Dead Men Don't Eat Chocolate
Naruto groaned. Something inside his head was hammering nails in his brain, and the light breeze that ruffled his hair was, for once, not a pleasure. Streams of sun tried to push their way through his eyelids, and he cursed them. His deepest wish at the moment was a bed in a room without windows, but in order to grant his wish, he would have to get up and walk. Staying on his back with his arms stretched out in the middle of a meadow was not optimal.
He opened his eyes, blinked a few times against the blinding sunlight, and let out a grateful sigh when someone blocked him from the sun.
It took him three seconds to understand that, all in all, he had little to no idea of what was going on.
"Oh, it's you," he mumbled hoarsely as he found himself close to looking straight in a mirror. "You're still here, huh."
He couldn't help but smile a little, but it hurt to smile, so he stopped.
"You all right?" his father asked.
"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" Naruto replied indifferently, and with huge effort, he managed to push his stiff torso up from the ground. His head felt dizzy and he clutched his head as he waited for it to pass. Eventually, he looked up at his father, who was crouching before him.
Something confused him. First of all, his father was eating a chocolate bar. Wasn't he technically dead?
"Did you change clothes?" Naruto asked, frowning, as he noticed that the thing that really had put him off, was that instead of the white cloak and the shinobi uniform, his father was wearing a simple, white singlet, a pair of gray sweatpants and had a stained bandage covering his right arm. A dead person eating a chocolate bar was one thing, but the last time Naruto checked, it took more than a simple band-aid to heal a ripped-off arm.
His father frowned. It annoyed Naruto that he seemed so confused.
"Hey, Minato-sensei, who's that?"
His father turned his head and Naruto looked up to see a person with silver hair approach them. It was Kakashi.
"Not sure," his father replied and turned back to face Naruto. Naruto blinked. What kind of father had no idea who his own son was? "I found him here, unconscious. D'you remember anything?"
His father was addressing him, and Naruto was about to say something criticising in reply, but he had only opened his mouth when something hit him.
He didn't remember anything. They had been fighting, and had finally managed to free all the tailed beasts from the monstrous ten-tailed ... monster. What had happened next? Hadn't the jinchuuriki gone back to something like the original Obito, but then gone completely insane?
"No," he finally said. "We were fighting, but then ..."
"I kinda covered that part myself," his father said, to which Naruto looked at him with a raised eyebrow. His father was glancing at his clothes, and he looked down; he saw that his jacket had been reduced to something more like a T-shirt and his mesh shirt was seriously torn.
"What the hell?" Naruto said and looked up again. "What the hell's going on? Why're you two acting all ... strange?"
"I think he's concussed, sensei," Kakashi suggested, at which his father nodded. Naruto gave a frustrated sound.
"I'm not concussed!" he exclaimed, ignoring his very painful, and indeed very concussed, head. "I'm not the one who just came from war changing clothes and eating and looking all younger and -"
He fell silent. They did look younger. Kakashi didn't seem to be older than sixteen, and his father, albeit looking quite the same, had white in his eyes again and seemed more ... youthful.
"Oh, crap."
He had not ordered a trip to the past.
