Zaman

Chapter 26

White hot pain lanced through Sasuke's head before he had even opened his eyes. Consciousness came onto him in a raging tidal wave, wrestling him from the languid stupor that had been genjutsu. It was a shame, really; the genjutsu had been more than pleasant, showing him tranquil scenes from his childhood. He had been immersed in the sweet breeze of spring afternoons spent with his mother and Itachi and his present situation was a far cry from that bliss. The skin of his eyelids glowed from the dull light in whatever room he was in. He was well aware that he was no longer in the inn in which he had fallen asleep; what he did not know was how bad his situation truly was. Knowing that Itachi had been in the adjacent room provided some comfort; Itachi was too powerful to let something completely awful happen to Sasuke.

"You're up," a voice that Sasuke didn't recognize said.

The noise grate at his head as if he was concussed. Perhaps he was; he had no recollection of anything past falling asleep in a far-too-small bed beside Naruto and he was certainly not there anymore. Bracing himself against the light, he opened his eyes a crack, revealing a simple, dimly lit room. He lay supine on a hard mattress, gaze fixed at the smooth concrete of the ceiling. Everything in the room was gray or beige except for the man standing in the doorway. The bright orange of his mask contrasted from the rest of his surroundings such that he looked completely out of place in a room that by all means should be his domain.

"I know you don't feel particularly well," the man said, waving a dismissive hand. "Dimensional travel is never easy on the body."

Sasuke's heart began to beat faster at that, exacerbating the sourness of his stomach. He had only heard of spatiotemporal jutsu in theory; they were supposed to be something of fiction, not something that could actually be performed. Ignoring the general feeling of sickness that consumed him, he forced himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. The abrupt motion proved too much for him. As soon as he came to a sitting position, the room began to spin in dizzying circles. The sourness of his stomach grew into bone-deep nausea and within seconds, black dots riddled his vision. The next thing he knew, he was doubled over on the side of the mattress, vomiting onto the floor. His throat burned by the time his stomach was empty and a throbbing headache replaced the nausea.

The masked man had not moved from his position in the doorway. Though Sasuke could not see his face past one visible, dark eye, he suspected that he looked merely inquisitive.

"We'll have to get you cleaned up," he said. Strangely, his tone was devoid of any malice or anything negative. If anything, he sounded kind.

Sasuke fought back a whimper as he tried to regain his bearings. He wanted nothing more than to be strong in this situation–to be the stoic, strong shinobi he was trained to be. He wanted to force down his feeling of sickness, spring to his feet, and demand that the masked man return him to his teammates. He wanted that more than anything, but his head hurt so much that he could barely see and the room would not stop spinning; he had never felt so ill in his life.

The masked man was next to him though Sasuke had not seen him move. He grasped Sasuke's upper arm in a firm but undeniably gentle grip, single visible eye fixed on him.

"Come on then," he said, helping Sasuke to his feet.

Sasuke wanted to fight against him, but his knees buckled as soon as he rose from the mattress; he was completely at the masked man's will and there was nothing he could do about it. He found himself stumbling out of the dimly lit room and into an even darker corridor, his surroundings still spinning. The masked man remained steady against Sasuke's deadweight and continued down the corridor and to a nondescript door. He pushed it open and helped Sasuke to a seat at a table in the middle of the room.