Unsealed Words: Sounds in Silence - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

The feeling of falling asleep was often comforting to many people. Waking up depended on the person. Some people were built for the mornings, while others dreaded their eventual rise and shine. Yet, no matter who you are, waking up when you don’t remember falling asleep was scary. Even more so when the gentle beeps and drips of medical equipment were the only sounds around you, pain wracked your entire body, and you couldn't move a muscle.

No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t even open her eyes. Not that they felt heavy; it was like she physically couldn’t open them. A disconnect between mind and body, one that made the mind run on pure paranoia and terror. 

Not a single wiggle of a toe, a twitch of the finger, a shift to a more comfortable position. Nothing. She couldn’t even move her eyes from behind their lids, staring into the black curtains that refused to move, budge, or acknowledge her wants.

Panic set in within mere moments, and even the panic itself perpetuated because panicking without moving was another source of terror. 

Sleep Paralysis came to mind, but she’d had no run-ins with it before, and the pain felt out of place.

Her body hurt, not in the way muscles felt in the aftermath of a strenuous workout, but in the instinctual ‘you need to go to the hospital, something is deeply wrong’ sort of way. There weren’t words to describe it. It wasn’t a mind-numbing, tortuous, unable to function type of pain. It wasn’t even an aching, cramping, burning, sharp, shooting, stabbing, throbbing, tingling, or stinging pain, it was the pain of a sixth sense. Something foreign. 

She laid there for what felt like hours, listening to the droning sounds of medical equipment as her mind ran a mile a minute, trying to understand her situation. Did she get into an accident? What sort of accident could cause… whatever this was she felt? Whatever situation she was in?

Eventually, a new, familiar sound broke the monotony of the room. The sound of a door opening, footsteps, and shuffling paper. It was off to her right side, but she couldn’t get a gist of how far away it was. For the next minute, she waited and prayed for help. There wasn’t much else to do other than that.

Every few minutes, the sound would grow closer, repeating, until they came to her side. There must have been papers next to her, as she heard whoever it was pick them up to begin flipping through them. Her heart rate skyrocketed in hope, and she felt the gentle caress of a warm hand grab her wrist, feeling around for what must have been her pulse. 

She felt the moment her visitor felt something wrong, her heart rate must have been in the stratosphere, and they noticed. 

They noticed. 

The hand let go. She felt her cushioned bed sink with some added weight, then she could see. 

It was a man, dark brown hair, brown eyes… fairly average looking in the grand scheme of things. He held her eyelid open before shining a bright light into her eyes, swishing it back and forth.

With all her will, might, perseverance, and adrenaline, she managed the most subtle of shifts. Her eyes twitched, something she had been trying with all effort for the past… whatever time had passed. It was all she could manage, but yet it was enough. 

It had to be enough. 

The light was gone, and she could see the man once again, face full of uncertainty and confusion, like he stared at something that should not be. 

“Aburame-chan?” He muttered, unsure of himself. 

That wasn’t her name, but she would not let this opportunity slip through her fingers. She twitched her eyes once more and saw the flood of relief mixed with confusion and panic set into the man's visage. 

“Aburame-chan!?” He nearly screeched, before reaching away, tapping something out of view. His hand returned down to grab hers for comfort, both for her and for himself, it seemed like. She let it happen. It wasn’t as if she could do anything about it, and it sure as shit worked to make her inner turmoil bend to relief and hope.

Moments later, the sound of the door opening once again announced another person. “Kisaragi-san? You called?” A woman’s voice drifted through the room. 

She could hear the man swallow, wetting his throat before he shakily answered. “Ab—Aburame-chan is awake.”

—-----------

The next hour flew by in a cacophony of motion. Dozens of people came into the room, checking what must have been her charts. They felt her pulse, checked her eyes, and sat her up in her bed. Whatever they put into her IV had helped as well, as over the hour, she could twitch her fingers, toes, look around, and slowly open and close her eyes. She felt exhausted, even though she was pretty sure she had been in a coma and slept for gods knows how long.

The first thing she noticed once she could properly roam her eyes around, and what also caused the surrounding nurses to fly into a near panic because of her heart rate skyrocketing, was that everything was wrong. This wasn’t her body. 

First, she was supposed to have long, curly, blonde hair. Not black. Not to mention that she was also an adult, not a fucking scar riddled child. Instead of 22, she looked… 8? Everyone also kept calling her Aburame-chan, like she was in Japan or an anime. Her actual name was… was—She couldn’t remember, but it sure as shit wasn’t Aburame. 

She also couldn’t fucking speak. Through mountainous effort, she could only exhale air, and make the P, T, and S sounds. One nurse, noticing her effort, sat down next to her with a solemn smile—a very much ‘I’m about to drop bad news’ smile. 

“Aburame-chan…” The nurse paused, waiting to ensure she had her focus. “Your Kikaichu are gone. As well as your voice… You will never speak again. You have been in a coma, unable to control your chakra. So, your Kikaichu had to be removed before further harm could be done. It was for your own safety.” 

The nurse had said it like it should have upset her, even going so far as to wait for her outburst that never came. Oh, she felt like crying and a pit opened up in her stomach. Not being able to talk was going to be an adjustment, to say the least, but she had more pressing concerns. So, she just kinda… stared, confusedly. Kikaichu? Chakra? 

The door to her, and what seemed to be many other coma patients' room, nearly broke off its hinges as it was forcefully thrust open. Following was a man who was obviously not a nurse, judging by his attire—a dark grey trench coat with a tall collar that covered his lower face and a pair of goggles on his forehead. He had shaggy brownish-black hair, messy and done up with a back bun. He strode in on a mission. 

She watched on with a side eye as the man talked with one nurse who blocked his path, most likely filling him in on her condition. Although she didn’t know who it was, it was obviously someone that knew her—as in her body. She wasn’t a complete idiot. She wasn’t who she was. Looked completely different, had a different name, wasn’t the right age. People were doing weird shit around her, and she woke from a coma. All roads led to her being where she wasn’t supposed to be. And if she wasn’t who she was supposed to be, then the question was whose body was this? 

Who did she take over?

As she watched the man in the trench coat, a separate nurse—the original man who’d discovered her awake, Kisaragi—put his palm on her head. Suddenly, a gentle coat of green… energy? Mana? encompassed his hand, and a surge of warmth suffused her being. 

It felt… nice. Almost like sunbathing; a warming, relaxing feeling. That’s not to say she actually relaxed, as this man was casting some sort of real life fucking magic on her! She may have freaked out—at least to the best of her abilities—wiggling her head and neck, arms and legs in a futile struggle to get away from whatever the man was doing. He noticed, but ignored her, as anything she tried was ineffective. 

He watched her feeble struggles as he continued using magic. “It’s the Mystical Palm. I am scanning you for any further injuries.” 

He said it like it should have made sense, like she should have known that the Mystical Palm was.

She didn’t. 

“Sano.” A deep, brisk, and worried voice rang out, followed by a comforting grip on her shoulder. It was the trench coat man. Kisaragi finished up with his magic, then bid them both a nod before leaving them alone. 

The trench coat man sat next to her, hand still lying comfortably on her shoulder. After a few seconds, he seemed to have composed himself. He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers in what would normally be a very sweet, caring gesture. She didn’t know this man, yet he knew her. It was obvious. 

After a few seconds, the man leaned back, and looked into her eyes, searching for something within her being; emotions that she wasn’t feeling. “Sano. Toiba and Sachi are dead.” 

He had said it with such weight, yet she didn’t know who either of those people were. Apparently, from context clues, her name was Sano. Going by what she remembered from Japan, Aburame must be her last name—or Surname. 

Sano Aburame… Could be worse. It could have been like her… Like her—

“Hizashi-sensei passed away because of his injuries. I am sorry.” The man finished, yet she still couldn’t feel what he obviously was waiting for her to feel. It wasn’t hard to guess that these people were close to her‌—her, as in whose body this was—She should have felt something for them, and he was waiting for it.

She didn’t.

He scanned her face for what felt like ten silent seconds before deciding on what to say. “You don’t remember them, do you?” 

Slowly, she shook her head, eyes not leaving the man before her... Not that she could have shaken it fast, or anything. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asked next, earning another shake. 

“... I see.” He ran his thumb over her collarbone, head dipped in contemplation, hiding his face. He finished their talk by giving her a firm squeeze of comfort and standing, stepping aside to chat with a nurse or doctor, probably about her memory.

Which was fine. Her memory, baring her name… was fine. It just wasn’t whose memory they thought it was.

—--------------

Sano must have fallen asleep after her talk with the trench coat man, as the next thing she knew, she was waking up in a completely unfamiliar room. There was another person in the room, a patient. A boy, a kid, barely a teen. One of his legs was missing, cut off above the knee, and he simply stared at the ceiling with vacant eyes. 

“Awake?” The familiar voice of the trench coat guy jolted her out of her stare, a feat easier than it had been previously by leaps and bounds. Trench coat was sat in a simple wooden chair, likely those used for visitors. 

He stood and made his way over, reaching out to grip her hand for comfort. She didn’t pull away, but didn’t feel anything towards the stranger before her. For a while, he just stood there, and his attire did her little favor for showcasing his feelings, face hidden behind the thick fabric as it was. “I am Jugan Aburame, your uncle.” 

He waited a beat, not focusing on her, yet paying attention to her reaction. She nodded her understanding. “You are in Konohagakure, The Village Hidden in the Leaves.”

Sano waited for him to continue, but he appeared to be struggling to find what to say. This was a man who had most likely thought his niece was a vegetable, one who couldn’t remember him. It would be surprising if the man wasn’t a hurricane of emotions. She would give him some time. 

The man released his hold, picking up a few loose sheafs of paper, a glass of ink, and a brush, placing them on her lap, before dragging his chair over to sit beside her. “Can you write what you remember?” 

Sano picked up a paper, finding that it was just the backside of a paper that had already been written on. She flipped it, eyes landing on… what she could only guess to be some sort of medical chart. The language was foreign. Perhaps it was Japanese? They had two different alphabets… She remembered that. 

Sano didn’t understand Japanese, nor did she have any sort of clue how to use a calligraphy brush and ink. Nervously, and with some difficulty, she flipped the page back over, resting it on her thighs as she attempted to write in English, hoping that they had someone who could translate. To her ears, it sounded like they were speaking English. So, it wasn’t a stretch to assume they had some idea of it. 

Worst-case scenario, they could Google… if they had access to the internet. From what she could see around her, which wasn’t much, this place was very rustic. The brush and ink solidified that thought. 

Once finished writing ‘I remember nothing.’, she picked up the paper, blew on it to dry the ink, and gave it to Jugan, who had watched the entire process with a keen eye. He grabbed it gingerly, holding it up to read. His eyes skimmed the words, flicking over to her in… what she could only assume was pity occasionally. 

“So, you don’t remember how to read and write?” Jugan asked. 

‘Well, that was a bust.’ Sano thought as she took a deep breath. It hurt her core muscles to breathe so deeply, which was concerning. Eventually, she realized the man was waiting for a response, so she nodded.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t write the language… and couldn't remember her name. It wasn’t just one thing, but the collective that caused a lump to well in her throat. Her vision swam with barely restrained tears at her ineptitude and situation. What was she supposed to do? What about her family? She had… had—She couldn’t even remember if she had one or not, just like her name. How the fuck did she get here? What happened?

It was like falling off a high. She reached her mental breaking point, as wracking sobs tore through her throat, tears fell… yet no audible sound, other than a gentle wheeze of air, escaped. Without vocal cords, she couldn’t even sob like a normal person. She cried, but no moans, screams, or wails followed. She hiccupped as she wept, and again, no sound followed through. But, she could sniff! Somehow, that made her feel a little better, hearing the sounds of snorting ugly crying snot.

She was a mute, and that was finally settling in, dawning on her. 

Without her notice, she ended up in Jugan’s arms as she cried. He didn’t say a word of complaint, letting her cry and cry for several minutes on end. Once finished, she was exhausted again. Her muscles this time felt sore, yet that strange phantom pain lingered, not diminished in the slightest. 

“You lived.” He said, as she finished winding down. “That was all that was asked of you.” He cradled her head against his chest. The calloused hands of Jugan felt soothing to the touch, yet awkward in that it came from a stranger. “You can relearn. Sit, listen, and I will tell you about everything.”

—----------------------

“One more step, Aburame-chan! You can do it!” The physical therapist called out cheerfully, holding her hands, carrying what felt like ninety percent of her weight.

Sweat poured down Sano’s face as she struggled to lift her foot. The muscles, along with something deeper, screamed in protest against the simple motion. The physical therapist’s steady encouragement barely pushed her past the frustration and strain, and in the next moment, her foot shuffled forward a few inches in a sloppy step. 

The therapist smiled brightly at her ‘success’, showcasing her brilliant white teeth and charming smile as she effortlessly picked her up to place back into her bed. Meanwhile, Sano was boneless from exertion, panting just a feeble wheeze, as that’s the only sound she could make. She had walked from one end of the small room to the other, perhaps only ten feet ‌and with heavy assistance. 

She felt useless, but this apparently a lot of progress for only a single month. 

Yeah, it’d been a month since she woke up. She spent every waking hour in lessons, listening to explanations, and doing infirm exercises. The lessons were mostly about history and writing so far, but that was as good a place as any to start. Her resting times was when she slept, which was more than half of every day, and everyone seemed to accept that as normal. 

As the physical therapist positioned her in her bed, she did her best to sign out in her new language. ‘Water.’

People in this world—as that is what this was, an entirely different world—were extremely observant. Their eyes would flick to her hands almost instinctively, making ‘speaking’ much easier than it had any right to be. Sign language was also prevalent, a majority of the people knew it from her experiences, although a few would look at her strangely and with confusion. From her lessons with Jugan and Kisaragi, her primary medic (Not nurse), this was apparently because Ninja could weave specific hand signs to perform Jutsu by molding their Chakra. Which were some things she’s learned in her time in the hospital. 

This was a ninja village. Like the fantasy type of ninja. Making clones, throwing shuriken, and substituting themselves with logs and what not. It sounded absurd, but seeing her nurses performing checkups with glowing hands, her uncle showing her a wide array of ninja tools, and even cloning himself with fucking insects, made her readily accept this as her new reality. Jugan had also explained that she could do these things, or at least Old-Sano could to some extent.

The therapist watched her sign and nodded with a smile. “Sure! One moment.” Then she walked to a nearby table and poured her a cup of water. 

As Sano sipped, her hands shaking from the strain of simply lifting the cup, the therapist talked about her progress and what to expect. She’d heard the same thing for the past few weeks, and nothing had really changed.

Old-Sano, who owned this body before she did, had the shittiest of luck. She was a child soldier, one who acted as a host to insects that feasted on her chakra in a mutually beneficial relationship—most of the time. She fought in a fucking war at eight years old, and as one would expect from an eight-year-old, got dunked on by more experienced, older enemy ninjas. Her two teammates died in the ambush, both also child soldiers, and her sensei just barely managed to bring her back to the village before succumbing to his injuries.

They refused to tell her how her former team died in the ambush, or what injuries her former sensei had succumbed to, but told her the gist of it. They mainly focused on her own injuries. To Sano, it seemed like the medics thought it was a blessing that she didn’t remember what happened.

She had been poisoned; they told her that. It was fitting, as that was one of the first ninja things she had thought about as soon as they had been mentioned. 

As a host to insects, called Kikaichu, it was her job to feed the insects living in her body some of her chakra in return for their services. It was a fine balance, too little and would rebel, too much and they would become gluttons of greed. But, in a coma, that became impossible. Her insects, seeing the opportunity for what it was, began feasting on her chakra, nearly killing her.

Chakra was linked to life, and all living things had chakra, if her mentors were to be believed. If you ran out, you died. Running low also meant feeling like complete and utter shit and had drastic detrimental physical and mental effects, which she was growing well accustomed to. Her former insects took various bits and pieces of her with them, eating her from the inside out as they fought the poison and ate to sustain themselves. The insects ate her vocal cords and parts of her stomach, and tore holes in her intestines before their eventual removal and mass exodus. 

That explained the many slivers of scars across the entirety of her body, as they escaped as fast as they could once they realised they couldn’t beat the poison coursing through her. They did their job, staving off the worst before she could die, but took their lump of flesh as a reward. 

She could never have insects again, as she was deemed a failed host, but sounded like a blessing in disguise. Who in their right fucking mind wanted to be a hive for man-eating super insects? She’d pass. Old-Sano was a fucking brainwashed child and used for war. It was disgusting. 

That didn’t stop the fact that she had an entire fucking network of tunnels beneath her skin, aligning with her chakra pathways that used to host said insects. That was where the mysterious pain originated from… from her empty vessels. It was fucking gross. 

Placing her cup down, she breathed deeply from her nose, exhaling loudly. 

This life was completely fucked, but that's the hand life dealt her. At least whatever war she had been in ended a month into her four-month long sleep. 

—----------

“Much better, legible even.” Jugan said as he scanned the small scroll in his hands. He’d show up at least once a day, normally in the afternoons, and they’ve settled into a routine. Writing in Japanese was the hardest part of Sano’s many lessons. Both Hiragana and Katakana were mind numbingly difficult and made little sense when compared to the grammar rules of English. She supposed the opposite would also be true, and that was her only consolation prize, as she worked tirelessly with ink-stained hands through most of her time awake.

Sano was waiting for the moment Jugan questioned what else was written in the scroll she’d been given to use for practice. In the margins, or what little space she made for margins, she’d been writing notes to herself about what she remembered from Earth—In English, of course. 

Even if she was in a land of ninjas, deciphering a language with no context clues, completely different grammar rules, and no connection to the language known in this world would take a monumental effort. Unless there was some sort of translation justu, (Which shouldn’t exist due to there being only one language here), they wouldn’t decipher it before she died of old age. 

Her soft orange eyes spotted the moment Jugan roamed his on the English lettering. “What is this? You wrote these symbols before.” He asked, idly gesturing with a free hand towards the English. 

Sano shrugged and didn’t bother making any signs to speak. Even through his half covered face, she could see the vague interest hidden within. He placed the scroll down in between her legs on the hospital bed and released a heavy breath. “We must talk about your future.” 

‘Okay.’ She signed, her hands growing accustomed to the short one word responses or asks she’s been learning. Sign language was much easier than any writing, and it was growing to be her preferred method of communication. 

“You are a Genin, yet have no memories of anything taught to you. This puts you in a precarious position, as you’ve agreed to a minimum of five years of service. Service you cannot do, as you’ve forgotten all of your life experiences.” He leaned back into his chair, having grown much more comfortable around her in recent weeks. Occasionally showing his more lax side. “You could go back to the academy to learn everything again, now that the war is over…” 

He waited to see if she had a response. And in a rare moment, she actually did. It took her a while to get the point across, as she was still figuring out sign language as a whole, but she eventually managed it. It was probably butchered, but he seemed to get the gist. ‘I would be okay with that.’

Jugan nodded, his wavy brown hair bobbing slightly with the motion. “That’s good, as that is what I would recommend. You stand a good chance at getting another Jonin-Sensei as well, now that there is peace. The issue will be your difficulty with communication. While in the hospital, you have been managing because the majority of the medics are well versed in Konoha-Sign. This won't be the case for your eventual teammates. Communication is key, and this will be a hurdle.” 

‘They will learn?’ Sano signed, earning another nod. 

“They will, but not for a while yet. You will need to bridge the gap in the meantime. I would suggest a list of cards with predetermined phrases. You can select your response in kind to their queries.” Sano signed her understanding, but Jugan held up a hand to stall her. “You still have many weeks, or perhaps months of recovery. This was just a discussion on how to proceed in the future. Once you’ve properly re-learnt what you’ve forgotten and can spar with taijutsu, then we can continue this discussion. We will think of some common phrases as responses and build a catalog as we continue our lessons.” 

‘What about chakra?’ she asked, earning a tight eyed response. 

She’d asked about using jutsu and her chakra nearly everyday, and every single time she brought it up her concerns were pushed to the side. Sano was here now, and if other people were throwing fireballs and launching condensed air, she wanted in. In her mind, it was still magic, and they expected her to not want to do any magic? Even with her adult mentality, she’d readily join some kiddo’s in learning to do that! Sign her up!

‘You’re not ready.’ Jugan signed back, using his hands instead of words. 

She huffed to the best of her ability, which wasn’t much all things considered. ‘When will I? I did them before. You said so!’

Apparently, she could use a few jutsu. Although around half of them were off the table, as they had to do with having insects like the rest of her new family. To graduate, she would have had to perform the basic three; The Henge-No-Jutsu, a body alteration transfiguration. The Bunshin-No-Jutsu, or Clone Jutsu, which made a fucking clone!!! Which was cool as shit, and also the Kawarimi-No-Jutsu, the Substitution Jutsu—Evading by swapping places with another object… like a log! Like an actual ninja!

She must have butchered that longer sentence, as it took two repeats before Jugan got the gist. ‘You are not as you were before.’ He replied, and she could feel the bluntness in the response even though it was through sign. 

She leaned back into her bed and looked away from him. Both frustrated and impatient. Anyone stuck in a damn hospital bed with nothing to do but study would also like to do magic, and right now, she was fitting in with being an eight-year-old.

After a few seconds of silence, where Sano was pretty sure she could hear Jugan rubbing his face in exasperation, he said something wonderful. “Fine, but just sign-seals.”

With a smile that could blind the sun, Sano beamed at her new life’s uncle. Jugan sat up straight and slowly walked through two-handed, complicated signs. “Dragon, Tiger, Dog, Rat, Ram, Horse, Monkey, Bird, Ox, Serpent, Hare, and Boar. You must be precise about these signs, and under no circumstances should you channel chakra into them. Speed will play a factor later, but for now, a sturdy foundation is what you need.” He looked up from his hands, his trench coat hiding his surely stern expression. “Do you understand, Sano? There will be no playing around or experimenting.” 

Eight-year-old or not, she could tell when someone was being serious, and Jugan was. She dropped her smile, but still held a small smirk, and nodded slowly. ‘I understand.’ 

He watched her, determining if she wasn’t just pulling a childish stunt, before standing. “Practice them. I will see how well you’ve progressed tomorrow.” 

He walked off across the room, bidding his goodbye silently, but she snapped her fingers, grabbing his attention. 

She sat in her bed, still weak and much too slim for someone her age. Her orange eyes, like warm beacons locked with his. She signed, ‘Thank you.’ 

His gaze flicked from her hands to her eyes, and she could make out the crinkle of a smile within them. “Get well soon.”