My son.

My son, a saviour.

My son, a self-sacrificing hero of this cursed clan.

My beautiful, selfless son. And now he's gone. My son, my dearest son.

If I weren't already dead, I don't think I could go on with myself. Just to hold him again...I would do, literally, anything.

I watched them. They were fighting. Itachi and Sasuke, my children who never fought a day in their lives! Because of this. Because of the clan. Because of Fugaku.

This is all his fault. If he weren't such a hard-headed bastard, everything would be okay. I could still hold my children. I could still breathe. But no.

Fugaku craved power. Like a drug. It really got him off to hold power over someone else. Like me. Or Itachi. I knew how he hurt my son. My Itachi...Fugaku constantly, constantly hit him, yelled at him, screamed that he was worthless. I could do nothing about it, it seemed, because if I tried to run away with them, and, believe me, I did, he found us. Do you know how hard it is to escape the head of the most powerful clan in Konoha? Everybody knows the Uchiha. Itachi was seven. Sasuke was one.

Itachi was only seven when he first saw Fugaku hit me.

And he resolved never to let Sasuke see any of that. So, as a result, Sasuke had no clue about what his brother went through for him.

And that was okay, I suppose. It's what Itachi wanted. So determined, so powerful.

I knew he was sick, too. Itachi was always ill, barely a day in his life where he didn't cough up blood, or something of the sort. Underweight, always in pain...His joints, really. They bothered him always. Yet he never said a word.

I hated lying to Sasuke when it came to his brother. It was always a question along the lines of, "Why can't big brother come outside today?"

Work was the excuse I usually gave.

Itachi, as well, hated lying to Sasuke. Yet, he had to most of the time. As to why he threw up everything he ate. Why he collapsed against the doorframe after training. Why he was covered in bruises.

I think it's my fault, too. That I couldn't protect them. Sasuke or Itachi. And now...just now...I watched my son die. I think I'm crying. I might be, but I can't tell. Where I exist now, everything is cold. And white. I look down, and my hands are white. The hem of my dress is white. And I am translucent. I look back up, and my Itachi would be pale white, too, if it weren't for the blood staining his skin. The burns and the...the bruises, like always. And the scars. His tear troughs seemingly relieved at the lack of life he now had...but it's odd. His eyes...they still hold this sort of...light, you could say. It's burning bright, in the dying light of Susano'o. This is what he had always wanted. Itachi got his dreams, I suppose.

I press forward, willing my ghastly body to drift towards him, though my feet seem to carry me. I feel an odd weight, as if I am, once more, walking, my ankles, my feet, my knees. I can feel it all again as I approach Itachi once more, as I not had in many years. I want to see that light that he carried, still, in his dead and dying eyes. Sasuke is lying beside him. Oh, my sons...so beautiful...I kneel down and stroke the hair from Sasuke's face. His eyelids flutter slightly, as if he could feel it. I do it again, but no response. It begins to rain. I see gossamer tears fall from some unknown place high above, but smoky white, like fog. They touch his skin and evaporate, fading away just as quickly. And they're mine.

I know, now, that I'm crying. For what Sasuke does not know, and what Itachi does not have. I walk around, now, to Itachi, and kneel beside him. He stares into the sky with something almost like hope. The hope that whatever god is up there now, looking down upon him, may he have mercy on his tired soul. He looks incredibly tired, like he just wants to sleep. That must've been something else he wanted. The anemia, all throughout his childhood, kept him awake countless nights, because it was too cold to sleep, or too painful.

I truly am crying now. My foggy tears billow up when they hit Itachi's cold cheek, and seemingly burst, like supernovas. They won't stop coming. There's a pain in my chest that I'm relieved to feel, because I haven't felt anything in the longest time. Except maybe, contempt. Distantly. Against Fugaku, who I'm glad to say is burning in Hell. But the pain isn't really bad at all. In fact, it's incredibly uplifting. I don't know where, exactly, I am, or how I got here. I don't remember the day I died, besides Itachi whispering, "I'm sorry." And me smiling and saying, "I know."

But it didn't hurt then, as much as it does now. I look to Sasuke, who is still breathing with the life Itachi has given him, and I look to Itachi, who has given his life to Sasuke, in hopes that he lives for aeons, in infinate bliss. I run my thumb underneath Itachi's eye, and, to my surprise, there's an odd warmth about him. Not physically, no...but I can feel it. He's still living to protect Sasuke, as I had never been able to. Itachi's always been so much more powerful than me in that aspect. He's so dedicated.

I make my way, slowly, to the space between those who should be united against the world together, and sit down on the hard ground, damp with the pouring rain. I sit, and I think, that I would very much, right now, like to hold my Itachi, limp and cold yet strong and warm. And so beautiful. Pieta. I imagine myself, as Michelangelo's art, holding my child, sad, but proud. No pity. Piety. Latin, not Italian. I will myself to feel nothing but pride at this moment. My son, reaching his dream with nothing but determination for his brother. I close my eyes, or what should be, and reach out, grabbing my son's hands on either side of me, reuniting them, as it always should of been. I feel pride, and sorrow, and love for my sons. I am crying, certainly.

But it's not completely of sorrow.

Because, though my son is dead, and the other is now, ultimatly, alone and unknowing, I am happy. I feel a warmth in my chest I had not felt in so long. I feel like something amazing enough will happen, just enough to make everything better.

Suddenly, Itachi's hand is very real, and tangible. I feel it, strong and warm in my hand. Yes, my hand. It has color. Itachi's does, too. The world around us is blurred. I whisper goodbye to Sasuke, and turn to my son, whom of which I realize I compared to Jesus Christ, while I am no Virgin Mary. I laugh, really loud, once. And I hear asked, suddenly,

"What's so funny, Mama?"

And I realize I was right.

A/N: Okay, it sucked, right? I mean, that's what I get for trying to write an emotional story, but y'know. I cried while writing it, my sister cried while reading it...

I was in AP World History and we were studying art, and when Mr. Kersey pulled up the slide of the Pieta by Michealangelo and showed a close-up of Mary's face, then Jesus's, I automatically thought: "Itachi and Mikoto."

And...I kinda cried in the middle of class at the beauty of it...hehe...points for being a sucker for art? I dunno.

But the look of pride and caring, and altogether love for her son was overwhelmingly beautiful, and I encourage you all to at least look at the picture of it.

One day, I will see it in person.

I listened to the piano from the YouTube video "Uchiha Brothers...[I will REMAKE THIS-MAYBE!] and the story has a lot more effect with the music.

Enjoy! I love reviews! So much that I print them out and roll around in them! :D

Just kidding...maybe.