damned_institute | Day 26; Doctor's Office #3; Dr. Muraki

As breakfast ended, Sasuke's nurse returned and tapped him on the shoulder (he nearly put a fork through her hand, but failed because he grabbed the spoon instead; she'd tut-tutted him and warned him against further violence).

She had then mentioned two words that made him want to put a fork through his own hand in hopes of being given high-concentration painkillers and left to drift in their haze. Therapy and Muraki.

Sasuke could barely handle River, who was confusing and benign; there was no way he could deal with Muraki, who was purposefully infuriating and in no way benign. Protesting got him nowhere ("It's good for you, Sean, be a big boy, now, Dr. Muraki is so nice and handsome!").

Only the fuzziness of blindness dampened the sheer horror he felt as he was carefully seated in a not-uncomfortable chair and left alone with that man with nothing more than a cheerful, "Good luck, Sean!"

He slumped in the chair, defeated, staring at nothingness behind the dark glasses. Do your worst, he thought blearily. There's nothing worse.

When the nurse ushered Sean into the room, Muraki was sitting behind his desk as usual. Where most doctors would need a mug of steaming coffee or tea to goad them into alertness, Muraki only needed subtle, familiar beauty.

"Good morning." He greeted, perhaps a little more pleasant than their first meeting. It was Sean who had promised they would never see each other again. That was too bad for him.

Muraki rested his elbow on the table and, his chin brushing his knuckles as he leaned closer. His voice quiet and melodic, as if he'd just brought them to a table in some fancy five-star affair. "Glasses, Sasuke-kun? It's cruel to hide your eyes from me."

Sasuke's head tilted up to face the voice out of habit, and his fingers twitched as if heading for a weapons pouch that was no longer there. Even if he had it, there'd be little point. He could hit a target based on sound only if it didn't move -- no matter how slow a civilian could be, he couldn't trust his aim that much.

Besides, what would that get him? He couldn't exactly fight off nurses and orderlies with sedatives right now. Hell, he probably couldn't fight more than one person without being overpowered.

Normally, he would have glared and refused to take the glasses off, but the usual fire was completely absent in his manner.

"The nurse gave them to me," he said shortly, as if it was an effort just to speak. It was. Couldn't he just get this over with?

"I'm sure she had the best intentions." Muraki replied, a vague sort of amusement in his voice, quiet as it was. He raised enough to reach across the table with his better hand, touching only the glasses. "However, I'd appreciate it if you didn't wear these," And he pulled, gently but firmly. "For our little chats."

Sasuke's hand snapped up at the tugging, catching Muraki's in an awkward way; rather than the wrist he'd rather hoped he'd get, he wound up with his fingers only barely wrapped around a palm -- a rather ineffectual disable.

"I want them on now," he snarled. The ricochet between his earlier defeated manner and the sudden rage was startling.

He might be blind, but he could still hurt if he had to. He released Muraki's hand with more of a toss than a letting-go and sat further back in his chair, although he wasn't sure it would actually put him out of reach.

Muraki's hand moved away again, back beneath his chin, but this meant nothing. There was a pause in which the doctor seemed to be contemplating silently, or maybe he was simply appreciating the view. Sasuke would hardly be able to tell.

"...It's nothing I haven't seen before." He said finally, with a perverse sort of gentleness. "Is that why you're so upset this morning?"

The silence made Sasuke's skin crawl; at least when the man spoke, Sasuke knew where he was, mostly. Keep him talking, pinpoint location, his persistent ninja training whispered. He didn't even have a pen on him; what would be the point?

The way Muraki spoke made eyes sound like something much different, and Sasuke's back hit the back of the chair with a mixture of apprehension and tiredness.

"Get to the point of this meeting," he snapped, ignoring the question. If Muraki didn't know of Sasuke's new and debilitating weakness, Sasuke didn't want to share it. At all.

"The point of this meeting is to talk." Muraki echoed, as he had so many times before. He was bored again, lecturing a particularly slow, if not endearing student. From the sound of his voice, and the faint click of his chair, he'd leaned back as well. And he was not finished speaking.

"I doubt you're interested in anything I have to say. To spare us both some grief... I have a gift for you, Sasuke-kun."

Sasuke ignored the statement of the obvious -- that wasn't quite what he'd meant, and they both knew it. His arms lay on the armrests and his fingers tapped restlessly, at once an expression of his boredom and a way to assure himself that he at least know where something was.

"You'd be correct," he said in response to Muraki's second statement, and then frowned. The expression was largely hidden behind the glasses, but the faint apprehension in his tone was not: "Why should I want it?"

"I usually am." Muraki agreed conversationally, as if his vanity had chosen that moment to make itself known. He really was that sort of creature. He reached up to brush the hair away from his own eyes, and there was a flash of something ugly behind the silver curtain.

"A gift from someone who loves you? I don't see why you would refuse. It is, after all, in your best interests."

Doctors had a certain megalomania about them, Sasuke had noticed. It was in Kabuto, also -- externally, a neatly precise politeness, and internally, a firm conviction that anyone around them simply wasn't at the same operating speed. Muraki, it seemed, wasn't an exception to the rule.

The soft rustle of clothing as Muraki moved was at once comforting and troubling. On the bright side, Sasuke could hear the movement. On the other hand, he had no idea what movement it was.

The words that followed it made his expression tighten suspiciously. There had been 'family visits' when Sasuke had first come to Landel's. So they really made up a family?

He opened his mouth to speak (My family is dead) -- there was no way he'd allow this place to desecrate the memory of the Uchiha by inventing some bullshit to take the place of his clan.

And then his mouth clicked shut. It already had. The proof was in the darkness of Sasuke's sight. They'd taken away Uchiha altogether.

His shoulders slumped again. As usual, faced with an emotion too strong to be contained, Sasuke couldn't quite figure out how to handle it. With his old team, he'd usually turned it somehow into anger. In this case, he bounced wildly from pointless aggression to defeated apathy.

"Whatever," he said, tone too dead to be anything but neutral. How bad could anything be in comparison, anyway?

Muraki sighed, almost inaudible, and it seemed to represent a mixture of feelings all at once. "You disappoint me, Uke-kun."

He leaned forward and pulled his drawer open. The item he was looking for was at the top of it, and it made no sound when he removed it and closed the drawer. It was a small plastic badge, star-shaped and harmless with a peculiar relief on the front that would be young Sean's family crest. Beneath it was a picture.

Muraki placed them both down in front of the boy and said nothing.

Sasuke resisted the urge to laugh at the comment; it would lead nowhere but fruitless hysteria. Oh, he'd disappointed people alright. Muraki was the absolute least of the least.

The faint click of something being set down in front of him snapped him to attention. Guessing that he was supposed to pick it up, he froze, trying to catalogue its relative position to his hand.

In the end, he didn't even try to find it. The very idea of groping blindly for some meaningless fake memorabilia galled him, and he held his hand out in what he hoped was an imperious way. If Muraki really wanted him to have it, he'd hand whatever the item was to him.

Muraki raised an eyebrow at the outstretched hand.

Sean really was entertaining if he thought even a silent order would carry any weight with the doctor. More deliberate silence. More waiting.

When he did finally reach out, his hand found Sean's wrist, and held it, gentle but firm and cold as steal. He pulled the boy's hand back down to the table, and turned it over so that Sean's fingers brushed the edge of the photograph and the badge.

Sasuke took great pains to keep his hand perfectly level throughout Muraki's silence. He'd keep it there until the room disintegrated around them if he had to; it was a matter of pride. What little was left to protect.

He almost yanked it back when Muraki grasped his wrist, though, only preventing himself from doing so with a conscious command shouted silently at himself. His fingers found whatever it was -- two things, something plastic and something with the consistency of a photo -- and he picked them up, pulling away from Muraki's grip as soon as possible.

The photo he discarded in his lap, as it was obviously useless. He started to make a show of examining the plastic item. At least, it was a show until his palm found the shape of it.

A toy shuriken? He ran his fingers over the surface as subtly as possible -- wait, that -- he felt the raised emblem more obviously, throwing pretense to the wind as he traced the shape.

It couldn't be. It -- couldn't -- but his relentless fingers followed the all-too familiar shape over and over. A fan. He didn't have to see to know the colours. The mon.

"Where did you get this?" He demanded, too overwhelmed by everything to keep his voice entirely steady. What's in the photograph?

Muraki watched the boy struggle with himself, the smile on his face so deceptively, innocently pleased that Sean could have just thanked him for all their therapy so far. It carried in his voice, not a mocking trace anywhere to be found. "From your family of course. They'll be glad to know you recognise it."

Of course he recognised it -- but the Uchiha didn't exist in this 'world' or whatever it was. Which meant that somehow, they knew about his clan. They'd known about his eyes, after all -- then they knew what the eyes were --

How much did this place know? And how?

"My family is dead," he said, tone tight, testing.

"Why would they be dead?" Muraki asked, seemingly bemused. "Through some fault of your own?"

Oh, he knew very well that Sasuke couldn't see the picture placed in front of him. He was a real doctor, for what little credit had been given to him, but the boy wouldn't ask and he wouldn't tell. Let that job remain to someone who he trusted, someone who could do some real good.

There was a long, long silence as Sasuke tried to gather some semblance of a sentence that didn't begin with You're dead or end with Because I'll kill you.

Because that -- what Muraki had just said -- at least, was correct.

He was gripping the little piece of plastic hard enough that he'd have the mon imprinted in his palm when he let go, if he ever let go; it was strangely appropriate, and he didn't mind in the least.

"They're dead because my brother killed them," he said finally, spitting the words out through gritted teeth.

Children were so fragile, so pathetic. No matter how horrible the crime, they always seemed to find a way to blame themselves, and Sasuke was no exception. Muraki's voice was devoid of emotion, but his blood stirred with old, old poison. "Are you alive, then, because you let him?"

Sasuke's back stiffened, and if he'd been able to positively locate Muraki, he would have attacked -- flimsy, plastic, only shuriken-shaped weapon or not.

"If you know the truth, why is this place telling me that my past is a fiction?" He demanded.

"The truth..?" Muraki echoed, arching an eyebrow. There was a faint, bitter smirk playing at his lips. "The truth is that your family is very much alive. Your brother has your eyes. He's worried about you, though I don't think he can admit it.

...That boy hasn't killed anyone." Muraki sounded almost disappointed as he said this, as if he'd truly believed Sean's story for a while. "You're the only one with blood on your hands, fantasizing about their deaths."

If Sasuke held the plastic mon any more tightly, it was going to melt into his skin. They'd invented a family and taken away Itachi's guilt, Sasuke's guilt. Your brother has your eyes. So he did, whether Muraki knew it or not.

... no. Itachi's eyes were better.

With a sick sort of fascination, Sasuke leaned forward a little.

"Tell me, what does this place think my past is?"

Muraki leaned back in his chair again, and it gave a gentle click in response. He laced his fingers across his knee, watching only Sasuke's face as he spoke.

"You grew up in a village with your mother, father and older brother." He began, the same way a student rattled off memorized facts and details, as if the thing simply was what it was. "You were close with your brother at first, but at the age of eight you started becoming violent and estranged towards him. You attended the local school and graduated at the top of the class... You had a bright future."

Then he frowned, and it was easy to tell this part of the speech was new and unplanned. "You're not very social, I know, but your parents disapprove greatly of the...company you chose to keep after that. They're worried it may have contributed to all of this."

Sasuke's laugh started out low, sardonic, and grew to be a bit high-pitched and dangerously unbalanced. With effort, he cut himself off, picking up the photo and folding it with trembling hands. The movement gave him the opportunity to calm down very slightly, and the effort that went into first finding his pocket and then sliding the photo into it switched his concentration.

He became violent -- it was Sasuke who'd broken with Itachi. In this world, all it was going to take would be agreeing to this bullshit and -- probably apologizing to whatever brother the Institute invented for calling him a murderer.

To stave off another wave of hysteria, Sasuke pressed the mon more deeply into his skin and asked further.

"What company? If I don't remember them, how can they have caused my being here?"

It wouldn't do to let Sasuke become too unhinged. Muraki closed his eyes for a moment, his smile simple and benign. "Your parents called him Snake... No, Orochi."

The hysterical giggles threatened to come back, and Sasuke bruised the webbing between his fingers on the plastic shuriken-thing to keep it down.

"Who was Orochi to me?" He asked, keeping his voice neutral through a great force of effort. On the bright side, they'd at least gotten the bit about Orochimaru -- no, Orochi being an evil bastard correct.

"Don't hurt yourself or I'll have to take that away from you." Muraki said, softly chiding. He could see the tension all along Sean's shoulders, the great effort it took for him to hold togther. Maybe he should offer a massage? No, that would be too foward.

"You already know the answer, don't you? Do you remember all that has happened with him Sasuke-kun?"

Sasuke released his hold somewhat, flexing his fingers a little to loosen the muscles that had contracted around the -- badge, he supposed. Like what his proud clan had once worn on the shoulders of their uniforms, to show that they were the protectors of the village peace.

His proud clan, reduced to this: a madman still loose, still living somewhere on Sasuke's world, and a blind and useless shinobi trapped in another dimension.

"I don't remember anything," he said, focusing on sounding calmer, put-together, not on the verge of leaping off of his chair and striking (literally) as hard as he could. "That's supposedly why I'm here, isn't it?"

"Too true." Muraki said, perhaps a little too easily. "I have to ask you though, don't I? Your family said he acted as a teacher of sorts but they didn't go into detail about your relationship. They obviously disapprove and... Not just your brother, they're all very concerned."

A teacher 'of sorts'? Of which his 'family' disapproved? Of which Itachi -- no some, imposter, even, disapproved?

... well, Itachi did approve of Orochimaru. Sasuke knew that.

It would almost be funny if a number of things weren't true, but they were. Perhaps if he went along with this charade, they'd give him his sight back -- tell him where they were keeping his genetic information. Even if the dayshift and nightshift here seemed two completely different realities, they inhabited the same space.

Probably.

"What did I learn from this 'Orochi'?" He asked finally. "Is that what caused the ... 'delusions'?"

It was hard to even pretend that his life was a lie. What sort of fool would choose to believe in a fantasy life and create his?

It looked as if Sean had calmed down again, no longer on the verge of hysterics. As much as he enjoyed playing with his sedated patients, today was not the day for that - it was too soon, too close.

"As I said before, I wouldn't know that." The doctor replied smoothly. "It's what we're here to find out."

Sasuke snorted, incredulous both internally and as the external persona who was interested in his 'real' past.

"If I don't remember, how would we find out?" He scoffed. "Some therapist you are. Didn't my 'parents' give you any other information?"

Parents. The very word was almost a slur on Sasuke's real parents, but he forced it out and almost sounded natural.

Muraki paused for a moment too long, his voice casual and smug. "Nothing at all I'm afraid."

He smiled. "If you're satisfied for now, I'll help you to the door Uke-kun."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed, a mixture of disbelief and suspicion that was unfortunately hidden behind the dark glasses he'd opted to keep.

"I'll --" he started, and then realised that he probably couldn't find the door at this point. "No. Get my nurse."

Even that woman was better than the prospect of actually letting Muraki touch him.

"Of course." Muraki stood, but didn't walk immediately to the door. He passed behind Sasuke, letting his fingers drift along the boy's shoulders. "Try to relax. I'll see you next week."

Sasuke flinched forward so violently at the touch that when his nurse did come in, he'd nearly fallen forward, catching himself only with the lucky chance of grabbing the desk in front of him.

... it didn't look likely that he was going to relax any time soon. Straightening slowly and carefully, he waited with screaming nerves for his nurse to lead him out.

Day 26; Doctor's Office #3; Dr. Muraki

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