Nightmares are terrifying creatures best described as a corrosive poison. A most dangerous toxin that slowly sets itself deep within bone, bringing about chills that never seem to fade away. It slips into blood with the ease of a venomous serpent towards unsuspecting prey. The days appear to help, chasing away the darker shadows temporarily with bright light and warmth, pushing nightmares into the barest of whispers. It doesn't matter how silly the agitation nor how powerful the person, the paranoia is always quick to return once the sun dips below the horizon. Sleep becoming nothing more than a far-off fantasy.

What is so frightening about nightmares is their denial of escape or relief. The dark and dreadful depth of the mind are ever-present and prepared to welcome the vicious encroaching poison to the fragile psyche. Very few notice how close insanity is to Shinobi. A scarily close enemy that can neither be slain nor avoided and yet welcomes a terrifying consultation. It would be a rather extreme lie to claim that most Shinobi weren't just a tad bit insane. From excessive porn to sake, perversion, and spandex, insanity is unexpectedly always present and yet used as a coping mechanism for people who have seen too much blood.

Of course, this extraordinary jump from the common mischievous nightmare fright to the instability from years of traumatic experiences lazily stalked upon each other could be considered a little… much, consider it the well-versed preamble to my story.

"'Well-versed' is a strong word."

"Shut up! This is my emotionally jarring story! Not yours!"

"Emotionally jarring my ass! You just gave an extremely lame psychological analysis on nightmares! What is this? A book report?"

"I said SHUT UP!"

"FINE!"

"Continuing…"

My story which begins, well… began with paranoia. Paranoia marks the beginning of many things, insanity, eating disorders, a three-week unplanned unfortunately unpaid vacation… but it most commonly marks the start of a long-winded emotionally exhaustive disaster. It also began with a clan, specifically my family. When I said they would be the death of me it… it ended a lot more literal than I meant it.

"You're being melodramatic… AND your sentence structure is off."

"You're being rude! AND only a mother could love YOU with a face that OFF!"

"You can't see me…"

"Well… I can only assume when faced with such an ugly personality."

"…You have to admit he has a point."

"Who's side are you on!"

"Neither. Shut up and keep telling the story."

"What do you thin–"

"Now."

It began when the kyuubi attacked in so many dreadful ways, but for now, I'll stick to one. I really don't remember many specific details. Being young is a perfectly valid excuse, but at that point, I was considered a prodigy. Perhaps not as good as Itachi, but still pretty damn good. What I can remember is not the screams (I'm sure there were many) or the dust floating in the air (quite a bit I bet), but the strangest feeling of oddness. Oh yes, the kyuubi attached as fierce as a hurricane, as deadly as a rockslide, and about as pleasantly as a morning Fugaku. The nine-tailed demon fought wild and thrashing despite looking quite noticeably human. If I didn't know any better, it's front claws appeared hand-like and the rest of its upper structure vaguely humanoid. I focused on the oddness, not the terror.

It shouldn't be surprising that many people died. Both important people, strong shinobi, adults, children; it was an indiscriminate attack. I have never been good with politics or anything of the sort, but even I could see that the village needed a scapegoat. The newest jinchuriki was obvious, but the third had kind of ruined it with the topic-silence he ordered.

"Hn… That didn't work out as well as the third expected."

"Cut the sob story I'm writing here."

A single indigent snort, "Like you're one to talk!"

Fugaku had been able to hold the kyuubi, if only for a moment, with our accursed bleeding eyes. It brought forth suspicion and with-it paranoia… and, sigh, politics.

"You grammar weirdo! Why'd you just write 'sigh'?"

"SHUT UP! It's my… writing… style… yes."

"You sure?"

It was several years of this sort of complicated political back and forth that trouble first started to begin. The Uchiha clan is rather… pretentious when it comes to power and prestige and talk of moving the compound to the edge of the village put a damper on this pride. We had, after all, served Konoha with the utmost loyalty for generations. To question that loyalty was a grave and fatal insult. Thus, Fugaku assumed that he could do a better job running it and began planning the grand Uchiha coup d'état.

"That's all you're gonna write? That's nothing compared to the book report!"

"Well, that's pretty much what happened. I think that you'll find that people have done much worse for far less." A slight pause, "I'm also pretty sure that despite his supposedly 'complex outer character' Fugaku… well, he's surprisingly uncomplicated."

This is where Itachi and I first made our grand appearances! We were both Konohagakure Shinobi and high-ranking members of the Uchiha clan. We had, of course, been taught that loyalty to our clan comes first, but as people grow, they tend to develop their own opinions and loyalties. Anyone with half a brain could have seen that the path Fugaku was leading the clan down spelled only disaster. Blood would spill heavily on both sides, and that would only cause trouble in the future. Yet… everyone seemed fine with it. As the secret clan meetings began to become more and more frequent, Itachi and I took it upon ourselves to prevent the impending doom.

I had the Kotoamatsukami. Itachi had a plan. The plan went to hell. Danzo stole one of my eyes. I gave the other to Itachi. I jumped-kinda-fell off a cliff. Probably drowned. Yadda, yadda, death. The end.

Sakura stared down at a scroll with a look of fury painting her features.

"What the hell!?" She hissed.

Both Sasuke and Sakura had settled down at Naruto's small living room table. A long scroll was unraveled in front of them, messy and disorganized seals scribbled along on the outer edges. A cup of tea sat in front of the Last Uchiha, steam slowly billowing off the warm liquid. It was eerily silent in the apartment. The usual squeaky ceiling fan whizzing without a sound. Naruto himself sat moodily in the corner, arms cross irritable over his folded legs. Sasuke glanced back at the scroll. A blank expression settled on his face.

"Hn, I second that notion." He said.

"I don't see what has your panties in a twist. That's what happened."

Sakura grabbed the scroll shaking it as if that would solve all their problems. While an effective technique against Naruto, the scroll was critically unaffected.

"YOU LITERALLY BAILED AT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART!" She shrieked.

He really couldn't blame her. He felt like shrieking as well.

"We need more details. Like your name and why you're in a scroll." He prompted gently.

Well, perhaps not gently. More like prompted with a stiff sort of neutrality that promised pain if an immediate answer was not given.

"I don't know what you want! It was stressful! You think that I would have a perfect recollection of a traumatic experience!"

Sakura slammed her fist on Naruto's table sending the tea flying and adding a new crack to the already rotting wood.

"YOU'RE A GODDAMN SHINOBI YOU SOGGY RAMEN NOODLE!" She yelled.

"I'M A GODDAMN SHINOBI WITH FEELINGS YOU INSENSITIVE UGLY BASTARD!"

Sasuke felt a growl slip past his lips.

"If you wouldn't mind..." He said tightly, "I would really appreciate it if you told us who you are and what you are doing in this scroll."

For a moment all was silent. Oh. Nope. Sakura was just fuming in another room.

"I didn't say that already?"

Resisting the urge to burn this dreadful scroll and be over with it all, Sasuke sighed.

"No. You have been suspiciously vague about your identity." He replied, "If it helps, I am Uchiha Sasuke."

Silence again.

"You know… you're a lot more angsty than I remember…"

An eye twitch.

"I'm you're cousin Shisui and you're beloved little Sasuke-chan!"