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squadlessgeek · 6 years

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"I thought I loved you, but I guess I was wrong"

heeeeeeeeccccccckkkkk, coming right up my dude

Title: I Was Wrong

Summary: Deceit and Virgil angst, post Accepting Anxiety and Can Lying Be Good. The more time Virgil spends with the “light” sides, the more he realizes his worth and how poorly the “dark” sides—especially one in particular—treated him. Deceit just does his thing.

Warnings: Deceit (fanon Deceit is a warning in and of himself tbh), abuse, negative self-talk sorta, cursing, terrible portrayal of Deceit UGH im sorry

Word count: 2172

Pairings: past Virgil / Deceit (Anxceit ?? is that what it’s called?), maybe LAMP if you wanna read into that?, Moxiety at the end

Tag List: @monikastec @persepinecone @horsesquid @sassy-and-messy (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

In most instances, he came at night. Just like Virgil did with Thomas so often, keeping him from sleep, worrying him about anything and everything he could think of. The irony was cruel; Virgil couldn’t help but feel like he deserved it.

At night, when the mind is at its weakest, when anxiety is at an all time high, when lies are easy to believe, when questionable decisions are made.

Deceit could be present without actually, physically being present. He could whisper to the mind, whether the whispers were sweet or sinister. And at night, with no distractions or reassurance that lies were, in fact, lies, he was at his strongest.

Virgil never tossed or turned, but instead he laid in bed, on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan slowly turning above him. He was used to this; the lack of sleep, the heavy eyelids, the racing mind that refused to shut down and just rest already. There was no doubt that, even if he did manage to get some sort of sleep, come morning he would still be exhausted, still visibly weary, still a stick in the mud, boring, gloomy, downer, annoying, worthless, worthless, worthless.

The motions of the ceiling fan were beginning to make him dizzy, and a dread settled in his stomach that he knew wasn’t just nausea. Virgil closed his eyes and attempted his usual breathing exercise, shooing the thoughts away to the best of his ability. He repeated to himself a short mantra that Patton had taught him, that usually helped at least a little bit in situations like this.

I am capable. I know who I am and I am enough. I am whole, healthy, and strong. I am deserving and worthy of all good things. I know the people in my life truly care about me, and I care about them too. I am capable. I am enough.

He repeated it to himself a few times over, the phrases memorized now due to how often he had to use them. But his heart continued to beat at a pace that was entirely unnecessary, his mind continued to reel, and he could no longer keep up the regular breathing.

I am capable. I am enough. I am capable. I am enough. I am capable. I am—

You are

Worthless.

He sat up suddenly, pressing his palms to his face and breathing in sharply through his nose. Not tonight. Please, not tonight. Before tears could begin to form, he threw the covers off and stood from the bed, arms wrapped protectively around his middle. In bare feet, he left his room as quietly as possible and tiptoed down to the kitchen, all while the thoughts persisted.

Waste of space. Waste of time. Waste of air.

With shaking hands, Virgil opened a cupboard and reached for a glass. Water, he just needed water, it’d be fine, it’ll be fine. His hands were slick with sweat, unstable, and the glass slipped from his grip as he pulled it from the cupboard. Despite his efforts to catch it, it bounced off his fingers and hit the ground with a loud shatter. He instinctively jumped back from the broken glass, hissing, “Shit!”

He pulled at his hair, gritting his teeth, hoping that no one heard, hoping that no one else was awake to see him like this. The last thing the others needed was another one of his stupid dilemmas, something they’d already worked through. It was pathetic, that even with the daily reminders from his friends about his importance, his purpose, how much they really cared, he still felt like this. He still struggled with his own worth, he couldn’t even manage to sleep right, he couldn’t even hold a cup without screwing everything up.

It was pathetic.

You are pathetic. You are worthless.

“I know!” He whisper-shouted, sucking in a sharp breath as the tears began to fall. He sunk to the ground, dangerously close to the shards of glass, but he didn’t care. He sat with his back against the counter, legs tucked underneath him, all energy leaving his body.

His eyes were closed, but he could feel him there, hear the tapping of his shoes and the shuffling of his obnoxiously hideous clothing as he crouched in front of Virgil, crushing the glass further beneath his feet.

“Go away,” Virgil managed, his voice wavering, thick with grief. I can’t take this anymore.

Deceit laughed under his breath, quiet and yet chilling to Virgil’s core. He kept his eyes shut tight, jaw clenched.

“Refusing to look at me won’t do you any good, dear, you know this.”

A lie. All he does is lie. Everything he says is a lie. Virgil shook his head, resisting the urge to look. He treated Deceit’s unwanted visits like he would a bad dream. Look away, refuse to give it any power, it can’t hurt you unless you let it. A soft hum, and then Virgil felt gloved fingers gripping his chin. His eyes shot open to their own accord, his heart pounding so quickly that it was almost painful in his chest. He froze, caught like a deer in the headlights, though instead of headlights it was a pair of eyes that weren’t really a pair at all. Mismatched. One eye of a human, one eye of a snake. His breath shook, terror filled him from his fingertips to his toes. He had to remind himself, over and over again, they’re all lies.

He’d imagined scenarios like this, in which he would confront Deceit, or one of the other “dark sides” (as Roman called them). Tell him to shove his lies somewhere not so pretty, maybe even deck him for old time’s sake. But when it came down to the real thing, Virgil was frozen, trapped. Cowardly. Pathetic. Worthless. He couldn’t even protect himself from the lies, how could he expect himself to protect any of the others? To protect Thomas?

“Look at you. I’ve always thought you were quite pretty when you cry,” Deceit cooed, leaning in much too close for comfort. Virgil tried to turn his head away but the other side’s grip tightened and he hissed with pain, instead directing his eyes anywhere but at the snake before him.

“Stop it,” he breathed. “You can’t do this anymore.”

“Oh, but I can. What did you expect, that I would simply cease to exist once you left? Hm? That I would just give up on you? You are much too important to me for that, my little storm cloud.”

“Bullshit,” Virgil hissed, showing a bit of courage that he didn’t think he actually had.

Deceit ignored his accusation and tried to meet the other’s eyes, growing visibly frustrated when he didn’t get what he wanted. He let go of Virgil’s chin and clicked his tongue, leaning back. He picked up one of the larger shards of glass and turned it over between two fingers as he spoke.

“What do you hope to gain from them?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. A half-smile settled onto his lips at the confused, hurt, scared look in Virgil’s eyes.

“Not everyone develops relationships with people just to gain something from them,” he said through clenched teeth. He could handle being told that he was worthless, he could deal with being used over and over again, but as soon as Deceit spoke badly about his new friends, his new family, Virgil grew defensive. Protective.

“They don’t actually care about you, dear. You must know that.”

“What, and you did?” he spat back, fists clenched at his sides.

That seemed to take Deceit by surprise. He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, setting the shard of glass down on the tile beside one of Virgil’s hands. Virgil pulled his fingers away from it and flicked his gaze towards Deceit, unsure of what he was planning on saying or doing. Part of him wanted to regret talking back, maybe it would just be better if he sat there and took it, just listened and nodded along obediently, it sure seemed to work enough for Deceit in the past, it could work again now. But as the snake moved closer once again, the angry fire rose in Virgil’s chest. Being this close to him again disgusted Virgil, made him want more than anything to crawl into a hole and decay. Or maybe push Deceit into a hole to decay. That sounded wonderful.

“Anxiety—”

“That isn’t my name, and you know it—”

“Of course I care about you,” the man insisted, ignoring the other’s words, pulling Virgil away from his thoughts. The gloved fingers returned to his face, this time tapping one by one against his cheek.

Virgil swatted them away before he could second-guess himself, muttering, “No.”

“No?”

“No. You don’t. You never did.” Virgil grew more and more defiant, now leaning forward instead of recoiling, jabbing an accusatory finger at Deceit’s chest. It was the snake’s turn to recoil, to have a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression, though he quickly hid his shock with a sly smirk. “You said you— you loved me, but that—… that was another lie. It wasn’t true, any of it, and it still isn’t.” Virgil sucked in a stabilizing breath and forced himself to keep going, rising to his feet and looking down on Deceit. He was no longer in control. Virgil refused to give him any power. “This, what you do, it isn’t love. What the others do, that’s love. I thought I loved you, but I guess I was wrong, because what I feel when I’m around Patton and Roman and Logan is nothing compared to what I feel when I’m around you. You make me afraid, you heighten my anxiety, you tear me down piece by piece until I’m just a little fucking plaything for you to toy with. Well I’m done, alright?!” He clenched his fists and pressed them to his shut eyes, keeping his jaw tight and refusing to let anymore tears slip out. “I’m done.”

Silence.

All he could hear was his own ragged breathing, but he didn’t dare open his eyes to see if Deceit had gone. He didn’t dare open his eyes to see if it was all a dream, or if he was in for the emotional manipulation of a lifetime, or if anything. He just stood there like that, for what felt like hours, breathing, breathing. No thoughts of self deprecation intruded on his breathing. He was hesitant to take that as a good sign.

“Virgil?”

He jerked, moving his hands from his face and looking with wide eyes to see who had spoken. Patton stood, barefoot and in his cat hoodie and pajama shorts, in the entrance to the kitchen. Last time, there were several indications that gave away Deceit’s disguise; the return to an old sweater that Patton had abandoned, the sudden and intrusive entrances rather than Patton’s usual giddy and (sometimes) well-timed ones, the blatant disregard for the discomfort of others. Unless Deceit was getting better at mimicking the soft concern in the moral side’s voice, the tired confusion in his eyes, or even the wardrobe choices, this was Patton, really Patton. There were no telltale signs that may have convinced Virgil of otherwise.

The anxious side breathed a sigh of relief, letting himself relax. Just as he was about to greet Patton, though, maybe give him a reason for his being up so late, Patton’s eyes were drawn to the tile in front of Virgil’s feet. He gasped and entered the kitchen carefully, kneeling down beside the glass to begin delicately picking up the bigger shards. Virgil returned to the floor as well and helped the best he could. The two threw away everything they could pick up, and then Patton finished up the rest with a small dustpan.

Once all the glass was gone, Virgil was ready to head back to bed without another word, but Patton’s worried touch on his shoulder stopped him.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” the moral side said, a sad smile on his lips. “But it isn’t hard to tell when… well, when someone or something is bothering you.” He scratched at the back of his neck while Virgil blatantly avoided meeting his eyes. “But hey, we’ve got you, kiddo, alright? Don’t forget that. What are you?”

Virgil looked up, confused by the question. “What?”

“What are you? Remember? I am capable. I know who I am and—”

“I am enough,” they said together, Patton giving Virgil a beaming smile as they finished the mantra.

“There. See? It’s true, all of it.”

“Yeah,” Virgil sighed, grateful for the reminder of what was truth and what wasn’t. “Thanks, Pat.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. Come on.” Hand in hand, the two returned upstairs, stopping outside of Virgil’s bedroom. Patton pulled him into a tight, warm embrace, whispering “Lies are just that, Virgil; lies,” before they parted ways and Virgil finally got the rest he so desperately needed.

Lies are just that.

Lies.

#heck dude #angst #my writing #cursing #long post #fic #prompt #anxceit #abuse /#bad characterization ugghhhh #im sorry lmao #deceit #virgil #patton #moxiety

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sasusakufestival · 7 years

Text

Ma'at

Summary: When her eyes fall on him, taking in his condition, something terrifying flashes across her features. Sasuke knows, in that moment, that if his insides weren’t hanging out of his body, if she didn’t need to stabilise him as soon as possible, Sakura’s own oath to heal would mean nothing. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 5 – Prompt: “Saving Her Man”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be strung up by a creepy marionetted if you are found plagiarizing.

Warning: NSFW due to graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and injury. Spoilers for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699.

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

Special Thanks: Once again my bro JBankai89 has seen fit to take time out of his busy student schedule and catch the minor errors here while I await the full edit by my usual beta. Dude is awesome, if you like smut and rare-pairs in the HP fandom, check him out. Now. Go now. Doooo it.

AN: This isn’t as hardcore shippy in the first part as I’m used to doing for a one-shot, but when I was thinking about the prompt, I figured there would have to be a pretty horrible situation for Sakura to have to save Sasuke. The result was this. Hope I managed okay!

It’s the all-encompassing, bone-deep agony that draws Sasuke out of unconsciousness.

Pain radiates through his entire body, seemingly coming from too many points to narrow down. There’s an icy, wrenching ache somewhere below his lungs, but that’s only the most noticeable. Sharp, stabbing sensations assault him from everywhere – his nails, the webbing between his fingers and toes and even his hair follicles. His skin feels stretched and raw, as if it has been flayed from his body and then replaced.

Clearly something happened to him while he was asleep, but he can’t figure out what.

In fact, he’s having a hard time organising his thoughts, which is a sign of just how serious the situation is. If being subjected twice to his brother’s Mangekyō Sharingan has given him anything, it’s a remarkable threshold for withstanding torture.

Whoever or whatever has reduced him to this state is no novice.

Sasuke orders himself to concentrate, to take in whatever information he has about the situation – but there is nothing.

He can’t remember what situation could have led to this.

There are bits and pieces, images and memory that jumble together in his head, but the pain is making it hard for him to filter. Slowly he puts some of it in order –

Travelling through Suna. Accepting temporary work helping to rebuild the city wall. A tour of the new hydroponic system that…

Who was it? That mousy girl that follows Gaara around…

Whoever she is, she came up with it and was showing him and –

Wait.

Where’s Sakura?

He struggles to free himself, and makes a disturbing discovery – although he is aware of his body, mostly because of the amount of pain he is in, he can’t control any part of it right now.

He is utterly paralysed.

Something straps him in place across his chest, wrists, ankles and other joints; the burning, twisting discomfort is worse there than his arms and legs. His neck is immobilised, some device at the back of his head pressing his face forcibly downward so that his chin practically touches his sternum. It makes breathing hard, exacerbating the clawing, wrenching ache beneath his lungs.

Most troubling of all, though, is that he can’t see.

Upon trying to activate his Sharingan to better assess his surroundings, a surge of chakra burns into his retinas, making him curse. Someone has covered his eyes and added a seal; the last time he experienced something like this, he was in prison cell in Konoha.

“Ah. It seems that you are awake.”

A cold, reedy male voice echoes in the darkness, making Sasuke’s stomach leap in surprise. Instantly, a wary sensation settles over him, like mounting nausea. He has spent his entire life honing his senses, priding himself on his awareness of the world around him.

Just how far gone was he that his senses have been so easily dulled?

“I am sure you would prefer to escape into the next life,” the flat voice continues; it sounds distant, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. “But I fear we are running according to a more pressing agenda, and one which is not relevant to you.”

There is a creaking sound, like wood shifting, and a rattling noise he feels like he should be able to identify. Something pricks into his arm, and Sasuke swears.

Only a garbled groan escapes his lips.

“Ah, yes. An unfortunate requirement, that. You’ll begin to feel the effects of that in a moment – it’s counteracting the adrenaline that was used to wake you. You see, Sasuke Uchiha, you were dead for five whole minutes there. And we can’t have that. I can’t have that.”

Sasuke mouths wordlessly at that, unable to understand what he’s being told. It explains why his brain feels so muddled, but…dead?

“If you shuffle off this mortal coil so quickly, then we can no longer continue our discourse,” the voice goes on, maddeningly calm. “I demand at least three days from you – given your reputation, and the way even children on the street speak of you, I think it will end up being more like a week.”

A week of being tortured to death and constantly revived? Not something he is interested in. Sasuke inhales slowly, centring himself and trying to discover if there is any part of him that can move.

“You’re wasting your energies,” he is told quietly. “I know better than to take risks with an individual such as you. All of the nerves allowing for motor function have been severed, and no doubt you can feel that the restraints keeping you secure have been sealed and warded. Your pain receptors are perfectly in tact, however. I took special care to ensure that. I assure you, you are completely at my mercy. And with that same assurance, I can tell you that there is very little of it left.”

The information is delivered with a clinical certainty, informing Sasuke that his fate is a foregone conclusion.

Sasuke grits his teeth – about the only movement he is capable of – fighting the irritating confusion and still cataloguing information.

From the precise tone and explanations, it’s not the run-of-the-mill criminal.

“I understand how confused you must be,” the male voice continues. “Death does muddle the neurons. Allow me to explain, if only because it will heighten the importance of what comes next.” There is sound, someone moving near Sasuke, the rattle of what could be metal or glass. “I intend to catalogue the entire experience, and for it to be the most successful, you must understand what is happening, yes?”

He pauses, as if waiting for some noise of agreement. Sasuke doesn’t give him the satisfaction, even if he could speak right now.

“You’ve been subjected to a constant stream of chakra suppressors and tranquilisers since arriving in Suna,” the man continues. “Nothing noticeable, of course, just enough to weaken you enough to generate an opportune moment for retrieval. You see, I’ve discovered that even in this time of peace, when one has the money, people will add anything to a stranger’s food.”

The images in Sasuke’s mind flash to the past few days. Every time he and Sakura had a meal, the growing sense that there was something not quite right. He thought he was just feeling under the weather – not something to bother his wife over when there are people in dire need of her healing. Whatever was put in his system was both untraceable enough for him not to react to it, and not fast acting enough for Sakura to notice.

Has she been captured too?

The idea of her trapped somewhere, restrained in the darkness and in even a quarter of the pain that assault him now, has him renewing his struggles.

“You truly are attempting the futile,” the cold voice says again, the tone bored. “Your chakra levels are completely depleted. Anything you intend to try will be quite impossible.”

“Don’t…need…chakra…”

The words are slurred and barely really words at all, but Sasuke has no intention of simply sitting in silence. He will get out of here, because the alternative is not an option. He made a promise to Sakura that he would never leave her behind again, and if he has to conquer death itself to keep that promise, he will.

His captor doesn’t know this, and he isn’t impressed by his bravado.

“I am well aware of that fact, Sasuke Uchiha. In fact, it’s only because of that knowledge that I have deprived myself of the supreme pleasure of ripping you to shreds with my own two hands.”

There is promise there, a manic note that Sasuke recognises all to well.

His concern for Sakura retreats to the back of his mind. Right now, he can’t do anything about her well-being, and logically, if she were dosed with anything she would metabolise it immediately and noticed.

He needs to get himself to safety, and to do that he needs to know what he is up against.

Whoever this calm voiced man is, he isn’t stupid. Drawing attention to his plans by involving Sakura would be foolish, and so he likely just focussed on Sasuke. As he said before, it’s just a matter of waiting until he was alone, which could have happened at any point when he and his wife dealt with separate errands. Sasuke remembers retreating to the guesthouse they were staying at, hoping to take a short rest while Sakura finished her rounds at the fledgling mental health clinic here.

Likely that’s when his captor somehow managed to get to him and abduct him – all without anyone noticing.

Which means he is both exemplary when it comes to sedatives and has a shinobi’s skills. Jōnin level even. Probably black ops.

But the voice – despite the coldness there’s a feebleness there, thin – like someone older. No longer in their prime, probably no longer active.

“The problem with that desire is that, at the core of things, I am not a monster,” his captor tells him. “This – what I’m doing – is not for the purposes of making hurting you. Not entirely.” Something white hot and scorching flicks at the instep of his foot and Sasuke clamps his jaw shut, trapping the yell threatening to escape. “If I truly wanted to cause you pain, I would have your lovely wife here with us.”

Sasuke growls at this, feeling his chest heave with effort. It doesn’t feel right, there’s a cold tightness there he isn’t used to experiencing when he breathes.

“There are many, many things I could do to her before she died,” the man confides in him, not with the pleasure of someone sharing a cherished secret but with the confidence of someone speaking pure truth. “Given her well-known ability to heal herself, I could make it last for days. Perhaps I would have her cursing your name in the end.”

Sasuke knows that’s impossible – knows his wife is much stronger than that, and there’s a reason his captor has apparently made every effort not to gain her attention in abducting him.

But the image the reedy voiced man is painting is too vivid, and in his drugged state, he is more susceptible to the suggestion.

“Don’t…” he attempts, trying to make it sound more like a warning than a plea.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about your pretty blossom. You see, Sasuke Uchiha, I took an oath. One I have never broken. Not until today.” He clears his throat, and with a slight mocking lilt recites, “I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free.”

There is a sound like a chuckle, and then another blistering, hot burn near his feet. Wordless sound sticks in his throat, a strangled groan; the smell of burning flesh is so thick he can almost taste it.

“But you’re not a man, are you? You are a monster. The one who claws down the innocent, and then imagines he can continue living his life freely and unpunished.” The sound of rattling and creaking continues, metal objects being moved around. Then silence. When the man speaks again, it’s with an abrupt change in tone. “Do you love your wife, young man?”

Sasuke blinks at the question, unable to make sense of it immediately.

“Come, come, it’s a simple question. I’m hardly asking you for state secrets. And talking to me will give you a chance to recover. You want your chance to escape, don’t you?” he asks, and Sasuke can almost hear a smirk in his voice. “Of course you do. You’re a legendary Sannin now, giving in is not something you do. So answer my question. Do you love your wife?”

Sasuke considers not answering. His feelings for Sakura are his own business, and he can barely articulate them to her, there’s no reason to say them to his interrogator. But the man is correct – he needs to have time, needs to build up his strength.

He also knows that if he isn’t honest, there will be more pain. He needs to take a calculated risk. “…yes.”

“Good. Yes, very good. And is she everything to you? You very existence would cease if the world was bereft of her existence?”

Sasuke pauses again here. The question is too complex, too complicated to enunciate, even if he didn’t have to worry that it might change the man’s mind about somehow going after Sakura. However, a lie won’t help him in this case either.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually, because it answers the question and enunciates his true feelings on the matter.

“Ah. That is an honest answer, well done,” the distant voice says, and there’s something like approval there. “Most young couples are so besotted with one another at this point they believe the world will end without their lover in it. I know I felt that about my wife, once. But then, most young couples haven’t lost something worse. Something much more precious. Can you guess what that might be, Sasuke Uchiha?”

He remains silent, mind flashing to that night long ago, walking through empty, blood-stained streets. His brother smiling at him through blood, then later through dead eyes as his skin peeled away.

Sasuke’s experiences aren’t like other young people, but he need not remind his harasser of this.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? You haven’t experienced that yet,” the man points out coldly. “You haven’t felt that terrifying, suffocating bliss upon learning you’ve created life. You have never held a tiny, fragile body in your hands while it reaches for your face. You have never had a child.”

Sasuke tenses, having a sudden horrible presentiment what this might be about.

“I can’t truly describe what it’s like. Watching such an innocent soul growing up beneath your watchful eye. The need to protect without stifling. Much like coaxing a plant to flower, but…so much more delicate.” There’s a sigh, almost wistful. “My boy was so ambitious. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of my family, become a renowned shinobi. Perhaps Kazekage one day. But I knew better. I had seen it all, you see. I had lived it and I knew that kind of life, one without honour, would break him. You know all about living without honour, don’t you, Sasuke Uchiha? You turned your back on your own people, your own country. More than once, I hear.”

Sasuke narrows his eyes against the blindfold.

“But a father must support his child. And so I did so the best I could, helping him grow strong but ensuring he was out of harms way. It pays to be influential, you know. I know the Wind daimyo very well, and he trusts me more than any other.” Here there is a bitter, echoing little chuckle. “Arrangements were made. And so my son was sent to the Land of Iron, given the opportunity to apprentice to the samurai force there.”

This time, Sasuke’s mouth goes dry. There is no more doubt where this is going.

“A peace-keeping force,” the man continues. “A force that would never have to deal with the hidden deeds, the uprisings and skirmishes between the Hidden Villages. Even more so because until then, we were living in peaceful times. Do you see where I’m going with this, Sasuke Uchiha?”

This question is not rhetorical. His captor is awaiting an answer. Sasuke swallows, tries to ensure he doesn’t muddle his words.

“Your son…he was at the summit…”

“Yes. He was. Do you know what happened to him?”

“…”

“Come now, your intelligence is well-documented. I know you’ve already worked out what happened to him.”

“…he was killed.”

“By?”

“…by me.”

“Exactly.” Clinical, deadly calm fills the man’s voice now. “The reports are all the same. How the last surviving member of the Uchiha – a traitor to his own – walked into a peaceful summit and murdered every samurai that tried to stop him.”

Regret and guilt barrel through Sasuke, because there’s no way to argue or excuse this fact.

“When I heard the news…well, I guess you can imagine something close to it. You lost your entire clan, I hear. But that’s still not the same. This is worse. Losing a child, it’s…it’s like dying, but not being allowed to rest. Imagine being trapped in your own corpse, being forced to make your lungs and heart and brain continue operating. Imagine a piece of your soul torn from you and shredded to pieces before your eyes.”

Throughout all of this, Sasuke keeps his mouth shut. He knows that apologies and platitudes mean nothing to someone who has lost so much.

“I didn’t believe I could ever be able to continue. In fact, it was only the knowledge that with the five Kage seeking out the international criminal that stole my son from me that kept me going. Until…until months later, when the world suddenly made sense again. I saw him again, my son. We were reunited, and it was as if he had never died. Do you know how that was possible?”

“…the Infinite Tsukuyomi.”

“Yes. That clever genjutsu your family helped to create. For the first time, I was whole again. I felt as if every agony I had ever experienced was nothing but a dream. A memory from infanthood, completely insubstantial. I had my son, smiling before me, proud and beautiful and alive.”

“…”

“And then it was gone. I woke up and my son was gone,” the man says, voice strained and Sasuke suspects he is fighting back tears here. “It wasn’t long afterward I heard the story. That you had released the genjutsu. The man who killed my son…stole him from me a second time.” There’s another clatter of sound in front of him, someone picking up something heavy. “Do you understand now, Sasuke Uchiha? Why I am not the monster here?”

Abruptly, the blindfold or whatever has been impeding Sasuke’s vision is pulled away. The dim, overhead lighting from a lone bulb is like blinding inferno to Sasuke’s retina. Without his bloodline ability to instantly adjust to the light, his eyes clench shut again, and it’s several precious seconds of adjusting before he can see again.

Even then, it’s limited; his head remains uncomfortably pressed downward. A strange flap of some kind obscures his vision of everyone below his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the place on his arm that was pricked earlier, realises that it is connected to something. An IV line, which drips an ominous purple solution down a tube and into his veins.

Probably more of the sedative.

His right arm and the stump of his left have been pulled back, forcing him into a spread-eagle position; his entire body is reclined backward. There’s a glint of metal that takes him a moment to make out – the skin between his fingers have multiple lacerations in them, as if they have been cut. Needles and razors have been embedded into his palms and though he can’t see his feet, the general sense of stinging agony there suggest they have faired(misspelled. Fared.) no better. Judging from the wet burning on the side of his face, neither of his ears.

High ceilings in the darkness, and the walls are oddly cushioned. It’s not like any of the prisons Sasuke has been in during his life, and not as dank or earthen as any of Orochimru’s bases. He thinks he sees rows upon rows of chairs spread out in the distance, almost like an amphitheatre, which makes no sense. In the distance he also notices a strange opening, a window high above one of the rows of chairs.

Straining his eyes even more to see beyond himself, he notices a dark shape looming closer beside him. It slowly coalesces into a more defined figure, and suddenly the creaking and rattling he heard before makes sense.

It isn’t even human – it’s a wooden marionette.

Well, this is most definitely not good.

If he concentrates – and doing so rapidly burns up the tiny flares of chakra he still has left – he can dimly make out the strings holding the wooden mannequin, leading into that distant window.

He’s had a wariness about anything vaguely puppet-like since his chūnin exam, even if he doesn’t have the same history with the things as his wife does. Honestly, they creep him out, and in terms of effectiveness, his Sharingan are useless against them. That’s a problem in and of itself.

Whoever is keeping him captive isn’t taking the chance of getting close to him at all.

Worse, however, is the thing beside the puppet, which he immediately wishes he hadn’t noticed.

It looks like a brazier, and though there is no obvious source heating it, several sharp and unpleasant looking instruments lie within, glowing white hot. The very air above the scalpels, clamps and gouges warbles with heat, radiating a dark promise.

As their very plausible purpose hits him, another wave of pain rolls through his body, and Sasuke temporarily loses his ability to block out the sensations.

A moan of pain makes its way up his throat, but Sasuke fights it back down.

Focus. Figure him out.

The man controlling the puppet, when he speaks, does so with proper and polite diction. He is clearly educated, which suggested a life beyond that of a shinobi. The use of puppets suggests he’s from the upper echelons of Suna society, because only the very affluent have the resources and time to learn that craft. An advisor to the Kazekage maybe?

Who would risk Gaara’s wrath by attacking ambassadors from Konoha during peacetime?

It isn’t just an affront to the long-standing political and dynastic alliance between the two villages, either. Sasuke might be respected here because of his friendship with Naruto, but Sakura is the heroine who saved the Kazekage’s brother and defeated Sasori of the Red Sand. Gaara and Kankuro would effortlessly crush anyone that caused her a modicum of heartache, and given it’s no secret her heart lies with Sasuke…

Either this person is suicidal, or he has nothing to lose. Or both.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” the man says suddenly, the pitch of his voice lower as if he is making a confession to Sasuke. “Years, in fact.”

The puppet bends over him, joints and appendages rattling, and its fingers adjust something that Sasuke can barely see but realises is sticking out of his chest. A half second later, agony flares up from that sharp, jabbing sensation beneath his ribcage.

Out of reflex he tries to shake his head, release it from the vice keeping him immobile, but it’s fruitless. He hears the sound of blood dripping down to the ground and only just managed to clamp down on yet another cry of pain. Tears well in his eyes, his body’s reaction to the overwhelming stimulus. There’s only so much pain one can train themselves to ignore, and this doesn’t fall into that category.

Sound and sight fade out completely for several moments.

He doesn’t fall back into unconsciousness, exactly, but he finds himself completely mired in a suffocating, gnawing onslaught of pain.

When he comes out of it again, his throat is raw and his lungs are constricted.

“That is closer to the reaction I’m looking for,” the man says, satisfied, and Sasuke realises he was screaming. “It’s better not to bottle these things up, Sasuke Uchiha.”

Sasuke’s body is wracked with tremors, and he tries to take another centring breath to regain control of himself. This time it’s much harder. He needs something to distract himself, needs something useful –

His eyes flit around his surroundings, looking for anything that would offer some help, some release – something else to think on.

“Am I boring you, young man?” the man says, and that window is where his voice is emanating from. It’s coming over a loud-speaker of some kind, which Sasuke realises is because otherwise it would get lost in the insulated walls. “Perhaps you need something to hold your attention in the interim. And easily rectified situation.”

Something is moving, large and cumbersome by the sound of it. Sasuke clenches his fist, attempting to prepare for something he won’t have the strength to fight off.

Which is why when another puppet manoeuvers a mirror into his line of vision, he is confused.

Until it places it several feet in front of him.

The groan of horror that escapes his throat then is a sound he’s never heard himself make, the dying growl of an animal.

His entire chest has been opened up and he is staring at his own bare ribs and internal organs.

It’s not the goriest sight he has ever seen, but there is still an inherent, automatic visceral reaction to this. His stomach heaves – he watches his stomach heave – and he begins to shudder.

“Steady,” the voice tells him, and he feels the burst of chakra trailing down through the puppet’s fingers, calming his racing pulse. “We don’t want you having another heart-attack. Shock is such an interesting phenomenon in the human body.”

Sasuke forces his mind away from the macabre sight before him, mentally scours his drug-slowed brain for something to concentrate on that will keep him conscious. It’s a waiting game, he just needs to…

“…procedure itself is absolutely fascinating…resembles an operation, but in reverse…”

He’s not quite sure what he needs to do, but falling back into the deceptive peace of unconsciousness is not it.

“…instead of stitching you together, I am taking you apart at the seams…much like the way you rip people’s hearts to pieces, am I right, Sasuke Uchiha?”

The puppet reaches for another tool, and begins to process of carving Sasuke up as he watches. In the mirror, Sasuke can see it peeling back the muscles and tissue that protect his stomach and intestines, as if it is peeling fruit. Blood saturates the wooden fingers, and Sasuke screams again, one unending keen of agony.

He can’t breathe, and the world spins out of focus around him.

Focus! Fucking focus, or you’re going to die!

“The human body is absolutely marvellous in what it can endure. Yours, for example, clinging to life as it is? I imagine if we use our time wisely, I could shape it as easily as a sculptor would with marble or wood.” There is a content sigh, and the puppet selects another scorching hot scalpel from the brazier. “True art.”

Sasuke chokes at this, realising that beyond being sadistic, his captor is also insane. The last person he knew who waxed poetic about art blew up himself and an entire forest.

“Now, now, we can’t have that. If you stop breathing, we’ll be delayed again.” There’s a creaking sound and Sasuke’s head is suddenly straight up, making it easier – albeit much more painful – to breathe. “Is that better?”

Sasuke says nothing, too dizzy and agonised, and focusses instead on a distant thumping noise. He thinks it’s his heart, but it’s too fast. His captor’s solution should be keeping his heart rate steady.

It’s instinct to try to concentrate on a pleasant thought, or seek out a peaceful memory to counteract the slicing, sawing sensations being wreaked upon his bones and organs. But there are so few in his life that he has, retrieving them is too difficult.

He shuts his eyes, needing something – something concrete and unyielding, a universal axiom to draw on.

Immediately, the face of his wife flashes across the backs of his retinas, shifting through the various iterations he has seen in their life together. As the sadistic man and his marionette continue to carve into him, Sasuke imagines he can hear her voice.

“I have family and I have friends…but if you’re gone…to me, it will be the same as being alone.”

“I would do anything for you! So…please just stay with me!”

“I love you! No matter what’s happened, I still care for you more than I can bear…if I could have taken all your pain…onto myself to comfort you, I would have!”

“I’m begging you, don’t slip away any further!”

“What if…I asked you…to take me with you…?”

“Just once. Say it and mean it. I’ll never ask to hear it again if that’s what you want, but before I can say yes – to the future, to trying, to…to all of it – you have to say it.”

“Yes. Yes to all of it.”

“Shhh. Sasuke, I know you’re scared right now, but you’re safe with me.”

“Can I say out here with you?”

“I’m right here.”

Sasuke’s eyes shoot open, and for the first time since he awoke in this strange place, he feels a sense of clarity and calm.

The thumping noise is becoming louder, and it’s a wonder his torturer can’t hear it. Either he is too focussed on Sasuke at the moment, or he doesn’t care. But something is about to happen, Sasuke knows, and whatever the outcome, there’s something he needs to say.

“I…can never return…the lives I’ve taken,” he whispers haltingly. “But…killing me…will not bring him…back.”

“You think I don’t know that?” the man snaps, voice echoing in the dark through that distant window.

“…will try…to make up for my sins…the rest of my life,” Sasuke continues, trying to convey the earnestness of his words.

“I’m afraid that sentiment is rather useless. Make no mistake, you will be dead by the end of our meeting.”

“Will…my death…bring you that much…joy?”

“Oh, very little. But a moment’s joy is a moment more than I’ve had in a long time,” the man says, while his puppet selects an instrument from the grille. It’s a scooped gouge. “I think we’ll begin by taking those precious eyes of yours. And then –” The puppet draws the tool down toward Sasuke’s groin, and he flinches at the heat searing close to the sensitive flesh there, “ – I know a very useful procedure to deal with bothersome male hormones. To be fair, it’s a little redundant given your imminent death, but best cover all our bases, yes?”

“If you intend…to kill me…you should do it…quickly,” Sasuke rasps.

His captor makes an inquisitive noise. “I never thought I would hear you beg.”

“…Not begging…trying…to save your life…”

There is a beat, and then a startled laugh echoes in the distant darkness. “‘Save my life’? That’s absurd coming from you. What could you possibly do to me as you are now?”

“Not…me…” Sasuke pants as the distant thumping noise suddenly becomes a thunderous crescendo.

There is a thunderous, earth shaking crash in the distance, and the puppet looming over Sasuke is abruptly yanked away from him, torturous instruments and all. The windowed wall where his captor has been hiding himself is abruptly missing a huge chunk, and the microphoned voice suddenly cries out in shock.

It’s followed by a scream of pain, and another explosion that rocks the building. Chunks of ceiling and wall fall all around him, and cracks of light shine through in places. Immobilised as he is, he can’t look away.

Blinding light illuminates the chamber in a sudden flash, and Sasuke squints dumbly for a moment trying to acclimate to the change. When his eyes adjust once more, he perceives a scene that very few men besides him have seen: a hard-eyed goddess, fists clenched and burning with chakra, mouth pulled into an angry snarl. He has ever seen her so filled with anger, exuding a dangerous aura that promises her terrible power over life and death.

When her eyes fall on him, taking in his condition, something terrifying flashes across her features. Sasuke knows, in that moment, that if his insides weren’t hanging out of his body, if she didn’t need to stabilise him as soon as possible, Sakura’s own oath to heal would mean nothing.

She would be taking her anger out on the person who did this to him

He does not want to imagine what that would look like.

He spent three years living alongside a man who cut up bodies and experimented on the living for pleasure. A man who was motivated by discovery and power. Sakura is motivated by something a lot worse – Sasuke knows this better than anyone.

After all, he thinks as he blacks out, how many unspeakable crimes did my family commit in the name of love?

うちは

When he awakens, he is not in the dark room or restrained against the wall. There is still pain, but it’s the ache of exhaustion and overtraining, not the results of prolonged tortured. Glancing downward, he sees thick bandages covering his chest, and disappearing under a thick white blanket. It’s better quality than the run-of-the-mill hospital, which suggests he is somewhere else.

Probably the Kazekage’s residence.

His wife is asleep at his side, kneeling by the bed as if she fell asleep while tending to him. He doesn’t intend to wake her, but the minute his breathing changes, she straightens up.

“Sakura…” His throat his raw and dry.

“Don’t speak,” she orders him, reaching forward and brushing the pads of her fingertips against his lips. “You’re still weak.” It’s a natural reaction to become indignant at that, but to be honest he is still too tired. “Oh, Sasuke…what did he do to you?”

“Nothing you couldn’t fix,” he says heavily, putting every effort into not faltering in his words. He has absolute faith in her abilities.

“Of course not, but that’s not…” she trails off, swallowing audibly, and shakes her head. “You’re going to be out of commission for a while.” Anger flashes across her features. “Oh, if that bastard wasn’t dead, I’d – ”

Sasuke tries to push himself into sitting position. “You didn’t…?”

“No,” she replies shortly, and with such a note of regret that he winces. “That’s not to say I was entirely kind. I left him a mess of disconnected nerves and a face that didn’t really look like a face anymore, but…but he was alive when I went to find you.”

Sasuke exhales slowly, painfully, relieved that Sakura hasn’t done something horrible on his behalf. Still, it doesn’t answer everything. “Then…?”

“Gaara. He wasn’t impressed to find out that one of his people went rogue.”

Sasuke lets his eyes fall shut in a grimace.

“He shouldn’t have.”

“Sasuke, the guy tortured you!” Sakura cries. “He split you open, and vivisected you while you were still alive!”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Sasuke –”

“I killed his son,” he tells her, causing her mouth to snap shut with an audible click. “He just…wanted revenge. I understand that need better than most.”

But this doesn’t placate her.

“I don’t give a damn how much you understand,” she snaps. “What he did to you was wrong. There is no justification for ever doing that to another human being.” He thinks to protest, but she continues mercilessly. “Even at your absolute darkest, would you have done that to Itachi?”

Sasuke narrows his eyes – mentioning Itachi is still taboo, even if it’s not for the same reasons as when they were young. But Sakura doesn’t waver, instead raising an eyebrow in challenge, suggesting she isn’t about to let the issue drop until he answers her.

Sasuke pauses, considers, and finds that she does have a point.

He wanted his brother dead, there’s no question of that. But he never truly had the stomach to torture Itachi. At the time, he told himself it was because of how strong his brother was, how tricky it would be to defeat him. Going for anything less than a kill-shot would have been suicide.

“No,” he says eventually, and she sighs in obvious relief.

“I can’t believe this happened,” she whispers.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s happened before.” She gapes at him. “Perhaps not this specifically. But…I have a lot of sins to make up for. Even now. People have demons they need to exorcise.”

“And you’d just…you’d just let them?” she asks faintly, eyes wide.

He winces as his ribs twinge painfully. “…‘Let’ is a strong word.”

She shakes her head at him.

“Sasuke…I’m all for forgiveness,” she tells him softly, “but if you have this harebrained idea to let everyone in the world who has a grudge against you carve out their pound of flesh, then we’re going to have a problem.”

“I need to make amends.”

“You can make amends without having to bleed,” she insists quietly, tenderly stroking his hair off his face.

Sasuke’s eyes soften.

Under normal circumstances he would take her hand in his, offer her some kind of physical reassurance. It hurts too much to contemplate right now, and so instead he tries to lighten the mood another way. “Well, I won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Her brows draw together. “Why?”

“Because I have something I didn’t have before.”

“What’s that?”

“A wife that will come to my rescue.”

Sakura snorts, but her mouth pulls into a rueful smirk. “You’re a bit late to the party, darling, I’ve been doing that since we were twelve. You were just too sulky to notice.”

“How many times did I save your life?”

“How many times did I carry you home unconscious?” she retorts. “Or jumped over a cliff to save your ungrateful ass? I could have just left you.”

“You never would have.”

“…I never would have,” she agrees after a pause.

Leaning forward, she lightly brushes her lips against his, soft and tentative, if only out of respect for his injuries. Then, she presses her forehead against his.

“I love you,” she tells him softly, and his heart leaps at the words, though they are commonplace these days. “I hate seeing you in pain.”

“Hm.”

“But if you get yourself into a situation like this again, I swear to every god in existence, I will break as many bones in your body as it takes to stick you in a bed for the rest of your life.”

He snorts at this.

“I’m not even joking, Sasuke,” she warns him. “You have so much to live for right now. There’s you, there’s me…Naruto and Kakashi-sensei…all our friends back home…there’s the children we’re going to have one day –”

Sasuke tenses at this, his torturer’s story repeating itself in his head, and his eyes fly to her abdomen. “You’re not…?”

“What? No!” Sakura says, turning red. “Wait…do you think I look…?”

“No,” he says immediately, forestalling any indignance on her part.

But he fights down a wave of unexpected disappointment. Something must show on his face in spite of his usually controlled reactions, because Sakura’s face smooths out again.

“But one day I will be, right?” she asks him, tentative. “We will be?”

There’s a long, breathless silence between them, the question hanging in the air like a guillotine.

Sasuke knows what his answer should be – the damage that his blood can do, the children he has stolen from their parents in the wake of his vengeance. This whole incident has reminded him very starkly that he doesn’t deserve to have anything close to happiness.

But the look on Sakura’s face, the idea that with a single syllable he can watch her shoulders slump and the light in her eyes go out, is enough to make him want to be selfish.

“Yes,” he tells her, willing a promise into that word.

Immediately, he knows he has made the right choice, deserving or not. Sakura’s face blossoms, the smile as radiant as the day they spoke their vows. Just like that day, her eyes well with tears, but by now he know them to be an expression of joy.

“Good,” she sniffs, swiping at her eyes. “That’s…that’s really good. And a relief.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Or else all this practicing we’ve been doing to repopulate the Uchiha clan is going to waste.”

It takes him a moment to register what she’s talking about, and then his ears begin to burn. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“Not until we’re old and grey,” she promises him, lying down beside him and patting his arm reassuringly. “Now, you need to go back to sleep. You have a lot of healing to do, and I have to go with Gaara to explain to a certain Wind Daimyo why his private physician is now a sticky paste all over an abandoned movie theatre.”

Sasuke grimaces. “That’s where he was keeping me?”

“There aren’t many places around here with sound-proofing that aren’t regulated by Gaara’s people,” she tells him, pressing her face into his neck. The skin there feels itchy and new, but he leans into it. “I was scared. Your chakra suddenly disappeared, and I…”

“How did you find me?”

“I’ll tell you when you wake up. You really do need to sleep now, though.”

His heart warms at this, and he can’t help the way his mouth tugs upward. He supposes he can slake his curiosity later. “Very well.”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

“Sakura.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll always rescue you.”

“Even from myself?”

“Especially from yourself.”

“…Good.”

終わり

Um…apologies to anyone who I made gag or cry. This was really hard for me to write, but it insisted on being written. Hope you guys are all okay now that it’s over. I just felt like a reminder was needed that not all of Sakura and Sasuke’s adventures during the Blank Period would have been happy or safe.

As part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go to the ssfest page and vote, like and/or reblog once it’s up, thanks! That would be majorly appreciated!

クリ

#ssfest17 #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #ssfestday5 #submission #ssfestentry

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