Chapter 1
It started in his toes. A creeping static blanket slowly clawing its way across his entire body.
Next he felt it in his fingertips. His grip around his kunai loosened against his will. An internal battleground full of nerves refusing to obey orders. He briefly stopped running to stare at his hands, willing the fingers to bend, to grip the handle of the knife, to do something, anything. His fingers managed to respond, if delayed. They seemed to mock him with their weak attempt at dexterity. He tucked the kunai back in its holster, hoping he wouldn't need it. Couldn't fight with one if I tried, he thought. He couldn't manipulate his fingers well enough to snap the holster shut, so he left it open.
He then resumed running. Every step he took reverberated sharp pain up his legs. As soon as each foot hit the ground it felt like the dirt turned to spikes beneath him. The pain gripped at him like a clawed hand made of needles trying its damnedest to slow him down.
Then it started creeping around the edges of his vision. Darkness extended from the back of his head, clambering forward like a climber pounding pitons into his head, spikes of pain to grasp onto and extend their reach to his eyes. His eyes, his greatest weapon, his family's heritage, his sight. It was all at risk, thanks to whatever was happening to him now.
He kept running. He knew if he could just push himself a little further, focus through the pain, then he would be safe. He knew he just had to keep running in this direction, just keep going– he could make it. He was Shunshin no Shisui, the fastest of them all, if anyone could get there it was him.
Where was he going again?
He stopped, looked around. There were inky black fingers pulling at his vision. Reaching out and pulling back bits of his sight. He tried to push them out with his Sharingan, closing his eyes as tight as he could then bursting them open wide. He stopped and shook his head violently, willing away the encroaching sense of doom. No, he can't stop now, has to keep going.
Another few steps forward and he falters. His knees suddenly give out and he lands on them hard. The impact pounds through his thighs and calves like a drum. He swept his hands forward to brace his fall, but the pain is there too. It tears into him at every point of contact- stabbing, ripping, pulling, pressing.
He seeks comfort from a tall oak, leaning against it and letting it take his full weight. He sinks down into the bed of roots and imagines them pulling him in like tentacles. Everywhere the tree and ground are touching him feels like fire. He can feel it in his abdomen now, that same static blanket from before. It's weighted and it holds him down with no chance of escape. The feeling spreads over his entire body. The sickening black ooze-like fingers reach back into his vision and he shifts into his mangekyo like putting on a gauntlet, hoping the armor is enough to keep his enemy back. His breath quickens. He can't move his arms anymore, his legs feel like they're tied down. He makes no noise but for his breathing. The black fingers shift into hands, and they have claws.
And then there's nothing.
///
He feels warm. So warm. And there's something heavy on top of him, encompassing his entire body. It smells familiar, clean. A smell he knows, he's been here before maybe. His limbs are stiff and struggle to obey when he wills them to move. His head is throbbing lowly, a buzzing, a thrum of pressure at the back of his head. He thinks he can hear the ocean. It's loud and whooshing in waves, crashing against his ear drums.
His eyelids feel so heavy. It feels like someone is holding them shut and he has to fight to open them.
Everything is a blur, it's so bright here. The walls are white, the lights too bright. It hurts too much to open his eyes, so he closes them.
Until someone is there, touching his face.
They're gently prying open his left eye and he can see an obnoxiously bright shock of light. Then they release him and his eye falls shut again. They repeat this on his other eye and he is helpless to stop them.
He realizes then that this person, touching his face could take his eyes from him. Dig into his flesh and pry them out, gaining one of the most powerful dojutsu in the world, and he's helpless to stop them.
He starts to breathe heavier as panic sets in.
"Hello there," a soft girlish voice starts, "you are in the Konoha hospital. You were poisoned and are coming out of a coma. I need you to stay calm." A hand touches his arm to gently console him. "You don't need to tell us anything right now, you are safe."
He releases a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He tries to open his eyes again, a little more successful this time. Things are less blurry, but he can make out the outlines of the objects in the room with him now. A counter, a cart, a sink, the foot of the bed he's laying in, something pink- maybe flowers? Wait it's moving towards him-
Oh, it's hair. He blinks once. Twice. His vision clears a bit more and she comes into focus. This must be the woman who spoke to him a moment ago. She has her hair pinned up onto her head, pink– as previously noted, jade-green eyes running over the papers in her hands with studious determination, and she's wearing a white coat over her regular clothes. She carries herself as if she's important, and Shisui believes in that moment that she is. She must be his doctor.
"Who–" he tries to say, but his voice is thin. He's suddenly aware of how dry his mouth feels, his throat aching for water. The roseate doctor abandons the papers and pours him a glass of water, a moment later bringing it to his lips.
"I'm Dr. Haruno."
He tries to move his hands to take the cup from her but finds he can't. Realizing now that the weight he felt earlier was simply a blanket draped over himself. He lets out a soft grunt and she stops feeding him the water.
"How long was I out?" His voice is raspy, strained from not being used.
"I'm not exactly sure. Quite some time."
That's specific.
"Do you know what happened to me?" Shisui asks, finally able to form words without pain.
"I'm afraid I don't. There will be an investigation when you're ready to speak to the police." She offers him more water, he shakes his head in declination.
"I'm ready now." He might have sounded convincing if his voice hadn't chosen that moment to break with an embarrassing screech.
"Like hell you are," Dr. Haruno chuckles at him. "I've got some of my own questions before they get their greedy little hands on you."
Shisui isn't sure, but he thinks he might've blushed at the change in her tone. His face felt just as warm as the rest of him did, so maybe it was just evening out.
He clears his throat and tries to move the blanket down off his chest. His left arm is hard to bend at the elbow so with his right hand, some pain, and very small movements he grasps the blanket from beneath and pulls it down until it pools at his waist. He looks down at his chest to find an assortment of cables, wires, tubes, and other normal hospital gear. A quick glance confirms the IV in his left arm, which had prevented his movement further than the pain within his body had.
"This seems like a lot of wires, Doc," Shisui grumbles.
She stops tinkering with whatever she was adjusting and looks at him pointedly.
"You were given a fatal dose of poison. We had to monitor all your vital signs while I extracted it. We still are." She tilts her chin up and looks down her nose at him, like a judge giving a sentence. "I assure you it's all necessary equipment. If you remove any of these, I'll find out and you will wish you never stepped foot in my hospital."
He swallows down whatever he thought he might say next in a dry gulp. He nods to reassure her that he'll do as she bids.
"Good," she picks up a clipboard off the nearby counter and pulls a pen out of the bun in her hair. Without the pen to hold it, her petal colored hair cascades onto her shoulders and he watches it fall into place like blossoms falling in the spring. "Tell me your name."
"Uchiha Shisui."
She makes a quick note and asks him his rank and ID, which he replies to without sass. She asks him a few more baseline questions to assess his cognitive awareness and memory. She writes a few notes as they go back and forth, her manner returned to professionalism with little hint of intimidation.
"That's enough for now, Uchiha-san." Sakura tucks her pen into the chest pocket on her coat. "Would you like anything before I leave you to rest?" She's already filling his cup back up with water and setting it within his reach.
"Nope. Thanks, doc." He does feel tired. He's sure there's a million questions he probably should be asking, but he's drawn a complete blank on specifics. He watches the doctor as she rearranges and checks some of the equipment attached to him. Her hair is a bit frizzy and kinked from being pinned up, but it frames her face and draws out her delicate features. He watches as she worries her bottom lip, nibbling lightly as she makes another note. He feels warm again and the blanket isn't even pulled up anymore. Warm is good. He could really go for that nap right about now.
///
He hears a curt knock and stirs, forcing his tired eyes open. The door opens and he can see two figures enter the room with him. He blinks a few times to focus his vision and recognizes them. Dr. Haruno, and Fugaku-sama.
He tries to sit up as Fugaku would expect of him, but he can't. His body is aching and sore, and the hospital equipment weighs him down further. Dr. Haruno notices and quickly comes to adjust the bed, angling it differently so he appears to be sitting up, but with no effort on his half.
"Shisui. We are–" Fugaku swallows, "–relieved you're awake."
"Fugaku-sama," Shisui starts, sensing immediately that something is wrong, "do you know what happened?"
The doctor stays silent but brings forward a chair and sets it near Shisui's bedside, motioning for Fugaku to sit. He does and lets out a sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He looks down at the ground for a moment, seemingly gathering strength, then meets Shisui's gaze.
"We don't have all the details," Fugaku sounds so exhausted. Shisui isn't sure he's ever seen him like this. He's usually stoic, firm but understanding, but now his emotions are barely under his skin, trying to vibrate their way out of him and reach the surface. "What do you remember?"
Shisui tries to remember. He thinks he can see flashes of someone, he can't see their face. Does he know them? He can't recall if he spoke to him, maybe he did.
"There was someone," Shisui remembers a flash of someone looming over him after he fell, they're wearing a mask. "ANBU, I think."
Did they fight? He remembers a time with Itachi, when they went into the Forest of Death and discovered two different factions of ANBU at odds with each other. Why would the Hokage attack him? It must have been a Shinobi from the opposing ANBU faction. What were they called? His head hurts.
"I remember trying to get to something… someone? Somewhere. I can't–" Shisui sinks his hand into his hair, hoping putting pressure on his head will force the memories to light. "All I remember is the pain. I'm sorry, sir."
"I see," Fugaku mumbles, he speaks up, "That is unfortunate. We may have to resort to other methods of recollection. You understand."
He means interrogation. What could have happened to warrant such an extreme method of–
His doctor speaks up then, "Excuse me, Uchiha-sama. He is a victim. You shouldn't–"
"He is a witness." Fugaku's voice drips venom as she questions his methods.
A witness? What–
"A witness? To what?" Shisui asks aloud, instead of simply thinking it. Fugaku's ire towards the doctor from a moment ago seems to shift into something else. It's not something Shisui can say he's seen from the man before. Anger? Grief…?
The doctor steps forward, closer to Shisui than Fugaku, acting as a partial shield. Her face tells him very little, but he looks to her for an answer now, Fugaku having fallen silent.
"The man who found you unconscious and brought you to the hospital was fatally injured. He did not make it through surgery." Her jade eyes are boring into his in dismay, but he's not sure why. The dread lands in his stomach and starts to crawl its way up into his lungs, settling with a stiff grip around his heart.
"Who–"
"It was Itachi."
///