Death-fic drabble FTW.

I don't own Naruto. A sad state of affairs, indeed.


There's blood in his eyes and on his cheeks; still fresh and wet. It fills his vision with red, but it hardly matters: he's practically blind anyway. Far more irritating is the metallic-organic stench that worms it's way into his nose and the pool that forms in his mouth, forcing him to swallow convulsively just to keep breathing.

He's tired.

It's not important. It's only blood, after all, and he's seen so much blood in his life: what does a little more matter? It's his own, and he supposes that should change things, but he's too tired and too old- older than he should be- to care, now. It's over, and it's been over for a long time.

He remembers being thirteen and innocent. Back then, had he ever thought it would end like this? Half-blind and in pain and dying at his brother's hand?

(There is blood in his eyes and in his mouth and on his hands. There's so much blood on his hands.)

"This is the last time, Sasuke."

And it is. It has taken him eight long years, but finally, Itachi can rest.