Bleeding Heart

"You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

- J.K. Rowling, The Order of the Phoenix

_____ hated dropping his brother off at the airport. Hated that he'd chosen to go to a fancy, expensive, out of state school without earning a single scholarship to ease the way. Jerk didn’t even seem to recognize how the new financial strain was affecting Mom, just flouncing off to parties with his friends to celebrate graduation.

_____ was startled from his mental rant by the slamming of the trunk. His brother approached the driver’s side window with a megawatt grin, posture as loose and self assured as always, suitcase in hand.

Anger is a secondary emotion. _____ exhaled harshly from his nose, unclenching both his jaw and his fists from the steering wheel. 

______ was jealous. Definitely hurt. 

He didn’t have to be angry.

“Have a good semester, Ethan. Stay safe.” _____ meant it, he really did.

“What, no hug?”

_____ sighed exaggeratedly as he exited the car to hug his brother. When they separated Ethan left a hand on _____’s shoulder, thumb digging into the meat under his collar bone.

“Take care of mom for me, yeah? Make sure she doesn’t work too hard.”

How?

“‘Course.” _____ could tell there was more Ethan wanted to say, could practically feel the pent up emotions radiating from his uncharacteristically furrowed brow. 

“Listen-”

But _____ wasn’t feeling very understanding or forgiving today. He shrugged off Ethan’s grip and got back into his Dodge.

Mom was sick.

“What do you mean you’re not coming down?” _____ bit his lip in frustration, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb to his temple to stave off his growing stress headache as Ethan rambled off some excuse about some sport event that weekend. “I know this isn’t the first time. I just can’t do this by myself, Ethan. Did you know they asked me if mom had a will? A will, Ethan!” 

Ethan said he’d be there Monday.

“Don’t bother.”

Mom asked after Ethan everyday.

With one of Ethan's old sport hoodies hiding his lacking physique and one of his signature ratty caps worn low over his eyes, _____ looked just like him.

They were twins after all. 

"Are you seriously not coming?"

Read 4:37 PM. 

_____ scowled at his reflection before exiting the ensuite bathroom. He took his mother's hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles.

Glassy eyes opened.

"I knew you'd come."

Something fiery stirred in _____'s chest, pressed behind his eyes, caught in his throat.

"I got here as soon as I could."

Three blood clots in her lungs. 

Not one. 

Three.

The paramedic who made the call not to air lift his mom to the hospital came by while _____ was white knuckling her cooling hand to apologize. It was the first time he had had an actually dying person in his ambulance. 

He was sorry. _____  forgave him.

It was _____’s fault anyway. That morning when he checked on his mom in her room and she was unresponsive he had assumed she had taken a few too many pain pills and needed to sleep it off again. He had debated calling an ambulance but had gone to work instead, wary of the cost of another hospital visit and losing his job if he was late. If she was still unresponsive when he got back, he’d take her himself.

 It was a neighbor that called the ambulance.

_____ pressed a kiss to the back of his mom’s hand before setting it to gently rest on her stomach. 

He tried Ethan’s cell again.

Voicemail.

-

When Daiki woke up, he felt some horrible combination of blind and deaf. Maybe he had also lost his sense of touch. 

No, that couldn’t be right. 

He could see the off white ceiling above him, hear the horrible, somehow familiar hospital din around him, feel the starchy sheets beneath his hands.

He looked to his left and saw Itachi, heard him ask how he was feeling. 

Feeling.

He couldn’t feel Itachi. He didn’t catch what Itachi said next because it didn’t matter. There was an unconscious lump of a man lying in a bed across the room and Daiki couldn’t feel him either. Couldn’t even tell if he was having a bad or good dream, if he was even dreaming at all. He looked back to Itachi, whose eyes were slightly squinted, his brow furrowed more than usual. 

In worry? Frustration? Anger? 

Daiki didn’t know. He felt absolutely nothing from Itachi. It was like Itachi was dead. It was like he was dead-

There was sensation on both his hands and his chest. Itachi was holding one of Daiki’s hands to each of their sternums, taking deep, even breaths. His hand was warm and Daiki didn’t question what was going on for a moment, simply relishing in the heartbeat he could feel thrumming beneath his fingers. He gripped a fistful of the stiff material of Itachi’s shirt tightly, just to feel the extra bit of sensation, before letting it go. Itachi guided his hand back towards his stomach rather than letting it flop weakly between them.

Daiki tried to raise his arm again but only succeeded in getting his fingers to twitch. He felt soreness travel up his forearm.

Itachi smoothed out Daiki’s sheets.

-

As soon as Itachi felt the flicker of the Kyuubi’s chakra, he shuushined from his cover across the street to the window sill of the jinchuriki's apartment. It was barely there, not even a whisper, more like a breath. A choked off one. It probably wasn’t anything to be concerned about, but Daiki was in that room.

Daiki’s chakra signature was incredibly weak and getting weaker. Well that wasn't completely true. The entire room held Daiki's signature, the boy's chakra saturating the walls, blanketing the ground. Naruto himself was enfolded in a thick shroud of it, a veil so dense it was almost visible. Daiki himself, however, contained nothing but dregs, if that.

Itachi had Naruto asleep with a genjustu in the time it took to cross the room. It was the work of seconds to sweep Daiki into his arms and speed back out the window. Severe charka exhaustion. The treatment for it was time to recuperate, though in severe cases-

Daiki stopped breathing. 

Itachi paused for a fraction of a second before resuming his path to the hospital at twice- no ten times his previous speed. Daiki was still using chakra somehow, still expelling it faster than his body could produce it. Itachi entered the hospital through the Anbu entrance, where Daiki was immediately whisked away by trauma medic nin equipped to fix Anbu level injuries. Kakashi senpai had chakra exhaustion all the time and escaped the hospital as soon as he could crawl, Daiki was in good hands.

Itachi followed the medic nin, eyes trained on green glowing hands. He had never studied medical ninjutsu extensively, never found the urge, but maybe now he would. No, he definitely would, if only to escape the growing feeling of helplessness surging in his chest as a nin did a finger sweep down Daiki's throat to check for an obstructed airway.

Itachi felt his mouth moving, heard himself report what little he knew about the situation. He heard a call for someone with refined enough chakra control to filter for a transfusion. Itachi jerked out of the way as one of the medical nin hustled over with a series of scrolls and ink, and the nin smoothly took his place in the procession as another smoothly cut down the sleeves of Daiki's favorite lavender kimono to get access to his skin. 

Itachi had heard of someone's lips "turning blue" from lack of oxygen, had been the cause of such a state several times. As he watched the medic nin fight for the small boy's life, he thought they looked rather grey.

Itachi sat by Daiki's bedside. It had been four days already, and the boy had yet to wake up. He had heard it mentioned that Daiki would be moved out of the Anbu unit and into a more comfortable room soon.

As though summoned by Itachi's stray thoughts a few days previous, Kakashi senpai had been deposited in the bed across the room the night before. His reserves where slowly recuperating. The man had accomplished another seemingly impossible (suicidal) mission and returned with his entire squad intact. The only one to sustain serious injury was himself, as was the norm.

Itachi knew what Kakashi senpai was running from, felt his own personal demons grow closer to his heels with every fellow Konoha shinobi needlessly lost. He couldn't throw himself into missions with the same reckless (suicidal) fervor that Kakashi possessed, though.

Not with two baby brothers to take care of.

He wondered briefly what his life in Anbu would have been like if he hadn't been assigned to Daiki's protection and vigilance detail. Back to back missions, perhaps, where he would lose a little more of himself every time. No time for training Sasuke, or to have tea with his father in his office, or for cooking lessons with his mother. He'd have probably never met Daiki, maybe not even in passing.

Maybe that was still his future, once Daiki no longer needed surveillance. 

The thing about victims of chakra exhaustion was that they slept like the dead for the bulk of the recovery process. No tossing or turning, barely breathing as their bodies slowly recuperated its reserves. REM sleep even stops, serial patients reporting a lack of dreams. It's like they vanish and reappear upon awakening.

Itachi scanned Daiki for any signs of movement, taking in the ink trailing down his arms, up the sides of his neck. A Hyuga had been used to map out his chakra system, enough for the rudimentary seals to be applied. It was ugly work, thick, harsh strokes made in haste to save the boys life, but it served its purpose. 

Daiki would have no access to his chraka. It would still be able to cycle freely through his body, but he would be unable to reach it.

His chakra network was extensively damaged. He'd been exposed to the Kyubi's chakra ever so briefly, but it had been enough, much like how a single spark in a forest in drought was enough. He would recover, as the young often miraculously did, but any chakra use before then would be excruciating, so it was best to avoid it. He would still be able to go to class, live his life, he would just have to stick to learning theory and sitting out during spars.

'That was going to be something.'

Daiki would have about the strength of a civilian, having normally, even unconsciously, used chakra to reinforce his bones and strengthen his muscles. In time this could perhaps be a boon, as he could improve his physical condition at the base level. Until then, however, he'd have the strength of a normal six year old. He could already hear Sasuke's jeering taunts.

He was going to have to have a talk with that boy soon. Itachi had thought his two brothers would have gotten along well because they were so alike, but it seemed the opposite was the case. He didn't know exactly what had happened to fracture the two's relationship so quickly, but he could hazard a guess. Managing Sasuke's jealously was a dance he normally knew all the steps to, but his usual methods of mitigation hadn't been working in regards to anything to do with Daiki. He would spend more time with Sasuke, offer him just as much, if not more, training as he did the other boy, ply him with savory treats, but it seemed like it would all be for nought once the boy returned to class the next day and so much as made eye contact with Daiki. If Itachi didn't know any better he would think that Sasuke knew Daiki was the son of a village traitor. 

There was no possibility of that, however.

Daiki's response to Sasuke's antagonism would be amusing if Itachi didn't have to deal with the aftermath. If Sasuke was a fist raised to deliver a vicious blow, Daiki was a forearm strike to the wrist. He used redirection and subtle manipulation to steer Sasuke's ire away from him and his little group of friends, responding to Sasuke's shouts with one word responses and eye smiles.

Daiki spoke with his actions.

If Sasuke told him he was going to beat him in sparring that day, Daiki would simply nod and proceed to lay Sasuke out with a few sharp blows. Daiki only ever truly got riled up when Sasuke picked on Naruto, which of course Sasuke noticed. He wasn't stupid. He also wasn't normally mean, which is what confused and concerned Itachi the most.

The pointer finger of Daiki's right hand twitching brought Itachi out of his slight stupor.

He had noticed that the boy had been recovering chakra at a surprising rate, but surely four days was too soon a recovery speed for such a severe state of chakra depletion? As Itachi stood to call for a medical nin, Daiki opened his eyes. Itachi felt how his chakra instantly spiked in fear, heard his breathing speed up and begin to catch. Wide eyes searched the room before finally landing on Itachi, which for some reason was the final push needed to send Daiki over the edge. 

"You're in Konoha Hospital, critical chakra emergency medical ward, Anbu unit. It has only been four days."

Itachi wasn't sure what else to say. What did Itachi usually want to hear after waking up in the hospital?

"Everyone is safe." Itachi gently took one of Daiki's hands and guided it to his own chest to help the boy measure his breaths. The boy curled his fingers into Itachi's shirt and let out half a sob. Eventually he let go and Itachi slowly guided the boy's hand back to his chest, smoothing out the sheets that had been ruffled in the fuss.

Without prompting, he poured Daiki some water from a pitcher at his beside, flaring his chakra to call for a medic nin as he helped the boy take kitten sips. It wasn't exactly standard procedure, but it would undoubtedly get someone's attention.

Itachi allowed himself to relax some as a medic nin swiftly entered the room, starting with a diagnostic jutsu before calmly answering Daiki's panic tinged questions. Itachi wasn't going to allow the boy to stay in the lonely hospital while he recovered his strength, nor did he want Daiki to have to fight for much needed attention in the overcrowded orphanage. He'd need to pick up the boy's things, but that would only be the work of minutes.

Maybe he'd take Daiki shopping. He needed to go out to get the boy a new kimono anyway. 

Itachi watched as Daiki white knuckled the starchy hospital sheets, face pale and drawn. The bags under his eyes were even more pronounced than usual, taking on a purple hue that looked almost bruised. His features were a fraction too sharp, in the way that spoke of one too many missed meals. His hair was uneven again.

Itachi continued his close scrutiny of the boy and every new detail he took in made his chest tighten further. Features and characteristics he was familiar with, that he had previously chalked up to being part of Daiki's personality or identity, were actually evidence of neglect.

He'd watched Daiki sleep for concerning periods of time with no one coming to check on his well being. The boy had skipped every meal, snuck out every night without a single consequence. Why hadn't he noticed before now? Wasn't he supposed to be a genius or something?

'It's because he was indoctrinated in a society that demanded he not look too closely. Conditioned not to question the odd behaviors (signs of trauma) and idiosyncrasies (coping mechanisms) of the shinobi around him. To accept that shinobi were eccentric (deeply disturbed), and that someday he would be too. To examine the product too thoroughly lead to questioning the system that created it. Good shinobi endured.'

The sun was bright, dogs barked, and orphans were skinny. They were too quiet or too loud. Craved attention or rejected it in equal turns because it was something they didn't have, weren't used to-

Daiki needed better care than he was receiving, that much was obvious.

Itachi's mother would be more than happy to have an extra mouth to feed and body to coddle.

Part of his brain screamed about how he was going beyond mission parameters, repeating a litany of "DO NOT ENGAGE SURVEILLANCE ONLY DONOTENGAGE-". 

He smothered it beneath the observation of how very small Daiki looked curled up in his hospital bed like a question mark, lines of uncertainty tracing his trembling form.

'Everyone is safe.'