Title/Prompt: Stable
Genres: Psychological and Supernatural.
Summary: Sometimes reality is just a figment of our imaginations, other times our imagination is reality.

A/n: Thank you (my readers) for once again taking the time to read my work. A special and sincere thank you for those who have taken a time to leave a review; I do read them and I appreciate any feedback you care to give. Please enjoy and have a wonderful week, Z.z

"I'm not crazy. I'm not. I swear I'm not," she said, her voice more of a whisper than a proclamation. Her pink hair was matted; dirt covered her face. Her green eyes stared into the mirror. "I'm not crazy."

She removed the towel that was wrapped around her hand. It was already soaked through with blood. She put the cut hand under cold running water, it stung, but she held it there. She grabbed another towel from the rack behind her and wrapped the hand back up, tightening the cloth so that it applied pressure.

She kneeled and pulled open the cabinet drawers, looking for rubbing alcohol. Eventually she gave up looking and turned her attention to the house itself. It wasn't spacious, but the large amount of newspapers on the porch meant that the owners had been gone at least for a week. She would probably be safe for the night. She'd leave in the morning and hopefully find another place by nightfall.

She tightened her grip on the gun. She needed some rest.

Her muddy sneakers left foot prints on the light beige carpet as she made her way through the hallway. She'd staked out the house for an entire day, made sure no one was home, so now she could get food and find a corner in which she could sleep in and easily escape from. Coming up to the refrigerator, her mouth salivated. How long had it been since she'd had a decent meal? She opened the door, and immediately noticed the lack of food. She hit her uninjured hand against the white, plastic door. Of course, there would be no food, they were going away and probably cleaned out the refrigerator before things spoiled.

She opened the freezer; at least there were some television dinners. She pulled out a box, not caring what it actually was only that it would provide her with the promise of something warm. She let it cook while she turned on the television, turning the sound off, so she could watch the news.

It was then she heard the click of a door unlocking. Her knuckles became white due to her grip on the gun and she quickly hid herself behind the wall, so she wasn't in view of the entrance. The door opened and she could hear steps coming up the stairs. The microwave then stopped, and beeped at being finished. Inside she swore at her luck.

"Hello?" A male voice asked. "Sasuke are you here?"

She saw the shadow of the man walk into the kitchen. She left her hiding place and followed, her gun held in front of her and aimed at the back of a black jacket. Finally she gathered her courage; she had to before he turned around. "Freeze!" she barked.

The man stiffened.

"Hands in the air, now."

He put up his hands.

"Turn, slowly." He did just as she said and she sized him up. His build looked a couple years older than her, but his face had stress lines. With the dress pants and shirt he looked white collar.

Black eyes looked down at her and the eyebrow of one eye rose slightly. "So you're the cop… I thought they caught you already."

She narrowed her eyes at the man before her. It wasn't good he knew who she was. "Go over and sit at the table," she motioned with her toweled hand, the one with the gun didn't move from his body.

"How long has your hand been bleeding like that?" he asked, making his way to the table.

She bit her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. He pulled out a chair to face her then sat down, hands still in the air. He gave her a smile, as if he had the upper hand.

"Take off your jacket and toss it over here." The jacket landed right before her feet.

She stepped on the jacket carefully, checking it for a weapon. She wouldn't take the chance of letting go of the gun and her other hand was currently too wrapped to rummage through the pockets.

"You need to go the hospital."

They all wanted to send her back… didn't they? She looked him in the eye, "I don't need to go the hospital. What I need is to get out of here without you calling them."

"Them, as in your fellow police officers?" The black eyed man asked, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. "The people you knew before you went crazy."

"I'm not crazy!"

"People don't wake up, forget their entire lives and then go on a shooting spree." The man was too calm to be in the situation he was in. Something was wrong.

"I didn't forget and I didn't go on some shooting spree. I didn't shoot anyone, no one was hurt." It wasn't like he would listen to her anyways. They all thought she was insane.

"Then what exactly makes them think you forgot?"

"I'm not crazy…" She needed some rest; right now wasn't the best time for her to be speaking with this man.

"Why did you shoot?"

How many times had she gone over it? How many more times would she be asked? "They weren't listening to me. I needed them to help me find someone that was hurt and they thought I was just kidding around."

"Where is this 'someone' now?"

Her green eyes went to the side for a moment before she looked back. "I don't know…"

"How exactly was he hurting?"

"He had a katana sticking out of his chest! He was dying and they wouldn't listen to me!" How many times had she seen the blonde headed man with blue eyes stare out at her? "I kept trying to get to him, but I couldn't. I tried…. I tried." He kept dying right before her eyes. Every time she was too late to save him.

"What's a katana?"

She gave a huff. "They asked that too… It's a type of short blade." Taking a breath, the smell of food infiltrated her senses, and as much as she wanted to shoot him and get it over with, part of her resisted. She was a cop wasn't she? How could she even think of killing an innocent person? The other half, though, was telling her be quick about it before he killed her. He was dangerous, very dangerous. "I'm not crazy."

"You keep saying that." The man lowered one hand so he could rest it under his cheek. He stared at her, a bored expression on his face. "So, where's his body. I assume someone doesn't survive a blade piercing their heart, not without surgery."

Her mouth twitched. "Shut up. I'm not crazy. He keeps dying, no matter what I do."

"Ah." The black eyes stared at her and she knew he believed he just got stuck with someone from a loony-bin.

"You wouldn't understand. He's more real than the rest of this," she motioned to the house. "But it doesn't matter. I'll be going soon."

"Going where with an injury like that?"

"I have to keep looking…An innocent man is out there dying and no one else cares!"

"Probably because he doesn't exist."

That had done it. She stomped up to him and held the gun against his pale face. "He does ex-"

The man grabbed her arm in one quick motion, hitting her elbow in another. The gun went flying out of her hand and onto the wood floor. He kept a tight grip on one wrist and forced that arm behind her back so she bent over due to the pressure. His other hand reached out and grabbed the wrapped hand. He took off the towel by pulling, causing her to cry out. In that moment though, all she could see was the blonde man before her… He wasn't dying; he was jumping, from branch to branch like a squirrel. He turned his head back, blue eyes glowing with delight. He was saying something, something to her. His lips were forming words. The breeze touched against her cheek, cooling her skin. She closed her eyes, this place was so beautiful.

Her eyes opened only to see a kitchen chair. Her face was pressed against the cold wood of the table. She let out a cry of frustration, but an elbow continued to push her head down.

"That's one nasty cut. I assume you got that from breaking my parents' window and getting in."

She tried turning and squirming, but to no avail. He had a good grip on her injured hand, and with his other arm he was both pressing her head and pinning her free hand in an awkward position.

"You cut it deep. I doubt you would have gotten very far with this. This is almost cut all the way to your wrist bone. You don't have very good luck, Miss Haruno."

There was no such thing as luck.

"I'm going to be letting you go now. My family's full of doctors I'm sure I can find something to bandage you up." He released her and began walking down the hallway.

"You're not going to turn me in?" She stood shakily, looking at the man.

He raised an eyebrow. "No. I suppose I won't."

"Why?"

He didn't answer, instead he continued his way down the hallway and into the bathroom, which she had recently left. She waited several moments, before deciding to follow him. He did say that his family was full of doctors. Perhaps he knew what he was doing.

When she got to the bathroom, she was surprised to see him dabbing a small washcloth with a clear bottle. He'd found the rubbing alcohol it seemed. It paid to know the house.

He put the bottle down and turned to her. He motioned for her to extend her arm and she did so. He closed the distance between them, walking to the inside of her hand. He didn't stop to look at her hand though, by the time her instinct kicked in that something was wrong he was right before her. He grabbed her quickly, pressing the cloth against her face. She struggled, but eventually she breathed and she collapsed against him. He took the cloth off and held her.

"Because I see it too," he finally responded, "I know the world that you speak of." His eyes flickered red for a moment, with black circles spinning around his iris, but in a heartbeat it was back to normal black. He grabbed her around the waist and with a heave he pulled her onto his shoulders.

Already his mind was planning the next several days, the exact story he would tell police and how he would need to clear out his basement to allow room for a bed. He was going to get the answers; he was going to find out what or who was in his head and in hers.

Part of him wanted to turn her in to the police, but the other resisted. The other knew her, and knew she would be of great use especially in finding out his memories. How many times had he held his cousin under the water and watched him die? The memories could not be true, because the man was still alive, but they were real. More real than the rest of this.