Arcane Exposition
Disclaimer: This is a purely non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The characters of Naruto belong to their respective owners.
Author's Notes: Another KakaSasu on my part – a much more realistic one than the others. Takes place pre-Orochimaru defection, where Sasuke is 15. Afterwards, we'll jump to when Sasuke comes back to the village, and assume he's 17. The "afterwards" part will most likely be AU, since Sasuke hasn't come back yet (or has he? I might be out of touch). Anyone else find it strange that all the members of Team 7 have become disciples of one of the Legendary Sannin? I was thinking about it, and it made me feel sort of sorry for Kakashi…
Argh, I'm such an incredibly slow writer :(… and I suck at coming up with titles. Anyways, hope you enjoy the story.
If he thought about it, the sky had been too blue and the air had been too clean and there had to have been a million things that should have set him off. Instead there was only the clash of steel and will – the sharpening grate of kunai against one another, the artful manipulation of eyes and limbs while they performed a dangerous dance. Dangerous did not signify deadly; a duel between two quasi-comrades is rarely such, extenuating circumstances aside; quasi-comrades because they were never really "friends", dangerous because they were both trying so hard to hide.
Again, if he thought about it, the fact that Kakashi had asked to train specifically with kunai – one kunai each, to be exact – and nothing else should also have set him off. It was a strange request from a guy who lived and breathed jutsus, a guy who believed in the 'roundness' of character and skill. Singularity was not Kakashi. Singularity wasn't even really Sasuke.
So in a strange twist of something – luck perhaps, since he didn't believe in destiny – when Kakashi had lunged at his shoulder and swept his leg about to take out Sasuke's knees simultaneously, and Sasuke had pivoted to the side in time to dodge the intended cut and kick, he noticed a barely-there opening to strike. Part of him screamed that it was a trap – Kakashi was infamous for his traps – yet he still went for it anyway, fully expecting the deft deflection that always came at the last second to snatch away his triumph.
So he was not expecting the audible tear of clothing, the smooth slice of steel on flesh that left a vivid streak of red. It was only a thin slit on the upper left arm – the bicep – a straight cut, but not too deep. Kakashi pushed away from him, creating a gap, a schism, between their bodies. Shocked more than pleased, Sasuke had moved back to a reasonable distance, guard utterly down.
There was the kiss of something cold and hard against his neck before he could even react.
"Why did you stop?" Kakashi's voice was harsh, venomous – unlike him.
"I—" A calloused hand pried the weapon from his own. Anger was sweeping over his body. "I was—"
"Surprised?" Kakashi asked, and Sasuke had to look somewhere else. It seemed incredibly stupid now, with a kunai pressing into his skin.
He watched in morbid fascination as blood from the wound oozed its vibrant colour into the dark fabric of the jounin's uniform. "I suppose." Defiant.
Kakashi lowered the kunai and moved to sit on a nearby rock, tossing Sasuke his own weapon. "Then you fight without conviction, Sasuke. Why fight when you don't believe you can win?"
He opened his mouth and closed it again, a berated child. Shame was mixing slowly with rage, yellow and red into a subdued orange. Awkwardly, he put his kunai away, watching as Kakashi ripped the tattered threads of the sleeve off to keep them from chaffing the cut. Not a serious wound, but even trivial injuries could turn into serious ones if left unattended – he had been taught that much.
"Here, let me." He moved forward and offered a clean bandage, something he had grown accustomed to carrying. Kakashi nodded briefly and looked elsewhere as Sasuke kneeled in front of him and mopped up the blood, gently patting away the red. He was surprised to find a pattern underneath: a small red (more red) spiral, with an insignia tail. For a second of insanity, he thought the blood had dried that way. For another second, he thought he had created the mark.
A tattoo.
For some reason, the sight of such a thing on Kakashi made him incurably furious – as if he had been betrayed by someone who could've understood, who could've helped him. He knew the mark. His sensei was just as marked as he was, the bastard. He could've at least said something.
Perhaps noticing that his nursemaid had stopped administering his wound, Kakashi looked down to see the blatant loathing directed at his arm. He shrugged off Sasuke's attempts at re-cleaning the cut, and bandaged it up himself.
"You'll never defeat Itachi – not with a mindset like that." A simple statement, said with the utmost neutrality. Kakashi walked ahead. As his stomach burned, there was nothing left for him to do but follow.
He had been 13 – and that had been the beginning.
---
Then there had been Chidori.
Relentless hours spent with the silver-haired man, but no word was ever spoken except in criticism.
Focus your energy – you're not concentrating – relax, don't strain it – there's no point in doing this if you don't want to…
"Sasuke!" Kakashi's voice was particularly unsympathetic that day. A burning grip was squeezing down on his wrist, tugging his hand away from his body. "That's enough."
He hadn't realized he had been forming chakra – and then wondered how he didn't realize he was forming chakra. But in the millisecond before Kakashi had stopped him, he thought he heard it. He thought he heard the familiar calling that could possibly be the singing of a thousand melancholy birds.
When, in the dead of night, the drumming of the rain and the incessant thoughts in his own head refused to let him sleep and he had walked – umbrella-less – through the downpour to Kakashi's apartment, the door opened before he even knocked. Kakashi didn't ask questions, and only waited to lock the door behind him before climbing back into bed, supremely nonchalant.
Not knowing why he was there and too proud to be dismissed, Sasuke had followed.
"Show me." A demand, not a request, since his pride would not let him ask. He didn't bother to elaborate. Kakashi lazily threw back the covers and sat up, looking almost wearily at him.
"It's dark, it's cold, and we're inside. I'm not blasting my place to bits for your satisfaction." He lay back down.
"How can you expect me to perform a jutsu when I've never seen it?" Sasuke felt his anger rise.
"I can expect it of you because I'm teaching you, and because I know you can."
He was breathing heavily, seething from every pore, searching for something – anything – that could wound the other man.
"That's a copout answer," he practically spat, refusing to move.
Kakashi opened his eyes – both eyes, the red one stinging – and got up without speaking. He brushed past Sasuke and into the corridor outside his room, soundlessly unlocking the closet and pulling out a fresh towel, as well as a pillow and blanket.
"The bathroom's to your right." The towel was shoved into his hand. "Don't drip all over the floor."
When he had dried off, he found that the couch had been pulled out into a bed. He climbed in and rested uneasily until dawn, when he left before Kakashi could see him go.
---
Soon after, he had mastered the Chidori. He hadn't realized that it would be their undoing.
He could sense the fervent pride behind Kakashi's calm exterior. If he had been Naruto, he probably would've received a pat on the head and a free bowl of ramen. If he had been Sakura, he probably would've received a cheerful smile and some word of congratulation. But he was Sasuke, and the relationship with Kakashi was something undefined.
Challenging Naruto didn't seem stupid. On the contrary, he felt it was the smartest thing to do at the time. He had contemplated killing the blond, once, for the Mangekyo – but the admission of "friendship" made him balk. It was typical of Kakashi to lecture him afterwards, and not the dobe. It was typical of his whole life, really.
"I didn't teach you Chidori so you could use it against your friends."
There was that word again. He listened half-heartedly, making sure his eyes were fixed on Kakashi before his mind left. His own weakness was becoming a very troublesome issue.
"You're not even listening to me, are you?"
Sasuke smiled. "Of course not."
"How can you avenge anyone if you're dead?"
Dark eyes hardened. "I can take care of myself."
It was a shame that, every time he tried, the boy misunderstood. Kakashi had merely released him and left without ever saying a word.
He thought it was only fitting that he visited the jounin before he left. Like before, Kakashi was waiting for him – and he took the couch without premise or pesky questions, since the time for that was over. He only felt slightly guilty when he had to knock out Sakura at the gate; he didn't feel guilty at all that Kakashi would, in all likeliness, blame himself.
---
After two years of escape and many more as an outcast, he didn't find it strange that Konoha wasn't what he could call "home". He was dripping blood everywhere – Orochimaru's inability to let anything go. It was tiresome, the tirade; it took him nine years to realize that if he wanted power, he would have to achieve it himself. He vaguely wondered, in his clouded brain, why he had bothered coming back.
The mud clung to him like leeches, covering the lower part of his legs. He suddenly had the insatiable urge for ramen. He managed to drag himself into town without being seen (although the darkness and fog should've done that for him), and hobbled unenthusiastically onto the second floor of an unremarkable apartment complex, knocking quietly on the door of a room he had grown too familiar with.
He wasn't surprised that the door opened only a few moments later, to be greeted by a dishevelled man – now in his thirties – with self-same silver-grey hair. A normal person would've screamed bloody murder: blood and mud and broken limbs smeared and tattered everywhere, dark hair on pale skin and red, red eyes. He was a phantom even to himself. But Kakashi only moved aside, considerately slinging Sasuke's good arm over his shoulder and helping him to the couch. He could hear the man fumbling (fumbling? Kakashi?) around for something to mop up the mess.
"Here." A familiar towel was placed in his hands, as a sharp pain raced up his leg to accompany the smell of antiseptic lotion. He wiped the grime from his eyes, the moisture that hugged his skin, and didn't bother to wince as the burning overtook his senses. How many has Kakashi had to bandage, he wonders. How many were worse?
"Are you going to tell them?" he asks finally, because there is no silence in the room.
"It's my duty." Kakashi is finishing up the last bandages for his cuts. He doesn't bother to look up.
"You'll never be able to live," Sasuke whispers softly. "Not with a mindset like that."
His only response is an ambiguous pause.
"You know where everything is." It's all he gets before he is alone again.
---
He wakes up to the smell of freshly cooked rice.
There is only a tray of food and the pounding in his skull to keep him company. When he's finished eating and heads for the door, a dozen shuriken whiz out of the cupboard to slice off his hand. Amused (perhaps he had lost it), he spent most of the morning disabling the various little traps around the room. The swinging katana above Kakashi's bedroom door had been his favourite, but it had been awfully hard to neutralize (climbing was a bitch) with only one usable arm.
Since Kakashi knew him well enough to know that he would never voluntarily go to a hospital, he had brought by a medic-nin in the afternoon to take care of Sasuke's broken arm and fractured ankle. The medic was even nice enough to diagnose him with a minor case of internal bleeding, and left some pills for the genin to take. All the while, Kakashi had watched him like a hawk, eyes taking in every minute detail. He had to keep from smiling as a grey eye noticed the absence of a certain booby trap.
For days he relished in the little amusement of dismantling Kakashi's ever-creative "security devices". After a week – when the jounin came home to an unprotected house and Sasuke was still inside – Kakashi had given up. His days had been duller then, but he wasn't stupid enough to try to leave yet. His arm was healing nicely, but his ankle wasn't happy with the constant strain he put on it. He had hoped to leave in a few weeks – it seemed unlikely – although he still didn't know where he was going.
Their existence was uneventful – until a few weeks later.
Kakashi had come home later than usual, and muttered something about sweat before getting in the shower. Sasuke hadn't bothered to look up. Dinner was just as tiresome, and they were both heading to sleep when he saw the end of a canister – not quite hidden but not in plain view – behind a photograph of Team 7. Curious (he avoided looking at the picture), he pulled it out to see an official red emblem stamped onto a white background. Itachi had had one, concealed within the privacy of his room. He had let Sasuke see, once – and he remembered it forever.
He stormed into Kakashi's room, evidence in hand.
"What the hell is this about?"
Kakashi looks up lazily from his book, sitting cosily on his bed. "It's an ANBU summons."
Sasuke's getting sick of these games they play – have always been playing. "Why did you volunteer?"
He doesn't know how he knows, but his gut tells him that this was a choice. He knew, of course, that Kakashi had been on the ANBU before, but the reasons for his release are unknown to him.
The grey hair looks duller than ever. "I wanted to be of use," he says quietly but firmly. "I don't have much else to do."
"What kind of stupid logic is that?" He's getting irritated.
"Well… I'm still officially your sensei. But Naruto has gone off with Jiraiya, and Sakura is an apprentice to Tsunade. I'm tired, Sasuke. I'm sure you can appreciate that."
"But—" he stopped himself, knowing that it was true. "Why the ANBU?"
And it hits him like lightening what Kakashi's trying to do. You leave to get yourself killed, and I'll try to kill myself too.
"You can't keep me here!" he screams like a child, although he is no longer one. He's taller, now, bigger – filled into his frame. He's grown up too much… and hasn't grown up enough.
"I stopped trying a while ago," Kakashi answers wryly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"
"Damn you!" Sasuke curses, throwing the canister at the nearest wall. It bounces with a resounding clang and rolls noisily on the floor before coming to a complete stop.
They are standing at the precipice.
"Show me." He demands once again, reminiscent of the years gone by – sits down and doesn't elaborate. Kakashi understands, as always; he rolls up the sleeve of his left arm to expose the little red spiral that can never be erased – a mark of the damned.
Itachi had had one of those, too.
He touches it briefly, letting his fingers feel the pattern beneath them. Unexpectedly, Kakashi reaches out and touches his neck, tracing the pattern of the curse seal. His fingers are like icicles against snow.
Sasuke wishes none of it were real. He wants to break the illusion – and presses his lips to Kakashi's, hungry and desolate. He feels the coldness against his neck expand – feels four, five fingers pressed onto his skin – and feels the heat that spreads from his mouth through his body and down to his groin. He feels cold hands roam his body, guides them where he wants them – unabashed – and knows Kakashi's only trying to make him stay. The tongue in his mouth is sucking out his soul, slowly, as he is pushed onto his back. The hand on his cock is rhythmic – large and skilled and deliciously calloused. There's only the world of mismatched eyes and tanned skin. He's losing his grip, slipping into delirium as something hard yet soft is pressing against him.
He doesn't sleep on the couch that night.
When he leaves the next morning, like they both knew he would, he folds the blanket and stuffs it and the pillow back in the closet. He takes the canister because it eases his conscience, even though it didn't matter at all. He's tired and weary and sick of these lives that mean nothing at all.
Kakashi pretends to be asleep as Sasuke crawls stealthily out from under the covers. He pretends not to hear the youth rummage for the canister from his pile of things on the floor, pretends not to hear the door click open and then close. He pretends mostly for himself, because – hell, if Sasuke was going to be selfish, he could do it too.
Between them, their lies were all they had left.
AN: I think kimi no vanilla's "Fade Away" is a better conclusion to this story. When I was trying to come up with an ending, that was the way I pictured it would turn out, so I didn't want to duplicate something that's already been written - better than I can write it, I might add. So this is how I will end it; go and read her fic if you want something more conclusive.