A/N: I know I just said in the chapter I posted less than an hour ago that I only post every Sunday, but I just finished this and I can't sleep knowing it's sitting there... watching... waiting...

So here you go. Don't expect this often.

2. Waking

"To die, to sleep - to sleep, perchance to dream -

Aye, there's the rub, for in this sleep of death, what dreams may come?"

- Hamlet, William Shakespeare.

He woke from death like one does from sleep; slowly, tentatively, as if clinging to the fragile traces of a dream he couldn't recall. And if indeed he had been dreaming at all, it was such bittersweet sorrow to part with it. To let it slip through his grasp like water to be absorbed by the darkness. He could not remember letting it go until suddenly it was gone, leaving his heart clenching and his lungs gasping for something substantial to fill its loss.

For the first time in two years, he opened his heavy eyes, hoping to escape the darkness behind them, only to find more waiting for him. Air felt strange in his lungs. Heavy and harsh and painful, as if trying to take refuge in a place that hadn't welcomed it for a long time. His limbs, once he had become aware of them, also felt out of place. He knew they were there, could feel his consciousness extending to settle within them, from his mind to his fingertips and on down to his toes. But they held no feeling.

The time it took him to be able to gather his sense of self into a coherent and functional consciousness must've been minutes at most, but it felt like hours. His lungs were still struggling to process the air. His spine felt so stiff and brittle, he was afraid if he tried to move, it would shatter.

Who am I?

The thought was sudden and unexpected, the first words he had heard since his awakening, and the issues it dragged to light brought his irregular breaths to a stuttering pause. For a long, heart stopping moment, he couldn't remember. Beginning to panic in the face of his lack of identity, he wracked his brain for anything that could tell him who he was. What was his name? Why was he here? What was his purpose?

He gasped as a sudden stab of pain scorched through his brain, bringing his hands up to cradle his head in the attempt to make it stop, only for it to get worse. There were images emerging from the darkness, colors and eyes and faces he couldn't yet recognize, so foreign and so achingly familiar. Their lips were moving, speaking the same word over and over again - in happiness, in tears, pleading, screaming, with hatred and with love… There were some images that saddened him, some that pained him, some that horrified him to such an extent that he dug his nails into his scalp and squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for the assault on his mind to stop.

There was always one face that stood out to him, though the images were faded and unfocused. It was an infant, a child, a boy, a man… and the face kept saying that same word he couldn't hear no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't escape the image of dark eyes, pained and lost and broken, hatred burning in their depths. The word was said again in a hundred different ways, a hundred different instances, in sunshine and in rain, in darkness and in light… and still there was no sound.

The pain was unbearable now. Through it's haze, he could faintly feel the hot wet touch of tears on his face, the taste of salt on his lips mixed with something stronger, something vaguely metallic, as he bit his tongue against the strangled cry which fought to escape. Nothing made sense. The pain, the nightmarish flashes of either dream or memory, though which, he was not certain. The confusion, the tears, and the overwhelming darkness which enveloped him - it all felt so horribly wrong. Somehow, someway, he knew his mere existence at that very moment was wrong.

When the pain finally became too much, the attack from his own mind too harsh, he opened his mouth to set free his scream of anger and torment and frustration. But before he could muster a single sound, there came the soft spoken words from a single long lost memory echoing around him, drowning out everything else, and he heard.

"You truly are a kind child."

The sudden silence was deafening. He became suddenly rigid and still. The tears drained away as if they had never been, and slowly, he released his grip on his hair to let his hands drop limply to his sides. A deep inhale, a long exhale, no acknowledgement of the still protesting pair of lungs. Slowly, the tension in his body melted away.

Itachi Uchiha opened his eyes to darkness once more, and was not surprised. Coming back from death, as it would seem, was a long and painful process. His sight, like his sense of self, would likely take longer to find him. It would seem all other senses were in working order, however. He could hear the light rustle of wind through leafy treetops, the lower steady hum of nighttime insects, and the lonely calls of a distant owl. Beneath him, he could feel the soft tickle of thousands of blades of grass. The air had a sharp, crisp taste to it, and the scent of autumn filled his nose with another long inhale.

It was at this point that Itachi noticed he was at least decently clothed, the lack of contact with the grass anywhere but his feet and hands being an immediate giveaway. Lifting one hand, he ran his fingers lightly across the soft fabric wrapped loosely around his torso. He could not see it, but the simple shirt and pants felt like some strange mix of cotton and silk, and though they were very soft, the thin layers did little to protect against the harsh touch of winter in the wind.

Drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself in the effort to conserve heat, Itachi leaned forward to rest his head against them and used a moment to ponder his current situation. He took the pain still hammering at his skull and tucked it away to address later - as well as his minute embarrassment at his initial lack of composure… though he couldn't deny that once he'd regained his self awareness and understanding of his memories, he now almost wished for the amnesia to return, if only to escape the pain those memories brought.

Despite Itachi's understanding of himself and his surroundings, there was one question which continued to unsettle him. That question was simply; why? Why was he hearing the sounds of the forest? Why was he able to focus on the feeling of the grass between his toes? Why was his his skin responding to the cold autumn wind? Why was his lungs taking in air? Was was he awake and aware at all?

Itachi was supposed to be dead.

So why wasn't he?

No matter how deeply he searched his mind, Itachi could not find an answer. He was still trying when he felt the presence of another chakra signature nearby. He'd given up and lifted his head by the time the other shinobi revealed himself.

His eyesight was beginning it's slow return, the darkness giving way to gray and shapeless shadows, and he focused on the one which looked most like the silhouette of a man. Though he could not see his features, he could tell by his energy that he was strong, and by the erratic shifting of the chakra in his veins, that he was nervous.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Itachi closed his eyes. "If you are looking for a fight, I'm afraid you won't get much from me."

However, instead of responding with a knife in his back, the shinobi stiffened and whispered, "Itachi Uchiha… it is you…!"

Itachi opened his eyes again when he heard the unknown ninja's knees hit the ground and strained to see through the dark haze as his shadow seemed to set something before him. Not long after, the familiar sound of a small summoning jutsu reached his ears. When the ninja stood again and began walking towards him, the weary Uchiha turned his head away. Whatever was happening with him, whatever was going on to make him come back from death the way he had, it would seem his short time back was ending here. He wouldn't fight it.

Itachi stiffened when he felt the heavy cloth drape over his shoulders. Not bothering to hide his surprise, he rubbed the edge of it between his fingers, recognizing the standard woolen cloaks every leaf shinobi carried for missions in cold weather.

"Can you stand, Uchiha-san?" The newly dubbed "Leaf" shinobi asked, placing his hand on his shoulder, willingly touching him.

The kindness in his voice only furthered Itachi's confusion, but he nodded and began to push himself from the ground, legs shaking with the effort. When he stumbled and instinctively grabbed the other man's arm for support, he didn't flinch or pull away and let him fall. Instead, he took a firm hold of his arm and brought it around his shoulders, supporting the Uchiha's weight.

Itachi huffed a small, dry laugh. "So you're not here to kill me, then?" He said as the unknown man - who should, by all accounts, despise him - began helping him move forward. Progress was slow, and Itachi assumed his legs - like his eyes - just needed to adjust to being alive.

The shinobi chuckled good naturedly. "No, Uchiha-san. I'm not here to kill you. Relax, no one wants you dead."

That statement alone caused Itachi to stumble in surprise, and he would have surely hit the ground had the shinobi's hands not been there to steady him.

"Forgive me, but surely you are mistaken. As far as I know, everyone who even knows my name wants me dead." Itachi said, casting his gaze to the shinobi questioningly. He could make out some details in his attire now, what looked to be the familiar standard ANBU uniform, but all features of the face were still unknown.

"I know your name," the ANBU man said matter-of-factly. "I know who you are. I know what you've done. Most importantly, I know why you did it. Everyone does, thanks to your brother and his… friend."

Itachi wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said nothing, allowing the shinobi to continue guiding him. Presumably to the leaf village, where Itachi had no doubt his brain would likely be scanned by the Yamanaka and the rest of the Intelligence Unit. They would need to be sure he was really who they thought he was, after all, before he was brought to the Hokage. Or perhaps it would be the other way around? Still, Itachi wondered how much a fight his beloved brother had put up to get the village to see the truth of his betrayal. The thought unsettled him. He'd never wanted anyone to know.

"Is your sight returning to you alright?" The shinobi asked after they'd already walked a fair distance. "I remember Kakashi-san had a hard time adjusting his left eye after Nagato's rinne-rebirth jutsu brought him back."

"That was when Nagato's six paths destroyed Konoha, yes?" Itachi asked, the details of that fight blurred since he'd been otherwise preoccupied at the time.

"Correct."

Itachi turned his head to look at the ANBU and did his best to hide a knowing smile. He could now see his newfound ally's face. "Yes, I believe my eyes are healing just fine. Tell me, Tenzo-san, how did you know my struggle would be the same as Kakashi's?"

If Itachi's old friend was surprised to hear his name, he didn't show it, only smiled a little wider. "Tsunade-sama believes that the eyes with bloodline limits take longer to adjust due to their heightened sensitivity. And considering you were practically blind when you died, it would make sense that your own eyes, however strong, would succumb to the same sensitivities."

Itachi neither confirmed nor denied these theories, just smiled contentedly in a way which - true to his character - spoke everything, yet revealed nothing.

"We're passing into the village now," Tenzo said, dropping his voice down to nearly a whisper. "Would you mind pulling up the hood of your cloak?"

Itachi nodded and complied. He could see the looming shadow of the main gates arching above them, and soon enough, felt the many layers of barriers and seals that surrounded the place like a protective shell sliding smoothly over his skin. Most of the seals and barriers were relatively recent, but it would seem that some of the older ones had survived Pein's attack, as well as the war with Madara. He could feel their age and use, a forgotten power hundreds of years old, passed down from Uzushio and lost to time.

It would have been awe inspiring had Itachi not spent the first thirteen years of his life in the village.

"Only the highest level shinobi know of your existence right now. It was just us who felt the small flare of Chakra when you appeared. Hokage-sama wanted to keep this a secret for now until we've had time to investigate and bring you up to date on everything that's happened." Tenzo explained as they turned in the direction of the Hokage tower. "It's best no one sees your face for a while."

Itachi bowed his head in agreement. "I understand. Will I be seeing the Hokage first, or Morino-san?"

Tenzo stiffened for a moment, his chakra adopting a nervous flutter. "Hokage," he muttered. "Itachi, I believe you really are who you appear to be, it's just -"

Itachi shook his head, cutting him off. "I know, Tenzo. Don't sound so guilty. I was dead, and now I'm alive. It's only logical for my credibility to be questioned. For the good of the village, Ibiki should interrogate me. Any sane shinobi would."

Tenzo chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Itachi smiled. The action felt strange, and he wondered how long it had been since he'd allowed himself the freedom of such emotional expression. A very long time, he assumed.

"Don't worry," the other shinobi said. "If the Hokage believes you, I'm sure she'll ask that you be handled with care."

"Whatever they do," Itachi said, smile slipping from his face as if it was never there, "believe me when I say that I have been through worse."

Tenzo glanced at him, sadness written plainly in his ebony eyes. "I do."

Whatever conversation came next was put on hold as they entered the Hokage tower. Somehow, Itachi knew that whatever happened beyond that point would determine his future in the village he'd thought he would never see again. He could only hope that future was good, even as he prepared himself for the worst.

Masked ANBU appeared silently on either side of the two as they traversed the darkened halls. They said nothing and made no move against him, just followed as if they'd always been there. There was a pause as they stopped before a plain wooden door. The suspense in the air was palpable as Tenzo lifted his hand to knock.

"Come in," came the calm, somewhat muffled reply.

With one last glance to his companion who intently watched his every move, Tenzo turned the knob and together they entered the Hokage's office, the ANBU close behind.