Recovering Physically

[FluffyGinja]

Months. It would take months. Even though the injuries had healed, Ibuku's body seemed to have issues each day. Ribs that had been healed via Iijutsu would suddenly appear as if they had never been touched at all by the mystic's touch. Lungs that were breathing fine before would begin to give shallow breaths. Each day, something new that would force him to be within the hospital until the staff came to the realization that he would simply have to heal the natural way. Rest and physical therapy. Although he didn't want to hear this... He didn't like it here. It felt... sterile. He was thankful he had a window, since spring was steadily coming through, he could appreciate the view of cherry blossoms as they bloomed... and the bitterness he felt for not being able to be out there to enjoy festivities among them. This would all have to wait though, as it had only been one week so far.

This first week hurt the most. He had breathing exercises he was forced to do with a medical Shinobi who could provide excess oxygen, since his lungs had partially collapsed. Each breath was agony and a reminder. It hurt all the more when his mind flashed back to that night. Something that would make his heart race, make his palms sweat and he'd occasionally have to stop the Shinobi assisting him so he could throw up into a provided waste bin. He couldn't remember much of the day to day. He didn't speak much to the staff, except when necessary and mostly stayed isolated, even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. The nights were the worst for him. He could hear the voices of those he had met: Fanho, Taiga, and many more. Chiding and attacking him over and over. Each night, he'd lie there, fidgeting in his sleep and never truly resting at all. What had become normal for him, seeing an Anbu individual, now filled him with dread in a visible way. He didn't speak to them much, if at all. Questions were met with nods and shakes of the head, but he otherwise chose not to speak to them for the fear that Taiga may somehow hear about this.

The second and third weeks went by in somewhat of a blur. What stuck with him the most was how lovely it all felt. He kept hoping someone would visit, anyone. The lack of the voice of the spirit inside of him made him feel more alone than before, as if they were always just out of reach. Several times, without even debating consequences, he had attempted to shift forms and it didn't work. It's like the essence has been sealed away and he wasn't fully sure if he knew by what. Not a classmate, anyone a part of his former family, no Anbu... Medical staff would see him as was scheduled but he didn't count that. Each night, that loneliness caught up to him more. The voices grew colder, distant, and soon... His own voice was replacing several of the insults. Some nights, he would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, hoping that he could avoid sleeping and thus dreaming.

One specific night, he was fading in and out of sleep, his own voice barely audible to even himself. Begging for anyone to see him. To help him. Yet... the answer was a stinging silence. One that didn't help in this moment. Even though it was a comfortable room, he could feel the coldness of the room steadily taking over his body. It bit at his mind and at his soul in a way that hurt the most. Simultaneously, even though the fire inside of him was colder, it was stronger.

As the fourth, fifth, and sixth week passed, Ibuku's healing was progressing, albeit slowly. His connection with Shizen had been the hypothesized problem, mostly his lack of one as the spirit had been silent, unbeknownst to anyone but the host himself. He was doing anything he could, amidst the screaming his head, to call out to the spirit and he'd get his answer one day. The voice, wizened and forceful at the same time. 'I can not aid you. You must overcome this yourself'. Words that he did not wish to hear, words he couldn't handle at the moment. Words that rang across his mind like a vicious gong. He could feel his chest tightening, the pain rocking him just like it had that night.

Alone. Left to fend for himself. Abandoned... again and again... and again.

Seventh week, Ibuku was more robotic than before. Simply going through the motions. He wasn't sure what to do, so the only thing he could think to do was escape inwards. Hide it all, force it down and not let an ounce of it out. Form a neutral mask that he could simply use.

Eighth week, the healing had progressed to the point where Ibuku was released from the hospital. Even though he had been given an evaluation at the end of it all, he didn't give them the truth. He said he felt fine, he was ready to get back to his bed and the plants he left behind, and to go back to learning. However, once he was allowed into his own home, he simply sat on his head. Broken, body and mind... One has healed, the other remained fractured and trying to collect. The words that Taiga had said, repeated in his own voice back to him... even if it has been a lesson, he didn't learn it correctly.

He was worthless. He was nothing special. The Genma wasn't his, it was a tool. He was a tool. The only thing he could do now was be useful... and the best way to do that was to become stronger.