There was a burning pain in his chest. His eyes were on fire. The whole of him hurt, but his eyes and his chest were a special torment. He felt thick tears running down his face, and he knew they were blood. The world was dimmed, and he could barely see his brother's face.
Sasuke. Poor little Sasuke. The world would only ever use him, and Itachi had started that vicious cycle. How terrible was he, wretched, traitor brother of the poor little Sasuke.
Then he fell, words slipping past his lips and bloodied fingers sliding across Sasuke's face. The red smear was livid, like a fresh wound across the precious little brother's face. Itachi fell, hitting the ground with a spike of pain so bright he must still be alive. Then it faded. He was gone, slipping away from everything. His eyes weren't closed, but he couldn't see anything.
Uchiha Itachi died.
Itachi opened his eyes, eyes that burned, and looked across the room as a wall he knew so well it hurt. He was covered in a soft banket and lying on a soft bed.
He was back. He was home, and he could hear his father's voice down the hall. He gasped, and it hurt. Tears pricked his eyes, and it was agony.
Itachi screamed and pressed his hands to his burning, bleeding eyes.