the dead walk backwards

"My mother forbade us to walk backwards. That is how the dead walk, she would say. Where did she get this idea? Perhaps from a bad translation. The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us. They have no lungs and cannot call out but would love for us to turn around. They are victims of love, many of them."

- "On Walking Backwards," Anne Carson

( "Nii-san?" Sasuke calls, lingering in the frame of the doorway. "Are you awake?"

Nii-san squints at him from the bed, rubbing at his eyes. "Sasuke? What are you doing up?"

Sasuke lingers hesitantly outside the room, shifting his bare feet on the wooden floor. Nii-san looks tired, and he's nervous about bothering him.

"I had a nightmare," he admits. He bites his lip, unwilling to breach the barrier of the room.

Nii-san sighs. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, and he stretches out his arm, gesturing to Sasuke with his hand.

Sasuke doesn't hesitate to run forward, scrambling up onto the bed. He worries his brother will poke him on the forehead when he reaches him, but instead Nii-san wraps his arms around him, holding him close.

"It was just a nightmare. You should go back to bed, before Father catches you."

Sasuke shakes his head, pressing his face into his brother's shirt. His entire body shakes, and Nii-san sighs, rubbing a hand down his back.

"What was it about?"

"You died," Sasuke admits. His voice wobbles, and his eyes burn with the threat of tears. "You died, and I was all alone."

Nii-san stills for a moment, then presses him closer. "You're not alone, Sasuke. I'm right here."

"So you're not going to die?" he wants to make sure, his nightmare leaving a fear deep inside his bones. "Not ever ever?"

Nii-san is quiet for a long moment, his hand still against Sasuke's back. Eventually, he pushes Sasuke away from him gently, looking at him with serious eyes.

"Everybody dies eventually," he says softly. "You can't stop that. But I'm not going to for a long while."

The four-year-old stares at his brother with worried eyes, fear cold in his chest. He bites his lip, still trembling.

"But what if you die and I'm still here?"

For a moment, when Nii-san looks at him, there's an expression on his face that Sasuke's never seen. He looks lost. But then he smiles, and the expression disappears. He knocks his fingers gently against Sasuke's forehead.

"Well, then you'll be all grown up. And you won't need me anymore." )

The five-year anniversary of the massacre dawns on a day like any other. The sky is clear. The sun is bright. The world continues to turn, and Sasuke watches it, his grief like a thousand-pound weight sitting on his chest.

("Nii-san! Mother and Father are—")

He stands on the training grounds under the sun, his jaw tight and his arms crossed. Feet away, Naruto is laughing about something. Sakura is trying to punch him. Kakashi is holding her off of him, his visible eye curved up in a smile.

None of them know what day it is. None of them care. Sasuke's grief presses on his ribcage, turns to anger as he watches them. His hands curl into fists.

They're all so fucking happy. Not a single fucking care in the entire fucking world.

("Foolish little brother. If you wish to kill me one day—")

Still, he's grateful they don't know. He's grateful they don't see. The only thing worse than the three of them not knowing, would be if the three of them did.

They would try to talk to him. They would try to make him open up. And Sasuke can't. He doesn't want to.

("When your father and I are alone, all he talks about is you!")

He doesn't want to speak. He doesn't want to talk. He thinks if someone tries to talk to him, he might rip out their eyes.

("That's why I am allowing you to live. For my own sake.")

"Sasuke!" Naruto calls, when he spins abruptly around. "Where the hell are you going, you bastard?"

"Away," he says coldly, his back teeth grinding. "I'm sick of this. Don't fucking follow me."

Naruto doesn't follow him. He feels their eyes on his back, watching him go.

He goes home, to the empty streets and empty houses where he watched his clan get slaughtered. He walks past the shop where his aunt and uncle's bodies were sprawled. He walks past the dock where his father trained him in Katon.

("That's my boy.")

He walks up the steps and over the porch, where Cousin Shisui once teased him about his brother. He walks past the dining room where his mother would always greet him with warm smiles.

He pulls himself up the stairs, pushing open the door to Itachi's room. The room that he used to run to at night, terrified and shaking from a nightmare.

("Nii-san? Are you awake?")

When Kakashi finds him, he's sitting in a corner on the floor of his brother's room. There's a family photograph in his hands, and he stares down at it.

"Sasuke," Kakashi says.

Sasuke doesn't respond. He stares down at his brother's smiling face in the photograph, and hatred burns deep in his gut. It spreads through his veins like wildfire, scorching even the breath from his lungs.

("I'm always going to be there for you.")

The metal frame digs into his hand. It slices his skin, drawing blood.

Kakashi lowers himself down in front of him. He crosses his legs in front of him, facing Sasuke. Sasuke doesn't look up.

They sit like that for a long time, not speaking. Kakashi's face is filled with understanding as he watches him. Sasuke gazes down at the young boy in the photograph, quaking with rage.

"Stop," Kakashi tells him, his voice soft in the silence. "Don't use your anger as a shield. You have to let yourself feel it."

Sasuke's hand shakes around the frame, and his mouth twists angrily. Don't tell me what to do, he thinks, a pressure pressing behind his eyes. What do you know—what the hell do you know—

There's another moment of silence. Neither of them moves. A soft sigh pierces the air.

"People live in the past so they never forget it," Kakashi says quietly. "But what's the point if instead of honoring your dead, you just drag their ghosts behind you uselessly?"

Sasuke focuses blank eyes on his teacher. His voice is soft, but there's no pity in it, and it's the only thing that stops Sasuke from lunging forward and ripping his eye out.

"What's the point," he continues, "if you never learn to walk forward?"

Sasuke bites his bottom lip, tasting blood. He wants to lash out. He wants to take the picture frame in his hands and throw it at the wall, listen to the glass shatter.

"When my father—passed," Kakashi begins hesitantly, his sentence halting slightly on the last word, "I found that moving out of his house helped a lot. To get some distance, you know?"

Kakashi's voice is strained slightly. Sasuke's hands curl into fists. Kakashi's always been so mysterious, and any other day, he would cling to the opportunity to learn anything about him. Now, the words only serve to fuel his anger.

"It didn't help me to forget," Kakashi says, "but I could consider it better."

Sasuke grinds his teeth, and something in him snaps. A familiar surge of power builds behind his eyes, and he snaps his head up.

"Don't sit there pretending you know how I feel!"

His Sharingan whirls to life without him meaning it to. His voice is sand-paper rough, and the rage in his veins causes him to shake. How dare you—how dare you—

Kakashi doesn't flinch away from him. His gaze is unwavering when he looks at him.

"I wouldn't want to know how you feel, Sasuke. If it's hell inside my head, I can't imagine what it's like in yours."

Sasuke is silent, trembling with a combination of grief and anger. He can't separate them, has never been able to.

("Even if you do hate me.")

Itachi's face flashes in front of his eyes. His hatred is like a supernova, burning him up from the inside.

"But you can't live like this, Sasuke," Kakashi says. "You can't carry all of it like this. You have to try and move on."

Fury explodes deep in his gut, dark and scorching. He feels the tomoe in his eyes spin, responding to his turbulent emotions.

"Hypocrite," he snarls viciously, his eyes still burning red. Kakashi pulls back slightly. "I've seen you at the memorial stone every day. Standing there for hours. Is that what you call moving on?"

Kakashi is completely still beside him, and for a long moment, he doesn't speak. Sasuke digs his nails deeper into his palms, struggling to stop his hands from shaking. The only noise is the sound of their breathing.

"You're right," he says finally. The words come slowly, his voice carefully controlled. "I haven't moved on. I don't know how. And I've got no right trying to tell anyone else to, especially you."

Sasuke's hands clench and unclench. He presses his lips together tightly, and it feels like he's standing on the edge of a cliff. The ground begins to splinter beneath his feet.

("That's what big brothers are for.")

"But I'm here," Kakashi continues. "And you're here. There's nobody else, because the rest have all been killed."

Sasuke's eyes burn. His own breathing is shaky in his ears, teetering on the edge of a sob. Kakashi reaches out, wrapping his hand around one of Sasuke's gripping the photograph.

"You have to move on." Kakashi's hand is gentle on Sasuke's, as he slowly pries his fingers from the frame. He pulls it out of his hands. "You have to let go."

Sasuke lets the picture frame slip from his fingers. Kakashi sets it on the floor next to him. A gaping sadness incases him, pulling him under and stealing his breath. He fights back a sob.

"If you don't," Kakashi says, "then you'll destroy yourself. I know what that's like. I don't want it for you."

Sasuke looks at him. He feels the power fade from his eyes, as the red fades back to black. The back of his throat burns with tears.

"I don't know how," he admits.

The smile Kakashi offers him is sad. Understanding shines in his visible eye.

"I know," he says softly. "Give it time."

( Itachi smiles at him. Blood trailing from his eyes and from his mouth, he knocks his fingers against Sasuke's forehead one final time.

"Forgive me, Sasuke," he says. "But this is it." )

Five years after that day, Kakashi finds him in the same place. Curled up in the corner of his brother's room, his knees pulled against his chest. In his hand, he holds his brother's ANBU mask. He stares down at it with empty eyes.

("Sorry, Sasuke. Some other time, okay?")

He doesn't turn when he hears his sensei enter the room, or when the man slides down the wall to sit next to him. He looks down at the mask, in a shape of a cat, and he traces the red markings with his fingers.

("I can't, I'm busy. Why don't you ask Father to teach you?")

Kakashi glances at the mask with faint recognition. He raises his gaze to Sasuke's face, and he doesn't speak. He just waits.

Tears press against Sasuke's eyes. His fingers tighten around the edge of the mask, shaking. The hard plastic cuts into his skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He still doesn't look up. "I didn't let go. I never could."

His vision blurs, and he watches as Kakashi's hand reaches out to cover his own. He expects the man to pry his fingers away, to pull the mask from his grasp, like he did with the picture frame five years ago. But he doesn't; instead he simply leaves his hand there, a solid, comforting weight.

"That's okay," he says quietly. "Neither could I."

( "But what if you die and I'm still here?"

Nii-san smiles at him softly. He raises two of his fingers, knocking them against Sasuke's forehead.

"Well, then you'll be all grown up," he replies. "And you won't need me anymore."

Sasuke stares at him with distressed eyes. He shakes his head, his eyes burning with tears.

"I think I'll always need you," he says. )