Something Precious

Chapter Sixty Five

Obito woke in a cold sweat. His breathing was harsh and erratic and stung his dry throat as he gulped down lungfuls of sweet sweet air. The images of blood still swam behind his eye lids. Red blossoming like a spring flower, only not so beautiful. If the blood was the flower, then Obito was the sun that called it to life. His dreams plagued with death, his hands dripping endlessly with sin and murder. His own maniacal laughter played like a backing track through it all.

"It wasn't real." Obito reminded himself, clutching his skull between his shaking hands. "It wasn't real." he repeated like a mantra.

Across the vast space, an old man sighed. "How many times must I show you before you understand that it is real?" Madara asked, annoyed. Over the last month, the patience in which he first addressed the boy slowly dwindled. He had begun instructing Obito on how to build up strength on the left side of his body to where he could actually use it. Being basically at the man's mercy and having no reason to not do so, Obito had been following the instructions, he supposed complete mobility could only serve to benefit him in the end. But he did not intend to carry out Madara's will once he had regained it. He was very aware that the man planned to use him in some way. That he wished for Obito to contribute to some less-than-moral scheme. The most unsettling thing of itnall though, was that no matter his own rejections, Madara seemed so confident in this. However Obito had plans of his own. He would go back to Rin and Kakashi, and Minato-Sensei and Naruto.

Obito flinched, peeping at Madara discreetly as if the man could read his mind. As far as Obito was concerned, it was entirely likely that he could. Obito had quickly learned not to ever, ever mention the Uzumaki. Madara seethed at it. His name always brought a round of 'let's-screw-with-Obito's-sanity'. Believe it or not, it wasn't as fun as sounds.

"It's not real." Obito whispered softly to himself once more, pretending Madara didn't exist. He heard the old Uchiha sigh, but he thankfully stayed quiet.

Obito slid off the very uncomfortable rock dissection table he had had the privilege of using as a bed this last month, and began doing his daily excersises. He could do push-ups now - which he was quite proud of - though he did lean heavily on his right arm while doing so, and he could run quite well.

"You are doing well." Madara said. "I predict that in a few short weeks you will be just as strong as you were before." though that could be taken as praise, Obito didn't feel the love. In fact the amount of effort it took not to glare at the man almost wasn't worth it. His approval nauseated him. Madara was malicious and insane, Obito was sure of that. To think up things like what he showed Obito through the Tsukuyomi you would have to be desperately disturbed.

But deep down Obito had to wonder, to ponder as he ran laps around the cave. Could it be real? A seed of doubt planted itself in his mind. Logically, of course not. I mean time travel? Come on, obviously not. But at the same time he felt that if was to do with the mysterious Naruto then it was entirely plausible. The more thought he paid the more he realized. . . well what did he really know about the newest addition to their team? He was extreamly powerful but only recently made a name for himself, no one had heard of him prior to Team Seven finding him in the forest. He knew literally nothing about his past. He never mentioned anything about it save for vague comments about a friend who had been in the ANBU and his lazy Sensei. Also, as much as he ignored it. . . his gut told him not to be so dismissive of this old man's words.

The rocky ground was uneven and in the midst of such deep thought, his foot caught on a small protrusion roughly the size of an apple. He crashed to ground and scrapped his chin. He winced and held it in his good hand as he looked up. His fall had landed did him more closely to the strange wood-like statue than he was entirely comfortable with. Over the time that he had been here he had taken to observing the thing from a distance. The more he watched it, the more uneasy it made him. It never moved and yet gave off the feeling that it was in some semblance, alive. Like it was a hollow shell that once housed something greater, that it still held a small breath of that being's power and yet that breath had the capacity to be more distrucive than he could imagine.