Prompt: vision loss (permanent)
And to 'scape stormy days, I choose an everlasting night - John Donne
Itachi is dying.
That's not important, though; there are medicines for that. The more immediate problem is that he's also going blind, and there's nothing that can stop it.
He's tried, naturally - healers and ancient scrolls, obscure specialists in diseases of the eye. Most of them don't even know what the Mangekyo is, let alone its side-effects.
He contents himself with the fact that he won't need the eyes for much longer. He's planned this, started planning it nearly fifteen years ago when he first met Madara. He knows: Sasuke is important, Itachi is not. Sasuke must live, and Itachi must therefore die. He thinks of it, his death, and perversely this is what makes him keep living. To die in the right way, to die with as much honour as he is permitted now. To die at the hands of his brother, who will take his eyes knowing nothing of the sacrifices that Itachi has made to keep him alive.
The thought is bitterly satisfying. Dulce et decorum est, he thinks, without irony.
Itachi is thirteen that misty autumn afternoon when he holds his best friend's head underwater until he stops moving and bubbles stop rising to the surface and there's no heartbeat to be felt. He sits back on his heels at the swollen river's edge, and - nothing. He feels nothing. His eyes, reflected in the water, are the same tomoe pattern as they were five minutes ago. Shisui lies facedown in the Nakano. He's peculiarly tired.
He forges the note, goes home, eats dinner with his family. They won't discover the body until tomorrow, he's certain. Sasuke watches him with undisguised adoration, and he wants to say, i did it all for you, i will do anything for you, but Sasuke isn't allowed to know that yet (ever). His mother's cooking is as good as ever, but something about the texture seems off: he has to chew more than usual to get the rice down his throat. He goes to bed.
He dreams about water, all around him. He opens his mouth and he can breathe, but he can't speak. He dreams about Shisui's face, ghost-green and blue-lipped in the water. His vacant eyes seem to bulge in their sockets. He wants to touch Shisui's face. He thinks i can't. Then he thinks i can. He sees his own hands reaching out, and he watches them like they don't belong to him.
He wakes up with tears in his eyes. He lifts his hand to wipe them away, and his fingers come away streaked with blood.
Itachi's sight starts to go at fifteen years old. He realises it in a small village Water Country, in a tiny teahouse with Kisame sitting across from him. Kisame eats his dango with the ferocity of a lion, and very little of its grace. Itachi quite likes him. He thinks that Kisame might even like him too.
There's a decorative scroll on the back wall of the shop, depicting a winter harbour scene. There's writing on it, probably a haiku. Itachi automatically tries to read it. He reads 'water' and 'rain' easily enough, but there's one kanji which he can't quite make out. 'Snow' or 'cloud'? He squints harder and is pretty sure it's 'snow'. When he stops staring at it, his eyes hurt. He swears he could read at that distance before. Maybe he's tired.
More likely, this is the beginning of the end.
Itachi is eighteen when he is reminded that the Uchiha legacy is more than the Sharingan. It's a summer afternoon in Fire Country, and he's sitting in a field, his back to a tree, reading. He's outside because his chest has been troubling him recently, and he thinks the fresh air might do him some good. He uses a magnifying glass now, but he still finds pleasure in it. He has to cough and because he is well-bred, he covers his mouth with his hand. He feels something dribble down his chin, and pulls his hand away with a trickle of blood in the palm.
As always when he has blood on his hands, he thinks Shisui. Then he thinks Izuna, who would have died within two months anyway if not for a lucky opponent. Then he thinks of all the others who died not at war, but still before their time, wasting away until only their eyes remained. Itachi doesn't want to die like that.
He thinks of Izuna again, and remembers that there is a better way to go.
At twenty, Itachi knows that he won't survive the coming year. He looks in the mirror, but all he sees is white, a smudge of black and two bright pinpricks of red. He trails a hand across his face, but he can't really feel it - these pills and powders do the strangest things to the nerves.
The blood that comes out of his mouth - and now sometimes out of his nose, ears, mouth - is dark and sticky, like treacle or paint. With every cough, he thinks of his family. He thinks of Sasuke at twelve, blurry even then, calling him 'nii-san'.
It's strange to think - one day they will have to face each other. And still, Itachi will never see his brother's face again.
Sasuke is there at the end, as he should be. All Itachi can make out are dark and pale smudges, but he thinks (hopes) they still look like brothers.
Itachi does not close his eyes at the end, but he does go gentle into that dark night.