Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, mentioned major character death (in the alt!timeline), Anko, language, etc.

Word Count: ~4000

Pairings mentioned: Past alt-timeline!Sasuke/Kurama, possible (?) past Kakashi/Obito, possible (?) Kurenai/Anko. (I love ambiguous relationships, what can I say?)

Disclaimer: I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

Notes: So the whole updating-every-other-day thing? Yeah, totally by accident. I didn't even realize it until a review mentioned checking back every second day. Um…oops? I'll try to keep it up, though, since it seems to be working.

This chapter deserves a bit of an angst warning, actually, and I apologize. Still (and especially compared to some other time-travel fics) I'd like to think I've managed to keep this one light on angst overall. I'm generally a cheerful person, so drama and such is difficult for me to write. For the most part I've got whatever the fluff version is of King Midas's Golden Touch. :P

(And, um, Author Stupidity Alert: I actually had no idea that the word 'backslide' is only used negatively. None whatsoever until my twin brother pointed it out. Argh. That'll teach me to use my little translation-doohickey thing without double-checking. So there might be a title change in the future, le sigh.)


backslide

Chapter Twelve: Evasion

Obito wanders around the small clearing he's created, touching the seals carved deeply into the trunks of the trees. "You've been dreaming about Uzushio, I see," he murmurs, and though it sounds idle, Kurama's known the other man for long enough to recognize the lead-in to a much longer conversation.

"When I do dream, yes," he demurs, watching Obito drift between trees. He's never really asked what mokuton feels like, but it has always made Kurama curious. Hashirama himself said that it was power over life more than power over plants, natural energy in its purest form, and Kurama knows that Obito—at least when sane—tends to gravitate towards trees and plants and natural features.

Even on the brink of death, when Obito transported himself and Kurama away from their last head-on battle with Madara, he'd dumped them in a stream in the middle of a forest. At the time Kurama had thought it a mistake, Kamui gone somehow awry, but now he's not so sure. Maybe Obito had dropped them in the first place that felt alive and clean to his fading mind.

"The one tragedy in the last fifty years that I had no hand in. I'm glad that's the one you're dwelling on, given the numerous alternatives," Obito says lightly, and were it anyone else making the remark Kurama would have already slit their throat, or at least attempted to do so. But there's a grief that's beyond comprehension in his eyes, something vast and earth-shattering, and Kurama has known him since the very moment his madness died on that grassy battlefield; he can identify grief and guilt in equal measure when they're presented so clearly.

He remembers too how Obito raged, that night when they found Kakashi's corpse at the bottom of a ravine, Sharingan gone and body so battered Kurama could barely look at him regardless of his resolve. He remembers Obito's furious grief at the final destruction of Konoha, when Madara's forces razed the empty village to the ground and left it burning, even as they turned their attention to Kumo. Remembers the way Obito picked up a battered and scored and bloodstained book from that gorge, held it in his hand for a long moment, and then tucked it away in his kunai pouch. He never read it, but sometimes at night Kurama would catch him holding it, running his fingers over the tattered orange cover with something terribly like desolation in his eyes.

Kurama's never asked how Obito feels, has never had to—as with grief, he knows love when he sees it. It could be a familial love, as brothers, or romantic love, as two strong and entirely broken men. Kurama has never had the courage to ask about that part, but whatever the feeling behind it, he respects Obito's suffering. Regardless of what hand the man had in Konoha's destruction, he feels just as much grief at its loss as Kurama, if not more.

But such a thing is all but impossible to say, and Kurama hold his peace, watching the Uchiha lean against a massive oak in the moonlight. It's a full moon again, as it always seems to be in this space, and almost as bright as day beyond the forest's shadow.

At length Obito sighs and turns away, looks at Kurama with something as weary as the very oldest veteran in his lone eye. "That seal," he says.

Kurama nods, re-crossing his legs and settling his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands. "It's getting faster," he offers. "In a week or two I should be able to do it within five minutes. For now, I just need to refine it and experiment with the necessary amount of chakra."

"Good. It's likely we have a bit of time before it's needed, but I'd rather you have it ready. And it will work on any seal?"

That earns him a mock-offended huff. "That almost sounds like you're doubting my sealing ability, Obito. What, don't you trust me?" He flutters his lashes innocently at the brunet.

Obito rolls his eye again. "Stop that, you'll give me nightmares again. Just keep working on the damn thing. If I know my past self, you're not going to get five minutes worth of fighting at half-power; he'll decimate you."

"Ambush him, maybe?"

"Possible, but unlikely. And don't give me that look. I'll tell you all about the plan as soon as I've ironed out the kinks. Be patient, brat."

Kurama huffs a soft laugh and stretches lazily. "I suppose I can manage that, as long as you tell me eventually. But don't take too long, all right? I know you're a tactical genius, but two sets of eyes are always better than one."

Obito waves him off. "Yes, yes, go wander around the village again or something. I need to think and you never let me concentrate. Go away."

"Who sealed your sorry soul away to honor your last, dying request?" Kurama retorts without any heat. "I could have left you in that river, you know."

The look Obito gives him is one part incredulous to three parts droll. "Really? And lost your best chance of beating my past self? Even you're too smart for that, brat."

Kurama waves him off, rising to his feet with smooth grace. "Maa. Just so long as you're prepared to hunt down that stupid cousin of yours at any point now. With the Nagato and Konan in hiding and the rest dead, he's going to be getting nervous."

"You'll have to be more specific," Obito drawls. "Which stupid cousin? I have several."

With an eye-roll of his own, Naruto answers, "The really stupid one," and ends his meditation with a flick of his fingers. As he comes back to his body, he can feel Obito grumbling, but it's indistinct. That's probably for the better, honestly—the man can grouch like no other, and he does put-upon better than Kakashi has ever dreamed of.

But he's a good ally and a good friend, regardless of how they met the first time, and Kurama carefully conceals the wash of amused affection that floods him. It wouldn't do to give the bastard too much ammunition, after all.


Kurenai Yuuhi drags herself into the Jounin Standby Station, just about the one place in Konoha guaranteed to be entirely free of children, and tries not to think uncharitable thoughts about the Hokage who thought she was a good match for Team 8. She doesn't even hesitate as she staggers over to where Anko is sprawled over one end of a couch, munching on dango, and collapses into the cushions with a groan.

"Long night?" Anko says sympathetically, though her eyes are bright with mischief. "You should have told Asuma to go easy on you. It's—"

"We're not dating!" Kurenai hisses, even as her cheeks flame. "Stop saying that, Anko!" She sits up straighter, though, and adds wearily, "It's this team. I'm really not sure I'm the best to handle them. Hinata is excessively timid, Kiba is excessively brash, and Shino is excessively reserved. If you could smash them all together you'd get a solid shinobi, but as they are now…" She trails off helplessly, throwing her hands up. "I don't know what to do, Anko."

Anko eyes her, clearly unimpressed, and then says, at a completely normal volume, "Shh. Wake him up and you'll spend the next hour getting clucked at by Genma-senpai."

Kurenai follows her head-jerk to where an unfamiliar figure is reclined on a couch in the corner, breathing gently in sleep. Garnet-red hair half-covers his face and tumbles over the edge of the cushion to brush the floor, and a blue-wrapped katana is tucked against his side, one lean, long-fingered hand closed around the hilt. She blinks, because even though she's been focused on preparing for her team for weeks now, she'd have thought that she would hear about someone passing their jounin exam at the very least.

"Who—?" she starts, but before she can even finish the question Anko has her Bingo Book out and is flipping through the pages. Kurenai gapes at her, because she's in the very back of the book, far past Konoha's pages, and when she finally shoves the book across the gap the symbol at the top of the page isn't a stylized leaf, but a spiral within a circle.

However, the man pictured on the page, half-turned away from the photographer so that only a sliver of his face and part of one blue eye are showing through the red mane, unsheathed sword in his hand, is most certainly the one asleep on the other side of the room. And, Uzushio affiliation or not, he's wearing a Konoha hitai-ate now.

Kurenai manages to drag her gaze away from the real-life version to skim the page. "Uzumaki Kurama, called the Red Maelstrom, of the former village of Uzushiogakure. A-rank bounty hunter and a seal master, responsible for bringing in…" Her eyes widen at the list of names. "S-rank? All of them?"

With a huff, Anko crosses her arms under her breasts and sinks back into her seat to pout at the sleeping man. "But he's boring," she whines. "He's been sleeping for three hours already! I wanna wake him up and bug him, but Genma-senpai said if I did he'd make me do all of Ibiki's paperwork for a month."

That's a bit of a relief, at least—Genma's threats are generally enough to keep Anko in line, after all—but Kurenai still eyes the man warily. "If he's a bounty hunter, do we really want him here?" she asks softly. "Anyone could have hired him."

Anko blows out an aggrieved breath. "Hokage-sama accepted him," she points out, "and he's strong. We need more strong jounin. But that doesn't change the fact that he's about as boring as watching paint dry." She scowls at the man like this is a personal affront. Knowing Anko, it likely is.

"He's sleeping, Anko," Kurenai points out exasperatedly. "Everyone's boring when they sleep."

Anko turns on her instantly, eyes wicked. "But you're not, Yuuhi-chan," she purrs, leaning in like she's going to go for a kiss, her eyes going heavy-lidded and sensual. "You're so cute, and you always cuddle right up to me and tease my—"

"Shut up!" Kurenai hisses, slapping her palm over Anko's mouth. "I thought we agreed never to talk about that again!"

Anko peels her hand away, not phased at all as she grins at her friend. "What? Afraid Asuma is going to find out about your dirty past as my—?"

Luckily, Kurenai has two hands, and she slaps her free one into place without pause. "Stop. It. Or so help me I will tell Ibiki about that time in Grass."

Anko blanches, if only slightly. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The kunoichi eye each other for a moment before Anko mutters her defeat, subsiding into the couch. "You're no fun, either," she whines, and then flops over into Kurenai's lap with a dramatic sigh. "Damn, now I'm wishing that the Hokage had given me a genin team, too. Torture's fun, but there just aren't enough prisoners to go around."

"Anko, you hate children," Kurenai points out in what is (she hopes) a reasonable tone.

Anko frown up at her. "Yeah, but kids are different than genin," she points out. "No way would I want to take care of some snot-nosed little brat-thing. But genin are cool! I could teach them to be just like me… Can you imagine, Kurenai? Wouldn't that be cool?"

"I don't think the village would last beyond a week if there were more than one of you," Kurenai says with absolute honesty, offering up a surreptitious prayer that Anko never manages to convince the Hokage that she'd make a good jounin instructor. She doesn't think Anko would be able to, but the mere idea of it is enough to give her nightmares.

Come to think of it, that might be the perfect material for a genjutsu in her next spar with Asuma…

"Hey!" Anko cries, suddenly bolting to her feet. She makes a sound of outrage, leveling a threatening finger at the couch in the corner. "The bastard bolted!"

Indeed, the sofa is entirely empty, and there's no telltale red hair anywhere in the room. Anko sprints for the door, Kurenai following in the vain hope of keeping her out of trouble, and they stumble out into the street together. But the lane is entirely empty of shinobi, and there isn't even anyone crossing the roofs. Anko snarls in frustration.

"Oh, no," she hisses, sounding just like her summons. "He must have heard us talking about him and thought he could get away. But Mitarashi Anko doesn't give up so easily. I've been waiting three hours to see what you're made of. Your ass is mine, pretty boy." With a predatory bound, she takes to the rooftops and leaps away.

Kurenai sighs, pressing a hand over her eyes for a moment before she follows her friend, hoping that Uzumaki Kurama will have enough sense to lay low until something else new and shiny distracts Anko for the day.


Given a choice between facing Pein again and having to face Anko when she's feeling inquisitive, it's a bit of a tossup which Kurama would choose, honestly.

Crashing and screaming rises a mere street behind him, and Kurama winces, picking up his pace. The woman is a menace, and a damned single-minded one at that. He ducks behind a water tower, slithers down a flight of stairs, hops an alley, and takes to the streets again, hoping his memory of Konoha is still accurate enough not to lead him into any dead ends. Anko is ridiculously persistent—she's just about the only person in all of existence that can make Naruto look easygoing and reasonable—and also ridiculously hard to shake. She'd have been ANBU, Kurama suspects, except for the whole fiasco with Orochimaru.

And except for the fact that she is terrifyingly fond of torture, of course.

Swearing softly, and hardly about to lead the crazy kunoichi back towards his apartment when both Naruto and Sasuke are there, Kurama slips around a shadowed corner, waits until he hears the double thump of shinobi sandals hitting the street—and Anko has apparently dragged poor Kurenai into this, like always—and then leaps straight up, bounces off a flowerbox, and takes to the roofs again.

From behind him, a crow of triumph makes his blood run cold.

"Oh, hell," Kurama mutters. He casts around wildly for somewhere to hide, latches on to the brilliance of a familiar chakra signature, and suppresses the urge to cry with relief. Without pause, he runs two steps, hops off the edge of the building, and flings himself through a handily open window.

Thankfully, there's only open floor beyond it, and Kurama rolls and comes easily to his feet, then ducks around Kakashi with a hiss of, "Hide me, she's almost here!"

Kakashi blinks bemusedly at him for a moment, then glances out the window. The amusement turns to horror and a bit of sympathy as he catches sight of the madwoman coming over the inclined roof across the street. "Ah," he says, and promptly drops into a crouch. Belly-crawling his way towards Kurama, he hooks a hand around his elbow and tugs, jerking his head towards the sofa that sits with its back towards the window.

"Trust me?" he hisses.

"It's not like I have a lot of choice," Kurama growls back, but at that moment sandals clatter against the roof of Kakashi's building and he immediately adds, "But yes I do. With my life."

Kakashi takes him at his word and bolts to his feet, killing the overhead light with a desperate fumble, then dragging Kurama up, tossing him onto the couch, and throwing himself on top of the red-haired jounin. Deft fingers yank his mask askew and rake through his hair, and he pauses to snarl at Kurama, "You could help."

Kurama simply blinks at him for one long second, neurons not connecting, and then the idea of what Kakashi is trying to do hits him like a freight train. One more precious half-second of hesitation and he joins in, rumpling Kakashi's hair, tossing his jounin vest over the back of the couch, and rucking up his shirt. Kakashi ducks down to bring them nose to nose just as feet thud against the windowsill. Their cheeks brush, their eyes meet, and they both completely freeze.

"Kakashi, I know he's in here! Send the bastard out!" Anko demands.

But Kurama can't think of her, can't even move, because suddenly there's nothing in his field of vision but pale skin and a sharp grey eye and a wealth of silver hair. His breath is caught somewhere deep in his chest, but he can still feel Kakashi's warm and soft against his cheek. The body on top of him is lean and strong, taller and heavier than his, and the heat of it is shocking.

No one's gotten this close in a year.

No one's gotten this close since Sasuke.

Kakashi stares right back down at him, their faces separated by less than two centimeters of space. Kurama can see it, feel it when he swallows, and somehow nothing has ever felt quite as intimate as two bodies pressed this closely, clothed or not.

"Where's Uzumaki? He's mine, Hatake!"

"Anko," Kakashi manages, and his voice is startlingly low and hoarse. He lifts himself up on his forearms, and Kurama can see the muscles cording under his thin shirt. His grey eye is still fixed on Kurama, unwavering and full of something Kurama can't name. Shock, maybe, but there's more as well, something he can't even begin to comprehend. "You have absolutely the worst timing of any living creature I have ever met, and that includes Pakkun."

"Anko!" another voice hisses. Kurenai, and she sounds mortified. "Anko, he's busy! Let's look somewhere else!"

Anko scoffs. "No, he's getting busy. There's a big difference, Kurenai, and I though we covered it back when—"

"Oh my god stop talking. Sorry, Kakashi, sorry! Anko, look, isn't that red hair over there?"

"Argh! Little bastard thinks a crappy henge is gonna stop the great Mitarashi Anko?! GET BACK HERE, UZUMAKI, YOU'RE MINE!"

There's a rush of air as Anko throws herself back at the street, probably in pursuit of whatever poor soul Kurenai picked as a sacrificial offering. Another whispered apology and then Kurenai leaves as well, calling ineffective pleas to her friend as she goes.

Silence falls over the apartment like weighted ice, and Kakashi is still looking at him.

Kurama resists the urge to bite his lip and instead meets that sharp gaze, because he really can't do anything else. He doesn't say anything, likely couldn't even if he tried, and the air between them feels like syrup sliding down into his lungs. The weight of Kakashi is unnerving in how intense it is, in how much he can feel it, pressed right up against every inch of him regardless of both their uniforms.

Kakashi looks back down at him, and even though this is where he would normally makes some sly comment, claim that Kurama is now in his debt, there's only silence.

How long? Kurama thinks almost desperately. How long since I felt someone else this—

Since Sasuke.

Sasuke.

Kurama closes his eyes, takes a short, cautious breath, and then twists out from underneath Kakashi as quickly and carefully as he can. He rises to his feet, hoping that the other jounin won't see the faint tremble in his hands, the sudden hot ache in his eyes. "Thank you," he manages after several moments spent fumbling silently for words. "I-I owe you for that, Kakashi-san, thank you again." He doesn't wait for a response before he heads for the front door, not a bolt and not a run no matter how he wants to let himself. His entire body feels strangely shaky, uncertain in the face of such a shock, and Kurama hopes like hell that Anko is gone because he's in no condition to outrun her right now.

"Kurama," Kakashi says softly, just as he puts his hand on the knob.

Swallowing the slightly hysterical laugh that wants to bubble up, Kurama turns and flashes the jounin a smile that with any luck doesn't look nearly as fake as it feels. Judging by the expression on Kakashi's visible face, it's a vain hope. "It's not you, it's me," he says lightly, aiming for a joking tone and falling somewhat flat, though he knows the words ring true. "I just—sorry. Thank you again." He ducks out the door before Kakashi can call him back, pulling it shut behind him, but only makes it a dozen steps down the hall before he's shaking too hard to keep going, and has to slump back against the wall.

"Damn," he whispers into the still air. "Damn, damn, damn."

Because Sasuke is one year dead and Kurama promised him that he wouldn't dwell or linger on grief and regrets if another chance for something came along.

Don't you dare promise me that. You deserve to find someone else, to feel this again. It won't be me, it won't be the same, but swear you'll let yourself. Swear.

And Kurama had sworn, unable to deny him anything. Sworn, and he's never, ever gone back on his word before.

And the very, very worst part of all?

If Kakashi wants a chance, wants anything real, Kurama isn't sure he'd say no, whether he'd made the oath or not.

Somehow, that feels like the greatest betrayal among a host of them, and entirely unforgivable.