#don't ever expect a story from me in which itachi lines up with his canon self lol

[gwydionae]

Eyes Wide Open

A/N: The urge to write this came on very suddenly, and it's a bit outside my normal style. It happened after I read an old Naruto fanfiction called "Rain Petals"  by Sedentary Wordsmith from 2008, and while I don't know that mine and their's have much in common, I felt I should mention it. Not only did it make me feel inspired - it's 26 unique one shots dealing with Sasuke in one way or another - but it's just a darn good fic that deserves a bit of spotlight.

Anyway, fic completely under the cut as the descriptions of bloody corpses starts at the word go, lol. I wasn’t trying to be graphic, but some stuff is just gross by nature. :P

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<.

Teaser: Seven year old eyes gazed at his own seventeen year old corpse, his decade long obsession walking slowly away, blood still dripping from the eyes held tightly in his older brother's grasp.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Canon divergence. Rated M for gore and violence.

Eyes Wide Open

Seven year old eyes gazed at his own seventeen year old corpse. They were as empty and lost as the bloody body, allowing the low, mirthless laughter emanating from the nearby figure to permeate the large room without garnering even a blink. His clothes and weapons were stained a vibrant red, contrasted occasionally by a protruding white bone. The fingers on his right hand were burned black. His seventeen year old eyes were still half open, vacant.

At some point the laughter had stopped, replaced by words, words that swirled around his seven year old eyes without really being comprehended. His dead body was being addressed. The speaker came forward, kneeling down, the black cloak with crimson clouds also showing signs of a brutal battle. A hand with a red ring slowly reached out and touched his pale face, turning his seventeen year old eyes towards their own. The man pried an eyelid open wide. His red eye with three black tomoe stared back. The laughter rang out again.

Black, empty, seven year old eyes watched as his brother ripped his seventeen year old eyes from their sockets, his body not even yet having the chance to lose its warmth.

Prize in hand, the older man seemed to contemplate his bloody corpse, pausing only briefly before carelessly, effortlessly tossing it into a candlelit corner of the dim room, a chokuto soon following its former owner. Seven year old eyes followed and stared as if entranced as light flickered and danced around his empty eye sockets, the bloody shadows boring into him, mocking his failure. His brother still lived. He had given him even greater power. His clan would most assuredly end with him. And those who had gone on before would not be avenged.

He could not join them, his mother and father, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents, cousins. He could not. He would not. He would remain, weak and broken and useless, unfit to wear the family crest upon his back, worthy only of at last being slaughtered. Seven year old eyes, too traumatized to cry, could merely watch as his decade long obsession walked slowly away, blood still dripping from his seventeen year old eyes held tightly in the older man's grasp.

_________________________________

Thirteen year old eyes snarled and screamed, silent and hoarse, as the shadow of his killer again loomed over his decaying body. His brother's eyes - his seventeen year old eyes - raked over his bloated abdomen, his reddened skin, his balding scalp, the stains from the foul liquids he secreted. A slight wrinkle of the nose was the only sign of the stench of decay in the air; a small smile betrayed the man's sick pleasure.

Hatred and anger raged at the one he once cherished and envied. He did not want those eyes - his eyes - to see his body in such a state, to sneer at his body in such a state. This disgusting, desecrated shell had trained, fought, sacrificed to gain the strength, the power to stand in the other's presence, and though death was his lone prize, he would not abide the shame those eyes made him feel. His thirteen year old eyes held too much pride and conviction for that.

His brother was speaking now, but he did not hear it. His intense seething was like a high pitched ringing, a focal point for his attention, vibrating in the thick air. Only the raised fists with fingernails painted purple managed to momentarily pause his solitary tirade, and when fingers unfurled, thirteen year old eyes widened, choking on humiliation and contempt.

Dull black eyes bore into him, one in each pale palm.

The hands slowly tipped, allowing their contents to roll off and plummet towards the hard floor, the sound of the impact like the boom of thunder. His brother's eyes landed next to his reddened, balding head. Empty sockets stared at dull black. His seventeen and thirteen year old eyes stared at them both.

Shaking with fury, thirteen year old eyes cried out their frustration and agony long after the courier had departed. _________________________________

Sixteen year old eyes studied what was left of his body impassively. His hair lay wreathed on the floor around his decaying scalp. Some of his finger and toe nails, as well as his teeth, had fallen out. Maggots had taken up residence in his chest cavity and eye sockets. Only his bloodstained clothes and faithful chokuto were left as clear indicators of who this mass of rotting flesh had once belonged to.

His brother's eyes had long since closed for the final time.

The squirming mass of maggots held his gaze. Even amongst death there was life, unfulfilling and grotesque as it was. The wriggling scavengers gnawed at his remaining flesh, consuming his body to build their own. They would go on to live their short, meaningless lives, and die unknown to anyone.

He had been a maggot in life. Clinging to death, in both his inability to let go of lost loved ones and his obsession with pursuing a murderer, he scratched and clawed his way to power, tearing down others to build up himself. His village, his team, his best friend, all became mere tools in his quest for vengeance. All of it so he could burn fast and bright, extinguishing before his life's only ambition could ever be fulfilled. And now his remains lay still and forgotten, one less unwanted pest in the world of men.

He had been a maggot. Sixteen year old eyes could see that now. But there was nothing to be done for it. He would stay among his fellow parasites until they left him behind, and when his rotten corpse fully decomposed, eventually leaving no trace of the life cut short, he would remain in his involuntarily acquired tomb, his eyes used to the lonely darkness. _________________________________

Twelve year old eyes widened in disbelief and dread at the two figures before him. His stolen seventeen year old eyes followed the slope of their cloaked arm down a hand with a fingernail painted purple toward the grim display of flesh and bone in the candlelit corner. Even the maggots had nearly all left him now, a hollow gaze and gasp visible beneath what was left of his dry, cracked skin. But it wasn't his stolen seventeen year old eyes he wished to shield from the sight; it was the wide, bright blue eyes, the eyes that shone with denial and despair.

The hand with the red ring reached up to gesture to the gloating face where the only two thriving pieces of the nearby corpse remained, filled with triumph. His eyes, but not his triumph. The other figure stared in shock, realization dawning on the all too innocent face. Thick, heavy tears flowed steadily, unceasingly down tanned cheeks. Whispers of grief escaped from between growing, sharpening teeth, turning into snarls of rage. Blue eyes darkened to red. And twelve year old eyes watched helplessly as his best friend clashed with his brutal murderer.

Wind and fire roared within the confines of the dark room. The two became thirty as twenty-eight additional tear-stained faces popped into existence, all avoiding the gaze of their black cloaked opponent. But as fists, weapons, and chakra clashed, more and more wisps of smoke filled the room as thirty rapidly dwindled to twenty, to ten, to five.

Splatters of crimson decorated the walls and floor, adding fresh stains to his grave as twelve year old eyes tried wildly to discern which of the combatants it was spilling from. Both friend and foe bore injuries, but as five became two once more, the gap in skill and damage taken showed clearly in the older man's stoic countenance and the younger's ragged breaths.

Twelve year old eyes felt cold. Numb. His friend was going to lose. His friend was going to die here, body left to be the food of maggots and forgotten alongside his own abandoned corpse. His friend who had tried so desperately to save him from his fate. His friend who he'd betrayed, mocked, scorned, forsaken.

Animalistic eyes were unable to keep up with the assault while avoiding the other's deadly gaze as another blow aimed to kill descended.

His friend, his one and only true friend, who did not deserve the same dishonorable death as a selfish failed avenger.

The hand with the red ring wielding the bloody kunai seemed to slow in its approach. The whipping of the black cloak, the rippling of the dark hair, all movement suddenly, inexplicably waited for shocked, feral eyes to catch up. He watched and dodged as the trajectory of the kunai towards his vulnerable throat was revealed, ducking out of the way with a foresight the older man had seen only once before and had been certain would not be seen again. Red eyes refused to blink as the near miss flew by, his mind registering the split second of an opening with which to deal his own fatal wound, an uncharacteristically exact and precise blow.

Now, Naruto!

Swirling, howling wind and chakra struck his brother squarely in the chest. Blood poured from pale lips parted in horror as red eyes turned black trailed down to the carnage spewing from their body before fluttering closed. Knees giving out, the older man sank to the floor, crumpling into a gory heap. The room fell silent. Red eyes returned to blue. And stolen seventeen year old eyes grew dim once more.

Twelve year old eyes watched as the remaining figure briefly hovered over the defeated before tentatively kneeling down. Such a position was held, soft squelching noises the only disturbance, and upon finally standing back up, the other boy turned toward his derelict candlelit corner. He glanced at the tanned hands grasping something in their bloody grip.

"I think you should have these back, Sasuke."

Two black eyes - his eyes - were placed gently on the ground near his rotting corpse. His brother's eye sockets stared into nothingness, empty.

"I'm sorry. And... thank you."

Soft tears once again dripped from blue eyes, though twelve year old eyes were calmed by the sight of a small smile and the continued sound of a gentle voice. The presence of his best friend brought him a peace he hadn't known since his eyes were much younger, holding a far more innocent glint, and the words spoken to his broken body reminded him of laughter and joy.

The other boy had done the impossible and saved a dead man.

Six year old eyes smiled as they watched their friend walk away. Fire purified his remains to ash, the space around him growing even brighter and warmer than the cleansing flames. He could see his family again. He could rest now. His eyes closed for the final time.

_________________________________

A/N: Are line breaks gone??? Where did they go?? Am I just being dumb?? Anyway sorry for all of the eyeballs. XD Also there’s a specific, uh, thing I did in my writing that I doubt anyone will pick up on, but there is a specific paragraph towards the end where, in case what happened is too vague, it gives a bigger clue - I was very particular about when I used the words “his” and “he”.

As always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!