He could see the blood on the floor, on the walls. He could see a dark shadow of a man standing above the limp, red bodies of his family, and no matter how much he tried, he could never believe that it was his brother.

His brother would always reply with, "Tomorrow" when asked to teach his younger brother something new, followed by a poke to the forehead. It was the same every day, but Sasuke didn't mind all that much. It was a constant that was almost a security blanket in the crazy shinobi world he had been born into. The person standing before him preaching about power was not that brother.

His brother would be the one who sat him in his lap at night when no one else heard, patting the sobbing child and comforting him back to pure, unmarred dreams. The person standing before him, ninja sword dripping with his parent's lifeblood, was not that brother.

His brother taught him not only how to be a ninja, but how to use ones hands to do more than just throw a kunai or create art. They would go out to the training ground, just the two of them, and the younger Uchiha would learn about his body and be immersed in the joys of human company. The person standing before him, desire for a warm touch long gone, was not that brother.

Sasuke's eyes widened. This wasn't his brother. His brother was dead.