And they start to come together –

..mirakuru rein

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A/N: Inspired by the recent events in the manga. Because it’s just boring if Itachi’s a whiny, greedy bitch.

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Guilt. Agonizing guilt.

The first three weeks, he’d never felt as much guilt as he had now. He didn’t even know he could feel that feeling – but the guilt was pitiless, ripping through his heart and skull, stalking him in the shadows and leaving him alone at day to regain his sanity, then torturing his soul again at night. The dreams were endless – he’d seen more blood that night than he’d probably seen his entire life. The bloodbath repeated in his mind like a broken record: the sound of limbs breaking like crisp twigs, heads being ripped open like pillows, limp bodies being stabbed again and again with no mercy, blade dulling and rusting on the spot from the repeated injury, even eyes were gouged out, red Sharigans rolling aimlessly on the ground, spots of blood separating them from their owners’ eyeholes. So much blood that in fact Itachi thought he was vomiting blood for a few days – there wasn’t anything he could vomit up except his internal fluids – he couldn’t eat for days. He was prepared for it, but yes, was he so unprepared for what went on afterwards.

The only real thing he remembered in those few weeks were Madara’s cold eyes, refusing to even acknowledge him. After all, he had shown weakness – even though he was a ninja and went through death everyday, he wasn’t prepared for the outright massacre of a hundred plus people on a single moonlit night – the pale, white, bloodless countless faces screaming into the engulfing darkness. No, outside his face was calm, but Madara could tell – on the inside, Itachi was wracked by the guilt.

After three weeks, the dreams, the nightmares, the everything – it started to die down, an animal slowly giving up its fight. Itachi could eat little things now, like half a bowl of rice a day. When he wasn’t eating or sleeping, he would go outside and train – regain his lost prowess over kunai, and when he couldn’t, or was frustrated with himself, he’d angrily slash himself – again and again – in the arms, the legs, anything – and he’d watch the blood flow, let the guilt rewash over him, and he’d shudder with a chill that just made everything eleven times worse. He couldn’t even reactivate his Sharingan again – those lifeless, veined, detached eyes just kept staring back at him, like dead curses.

At long last, Madara slapped him, in complete digust. Itachi was shocked – the slap was so strong it created small welts on his cheek.

The blood ran down his chin, and he wiped it off, shakily.

“…Thank you, I needed that.”

Needless to say, Itachi was back to his own self the very next day, but he just couldn’t quite understand as to why the image of his brother flashed through his mind whenever he thought about “moving on.”

“…You miss him, don’t you, Itachi…” Madara’s voice was at best sneering, at worst – something sinister, mocking.

Itachi stared at him in stark disbelief. “Who?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

He sighed. “If you’re talking about my brother, then never.”

“Hm.”

Madara still thought he was weak, of course. He could never erase those damned three weeks from Madara’s mind: it was almost like a ghost from the past haunting him out of pure spite – I am wracked by guilt, regret, that sneaky little feeling that tunnels inside of your brain when you’re not looking. Itachi hated it.

“If you want me to join Akatsuki, I’ll do it, godammit.”

“I don’t want you to. You are joining.”

Except the only reason Itachi was doing this was the same reason as to why he did everything else –

Guilty as charged.

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A/N: Comments are loved, appreciated, adopted, nurtured, etc.