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MG: This is actually an elaboration on a poem I wrote awhile ago of the same title. If anyone is interested in reading it, it can be found in my series of poems "Never Comes the Dawn."

Oh, and yeah, Orochimaru is dead.

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Cold

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Sasuke lays on the pavement in an old parking lot and it's cold because it's wet. He's wet, he's soaked, it's raining and dark, the water everywhere is gray because the drops distort and mutilate it.

He ran away from home. Father had yelled at him, mother had sat in the kitchen pretending not to hear. Itachi was supposed to be there, but he wasn't. Sasuke cried harder, wondering why no one was looking for him, why wasn't the whole Uchiha family out looking for him? Why wasn't Itachi looking for him? Surely someone had notified Itachi, your brother has gone missing, Itachi-san.

He watches from the corner of his eye as the clouds smash into each other, curling and pressing together like the kisses he'll one day dream about- but not, not now.

"Sasuke." What are you doing?

The voice is so soft he almost cannot hear it, almost mistakes it for the crashing of the rain against asphalt. Looks up and sees

those eyes, fleeting

then gone.

"Itachi," he says, weakly, his voice a pathetic whine and he struggles to stand, bare hands freezing and scraping on the ground- he does not feel the dull pain of his skin being peeled away.

He grasps desperately at his brothers shirt, presses his face into the warm fabric and cries at the good feeling of being embraced, as Itachi's arms wrap around his slender frame, engulfing and surrounding him. It hurts almost as much as the cold ground.

Itachi carried him all the way home. Mother was worried sick, and she took Sasuke's shoulders and shook him and yelled, then cried and hugged him tightly. Father frowned at the three of them, all drenched.

Itachi gave father a strange look, a dangerous look, and father said nothing, went to bed. Mother wanted to run a bath, Itachi said, "I'll do it. It's alright, go to sleep."

Like a lost child she looked from one son to the other, like a child she folded beneath him, did what she was told.

"Come on, Sasuke."

He followed closely behind, tiny hand clutching at the hem, the dark fabric, the faded emblem of Uchiha.

"Itachi," why doesn't father love me?

"Hm?" Itachi glanced down to him, took in the wide, sad eyes. Itachi looked forward again, did not say a thing, gave not sigh for sigh.

That night he slept in Itachi's bed, but fell asleep before the other even touched the sheets. Itachi sat quietly at his desk, filling out report after report, until at last he heard the steady breathing. He brushed dark strands from the boys face, savored the soft skin, traced imaginary scars over the eyes. Bent and kissed the frowning lips. Sasuke had been born with a frown on his face.

He slept curled around the child, cradling him to his chest. If not the village, if not the clan, if not his parents, this child he would protect. And if all those things would conspire against them, would mean to crush the boys lungs and drown him in his own blood, then Itachi would see to it that his Sasuke had no lungs to crush or blood to choke upon.

Ten years pass, ten, the number of new beginnings. Sasuke lays on the pavement in an old paring lot and it's cold because it's wet. Where are they, he wonders, surely someone knows he is missing- Missing? Missing from where?-He is so confused. He wonders where his mother is, his father, Where is Orochimaru? That bastard, he must be worried, where is that blonde kid and the girl with pink hair?

Itachi does not come for him. This time, Sasuke realizes, this time its because Itachi

is dead.