The dark-haired boy peered through the stained glass, glaring accusingly at the raindrops that flew everywhere and stuck to the windows, slowly rolling down. The world outside was a big nest of malfunctioning motors. Inside, he was trapped like a broken gas pipe.

The Mercedes he was in wasn't really moving at all. Highway 45 was packed like sushi; there was no way the flock of cars could squeeze through in less than an hour.

"You okay, kid?" The driver turned his upper body around to face the boy in an awkward angle.

"Yes, I feel great."

He felt like throwing up. He reached for his backpack, searched every pocket with a blind hand for a puke-container, but found none. He looked up. The driver was starring at him with his fishy eyes.

"You're not gonna throw up in here, are you?"

Judging from the tone of his voice, he seemed a lot more worried about his dust-free seats than the sick teenager sitting on them.

"Well, can you at least hold it in until we get outta here? I'll let you throw up at our next stop."

You've got to be kidding, the boy thought. But the driver turned around again and focused his attention back to the red brake lights of the Volvo in front of them.

Finding no comfort from the driver and even less from the outside world, Sasuke laid down on the back seat and shut his eyes. The car was moving and stopping every second now, and the driver was being overly impatient with the traffic. All around them cars and trucks and everything on wheels were moaning and screeching, pouring coughs of smoke into the rain, and it seemed as if the highway was under a spell of sickness, and its slow motion made him feel very small and ugly.

The Mercedes finally made it through the jam after two hours. The first thing they did was to stop on the side of the road. Sasuke stumbled out of the car just as his tightly squeezed throat gave up. Bumping against a tree he lowered his head, let out a gagging sound, and his vomit splashed onto the tree's roots. The driver waited a certain distance from him – and the hideous odour – with a fresh towel and a water bottle. "Still just a kid," he said to himself.

No more than three days ago, the "kid" was reassuring his parents – who were leaving the city to go on one of their many business trips – that he would stay out of trouble. Then, that same night, he was informed by a police officer ringing at his door that they were never to return. Unfortunate plane crash, he was told. The neighbours wept among themselves, but they left him alone.

And abruptly the next day a strange man claiming to be representing a long lost brother of his came to him. The events that followed were a blur, and Sasuke was somehow adopted by that brother, and legal papers were filled that very afternoon. Suddenly the Uchihas' house was for sale. Potential home buyers came in the evening looking around and asking questions, and the Uchiha family's lawyer – a filthy pig in Sasuke's eyes – answered them all without hesitating. Everything went so fast that the boy himself couldn't keep up.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the stairs the morning after, being told that he was going to live with that brother he's never heard of from now on. He was to pack up his things and a driver would pick him up the following day, early in the morning.

Now, there he was, back in the car, his face and neck purple from all the vomiting, reluctantly talking to the driver in hopes of obtaining some information about his newly found brother.

"You don't have to stare at me like that, you know," the driver said as he turned down the radio. "Not my fault your life's a mess right now. You can blame Itachi all you want; I'm just an underpaid driver."

From the driver – Kisame was his name – Sasuke learned that Uchiha Itachi, his 'long-lost brother', is a twenty-something businessman, and one hell of a rich dude, as Kisame puts it. Despite being popular with both sexes, Itachi is very lonesome and has few friends. He seldom gets intimate with anyone, and if he ever does, the rare affection he shows quickly ends in a short relationship. He works in a powerful organisation called Akatsuki, and that is where he "got" all his money, but Kisame refuses to give any more detail, claiming that it is none of Sasuke's business.

"We don't question him much, he makes decent use of his money," Kisame said. "Though he should pay his drivers a little more."

Now as they talked the cloudy sky started to clear itself. Sasuke could feel the sunset behind them, red as it fell, its glare still hanging onto the few clouds disappearing into the ashy evening.

The dark-haired boy was afraid. He thought of a dozen of ways to present himself to Itachi, but none of them seemed appropriate. What was he supposed to say?

Hello there, my name is Sasuke. You're my long lost brother, or so I've been told.

In his head he made up theories, a few answers, more questions, and even more nonsense.

"Maybe Itachi doesn't even exist," he wondered aloud.

Kisame only laughed in reply.

Soon night came.