Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their illustrious sheriff looks like something’s crawled up his ass and died, so when he’s got Shisui bent over (and not in the fun way), Shisui feels pretty much obliged to tell him so.

Itachi’s not impressed, apparently; just tightens the cuffs around Shisui’s wrists and hauls him off with more roughness than he usually bothers with.

Fuck if that’s not a little hot.

Any further thoughts in that direction are cut off when they reach the sheriff’s office and instead of shoving Shisui up against the nearest flat surface, Itachi tosses him unceremoniously into the cell and slams the door.

“Damn, Sheriff,” Shisui whistles from the floor. “Go a little easier on the goods next time, yeah?”

“Petty theft?” Itachi snaps back, sounding a lot more pissed than a couple lifted chocolate bars merits, in Shisui’s ever-so-humble opinion. “I do not have time for this, Shisui.”

Shisui raises his eyebrows. “Thought you had all the time in the world for us petty criminals. Thought that was your grand calling in life. I feel lied to, Professor, I really do.”

“I do not have time for this today,” Itachi growls, tossing his hat aside and running his fingers back through that long-ass hair of his. It doesn’t do much, other than pulling a few strands free of his ponytail and making them hang limp around his face.

“That’s how it is?” He knows he’s sounding more put off than he probably has a right to, seeing as he was sorta caught stealing and all, but Itachi’s being bitchier than usual and it’s not doing wonders for his own mood. “Sorry to be a bother. Send one of your damn deputies next time, they’ll see me off alright.”

Itachi’s hands tighten in his hair and then loosen, his whole body slumping against the wall all at once. The fight’s gone out of him.

“I’m expecting someone,” he admits quietly. “From home—from the city, I mean.”

Shisui ignores the way his gut twists at that, ignores it with a determination born of scraping the bottom of everyone else’s barrels since he was seven years old. He’s got nothing to be nervous about. He’s got no skin in this game, so it’s in a totally casual way that he asks, “You got a girl coming in for a visit or something?”

Itachi lifts his head and looks at Shisui like he’s lost his mind.

“No,” he says flatly. Shisui’s body eases up where he didn’t even notice it tensing. “It’s my brother.”

Shisui perks up. “Brother? You have a brother?”

Itachi nods. “Six years younger. He has some time away from school, so he decided to come here.”

“You have a little brother.” Somehow Shisui’s having a hard time picturing it. “What’s he like?”

Itachi’s eyes soften then, and the corners of his mouth tilt up. It’s kinda disgusting and it’s kinda worse that Shisui doesn’t mind seeing it.

“He is…difficult, sometimes,” Itachi says. “It is hard for him to see in shades of grey. Harder to ask for help. But he is kind, underneath it all.” He actually smiles. “Even if he’d rather fall on his own sword than admit it.”

Huh. Now isn’t that interesting, Shisui muses. The sheriff has a heart after all.

He leans back on the bars. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

Itachi stiffens like he’s been hit by lightning. “You will do nothing of the kind.”

“Why not?” Shisui smiles, making sure he shows all his teeth. “You afraid I’ll corrupt him?”

“That’s hardly—”

“Or maybe,” Shisui interrupts, eyebrows taking an upward hike again because oh shit, “you’re afraid he’ll find out how I’ve corrupted you.”

All the softness disappears; it’s like someone’s just pulled a gun. And maybe Shisui sorta has, if the look on Itachi’s face says anything. He looks pissed again, yeah, but not like he’s really pissed. More like he’s scared out of his fucking mind. Anger’s just what follows being scared because people hate being scared.

Shisui feels like he’s just had ice water dumped on him from behind—cold, and a little like a fucking moron.

Which is probably just what he deserves for forgetting.

“You want me to keep my head down while he’s around, don’t you.”

Itachi meets his eyes. That’s something, at least. Shisui can’t stand it when cowards have the balls to act like they aren’t.

“Yes.”

“So he doesn’t know?”

It’s a stupid fucking question and Itachi doesn’t even bother answering it. He doesn’t need to. Of course his precious baby brother’s got no clue the golden boy likes fucking men; Itachi never would’ve made it this far up in the world if that was common knowledge. Might never’ve made it out of his own home. Shisui’s heard the stories about men who shot their sons for being bent, and he’s not sure he’d put it past Fugaku.

What the hell did he expect?

Itachi’s still watching him with that grim look on his face, like he’s just waiting for Shisui to fuck him over. It pisses Shisui off that Itachi thinks he knows him that well—like he has any right to assume Shisui’s going to stab him in the back and not think twice.

So maybe it’s out of petulance, at least a little, when he shrugs (at least as well as he can with both hands cuffed behind his back and for God’s sake, Itachi could at least uncuff him if he’s gonna be asking favors) and says, “Well I’m sure as fuck not gonna be the one to tell him.”

The tension seeps out of the room like a canteen that’s just been punctured.

“Thank you,” Itachi murmurs.

“Don’t,” Shisui mutters back. “Just don't.”

They sit there in a silence that’s way too fucking loud for Shisui’s liking. Itachi makes his uncomfortable way to his chair and Shisui memorizes every crack in the ceiling that he hasn’t already memorized and it gets really old really fucking fast.

Shisui breaks first. So what if it’s only been a couple minutes, he’s bored as shit.

“Wanna fuck?” he offers. “Might as well get one more in before your pain-in-the-ass kid brother shows up and ruins all my fun.”

Itachi raises his eyebrows and reaches for his pocket, the one where he keeps the key to Shisui’s handcuffs, but Shisui coughs.

“Don’t, uh—don’t bother. I’m good.”

Itachi’s eyebrows disappear into his hair, but any high-and-mighty illusion is blown to pieces when he almost trips over himself getting out of his chair.

And just like that, it feels like they’re on even ground again.

Chapter Text

Shisui drops off the face of the friggin’ earth just like he promised. Resolves to keep his head down and his nose clean for the week or so Itachi’s kid brother is supposed to be hanging around.

‘Course given the fact that this town’s about the size of a pea, Shisui might actually have to go underground to avoid both Itachi and his brother for the time the kid’s staying. He’s not sure what their sheriff is thinking.

Then again, maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s just scared shitless and this is the best solution he can come up with.

Not that Shisui cares much either way.

He figures he’ll retreat to the stable where he sleeps, over the horses everyone keeps tethered there. People ain’t exactly running over each other to hang around horse shit and hay, so there’s not much chance the mysterious brother’ll even know he’s there.

That decided, Shisui heads off to the saloon. One more huzzah before heading off to exile in his own fucking boomtown. Shit. The things he does for—

Sex. Obviously.

.

Anko doesn’t bother asking Shisui what he wants when he slumps down at the bar, already dreading the boring days to come. The barkeep just slides a shot glass his way and doesn’t ask questions. He’s always liked that about her.

(Then there’s the weirdly hot matter of Shisui’s pretty damn sure she could kill him during sex. Like, actually kill him, and he’s not saying it wouldn’t be worth it, but he’s not ready to leave this earth just yet, so he and Anko are just acquaintances for now. She’s got the distinction of being the only woman on God’s earth Shisui’d be willing to flip sides for, but she punched him in the mouth last time he brought it up so maybe that’s not as big of an honor as he’d thought.)

He tips the glass in her direction in thanks and downs it, knowing another’ll be on its way. The whiskey burns all the way down. It settles warm in his stomach.

Maybe he can just sleep under the bar for the next couple days, he thinks. It’d be less dull than staring at the cracks in the stable roof for hours on end.

“Hey, Anko,” he says. She grunts to show she’s paying attention. “What would you say if I asked to sleep under the bar for the next couple’a days?”

“I’d ask what the fuck you were on,” she answers. Shisui sighs and nods. Pretty much what he’d been expecting.

He’s glaring morosely at his third or fourth drink when someone plops down two seats down from him, easy as you please.

“Beer,” the intruder says shortly. “And keep them coming.”

Shisui doesn’t recognize the voice but it’s high enough to catch his attention, and sure enough when he turns around there’s a kid sitting there, can’t be older than eighteen or Shisui’ll swallow his shot glass along with the whiskey in it.

“Sure you’re old enough for that shit?” he asks, because running his mouth is easy enough even without the alcohol to speed it along.

The kid turns to look him in the face and Shisui almost chokes.

There’s not much of a resemblance, truth be told. This kid’s got darker hair than Itachi, dust making it stick up at the back so that he looks like a damn cactus; paler skin too, which Shisui didn’t think humanly possible this far from civilization and all its fun amenities like roofs without cracks in them. He looks pissed off, which is something Shisui’s only seen on Itachi’s face a handful of times, so that’s not familiar either.

The eyes, though. There’s something about those eyes, big and dark and crackling good as any fire, and Shisui knows.

“Oh shit,” he blurts.

“Can I help you?” Itachi’s brother asks, all ice.

Shisui raises his hands, trying not to cause any more damage. “Nothin’ doing. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t tryin’ to pull a fast one on Anko here.”

Anko snorts. “Please, I’ve been pouring whiskey down your throat since before you could spit.” Then, to the kid, “I don't give a flying fuck if you’re a suckling babe, long as you pay.”

“Thanks, Anko,” Shisui mutters. “You’re a real help.”

“I don’t make a habit of taking shit from deadbeats in bars,” the kid says lazily, leaning back a ways on his barstool. Shisui suddenly feels like reaching out and tipping it backwards.

“Really. ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, you don’t look like you could fight your way out of a wet blanket, kid.”

The kid scowls. Shisui wonders if he should just go around wearing a bandanna around his face like the outlaws do; maybe that’d stop any more stupid shit from leaving his mouth.

He kind of doubts it.

“Outside,” the kid snaps. “I don’t want to end up paying for any damages.”

“Only damage’ll be to your pretty face, you keep this up,” Shisui snaps back. He can’t help it; he’s been in this situation too many times—a little drunk and a little pissed and not caring what comes out of his mouth as much as he should—and now he’s just running on routine.

The kid stands up fast, walks calmly to the doors of the bar. He looks over his shoulder and shoots Shisui one of the dirtiest looks he’s ever seen.

“Coming?” he asks.

And, well. Now there’re folks taking an interest, and Shisui’s pride can stand a lot of hits, but he’s not sure it’d ever recover if he backed down from a fight with some pretty boy who could pass for twelve if he tried. Never mind whose brother he was.

He slaps a few bills down on the bar for Anko, who snatches them up quick as a cobra and then goes back to polishing a glass like nothing’s going on.

“Keep it outside,” she warns without looking up. “I don’t want any blood on my floors. That shit takes ages to clean out.”

“Got it,” Shisui calls over his shoulder. He gets outside, squints in the sun—

—and is sucker punched the second he tastes fresh air.

Shisui staggers backwards a step, putting a hand up to his (now throbbing) nose on instinct. His fingers come away bloody. Son of a bitch.

“Y’know,” Shisui says, conversational even with his sudden burning rage, “you’re lucky I’m one of the few ‘round here that doesn’t carry a gun everywhere they go.”

And he throws a punch of his own, knowing it’ll wipe that infuriating smirk off the kid’s face.

.

It’s not as bad as it could be, Shisui tells himself a while later, when he’s trussed up nice and pretty behind depressingly familiar iron bars. At least Itachi seems to’ve learned the fine art of delegation. Two of his deputies showed up to pull him and the kid off each other instead of the man himself, which is why Shisui figures it could’ve been worse—Itachi’s had such a goddamn stick up his ass lately, he probably would’ve just done what Fugaku’s wanted to do for years and shot Shisui on sight.

Yeah, it could’ve been worse. But Shisui’s still not looking forward to the second when Itachi walks through that door and realizes Shisui’s not only gotten into trouble again, but kind of smacked his baby brother around on top of it.

The baby brother in question is sitting in the corner, handcuffed to a radiator with a split lip and a seriously pissed off expression. This town is piss-poor enough not to afford two whole jail cells, and apparently the deputy in charge thought Shisui was the bigger flight risk or some shit, which he guesses he could probably take as a compliment if he were feeling so inclined.

“I hope you realize that I was kicking your ass back there,” the kid tells him.

Shisui looks up and glares at him. Arrogant little dick. “Stupid and delusional? Shit, you’re really not gonna last long around here.”

The kid snorts. “I’m not going to be sticking around long.”

“Then maybe there’s a God after all,” Shisui says, with feeling, and that’s when the door swings open.

Well, shit. Definitely back to atheism for him. Itachi shuts the door behind him with way too much calm.

“Sasuke,” he greets the hellspawn.

“Nice to see you, big brother.” Shisui’s surprised to hear a shred of real fondness under the sarcasm; that’s the first he’s heard from the kid that doesn’t have acid poured all over it.

Itachi turns to Shisui.

“I begin to see why my father was so intent on hanging you,” he says.

Shisui offers his best cheeky grin. “I’m the guy your daddy warned you about, huh? I’m flattered, Sheriff, really I am.”

“Wait, wait,” Sasuke interrupts, horror coloring his words. “You know him?”

Itachi is still eyeing Shisui in that weirdly relaxed way Shisui’s started calling his ‘figuring out how to hide the body’ look. “Unfortunately, yes. You have become acquainted with the bane of my current existence.”

Shisui can't let that go. “But at least I’m pretty, right?”

“The prostitutes seem to think so. I imagine it almost makes up for your completely abhorrent personality,” Itachi tells him dryly.

“Hey, I’m the best damn thing that’s happened to you since you showed up here,” Shisui protests, but he shuts up at Itachi’s warning look. Fine, maybe he needs to tamp down the flirting a little. At least while Kid Brother’s in the room.

Not that Sasuke seems to’ve picked up on all the sexual frustration hovering under his nose (Shisui likes ‘sexual frustration’ a whole lot better than ‘prelude to some serious prisoner mistreatment’).

“He can’t fight for shit,” he mutters, glaring daggers into the side of Shisui’s head.

Ignoring Shisui’s murderous look, Itachi puts his hand to his head in a long-suffering kind of way. “Your face would beg to differ, Sasuke.”

Shisui’s sporting some sore ribs and a pretty decent collection of bruises, himself, but the shiner he gave Sasuke’ll last longer than either. It’s a pretty cheerful thought.

“And do I want to know why you are picking fights within an hour of arriving here?” Itachi continues, and fuck, Shisui can actually see the disapproving big brother burrowing his way out of the sheriff suit Itachi likes to wear all the time. Sasuke sees it too because he practically shrinks. It makes him look a lot younger than he already did.

“This place is a shithole,” he says. “It was depressing. I decided to liven it up.”

“By almost getting yourself killed?”

Sasuke smirks. “Killed? By this idiot? You don’t give me any credit.”

“Anyone else—literally anyone else in this fucking town would’ve just shot your prissy ass,” Shisui cuts in, pissed all over again. “Don’t even fucking try to lord over me, kid, you don’t know shit about what you walked into.”

Christ. Itachi might’ve been the worst suited person on the face of the earth to run things out here, but at least he’d had the good sense to be terrified of the task. His kid brother just waltzes in and expects everybody to bow down? He’s not even gonna survive a week’s visit.

Not that Shisui cares all that much, because he doesn’t. Hell, he’d probably laugh if Sasuke did get shot somewhere not-that-important. Maybe it’d teach him to figure out where the hell he was before running his stupid mouth.

He doesn’t want to see Itachi’s brother dead, though. And it’s more than Shisui’s general dislike of seeing people dead, because dead people smell and are depressing as shit besides; this brat means a lot to Itachi, so apparently that means Shisui can’t throw him to the wolves. Fuck.

“Shisui is right,” Itachi is saying. His calm is eroding fast. “You could have been shot before I even knew you were here. I cannot protect you if you put yourself in needless danger.”

Sasuke’s face goes hard. “I don’t need you to protect me, Itachi.”

“Because you are doing such an excellent job of protecting yourself.”

“Fuck off,” Sasuke says with venom, then freezes. He and Itachi both look like they’ve been hit across the face.

Shisui just sits there and stews in the vast uncomfortable-ness of it all.

Then, after a minute, “Sorry.”

Sasuke’s voice is so quiet he just about misses it.

Itachi crosses the room in a few quick strides and kneels down next to his brother. Then, an honest-to-God smile pulling at his mouth (maybe the preacher’s right and Armageddon’s coming for them after all), he pokes Sasuke in the forehead. He’s not too gentle about it either, if the wince on the kid’s face says anything.

And then he’s up and heading back for the door, grabbing a stack of papers from the desk on his way out.

Shisui’s tongue thaws out. “Hey, hey, how long am I gonna be stuck with your prick of a brother?”

“How long am I going to be stuck in here with this imbecile?” Sasuke deadpans in response. “Because I might hang myself.”

“You’re both staying overnight,” Itachi informs them. “Perhaps this will encourage you not to make rash decisions when alcohol is involved. I can’t have people brawling over every little slight—this town would become very empty, very fast.”

He leaves before either of them can shout him down. Shisui sighs and starts working on finding a position that isn’t hell on his wrists. Might as well get comfortable. Truth be told, this little cell’s started to take on something of a homey feeling lately. His arms are gonna be sore as fuck in the morning, but he’ll probably manage a decent night’s sleep before then.

He goes right along thinking that until Sasuke breaks the quiet.

“So,” he says coolly. “How long have you been fucking my brother?”

Chapter Text

Shisui thinks he might’ve swallowed his own tongue right there.

“The fuck are you talking about, kid?” he demands. Tries to put the right amount of offended into it, because a) holy shit, this kid really doesn’t think about what he fucking says, because seriously if Shisui were anybody else, and b) holy shit, he and Itachi can’t be that obvious. They’d’ve been shot a long time ago if everyone picked up on their arrangement as fast as Sasuke seems to’ve done.

The brat in question has the gall to roll his eyes. “Are we going to pretend you’re subtle? Because I have a limited amount of energy for this conversation, and I don’t feel up to wasting it on your pointless denials.”

“This is a piss-poor time to be talking shit,” Shisui manages. “Can’t exactly beat each other bloody when we’re both trussed up like this.”

“I’m not talking shit. I’m cutting through your bullshit.” Sasuke gives him a look that’s too close to pity for Shisui’s liking. “Also? I’m going to be a lawyer inside of two years. You can’t outtalk me. Although you’re welcome to try; it might make this night less heinously boring.”

Shisui thinks about banging his face into the bars until he passes out. Only Fugaku Fucking Uchiha would raise one kid to be a lawman and the other to be a lawyer. He’ll be running for Congress or some shit next, which is when Shisui figures he’ll make good on a childhood threat to ditch this country and never come back.

“Lawyer, huh?” he says after a minute. “Aren’t you bloodsuckers supposed to be big on evidence and shit? Where’s yours? Sounds like you’re pulling this out of your ass, all honesty.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrow. It’s such an Itachi-ish move that Shisui almost does a double take.

“I know my brother,” the kid says flatly. “I know how he acts around other people, and that—display back there, that wasn’t normal. Itachi doesn’t do displays. Not in front of outsiders. And he doesn’t do banter.” Sasuke’s face crinkles up like he’s smelling something disgusting. “I’ve never seen him talk like that with anyone else.”

“And that’s enough for you to decide that we’re fucking?” Shisui grumbles. “You got any friends back home? Or is there some city shit I don’t know about where you’re supposed to fuck your friends?”

Sasuke sighs. “You’re an idiot, but my brother isn’t. He knows how to read between the lines. He knew you were flirting—not that that’s a huge accomplishment; I’ve met murder suspects less obvious than you—and he let you. No,” he corrects himself, looking more disgusted by the minute. “He encouraged you. Which makes me want to find whatever trough my horse is taking advantage of right now and drown myself in it, believe me.”

Shisui’s stomach has been twisting in on itself since Sasuke first mentioned ‘brother’ and ‘fucking’ in the same sentence, but now it’s really churning. The kid might be a little shit but he’s not stupid—and he’s not wrong. Shisui’s not a subtle person. Never has been.

Problem is, it looks like that might’ve just tipped Itachi’s hand to the one person he wanted to keep in the dark. Shisui’s got no clue what Sasuke will do with the knowledge he’s scrounged up. Itachi could lose his job, his family; fuck, he could get himself killed, and all because Shisui couldn’t keep his damn fool mouth shut.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“You’re gonna keep it to yourself,” Shisui says. He hears the knife’s edge of fear in his own voice and hates himself for it. “Whatever you think you know, you’re gonna bury it down deep and keep it there. Itachi’s done a damn good job running this hellhole; I’m not letting some punk fuck that up for him, brother or not.”

Sasuke stares at him. “Who the hell do you think you are? What the fuck do you think gives you the right to tell me what to do with my family?”

“Don’t pretend to have any right,” Shisui replies. “But still. You’re not gonna say anything about it.”

“Fuck off,” the kid spits, and no guilt follows the words this time. “You don’t know shit about me. I would never—”

He stops and takes a sharp breath in through his nose, looking like he’s struggling to get some cool back. It seems to work. His next words are a lot calmer.

“I would never rat Itachi out. You make another assumption like that and I will personally relieve you of your front teeth.”

Which…huh. That was not what Shisui’d been expecting.

“You won’t say anything?”

“That’s what I just said, idiot.”

“Good. That’s…good,” Shisui says lamely. His repertoire is better than this, he swears, it’s just that he’s taken one too many surprise attacks today to be thinking on his feet all that well.

There’s another silence, more uncomfortable than the last one. Shisui contemplates just how dead he’s going to be once Itachi finds out Sasuke knows they’ve been fucking around, and all because Shisui is shit at subtlety.

“He deserves better, you know,” Sasuke says out of nowhere. Shisui looks up to see him frowning. “Itachi. He deserves better.”

And, well. Shisui doesn’t know if the kid’s referring to this ring of Hell they’re stuck in, everyone living in the dirt and dust until it won’t ever come off no matter how hard they scrub, until even a shine like Itachi’s can’t do anything but tarnish and disappear. Or if he’s taking a dig at Shisui himself—the bastard thief with no future and no chance at a normal life, even by this town’s fucked up standards of normal. A pretty ironic choice for the Golden Boy himself to hang with, but hey, it’s not like someone with Itachi’s inclinations is spoiled for choice out here.

Either way.

Shisui leans back against the wall and sighs.

“If you’re lookin’ for an argument on that, you’re not gonna get it from me.”

The kid’s eyebrows go up for a second, but they flatten out again quick enough.

“Good.”

And then he finally shuts his mouth, leaving Shisui free to close his eyes and pretend he’s sleeping.

His wrists are sore and his head won’t shut the hell up. It’s going to be a long-ass night.

.

“I feel an obligation to apologize to our preacher,” Itachi intones when he opens the door the next morning, letting sunlight in and making Shisui wonder if knives are getting shoved into his eye sockets. “It would seem there is a gracious God after all.”

“The fuck are you gettin’ that from?” Shisui growls, rolling over to escape the sun.

“You’ve managed to go an entire night without killing each other,” Itachi points out. Shisui can hear the smirk in his voice. God, but their sheriff is a little shit when he wants to be.

“This is prisoner mistreatment. I’m a lawyer and I will sue,” Sasuke mumbles from his corner. Shisui’s guessing he didn’t get a shitton of sleep either.

Itachi’s not impressed. “You are not a lawyer yet. You are, however, in my jurisdiction and have broken several laws that I am duty-bound to enforce, including but not limited to public brawling. I don’t believe a single jury would convict me.”

“Fuck me,” Shisui mutters, “why aren’t you the bloodsucking lawyer again? Got the fancy words down, Professor, why not the rest?”

Itachi doesn’t say anything, but the next thing Shisui knows there’s a terrific clang from someone kicking at his bars and causing some equally terrific pain in his head. He sits up and scowls at Sasuke, whose leg is retreating.

“The fuck was that for?”

“You’re a fucking moron,” Sasuke says slowly, like he’s talking to a really stupid kid.

“I’m gonna kick your ass so hard, kid, not even—”

“I will tie you both up outside next time,” Itachi warns, shutting both of them up. “Now. Can I trust you to roam free again—”

“The fuck are we, cattle?” Shisui grumbles.

“—without disturbing the peace of the town? Such as it is?”

Shisui looks at Sasuke. Sasuke deigns to look at him for half a second before turning back to his brother.

“Yeah. I think we’ve said everything that needed saying.”

Itachi looks to Shisui, who just nods. Personally he thinks there’s a lot more he’d like to say to the kid—friendly advice, like—but he’s really getting sick of this cell. He’ll play nice if it means not having to sleep in handcuffs two nights running.

Besides, Sasuke’s probably right. They’ve got an understanding now.

.

After that Shisui really does keep his head down. It’s not as miserable as he’d thought it’d be; it’s actually kinda refreshing, not having to talk to the same people day in and day out. He finds he’s got some shit to think about, too.

Like the look on Sasuke’s face when Shisui’d basically accused him of being a filthy rat. He’d looked…shit, he’d looked as offended as if Shisui had insulted his ma’s honor. Like it was beyond unthinkable that he’d turn on Itachi for anything.

Even the small matter of him probably going to Hell, if the Good Book says it right.

It’s interesting, though. Shisui’s always kept the lid on his preferences because he’s got some damn good self-preservation instincts—you kinda have to in this town, but somehow he doesn’t think it’s much different anyplace else. At least where that subject is concerned. He’s always known that letting that secret slip would end up in a short drop and a sudden stop. Even he couldn’t talk his way out of a noose tied around his neck.

That’s why he’d been willing to play along with hiding from Itachi’s kid brother, before that got blown all to hell. He knew what was on the line for both of them if they got found out, and let’s face it, Itachi had a helluva lot more to lose than Shisui did.

Didn’t it just figure that Sasuke didn’t give a shit in the first place? All that headache for nothing.

And, well, it’s gotten Shisui thinking. Maybe Sasuke’s just a sickeningly loyal brother, and maybe he’s cracked in the skull, but either way, he doesn’t care. It’s a pretty anticlimactic end to this pathetic drama they’ve been playing out.

Not that it’s anything to start questioning the world order over, Shisui knows, but still. There’s one person on this earth who knows his brother’s bent and is…okay with it?

That’s gonna take some getting used to.

.

He waltzes back into town after a week (to the day, thanks, because he’s a punctual bastard when he feels like it). Nobody treats it like the return of a local hero like they ought to, but Shisui lets that go. They’ll catch up with him eventually.

‘Course his foot might have to catch up with his own ass first, because as he just happens to be passing by the Sheriff’s office he sees Itachi hanging about outside, next to a coach and his kid brother. Who’s apparently not as punctual as Shisui is. Great.

Itachi notices him before Shisui can vanish.

“Stop hiding, Shisui,” he says.

“Wasn’t,” Shisui retorts, walking over with all the dignity he can dig up. “Just enjoyin’ the sight of a massive pain in the ass leaving the station, as it were.”

He offers the kid a little salute. Sasuke sneers in response.

“So good of you to remind me why I don’t plan on coming back to this godforsaken town anytime soon.”

“Happy to help.”

“Children,” Itachi sighs.

There’s a few seconds where Shisui and the kid eye each other up and Itachi looks like he’s wondering if he’s gonna have to arrest his own brother for the second time in a week.

“Well,” Itachi says finally. “Despite Shisui’s presence, I hope you can find the time to visit again.”

Sasuke doesn’t answer at first. He looks to his brother, then back to Shisui, and then back to Itachi. He swallows.

“I have someone back home,” he says, which to Shisui’s ears has nothing to do with anything.

Itachi apparently shares that opinion because he blinks, and blinking when he doesn’t have to is the only sign Shisui’s ferreted out to mean confusion. “That’s…good,” he replies. “I hadn’t heard. No one mentioned it in their letters.”

Sasuke huffs a laugh that doesn’t sound much like one.

When he doesn’t say anything else, Shisui decides to poke him. “So what’s she look like? And how the hell did you get someone to spend time with you of their own free will?”

Itachi elbows him, but Sasuke actually answers.

“Blond. Blue eyes. Complete loudmouth, can’t shut up for anything, and all the yelling basically means I have a headache most days, but…” Sasuke swallows again. Shisui wonders if maybe all the sand in the air’s getting to him. These city types are delicate as hell.

“But it kind of helps,” he says slowly. “It keeps me from going insane over school and the idiots I’m cooped up with all day. I think I'd probably lose my shit if—”

He stops, but Itachi steps in.

“If she weren’t around,” he finishes. Sasuke nods, face red, and then he does that thing again. That thing where he looks in between Itachi and Shisui like he’s seeing something they ain’t.

We’re just fucking, kid, Shisui wants to say, but the words keep getting lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth.

Having apparently said what he wanted, Sasuke turns and climbs up into the stagecoach with whatever’s left of his pride (and what kind of fancy-ass shit gets a coach out here, is what Shisui wants to know).

“She sounds like something else,” Itachi murmurs as the door closes.

The kid turns back and smiles—an actual smile, none of that smirking shit that makes Shisui want to deck him.

“He is,” Sasuke says.

.

The coach takes off while they’re both still digesting that. Shisui’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open and letting all the flies in. Itachi just looks real thoughtful as his kid brother turns into a speck in the distance.

“I wanted to go to law school, you know,” he says after a minute.

Shisui wonders, tiredly, why these Uchiha brothers insist on saying shit that doesn’t have anything to do with what’s actually going on.

But apparently Itachi’s just gonna keep going like Shisui actually said something. “It was always my plan. I had the grades for it, certainly, and the profession interested me.”

“Then what the hell happened?” Shisui asks. If Itachi’s going to ramble on anyway, he might as well pretend he’s a part of the conversation.

Itachi shrugs. He’s still watching the stagecoach disappear. “My father had…other plans. He got me his position here and put Sasuke into law instead.”

Because Fugaku is an ambitious fucker who doesn’t give two shits about his own kids; Shisui’s figured that ever since Itachi showed up here. Nobody who cared overmuch about their son would want him running this town.

Shisui doesn’t say that, though. Instead he asks, all casual, “You regret it?”

“I did,” Itachi says quietly. “Arrogant of me, I suppose, to think I deserved anything better. Part of me was pleased for Sasuke, but the other part was somewhat bitter.”

Shisui stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Was?” he repeats. “Still haven’t answered the question, Sheriff. You regret bein’ stuck out here?”

Itachi looks at him.

“Far less than I used to,” he admits.

Shisui doesn’t know why that makes him grin, but it does. “Looks like you’re finally learnin’ how to adapt. Good for you, Itachi. We’ll make you a man of the West yet.”

“My goal in life, to be sure,” Itachi says dryly. Shisui just laughs.