Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun bathed the training grounds in soft, golden light. Itachi moved through the familiar motions with the fluidity of a practiced warrior, his strikes were sharp and precise as he threw kunai at the targets surrounding the yard. His body, quick and controlled, moved with an elegance that many could only dream to achieve gained from years of tireless training. Itachis sharingan flashed as he practiced again and again in the stillness of the growing dusk.
But despite the seamless movements, there was a noticeably growing ache spreading throughout his body, and a heaviness in his chest that he just couldn’t quite shake.
Itachi paused his movements briefly, wiping his forehead of sweat that accumulated across his brow. A familiar dizziness was starting to creep up again—sharp and sudden he knew this feeling. He swallowed hard, trying to push it back down. He couldn’t let “it” show not here, not now, not in front of Sasuke.
Sasuke, only a mere three years old, sat under a nearby tree, his small legs crossed and big curious eyes glued to his older brother. The small toddler clutched an old dull kunai in his hands, attempting to copy his brother's every move in a clumsy imitation.
Itachi glanced over to Sasuke, managing a small smile despite the growing pain spreading from the centre of his chest throughout his own small frame, Itachi was only a mere nine years of age and already his body had begun to fail him.
”You're doing great, Sasuke,” Itachi called out, attempting to sound casual calling over to his eager little brother, “Just focus. You’ll figure it out, it just takes a bit of practice” Itachi managed with minimal strain, he was lucky Sasuke was so enthralled with the task at hand or he may have noticed Itachi's laboured breathing and slightly swaying body as he struggled to stay upright.
Sasuke's face brightened as his small eyes shone with admiration. “I wanna throw kunai just like you big brother, when I awaken my sharingan i'm gonna be just as good as you”
Itachi chuckled softly, his throat aching and head pounding. “I bet you’ll be even better.”
Sasuke nodded seriously, gripping his kunai tighter. “I'll protect you one day, when I’m big and strong,” he said earnestly, sasuke's voice filled with pure love for his big brother.
Itachi's chest however tightened at the words. Protect me? The thought lingered uncomfortably. It was supposed to be the other way around.
But before Itachi could respond a coughing fit seized him, his words catching in his throat. He doubled over instinctively, hands grabbing at his sides, but the uncomfortable pressure in his chest didn’t relent. A harsh, wet cough rattled through him, followed by a sting and sharp pain.
Blood. It trickled from the corner of Itachi's mouth, staining the back of his hand red as he tried to finally catch his breath. His vision blurred for a moment, as the world continued to spin around him.
”Sasuke,” he managed to choke out through ragged breaths, his voice strained but steadying as he continued to wipe the blood away with his hand. “I’m fine. Just… a little tired from training is all. Don’t worry.”
Sasuke who had been watching the whole ordeal intently, blinked in confusion, his young face scrunching up in concern for his big brother. He stood up from his place below the tree and wobbled over to where Itachi swayed.
“Itachi… you’re… you’re sick?” Sasuke asked, concern lacing his question which came out barely above a whisper. His eyes were wide with a mix of confusion and concern.
Itachi quickly straightened up, pushing the dizziness aside and forcing his usual calm and stoic expression onto his face. He wiped his bloodied hand on the side of his pants, trying to act nonchalantly.
”It's nothing Sasuke, just a little injury from my last mission, I'm fine” he said with a soft chuckle, the sound was a little too strained to sound convincing to anyone but a three year old. Luckily his brother was in fact a three year old who blindly trusted his older brothers every word.
Still Sasuke frowned, whether it was because he believed his brother should be resting if he was in fact injured from a mission, or if he thought his brother may have been lying to him. Sasuke's face turned into a determined grin “Okay big brother. I’m gonna train to be big and strong, like you, and like I said I will protect you.”
Itachi’s heart again clenched painfully at those words. His little brother, so pure and innocent, already looked up to him with such trust. The weight of it was almost unbearable.
“You’re already strong, Sasuke,” Itachi said quietly, crouching down to tap his little brother's forehead. “You don’t need to protect me. Just... keep training, and one day you’ll protect everyone in the village.”
Sasuke put a hand over his forehead and frowned again, his brow furrowed slightly as he eyed Itachi. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice soft, too innocent to fully understand the gravity of what had just happened
Itachi nodded quickly, standing up straighter and brushing himself off. “I’m fine. Let’s go inside now. It’s getting dark and we’ve both worked hard enough for today.”
Sasuke, still uncertain but trusting, nodded eagerly. “Okay! But I’m gonna train more tomorrow!”
Itachi gave him a reassuring smile as he walked toward the house, Sasuke trotting along beside him, still clutching his small kunai with a determined expression.
But as they walked, Itachi felt the lingering pain in his chest, the cough still bubbling up at the back of his throat. He could feel his body growing weaker each day, the signs of illness creeping closer.
I can’t let him see. The thought gnawed at him, as it always did.
As the two brothers disappeared into the house, the quiet of the evening surrounded them, but Itachi’s mind raced. He couldn’t let Sasuke know, he couldn’t let anyone know, not now, not ever.
Later that evening, the Uchiha household was quiet. The small dining room, lit by the soft glow of a single light, was warm and inviting. Mikoto’s absence had left an undeniable void in the house, and though Itachi tried his best to keep things normal, the silence seemed to weigh heavily on everyone. Fugaku was still away—likely dealing with matters of the clan—and Sasuke had already fallen asleep, his small figure curled up on the couch, his face soft and innocent.
Itachi sat alone at the dinner table, staring at the half-eaten meal in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten properly. He felt no hunger, only the deep, gnawing fatigue that had become a constant companion in recent weeks. His fingers trembled slightly as he set down his chopsticks, and his breath caught again. It felt like the world was growing quieter around him, the edges of his vision blurring, as if everything was slipping through his grasp.
No. Not now. Not when he’s so close. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus. Sasuke was depending on him. He couldn’t break, not yet.
The last few days had been harder than usual. The illness was advancing, creeping steadily through his body. He had managed to keep it hidden from everyone—his father, the clan, his little brother—but the strain of his double life—spying on the leaf—mixed with his growing illness and split loyalties, were becoming too much for the nine year old. Even more so now that his father and the other clan elders had been pushing harder for the coup, repeatedly asking Itachi for information he had on the leaf.
“I can’t let Sasuke see me like this.”
The thought echoed in his mind like a mantra, his chest tightening as his fingers dug into the wooden table. Sasuke had trusted him—no, he still trusted him—and Itachi couldn’t afford to break that trust. He wouldn’t let his little brother see the signs. He wouldn’t let him feel the same burden of grief and fear that Itachi had carried since their mother’s death. The weight of that responsibility felt almost unbearable.
Just as he was about to push himself away from the table, he felt it again—the wave of dizziness rushing over him. His vision blurred, and his head spun. He stood up abruptly, but his legs felt weak, as though they were made of paper. He gripped the edge of the table to steady himself, but it was no use. His breath caught, sharp and painful, before the familiar, brutal cough ripped through his chest.
This time, there was no stopping it.
The blood hit his hand with a wet, sickening sound. He gasped for air, the taste of iron in his mouth, as his body shook with the force of the cough. His legs wobbled, and for a brief moment, he thought he might collapse. His vision swam, dark spots forming at the edges of his sight.
He staggered to the nearby washroom sink, his mind fuzzy and unfocused. Just a little longer, he told himself, but his thoughts were fractured. He reached for a towel, quickly wiping the blood away, though his hands were shaking so violently that it took him a moment to steady himself.
The sounds of movement from the other room broke through his panic—Sasuke stirring in his sleep. Itachi froze, his breath hitching in his throat. The last thing he needed was Sasuke coming in here, seeing him like this.
No. No, Sasuke can't see me like this.
In a rush of urgency, Itachi composed himself, wiping his face clean with one last swipe before splashing cold water on his skin. His reflection in the mirror was pale, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, Itachi forced a calm smile onto his face, one that didn’t reach his eyes as it hadn’t since his mother passed.
Taking one last steadying breath, he returned to the dining room, as if nothing had happened. Sasuke was still asleep on the couch, his small hands curled into tiny fists, his face flushed with warmth from the blanket Itachi had placed over him earlier. Itachi gently adjusted the blanket, making sure his brother was comfortable.
I’ll protect him, Itachi thought, his resolve hardening. I’ll make sure Sasuke never feels the weight of this.
Itachi had been only six years old when their mother had fallen ill. She had been a picture of strength—always the one to comfort Itachi when his father had gone too far, always softly smiling at her husband's harsh words with quiet understanding. But one winter, after Sasuke was born, that strength began to wane. At first, it was subtle: a cough that wouldn’t go away, a fatigue that seemed to hang in the air around her like an unseen weight. But by the time Mikoto’s illness was finally discovered, it was too late.
Itachi had watched, helpless, as his mother grew weaker, her smile fading, her warmth dimming with each passing day. He’d tried to comfort her, helped her with Sasuke, but there was nothing he could truly do. She’d been the glue that held their family together. Without her, everything felt... fragmented.
His father, Fugaku, had withdrawn into his work, obsessing over the Uchiha clan’s future, and Itachi had been left to pick up the pieces. He’d been forced to mature faster than any child should have to. He had taken on the responsibility of raising Sasuke on top of all his own work (that no seven year old should have been doing in the first place), pretending that everything would be okay, even when he could feel the world shifting beneath his feet.
Mikoto’s death had left a void that was impossible to fill. And the worst part was...she had been sick with the same illness that was now claiming him.
Itachi returned to his seat at the table, carefully resuming his meal. He felt the weight of his body, the fatigue settling in like a tight rope wrapped around his chest. Every movement felt heavier than the last, every breath more difficult to take.
He looked across the table at Sasuke, still peacefully asleep. His little brother was the only reason he hadn’t completely lost himself in this storm. Itachi's mind kept returning to the same thought: If I can just hold on long enough. If I can protect Sasuke from the truth, about me, about the clan and the village then….
A quiet sigh escaped him, and he set his chopsticks down once more, unable to force down any more of his meal. The thoughts, the pain, the weight of everything pressing in on him—he couldn't escape it. He needed to protect Sasuke, even if it meant sacrificing his health, loyalty and life.