Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Status: Incomplete

Summary: She does not know where she is. Or why they are here with her. She only knows the sharp, brutal pain of the knife and the dreams. Or: Orochimaru's Lab is busted early and everything else goes to hell in a handbasket.

The first sound he ever remembers hearing is screaming. He doesn't know the name for it—not at first—but that harsh, high-pitched wail and screeching can only be one thing. Later—much, much, much later, he will come to realize that it is her screaming that drives him to do it, that makes the thing in his head snap and break until—It scrapes his soul to hear it, that crash of fear and pain and agony.

The first time he ever remembers hearing is also the first time he remembers sight.

His vision is grainy and blotchy—black and white—until one day it steadies and—and—and—

He can see.

He blinks. Once. Twice. Around him is green. Things leave his arms; encased in metal, tubing in and out; suctioned. He wants to thrash, to fight against it, but before he can even dare to begin—

He hears laughter.

His eyes snap upwards, and it burns, the muscles not used to moving on their own—tears crawl into his eyes and ache—and he scans the room; wet, dripping, yet surprisingly Spartan in its structure; and pitches his head forward to try and catch it again.

He spies the thing—blob—person? And the breath inside his lungs stutters violently.

She is small. Ridiculously so. Her legs don't reach the end of the cot, and her arms are stubby and—she is small. Her hair is blue. It's shaved to the skull in clumps—some locks hang in long, aquamarine, electric knots and clusters—and others…he can see the wonky, inflamed stitching, the sutures and redredred holes.

Her eyes are what capture his attention. They're big, and a piercing, brilliant gray—luminescent. They're riveted on the ceiling and; and; he thinks—maybe if—if she can see him—theycanleave—

(No more subject 1123457, November 7th; no more—"Just a little more, just a little,")

She gurgles, and her arms stretch out to catch something unseen. Giggles filter out from her mouth and he thinks, wow, her skin is very pale—he thinks of a woman he once saw, and she's hazy in his memories, but he remembers her ashen skin and trembling hands and—he's not going to think about that anymore.

There are footsteps, and the girl begins to whine. She struggles against the restraints and thrashes and now, she's sobbing and he thinks—stop, just stop, please stop they'll hurt you and I can't—

The screams start again and he closes his eyes.

~.~

It takes him six seconds to decide that this is enough youcannotdothistous—

Pandemonium erupts.

~.~

The wind blows through the trees, and Obito closes his eyes against the breeze. It lifts the hair off his neck, and he lets out a gusty sigh, the tension in his shoulders already loosening. He's sweaty—and sticky. The sun had been high today, the heat making the shadows long and the burn of the sun fiercer. He's sure that his cheeks are already pink, from both running around Konoha (seven full laps, Minato-sensei? Are you trying to kill us?) and the overbearing torridness that had heated up the valley, filling the air with thick, musty humidity and heavy rainclouds.

Kakashi had gone off to train again, as usual, and Rin had left early for another training course at Konoha General Hospital. Minato had a date with Kushina-baka and he had apologized sheepishly, cheeks pink (but not from the heat or the running, the bastard) and disappeared in a flash of gold and yellow, leaving Obito with the promise to train extra hard on his fire jutsu tomorrow.

He doesn't want to go home.

Not to the suffocating emptiness of loneliness, or to the stifling echo of the long lost.

Still, he'd done everything he needed to—shopped for groceries near Hokage-sama's tower, picked up the deliveries at the weapon's shop, dealt with the haggling price and had to use the Uchiha Glare (patented, of course) to convince the shop owner to lower the cost, and well, now…Now there was nothing to do.

So he inches his way home, a scowl sewn into his face, feet trudging across the bricks, hoping that something or someone will stop him and ask him to help.

For once in his life, he actually wants to be late.

This is what he's thinking about when it happens.

It doesn't happen right away, but when it does, it happens quickly.

Later—later—he won't be able to remember much of it.

He scuffs his feet against the sandy brick and frowns. Something's—something's shaking—the earth begins to rumble and groan and the metal bars screech as they stretch to acclimate the movements. Things begin to roll—the frying pan from Ichiraku's with all the scalding-hot ramen in it narrowly misses his arm, and Obito jumps back just as the trees rip out of the ground and tear a hole through the street.

People scream and run; shinobi hurl themselves towards the danger; the genin and chunnin corps escort the screaming, sobbing civilians to safety, their eyes hard and mouths pursed tightly.

And Obito—Obito stands still in shock, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

Obito stares at them.

A pair of dark brown eyes meet his. Desperation waves through them, and the thing—boy—opens his mouth to say something—

The bundle in his arms moans and then he's gone.

Obito's still standing in the street, eyes wide when they find him.

~.~

He's got to run, he thinks.

He looks down at her and his hands clench in what remains of her hair. She's hot—feverish—and she begins to sweat. Her body is a furnace; a fire; she's too hot to survive. She's trembling, shaking against him and her grip is weak around his neck. She shivers like she' s freezing, and he knows, somehow, he's got to get her to someone who can help.

He's got to run, he promises himself.

He doesn't ever want to see those yellow eyes again.

right, so, tell me what you think? That would be much appreciated! thank you so much for reading :)