Project: SasuSaku Month. :D
Theme/Prompt: Post Canon/Dreams-Nightmare

dreaming ALOUD

.

He was just a pipe dream.

Akin to those ponies she wished she could ride, akin to the rainbows she wished she could reach the end of, akin to that One Soul Mate.

All dreams.

Fantastic illusions of grandeur and Love At First Sight.

But some dreams were so clear, so vivid…

…that she wondered if they were dreams at all.

.

She looked back on the Bench Incident with apprehension. Whenever she did remember, she always felt as though an air of folklore were encasing her memories.

She wondered if she had just fallen asleep on a bench and forgotten about it, and, in that time of unconsciousness, had dreamed up the words he had said, the way his breath was so close to her ear.

It didn't seem too far-fetched an idea.

It seemed too cocky of him to leave from the village gate. It seemed too strange and impossible for him to whisper a thank you to her. It seemed impossible that she, at some point in time, had spoken and cried and begged with the only weapon she had in her, at the time, meager arsenal: love.

Silly, she thought to herself.

The only person she could corroborate her story with was him.

But he was gone.

.

That night, she dreamed of him. It certainly wasn't the first time, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

She didn't remember what the dream was, exactly. She never did.

But she always woke the same way: angry and frustrated and sad and angry…and a little bit nostalgic.

His memory never would leave her alone, would it?

He was a nightmare himself, she reckoned, haunting her forever.

.

He was just a dream.

But she wished, she so wished he were a reality.

.

It was when he stumbled back into the village, clutching his crooked forearm with a grip so tight that his knuckles were white, that she wondered, not for the first time, if there were some higher power, some sort of fate or destiny laid out for the world.

As a woman of science, she couldn't not doubt the mysticism of the concept of a god, of some perfect deity that shined down upon the earth. Seeing the way people withered and struggled with death and suffered with living made her doubtful.

(What kind of sentimental higher being let that little boy be knocked backwards into a fire? What kind of merciful god let villages with no hope left to be plundered by common thieves? What kind of kindhearted, gracious spirit let the women and children of that village be raped and murdered by sadists?

What kind of god granted said thieves and murders and sadists allowance to do those kinds of things in the first place?)

But the way things happened, the strangest coincidences that occurred…

She wondered.

For when Sasuke returned, stumbling back into the village, not even a few seconds earlier had she sat down on that Bench for the first time in eight years.

.

She dreamt of him.

She awoke with a silent scream, tangled in constricting sheets, in a cold sweat, heart beating so loud that she was sure the vibrations of it would tear her body to pieces on that very bed.

Too afraid to move, she stayed that way, wide awake and frozen in the nightmare, replaying it over and over in her mind until the bright rays of dawn shone through her window.

And then, and only then, did she carefully remove herself from the sheets and allow herself to walk into the bathroom, stare at her haunted face in the mirror, and cry.

.

He was sentenced.

The word tasted bitter on her lips: execution.

.

She had allowed herself one visit—just one—to the psychiatric ward of the hospital where he was being kept until his expiration date.

She sincerely doubted he was really, truly insane.

But as she slipped through the barricaded doors of his room and stood hesitantly at the entrance, feeling as though she were thinner and more delicate than blown glass, she was unsure.

He was perched on the edge of his bed, grinning at absolutely nothing. His feet swung freely, and his gaze was filmy. Fingers, so restless, and in complete contrast to his facial expression, were tensely clenching and unclenching the thick, fleece blankets.

She took a step forward.

"I'm dying in," his gaze flickered quickly to the clock where it stayed for a while, mentally calculating the time he had left, "exactly six days, two hours, nineteen minutes, and…twenty-four seconds." He glanced at her, the grin still in place.

She licked her lips that were suddenly so dry, but said nothing.

"Will you miss me?" he questioned, grin fading. His eyes cleared for a moment, as if before he were in some far away world and he were here now.

Her lips twitched.

"Sakura?"

She took him in: his chakra-sucking bands on his ankles and wrists, the dark circles under his eyes, the light stubble on his jaw line. She looked away.

"I can't save you," she said without preamble. "I've always wanted to, but I can't. Not from this."

This time, he said nothing.

She looked back at him, arms crossed around her midsection, stepping hesitantly toward him, only a few feet away until she was just in front of him and his swinging feet knocked at her shins gently. She ducked her head, staring intently at the dots on the tiles. "Yes," she breathed, finally. "Yes, I will miss you."

She looked up and leaned forward, pressing a brief kiss to his still lips, and then turned and walked away.

.

A knock on her door had informed her of the latest news: the criminal who committed high treason, Uchiha Sasuke, would be sentenced to a public execution due to the demands and pulls of the Elders.

She shut the door and wondered.

She wondered what the difference between "can't" and "won't" was, and whether either of them could morph into a "can".

.

She slipped the highly potent pill in her mouth and walked down the white corridors of the hospital psychiatric ward.

One last time, she promised.

.

She stepped through the barricaded doors much like last time, but different. With purpose, now. He sat in the same place, and his lips twitched into a smirk.

"I lied," she whispered. "I can."

She stepped between his swinging legs and wrapped her hands around his neck, tugging his head down to hers.

"Let me save you," she whispered to his mouth just before she tugged him a little further and slanted her lips against his. His hands curled around her waist.

Wonderingly, she thought, could nightmares and dreams be one in the same?

They separated, and she turned and left.

.

She walked out of the doors of the hospital and squinted into the sunlight, her mind and body and soul and mouth free.

.

With one last chuckle, he swallowed.

.

She awoke, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and a head tucked in at her neck, hair tickling her shoulder from the soft whirr of the fan above.

Sometimes, her dreams were so vivid, so clear…

…so terrifying…

…but never, she thought, decidedly, would they ever compare to this…to this reality.

.

conceptions: I feel like someone may or may not ask this, so I'll answer it before you do: I don't know what parts are the dreams and what are the reality, aside from the obvious: that sasuke is obviously not dead, and so neither can she have assisted him in dying nor has he been executed. the rest is open ended, and for your interpretation only. I have my opinions, but reading and interpreting it your way is the most important part of the process, if you will, I think. (:

a thousand thanks to pandastacia for beta-ing!