Summary: "You killed me. After that day, I was never the same again." He told him. And for someone who had a heart of rusted steel, Itachi sort of felt bad.

Character(s): Itachi, Sasuke

Warning(s): Character death

Iron Shoe

xGraybackx

As what usually transpires between the seasons, a living and dying was simultaneously crackling now, becoming static in the air. The leaves burned bright red for autumn, and then paled to ashy yellow when they tired of their own brilliance. A crisp wind sung through the tree branches, winding a bittersweet melody over and under the bark, until it was as deeply embedded as how a goose's instinct compels itself south.

There was really no justice in nature. Blood was shed daily for its bountiful harvest, and what the people reaped, the wind sowed. Having the dirt saturated with scarlet varnish, the sun would greet the earth with warm rays, as if it were a necessary accessory.

It was then that Itachi's tomb was robbed of its prestige. Many years had passed since its insurrection. The stone had eroded from its sharp angles to dull granite. None of Konoha had known of the hero that had been laid to rest so long ago.

Old Itachi curled up in his grave. He'd gone so long without human interaction. The loneliness chewed through him like a disease.

He was a part of the earth, and he had never felt so much pain. It cut him like a knife when life spilled over the land. Unexpectedly, what had become poison to him had become fertilizer for the land gods. They whispered excitedly when death happened, and cackled merrily for the human predicament. Meanwhile, all Itachi could do was cover his ears as the voices boomed inside his head like thunder.

Today, his metaphorical ears perked up. He felt a familiar presence in his midst.

Short, padding footsteps matted the earth in steady intervals. The footfalls crunched in only a way that adults could produce. Now and again, the footsteps stopped and rested. Towner possessed a trick knee. This continued on for a while until a thin slab of iron split cleanly in half, and someone cursed. The iron was promptly picked up, and wrinkled toes - and a cracked heel - replaced them on the dirt path.

When the mysterious visitor had at last come to his stone marker, Itachi paused to listen. He heard the shallow breaths and determined the person to be an elderly man. And as it were, Itachi shivered when he felt an intense gaze directed to his resting place.

The splinter of anger pierced his spirit. It gnawed at Itachi's soul and persisted like a virus, injecting wherever it pleased. Itachi let out a ghostly moan. If he had still been alive, he would have compared the ache to boils. Boils over every inch of skin, both swollen and oozing pus, eating him alive as he stood.

"Itachi."

And Itachi relinquished the pain. His brother's worn and weary and croaked voice rocking the planet. The clarity subsisted like a bell. Its vibrations rang inside of Itachi for many seconds, and he withheld it like a delicatessen.

"You killed me. After that day, I was never the same again." He told him.

And for someone who had a heart of rusted steel, Itachi sort of felt bad.

Vaguely, he wondered if his brother was talking about the Uchiha Massacre or his own demise. It must have been the prior; too much hope was dangerous to have.

"You were such a sick bastard, and I knew it, too. Everything was - is your fault."

…his fault?

"I demand justice, brother. And I came here today to collect it."

Justice? Itachi chuckled breathily to himself (again, if he could) as he pondered the word. There was no justice to claim. Itachi was dead. No other punishment could be as final and excruciating as death. Wanting compensation from a dead man was quite amusing and morbid all at the same time. Not that it couldn't have been done, simply that it did not work because the man in question - Itachi - did not leave anything so precious in the living world when he left it.

Or did he?

Suddenly, Itachi trembled. The weight on the dirt shifted closer to him. Then he felt it. To a corporeal being, the touch would have been akin to a tremor in their spine. It ghosted on his conscious, and the graze was like skin on skin.

Freckled and leathery in texture. These long fingers were the familiarity of his childhood. And they poked at him now like an unwelcome intrusion, not unlike a rapier thrust into his gut.

What are you thinking, little brother?

The iron clad shoe then suddenly dropped to the ground. Its chemical elements sizzled on Itachi's tongue. If he remembered right, it was called a geta.

Squeelchhh.

Something tore across the old man's throat, and he fell forward. His knees pounded the earth like boulders.

Crimson splattered Itachi's marker at the same time sharp metal clanged, bounced, and thudded to the dirt.

Itachi screamed, sobbing. He could feel and smell and hear and taste, but he couldn't goddamn see. It was a raw torture to witness and not be able to turn away.

The earth's screaming started up again. Voices rising like witch chants, they praised this most worthy sacrifice. The chorus melded together and became one, until Itachi thought his head would split into two.

Red spurts continued to spay in every direction like a fountain. Soon, there was a bubbly, gurgling sound, and slapping wetly, a forehead sloped down onto Itachi's marker. (His head bowed down like he was sighing; maybe it would have looked like the man was praying)

Why his forehead?

Itachi poked his younger brother on the forehead. He grinned when the boy wrinkled his nose. "I'm sorry, Sasuke. Some other time, okay?"

Why?

Itachi had never pleaded with anyone before. But now he did. Please don't take him! I'll do anything!

Why?

Itachi's fingers were poised to take his eye out. But then they hovered higher than the trembling teenager anticipated. A forehead tap and a smile. "Sorry, Sasuke ... this is the last time."

Itachi thrashed underground. (because now it wasn't the last time)

It wasn't fair! None if it was fair! He'd done his mission and completed it perfectly. Killing his family and becoming a missing nin were but a few of the horrors he had to endure. He had to fucking torture people. And he got to play with them like little marionettes tied to strings. How many lives had he ruined by these hands? All these scars would have amounted to nothing if the last Uchiha died! If Sasuke died.

It seemed a lifetime for Sasuke to pass on. Eventually, the oxygen deprevation and the blood loss made his body still. It no longer convulsed or twitched. But he was slick with his own blood, so you can imagine that he would've still been somewhat warm.

A moment passed and shadows clung to the old man's corpse while the sun sunk down the horizon. Soft twilight blanketed the sky in stars. It was a beautiful night, all right.

Finally, the long crescendo died down and the planet slurped up its meal greedily.

Itachi was left shaking and rolling in his grave all over again. He cursed the gods and Konoha and his parents…

You were supposed to take me with you!

...and he didn't know if that came from the now dead Sasuke, or from himself.

Fin.

A/N: I really need a beta-reader. Review, if you can.