![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vernajastTitle: We All Fall Down
Pairing: SasuNaru / NaruSasu
Genre: Police AU, Angst w/a happy ending, Crime/Mystery, Drama, Romance
Rating: Mature
Warnings: angst like whoa (maybe bring tissues), flashbacks, suicidal thoughts, smoking cigarettes, alcohol, smut, implied character death
Summary: When Uzumaki Naruto fell in the line of duty, the Konoha Police Department buried him with full honors. But now Sasuke's left with an empty house, an empty bed—an empty life—and he doesn't know how to cope. The truth is, for the first time in his life, Sasuke feels completely lost. (I'm so sorry it took so long! Fanime happened!! XD)
Chapters:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue | Side Story (coming soon!)
We All Fall Down
by vernajast
"omnes vulnerant, postuma necat"
(all the hours wound; the last one kills)
Chapter 6. (family)
So maybe it hadn’t been the best, most thought-out plan after all.
Sasuke was sitting alone on a bench at the bus terminal. He shivered as the breeze picked up and blew right through the thin sweater he was wearing. If only he had remembered to take his larger coat and gloves when he stormed out of the house, then he wouldn’t have had to stop every five minutes to put down his duffle bag and warm up his freezing hands. And he wouldn’t have missed the last bus out of town. He hadn’t cared where it was going, as long as he was on it before his parents contacted the authorities to start looking for him.
Stupid. That’s how he felt. What had he been thinking? How had he thought they would take it, really? He supposed, since his friends had taken the revelation so well, even going so far as to declare they had known all along, he had thought...his own parents...would understand, too. They were supposed to love him unconditionally, right? No matter what? So when his father had brought up the question of acquiring a girlfriend of “the right status” to accompany him to corporate parties and so on, Sasuke had thought it best to be honest and admit the truth: he didn’t have a girlfriend because he was gay.
Somewhere between his father’s blind fury and his mother’s wide-eyed stare, Sasuke had realized that they weren’t taking it well at all. Utterly unused to such rejection, he had excused himself from the table and dashed up the stairs to his room, locking himself inside and collapsing on the bed. He supposed he expected his parents to follow him. He might have hoped that his father would bang on the door and insist that he open it so that they could talk about what had happened.
No such thing occurred. In fact, as time stretched onward, Sasuke’s apprehension grew. Were they discussing his punishment? Was his father’s anger growing with every passing minute? Would they never speak to him again? He wished Itachi was home instead of at cram school; he always knew what to do.
Rather than wait for him to get home, Sasuke’s fear overtook his reason and he quickly shoved a few clothes into his black overnight bag. His spare toothbrush and toothpaste were already inside, so he tossed in his favorite book and zipped it closed with trembling hands.
Now, over an hour later, he huddled on the bench watching strangers hurry past. He was cold, tired, and lonely, and his fear was slowly draining away to be replaced with homesickness. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and play along. It wouldn’t have been that hard, right?
Sasuke sighed loudly and slumped back against the wall. I want to go home. He tried to huddle further into the corner to block the wind and hugged his bag to his chest.
He must have dozed off that way, because the next thing he remembered was being shaken violently by multiple pairs of hands. Flailing wildly, he tried to shove them away. “Ah! Fuck off! Leave me alone! You—”
“SASUKE!”
Wait, he recognized that voice. It was...it was... “Naruto?” And standing just beside the blond was his brother wearing a very concerned expression. “Itachi...”
“Dude! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Naruto punched his shoulder.
It hurt more than it should, and when Sasuke really looked at Naruto’s eyes, his chest tightened with the weight of guilt. They were worried about me.
“Mother and Father have the police searching for you...” Itachi said quietly before picking up Sasuke’s bag.
“Tch. They hate me...” Sasuke muttered. He rose from the bench and kicked a little at the concrete. He didn’t want to go home, but what could he do, really?
“They don’t.” Itachi put his hand on Sasuke’s back and nudged him to get moving. “You’ll see.”
“Hn.” Sasuke took a few shuffling steps, chewing his lower lip. He felt a bump against his arm only seconds before what he barely identified as a quick squeeze of his hand. When he raised his eyes, Naruto was looking straight ahead as if nothing had happened, but it was enough.
With his brother and his best friend supporting him, Sasuke felt a little braver as they headed home.
In the master bedroom, Sasuke is crawling on his knees and rummaging under the bed, cradling the phone awkwardly between his chin and shoulder when Itachi finally answers.
“Sasuke.”
His brother sounds the same as ever. His cold voice carries a subtle edge of amusement that might be described as fondness were it anyone else. But this is Itachi; he’s hardly the affectionate type, so the only other explanation is that he’s laughing at Sasuke. He doesn’t understand why, but before he ends his brother’s life, he intends to find out.
Sasuke withdraws his hand from beneath the bed along with the fireproof box he had been seeking. Fingering through a set of keys, he pauses when he’s sure he’s found the right one. “I’m coming over. Can we talk?”
The voice on the other end is silent and Sasuke would suspect he’s been hung up on except that he can still hear his brother breathing softly through the receiver. “Itachi?”
“Of course. You are always welcome in my home, Sasuke.”
Something in Itachi’s voice gives him pause, and Sasuke’s embarrassed at how his fingers fumble when he attempts to slot the key into the lock on the box, as if he’s afraid, as if he’s not completely ready for what he’s about to do. He’s sure that Itachi can hear the rustling on the other end of the phone, and it doesn’t seem fair. It feels dishonest and insincere, but just as remorse tries to rear its head and guilt begins to twine itself within his heart, Sasuke forces himself to remember Naruto’s funeral. He forces himself to remember how he wasn’t even allowed to view Naruto’s body inside the closed casket because the doctors said the killer shot him at point blank range in the back of the head. He couldn’t see him because there just wasn’t enough of Naruto’s face remaining for Sasuke to recognize, anyway, and it would only damage his memories of the blond man and his contagious smile.
Itachi had been there all along, standing beside his younger brother, nodding in agreement. The man who did this to him had pretended sympathy, pretended to understand, pretended to care—Sasuke can’t allow it to continue. Itachi must pay, so he needs to see this through to the end.
Gritting his teeth, Sasuke twists the key in the lock and the box pops open with a soft thump. His prize—Naruto’s spare service revolver—rests inside, nestled amongst several folds of dark cloth, a box of ammunition, and a leather shoulder holster.
When Itachi clears his throat, it startles Sasuke from his thoughts and he nearly drops the phone. “Ah...!” He’s momentarily forgotten Itachi on the other end.
“Sasuke, is everything okay?”
The younger Uchiha hastily mumbles an apology and rises from the floor. He moves over to the closet to search for something to wear aside from the boxer shorts and the t-shirt he had pulled on when his uncle arrived. Briefly, he wonders if the older man is growing impatient, but a glance outside reassures him that the limousine still waits at the curb.
“When should I expect—”
“Soon.” He knows he has answered too hastily when Itachi makes a soft noise on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way. Is that okay?”
“Naturally. I’ll start the tea.”
With a muttered goodbye, Sasuke closes his cellphone and tosses it onto the bed. He slips into a pair of fitted jeans, takes the time to wash his face and style his hair, and checks his reflection for irregularities. Any mistakes now, and he could lose his chance.
When he deems himself mostly presentable, aside from the dark hollows beneath his eyes, he returns to the bedroom. From the box, he retrieves Naruto’s pistol and the ammunition and places them on the bed alongside his phone. Fumbling with the leather straps of the holster, he slips it on over his t-shirt. He runs his fingers over the pistol, acutely aware of the coolness of the metal and the smoothness against his skin, then he slides it into the holster and pulls a black sweater on over his head, essentially hiding its existence.
One final look in the mirror, one final attempt to meet his own gaze, then he’s slipping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him. It makes a soft noise and something final tightens in Sasuke’s chest.
Outside the townhouse, his uncle’s driver waits for him beside the open rear door. Uncle Izuna is already inside and he makes no mention of the fact that it’s taken Sasuke the better part of an hour to prepare. He simply pats the seat beside him, urging his nephew to get in.
They drive in silence, and Sasuke is grateful for the reprieve. No more questions. No more explanations. Only the thrum of blood through his ears, the pound of his heart in his chest, and the calm settling over his body. He gazes out the tinted windows, and instead of cars and billboards, he is watching the interplay of pale fingers on tan skin, the contrast of his legs tangled with Naruto’s, and the shadows they cast against the walls of their bedroom. He’s remembering Naruto’s taste, his scent, his gasps of pleasure, his laughter—all of the things he’s been missing...and will always miss.
“Sasuke.” Uncle Izuna taps him lightly on the shoulder.
Sasuke shakes his head, blinking rapidly to dispel the memories and focus on the here and now. The limousine is parked in the unloading zone outside of Itachi’s building.
“Remember...” Izuna takes Sasuke’s chin in his hand, squeezing, tilting his nephew’s head until he’s looking him in the eyes and paying attention. “He took Naruto away from you. No matter what he says, it won’t change this fact.”
With a nod, Sasuke pulls away and exits the limousine. The gun and holster are heavy against his side; he’s acutely aware of their presence and he wonders if anyone else notices them. However, when the doorman greets him as always, with a tip of his hat and a “good day, sir,” Sasuke’s convinced that his paranoia is probably misplaced. It enables him to walk a little taller as he enters the elevator, assured that no one will stop him before he reaches his goal.
[tbc]
Pairing: SasuNaru / NaruSasu
Genre: Police AU, Angst w/a happy ending, Crime/Mystery, Drama, Romance
Rating: Mature
Warnings: angst like whoa (maybe bring tissues), flashbacks, suicidal thoughts, smoking cigarettes, alcohol, smut, implied character death
Summary: When Uzumaki Naruto fell in the line of duty, the Konoha Police Department buried him with full honors. But now Sasuke's left with an empty house, an empty bed—an empty life—and he doesn't know how to cope. The truth is, for the first time in his life, Sasuke feels completely lost. (I'm so sorry it took so long! Fanime happened!! XD)
Chapters:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue | Side Story (coming soon!)
by vernajast
"omnes vulnerant, postuma necat"
(all the hours wound; the last one kills)
Chapter 6. (family)
So maybe it hadn’t been the best, most thought-out plan after all.
Sasuke was sitting alone on a bench at the bus terminal. He shivered as the breeze picked up and blew right through the thin sweater he was wearing. If only he had remembered to take his larger coat and gloves when he stormed out of the house, then he wouldn’t have had to stop every five minutes to put down his duffle bag and warm up his freezing hands. And he wouldn’t have missed the last bus out of town. He hadn’t cared where it was going, as long as he was on it before his parents contacted the authorities to start looking for him.
Stupid. That’s how he felt. What had he been thinking? How had he thought they would take it, really? He supposed, since his friends had taken the revelation so well, even going so far as to declare they had known all along, he had thought...his own parents...would understand, too. They were supposed to love him unconditionally, right? No matter what? So when his father had brought up the question of acquiring a girlfriend of “the right status” to accompany him to corporate parties and so on, Sasuke had thought it best to be honest and admit the truth: he didn’t have a girlfriend because he was gay.
Somewhere between his father’s blind fury and his mother’s wide-eyed stare, Sasuke had realized that they weren’t taking it well at all. Utterly unused to such rejection, he had excused himself from the table and dashed up the stairs to his room, locking himself inside and collapsing on the bed. He supposed he expected his parents to follow him. He might have hoped that his father would bang on the door and insist that he open it so that they could talk about what had happened.
No such thing occurred. In fact, as time stretched onward, Sasuke’s apprehension grew. Were they discussing his punishment? Was his father’s anger growing with every passing minute? Would they never speak to him again? He wished Itachi was home instead of at cram school; he always knew what to do.
Rather than wait for him to get home, Sasuke’s fear overtook his reason and he quickly shoved a few clothes into his black overnight bag. His spare toothbrush and toothpaste were already inside, so he tossed in his favorite book and zipped it closed with trembling hands.
Now, over an hour later, he huddled on the bench watching strangers hurry past. He was cold, tired, and lonely, and his fear was slowly draining away to be replaced with homesickness. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and play along. It wouldn’t have been that hard, right?
Sasuke sighed loudly and slumped back against the wall. I want to go home. He tried to huddle further into the corner to block the wind and hugged his bag to his chest.
He must have dozed off that way, because the next thing he remembered was being shaken violently by multiple pairs of hands. Flailing wildly, he tried to shove them away. “Ah! Fuck off! Leave me alone! You—”
“SASUKE!”
Wait, he recognized that voice. It was...it was... “Naruto?” And standing just beside the blond was his brother wearing a very concerned expression. “Itachi...”
“Dude! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Naruto punched his shoulder.
It hurt more than it should, and when Sasuke really looked at Naruto’s eyes, his chest tightened with the weight of guilt. They were worried about me.
“Mother and Father have the police searching for you...” Itachi said quietly before picking up Sasuke’s bag.
“Tch. They hate me...” Sasuke muttered. He rose from the bench and kicked a little at the concrete. He didn’t want to go home, but what could he do, really?
“They don’t.” Itachi put his hand on Sasuke’s back and nudged him to get moving. “You’ll see.”
“Hn.” Sasuke took a few shuffling steps, chewing his lower lip. He felt a bump against his arm only seconds before what he barely identified as a quick squeeze of his hand. When he raised his eyes, Naruto was looking straight ahead as if nothing had happened, but it was enough.
With his brother and his best friend supporting him, Sasuke felt a little braver as they headed home.
In the master bedroom, Sasuke is crawling on his knees and rummaging under the bed, cradling the phone awkwardly between his chin and shoulder when Itachi finally answers.
“Sasuke.”
His brother sounds the same as ever. His cold voice carries a subtle edge of amusement that might be described as fondness were it anyone else. But this is Itachi; he’s hardly the affectionate type, so the only other explanation is that he’s laughing at Sasuke. He doesn’t understand why, but before he ends his brother’s life, he intends to find out.
Sasuke withdraws his hand from beneath the bed along with the fireproof box he had been seeking. Fingering through a set of keys, he pauses when he’s sure he’s found the right one. “I’m coming over. Can we talk?”
The voice on the other end is silent and Sasuke would suspect he’s been hung up on except that he can still hear his brother breathing softly through the receiver. “Itachi?”
“Of course. You are always welcome in my home, Sasuke.”
Something in Itachi’s voice gives him pause, and Sasuke’s embarrassed at how his fingers fumble when he attempts to slot the key into the lock on the box, as if he’s afraid, as if he’s not completely ready for what he’s about to do. He’s sure that Itachi can hear the rustling on the other end of the phone, and it doesn’t seem fair. It feels dishonest and insincere, but just as remorse tries to rear its head and guilt begins to twine itself within his heart, Sasuke forces himself to remember Naruto’s funeral. He forces himself to remember how he wasn’t even allowed to view Naruto’s body inside the closed casket because the doctors said the killer shot him at point blank range in the back of the head. He couldn’t see him because there just wasn’t enough of Naruto’s face remaining for Sasuke to recognize, anyway, and it would only damage his memories of the blond man and his contagious smile.
Itachi had been there all along, standing beside his younger brother, nodding in agreement. The man who did this to him had pretended sympathy, pretended to understand, pretended to care—Sasuke can’t allow it to continue. Itachi must pay, so he needs to see this through to the end.
Gritting his teeth, Sasuke twists the key in the lock and the box pops open with a soft thump. His prize—Naruto’s spare service revolver—rests inside, nestled amongst several folds of dark cloth, a box of ammunition, and a leather shoulder holster.
When Itachi clears his throat, it startles Sasuke from his thoughts and he nearly drops the phone. “Ah...!” He’s momentarily forgotten Itachi on the other end.
“Sasuke, is everything okay?”
The younger Uchiha hastily mumbles an apology and rises from the floor. He moves over to the closet to search for something to wear aside from the boxer shorts and the t-shirt he had pulled on when his uncle arrived. Briefly, he wonders if the older man is growing impatient, but a glance outside reassures him that the limousine still waits at the curb.
“When should I expect—”
“Soon.” He knows he has answered too hastily when Itachi makes a soft noise on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way. Is that okay?”
“Naturally. I’ll start the tea.”
With a muttered goodbye, Sasuke closes his cellphone and tosses it onto the bed. He slips into a pair of fitted jeans, takes the time to wash his face and style his hair, and checks his reflection for irregularities. Any mistakes now, and he could lose his chance.
When he deems himself mostly presentable, aside from the dark hollows beneath his eyes, he returns to the bedroom. From the box, he retrieves Naruto’s pistol and the ammunition and places them on the bed alongside his phone. Fumbling with the leather straps of the holster, he slips it on over his t-shirt. He runs his fingers over the pistol, acutely aware of the coolness of the metal and the smoothness against his skin, then he slides it into the holster and pulls a black sweater on over his head, essentially hiding its existence.
One final look in the mirror, one final attempt to meet his own gaze, then he’s slipping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him. It makes a soft noise and something final tightens in Sasuke’s chest.
Outside the townhouse, his uncle’s driver waits for him beside the open rear door. Uncle Izuna is already inside and he makes no mention of the fact that it’s taken Sasuke the better part of an hour to prepare. He simply pats the seat beside him, urging his nephew to get in.
They drive in silence, and Sasuke is grateful for the reprieve. No more questions. No more explanations. Only the thrum of blood through his ears, the pound of his heart in his chest, and the calm settling over his body. He gazes out the tinted windows, and instead of cars and billboards, he is watching the interplay of pale fingers on tan skin, the contrast of his legs tangled with Naruto’s, and the shadows they cast against the walls of their bedroom. He’s remembering Naruto’s taste, his scent, his gasps of pleasure, his laughter—all of the things he’s been missing...and will always miss.
“Sasuke.” Uncle Izuna taps him lightly on the shoulder.
Sasuke shakes his head, blinking rapidly to dispel the memories and focus on the here and now. The limousine is parked in the unloading zone outside of Itachi’s building.
“Remember...” Izuna takes Sasuke’s chin in his hand, squeezing, tilting his nephew’s head until he’s looking him in the eyes and paying attention. “He took Naruto away from you. No matter what he says, it won’t change this fact.”
With a nod, Sasuke pulls away and exits the limousine. The gun and holster are heavy against his side; he’s acutely aware of their presence and he wonders if anyone else notices them. However, when the doorman greets him as always, with a tip of his hat and a “good day, sir,” Sasuke’s convinced that his paranoia is probably misplaced. It enables him to walk a little taller as he enters the elevator, assured that no one will stop him before he reaches his goal.
[tbc]