Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and make no profit from this work of fiction. This disclaimer applies to this and every subsequent chapter of "Forest of Clouds."
Prologue: Encounters
Kakashi was going to die.
He gulped deep, rasping breaths of air, bruised arms trembling under the phantom weight of his opponent's last blow. His right wrist throbbed in tempo with his racing heart.
Bright moonlight rolled behind a tumultuous veil of clouds, bringing his opponent in and out of its unearthly light. The bulky Mist jounin walked a shuriken across his scarred knuckles.
"I'm waiting, brat. Is that all you've got?"
Kakashi was twelve years old, and he was going to die.
Takeda Ichiro's silhouette waited silently in the dark, motionless except for the dancing shuriken. The deep slash across Kakashi's shoulder blades screamed with every minute adjustment to his stance. Blood welled up as he shifted, dripping in rivulets down his heaving shoulders.
I'm not strong enough.
He should have been able to win. His village needed this. He needed this.
What kind of chuunin couldn't complete a B-rank solo?
The blood, a saturated black in the darkness, trickled down to his hand. Kakashi fought the nearly overwhelming urge to wipe it off—he'd simply have to adjust to the slicker grip. Moonlight bathed the clearing again. Takeda was still watching him, amusement clear in his hawk-like eyes.
Kasumi-nee-chan would cry. She'd rant and rave and smash a hole through the Raikage's office, but in the end, she'd cry.
Pine needles rustled behind him as the icy wind picked up. He shivered, fighting keep his focus on the man in front of him—how much blood had he lost?
Dad will cry. He'd cried when Mom had died. Cried, and then gone frighteningly quiet, hugging Kakashi and stroking his hair over and over.
He wanted to see his father smile again. He didn't want to leave him alone.
His lips twisted in a silent snarl.
I'm not dead yet.
Kakashi's bloody grip tightened spastically on the tanto. He balanced carefully on the balls of his feet.
The jounin smirked.
A cloud drifted over the moon, drenching the clearing in shadow. Kakashi snapped his tanto up, ignoring the racking scream of pain from his back, and leapt into a sprint. Takeda flung his shuriken, forcing Kakashi to twist violently into a dodge.
The world dissolved in a haze of white.
Muscle memory was all that kept him on his feet through the rotation, stars spinning before his eyes as he landed and stumbled sideways. Takeda paced toward him through the night, a kunai flashing steel-bright in his palm. Kakashi swayed as the clearing swooped around him, pain like fire radiating from his wound. He grasped weakly at his blade.
Not yet.
"Nice move, brat. Let's see you do—gurkk."
An arc of red.
Blood.
What…?
A geyser of dark, viscous fluid sprayed from the man's throat, splashing violently across the dry ground. Takeda's limp body lurched forward, mouth dripping red and gaping in grim parody of a landed fish. It crumpled to the ground with an agonizing slowness, revealing a tall figure behind, unfamiliar weapon still drawn. Kakashi's eyes widened.
Dark clothing, with a two-shouldered, high-collared flak vest, probably forest-green in the daylight—Konoha. The pale skin of a foreign ninja, topped by spiky hair in a color that had to be blond, even in the darkness. And the way the Leaf-nin had simply appeared out of nowhere—
Konoha's Yellow Flash.
Kakashi's heart thudded wildly.
He was going to die.
Not yet.
He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, forcing fatigued arms up in a defensive stance. The Yellow Flash stood silent, motionless, his face indiscernible in the distance and the darkness. After a long moment, the man shifted, reaching into his weapons pouch behind his hip. Kakashi tensed, knees bending to leap away as the man tossed something forward.
A roll of bandages landed two feet away.
"Get yourself bandaged up. You'll bleed to death before you make it home."
Trap, it had to be. But... if the Yellow Flash wanted him dead, all he had to do was flicker behind him and slit his throat. The man had proven that easily enough with Takeda.
Slowly, eyes never leaving the motionless shinobi, Kakashi reached forward. The bandages were soft against his calloused fingers. He held them stiffly, straightening carefully and edging out of the clearing. The Leaf-nin watched him go.
Just as the tree branches blocked his sight-line, the moon broke out from behind the wall of clouds. Blue eyes pierced him before their owner vanished, not even a waft of smoke to mark his passing.
Kakashi ran.
AN:
This idea just bit me and I couldn't let it go. Let me know what you think!
Quinn