The appropriateness or inappropriateness of Sai's movements were lost on Shikamaru, who seemed intent on his waffle though he had no intention of eating it. "The wound was gone when I woke up," he said, voice controlled partially by effort and partially by exhaustion. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to elaborate. "I'd think it was some kind of illusion, but..."

But it wasn't. He'd felt those last seconds draining away, listened to that voice. Felt the spasms of pain at the base of his rib cage and the way they grew continually distant as some part of him pulled away. The way his mouth filled with blood. That was why he couldn't eat: that memory of blood. It was hard to imagine anything not tasting like blood.

He didn't meet Sai's eyes. "Was I..." he started, voice uncertain. Dead? If Sai had just left when he'd told him to, the other ninja wouldn't have had to witness it. Sure, he'd probably seen death dozens of times before, but Sai had been so fragile then. He didn't need people dying in front of him.