscious Eight-Tails and drags his body along.
I walk next to my brother, pondering how things have turned out. I really am proud of him, proud that the tragedies of his life haven’t broken him but made him stronger…
And I still liked him better when he was shorter than me and knew how to smile! Come to think of it, I liked myself better back then as well.
Upon our reunion with the Akatsuki I find myself trapped in a room with two arguing madmen. One of them is my brother; the other one is the man I so desperately wanted him to stay away from. I got used to him doing exactly the opposite to what I tell him, but this!..
“You are far more efficient than Itachi,” Madara observes, “yet it seems to me, you are harder to control.”
Oh really?
Sasuke, to his credit, doesn’t take the bait. He simply stands there, waiting for Madara to continue.
Hey, how about defending my honour here a little?
“I won’t stay as long as he did,” Sasuke says thoughtfully. “I have my own agenda. My own way.”
“Ah, yes. Care to tell me what exactly that way is?”
There is no ‘your way’! I exclaim irritably.
“No.”
Because there is no such thing! I practically yell in his imperturbable face. If there had been a loophole, I would have used it! Do you think I wanted this for us?
This is ridiculous. Ghosts are supposed to be seen or at least heard, otherwise, what’s the point in haunting the living?!
Anger, rage, fear - everything I held bottled up for years - are suddenly spilling out. I slam my fist into the table; a sturdy clay mug jumps up and causes both men to look around.
And me, I don’t dare release another breath.
This is it! I can make him hear me! Maybe even see me! Do I really want it to happen? No. But I never really wanted any part of my life to happen. It’s a little too late to complain.
“Must be earth tremour,” Madara utters thoughtfully. “There is strong seismic activity in this area.”
I begin to laugh. Oh God, I’m actually laughing! I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.
Kisame peeks inside. For a second I freeze with a fairly insane smile on my face: he is looking right at me, and I dare think that he might even see me. Which would be rather strange. But of course his gaze only lingers on that empty space that I occupy before he turns to Madara and calls him outside.
The room is empty save for my little brother who is standing in the middle of it, motionless like a statue. I come closer reluctantly, place my hand on his shoulder and it goes straight through it. I sigh. I wonder if he feels anything. A little gust of wind inside. A slither of fabric over his skin. Anything at all.
He doesn’t.
I can’t reach him.
I can move a mug but I can’t make my own brother hear me. Perhaps this is the hell I have deserved.
We are unique siblings, you and I, I whisper. I can’t help but notice that I echo my own long-forgotten words. I know I’m lying to myself - that’s new; that’s your thing, Sasuke. I never forget anything. I have been your obstacle to overcome. Now you are mine. I’m sorry, little brother. It seems the hate doesn’t end here.
I was angry. I was even frightened. I was tired of having lived past my death and gained nothing. But now, as I look at his weary - and suddenly so vulnerable - face, I am suddenly back to my usual composed self.
I can feel your thoughts, I breathe in his ear. And I don’t like what you’re thinking.
Sasuke moves, paces around the room, then leans into the small window and presses his forehead against the glass. It drizzles outside; sluggish droplets of rain smash against the window-pane and dribble slowly down. Sasuke’s breath comes out in puffs and lies upon the glass, one dim layer after another.
I bring my hand up to the window and watch it hover a few centimetres away from Sasuke’s face. I focus hard on it until I see nothing but my fingers and a slightly bleared background of the moist glass. I point a dot and pull back, exhilarated. One dot. It feels like I’m a child standing before my bedroom window, looking outside into the storm, knowing I can’t go out and play with my friends today. The rain is an inconvenience. It bores me, but I know that once it’s over, there will be puddles in the street - and there is no greater fun than to flop over the puddles and to breathe the fresh air after a storm.
It is just one dot. It disappears as he exhales again; he doesn’t even notice it, deep in thought as he is. But I have seen it!
I concentrate again, not looking at Sasuke but only at my hand as I begin to form a message. You want signs, little brother? Then signs are what you will get.
I never once doubt what I should write. It’s clean and simple, it has three syllables and - hopefully - it shall bang some sense into Sasuke’s clueless little head. Or at least annoy him beyond measure. Which is good for starters.
My finger barely moves. Sometimes it goes through the glass and when it comes back it smears the kana symbols. I clench my teeth and push myself harder.
Sasuke sighs wearily and steps back. I want to grab him by the hood of that cursed Akatsuki cloak and pull him closer so that my hardships do not pass unnoticed. But he’s gone. Already gone. He is still in the room but he doesn’t look at the window as if the window harbours one of his multiple dark secrets now that he has been so close to it. He drips with this sorrowful darkness just as I did.
“Sasuke,” Madara calls.
I’ll only say it once, little brother: you have to read it!
I drop my hand, feeling exhausted. Such a tiny waste of energy has left me almost… non-existent. Isn’t it funny how three little syllables can change lives?
He walks to the door. I see him off with a strained look; my eyes are fixed upon one of the red clouds on his cloak. Seems like we have gone full circle. Now he is lost and dead and gone, and I am too tired to even feel sorry about it.
Sasuke halts on the doorstep and suddenly looks back. The window still holds my inscription, though it is fading fast. I raise my head to see how his face changes for a moment. I know this look. These are the memories, the desires, the dreams, the pain, the hopes.
I wrote, ‘Naruto’.
Sasuke’s protective mask slips back on, but I couldn’t care less. I saw it! And it matters the whole damn world to me.
I allow myself a small smile. Now, Sasuke, it’s time to get serious.