Warning: A little bloody gore-ness.
...

..

It was making him nauseous, this feeling. He wanted. He wanted-

Red and hot and sticky, oozing out and all over his hands and his arms, all over his clothes, all over everything.

It would have been harder if he had seen the last move. The last swing. But they had both overused their Sharingan, and his vision was poor to begin with.

The spray of blood had splattered his face, and when he rubbed his eyes it left crimson streaks on his skin.

It was everywhere. His shirt was soaked - and hadn't he held his brother tight, in that last moment, pressing his lips to quickly cooling skin?- but it wasn't getting worse. Without his heart beating, there hadn't been any substantial mess when he'd removed the head.

His brother's head, in a cloth sack.

Oh, Kami.

He'd done it. He should have, he thought, felt proud of himself. Don't you see, Aniki? I've finally surpassed you. I'm finally the better one. It took me so long, but it's me, and not you. Not you.

But he didn't. He felt sick. Breathing was difficult - his ribs ached, his side felt like it was on fire, the slice down his back stung and stretched whenever he moved.

And he was damned if he couldn't see. But everything was hazy and black and skimmed over, and he only knew there was blood everywhere because he could smell it and feel it and he remembered being covered in it before his chakra had depleted so much that his eyes had stopped functioning properly.

If he'd kept the Sharingan activated, or tried to, he probably wouldn't even have the hazy afterthought of sight he retained at the moment.

He paused. Turned back. There - there was the blurred shape of his brother's headless body. A frown passed over his features.

Focus, focus, you can do this, you've got just enough left to do this-

The Sharingan flared to life, flickered, melted in together and spun, angry, a pinwheel in his eyes.

There was his brother's headless body, clear and covered in red, the ring on his finger glinting in the fading light, his necklace dropped into the pool of blood and no longer around the stump of his neck. Broken and lifeless.

The Mangekyou faded quickly, taking most of his remaining eyesight with it. He didn't mind. He could tell which way he had to go to get home.

Konoha was like a beacon in his mind, bright and shimmering.

And so he went home.