He was dreaming in a big field of blue. The occasional white puffs or blurs sped past and in passing he wondered why they rushed past so hastily. He knew this view, knew it as well as the back of his hand, the color was -and he hated admitting it- the color of his own eyes, he could spend hours looking at it, lost in thought and memories.
And as he did so, his perception changed, he turned his head and saw the object of his obsession, his aspiration, the purpose of his training, the reason for which he strove so tenaciously, the force that which propelled him to better himself as a Shinobi walking towards him in patient, even strides, a pace he recognized so easily it was painful.
It was a familiar sight, one he knew, remembered, treasured even in the dark recesses of his heart, where the betrayal and hurt didn't sting, that part of him he kept hidden for the sake of preserving that memory. There came striding to him the dark haired boy that he had so admired and wanted to surpass. There he came with his dark hair and his dark eyes that flashed crimson in fury or annoyance or emotion. Here he came staring straight at him, not only acknowledging his existence, not only accepting his presence but challenging it.
It was the highest form of respect for him who had never known anything else but conflict and strife. He relished in it, basked in the knowledge that his rival, his FRIEND wanted to best him, he was that good, he had improved that much from the weak dead-last drop-out. He was good enough that the smartest and agilest Shinobi of his year wanted to best him, wanted to test his strength against him.
He remembered that feeling, that elation and excitement, he remembered a lot of things on that particular day. He remembered the sizzle and crackle of Chidori as it sped closer and closer, the feel of his Rasengan whirling away in his hand, the adrenaline and determination to prove that smug-smirking-bastard that he was WORTH something.
He remembered Kakashi-Sensei's grip on his wrist, not bruising or harsh, but firm and the strength the other Ninja commanded to temper his own hold told him something, imprinted upon him the enormity of his actions and the repercussions of acting on them. Now that he was older he understood a bit how foolish he'd been back then.
But the sky kept speeding past, and the shadow of clouds flying past kept dancing over the green grass and over that pale pale face with its endless eyes and raven hair. He could see without needing his eyes the blank expression on that familiar face, he could hear without sound the tone and timbre of that low voice as it mocked him, as it worked its way into his mind and whispered in his head of how long it'd been, of how he hadn't changed.
He felt his feet walking, could see his body moving forward and the sky still sped past, faster than normal, the wind was oddly silent but he kept moving, kept walking forward to that face, those eyes-
Closer, closer, two steps away, near enough to reach out and touch-
And in an instant as he walked towards those once-known features he saw many things- something like your life flashing before your eyes, only not. Scarlet, crimson, blood-Red-Sharingan and pitch-black tomoe whirling whirling whirling in his mind's eye. Lightning, Chidori, smoke- so much smoke, then debris and shadows and RED. Blood, and expectation and hope pounding a frantic beat in his chest.
He had flashes of memories from all the other people he knew, cared about, and people he didn't- Sakura-chan with her soft soft hair and sea-green eyes like jewels, with her deadly strength and deadlier temper, his pretty pretty Sakura-chan whom he cherished like a sister, like family, the only one he had.
A boy with pale skin and dark hair, eyes hollow and empty and almost lifeless but for a small speck of curiosity.
A man that made him feel something odd in the pit of his stomach, not fear, not anger, not anything that he could put into words, but simply a sensation.
Then Kakashi-Sensei with his lazy eyes and masked face, Tsunade no Baa-chan with her head at an angle; every inch the Hokage, Ero-Sennin; proud, powerful, living up to his legend, and finally Iruka-Sensei with his steady patience, his warm eyes and familiar smile- they all stood at the balcony of Hokage tower, the embodiment of strength and affection and everything he'd ever wondered about and yearned for.
And still the sky flew past, the wind silent.
Then Kabuto and Orochimaru beside that pale figure, more clouds rushing past, speeding away to blow their garments this way and that, that dark hair whipping ruthlessly against alabaster cheeks.
And then fire. A heat burning his chest, his gut, his mind, consuming him and the feeling of Kyuubi snarling with blood-lust, the gates in his mind to the seal and then nothing.
Next thing he sees is his bloody hand rising, rising against a clear blue sky, his sleeve is filthy, torn and tattered, he can feel the dirt and the caking of blood on his flesh, he can feel the heat of his own body, exhausted, yet still his hand rises, higher and higher into the bright burning sun, his muscles straining, screaming in protest yet he doesn't give up until he can fist it straight up into the sky, a testament to his endurance and determination.
That once grassy plain is barren now, yet the clouds and sky and wind take no heed of the time that has passed and he sees someone who looks like the boy he knew once, the frame is a bit wider, he's a bit taller, but the gait is the same, longer. This new boy-almost-man is so familiar, so familiar it stings his eyes but he's walking forward and his heart knows, his mind knows, they recognize this being, this presence, they know that expression, that carefully blank look, they know those eyes and they want to weep with joy and pain.
But he simply walks forward, closer to this familiar-yet-not boy-almost-man that wrenches at his heart, the wind plays with his hair and his shirt, they tug on the ends of the purple rope he has looped at his waist, his feet make no sound as they move closer, as their steps brings them within grasping reach and in an instant this familiar-and-not stranger brings his arm around, a long black blade sliding out.
But in that same instant, his own hand as come around, a kunai sliding from his sleeve. This too is familiar, and he belatedly realizes that his body knows what his mind refuses to acknowledge.
He's here, with his dark eyes and pale skin and expressionless face, he's here with his cold blade pressing against the tender skin of his neck, and he's staring straight into his eyes. Its so familiar, its so familiar it hurts and brings him joy. He has his kunai pressed into pale skin and he stares back.
'Sasuke.'