Notes: Shisui needs more love! Also, I blatantly disregard a few canon events here, and lots of things are purposely vague. Oh, and there's no canon age for Shisui, so I'm going with 16-17, making him 3-4 years older than Itachi. The title is a line from "Haunted" by Skylar Grey.

He's drowning well before he ever considers suicide, gasping for breath in what seems like an endless abyss of suspicion and distrust and hatred. The weight of the world may not be on his shoulders, but countless lives are. He honestly believes his eyes can prevent the coup, that his and Itachi's efforts won't be in vain, but there is a niggling doubt in his mind that refuses to abate. It makes him wary, even more cautious than usual, so when Danzo requests an audience with him, he takes certain precautions - actions he otherwise wouldn't have bothered with had he been an ounce less suspicious. A simple shadow clone - infused with enough of his own chakra and various intricate illusions weaved together to pass as the real thing - goes in his place. It's the right decision.

Izanagi comes as a nasty surprise, the manner in which Danzo makes use of it even more so, and had that actually been Shisui in that dark, underground lair, he'd surely have lost his right eye. As things stand now, the bastard will be after him with even more fervor since his scheme has failed, and after their brief exchange of words, Shisui is beginning to question the success of his own plans. Even if he manages to use his ability on his entire Clan, there's no guarantee Danzo won't attack them anyway, and with Shisui on his radar, that window of opportunity is rapidly dwindling.

The problems before him span much deeper than just the Kyuubi incident, this dissent between the Uchiha and the rest of the village going as far back as Madara's betrayal - maybe even before then, at the village's founding. The cracks have only grown wider, spread farther through the years, and this bubbling of discontent is only the result, the crater left behind. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, but it's not enough. He's struggling against an age-old hatred, and he's only just beginning to realize that his attempts will only serve to delay the inevitable. There will be war unless he does something, but anything he could do wouldn't be enough in the face of Danzo's own paranoia and lust for power.

So what can he do? What is there to do? Is there anything that can be done? No, a small part of him whispers, scared and soft and easily heard over the roar of denial that accompanies it. He exhales through his nose, slowly, as the sharp, stinging sensation that had flared within his heart at the mere thought fades to a dull ache, and allows that possibility to finally take shape within his mind.

The Clan can no longer be saved.

(The Clan can no longer be saved.)

His heart beat is frantic, pounding impossibly loudly in his ears, but his face is impassive, unyielding. Ideas are considered and then disregarded quickly and efficiently. The Clan can no longer be saved, but the village, at least, will survive. With his abilities and the target on his back, he has only a few choices available to him. He mulls over one in particular that involves giving one of his eyes to Itachi and is almost disgusted with himself at the sense of utter relief he feels at the prospect of his own death. Almost, because-

Because he is so very, very tired. Tired of trying to solve everyone's problems, tired of keeping so many secrets, tired of pretending to always be upbeat and cheerful, even to Itachi - especially to Itachi, whom, along with Sasuke, Shisui would like to hide away somewhere and shield them from the terrible reality of this cruel world.

He doesn't want to die, not really, but he also can't afford to live. His death will put a terrible burden upon his baby cousin, but it should also arm Itachi with a weapon no one will expect. And no one else will able to steal Shisui's eyes and use them for their own means; he'll make sure of it by disposing of his body completely. He sucks in a sharp breath, and it's somewhat easier, now that he knows these will be his last. Giving in is always easy.

The meeting with Itachi goes off without a hitch. He feels no pain as he plucks out his left eye and hands it over to his best friend. (He is numb, inside and out, as if he is dead already.) He mentions nothing of his imminent death, giving Itachi this one, last gift - ignorance, at least for a while. His smile is utterly genuine as he bids farewell, and he is at peace with himself when he reaches the bank of the lake.

(He has been drowning well before now. This might as well be a formality.)

His final breath is calm, easy. The smile hasn't left his face. He turns his back on the world of the living and takes the plunge, and his last sight is the clear blue water of the lake.

...

'Ah, so it's you,' an unfamiliar voice rings inside his head, as if it were simply a stray thought of his own making and not the anomaly it is. 'Yes, I understand now why this particular point in time is so crucial. It's because of you, descendant of Uchiha Kagami.'

'Who are you?' He manages to articulate, despite the bizarre circumstances and his own precarious waterlogged state. 'What are you talking about?'

He feels more than hears the man's pleased hum - at his calm demeanor, perhaps. 'Your death is the turning point,' the voice explains, ignoring his first question. 'Its ripples affect the world in a way I'm sure you'd never intended.'

'In what way?' Shisui practically demands, every fiber of his being rejecting the very insinuation. Everything he's done - betraying his own flesh and blood, abandoning Itachi to an impossible task, severing his ties with this world - has all been in an effort to maintain peace, to save lives, to make sure Konoha remains strong and a home to its people. He's not naive enough to believe this stranger's every word, but Shisui knows he completed that jutsu and that no one save for him had been on that lakeside. He should be dead, and yet he is merely floating serenely meters below the surface and conversing telepathically with an unknown entity. He is, at the very least, inclined to listen.

(His mother had once spoken of spirits and gods and otherworldly beings to him as a child. She had been utterly serious, and her face had seemed to have aged ten years. Shisui has never doubted her.)

'It is as you imagine,' the voice tells him grimly. In a tone devoid of any inflections, it goes on, detailing the coming bloodshed and chaos and war via the careful machinations of only a few of his Clansmen that apparently spirals as a result of his death. He grits his teeth and says nothing.

'Do not fear, Fire Child, for you will be able to right this wrong.' He gets the impression that the owner of the voice is smiling gently. 'Accept this one, last mission, and you will be free of any responsibility.'

Shisui swallows hard. 'I accept,' he whispers. It's the loudest sound he's ever heard.

It had been easy to plot his own death - relieving, even. Somehow, it's even easier to toss his own plans away and to cling onto this one opportunity with both hands. Because there's a chance now. There's hope for a brighter future. He is underwater and probably unconscious and there are a million unknowns awaiting him and yet his next breath is full of fresh air and tastes faintly of promise.

...

He opens his eyes, and instinct takes over, his limbs fighting against the crushing weight around him. He breaks the surface with a spectacular splash, and he gulps in air like a dying man. Like a dying man. Like a man who should, by all rights, be dead. He spreads out his senses warily as his breathing evens out, but he finds nothing out of the ordinary. It had been midnight when he'd gone in, but if the sun over head is anything to go by, it's been hours since then. Maybe longer than that.

The dream-that-probably-wasn't-a-dream comes back to him all at once, and the sudden influx of memories induces one hell of a migraine. But with it also comes a sense of purpose that he'd lost somewhere along the way and a sudden burst of energy, the latter of which he makes full use of when he swims back to shore. He'd used up a considerable amount of chakra with that jutsu - enough to kill a man, which had kind of been the point - so water-walking is out of the question.

Upon reaching dry land, he all but collapses, muscles aching and chakra coils burnt out; he can hardly lift his head, and yet he has never felt more alive. He is entirely too tired to form coherent thoughts, much less formulate strategies.

Eventually, he will gather his wits, and he'll most likely spare some time to properly grieve for all of the lives lost in the wake of his selfishness. Then, he'll carefully tuck away any lingering emotions and regrets and begin to plan. He has the upper hand - knowledge of his enemies' identities, goals, motivations, and a shaky outline of a possible future.

Eventually, he will jump headfirst into this new mission despite its uncertainty, not unlike his plunge into that calm lake.

For now, he rests, mind blissfully blank.

End Notes: I wrote a thing. I'm not entirely sure if this is even believable, but it was itching to be written. If I decide to continue (and I think I will), this will likely only be two or three chapters - and possibly very short chapters at that. I hope you enjoyed! ^w^