It took a few tries before Boruto managed to wake up. The first time, it'd been completely dark. The second, he'd been thrown over someone's shoulder. He'd managed to stay awake a little longer than the first time before being dragged back into oblivion. The third time, he stayed awake. The first thing he saw was himself.

He was staring at a wall, covered, floor to ceiling, it photos of himself. All spanning, by the looks of it, the last few months. Slamming back, he cracked his head against something hard. He groaned. That hurt. But then his instincts finally kicked in, and he realised what was going on. There was a gag in his mouth, held in place by a cloth tied between his teeth and around the back of his head, tied so tightly the edges bit into the corners of his mouth. Flexing his wrists, there were cuffs around his wrists and elbows, plus zip ties, cutting into his wrists and arms. They were secured behind some kind of pipe, and straining his neck to see, it was likely a sink. He was in a bathroom. His legs were tied at the ankle and above the knee with zip ties. He tried not to panic, trying to think through the haze of what he remembered. His dad hadn't shown up… it'd been raining… then what? Everything was blank. He took slow, deep breaths. He was thirsty. The gag in his mouth made it difficult to breath, and sucked up all the moisture in his mouth. He tried not to retch on it. He squirmed around a little, trying to see if the bonds had any give.

They didn't.

Boruto could still feel his watch clasped around his wrist, which was a small consolation. But he could also feel his very empty pockets. His phone was gone. That meant no tracking, no calling, no texting. He was left slumped at an awkward angle, head bowed ever so slightly to accommodate the sink. It was uncomfortable. He had no idea how long he'd been there - there were blackout blinds on the window, and his watch was out of reach and view. He didn't want to risk trying to take it off in case he couldn't get it back. His clothes were dry, however, which insinuated it'd been at least a few hours. Based on the fogginess in his head, and the full feeling in his body, the cuffs were chakra restrictors. Or at least, something was. That destroyed the idea of anyone tracing him that way.

The door was to his left, and he watched it from the corner of his eye, waiting for it to open. And after seemingly forever, it did.

The man looked plain enough. Brown hair, brown eyes, forgettable face. But despite Boruto scrutinising every inch of him, he didn't recognise the man. Not a bit. He clenched his fists, willing to free himself so he could punch the guys lights out. Seemingly, such was written on his face, because when the man saw him, he smirked. Boruto scowled.

The man walked over, crouching down so he was eye level with Boruto.

"Hello, Little Rabbit," he said. Boruto made a noise of indignation, but the bastard just smirked. "I'm sure you're upset, but don't worry. You'll understand soon enough. We're going to have such fun together."

Fucker. Boruto would have fun when this guy was behind bars.

The man reached over, ruffling Boruto's hair. He tried to pull away, but thanks to the cuffs, it was pointless. So instead, Boruto conceited to glare daggers at him. The man reached out, cupping Boruto's cheek. He pulled away, but the man grabbed him again, holding him by the chin with a bruising grip.

"Hush now, Rabbit. Don't panic," he said, voice sickeningly sweet. He ran his thumb over Boruto's whiskers, making him stiffen.

Don't touch me.

But he couldn't say it.

"Such a pretty boy, but not a pretty personality," the man continued. "No matter, I'm sure you'll come around eventually. Little Rabbit, if you promise to behave, I'll take fhe gag out. You can ask any questions, and I'll answer."

When the man stared at him expectantly, Boruto nodded stiffly. So the man reached behind Boruto's head, and untied the gag. Then, the man pulled down the gag, and tugged the bunched up cloth out of Boruto's mouth, letting him spit out the rest. Then, he sat down on the floor, and looked at him expectantly. Boruto took a few deep breaths, worked some spit into his mouth, and spoke.

"Who are you?"

"I'm your friend, Little Rabbit." The man said.

"I have a name," Boruto muttered.

"Yes. But Rabbit can be your new name."

"Why?"

"You're like a little Rabbit, caught in a trap and willing to chew off your own leg to escape." At this, the man reached for Boruto's wrists, tracing a finger across the point where the zip ties dug into the skin, making Boruto flinch. When he brought his finger back out, there were little spots of blood. "Little Rabbit."

"Why am I here? What do you want from me?" Boruto growled.

"Because we're going to be friends. You and I are perfect. We're made for each other."

"Let me go, right now, and I'll consider not telling anyone what you did," Boruto snarled.

"Don't be like that. We're going to have such fun together. Aren't you excited?" The man said in a light tone. He was using the tone one would use when talking to a child.

"Go fuck yourself."

Boruto wasn't sure whether or not he'd expected the blow. That didn't make it hurt any less. A backhand across his left cheek, with such force his head hit the sink behind him. He heard something crack. He desperately hoped it had been the sink, and not his skull.

"Don't speak to me like that, rabbit."

But Boruto could barely hear him. His breathing was loud and heavy. He was panicking. So the man grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head around so Boruto was looking at him, eyes wide, like a hare caught in a car's headlights.

"Look at me, when I speak to you Rabbit. The rules in this home are simple. Look at me when I speak to you. Only speak when you are spoken to. Do not disobey me. Am I clear?" When Boruto didn't respond, he shook him by the hair, making Boruto cry out.

"Yes!"

The man released him, brushing his hands on his trousers. Boruto stared blankly at the blonde strands of hair drifting to the floor. The man didn't say anymore. He just stood up, and walked out of the bathroom, leaving Boruto awkwardly slumped, and significantly more terrified than he had been before.

It was going to be a long night.

Shikadai woke up to water one his face, and arguing.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Water's supposed to help, Chubs!"

"It doesn't. Shikadai?"

Coughing and spluttering, Shikadai blearily blinked awake to his dad snapping his fingers in front of his face, and Inojin clutching a water bottle. "What…"

"You fainted," Mitsuki said, peering down at Shikadai. He was on the floor, he realised, still in the forest. "Only for about two minutes."

With a grunt, Shikadai pushed himself up of the floor, shaking his head to dislodge some of the muck. He regretted that instantly, the migraine that hit him being worse.

"Why did I-" Shikadai began, but even as he was saying it, he remembered. It was like a stone had dropped into his stomach. Boruto was gone. He must've gone silent, staring with a vacant expression, because his dad spoke again.

"Shikadai? You feeling alright?" His dad had his hand on his shoulder, and was looking at him with concern. Shikadai tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stuck fast. Shikamaru sighed. "We need to get you guys home. Come on, up you get."

Before Shikadai was really aware of what was happening, his dad was pulling him to his feet.

He blinked, and he was back home. The clock on his desk said it was gone midnight. It had been… three hours, since Boruto had been noticed missing. Was he okay? Was he hurt?

Shikadai was vaguely aware of his mom tucking him in, giving him a kiss on the forehead. He didn't squirm away like he normally would, and his mom noticed. She squeezed him tightly on the shoulder, and Shikadai just made out her saying:

"It's okay, little deer. They'll find him."

And then, Shikadai drifted off into the dark oblivion that was sleep.

Naruto jerked awake, and was surprised for a moment when he realised he was still in his office. He was wearing his clothes from the day before, and the light stubble scratching his chin reminded him he hadn't shaved. For a minute, he tried to remember what he was doing there, but when he saw Hinata curled up on the seat in the corner, everything flooded back.

Boruto.

Heart heavy, Naruto pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the dizziness that struck him. It was seven in the morning, eleven hours since Boruto had ran out. Eleven hours he'd been missing. He picked up the cup of coffee on his desk, swilling it. He frowned. All that was left were ice cold dregs.

He glanced at the new stack of reports on his desk and began to quickly flick through them, searching for any sightings or findings of Boruto or his possessions.

No.

No.

No.

No.

They were all the same. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing-

Wait.

That was something, at least.

Someone had found Boruto's jacket.

It felt like hours before the man came back. Boruto was jolted from an uncomfortable sleep by the door slamming open, cracking against the wall barely an inch away from his head. He shot up to look at the man.

He leered over Boruto, staring down at him with a… greedy, look in his eye.

Boruto didn't like that.

Boruto prepared to kick him if he tried to come close, but before he could, the man produced a key from his pocket. That made Boruto stop. The man bent down, reaching behind Boruto, and he heard the telltale click of the handcuffs unlocking. He winced as they came loose, flexing his wrists (as much as he could with the zip ties still on) to try and regain some of the blood flow. He froze when he heard the flick of a penknife. He went still, hoping, praying the man wasn't going to cut him - but instead, he felt the blade wriggle into the space between his wrists, and slice through the zip tie. His wrists were free. The same was repeated on his elbows, knees and ankles.

Before he can try and regain feeling into his numb limbs, the man grabs him by the upper arm, dragging him off the floor and out of the bathroom. The place was simple - it looked lived in, but not for long. It had a living room, a kitchen and dining room attached, a bedroom (probably) with the door closed, and a small room opposite the bathroom. The man kept a bruising grip on Boruto's arm, and Boruto didn't dare try and tug away.

The man pulled Boruto over to the kitchen counter, where he forced him down onto one of the stools. He then turned to one of the cabinets. Boruto realised all of them had been fitted with baby locks - likely to stop him trying to take or steal anything. The man unlocked one of them, and pulled out a glass. He filled it with water, then put it in front of Boruto. He frowned, glancing up at the man who was staring at him expectantly. Hesitantly, Boruto picked it up, and took a sip. That single sip was all it took for Boruto to remember how thirsty he was, and he downed the whole glass. The man turned away, and Boruto stared at the glass in his hand. The glass was thick. He could work with that. He stared into the man's back. He had to time it right.

He dropped the glass. It shattered across the floor, and Boruto yelped, diving down and scraping the pieces together. He cursed as the slivers cut into his palms and fingers, but kept going. He found a decently sized shard, and tucked it up his sleeve just as he was slapped, hard, across the face. He'd been on his knees, unsteady, and the blow sent him crashing back into the kitchen cupboards. Before he could even get back to his feet, the man seized him by his collar, dragging him forward, forcing Boruto down to his knees on the glass. It hurt. A lot. But the glass scraping the inside of his forearm made it all worth it.

"What the fuck was that?" He hissed.

"I- I dropped it! I'm sorry!" He didn't even have to fake it. The guy was terrifying.

The man released his collar, grabbing him by the hair instead. He threw him to the ground, and Boruto let out a hiss of pain as the glass pierced his cheek.

"Clean it up," the man spat.

Boruto pushed himself up, but when he tried to rise to his feet, the man kicked him hard in the ribs. Boruto bit back a gasp, but stayed on his hands and knees. As he began to sweep the glass with his hands, he knew. It was all worth it, for that little shard of glass.