He slept without dreams.
It was a mercy. His dreams had always been flat and dark. Even as a small child. He'd listened solemnly as his mother sang him fanciful lullabies. He'd closed his eyes and tried to picture the brightly colored samurai and oni, the mad monks and beautiful princesses, the mischievous ghosts, the tigers... But his mind was always full of quiet, normal things. There was no magic in him. He couldn't believe in miracles, or second chances. He remembered a teacher murmuring that his grades were excellent, his basic skills were excellent, but he'd never be a brilliant tactician. He lacked imagination.
Still, his father had no time for colorful or fanciful things.
And, anyway, he wanted to be like his father. That was what he was supposed to do. His father was stern and serious, always. How his whimsical mother had ended up with a grim person like him was beyond Sasuke's understanding.
Well, it didn't matter anymore.
He woke in darkness. He heard the sounds of night, felt the cool touch of night air on his skin. An open window. He felt the walls around him. There were torches... lanterns.. outside, somewhere. His vision was hazy, but he could see them. He was sure he could.
A vague sketch of a silent, peaceful house at nighttime. Orochimaru's childhood house, maybe. Orochimaru's memories.
Though, this was unusual genjutsu, to say the least. His entire side hurt. His head pounded, his feet stung, as if he'd worn the skin right off them. But other then that... Well. He was almost comfortable. He'd loved this feeling when he was young, tucked away in bed with his family house safe and silent, all around him.
It was feeling he had no use for, now. But if Orochimaru was trying to unnerve him, he'd have to try a lot harder.
He closed his eyes. Trying to clear his vision was tiring him out. It made his headache worse.
Orochimaru was trying his patience, lately. He was running out of time. Itachi was slipping away from him. And soon, Orochimaru would want to climb in under his skin, take whatever pound of flesh he needed. Sasuke didn't care about that. He had nothing left. But he had wanted to track Itachi in the Bird Country, ambush him in the quarries there, pin him to the rockface and carve out his heart. Orochimaru had forbidden it.
He needed Sasuke there, with him.
Orochimaru was months away from his final claim on him, but he wanted to ease his way in. He wanted to run endless tests and jutsus, slowly mingling himself. He had to work his tiresome dark magic. He wanted to carve sigils, lick blood from Sasuke's throat, call on demons.. it was all a lot of posturing and Sasuke was tired of it. He preferred the beatings and hard training, it was straightforward. And meanwhile, he had lost Itachi in the mists, again. He had no idea where Itachi was now, what he was doing, how strong he had become, nothing. Orochimaru played with his seal, his chakra, tried to play with his sense of reality. Sasuke wished Orochimaru would just get on with it.
Though, maybe, this was genjutsu to occupy his mind while Orochimaru diddled with his useless body. This was a bottle world, a hallucination to hold him still. He hurt so much that he didn't feel like moving, anyway. He could sleep forever, almost... if he didn't have Itachi to worry about. He wondered vaguely whether Orochimaru had broken his ribs, or if the pain was part of the jutsu.
And sleep returned. Dreamless. He fell to the bottom of that black well and didn't wake.
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Missing-nin were put to death.
They were often tortured first.
Hinata thought it likely, too, that he simply could have lain unconscious and undiscovered, and died of exposure. It wouldn't have been difficult. The nights were cold and wet at this time of year. Maybe the village scouts would find him when the spring thaw finally set in. A bloated corpse in anonymous clothing. Hinata thought of dying that way, alone and unnoticed. She shivered.
Or he could have been dismembered in the village square, dragged out by ANBU interrogators. Hinata remembered Naruto-kun and Sakura, both of them quietly heartbroken in their own way. Seeing the determination on Naruto's face, remembering it.. she couldn't abandon his teammate. It was no small task to carry him home, to sneak him into the village walls, and finally into her family house. But she managed it.
She found the oldest and most trusted of her family's retainers, the old cook Miya. She explained the situation. She put Uchiha Sasuke in a safe place, the last place anyone would look. She stood back as the old cook bent over him, peeling the dirty, torn clothes from his body. She fetched hot water and bandages. Outside, sunlight glittered off melting ice in the serene inner garden. As if nothing was amiss.
"Aaaah," the old cook muttered under her breath, disapprovingly. She tossed the last of his clothes to the side. Hinata turned her head, embarrassed. Miya caught her doing it, and smiled indulgently.
"Nothing I haven't seen before." she said, matter of factly. She had one hand on his bare skin, probing an inflamed, jagged cut in his side. "Hand me that knife, dear? Now, run off to the kitchen and tell Kimi-chan to sterilize some needles."
Hinata scuttled off, blushing.
When she returned, the cook glanced over her shoulder. A faint sheen of sweat glimmered on her forehead.
"Wound's septic. Looks like a sword cut, maybe." she pronounced. "See that? They twisted the blade." she beckoned with two bloodied fingers, and pointed. Hinata had to suppress the urge to take a step back. "It's not in his blood, but no wonder he's feverish.. poor boy." the old cook continued, not much bothered by any of this. She took the needles. "He's lucky he's not awake, it's been infected for days. He's going to regret whatever scuffle he got into..." Hinata turned away, uncomfortable, as the cook drained the wound.
She crossed the room, sat down against the wall. She waited to be sent for more supplies. But the cook simply worked silently, bandaging his feet now. Hinata found herself studying his face, his wet hair scattered over the pillow.
"I wonder what happened to him." she murmured. "He was so strong."
"Well, he's been running for days, from the look of this." the cook replied, not looking up. She lifted one of his feet, running a finger lightly over the blistered sole. "Foolish thing to do, if he's on the run.. coming back here."
Hinata knit her fingers together, worriedly.
Her family's servants were loyal. Miya ruled the others with a maternal iron fist. Hinata knew that if she ordered silence, the story of the missing-nin would go no further then the front gate.
Fate had conspired. It would not have been possible if her father had been home. She would not have felt confident that she could smuggle him in under Neji's nose. As it was, much of her extended family was traveling across the border to their ancestral home. She was alone with the family's staff of servants. And her sister, who would be home intermittently, out for day missions, some overnight journeys. She would swear the staff to secrecy. She would conceal his presence from her little sister. To be honest, she didn't know what to tell Hanabi. Why had she brought him home? Other then the simple desire to not see him freeze to death overnight...
The sticking point was the medics. They would recognize him. They would call ANBU. And ANBU, with killing irony, would revive him enough to withstand interrogation. Calling for them was out of the question. But she worried about the blood... that deep cut, swollen with infection. The fever, his battered feet.
The cook had residual healing knowledge. She'd bandaged Hinata's scraped knees and nicked hands. Hinata thought that she could call for Sakura-san, if necessary, but she worried about Naruto-kun's ability to keep a secret. Surely this one would force it's way out of him. Sakura-san would understand the need for secrecy. She'd know whether to tell Tsunade-sama. Or not.
All the same, Hinata breathed a sigh of relief when the old cook looked up, and said that he would recover.
"Rest, medicine, and good behavior." she said gruffly, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Those dressings will have to be changed daily. And if he insists on training too soon, like a fool..." Hinata wondered how much of that was directed at her "...he'll aggravate that sword cut, make things harder on himself."
"But he'll survive," Hinata pressed, softly.
"Mmmhmm." the cook grumbled. "Yes, yes." she waved her calloused hand, wet with soapy water now. "The herbs will take the swelling down. His fever should go in a day or two. His feet will heal, if he has the sense to stay in bed. I'll be around to check on him in the evening."
"Thank you, Miya-san." she murmured.
Another grumble, more affectionate this time. "Young people.." her sigh was indulgent. "Well, come to lunch, then. You're looking too skinny. And don't think I don't see those bruises on your knuckles." She patted Hinata's shoulder with one damp hand. "Come on now.. "
She ate in the kitchen, with the cook and her helpers. She listened to their friendly chatter with half an ear, mulling over her next move. She remembered Sakura-san and Naruto-kun. They had gone to the ends of the earth for this man.
But she had no idea what to tell them. She sensed the situation would spiral out of control, swiftly. And as she recalled, now, she'd seen Sakura-san at the market. Sakura had mentioned that Naruto was away on a surveillance mission. But even if she could go to Sakura, somehow keep this from the Hokage...
She needed time to think, to decide what to do. Her father would return in a week. Neji would be back shortly after. Uchiha Sasuke would have to heal, and leave unnoticed, by then. He would have to be healthy enough to flee the village.
And she had a bigger problem. She would have to talk to him. Explain herself. He wouldn't sleep forever. Soon, he would be awake.