Fandom [naruto] halfbreed || itliveswithin & arbus

[arbus]

"—you're not alone."

The silence had been so absolute that, when it was broken by Kakashi's unfamiliarly rasping voice, the sudden reminder of the other's presence, of life outside a scroll that predicted the future, was almost obscene. The long fingers around his wrists were delicate and warm, and the sickly-sweet scent of fever still clung to the other's yukata. Madara's own skin was hot to the touch, and as his hands were pulled away from his cursed eyes he raised his head.

As his gaze met Kakashi's, his eyes bled crimson, the pinwheel of the Eternal Mangekyo spinning frantically. Madara's face twisted, sorrow and anguish burrowing deep lines into his skin. "You're not him." Yet. He was not that genocidal madman of the scroll, but at the same time how could he not be, he was Uchiha Madara of the Eternal Mangekyo, Uchiha Madara who always, secretly, had dreamed to found a village with his childhood friend, just had not named it yet (Konohagakure, yes, that sounded about right), Uchiha Madara who had felt the twisted kind of hatred that was all-consuming and so seductively all-empowering at once. He twitched, and his hands grabbed for the yukata that smelled of fever and sweat and, underneath, something by now so very familiar.

"Why didn't you let me save him?", he managed, like a hapless plea, because the realization of what Kakashi was, what Kakashi knew, came with the awareness of all the could have beens, and it was unbearable, utterly, desperately unbearable. "Why didn't you let me save my brother?" The grip of his fingers became vice-like, but there was no malice, no threat, no killing-intent. There was only despair, and hopelessness, a tumble that felt like free fall.

 

[roxybirdie]

"Why didn't you let me save my brother?"

His face crumpled. "I wanted to," Kakashi confessed. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. "I wanted to." He stared directly in the trisected circular pinwheels, charcoal hues brimming with unshed tears. "I never wanted him to die," he pointed out. Flashes of empty eye sockets and tears of blood surfaced, eliciting a flinch. Tears spilled over and slid down his cheeks, dampening the white cloth shielding his face. "I tried to remember everything, but I am only one man." His expression contorted with pain. "I tried, but I forgot." A harsh, self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips. The insurmountable self-hatred was enough to make him choke, but somehow, he persevered. "If anyone had to die, it should of been me. I already died once," he chuckled. The tears impaired his vision, but the hypnotic glow of Madara's eyes penetrated the haziness. "I'm not even a filthy halfbreed, but a fake." Kakashi could feel the last remnants of his façade crumbling, revealing the ugly beast within.

"A fraud that should of stayed dead." A dry sob rumbled inside his throat. Kakashi bowed his head, his unruly fringe sweeping over his eyes. "The meddlesome sage was a fool to choose me of all people. Everything I touch is poisoned," he whispered. The half-Hatake trembled, head lowered and shoulders slumped. The weight on his shoulders grew heavier since he failed to save Uchiha Izuna and it continued to grow. It threatened to crush him and it was becoming increasingly difficult to withstand it. Kakashi vowed to protect Madara, the Uchiha, the Hatake — everyone — but he was only one man. A lost soul built on his past failures and unforgivable mistakes. He may have the resolve to try, but at the core, he was tired. So unbelievably and irrevocably exhausted.

Friend-Killer Kakashi was no hero.

As the hands clutched his yukata in a vice grip, Kakashi didn't move. If the older man struck him, he wouldn't defend himself. If the Clan Head yelled, he wouldn't retaliate. The war veteran remained in his spot, throat metaphorically bared. Tears dripped on his lap, dampening the navy fabric. He retracted his palms and dropped his arms, as if he were a marionette with its strings cut.

 

[arbus]

Madara hated it. He hated how Kakashi chose exactly this moment to lose his ever-elusive, cool veneer, because it would have been something to rage against and he needed someone to throw all his pain and confusion at. It was not a choice, of course, and Madara knew that, but it still infuriated him helplessly. His hands trembled, white-knuckled and clutched so painfully tight the fabric of Kakashi's yukata started to strain and tear. He dropped his head, too, and together they made quite a picture, for one perfect moment two broken men sitting opposite each other, beaten.

He did not know if it was betrayal or not.

He did not know if he was supposed to feel hatred or not.

He knew he would become a monster; he knew he was the one who would kill Kakashi. He was the one who had killed Kakashi. (The festering black pole, madness.)

It was all so, so wrong.

"I never wanted him to die. I tried, but I forgot."

A balm and then a blade twisting in a wound that was still festering.

"How", his voice trembled, "how could you just forget him." His baby brother. Forgotten to be saved, a mere inconvenience in another shinobi's mission, not important enough to be bothered with. Not important enough to be remembered.

It would be so easy to go for the killing strike, right here and now.

"A fraud that should of stayed dead. Everything I touch is poisoned."

The grip of Madara's fists grew slack, as did his frame; slowly, he lowered his arms. Kakashi's self-hatred was a palpable thing, evident in his masked, tear-stricken face and unsteady voice. A man so full of disgust for himself that it was painful to witness. His slumped figure continued to speak of an intrinsically felt resignation, of the anticipation of a punishment, and Madara began to suspect that it would not be unwelcome to him: That feeling the brunt of Madara's helpless rage would be better than this self-inflicted pain. Madara closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, they were black and hardened from a new resolve.

"How do I find it?", he asked after a long stretch of silence. "How do I find the parasite?"

 

[roxybirdie]

"How could you just forget him?"

White hot daggers penetrated his chest. "You did this to me," a voice hissed. Empty eye sockets flashed inside his mind. "This is all your fault!" it exclaimed. The dark voids illuminated a sulfuric yellow. "You should be erased," it snarled. A gravelly undertone was evident in the sibilant growl. The horrific visage of Uchiha Izuna being consumed by Kaguya's will burned, but it paled in comparison to Madara's accusation. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The half-Hatake had no explanation or excuse, nothing worth justifying his detrimental miscalculation. Uchiha Izuna died by the hand of Senju Tobirama and while he remembered, he let it happen. It was his fault and he will live with the burden until the day he died.

How do I find him? Something hot and bubbling rose to the surface. Black Zetsu wasn't a him. The parasite was nothing. Not human; not creature; not summon — nothing. It was an amortal being, a physical manifestation of a madwoman's will. It cannot be killed, only destroyed. Despite the sudden rage coursing through his veins, Kakashi didn't open his mouth and correct Madara.

"How do I find the parasite?"

"It will find you," the half-Hatake rasped. Kakashi swallowed thickly and raised his head. "I can sense it, but since its aware I exist, tracking it will be difficult," he added. He wasn't certain if the manifested will connected the dots, but even if it didn't, it won't make the same mistake twice. "It wants you as its pawn, so it might be easier if you waited until it came to you," he pointed out. His expression twisted into a grimace. "It will exploit your weaknesses and use everything in its power to deceive you." And control you was left unsaid. Kakashi was certain Black Zetsu will target Madara relentlessly, but if the elder Uchiha proved too resistant, it may find another pawn. His old teammate was a prime example. "I have the power to destroy it, but I cannot defeat it on my own," he announced. His ribs throbbed in response.

"Its not above meddling in other affairs. If it cannot control you, it will target everyone else." The Uchiha, the Hatake, the Senju, the ceasefire — nothing was safe from the manipulative parasite. Kakashi raised a hand and dug the heel of his palm against his eyes. He breathed in deeply and released a shuddering breath, forcing to tears to stop. The overpowering self-hatred and disgust threatened to consume him, but he shoved it down. Deep, deep down until it resided in a box. Internalizing the pain was far from healthy, but it was all he knew.

No one ever taught him otherwise.

 

[arbus]

Madara had spent the best part of the last forty-eight hours in search for Kakashi's attacker. He had, in fact, just returned from one of his outings when Natsuki brought the longed-for news that he had finally awoken from his inexplicable, nightmare-ridden sleep. Now, it was not so inexplicable anymore -- the trauma he had endured would be enough to submerge anyone, and what an irony it was, that Madara had been running around chasing ghosts with righteous anger in his chest while in truth he had been, would be, would come to be the one to inflict all that trauma upon Kakashi.

You're not him.

Wasn't he?

It made it hard to look at Kakashi; shame cradled in the pit of his stomach and made him want to run away.

A hand came up, a long sleeve blocking Kakashi's visual field. Madara took its fabric between his fingers and touched Kakashi's wet cheeks with it, started to wipe away the tears under his eyes and then slipped under the cloth, which was soaked by now, to clean that invisible part of his face, too. His thumb met lips, and for a moment he halted, looking up into the grey eyes. He retrieved his hand from the other's face just to cradle it in the back of his neck and bring him in closer, until their foreheads touched.

"Then let it find me", he began. His voice resonated through the air, was deep and unwavering. "I will not be manipulated."

The determination in his voice stemmed from an anger brewing; anger for being made a pawn in some madwoman's sick game, but more so anger because there was a part of him that knew, that understood how all this could have happened, how the darkness that he had encountered with Izuna's death could lead him astray.

He had spent the last forty-eight hours in search for Kakashi's attacker, because he had not been able to stand the sight of his wounded, writhing body. Whoever had done this to him, he had sworn his revenge, and that feeling, to Madara's surprise, had not vanished, not even in the light of all these insurmountable revelations.

The nails of his fingers ran over Kakashi's skull, caressing his neck.

"Why did you not let me die", he asked, "when you had the chance? It would have been so easy. I deserve it, for what I have done to you." Madara was not one for self-deprecation, but he appreciated the truth, and that iteration of him in Kakashi's scroll deserved death more than anyone else.

 

[roxybirdie]

All the sudden, a sleeve of navy swept over his eyes. Kakashi suppressed a flinch, resigning himself to a well-deserved — there was no pain. He expected a punch, a slap — any type of blow — but instead, the older Uchiha wiped the tears under his eyes. The younger Hatake froze, a flicker of surprise evident in his stormy grey hues. The Clan Head's sudden tenderness in the wake of his greatest secret was inconceivable. Why? Why didn't Madara lash out? Why treat him with care when he deserved far worse? Once the raven's fingers dipped under his makeshift mask, Kakashi didn't stop him. As a thumb brushed over his lips, his breath hitched. Charcoal met obsidian. After the last remnants of his tears are erased, a calloused palm cradled the back of his neck and pulled him forward.

"I will not be manipulated."

At the close proximity, the scent of fire and woodsmoke washed over him. Kakashi instinctively inhaled, breathing in the soothing aroma. He released a shuddering breath, the tension in his shoulders visibly relaxing. He focused on the nails digging into his unruly locks. Once again, something about Madara's touch — what, he cannot decipher — didn't trigger his aggressive instincts. Kakashi didn't know what he did to deserve the man's caring touch, but he was a selfish man. Losing his pack, and being the last of his clan, heightened his wolf's natural possessiveness.

Why did you not let me die. Once upon a time, Kakashi mulled over the concept. Eliminating the parasite's greatest pawn would ensure a (possible) brighter future. While Obito instigated the Fourth Shinobi World War, it all boiled down to Madara's machinations. However, Kaguya's will didn't wait for over a millennium for Uchiha Madara. It would wait another millennium if it meant finding (or shaping) another perfect pawn. I deserve it, for what I have done to you. Kakashi raised his hand and gripped the back of the ravenette's head. "You deserve a chance." Dark grey bore into onyx. "A chance to overcome the Curse of Hatred." His eyes hardened with a new resolve. "A chance to be more than the Eternal Mangekyō." His grip on the back of the Clan Head's head tightened. "A chance to live." His fingers slid down, cupping the nape of Madara's neck. "You didn't kill me, Madara," he announced.

"We as shinobi are capable of unspeakable things. We all have a darkness inside our hearts. What makes you different from that man is your drive. You once told me you want to survive to fight for impossible dreams. You told me we'll fight together to make the dreams a reality," Kakashi pointed out. His voice, once unstable, was unyielding as tempered steel. "I don't abandon my friends, Madara. I won't abandon you," he declared. All traces of his profound self-hatred and disgust crumbled under the might of his unwavering loyalty and determination.

 

[arbus]

"You deserve a chance."

Madara's lips were a fine thin line, pressed together until they turned numb and bloodless. Kakashi's words were like water to a man dying with thirst. Madara had never thought of himself as a cruel man, but he knew he was capable of cruelty, more than most, and he knew that with only a weaved hand sign, a flick of his wrist, he could wreck vast parts of the country, of its population. It was a heady might, some days, but most of the time it made him desperately alone, and up until the point he met Hatake Kakashi, Hashirama had been the only one who could possibly begin to understand this feeling.

"You didn't kill me, Madara,"

The grip of the other's hand was welcome, but more so were his words. He took them all in with his eyes closed, releasing a shaking breath. The situation had lost none of its surreality, Kamui wearing him down like a place he did not belong; it seemed to hold old intimacies that were not for his eyes, or maybe it was because the dimension existed outside of time and space and bore witness to all the cruelties of his future self, of Kakashi's pain, and the pain of so many more, lives his own would never touch but still, so very paradoxically, had touched in the future.

"I don't abandon my friends, Madara. I won't abandon you."

Under Kakashi's touch, Madara leaned in, head inclined as if to shield his eyes from view. His hand slipped forward to cup Kakashi's cheek under that stupid cloth, his heart an aching, constricted, sluggish muscle in his chest. What had begun as mere interest in the other's capacities had turned into something more a long time ago, for him, and the skin on his throat ached with the memory of stinging pain. He had wanted to kiss Kakashi that day in the Inuzuka forest, and he wanted to kiss him now, the urge like an impulse that was nearly impossible to control.

Instead, he said:

"Before we go back, I want you to show me. Use the sharingan and show me what I did to you."

 

[roxybirdie]

The hand cradling the nape of his neck slid forward and dipped underneath his makeshift mask. As Madara cupped the side of his face, Kakashi instinctively leaned against the older raven's touch. He couldn't describe the feeling bubbling inside his chest. It extended beyond fondness and camaraderie. The indiscernible sentiment was drawn to the Clan Head, like Kakashi was trapped in a desert and Madara was his oasis; a hound and its Wild Hunt.

His wolf howled with profound acceptance. Before he could decipher it—

"Before we go back, I want you to show me. Use the sharingan and show me what I did to you."

It was a simple request. Once he activated his old teammate's — it may be his, but he will never forget its true owner — prized dōjutsu, Kakashi can ensnare Madara in a reality-warping genjutsu. Show him the last moments engraved so profoundly in his psyche, Kakashi can't forget even with the sharingan at his disposal. Reveal the foundation of his nightmares and the core of his insidious grief and tremendous self-hatred. Bare his greatest failure and consequent sacrifice. His charcoal eyes illuminated a brilliant crimson before he could fully comprehend the ramifications of his consent. As vermillion met obsidian, the three tomoe spun rapidly. It pulsed, entangling Madara in a illusion so fleeting, so subtle, it would be almost impossible to detect.

Kakashi earned his moniker, Sharingan no Kakashi, for a reason.

*​

Within the Genjutsu

The black and white dimension faded. Instead of a fathomless atmosphere — as dark as the black flames of Amaterasu — it was skies as grey as stone. Ash, smoke, and mist polluted the air until the clouds became a dark and menacing charcoal. The long expanse of land, once brimming with unbidden life, was torn and sundered. Trees are reduced to cinders; grass scorched to embers; rich soil poisoned with rot; earth upturned by the might of nature. The overwhelming stench of decay and copper permeated the air like a foreboding omen. Men and women — adolescents and children — fought against the relentless army of white. Former enemies, and the most bitter of rivals, all united under one symbol and unwavering resolve.

In the midst of mayhem and despair, a group of shinobi — seven ninja and one kunoichi — fought against the white army's champion. It was apparent how much the champion — leagues ahead of the group — surpassed his opponents, but the group continued to resist. Black orbs of absolute power decimated the battlefield, but even if the odds are stacked against them, the group never wavered. Unfortunately, the champion triumphed with his sheer might. When all hope seemed lost, and three of the group's strongest fighters are on the verge of crippling defeat, a certain copy-cat ninja intercepted.

Swoosh.

Without warning, Kakashi materialized in front of his most troublesome students and teammate. Cries of alarm washed over him. He swept his left leg back and lowered his center of gravity, a thin layer of chakra on the soles of his feet cementing him to the ground. He would be the immovable shield protecting who he deemed pack. Kakashi met the trisected circular pinwheels unflinchingly.

It happened in seconds.

The Truth-Seeking Pole shattered the center of his sternum, perforated his lungs, and plunged through his backside. The momentum of the festering black pole should of knocked him off his feet, but his impenetrable defense didn't break. Kakashi lurched forward, but he didn't collapse. White hot agony radiated from his chest, but he didn't crumble. The oxygen was ripped from his lungs, but he didn't falter. He watched as the madman cackled and go off in a tirade, but he didn't cower. The silver-haired shinobi remained in front of his comrades, protecting three of his most precious people.

Until he started to turn into ash.

The torn fabric and exposed flesh surrounding the pole blackened and crumbled. Pitch black veins expanded outward and slithered throughout his body, reducing everything it touched to ash. What felt like hours was only minutes. Despite the horrifying visage, there was no pain. The war veteran locked eyes with the madman's Eternal Mangekyō, stormy grey hues glimmering with unyielding defiance. As his ashes fluttered to the ground, not a single trace of Hatake Kakashi remained. A chorus of bloodcurdling cries reverberated throughout the battlefield.

"KAKASHI!"

"KAKASHI-SENSEI!"

Luminescent eyes penetrated the cloud of black ash, circular pinwheels spinning rapidly.

*​

Outside the Genjutsu

Once the illusion shattered, Kakashi clenched his eyes shut. He released a unsteady breath, swallowing the bile in his throat. He repressed the urge to claw at his chest. The war veteran gripped the fabric pooled on his thighs, fingers trembling. He breathed in deeply and exhaled through his nostrils. Kakashi repeated the process, focusing on the comforting scent of a bonfire surrounded by the wilderness.

 

[arbus]

Within the Genjutsu

Scorched earth sometimes had a sickly-sweet smell that clogged ones nostrils and spoke of roots, centuries old and slain, destroyed by the hand of shinobi and the unnatural forces of their chakra natures. The sky pressed down upon them like eiderdown, soot particles an inconsequential incommodity in the air. His feet buried into powdery, dry-yellow earth. The atmosphere surrounding them was so densly saturated with a conglomaration of chakra that it lay on the tongue like a taste, curled against skin like a physical thing, invaded the airways like perfume, like seduction. It was energy in its purest form, tightly coiled power on the verge of going unchecked. It was beautiful.

Madara's hand went up and back, reaching for his katana, but instead of the familiar handle there was only air. It was enough to throw him off, because he could not remember to have lost the weapon, and he would not come unprepared to battle. He looked down on himself -- suddenly aware of the missing weight on his shoulders and back -- and frowned, because there was no armor clad around his torso, his shins and hands were unprodected. He raised his head once more, met the devestation before him for the first time. He had never been on a battle field this wrecked, and suddenly, terrifyingly, he became aware of the stench that lay underneath the layers of ozone. Decay, and Madara's eyes flew over the heaps of shinobi, littering earth that was soaked in blood. A sudden rush of panic bubbled up inside him, but a long-honed instinct to remain calm in the midst of chaos kept it at bay, his head spinning around to look for his people, for Izuna.

There; in a group of people that faced a creature white as chalk, exuding strength in waves that washed over Madara's skin like cold flames, there stood Izuna, and Madara uttered a sound of relief, because somehow he had thought that Izuna would not be here at all, that Tobirama's blade had impaled -- The boy turned, shouting something illegible to Madara's ears, and it was not Izuna at all; same height, weight, age, same features, but the crimson eyes so unmistakable different. Confusion started to pull at the seams of reality. Dissonance. Madara's eyes drifted further, taking in faces he had never seen before. No Uchiha, not even a single Senju; and Madara realized that the joint effort of the group of strangers lay in striking back the chalk figure, hovering over the earth like a deity, and suddenly he saw him, Kakashi, older, clad in a bewilderingly different attire, sut covering his hair and the visible part of his face, lunging forward, into the chalk deity's path of destruction.

"No." The word came breathless, soundless. Black orbs in the air around the chalk deity, and Madara knew what Kakashi was going to do, even though he did not know how he got there, and why he looked so different. None of it mattered. It did not matter that Hashirama was nowhere to be seen, that the stench of corpses made him choke and gag, that the boy that looked like Izuna was not really his brother at all. All that mattered was to get there before the inevitable happened, to prevent, but Madara's feet would not budge, would not move from the spot he seemed glued to. Like a pillar of salt he watched the chalk deity's eyes grew wide with something akin to amusement, a lazy sort of triumph that did not feel earned. Madara knew that glance, knew it so intimately. His head spun, dizzy with the familiarity and impossibility, the horror, and he wanted to shout, but the deity flicked its wrist and drove the pole through Kakashi, spearing him.

"NO!!"

Madara bared his teeth at the cruel sight, watched blood and clod spray from Kakashi's back where the pole exited his body, and his Mangekyo spun to life inadvertendly, unbidden, as if he hoped to revoke time. The world around him contracted under the force of his dojutsu (scratching at Kakashi's illusion like a trapped cat) and suddenly, as Kakashi turned to ashes, blood-red eyes in a chalk-white face found Madara's, whose eyes grew wide with that final recognition. Horrorstruck, he stumbled backwards.

His doppelgänger cackled madly, a sound that accompanied Madara as

Outside the Genjutsu

he blinked, and understanding, all the information lost in the subtlety of Kakashi's genjutsu, rushed back to him in the fraction of a second. Izuna was dead, and the battle he had witnessed had been a war to end all wars, inconceivable in its scale. And that chalk deity ...

Madara's heart was razing madly in his chest, and it cost him everything not to whimper. Both his hands were cupping Kakashi's face, holding him close, and he did not know how they got there. He retrieved them quickly, as if he had been burned. He forced his breath to come in quick bursts through his nose, a technique to regulate the unbidden panic. Kakashi's eyelids with their white lashes trembled, pale face clammy, and Madara forced himself back, back into the present and into reality.

Calmer now, his hands found Kakashi's, his thumbs moving upwards to the points of his pulse, a fluttering thing under his caress. "Time to go back", he heard himself say. His voice was reasonably calm, gentle almost. The terror was an undercurrent, an invisible fiend in his system, and it was so stark it made him almost numb. He searched for Kakashi's gaze. "You need to lie down." The truth was he could not bare to stay another minute in this dimension, and he shivered with the need to get away. Madara felt sick to his stomach.

 

[roxybirdie]

"Time to go back,"

Kakashi barely registered the calloused palms cradling his face. He unconsciously leaned closer, drawn to the older Uchiha's warmth. Once the hands retracted, his wolf positively whined. It scratched at the surface, demanding the warmness and safety Madara exuded. The war veteran ignored the forlorn howl reverberating inside his head and continued regulating his breathing. Suddenly, rough fingers grasped his forearms. The tender caress over his pulse point prompted him to open his eyes. Kakashi lifted his head, dark grey meeting onyx.

You need to lie down. He swallowed and inclined his head. "I need to secure the scroll," Kakashi rasped. His hoarse tone evoked a grimace. Without another word, the silver-haired shinobi retracted his hands and stood. Suddenly, a flare of pain radiated inside his chest, eliciting a hiss. He gritted his teeth and pressed a hand over the left side of his ribs. The constant movement was hell on his tender (and barely mended) bones, but the half-Hatake was stubborn. Once the throbbing quelled to a manageable level, Kakashi placed the scroll in its original spot and started applying a multitude of security seals and traps. After he secured the last layer, the war veteran activated his Mangekyō. The air surrounding the younger Hatake and older Uchiha distorted and twisted inward.

Without warning, the ambassador and Clan Head vanished.

Once Kakashi and Madara materialized inside the half-Hatake's guest room, the younger man wobbled and dropped to his knees. He breathed in deeply, suppressing the urge to clutch his left side. As his vermillion eyes faded to his signature charcoal, Kakashi released a shuddering breath. "I think I might sleep for a week after this," he huffed wryly. The ambassador crawled on his futon and picked up his glass of water. He lifted the white cloth and drained the rest of the glass. After he placed the cup on the side table, Kakashi gingerly laid on the futon mattress.

He gazed at the wooden beams on the ceiling. "I think you would make a good Hokage," the half-Hatake murmured offhandedly. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Certainly better than the white-haired demon," he grumbled. Contrary to belief, Kakashi didn't hate Senju Tobirama — even if his wolf wanted to sink its teeth in the younger man's flesh, he didn't hate him — but the war veteran was a spiteful and petty man.

 

[arbus]

It was a relief when the weight of Kamui lifted off Madara's shoulders and the world realigned itself once more, the laws of nature settling were they belonged. Madara, who had remained kneeling as Kakashi secured the scroll, now came to his feet slowly. He watched Kakashi stagger and fall, then crawl to the futon like the stubborn bastard that he was. Madara brushed down his clothes; he thought the stench of decay and burn of a battlefield still clung to it, but there was no dust, no trace of a war on him. It was inside his head, that was all, it would fade away when the shock of a perfectly executed dojutsu wore off.

"I think you would make a good Hokage.Certainly better than the white-haired demon."

He did not know what made Kakashi say that, if it was supposed to be some form of consolation. Madara hummed noncommittally, and moved to join Kakashi at the futon. For a moment, standing over him, he took in the face that looked so boyish now, so very young; at once not that different from the man in the genjutsu and yet worlds apart. He was battered, stitched up but still whole. Madara swore to himself that he would keep it that way, that Hatake Kakashi would not die again, would never suffer like that ever again. He owed him that, and so much more, and the debt was fathomless, streaked with guilt and shame.

Madara bent to take the blanket, discarded on the floor, and covered Kakashi's lean, yukata-clad frame with it, tucking him in like he had tucked in Izuna, when he had been young and afraid of the dark.

"Sleep well, Kakashi", he murmured, his fingers hovering over the other's cheeks just enough for him to make him feel the warmth of a not-quite touch. If Kakashi were to open his eyes, he would look at Madara's sharingan, tomoe spinning in the rhythm of undisturbed sleep like he had once offered before, in a cave in the depth of a snowstorm when Kakashi was bleeding under his very hands.

*
​

Once the shoji doors to the guest chamber were closed behind him, Madara allowed the strength to sap from his limbs, and he leaned against the wall. His eyes burned, if from exhaustion or unshed tears he could not fathom. He noticed that the light had changed since this morning, that the sun was on its descent already. They must have spent hours in the Kamui dimension; for Madara, it felt like years.

Walking down the hallways of his home, every sound, every scent was the same; the chirping cicadas, birds in the distance, the rush of the wind in the treetops and the smell of wood polish from the floor and hearth fire from the kitchen. But even as Madara rolled his shoulders, in an attempt to shake off the remnants of surreality evoked by Kakashi's genjutsu, he could not -- he was different, somehow, and it was a yet unformed realization. He did not know what it all meant, only that he was not the same person that had entered the guest chamber this morning. He could not be the same person, because a deep-seated believe he had held of himself, of being a good person, of possessing a stringent, infallible moral compass, had died in the face of a chalk-white monster.

Madara found Natsuki to inform her to provide Kakashi with fresh clothing, because his was sweaty from the fever, to send one of the healers to provide mending to his sore ribs, and to not disturb him until he woke, and to then offer him a bath and a hearty meal and provide him access to the library like he had, such a long time ago, requested.

Then, he withdrew to his quarters, secluded from the busier part of the compound, to commute in privacy and with a few bottles of the Uchiha's finest sake with his own treacherous heart.

 

[roxybirdie]

"Sleep well, Kakashi,"

Something about being tucked in felt achingly familiar, like an old memory he couldn't quite recall. At the age of five, Kakashi graduated from the Academy and became a official adult in the eyes of his village. Even before graduation, he was beyond the stage of childish exuberance and bedtime stories. Child geniuses rarely experienced the luxury of blissful ignorance and rose-tinted wonder. His mind was too sharp, too advanced. He developed faster than children his age and because he wanted to be taken seriously, he became eager to grow, thrive, and learn. Kakashi craved the recognition associated with prodigious shinobi, to the point he pushed and pushed until he became the youngest ninja to graduate from the Academy. He never considered the ramifications of his achievement and unfortunately, it made him arrogant. Kakashi didn't learn the ugly truth until his first friend died in front of him.

The world wasn't kind to prodigies and while Konohagakure may be soft, it was still a ninja village. The war veteran fought for his village, but he wasn't blind to the skeletons buried in the shadows. Kakashi pledged his allegiance, but he knew intimately how unmistakably cruel the demons lurking beneath can be. Konohagakure may be soft, but it was never kind, especially to prodigious talent.

Kakashi couldn't remember the last time he was tucked in.

Feeling the older Uchiha's probing gaze, the half-Hatake cracked his eyes open. As charcoal met vermillion, Kakashi felt a soothing lull urge him to close his eyes. It promised tranquility, safety, and comfort. He faintly recognized the hypnotic call and while he could easily break the trance, the war veteran closed his eyes. The unspoken trust and acceptance hung in the air. Once his breath evened, Kakashi drifted in a dreamless sleep.

*​

Three Days Later

The Uchiha Library is, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the best in the Land of Fire; arguably the greatest. Kakashi heard rumors regarding the Senju Archives, but without access, he couldn't differentiate between fact or hearsay. Three days passed since the half-Hatake awakened from his fever-induced nightmare. He slept a lot and was confined to his guest quarters. Uchiha Yuuto and the rest of the clan healers are determined to see him recover, but the stubborn Hatake never liked listening to iryō-nins. It reminded him of his past hospital visits and he hated hospitals. Day three, around late morning, Kakashi made his great escape. Since the silver-haired shinobi was granted access — what a surprise it was, not that he would admit it — to the library, he sequestered himself inside the expansive room.

He was currently wandering down a random aisle in the far back, away from the crotchety librarian. Uchiha Chieko was in her early sixties and a no-nonsense woman. She was also extremely protective of the library, like a dragon defending its hoard. When he waltzed in, she looked unimpressed, as if she knew he wasn't listening to the healers and liberated himself. However, she didn't kick him out. Kakashi had a feeling it involved a certain Clan Head's permission. If he wasn't granted access, he wouldn't be surprised if the woman dragged him out by the ear.

Clad in a fresh navy purple yukata and bandages, Kakashi ran his fingers over the row of scrolls. A large black handkerchief was fastened over his face, replacing the white cloth. A part of him longed for his signature masks, but unfortunately, the Uchiha providing him wardrobe didn't dabble in custom masks. Kakashi surveyed the scrolls, but nothing caught his eye. Truthfully, the silver-haired shinobi wasn't certain where to begin his research. The profound throbbing radiating inside his chest tapered to a dull ache. The bones are fully mended, but it would take him at least a week (or more) to recover. Applying too much chakra (and restoring it completely) was dangerous since continuous injections risked his chakra violently rejecting the outside influence.

"Maa, I wonder if Chieko-san would kill me if I took a few scrolls back to my room," Kakashi muttered. He pressed his face against his sleeve, silencing a sneeze. Perhaps, musty old scrolls wasn't the best (or healthiest) remedy for a recovering patient, but the half-Hatake preferred it over being confined to his room. Medical ninjas are so stubborn. To be fair, Kakashi was a terrible patient.

 

[arbus]

"Kill you, behead you, and drink your blood", a young voice from somewhere above Kakashi's head informed him. "Not necessarily in that order."

A girl, no older than twelve, was sitting cross-legged on top of the shelf that held the scrolls Kakashi was inspecting. She was wearing traditional, high-collared Uchiha attire, but her hair was fairer than most Uchiha's, and held together in a complicated pun that seemed to have taken time to sculpt but that was not particularly taken care of, strands of hair flying every which way. There were creases in her dress, and the soles of her shoes were muddy. One particular fat splotch was about to plunge down right at the spot were Kakashi was standing.

Her light brown eyes examined Kakashi with unabashed curiosity.

"You are the Hatake", she said matter-of-factly. "Obviously. I mean, look at your hair."

Her grin spread across the whole of her face.

"You know that you're not supposed to be in the library during morning lessons, right?" She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. Next to the entrance of the library, a door lead into another room. Faint voices drifted over to them, now and again a child's laughter. "Karamura-sensei does not like visitors." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "In fact, he doesn't like pretty much anyone. Despite his beloved koi, I mean." She rolled her eyes, then blinked. "Hey, do you want to see something really interesting? Better than the scrolls lying around here? If you teach me a fancy jutsu, I can show you if you --"

"Ume-chaaan!" A tiny blip of black and navy raced around the corner, hiccuping. "Ume-chan, where are you? You're supposed to show me ... Kaka-nii!" Kagami halted, almost crashing into Kakashi's leg. His big eyes grew even bigger with excitement. "Kaka-nii, you're fine again!" He smiled. "Mommy said you were. She said I could maybe visit you today but I should ask first."

"Ssshhht, idiot", Ume hissed, "the dragon will hear you!"

"Dragon?", Kagami asked, confused.

"Chieko-san", the girl said, miming a dragon's roar silently, and Kagami giggled. "Hey, let's get out of here before she finds us and delivers us upon evil ... I mean, Karamura-sensei." Ume dropped from her spot on the shelf easy enough, landing next to Kakashi. She gave him a once-over, as if she were assessing if he was one of those adults who were to be trusted. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "There is a secret library", she explained. "One that is much more interesting than this one. I can show you. For a tiny little jutsu. Yes?"

"Ume-chan, we're supposed to be in class", Kagami said, looking torn. It was much more interesting to spent any time with Kakashi, who was fascinating and nice. But he did not want to risk Karamura-sensei's wrath, which would probably lead to them having to write sentences. Or in his case, sit still and do nothing! Ume did not seem particularly bothered. "If I have to leave class to escort you to the toilet --"

"Ume-chaaan!"

" -- I am allowed to take a little detour!", she finished, with all the self-assurance only a twelve-year-old could possess.

 

[roxybirdie]

"Not necessarily in that order."

Lesser shinobi may of overlooked — or remain completely unaware — the little girl, but the half-Hatake detected her the moment he entered the aisle. However, Hatake Kakashi wasn't particularly fond of prepubescent children. Pups under the age of ten — specifically seven or under — are worse. Instead of acknowledging her presence, the war veteran pretended as if she didn't exist. Unfortunately, his offhand comment invoked a response. He lifted his gaze, assessing the impish twelve-year-old. Her lighter attributes are, without a doubt, rarer in the sea of jet black, dark brown, and obsidian. On the other hand, despite her fairer appearance, her scent alone was pure and unadulterated Uchiha.

All the Uchiha he encountered exhibit a unique scent, but at the core, they all contain the same spark; a fire undeniably Uchiha.

You are the Hatake. A huff of amusement escaped his lips. Kakashi patted his head for emphasize. "Maa, I sure hope so," he mused. You know that you're not supposed to be in the library during morning lessons, right? The half-Hatake noticed the separate room, but it didn't stop him from entering the library. A part of him hoped if he blended in the background, the munchkins wouldn't notice him. Hey, do you want to see something really interesting? Better than the scrolls lying around here? If you teach me a fancy jutsu, I can show you if you— For a moment, a sunshine blonde in a bright orange jumpsuit flashed inside his mind. His heart stopped, but instead of a stab of pain, Kakashi was filled with overwhelming nostalgia.

Of course he would be approached by the Uchiha equivalent of his most knuckle-headed student.

Kakashi opened his mouth, a quick-witted retort on the tip of his tongue, but—

"Kaka-nii, you're fine again!"

—dear kami-sama, there were two of them. Kakashi swallowed his response and draped his palm over the younger Uchiha's curls. "Maa, maa, you're too kind to little ol' me, pup," he drawled. He ruffled the boy's locks, evoking a giggle. Despite his apparent discomfort — more like plain awkwardness — fondness was evident in his stormy grey hues. The Hatake ambassador watched the baby Uchiha bicker, silently lamenting his unfortunate position. Was it the universe punishing him for escaping the confinements of his (prison) guest quarters?

...he blamed Obito.

"I am allowed to take a little detour!"

Kakashi heaved a sigh. "Maa, it sounds like your sensei didn't specify which toilet you have to use." He was a terrible influence on children. "You technically wouldn't be breaking the rules if you used any toilet in the compound." It was official, he was going to hell. He had a special place carved for him and everything; all the bells and whistles. The war veteran didn't know what it was about him that attracted children, but dear kami-sama, make it stop.

"B-but," Kagami bit his lip, doe-like eyes uncertain.

"Don't be such a big baby, Kaga-chibi," huffed the older girl.

His little face scrunched up. "I'm not a big baby!" Kagami pouted.

"Oh yeah? Prove it!" Ume pointed at Kakashi. "Join us or are you too scared?" she taunted.

His cheeks puffed out. "Am not!"

"Shh! Not so loud!"

Kakashi didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He was being kidnapped by a twelve-year-old imp and five-year-old gremlin. He could utilize shunshin — it wouldn't be the first time — but he had a feeling Uchiha Ume was the relentless type. If she was truly like his troublesome student, she wouldn't stop until she learned a new jutsu. The concept of a secret library piqued his interest, but he wasn't about to be hoodwinked by a twelve-year-old brat. He looked underneath the underneath, thank you very much.

On the other hand, was him not leaving just as bad?

"Maa, I think Chieko-san will roast us alive if we stay here," Kakashi announced. Without another word, he scooped Kagami off the floor and settled the boy on his shoulders. His tender ribs throbbed at the sudden movement, but he ignored it. The war veteran pivoted to his left. Instead of maneuvering toward the front entrance, he approached a nearby window. "Shinobi rule #15: If the exits are compromised, you make one." He opened the window and slipped out, mindful of the pup resting on his shoulders. Kakashi landed on the ground and once the imp followed, he closed the window. It led to a flat expanse of land connected to a small training ground utilized by the children.

 

[arbus]

"You technically wouldn't be breaking the rules if you used any toilet in the compound."

The grin was back on Ume's face. Finally an adult that was not stuck up and busy. Her parents had talked a great deal about the Hatake, because apparently he was somehow different and strange; her father did not particularly like that he was around so much. He always called him the clan head's special project -- Ume did not know what it meant, but she knew when her father was angry, because that was when he started to be condescending. She eyed the silver-haired man with interest. Sure, he looked a bit strange, with that silver hair and all, but he was wearing their clan's colors and Ume did not understand what the problem was. Her mother was a non-Uchiha, even though she had lived with the clan for a long time. But she was born in Uzu no Kuni, and she often told Ume about her country and its people there.

Ume thought the Hatake could not be so different from her mother's people, and anyway, her mother always told her that every clan was proud and good in their own way. Even the Senju.

(She just never said that before Ume's father.)

"Why are you wearing a cloth around your face?", she asked Kakashi now, as they are walking across the little field, "It looks really stupid." She threw glances back to the library and its adjacent windows. She could make out old Karamura's silhouette, and for a moment she feared that he would look out the window and see them, but then they were through the small gate and behind a hedge that separated the main estate from the rest of the compound. Ume blinked against the sun. It was one of those nice, slow days. Warm, and it would grow warmer under the spring sun. Soon, the cherry trees would start to bloom and white and pink petals scatter the way towards the small shinto shrine she was now heading towards. Ume made sure to take the back alleys; everyone knew everyone around here, and if one of her mother's friends were to see her out of class in the middle of the day -- or worse, if her father ...

"Kaka-nii", Kagami giggled. He was excuberant with joy at his seat of honor on Kakashi's shoulders (such a baby, really), and stretched in an attempt to reach the budding branches of the trees.

"Okay, so", Ume said as they had reached the one-way road behind the tiny shrine, planting herself firmly before Kakashi and looking up at him with a challenge in her eyes, "what kind of jutsu are you going to teach me?"

"Kaka-nii, I need to pee", Kagami said, plucking at Kakashi's hair.

 

[roxybirdie]

"Why are you wearing a cloth around your face?"

Kakashi hummed in response. "Why is the sky blue?" he inquired.

"What kind of answer is—"

The half-Hatake cut her off, "Maa, if you don't know why the sky is blue, Ume-chan, then you won't know why I wear a mask." He adjusted his grip on the pup's legs, securing the gremlin perched on his shoulders.

She twitched. "That doesn't make sense!" huffed the twelve-year-old.

Kakashi tilted his head, eyes curving upward. "Life is full of mysteries, Ume-chan," he replied airily. He ambled through the alleyways and closer toward a small shrine. Despite his larger frame and distinctive silver locks, the older Hatake and baby Uchiha slipped past prying eyes. Kakashi surveyed the small field surrounding the shrine. Cherry trees lined the pathway leading to the shrine. While the blossoms remained dormant, the war veteran detected a faint floral scent emanating from the branches. Suddenly, the imp halted and blocked his path.

"What kind of jutsu are you going to teach me?"

The silver-haired shinobi blinked owlishly. "When did I agree to that?" he inquired.

"You said—?"

"I said any toilet in the compound is acceptable," Kakashi pointed out. He raised his free hand and gently pried the tiny fingers from his unruly locks. "I never said I was going to teach you anything." He gazed past the twelve-year-old imp. "Since there are no buildings around, I assume your secret library is in there." Kakashi lifted Kagami off his shoulders and secured the pup in his arms. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pup emergency," he declared. Without warning, the war veteran vanished. Swirling leaves fluttered on the spot he once occupied.

Ume stared at the spot the Hatake once stood, momentarily caught off guard. He, that— urgh! No one tricked Uchiha Ume and got away with it!

Kakashi materialized a safe distance away, out of sight and away from the mischievous imp.

"Again! Again!" Kagami clapped, the rush more exciting than frightening.

Of course the pup found his body flicker technique exhilarating. "Let's find you a toilet, Kagami-kun," Kakashi muttered. Without another word, the silver-haired shinobi maneuvered closer to the building containing his guest quarters. It was a long distance from the library, but he cared little about the nonsensical details. After another well-timed shunshin — and sticking to the shadows — Kakashi escorted the pup to the small lavatory down the hallway from his designated room. As Kagami toddled inside, the half-Hatake guarded the entrance. He heaved a sigh, hoping (and praying) he could escort the baby Uchiha back to his classroom without further complications.

 

[arbus]

Ume stomped her foot on the ground. She could not belief it! Kagami's cursed bladder had ruined everything. She had been so close! A new jutsu was just what she needed to outfight her stupid classmates for once. But she would not give up on her chance to learn a new technique. Her eyes slid towards the shrine. It was a small building, the curved roof dark-tiled and low. There was not much space in its hall, barely for more than a small group of people. It was prettiest in the spring when the sakura trees blossomed, and Ume liked to come here a lot, because her mother told her she should pray to the spirits when her father was in battle.

It had happened in the death of night a few weeks ago; Ume had the unfortunate habit of slipping out of her bedroom window to wander through the compound at under the stars. She liked to chase the stray cats and train her stamina, because all the boys always made fun of her for being so slow. That night, though, she had seen a figure slip past the guards. It had been nothing more than a shadow, rushing by like a ghost, and she never saw the person's face, but she saw that they vanished behind one of the shrine's stone pillars, and never emerged!

Ume had sneaked up to the entrance, but the figure had been gone.

She knew (even though she was not supposed to) that there was another library in the compound; apart from the one that everyone liked to gloat about. She had heard her father talk about it with one of his friends once, how he had told him that it lay somewhere below the shrine and how stupid it was that the clan head forbid everyone entry, even the elders. And, curious as a cat, she had hoped Kakashi would somehow gain entry, so she could have a peek for herself.

That would have meant a jutsu and a super-secret mission into the tombs of the shrine.

She sighed, lamenting her bad luck, when a shadow fell over her.

"Ume?", the voice of her father said, "is that you? What are you doing here? Don't you have class?"

Ume winced hard. That was just her luck! She drew up her shoulders, turned, and squinted up at her father, grinning sheepishly. She knew the game was up.

For now.

*
​

Kagami's bathroom emergency was bigger than his disappointment that they were back in the main house so soon. He disappeared into the bathroom without much ado, and the same moment the door closed behind him, another familiar figure came down the hallway, carrying a tablet.

"Hatake-san!" Natsuki looked surprised. "My, you shouldn't be up. What about your ribs?"

The concern in her eyes, that were so similar to her son's, was genuine. She inclined her head towards the tray. "I was just about to bring you a second breakfast. Madara-sama's orders." She smiled, almost conspiratorially. Ever since she had entrusted Kakashi with her clan head's life, and he had brought back the friendly slug from the depths of Shikkotsu Forest, she felt very fondly towards him. "I think he wants to make sure you're eating enough." There were stacks of meat on a plate, a bowl of rice, soup and fried vegetables.

"Should I bring it to your room? Or maybe you want to use the engawa. The weather outside is wonderful."

Kagami chose that moment to re-appear, his hands dripping. "All done!", he announced with a beaming smile on his face, wiping his hands on his chest. "Hello mommy!"

Natsuki blinked. "Kagami-kun, what in the world are you doing here?"

"I needed to pee! Kaka-nii brought me. Also, we swirled! I think Kaka-nii can fly! Mommy, can I learn how to fly please?"

"Fly?", she asked, hopelessly confused. "Kagami, you should be in class!"

In the end, Kagami yielded easily enough to his fate to return to the classroom, but not without looking at Kakashi with a big, happy smile on his face.

"Thanks for everything, Kaka-nii. You're the best!"

"Hatake-san, you don't have to look after my boy. I apologize if he was bothering you. I ..." She looked a bit hopeless, tray in one hand and holding the hand of her son with the other. "I'm so sorry, but I need to bring Kagami-kun back to class, I don't want him to run off again." She stared at the tablet a long while. "Could you, uhm, take the tablet with you?"

 

[roxybirdie]

"My, you shouldn't be up. What about your ribs?"

He suppressed a twitch. Rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish chuckle rumbled inside his chest. "Maa, a little fresh air is what the healer ordered," Kakashi replied. Within the confinement of his room and on his futon, but maa, the details aren't important. "Nothing wrong with a little exercise," he added blithely. Or being kidnapped by a imp and gremlin, but maa, it was better than sitting in his room. "More like a prison," he grumbled inside his head. Iryō-nin are so fussy! Uchiha Yuuto and his minions (healers) are becoming the bane of his existence.

I think he wants to make sure you're eating enough. Kakashi arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?" Three days passed since he interacted with the elusive Clan Head. Between his constant slumbering and examinations, the half-Hatake didn't have enough strength (or time) to seek the older Uchiha out. A part of him wondered if the ravenette was deliberately avoiding him. Given the circumstances, Kakashi couldn't fault Madara for distancing himself. On the other hand, deep down — deep, deep down — it made his chest ache. A forlorn howl resonated inside his mind.

"Thanks for everything, Kaka-nii. You're the best!"

His eyes softened. Kakashi lifted his palm and ruffled the boy's curly locks. "Maa, maa, take care, pup," he murmured. His eyes crinkled into a genuine eye-smile. The war veteran retracted his hand and directed his attention to the pup's mother.

Hatake-san, you don't have to look after my boy. I apologize if he was bothering you. He hummed. "You don't need to apologize, Natsuki-san," the half-Hatake assured. He glanced at the pup. "I don't mind." Kakashi didn't know why — even if his cover story made him the official (direct) cousin of the gremlin, it didn't allocate trust — the boy became so attached, but despite his reluctance, he didn't mind the cub's presence. While Uchiha Kagami became the direct ancestor of his old teammate and ANBU subordinate, his fondness extended beyond association.

Not that he would admit it.

"Could you, uhm, take the tablet with you?"

Instead of responding, Kakashi accepted the tray. As Natsuki escorted her son to the library, the half-Hatake reluctantly returned to his quarters. He settled on the engawa, basking in the mid-morning sun. "Maa, I never did get to read a scroll," he sighed. Kakashi broke apart his chopsticks and picked up the bowl of rice. "I'm not that thin," he huffed, recalling the woman's offhand comment. He prodded the rice absentmindedly, but didn't take a bite.

"If that's where it's at," he thought. Kakashi lifted his head and gazed at the wispy clouds. "It will be only a matter of time." The isolation associated with the girl's secret location didn't escape his radar. He didn't know if the shrine contained a secret library — if the Uchiha hid their most prized scrolls and artefacts, it wouldn't surprise him — but he had a feeling it possessed a certain ancient tablet. Tagging along on the girl's adventure confirmed his suspicions. Kakashi doubted the imp knew what the shrine truly contained and he intended to keep it that way.

 

[arbus]

Ad interim

Madara had not been sleeping well. Like for most shinobi, deep uninterrupted sleep was a scarce commodity either way, but usually he managed a few solid hours, especially after a long stretch of sleep deprivation. He had spent the days leading up to his conversation with Kakashi mostly awake and outside, in search of what he now knew to be not shinobi, not even human, but an abomination of chakra, a parasite. Despite the strain of those last few days, however, sleep had not come easy to him. And when it found him in the early hours of the morning, it pulled him into jarring nightmares from which he woke breathless, sweating, and with a constricting feeling around his chest.

(He stood in the wake of his own destruction, grey-black ash running like fine sand through his fingers.)

It irked Madara, not to be able to shake them off, those vision of bleeding eyes, of madness, of Hatake Kakashi disintegrating on the other end of a black pole that radiated power like a pulse. He was irritable and testy, easily nettled by the slightest provocation, so he removed himself from company. It was easier to think while he was moving, and his lithe body flitted across the fields, far off from the compound and the forest, on the outermost edges of Uchiha territory. The strain of exercise promised respite from the thoughts, taijutsu tiring his muscles while ninjutsu burned out his chakra pathways, an ache he seeked like salvation. He devastated the land around him, empty barren fields, old battle sites, under the brunt of his force, only to throw himself onto his back and stare into the clouds afterwards, to relish that few precious minutes in which his throat was dry, his chest heaving and his head mercifully empty.

Of course, he could not stay away for long.

Yoshitaka-san beleagured him both with matters of his clanspeople as well as of state, both equally petty and irritating; a Daimyo was as quarrelsome and obstinate as the worst pigheaded clansmember complaining about the crops, the weather, the rationing. More courteous, perhaps, but Madara preferred the open animosity of his clan over the false smiles of that backstabbing bunch of pushovers that made up Hi no Kuni's aristocracy. Madara could hardly walk through the gates without being swamped with requests, recited from a scroll, all of them (as ever) of utmost urgency. He had received answer from Hashirama two days ago; assuring Madara that he knew nothing of the attack, offering his extensive help to track down the attacker, renewing the allegiance, the ceasefire, and giving Kakashi his best, wishing him a speedy recovery. Madara thought: Konohagakure, and did not know how to answer.

Half the nights he spent pouring over scrolls in his study, but bits and pieces of information buried deep in Kakashi's handwriting kept sneaking up on him. When he thought he could start to understand, the immensity of those insights and their ramifications overrolled him like an ocean wave, and he thought that nobody should ever have to see the future; it was so much more of a curse than a blessing. If he ever hoped to understand what he had read, what he had witnessed, he knew he had to go about it methodically. Had to dismantle the information piece by piece. Had to maneouvre carefully through the chaos inside his mind, because one wrong move and he would be driven insane by a bloodred gaze in chalk, by a human body being reduced to ash.

One thing that resounded in him like a diapason: The stone tablet. Kakashi's scroll had mentioned it, if briefly, as an Uchiha artefact. Madara did not understand its relevance in the greater scheme of things, but it was a start. An item that existed in his reality, something he could lay his hands on: Almost a year ago to the day, Madara had come across that tablet, its engraving illegible -- even with his Mangekyo, Madara had not been able to read more than the odd character.

Now, every night after he had finished his official business -- dealt with all the whimsicalities of being the leader of his clan -- his ink-stained hands drove over the cold, irregular surface of stone, and in the damp darkness of an underground bunker with earthen walls he stared, the Eternal Mangekyo fixated on words he did not understand.

He did not exactly know what had driven him to move the artefact from its spot underneath the shrine and out of the compound altogether; just that it had seemed sensible after he woke from a nightmarish sleep that first morning after the genjutsu. The secret chamber beneath the shinto shrine could be infiltrated, and the stone tablet was precious. He did not want for anyone besides himself to lay eyes on it. It was dangerous, after all. Better to hide it where no member of his clan could stumble upon it.


Uchiha Compound -- Third Day after Kamui

Madara had just returned from the outskirts of the forest, after another rigorous round of training. To reach his study, he had to walk through the part of the estate where the guest chambers were located, but he passed Kakashi's door without so much as a hitch in his step. Kakashi, he told himself, needed to rest his freshly mended bones and his mind alike, and any form of visitation could throw off his recovery. It had nothing to do with the picture that kept returning unbidden to the forefront of Madara's mind, whenever he thought of Kakashi: of a pole spearing him and of pink bits of lungs flying through the air. It was very much not an excuse when it was the truth, Madara thought somewhat self-righteously, and Yuuto-sensei had told him that Kakshi's ribs were healing unfortunately slowly.

Yet, the gods did not deem to grant him any more delay. When Madara entered his study, a sealed scroll was waiting for him on his desk. The seal was by now familiar -- it was the Daimyo's, a peacock in grey wax.

"It cannot be", Yoshitaka said, half an hour later. He stood before the desk behind which Madara was sitting with his arms crossed. "There must be a mistake." It took much to faze a veteran like Yoshitaka, who had seen wars in his young years and had outlived every last member of his close family. Who knew of the ways of the Uchiha, of shinobi, better than most -- for all his traditionalist attitudes, Madara had learned much about the machination of the shinobi and civilian world from him. And now he agreed, the contents of this letter were unprecedented.

Madara was silent; he simply did not know anymore what could and couldn't be. But he knew who, if anyone, would have answers.

"Talking to yourself, Kakashi?" Madara walked along the engawa, towards the figure that was sitting in a spot in the sun, looking unassuming, even fragile in a slightly too large yukata. "Not a good sign."

He sunk into a cross-legged seat a few paces away from the other man, heaving a sigh as his sore muscles protested, and placed the Daimyo's letter on the floor boards between them. For a moment, he took Kakashi in, as if with a glance he wanted to assess his condition.

"An invitation from the Daimyo of the Land of Fire", he explained, "extended towards the leaders of every clan in Fire Country. Uchiha, Senju, Sarutobi, Shimura, Hyuga, Hatake. Even smaller clans like the Inuzuka, the Aburame and the Nara, Akimichi and Yamanaka. All of them." His fingers ran over the smooth surface of the wooden planks. "I did not see you mention this in your scroll, though it strikes me as extraordinarily noteworthy. Is this something you know about?"

 

[roxybirdie]

"Talking to yourself, Kakashi?"

Kakashi was about to take a bite of his rice, but paused. He lowered his chopsticks. "Maa, finally decided to face me?" he drawled, unperturbed by the older raven's jab. He placed the bowl on the tray adjacent to his left side. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show." His light tone, while relatively nonchalant, was undeniably accusatory. It poked at the Clan Head's apparent evasion with an unforgiving strike.

Is this something you know about? The half-Hatake picked up the scroll and assessed the waxed seal. The peacock was the Fire Daimyō's official insignia. He fingered the quality of the scroll and deliberately sniffed the wax. "Not a fake," he confirmed. Kakashi lowered the scroll and placed it on the floorboard between the younger Hatake and older Uchiha. He lifted his gaze, charcoal meeting obsidian. A serious glint penetrated his languorous façade. "No," he declared. Kakashi tugged at his navy purple yukata for emphasize. "Once upon a time, the Uchiha and Hatake never became allies." The war veteran picked up his chopsticks, snatched a piece of rice off his tray, and dropped the kernel inside his cup of tea. He raised the cup to Madara, exposing the ripples the seed invoked. "Every decision I made or will make has consequences. Some ripples are minor, but others—" He gestured to the scroll. "—can be potentially awarding or downright catastrophic," Kakashi pointed out.

A stroke of luck or a foreboding omen remained to be determined.

He lifted the black handkerchief slightly and took a sip. "If I didn't mention it in my scroll, it didn't happen." In his timeline was left unsaid. Kakashi lowered his cup and adjusted the handkerchief over his face. "You haven't been sleeping much." Sharp eyes assessed the ravenette's frame. "Or been in the compound recently." The silver-haired shinobi retrieved the scroll and handed it to Madara. He leaned closer and flicked the Clan Head on his forehead. "Maa, maa, maybe I should cast the dreamless genjutsu on you for once." He retracted his palm and settled on his spot.

Silence washed over the engawa. "Whatever happens, happens," Kakashi murmured. He lifted his gaze, staring at the wispy clouds. "Good or bad, all we can do is face it." A somber glint was evident in his stormy grey hues. "Who knows? Maybe it'll be a good thing." A fleeting chuckle rumbled inside his chest. Kakashi tilted his head, eyes curving upward. "If not, I guess we'll fight it together, ne?" Suddenly, a light breeze swept past the half-Hatake. The bottom half of his handkerchief fluttered, revealing a glimpse of his jawline. While Kakashi smoothed the fabric down, it momentarily exposed the bottom half of his lips, including the beauty mark on the left side of his chin; near the corner of his mouth.

 

[arbus]

"Maa, finally decided to face me? I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."

"I am head of my clan", Madara responded dryly, "Uchiha business does not simply wait until I am done dealing with my guests. Not even those of the time traveling variety." He huffed, unfazed by Kakashi's accusatory tone. "Besides, I am sure you find plenty to occupy your time with. Or what did I give you access to the library for, hm?"

He watched Kakashi sniff the scroll. It was such a peculiar thing to witness. The Uchiha's seal experts, Hayato and Shizuka, examined every piece of parchment that entered the compound for hidden fuinjutsu, but Madara doubted they would ever come up with the idea of determining a scroll's validity by scent. Kakashi's verdict did not come as a surprise, but it eased a bit of the tension in Madara's shoulders nonetheless. A fake would have meant a ruse, likely from another shinobi clan.

"Once upon a time, the Uchiha and Hatake never became allies. Every decision I made or will make has consequences. Some ripples are minor, but others can be potentially awarding or downright catastrophic. If I didn't mention it in my scroll, it didn't happen."

As Madara listened, he watched the rice corn swim on the tea's surface with something akin to wonder. He had not yet come around to think about this aspect of things; that Kakashi was in the process of reshaping a history that for him had been set in stone.

"We are allies because of you", he said, and the astonishment swung barely hidden in his tone. "You ... changed history." What a strange concept. To think of a future, a time that was Kakashi's life, that was his past -- and to think of the here and now, the present, being reshaped by Kakashi's very presence. Unfortunately, it also meant Kakashi did not know what the Daimyo's invitation would hold. Uncharted territory, even for him.

Madara pinched the bridge of his nose to dissipate an oncoming headache.

"You haven't been sleeping much. Or been in the compound recently."

Madara was about to open his mouth for a retort, but the words stuck in his throat as he felt the flick against his forehead. Caught off-guard, he stared at Kakashi in astonishment. Kakashi seemed almost wistful as he looked up into the clouds, puffy white like sheep's wool against a clear blue sky. Even in the harsh daylight, his skin was flawless. As the breeze caught the fabric of the makeshift mask, Madara's eyes flitted to what was revealed. He could not help himself but to stare. The smooth line of a bottom lip, the elegant curve of the jawline, a beauty mark, right at the --

Madara swallowed and forced himself to look away.

"Together", he said and did not like how his voice sounded a tad rougher than usual.

With his forearms resting against his thighs, he leaned forward until his back was arched. He rubbed his hands over his face, then he lowered them to examine his palms, and said: "You looked different, in the genjutsu. Older."

He frowned at the memory. Ash like sand through his fingers, he could almost feel it. He dreamt so vividly, it was easy to imagine it, right now, Kakashi's ashes pouring over his hands while he attempted to keep them together, to make him whole once more, and failed.

"The boy", he said abruptly, "the Uchiha boy. Who was he?"

 

[roxybirdie]

"Or what did I give you access to the library for, hm?"

Kakashi suppressed a shudder, recalling a certain twelve-year-old imp. "I had to sneak out," he countered, tone as dry as the Clan Head's. "Yuuto-san seems to be under the impression I need more rest," he huffed. The half-Hatake rubbed his left side absentmindedly. "The access is pointless if I'm confined to my quarters." He folded his arms across his chest, concealing his slender forearms within the long sleeves. "If I recall, it didn't stop you before," he pointed out.

You ... changed history. A huff of amusement escaped his lips. "I did, didn't I?" A part of Kakashi understood the older raven's wonderment, but he didn't share the sentiment. His past endeavors are a stark reminder of the tremendous weight on his weary shoulders. One bad decision and all hope could (potentially) be irrevocably lost. His lips curled, a bittersweet twinge darkening the faint smile. "I already failed once," he thought, remembering a certain lookalike.

"You looked different, in the genjutsu. Older."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I was," Kakashi confirmed. He glanced at Madara as the older man stretched. The cat-like movement didn't escape his radar, but the war veteran wisely kept his mouth shut. He knew when to stop, thank you very much. On the other hand, he rarely practiced self-control. "I may be nineteen now, but I died at thirty-one," he pointed out. He suppressed the sudden urge to clutch his sternum. When he ensnared Madara in the genjutsu, Kakashi confronted his death for the first time. It inadvertently left his mind raw and more susceptible to nightly terrors.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make it stop. The images, memories, scents — once he opened pandora's box, it wouldn't close.

"The Uchiha boy. Who was he?"

For a moment, the silver-haired man grew silent. It looked as if he wasn't going to answer until— "Uchiha Sasuke," Kakashi murmured. His heart clenched. "My most troublesome student," he continued. A wry chuckle rumbled inside his chest. "The resemblance is uncanny." The silent message hung in the air. Kakashi breathed in deeply, taking a moment to ground himself. Flashes of horrified eyes — the six pointed vermillion stars incandescent in the dark — surfaced, evoking a grimace.

"KAKASHI!"

He may of failed Uchiha Izuna, but Sasuke remained his greatest failure. The halfbreed released a shuddering breath. "Everything I do ... every change I make—" It took every fibre of his being to keep his voice stable. "—is for him ... for them," he announced. Not only Sasuke, but Itachi, Shisui, Obito — everyone he once considered pack. Kakashi flattened a hand over his sternum. "If I can ensure a brighter future ... then maybe I won't be a complete failure," he chuckled bitterly.

 

[arbus]

"The access is pointless if I'm confined to my quarters."

Madara visibly rolled his eyes at that. "You are confined to your quarters because your health is not pointless“, he retorted gruffly. "And don’t pretend you do not enjoy sneaking about the premises and outwitting my healers.“ He ignored the other's jab at his conspicuous absence. He could hardly deny that there was truth in it. He had avoided Kakashi for the past three days, but in all fairness, he had avoided everyone, as much for his own sanity's sake as for theirs.

The implications the concept of time traveling held elicited a bewildered curiosity in Madara, yes. His fascination, for now, was almost childlike, but it had already extended its tendrils into darker territories of what ifs and why didn't yous, and all that kept it at bay was the obvious, deep regret that resided in Kakashi. But there was a part of Madara, dormant for now, that thought of it as quid pro quo: Kakashi had lost his family to Madara, his friends, his very existence. Was it not fair for Madara to suffer, too?

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

So strange, that the young man next to him -- looking younger than Madara, certainly -- was supposed to be older. But had he not sensed that in him from the beginning, from glimpses behind the lackadaisical facade, a certain wariness he recognized from battle-worn veterans, from men and women that had seen devestation and somehow lived through it to tell the tales. Kakashi had that exact aura about him, sometimes.

Even though many things from Kakashi's scroll had positively burned themselves into Madara's memory, he had trouble to recall more minute details, so he asked: "How long have you been here? In the ... past."

The inquiry after the Uchiha boy sprung from his lips like an impulse. As the silence that ensued stretched and expanded, Madara started to believe Kakashi would not answer at all. Shame-streaked guilt twisted in his gut, restricting his throat and making his sculp tingle. A muscle in his jaw twitched. There was an urge to get up, to bring distance between himself and Kakashi, but he did not give in to it. No words could remedy what had been done to Kakashi. Every excuse paled in the face of the agony Madara had caused, would cause, when he became a chalk-white monster. He bit his tongue until he tasted copper.

Never.

Despite the urge to run, though, Madara refused to budge, now that he was here. It was the least he owed -- his presence, if it was what Kakashi wanted. When the words finally came, they stung, because Uchiha Sasuke looked like his brother, even though his brother would never have any descendants. Izuna had left the world, and the only trace that remained of him was his eyes, implanted in Madara's head like some grotesque memento.

He sat still like stone, but Kakashi's next words brought the first traces of irritation onto his features. He did not like that self-depricating chuckle one bit, nor the bitterness in his tone.

"I don’t see failure when I look at you“, Madara replied, a hint of anger in his voice, "I see a man tasked with the impossible and bearing its weight with dignity.“ The anger was an insufficient mask for his incredulity. How could a man think of himself so lowly, a man that was so evidently honorable and good? "You are not alone in this any longer." He huffed, almost indignant. "I'm right beside you. I am not going anywhere."

He was sitting upright now, scowling at Kakashi, daring him to challenge his words.

 

[roxybirdie]

"How long have you been here? In the ... past."

He curled his fingers, clutching the fabric of his yukata. "Three years," the half-Hatake murmured. His grip tightened. "I was sixteen when I woke up," he elaborated. Wry amusement bubbled inside his chest. "It took me three years to acclimate," he admitted. Kakashi relinquished his grip and lifted his palm. He twisted it back and forth, watching the sunlight highlight the imperfections on his calloused skin. "I know every inch of the Land of Fire like the back of my hand." His knowledge, unfortunately, didn't extend to ancient clan territories. The war veteran learned the basics during the Academy, and furthered his knowledge on missions, but it wasn't enough to navigate Hi no Kuni freely. A faulty map inadvertently led to his capture months ago.

I don’t see failure when I look at you. Kakashi stiffened. I see a man tasked with the impossible and bearing its weight with dignity. His eyes widened a bit, a flicker of surprise evident in his stormy grey hues. You are not alone in this any longer. His breath hitched. I'm right beside you. I am not going anywhere. Something imperceptible, but familiar — it was becoming clearer and clearer by the day — manifested inside his heart. A huff exuded from his lips. "Maa, maa—" Kakashi leaned forward and flicked a lock off the Clan Head's shoulder. "—I think your hair is sentient, Madara." He poked at the raven's puffed up spikes. "Like a spitting kitten," he mused. Despite his deflection, his eyes glimmered with a hint of gratitude.

Thank you was left unsaid.

Kakashi didn't know what he did to deserve the older man's support. The war veteran revealed his past to prepare Madara for the worse, but he never anticipated the ravenette would continue to stand by his side. After all he done — or didn't do — he presumed it required a sacrifice. He convinced himself Madara would leave, but the Clan Head thought otherwise.

Uchiha Madara proved otherwise.

He would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the raven's unwavering support. "You must of been a Nekomata in your past life," Kakashi teased. He tucked a stray lock behind the older man's ear. His eyes crinkled, a hint of fondness softening the edges of his upturned gaze. His fingers lingered a bit until the half-Hatake retracted his palm. He gestured to the scroll. "I suppose you should draft a formal reply, ne?" Kakashi drawled.

 

[arbus]

Three years. That was a long time to spend on one's own, in a country that must be both familiar and alien. From the genjutsu, Madara remembered the strange clothes, and it was such a minor detail but true nonetheless; customs change, and theirs as shinobi must have, somewhere along the line. Kakashi had been born into an entirely different world. It was hard to fathom.

"I think your hair is sentient, Madara. Like a spitting kitten. You must of been a Nekomata in your past life."

Madara's frown deepened. "Excuse me", he sputtered, the sorrow and inner conflict momentarily buried under an avalanche of indignation, "who do you call a kitten? I am not the one running around sniffing things like some dog because of my advanced sense of smell!" His indignant expression morphed into bemusement as Kakashi tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Nobody had ever done such a thing to him. It was such a peculiar, intimate gesture. He stared, trying to ignore the way Kakashi's eyes seemed to soften for a moment.

"I suppose you should draft a formal reply, ne?"

He jerked his head around, profoundly glad for the distraction. "I'm not sure how to reply yet!" The words came out harsher -- and louder -- than he had intended. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat before he continued: "I don't know if it is a good idea to partake. The other clan heads will think the same. They will want to avoid being sitting ducks." He was not particularly worried about his own safety, nor Hashirama's, but both of them would be a good reason for the other clan heads, who were more vulnerable, not to show. Madara took up the scroll, turned it in his hands for a few moments of contemplation, then fastened it on his belt. "I want to talk to your mother before I make a decision." He looked at Kakashi, astonished, then closed his eyes for a moment as another bit of realization fell into place. "Of course, she isn't your mother at all." He raised his eyebrows. "That whole spectacle of the long-lost son. It was all a scam."

He remembered that day so many months ago, when he had stood before Hatake Noka, bristling with anger. Kakashi had shown up seemingly out of nowhere (squatting in a tree like an overgrown bird, mind you), a habit he seemed to be particularly fond of.

Then, another piece: "She knows."