（ the worst part is that he's well aware it will hurt blue to know — but the only form of connection he has ever been able to make are forged through pain.
there were two hundred and seventy-four uchiha killed that night, and he knew them all. old men and women who had been veterans of the second ninja war, children younger than his brother. killing shisui's father had been so hard —
but the memories he gives to blue are the good ones. itachi, once upon a time, was the pride of his clan. his father was not the only one who felt like his achievements buoyed them up. his kinsmen used to smile at him in the streets, greet him warmly, sneak him sweets when no one else was around. they used to tell him good luck on his missions when he was still a genin, and many of them came by to offer their condolences when his teammate died protecting the daimyo.
his memory is without flaw — every face, every name. people who have now been forgotten, their memories degraded beneath the corrosive heel of time. his infamy has blotted out any accomplishment made by the rest of his clan. he lives alongside madara now, and the rest of the clan is dust.
but he does not give any of that to blue. not the horror, not the hurt. just the sunny days, the good times. the sense of family and camaraderie. they had always been isolated from the village, but it only made them close ranks against the world and turn more to each other. the uchiha are a clan of love so deep it's buried beneath the mantle of the world, and he does not flinch from it in his memory.
but perhaps the ghosts most lovingly crafted are of his parents.
he's tucked against his mother's side as she is visibly pregnant, the swell of her belly blocking him from seeing what she's cooking on the stove. it smells good, like home, and she says ah, i hope your baby brother likes my cooking too! and he, with all the diligent seriousness of a five year old says, of course he will.
his mother's presence is like the sun after a rainshower — gentle warmth, glimmering sun. oh, she was a fierce fighter in her own right, a jōnin who cut her teeth in the third war, but he never saw that side of her — just the woman who used to hum softly as she braided his hair, who made all his favourite foods whenever he returned from a mission, who used to hug him so closely and tell him everything would be all right.
his father, by contrast, was more like the sun in a desert. he could be difficult, and his presence overbearing. but you felt his absence more deeply when he was gone, the lack of warmth made clear by the chill of shifting sand. he was a man of few words, but so many of them were in praise of his boys.
he and his father are sitting on the same dock blue first met him on. they are talking about birds, and fugaku is saying, ah, crows? wise — they will be loyal all your life. they do not touch, nor are they near to one-another, but the love... the love is obvious. and the pride.
generally, he has a tendency to sever his connection with blue abruptly, cruel and cold. now, it's simply a withdrawal. he reclaims his hand, and laces it with his other between his knees. ）
[there have only been a scant few notions of mother for Blue to understand. they came from the cries of the very young he'd spirit away, whose memory of them faded fast in growth; the stronger ones were from Jomy, who was spared the erasure of his youth...
these are yet stronger still, and Blue undeniably covets them. the security in innocence as a child, unfailing in their faith in the parents and family who love them - a connection of lineage and heritage, a stable home... more's the grief in its horrible, horrible loss.
fresh tears well up and silently trail down the damp trail still on his face. he exhales that held breath in a gentle huff as the connection is dampened and pulled away, freeing his hand to go to his eyes.]
（ in the wake of that sharing he simply feels... hollowed out, empty. exhaustion creeps back in, catching at the edges of his mind like a child might tug at the hem of a parents' shirt to get their attention.
his eyes are dry. he has not cried since that night, and it is not a weakness he wishes to tear open anew. but — ）
I do not regret what I did.
（ he might have gone on to be a good person, once. but that possibility is well behind him. he would kill them all again to secure sasuke's future. he would do worse if necessary. ）
sigh. even he knows the answer to that kind of thought. so in the end...this young man accepted all the heinous, nightmarish things of his life...for the sake of his brother's.
it's...not the most unbelievable thing, even if the particular bond brotherhood creates is still something foreign, especially one so soaked in blood and strife.
（ look he may be mostly blind and at least halfway across the threshold of death's literal door, but he can still fight. that will never be in question. ）
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there were two hundred and seventy-four uchiha killed that night, and he knew them all. old men and women who had been veterans of the second ninja war, children younger than his brother. killing shisui's father had been so hard —
but the memories he gives to blue are the good ones. itachi, once upon a time, was the pride of his clan. his father was not the only one who felt like his achievements buoyed them up. his kinsmen used to smile at him in the streets, greet him warmly, sneak him sweets when no one else was around. they used to tell him good luck on his missions when he was still a genin, and many of them came by to offer their condolences when his teammate died protecting the daimyo.
his memory is without flaw — every face, every name. people who have now been forgotten, their memories degraded beneath the corrosive heel of time. his infamy has blotted out any accomplishment made by the rest of his clan. he lives alongside madara now, and the rest of the clan is dust.
but he does not give any of that to blue. not the horror, not the hurt. just the sunny days, the good times. the sense of family and camaraderie. they had always been isolated from the village, but it only made them close ranks against the world and turn more to each other. the uchiha are a clan of love so deep it's buried beneath the mantle of the world, and he does not flinch from it in his memory.
but perhaps the ghosts most lovingly crafted are of his parents.
he's tucked against his mother's side as she is visibly pregnant, the swell of her belly blocking him from seeing what she's cooking on the stove. it smells good, like home, and she says ah, i hope your baby brother likes my cooking too! and he, with all the diligent seriousness of a five year old says, of course he will.
his mother's presence is like the sun after a rainshower — gentle warmth, glimmering sun. oh, she was a fierce fighter in her own right, a jōnin who cut her teeth in the third war, but he never saw that side of her — just the woman who used to hum softly as she braided his hair, who made all his favourite foods whenever he returned from a mission, who used to hug him so closely and tell him everything would be all right.
his father, by contrast, was more like the sun in a desert. he could be difficult, and his presence overbearing. but you felt his absence more deeply when he was gone, the lack of warmth made clear by the chill of shifting sand. he was a man of few words, but so many of them were in praise of his boys.
he and his father are sitting on the same dock blue first met him on. they are talking about birds, and fugaku is saying, ah, crows? wise — they will be loyal all your life. they do not touch, nor are they near to one-another, but the love... the love is obvious. and the pride.
generally, he has a tendency to sever his connection with blue abruptly, cruel and cold. now, it's simply a withdrawal. he reclaims his hand, and laces it with his other between his knees. ）
no subject
these are yet stronger still, and Blue undeniably covets them. the security in innocence as a child, unfailing in their faith in the parents and family who love them - a connection of lineage and heritage, a stable home... more's the grief in its horrible, horrible loss.
fresh tears well up and silently trail down the damp trail still on his face. he exhales that held breath in a gentle huff as the connection is dampened and pulled away, freeing his hand to go to his eyes.]
no subject
his eyes are dry. he has not cried since that night, and it is not a weakness he wishes to tear open anew. but — ）
I do not regret what I did.
（ he might have gone on to be a good person, once. but that possibility is well behind him. he would kill them all again to secure sasuke's future. he would do worse if necessary. ）
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Because... For his sake...?
[for the little one? not Shisui. the brother. the one whose throat opened--]
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（ there is no point in hiding it. sasuke is not here. ）
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after a beat:] You all...deserved better. [no child should suffer so. none. there's no good excuse for it.
he exhales out in a soft huff.]
If anything...could ever truly be changed... [that torment needs to.]
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（ and sometimes, the only way forward is through. ）
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sigh. even he knows the answer to that kind of thought. so in the end...this young man accepted all the heinous, nightmarish things of his life...for the sake of his brother's.
it's...not the most unbelievable thing, even if the particular bond brotherhood creates is still something foreign, especially one so soaked in blood and strife.
Blue hangs his head, closing his eyes.
what is deserved...what i even wish...]
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Please, try and rest. We may need you when the orb is found.
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[he looks up quickly, worry painting his features.]
Where...are you going to go? Those scavengers...are still out there.
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（ look he may be mostly blind and at least halfway across the threshold of death's literal door, but he can still fight. that will never be in question. ）
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[Blue's expression dims.]
...Be careful. All the same.
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If you wish for me to remain for your own sake, I will.
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You'll...be careful. Because you have to be.
Farewell for now, then.
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he doesn't respond to that. just. off he goes. time to go find a corner to sit in quietly for
a good long while.
thanks. ）