Sizheng: Okay, screw it. I'm just throwing this fic out there—it's been written for a while, but I haven't gotten 'round to posting it, and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but…
This fic is inspired by MakoRedEyes' awesomelicious fanpic, but I shan't tell you which one it is just yet, since that would be… well, telling. I shall place a link in my profile in due time when the moment in time she captured is reached (in this fic).
Thusly, I dedicate this fanstory to MakoRedEyes, for being a spiffy person in general, and a shipper of the rare and underloved (heh) fandom of YONKAKA. Also, thanks to my spiffy beta, BeautifulSilverSilence, whose fics are gorgeous and whom you must go and read now. After this chapter. Thank you. Now, please enjoy!
Warning(s): Some extreme language. Some violence. Some dead people not being dead any more. Eh, gasp.
To Aery Thinness
A Naruto fanstory by Zhang Sizheng
For Mako Red Eyes
Part One: "As That Comes Home"
The wound was bad.
Although the poison had been removed, only a thin film of chakra and bone-headed stubbornness kept Kakashi's condition from worsening to the point of mortal danger. As it was, Jiraiya could see his companion threatening to lag behind with every passing league.
"Oy, we're gonna have to make it to the next town before you can rest."
Kakashi didn't answer. Noting the glittering, feverish eyes and a hectic flush that blotched what little showed of Kakashi's skin, Jiraiya suspected the reason to be a combination of back-bending agony and delirium. In spite of his less-than-healthy appearance, however, Kakashi's pace remained steady. The blue-green flame of a jutsu keeping him alive barely faltered.
'Geniuses,' Jiraiya snorted. Well, Kakashi knew his limits, and it wasn't like a life-threatening wound was new to him, in any case. He'd made worse journeys in poorer conditions. All in all, it was fairly close, but the kid hadn't died on him yet. It would be another twenty minutes at least.
As if on cue, a wet, grating cough sounded to his left. It was almost drowned out by the downpour, but Jiraiya looked over his shoulder and almost blanched. There was something darker than rain wetting the portion of mask over Kakashi's mouth.
'…well, shit.'
Internal bleeding certainly complicated matters. The window of time had shrunk to maybe five minutes, seeing as Kakashi was a little farther gone than Jiraiya had realised. The younger shinobi had an irritatingly masochistic tendency to probe at his limits, then step boldly over them and trust in some half-cocked, genius-type calculation of logic that he wouldn't die. It wasn't exactly Kakashi's best example of prodigious intelligence.
'Ah, to be young again,' Jiraiya thought sarcastically as he slowed his pace enough that Kakashi could draw level with him. He received an offended glare for his generosity. 'Right… that's it.' He brought a meaty hand down in a sharp blow to the back of the little snot's neck.
Kakashi woke twenty four hours later sans clothes and lying on a pallet. His body throbbed dully as he turned his head to see a man in his mid-fifties wringing his hands over him. Dark eyes surveyed the room, taking in the clean walls and rush matting. It was empty but for the old man and himself. "Where… Ji… sama?" he croaked.
His question was duly ignored. "No, no, no," the man seemed on the verge of an apoplectic fit. "A ninja in my inn! I won't have it! Won't, won't, won't!" He was balding, and grey peppered his once-dark hair. He was plain-looking enough with his face all screwed up in furious anxiety and coloured an interesting hue of maroon.
Kakashi stared impassively at him for several minutes before trying to turn his head. A sharp, lancing pain arrested his efforts and he suppressed a hiss of frustration, making a quick tally of his injuries. His head and torso were heavily bandaged and his right thigh still ached from where the poison had entered his system.
And he couldn't feel his legs.
He was calm for maybe two minutes before the complete absence of sensation in his lower body convinced him he was well and truly screwed. "Fuck," he said aloud.
This had the welcome consequence of silencing the angry innkeeper, who backed warily away into a wall and made several amusing choking noises before finding his voice again. "Don't move!" he quavered. "Money or not, you're not to disturb my other customers with your ninja tricks or … or tricks! Y'hear me? No tricks! No ninja tricks!"
'Definitely the innkeeper, then. Shouldn't be a threat. He's frightened, but not frightened enough to be dangerous.'
Ignoring the near-hysterical old fool, Kakashi closed his eyes. He would heal quicker with sleep. And maybe he would feel his legs again.
"What?" In spite of half-expecting the request, Obito was flabbergasted, to say the least. "Me? As a jōnin-sensei? To them?" He shook the fist holding a crumpled sheet with the team assignments on it. "I'd like to say I can, but I can't!"
"I thought you might say that," Minato-sensei said with a sigh.
They were standing roughly in the middle of training area forty-four, fondly nicknamed the "Forest of Death" by the shinobi population. While not too lethal to Konoha ninja ranked tokubetsu jōnin or above, the area was still a sought-after location in which to practice one's survival skills. Obito had been working on several katon jutsu innovations when Sensei found him and handed him the team assignment list and asked—oh-so-innocently—if Obito would please put his signature next to Cell Seven's?
Perhaps what stung most was that Obito had already scrawled in half the requisite characters in the indicated space before realising exactly what he was signing. Minato-sensei had laughed so hard that he forgot to dodge the calligraphy pen Obito had thrown at him in retaliation. Then he'd composed himself and tried to discuss it a little more seriously.
Obito would have none of it. "Seriously, Sensei, I'm not sure I'm right for the job."
"You're a competent jōnin—"
"Merely 'competent'?!" Obito howled, outraged.
"A good jōnin," the blond amended in a placating tone. He received a glare from Obito for the condescension. "Please reconsider, Obito. I can't entrust anyone else with my son—there're simply too many expectations placed on him. Some of them are because of my standing in the village, yes, but he hasn't exactly come into his own as a ninja." The bright blue eyes were clear and serious. Obito couldn't look away. "You can understand what he's going through. You understand him as a person."
"Hand-picking a teacher for your son is favouritism, Sensei!" Obito accused, although he felt a secret surge of pleasure at the regard his teacher was showing him by making the request personally. All the same… "And what do you mean 'I'd understand what he's going through'?"
Minato-sensei simply fixed him with an unblinking stare. Obito faltered, and then relented. "Okay, so I was the dead-last and Kakashi was the brilliant prodigy. That doesn't explain why I… was… chosen…?" He trailed off.
The corner of Sensei's mouth lifted into a blatant smirk that he immediately tried to cover up with a series of hacking coughs. Obito did not commend him for his subtlety.
"Okay, so it does. But why do I have to have Sissy-Pissy in my group?"
"Obito," the tone was warning. At nearly twenty-seven years of age, Obito recognised that inflection a great deal better than he did ten years ago, but didn't respond much better.
"Minato-sensei, Sasuke's a pain! He's all starry-eyed for his arrogant berk of an elder brother, and wouldn't listen to me if I waved a kunai under his snobby little nose. And the team dynamic will never be good with Naruto and Sasuke on the same team. They hate each other! It's not a good, respectful dislike, either." 'Because some dislikes are actually good. In some way. Really.' Obito shook his head. "I could have worked with that, otherwise."
Sensei's only reply was a sigh. Obito felt a spike of annoyance that translated itself into a brief twitch in his eye. "Who's the third hopeful?" He scanned the list. "'Haruno Sakura'? Not from a ninja clan. A civilian! Probably an extra daughter they wouldn't've been able to marry off, and pressured into walking the shinobi path."
Minato-sensei leaned against the fist-scarred stump Obito had been practising on earlier. "I'm not sure I follow your reasons for refusing three promising students."
Obito looked away, feeling uncomfortable. "It's hard to explain." 'And a little embarrassing.' He had to sort things out in his own head before explaining it to his ex-teacher. "Look, can I have some time to think about this?"
"You may. The Academy graduation exams are in a week. You have three days to make a final decision." Although Sensei's tone had shifted into a neutral cast, Obito could sense he'd managed to disappoint his teacher with his initial refusal.
Something of the ten-year-old that had idolised this man stirred in him, and Obito couldn't help feeling a little guilty. "Hey, I'm almost finished here. D'you want to go for ramen later?"
A shake of the blond head and a wistful smile answered him. "Talking to you about this was supposed to be my break," Minato-sensei lamented. "I have a mountain of paperwork that I have to finish before a meeting with the Kazekage tomorrow."
"I'll bring a couple of bowls by later, then." Obito said gruffly, ducking his head and scratching sheepishly at it. "Won't do for Suna to laugh at us 'cause Hokage-sama fainted in the meeting tomorrow. Y'know… 'cause of starvation. Or ramen deprivation. Or something." 'Damn, I'm eloquent.'
Sensei's grin was brilliant. "Well, since you offered, I won't thank you. Plus, now I'll have to come up with an excuse to explain to the Academy Council why I don't just find another jōnin to commandeer Cell Seven. I'll be expecting that ramen!"
"Oy," Obito muttered. "I offered it; I'm not going to forget."
Minato-sensei blinked in what he probably thought was an innocent manner. "Who said anything about you forgetting? I was just telling you that I expect you to follow through with the offer." A wink and a golden flash of his signature jutsu, and he was gone.
Obito sighed, scuffing at the ground irritably with a worn sandal. 'Need to get new ones,' he noted absently before his thoughts turned back to Naruto, Sasuke and the Unknown Girl.
There was no way he was going to teach the brats. 'This year's Number One Rookie and the Hokage's dead-last of a son? On the same team?'
"Chaos," he muttered. 'Absolute chaos. Like I said… they'll never be able to work together.' He and Ka—him—had started out very badly, and it had continued badly.
But like Obito of ten-and-some years ago, Naruto had heart—that much Obito would give him. If Naruto stopped worrying so much about what others thought of him and concentrated on his own personal development… the boy would go a great deal farther. If people stopped pressuring him with their ridiculous expectations… if people stopped getting disappointed…
He might then be allowed to develop at his own pace.
Obito had never been particularly close to Naruto. The boy reminded him uncomfortably of his younger days, and Obito shied a little from those memories. He'd kept as many villagers and shinobi off the kid's back as he could, but it hurt a little to see him.
Sasuke, on the other hand, caused the ache in a completely different way. He was what Naruto… and Obito, yes, could have been but were not.
Regrets were useless things. Obito stared sightlessly at the tree trunk he'd been punching sometime during his musings. The skin of his knuckles, long hardened by this sort of treatment, was cracked and bleeding.
He shook his head. Sasuke was different. Sasuke was why the villagers treated shinobi like Naruto the way they did. '"If the genius clan could produce prodigies; if a genius shinobi could produce a genius son; then why can't our strongest Shinobi pass his prodigy down to his only son?" They can think that all they want, but that's not necessarily true of all cases.'
It was, however, true of Sasuke, and that young Hyūga—last year's much-lauded Number One Rookie. Naruto probably understood the implications of Sasuke's presence on some level, which was why he constantly challenged the Uchiha heir.
Sasuke, however, refused to acknowledge Naruto. He considered himself above Naruto, and… well, Naruto sometimes came across as being a little obnoxious. Their rivalry was composed of the classic, foolish, I-pull-on-your-hair-you-bite-my-nose conflict favoured by children. He and Kakashi—the thought slipped out before he could stop it this time—had done that before.
'Kakashi… huh? Where are you now, you sourpuss bastard?'
They'd mostly made their peace a long time ago. Mostly. That was before Kakashi'd left for goodness-knows-where. It had been years until Obito would admit to missing the bastard. Just a little.
Obito's thoughts were getting more and more confused. 'I guess I'm being like what Sourpuss-bastard would be: I don't want to train them because it'd be like the old days… but if I do, maybe I can help them. Sensei was great, but he didn't know what it was like to be either of us. I can help Naruto… and maybe knock Sasuke down a few pegs.'
And it was as simple as that.
Obito shoved his bloodied hands carelessly back into his gloves and sighed. Ramen might take his mind off things. Because, honestly…
What the Hell had he just resigned himself to?
'Sensei owes me big. And so does Sourpuss-bastard, for not being here to take the rap. Stupid, stupid, stupid…'
There was food by his pillow the next time he woke. The rice was plain, lumpy and cold, but the tea was still lukewarm. Kakashi stared incredulously, tempted to disdain the poor fare. He was hungry, however, and finished it quickly before easing himself back into a lying position. He could wriggle his toes now. The relief swamping him was a wonderful, heady sensation. The sky outside the window indicated early evening or pre-dawn—probably early evening.
Kakashi didn't remember falling asleep.
The third time he woke, it was because there was a young girl in a plain blue yukata watching him. "Are you really a ninja?"
Kakashi returned her stare with interest. Her hair was an attractive shade of dark mahogany; a colour that contrasted sharply with her almond-shaped eyes. "Are you really interested in the answer?" His voice was croaky with misuse and he was suddenly, painfully conscious of his nakedness beneath the quilt. Probably Jiraiya-sama's sick idea of a joke.
"Yep."
"What will you do with the answer?" Kakashi judged her to be roughly fourteen years of age.
The girl thought. "Do you want food?"
Pushing himself into a sitting position with his uninjured arm, Kakashi made sure the sheets didn't show more than was absolutely necessary. Kakashi forced a disarming smile, watching the girl's face ease into a familiar, bewitched awe. He waited for several seconds for the genjutsu glamour to do its work before making his request. "Please. Some red meat and vegetables." As an afterthought, "Clothes and a scarf would be nice, too—something long and light."
She nodded dazedly and darted out of the room. Kakashi guessed her to be the daughter of the fussy innkeeper—she had a similarly shaped nose and brow.
Kakashi's mouth twisted into a grimace and he wished desperately for his mask. His gaze darted about the room for his pack, mask or clothes. He reached under his pillow and found an autographed copy of Icha Icha Paradaisu, three kunai, five shuriken strung on a leather thong and a woven pouch containing roughly sixty silver coins and a note from Jiraiya.
Boy, you need a vacation. I don't want to see your pretty face until next spring. Stay put for a few days, then go home. It's been eight years. Don't tell Minato anything until I contact you.
And, written three times and crossed out twice at the bottom:
You did a good job keeping up. Rest well.
It was signed with a little caricature of the Toad Sennin, complete with wart, telescope and nosebleed.
'Go home…' Kakashi stared blankly at the note. 'To Konoha?'
He passed a hand wearily over his unmasked face, ruffling the hair at the back of his head in annoyance. 'Going home's all very good and well, but if he had time to write this note, he could've spared me from having to figure out what country I'm in.' Last he knew he'd been sprinting over the border of Lightning Country, about five leagues away from the nearest town. This air was humid enough for the marshes of Bird Country, though; the entire atmosphere held a greenish scent.
Kakashi ate the note. He had no chakra to summon a flame, and he was hungry. Plus, his digestive constitution was strong enough to accept nourishment offered through leather if need be.
"Ano… ninja-san? I have your food. I brought beef and pork and beans and rice and vegetable soup—!"
Almost feeling badly, Kakashi rewarded her with another unmasked smile before falling voraciously upon the food. The rice was warm, the vegetables fresh. He resisted the urge to grin again.
"Ninja-san?" Kakashi dared a glance at the girl. She looked nothing short of starstruck.
He muffled his sigh in the bowl of rice and chewed carefully before swallowing. Then took a sip of tea. "Hai?"
"Ikuko-mama said ninja-jiisan left these for you," the girl said, producing a small package with a scarf folded neatly on top.
Kakashi accepted it with a civil nod and unfolded the rice paper, gazing blankly at the contents revealed: three black, sleeveless V-neck shirts; two pairs of trousers—one black, one blue, of tough denim—three sets of underwear; socks and sandals. At least the sandals looked broken in. 'Civilian wear. No mask, no wrappings. Old man, you're not letting this go, are you?'
"I'll leave while you change," spoken hurriedly just as the innkeeper's daughter vanished behind the doorframe and the door slid shut.
Kakashi sat still for several moments, relishing the ability to wriggle his toes as much as he so chose, and then foolishly attempted to stand.
He narrowly missed smashing the contents of the tray on his way down.
Lying half on and half off the pallet, Kakashi stared blankly at the ceiling for several minutes before moving again. His right arm and leg refused to hold his weight, and the left leg shook as he dragged himself upright. Feeling nauseous, he passed a hand tiredly over his eyes.
'It's not my stamina.' He held up the same hand, watching it for any signs of tremor. 'I don't feel weak or tired.' In recent generations, his father's family branch had developed a distinct reputation for their immense fortitude and recuperation rate. His current inability to stand was due not to lack of stamina, but to the hazy sensation of imbalance pressing down on his body whenever he moved. It intensified the larger his movements were, provoking a corresponding response in his stomach. Hence the nausea.
'The poison. The damn poison took out half the chakra points in my right leg and probably has something to do with how I can't move the left one very well. Two days… that might be enough to at least recover control and sensation, but my points will need treatment.' It would be foolish to mould chakra when the means to do so was totalled by a relatively unknown factor.
"Ninja-san, are you dressed?" The sudden noise nearly made Kakashi jump, and he allowed himself a hiss of frustration. Had she been waiting for him? He cleared his throat.
"Ah… no." 'Not at all.' "Thank you for your concern, but I will be fine." 'Once I figure out how in Shodai's name to dress myself.' Moving his arms provoked little to no imbalance. The chakra points there were probably less damaged. 'I can drag myself around, if need be. I'll only look extremely stupid. But I'll be dressed.'
Her tone sounded dubious. "Well… if you're sure."
Kakashi debated the merits of curling up for another nap and pretending the clothes would mysteriously appear on his frame without any effort whatsoever while he was unconscious. "I am."
He was rewarded with the welcome sound of light, retreating footfalls. Sighing, he eyed the bundle of clothes with irritated longing.
What the Hell. It wasn't like he hadn't been sleeping in the nude since he'd gotten here. Food and rest meant healing, which meant he'd get to dress himself faster.
'I'm getting lazy,' he thought hazily. His logic made sense, though and that was the last thought he had for a while.
Jiraiya paused, blinking frigid water out of his eyes before continuing to scale the waterfall.
It had been four days since he'd left Kakashi in the care of the spastic innkeeper, and he was high in mountainous country doing the sort of work he normally foisted off on his younger companion. He wasn't as sprightly as he once was, after all, and this was the eighteenth waterfall in three days.
Kakashi had done more than enough, however. What' he'd uncovered… it was what they'd been seeking since losing the trail in Whirlpool Country three years ago. Since then, it'd been dead end after dead end. While they hadn't lost hope—a ninja didn't live on hope, only skill and success—it had been a great relief to know that the trail was no longer cold.
'Kid earned the vacation. Of course, he'll probably spend it dodging kunai from that hyper brat of an Uchiha … but that's fine. It'll do him good. The little stiff hasn't relaxed in a while, after all.'
Perching himself on a moisture-slicked rock, Jiraiya inhaled deeply and sent out a whirl ofwind-element chakra, disrupting the falls in an explosion of mist and water droplets—enough for him to see the solid rock beneath.
And a little beyond…
A city of broken spires and junkyard elegance, two pairs of ring-ring-ringed eyes staring into the rain that falls down for all time forever and ever…
The Toad sage smiled, and the falls splashed back down with renewed furore.
'Bingo.'
'Ta no Kuni.' The paddies stretched for miles in the shadow of an immense mountain chain. Villagers bearing packs and conical hats to shed the sun stood bent-backed and knee-deep in murky water.'He left me in fucking Rice Field Country!'
But Kakashi's heart lifted as he saw the mountains. A three-day journey at peak strength would have found him before the vast gates of Konoha.
'Eight years…'
His chakra points were still healing. It would take him maybe two weeks to get home, what with the cane and all. But what was two weeks to eight years?
Carefully adjusting the scarf so it concealed his lower face, Kakashi stepped forward briskly. Two weeks? He could do it.
He was going home.