Disclaimer: I own no rights to Naruto.

There may be violence, expletives, explicit scenes, gore, nerdy humour, bad wordplay, excessive verbosity, etcetera, etcetera. This an experiment. Deal or, respectfully, fuck off.

Time travel. Genfic. Sasuke-centric. Possible pairings at a later date, it depends on which way the wind blows. An attempt at a sombre fanfiction wherein the plot does not ride off on its own, staunchly away from the sunset. Let's see where it goes.

Chapter One - Solivagant

I breathed out. Gasp.

Air felt in short supply and I relished in its cool swoop down my throat, yet still resented the increasing parchedness that came with it. My lips felt cracked and raw; movement of my mouth resulted in a deep, stretching feeling. I bit them in an attempt to overwhelm the pain.

I held in a groan, a pocket of air building up in my throat and contracting my diaphragm as I drew air in through my nose. That was only the first of the pain.

I could feel at least three injured ribs (screams, screams, screaming) – fractured or bruised, I didn't know, but I was fairly sure it wasn't a compound fracture. I had yet to spit blood, so I also doubted my lungs had been pierced. Cataloguing my injuries, I found myself in better health than the last time I believed I had done (so quiet) so. The contusions remained, as did the wounded ribs – as said – and the dehydration. Flexing my leg muscles, I could also feel my leg bones were not broken ("-asuke!").

I could no longer feel an aching sensation in my neck (laughter, sweet, cruel laughter-) and my hand was no longer shattered. It felt at least reparable, now. No word on the internal bleeding and mangled organs, but my midsection did ache sharply. That may have been the hunger, however.

I blinked open my eyes, only realising the hastiness of it after the fact – I had yet to scout my surroundings. Thankfully, it seemed to be too dark to see anything, so hopefully none could see me. A sudden thought to do with something about the Rai Daimyo's ostriches ("-head in the groun-") struck me…

Hn.

My eyelids felt…flat, strangely enough, as though they had been turned inside out, or had been bent the wrong way. I ignored it, though. That was the least of my problems.

Unknown location. Unknown time. Unknown status. Information was a shinobi's best friend, and mine seemed to have abandoned me.

The first thing to do was get myself sorted out. I wasn't dead ("-areyou sure?"), but I had definitely been moved, which suggested that I was either moved for treatment or a prisoner. I was injured, without weapons, alone for now. I was-

I was-

I-

I sat up.

I sighed. I couldn't do this right now ("-t maybe later."). I raised my fingers to rub at my eyes – that were aching, now that I concentrated. Hopefully nothing was wrong – then stilled, suddenly. I, very slowly and with much restraint, moved my hands into my lap and latched them together.

I breathed. Breathed again. ("-breathe, Sas-") Paused to check if it was working. It wasn't.

I, once more, brought my searching fingers that were not (liar) trembling up to my face – to my eyes. And I froze.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

It wasn't that I was blind. Oh no. I was quite sure my eyes were not damaged. No one with any ambition at all would dare damage one of the last few specimens of the ever-vaunted sharingan eye. Wherever they happened to be at this time. They were gone.

Where had once been the sharingan – the pride of the Uchiha, one of the only five (four) remaining – there was nothing. Two concave hollows, riddled with raised ridges. Keloid, I identified distantly. My eye sockets were empty.

I could feel the scar tissue. It was rather unpronounced, smooth, as though someone had tried to reduce the tissue damage. That was ridiculous, though. Why would someone whom had stolen my eyes – ("-ringan is our pride and joy-") – bother to improve the aesthetics of the results of the operation (crime). My eyes were not there.

Yes – take my eyes, why don't you? Just remember to preserve my vanity.

Liquid trembled down my cheeks and – andI was not crying. And I brought my wrists up to wipe it off and on them, I smelt rust. Blood. My sockets were bleeding. I hoped this wasn't to be a regular thing.

I probably didn't have tear ducts anymore, anyway. It was very difficult not to damage them when removing eyes, I recalled – ("-holdthe scalpel like this, Sasuke-ku-"). One advantage from this. My eyes – being gone, I mean.

I was struck by a sudden moment of hysteria. I was discussing the advantages of the removal of my sharingan. The pride and legacy of my Clan. Itachi's eyes, really. I had pried them from his("Ani-") eye sockets, after all.

They're not there.

Was this more of the vengeance I had so adored? Had Itachi's ghost come to steal back his eyes – to collect the debt I owed him – two sharingan eyes, please. Keep the change.

I giggled.

I was still bleeding ("-blood-") from my eye sockets. A rupture of the wounds – recent, but long enough ago to scar – I knew I could not leave them like that. It was unhygienic ("-slight post-trau-"). What a way to go for a shinobi – infection.

I had no clean cloth available to wash or wrap the…wounds. I would need to find a water source. Wash the remains of what I was wearing, and use some of that. No time to stall for the sake of my deteriorating mental state, now.

I thanked Susano'o that Kakashi – (what is that in his eye soc-?, did He miss one-?) had instituted mandatory blindfold training – only on his genin team, of course. Even though I had hated it at the time, it seemed to be coming in useful ("-shouldn't rely so much on your ey-").

It worked to extend a brief flash of pure chakra, permeating the area surrounding you, to use as an impromptu retina. It then sent the signals up through the optical nerve and into the visual cortex for translation.

It gave you a field of vision a lot farther than usual, not having to focus the lens of the eye. It resulted in brilliant peripherals that were – if the rumours of their blind-spot ("-are you a blindperso-?") were true – better than the Hyuuga.

The main issue with the technique, and the reason none of Team Seven had been enthusiastic to use it, is that without the aid of the lens of the eye, the image was not flipped. This left the image to be translate to be – from the perspective of the user – upside down. A real (illusory?) image, rather than the usual virtual image.

Another thing was that it was initially rather painful – the chakra field had no protecting cornea, leaving the 'retina' exposed. The sensation calmed after a while – luckily Kakashi had long since put us past the point of pain.

I recalled certain instances with Naruto – ridiculous. He had spent half of the training running around, clawing at his eyes and wailing.

Then, there was the disorientation. You had to learn to use it while your eyes were open, said Kakashi. He said that it was foolish to sacrifice an input avenue – the chakra field was to act as an extra sense, not a replacement.

And here I am, I thought, completely ignoring that. Not like I could help it much, though. I wonder if that would matter to Kakashi, he always was so illogical.

My chest ached. Painkiller moved up my list of priorities.

So, you were left with an upside-down, painful image that was seared into your brain, overlaying with conflicting signals from your actual eyes. Then, lastly, the reason most didn't use it

Alike the byakugan, it was only a replacement for the rods in the eye – detecting only black and white light frequencies.

For shinobi, everyone was rather fussy – or maybe it was just Konoha. They disliked the feeling of blindness, even if only colour blindness, and the overlay of images apparently terrified them.

I would have to deal, however. My eyes were gone, after all. Not much I could do about that. I stood on shaky legs – that was another thing. I was sure I had been injured (dead). Who had healed (cursed) me?

I did not wish to think of it. One goal at a time. Okay – enhance your senses, expand and contract your chakra periodically, directing the current to your eyes ("no, Sasuke-kun, you shouldn't activate your sharinga-").

Flash. Ignoring the tingling, I gained a quick inverted image of the surrounding area. Upwards, it was bristly, but too dry to stick to the ceiling – the floor. The bristles were sharp and narrow. Needles. Not metallic, though – there was no telling shine. Anyway, it was the floor, so I was lying on it. Why would I be lying on a bed of needles?

Though, I considered, thinking back on it. There was…

Nonetheless, there was a craggy surface that shied away from the floor in a nervous arch. It was stolid, and obdurate. Though there were some soft, gentle curves to the crags that suggested maybe a more pliable material. Rock. Soft rock – southern Iwa, near Ame, maybe?

Arched, soft rock and a bristly, flexible floor - a cave. I was in a cave. The floor was pine needles, then. It had probably once been a nest for an animal. Might still be. I should probably leave quickly. Before the theoretical animal came back.

If I was in Iwa, it was probably a bear. I could kill a bear easily enough, but it would not help my injuries any.

There really wasn't much more I could see – the image shown was dark, which corresponded to the external level of lighting. Just faint shadows I could make conjectures at all day, without making any real headway.

Cave, high-ceiling, floor littered with pine needles, little light. I could smell the pine, now. I almost couldn't understand why I hadn't before, it was so strong. I suppose I was…otherwise occupied ("-ukukuk-").

The air was chill, and the draft came from the source of light – the exit. I made towards it with a confident step, and almost fell flat on my face, my quick reflexes reacting to steady myself with a hand again the damp cave wall. I could feel spongy moss – green or yellow, I believe, though I could not see it.

My perception of the outside world would now be reduced to monochromatic vision. I wonder if I would eventually forget what colours looked like? It would be a pain to identify poisons – colour was a key component. I would have to do something about that.

I revised my gait to a hesitant shuffle, the sacrifice of stealth worth the lack of agitation to my injuries due to repeated collapse. I could feel a dried bed of leaves beneath the pine needles, both quickly thinning out as I neared the entrance to the cave, unveiling the slick – from rain? Not likely Hi no Kuni, then. Southern Iwa was seeming more and more possible – rock floor beneath.

I edged precariously to the direction of the cave exit, and when I began to feel warm, presumably from sunlight, I stopped still to flash my chakra again. Yes – sunlight.

Midmorning, then?

It interfered with the sensing, projecting a bright field of light pollution that clouded up most of the view. I sighed. This was going to be difficult.

Nonetheless, I recognised the vague impression of a treeline beyond and beneath the pollution, and tentatively shambled across to it, finally escaping the warmth a mere few feet in, after a close call with what appeared to be a yew tree.

I was frustrated at my frailty. I had better practice moving around; otherwise, I would be unable to defend myself. When better to start than now?
I staggered in a – by the position of the sun, or the greatest concentration of light pollution, rather – southerly direction.

I must have been wandering for hours, and as the heat and light only became more intense, I assumed my judgement of my midmorning waking must have been correct. I was scraped and bruising, and my formerly merely dry lips were bleeding. I could taste the salt, and it was quite pleasant – not at all sweet.

Eventually, when the sun was approaching its hottest - its highest in the sky, I assume -, I sat down and leaned in the shade, against one of the nearby willows, letting my skin out of the constant barrage of heat. I made sure to lean on my shoulder, avoiding the severe sunburn on the back of my neck.

Panting heavily and sweating, I clawed at the willow bark until it flaked off. Disregarding my torn, bleeding fingernails, I shoved the willow bark into my mouth, and wiped off the wood splinters on my shirt. I chewed idly as I thought.

I love painkillers.

The relief was immense. Not only of the pain, but the of the fact of the knowledge that the tree I was leaning against was a willow - they only grew nearer water. Not long now.

I got up again, leaned with my shoulder onto the tree, still chewing on the bark, and set off again.

After approximately four more falls into three more ditches, eight more collisions with innumerable more trees of both yew, ash and - later - willow, and several more layers of burned skin, I eventually stumbled – quite literally, and with much dourness – onto a muddy area. I could hear it, the water, now that I focused, a faint rushing sound. Even so, I had to strain my ears to do so.

It should be about half a mile away. I felt that distance oh-so keenly, every singular step. I was tired and sore and irate, by now. Nonetheless, I shook the feeling off. I followed the mud, confirming the consistency of the ground to make sure I was going in the right direction, and checking with my chakra for the telling kaleidoscope of whites and greys that indicated a translucent liquid in sunlight.

I did find it, finally, though it was a trial. The better – not even near 'good' – news was that it became easier the closer I became, as I started to hear it more sharply, and smell the dampness of the air more acutely.

It was mostly straight, frothing with foam in some areas and partially overshadowed with – I guess, from the shape – willow trees. Its slippery banks were littered with patches of flattened grass, and sharp, protruding rocks. It was – inasmuch as it could be so – a beautiful sight.

Ambling over – for I had gained a measure of proficiency, in that my collisions had lessened in later hours –, I held my hand in it for a few seconds to ensure it had a current, and brought it up to my nose to smell for any of the more odorous pollutants. I also tested with my chakra for any corpses in the vicinity: there were none near enough to pollute the river. That was the best I could hope to do without proper vision.

I was relieved. I didn't think I could take anymore.

I quickly fell onto the river, in full view of the glaring sun, and used my hands to scoop some of the cool water into my dry mouth, soothing my cracked and bleeding lips, and rubbed the remainder in my singed hair and on my reddened neck and face. I then laid down on my stomach and ducked my head into the current, scrubbing at my hair. I wallowed there for a while.

Eventually shakily uprighting myself, I removed my shirt and began washing it of the sweat and grime in the river until it smelt clean. At that point, my hands had become chafed with the scrubbing, but I ignored the pain.

I flared my chakra and began the finicky, arduous process of tearing the cloth into strips without proper sight, some of which I dampened, then used to clean the more sensitive areas around my eye sockets – the cheekbones, temples, and the ridge of my eyebrows – and others which I used to dry them of the newly-bloodied liquid.

I used the last strip – a longer one which I had torn in an oblique manner to maintain the length – to wrap around my head a few times, level with my eye sockets. Afterwards I was slightly pale with exertion – chakra exhaustion – but I did not let it show.

Mostly clean and dry and cool, I shifted my muddied knees, and moved on to the next matter. Where was I?

Again - opinions?