Chapter Text
Itachi didn't know what to do. He couldn't think, couldn't feel. But at the same time, it was all too much. He wanted to rip his skin off and eat it. He wanted to dig a hole in the ground and bury his immensely tired bones in it. None of these were options he could really consider. Not with so, so much at risk. Walking home from the Hokage’s tower, the sun was setting already. He was almost never home these days.
When he looked at his mother, he could see her facade cracking under it all. The perfect mother, the perfect wife was slowly beginning to frazzle. Every morning, her hair was less and less perfect. It wasn't enough for his darling little brother to see yet, but Itachi. He could see it, was trained on the battlefield to see those imperfections and use them to his advantages. He used to help her when she got like this. She would sigh, shoulders relaxing greatly, and then she would say to him, “Oh Itachi, thank you for being so kind to your poor mother, I don't know what I would do without you, my sweet boy.”
With the sugary sweet words and a couple of tired, tired head pats, he would clean dishes and certain rooms of the house. Help prepare the lunches and dinners when he could. Because he was his mother's sweet boy. Now, as his mother cracked under the pressure of the mounting tension of the clan, he would brush off tired, tired eyes. They seemed to beg without any words to please, please help your poor mother, Itachi. To please be the sweet, sweet boy again.