Night 49: East Wing, Hall A

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[from here]

"You're just like Kakashi," Obito finished as they turned the corner, and it was clear from the venom in his tone that he did not mean it as a compliment.

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[sasuke-of-sound.livejournal.com]

As if from a book. Sasuke couldn't deny that he was treating it as if it were history lifted from an Academy textbook.

But it was history. It had been. For Obito, it was news, but for the world that had continued past him it had happened and was over; for Sasuke it was a past that he'd relived by nightmare for years, but the past nonetheless. But to express even that was a weakness, showing the emotion that had driven him so fully into (Itachi's; the village's?) plans that ended with the death of the one who least deserved it.

And as for that next accusation ... whatever it had been for Kakashi, Sasuke wasn't sure. He had no particular recollection of seeing the Copy Ninja within the compound -- in fact, he'd barely known of a non-Uchiha able to use the Uchiha eyes -- and it didn't seem like Kakashi had had much connection to the clan other than one dead teammate and one traitorous student. What did Obito expect?

To be able to speak of it as if it had happened (to get past disbelief, to realise that there wasn't a single living soul in the compound), in the same way as Kakashi could speak of it, should have been an accomplishment. And it nearly did slip out: a challenging 'so?' that implied too much of an acceptance of Kakashi. As if Sasuke were still his student, willing to follow his every example.

He wasn't. That was history, too. He had to wonder if that would ever be written into a book.

"It's been eight years," he said instead. More than half his life, doubtless nothing more than a vague recollection for most of the others his age. "It's not written in Konoha's history yet. I don't know if it ever will."

And then again, Obito had been dead longer than eight years and Kakashi seemed to have never really let him go. It felt like his thoughts were scattering as he approached the door at the end of the hall; with some effort he pulled them together, sparing just enough focus for it without having to take energy away from trying at once to remember and forget. Sasuke adjusted the makeshift bag on his shoulder. The sound of rain was growing louder. Hopefully it would still be possible to start a fire at all.

"Eight years ago the village ordered everyone in the clan killed and blamed my brother," he repeated, voice still flat. Flatter. "It was a warm week. It must have happened in the day; by the time I got back from the Academy, the compound smelled.

"My parents were in the dojo. I don't remember all of it. Later I saw where the other bodies had been by the chalk outlines," slipped under police tape tacked up by a skeleton force, since most of its number were gone. Sasuke reached out and found the doorknob earlier than he'd expected and paused with his hand on it -- he hadn't told Obito what his purpose was here, now that he thought about it.

When he spoke again it was a surprise to himself. "He had help. Two of them killed them all. Maybe your parents. Some of the houses in the district only had one or two bodies. A lot had more."

He opened the door and stepped in.

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