NOTE: Your eyes did not deceive you! This is part of a double update. Be sure you've read the previous chapter before continuing on to read this one.

Chapter Forty-eight: Kannabi Bridge, Broken Promises


Dark, humid forest clusters gradually thinned, and then thickened again, into not-so-dark but tall bamboo thickets—still humid, and wet, but Namie supposed that was appropriate for a country whose ninja village was named for grass.

Along the way, they crossed precautionary traps that told of Iwa's presence.

The journey was quiet, and tense, for several reasons, and none that didn't come with awkward undertones and a little shame. They needed to clear the air—but no one made the move to do so. Pretending nothing happened did nothing to help the current state of their awful teamwork, though.

Well, if no one was going to speak up, Namie had to.

"Why aren't you staying out of sight?" Kakashi asked—not unkindly, but also not with any emotion at all, and if she wasn't worried before she sure as hell was now—as she appeared at his side.

As they walked, their footsteps dropped silently on the water's surface, but they sent out concentric circles that would surely alert anyone looking for disturbances headed their way. Just one of those unavoidable things in a shinobi's life—some with an affinity for the water nature element could halt the spread, she'd heard, but none of them knew how to do it (though Rin did walk with a lighter step).

It was a bit of a trade-off, then, because they had to be extra vigilant.

"Security in numbers," Namie replied with a bit of a grumble, shrugging her shoulders. Trying, trying, to be normal. It didn't make anything better, though, so she pursed her lips and sought the proper words to just be direct and get it over with.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, trying to catch his eye and failing. "But not sorry, too. But still, I messed up your command. So I am sorry for that. I didn't mean to make you look bad…"

They were the right words, she hoped, but even so, they weren't entirely sincere.

He could tell.

Kakashi looked at her sidelong, if only briefly, but didn't respond. Studied her, as if trying to overlook the rushed apology and accept it—to put it all in the past. Trying to put aside his pride for the sake of making up, or trying to figure out just what kind of shinobi she was to disobey command.

He continued to walk ahead, and didn't break his stride when she fell back.

A hand touched her shoulder—her good shoulder—lightly. Rin was at her side, not meeting her eyes, but always the first to offer a kind gesture. "He just needs time."

Obito sent her a look she couldn't quite read, but it came off as apologetic, guilty, in his own way. Like Kakashi, he didn't say a word.

She watched their backs as they continued on, realizing in that instant that she no longer had to look down at them, that they'd grown, they could carry the weight of their mistakes, and with a quiet sigh, she left them to it, out of sight once again.

There would be time to fix this mess after the mission. They could all reconcile.

All of them.

Just as she made her home in the shadows of the rocks and boulders rising up out of the water's surface, Kakashi came to a halt and raised his hand in signal—his team moved into formation in the blink of an eye, on guard.

Namie watched from cover, scanning their surroundings for enemy presence, biting down the bitter surge of bile that came from slacking off on watch and not noticing it first—not being prepared enough because she let the current situation bother her so much because, unlike her brother, unlike Kakashi, she could never quite separate the mission from the personal and it cost her at the worst times.

She knew this was coming—hadn't known when, exactly, but superimposing memories over reality was harder in practice—because shinobi rarely, rarely acted alone and the one she'd killed surely had a team hiding in wait for them, somewhere ahead.

Here, now.

No one moved. No one made a sound, honing in on the silence around them—on the rustling of twigs and leaves in the breeze winding between the bamboo trunks, on the tiny plinks of condensation dripping back into the water below their feet, still spreading out as they stood still, trying to flatten out and catch up with the calm.

Another crack—one out of place—set off a chain reaction.

Uprooted bamboo spears rained down on the trio in an unforgivable rush.

It happened fast.

All too fast, in a grand fireball jutsu blur and kunai piercing bamboo stalks with heavy thunks to set their trajectories off course as they dropped, scorching, into the pond, and sent up waves and mist and a billowing screen of blinding smoke as they collided.

This time, Namie didn't miss it. Felt, rather than saw, the large shinobi's presence seeping out from the rock surface in Rin's blind spot as a fuzzy-haired shinobi descended from above to clash with Kakashi and Obito as a distraction, yet left her unengaged—missed her presence.

At least, that's what she thought, jumping too far ahead, assuming things, because when her mallet crashed into the large man melted together with the boulder face, it passed beyond and shattered straight through smoke and rock, not flesh or bone.

Decoy.

Rin turned as the rubble from the attack splashed and disturbed the water's surface—eyes widened as she raised her hand to sling a kunai, opening her mouth to yell warning—

Namie turned to catch the fist closing in on her with the pole of her mallet and threw all of her weight into shoving the Iwa man back—raised her weapon again to destroy his ugly, smug face, and halted mid-swing when Rin's thrown blade passed through his face and he vanished, again, in a column of white smoke.

Another decoy.

Another distraction.

No—

"RIN!"

Before she could turn again, Rin breathed a strangled, abrupt gasp and by then it was too late. She was already in the enemy's clutches and the two Iwa shinobi looked smugly, insufferably victorious, disappearing into nothing and taking their captive with them just as Namie landed where they'd just stood, mallet crashing into water, and only water.

Still nearby—they were still close, she knew, and she wasn't the only one.

Obito started off in immediate, blind pursuit, but Kakashi stopped him.

Because the mission came first.

The mission was their priority.

Kannabi Bridge remained their goal, and even with their medic, friend, gone, captured, they couldn't stop now.

They argued, and it was like a film reel, playing out something she'd already seen. Something she knew. Word for word, even though it sounded like garbled static, like audio twisting and turning, playing backward and forward all at once, the dialogue not quite matching their lips. Tattered darkness crept up around the edges of her vision, encircling the two boys like there was nothing else in the world.

Not a thing changed.

Why the hell wouldn't it just change?!

Kakashi's point of view was sound. No shinobi worth their headband would kill a medic, not in the midst of war, no matter how cold it seemed.

Obito's point of view was also sound, as far as loyalty was concerned. Because those shinobi might not be worth their headbands. Some were shit, absolute trash, some were just in it for the kill. Some just wanted the blood and didn't care, just killed. And killed. And killed.

Still, Namie didn't jump in and mediate right away, because her thoughts wouldn't slow and her heart thumped fast and she couldn't stop thinking of what else had to be done—what she could do—to change this damn outcome.

Save Rin? But what about them? Who had priority in this case when they were separated?

Which one needed the most help?

Who could she afford to leave?

Who could she let die if it came down to that…?

She couldn't find it in her to correct Kakashi's claim that the rules were to be held above all else, disregarding friendship, loyalty, survival; she couldn't find it in her to care that they threw their own views at one another trying in vain to influence the other and make them see reason; she could only look at her shaking hands gripping the handle of her mallet and try, try to remember—try to fix this thing that just didn't want to be fixed on her terms.

It took Obito punching—hitting the ever loving shit —out of Kakashi, out of a jōnin, for fuck's sake, to jerk her from her minor panic and she grabbed him hard by the shoulders to hold him back as Kakashi hit the water, caught off-guard, but not enough that he didn't focus his chakra in time to stay on the surface, only getting his clothes slightly damp.

She was more concerned for his injury getting wet than him getting knocked on his ass.

"You said you'd try," she hissed through clenched teeth, tightening her hold on him when he tried to lunge forward again, scowling. "I can't believe you two. And you're definitely gonna get shit for hitting him, Obito—just—think, would you?" She held fast for another moment as he struggled, briefly startled by how much she had to struggle in return, but soon he went still, tense, but still, chest heaving, and she had a moment to think. To let the situation sink in. "…But if you didn't do it, I'd hit him for damn sure."

Kakashi's eyes widened as he gingerly touched the bruising area above his mask, before his eyebrows drew together and he slowly pushed himself to his feet, trying to remain calm, cool, level-headed, even if she was sure that from where he stood, it seemed like they were standing against him, two against one.

In most cases, majority ruled, but he held command.

And she didn't like the look in his eyes.

Obito was the first to speak up, however.

"We have to save Rin," he began, hands curled into tight fists, so tight that his arms quaked and she could feel it through his shoulders. "You're the leader, Kakashi! How can you just leave her behind like this?! You said you were strong—so let's help her! If you're so damn strong, so much of a fucking leader, then go save her!"

Kakashi's eyes narrowed. "This is why I always tell you—Obito, if you let your emotions run wild like that, you'll fail your mission. You'll regret it. The rules say we have to put aside our emotions to prevent that. It doesn't matter who's in danger."

Obito's shoulders tensed under her hold, as if he would lunge again, but didn't.

"How do you think Rin feels, being thought of like that? Just—what is she to you? After she goes to so much trouble, even trying to throw someone like you birthday parties even though you say no every time, and then giving you that good-luck charm and first aid kit when you got promoted. Did you even see it? Like, really look at it? Think about how long that must've taken her? After all she does, you'd still leave her, just like that?"

"It doesn't matter," Kakashi said, and it would have had less impact, hurt less, if he'd snapped, yelled, snarled, but he just watched them with a bland, controlled stare. Cold.

"What if it was Namie?"

She looked at Obito sharply and squeezed his shoulder like it could take the words back. "Hey, don't—"

"It doesn't matter," he repeated, and wasn't even moved by the question, but then again she didn't know what she expected. Sure didn't expect it to hurt. Didn't expect her mouth to go dry or her eyebrows to furrow, just a bit, against her will, as she loosened her hold on Obito in an almost subconscious desire to let him smack the other kid again.

"We're shinobi. We're tools. We do everything we can to complete the mission we're given, and we don't need anything else while carrying out our duty. No emotions, no friends, no family."

Namie let go of Obito completely, hands falling to her sides.

No—he was just saying that, right? She'd done something. She'd done something about that, about his stupid attitude that developed after his father died—she'd changed that at least, hadn't she? So why was he saying that like he meant it?

Why did he look like he meant it?

"I can't believe you." For a moment, she thought she said it, but they were Obito's words instead. He took a step forward, then stopped. His shoulders slumped slightly. Then he stepped forward again, and Kakashi's expression shifted, only a little, but shifted all the same.

He didn't mean it.

He didn't.

Rank be damned, they were just—they were just kids. They didn't know what they were saying, or doing and they were all in over their heads in a place they shouldn't have to be.

He wasn't his father—wouldn't be him, but couldn't not be him, either. He cared too much, no matter what he said. No matter how he acted. But he was scared of falling into the same cycle that destroyed his father—of failing and fucking everything up so bad.

They all were.

Obito grabbed his collar, and his other hand curled into a tight, shaking fist—Namie fully expected him to punch Kakashi again, but he only stood there, looking him in the eye, before shaking his head and walking away.

"I tried. But we just can't get along." This, he said to Namie. "I'm going to save Rin." This, he said to Kakashi.

Kakashi stepped forward, but stopped. "We have the mission. We have orders. If you don't follow them—"

"What, it'll be like becoming the White Fang? As far as I'm concerned, that'd be great. He was a real hero. He didn't do a thing wrong."

This time, Kakashi's icy expression broke. Shock, pain, disbelief—whatever it was, he was vulnerable. It hit his heart.

"The ones who thought he was wrong, the ones who treated him like trash, are the ones who are wrong. They're the worst. People who abandon their comrades, their friends, are the real trash." He fixed Kakashi with a long stare, determined—the most determined he'd ever been, like he'd finally become a true shinobi, finally found his purpose as push finally came to shove. "But if I'm trash for doing this, I guess I'll be trash, then. I'll change what it means to be a shinobi."

He left.

Just like that, he walked away, without looking at either of them again.

Off to be the hero.

Even as he walked away, Kakashi's face remained twisted up in shock, helplessness, and Namie had to wonder if she'd ever told him something along the same lines before—hadn't she? Maybe it didn't mean as much, coming from someone as close as family. Maybe she didn't make it obvious enough.

When he met her eyes, his expression was level, unreadable once again, if not exhausted, and she held the stare until he looked away with a tired, beaten-down sigh.

She didn't expect—or want—an apology. There was enough conflict between them already, but then again she had conflict with almost everyone, these days.

"Go after him already," he said in a low, unaffected voice, trying to shoo her away like an unwanted fly as he dropped his gaze to the water below and she lingered to remind him just how terribly everything went to shit.

She could have. Should have, probably, since he was inevitably going to do something stupid, and he was the most at risk, being out there on his own, being there in general (and she did promise, didn't she?), but…at the same time, she couldn't.

Kakashi simply shook his head, then turned his back and walked away, too, leaving her standing in the center of a crossroad.

After everything, she couldn't just leave him to go on by himself. None of them deserved to be alone in that instant, and any one of them needed her, but who did she need the most?

Which one was the priority? In the long run, which one mattered the most? If push came to shove, and five couldn't be protected at once, or four or three or even two, which would she choose? Would any one of their deaths justify change?

She didn't even need to ask herself that, because she hadn't gone after any of the others yet.

Kakashi didn't turn to look at her when she followed behind, not even as she went out of her way to scuff her sandal against the dirt and let him know she was there, giving him the loyalty he so spurned.

It wouldn't be the first time she'd break a promise.

It wouldn't be the last.


Kannabi Bridge loomed ever closer, now, and their mission would soon draw to a close. Of course, it wouldn't turn out quite like that, or as easily, but Kakashi didn't say a word about it as they traveled to their destination.

Neither spoke.

And Namie didn't want to—at least, until she noticed Kakashi clutching at the injury across his side, shirt still torn and stained with smeared, faded blood. It hurt, had to, but he pretended it didn't. He'd pretend until it killed him, probably.

"Come 'ere," she called to him quickly as they landed on a high tree branch, before he could leap away. He tried to—would have, if she'd been anyone else (besides Rin, maybe), but instead relaxed after a worrying moment, feet falling flat on the bark.

He didn't look her way.

"Your injury's bothering you. I can tell. Let me look at it and make sure it's not infected, at least, oh venerable leader."

At that, he turned to glare at her, but there was no real meaning behind it and he looked away with a long-suffering eyeroll before complying and sitting down on the branch, lifting up his shirt and armor to reveal the bandages underneath.

They were damp, of course, and tinged a bit pink and grey, but moving them aside revealed nothing strange in the wound itself—Rin hadn't used stitches for this, but hadn't healed it completely, either, and it was shallow, not openly oozing or bleeding or smelling dead or anything else of concern. Still, she couldn't resist jabbing her finger against its still-tender, healing edges just to see him wince and send her an accusing glare that faded away into resigned acceptance.

It was petty, sure, and not even a small victory, but it made her feel better.

She made quick work of re-cleaning it and replacing his old bandages with fresh ones taken from Rin's special medical bag and then turned her back, waiting for him to straighten his clothes and put his supply bag back on so they could resume their journey.

She heard shuffling, and after that, silence. He didn't stand up. Didn't move, didn't rush the mission along.

Maybe he had to go to the bathroom and it was just too awkward to ask her to take watch, because she didn't particularly think he felt bad about anything that happened with the team.

"When did you drop your disguise?" he asked, and it was such a shock to even her that she grabbed at her ponytail—which was there, indeed—and pulled it across her shoulder to her line of vision to just confirm. It definitely was blonde, not brown.

"No idea," she shrugged, finding that other things were more important at the moment. "Doesn't matter." It would when they were out in the open, but there was something satisfying about parroting his own words spitefully back at him.

"Put it back."

"Not right now."

"You—" He stopped before he could get caught up in a back-and-forth argument.

"Bet you really hate me sometimes."

"I hate me." He said it so suddenly, without missing a beat, that she turned to stare at him with her jaw slightly dropped—with words on her tongue that died before she could say them. He shook his head and let his hand rest against his forehead protector, looking down toward the dark ground. "What am I supposed to do? I thought I should do things the right way, but when I try, it gets messed up anyway. I'm trying to be a good leader worthy of Konoha. I don't want to be—"

He stopped. She had a feeling he bit his lip behind his mask, but in this light it was impossible to tell for sure.

"I don't want to end up like him. But what's really right? Is Obito right?" He met her eyes and she had to force herself to hold the gaze and not cry, because he was vulnerable, so vulnerable, and actually asking her this. Asking for help. "Was Dad right?"

The words escaped her, for a moment. Pushed back by the lump in her throat, which she swallowed just to be able to speak as she fixed her gaze on the sword strapped to his back.

"…Everyone's right in their own way. Just depends on how you look at it. What seems right to you, Kakashi? Not your dad, not Konoha, not Obito, not me—what seems right to you, here, now?"

He sighed, exasperated—but not toward her. He rubbed at his forehead beneath his headband and closed his eyes.

"I do hate you sometimes," he said, but he didn't mean it. Never meant any of it. "You just—"

"I'm sorry, Kakashi," she cut in, effectively silencing him. "I really am."

Whatever he'd intended to say, he didn't. Only watched her with narrowed, searching eyes, as if making sure those words were genuine this time. Almost spoke up again, but didn't.

She didn't say a word when he jumped to the tree behind them, backtracking to join Obito and find Rin.

Only followed close behind, hoping everything wouldn't go to shit.


Of course things went to shit. They always did.

The moment they found Obito, crouched in a tree just outside of the enemy's hideout, the hamfisted Iwa shinobi that had escaped her mallet and taken Rin appeared behind him, readying an ambush.

Namie didn't move when she damn well should have leapt forward and smashed her mallet right into the enemy's teeth like all the rest or at least intercepted the attack with her shield. That was what her reflexes screamed to do, anyway.

Not her mind, not so much. In her was that cold, all-consuming, world-ending dread all over again, just like the time they'd first met and she'd known he was crucial to this moment, to everything, and it was choking, suffocating. All of it, again—rage, anger, hurt, fear, pity, heartache, confusion, indignation, helplessness—no, not helplessness. Not anymore.

For one, terrible instant, something clicked into place and upon seeing it linger so close, she realized the worst alternative stared her right in the face all along and it only came at the cost of breaking a promise and betraying someone she was close to.

For one, fleeting moment, she considered letting the enemy slaughter Obito.

For one, agonizing second, she didn't move.

All for the sake of that change she so desperately wanted for those people she dearly loved—she'd let him die, really die, for that. Knowing what would become of him. Knowing what he'd become. Knowing what he'd do.

Because change required sacrifice, as the world never let her forget, and wouldn't this be the worst and greatest sacrifice of all…?

At the same time, she knew she didn't have to do a thing.

Because Kakashi cut in to save the day, striking the enemy down with the glow of his father's chakra saber, shooting her a brief, incredulous, accusatory glare that she could have missed, could have ignored, as she reached back to stab her kunai into the enemy's—the real one, not the shadow clone, not making that mistake again—throat and rip it out in one savage motion, fully on auto-pilot. Ruining his second ambush attempt and leaving him to fall dead to the ground beneath them, as if to make up for her hesitation and terrible desire from only moments before.

Their eyes met again as the enemy dropped, and she knew it wasn't over, knew they'd speak of this later, but not now, not yet. Not while Rin was still captured.

It only struck her as they surveyed the enemy hideout that she'd stepped in at the wrong time, that she'd interrupted something crucial the one time she let events run their natural course, but at the time, it didn't really matter.

Because there was still something she could do to throw the hooks of this scripted mission off track, and if little changes were all she could muster in this muck of rigid time, then they'd just have to add up.

Because wasn't her presence here still the biggest advantage of all?

"Let me handle this," she told them as they grouped together and prepared to move in, ready to enter the cavern that held the final enemy and their goal—Rin. "I'll do it. I'll rescue Rin. You two still have the mission to worry about. Just—let me do this." With the way she phrased it, it was not suggestion.

Even so, especially because of that, Kakashi narrowed his eyes as she withdrew her mallet, as she held it in her hands and stared down at the hideout from their tree cover, dead set on going in alone, head on.

Obito opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when the other held up his hand to silence him.

For once, he obeyed the command, eyes darting between them, uneasy. His hands curled into tight fists as he rested them on his thighs.

Kakashi reached out—set a hand on her mallet to keep her from charging in. He stared hard at the side of her face even as she pointedly ignored him. "You've been acting strange. You haven't exactly tried to hide it."

She shook her head. Still refused to meet his eyes, locked on to the shadowed cave entrance. "If this is about before—I already said I'm sorry. Think of it like I'm making up for back then."

"It's not—"

Sweat trickled down the side of her face, from the forehead protector dampened by perspiration and humidity alike. Even with the tepid temperatures, her body was hot. Too hot. Anxious. Scared. Fully committed and ready to change the world, no matter the cost, because there were no bigger chances than this.

"Is it really that strange? You've heard my reputation, right? I like getting all the kill credit. I'll save the captured kunoichi, take out an enemy, and you two finish the mission—be the real heroes." She let out a breath, hoping it covered the shaking in her voice. "No one will fault you for this." With another shake of her head, she pulled the mallet free from his hold. "Just go."

He relented for the moment, but he wasn't convinced.

Obito hesitated, but held up a hand as he spoke up. "I wanna save Rin, too, Namie-senpai, but don't be stupid about this—"

"I hate to agree with him, but he's right. You're being stupid. We're all here, now. We'll carry on the mission when we have Rin, too. All of us will," Kakashi stressed, because they hadn't come back here together for nothing.

"'Sides, once the enemy sees you, it'll scare the piss out of 'im and he'll run away with his tail between his legs. We'll be home free," Obito added, trying to deflect a potential argument.

"…You don't have to protect us," Kakashi said, watching her carefully. Studying her. Almost like he'd chosen those specific words on purpose, looking for something in her reaction. When she looked his way, she thought he found it.

Again, there was something shrewd, heavy, in his eyes she didn't like, couldn't place, but didn't have time to decode or let it weigh her down.

"Fine," she conceded quickly, too quickly, unable to waste time. "We'll all go. Let me lead in."

"You can lead the way," Kakashi allowed, giving her that at least. "We'll be right behind you. But—" He stopped, shook his head. Considered her state. "You're not attacking head-on. You lead in with a distraction, and Obito and I will tag team for an ambush to end it. I'm making that a direct order, just so you understand."

Obito nodded. "I understand."

"Not you. But—well, good."

"I understand," Namie confirmed, but not without a grudging attitude and gritted teeth.

Sure enough, as Obito claimed, the fuzzy-haired Iwa shinobi did a double take when she stormed right into his hideout, golden chakra crackling from the hand held out directly in front of her, flat shield moving along before her, looking at him like he was nothing and he was nothing. The mallet in her other hand only further drove in the reality of who he was facing, and he immediately stepped away from Rin, but he didn't look scared, not yet, even as his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he clenched his hands into fists, raising the tapered blades protruding from his bandaged forearms.

Some enemy shinobi weren't that smart, after all, and saw her as a conquerable challenge instead of a walking death warrant.

Some could take her down, that was certain, but not this one, and not today.

A nasty, confident smile twisted the man's face as he spoke. "I didn't believe Taiseki when he said the Ogre was here instead of on the battlefield. Looks like my lucky day—enemy intelligence and reputation fell right into my hands."

Just as he shot forward, blades poised to slice, Kakashi and Obito body-flickered on either side of him, pinioned him, with the chakra saber on one end and a fireball jutsu on the other.

Neither connected—he was fast, faster than his two comrades had been, at least, but while he was distracted from her, Namie flung a kunai into his blind spot and watched as it dug into his shoulder from behind, in much the same spot his ally had injured her, to weaken him, to throw off his rhythm.

It worked—but not the way she hoped.

When he realized he was outnumbered, the game quickly changed. Instantaneously.

Namie saw his expression of dawning horror, saw his eyes flicker to the exit, saw his hands weave fluidly, swiftly, through the earth-style seals, and his intent registered.

No—too soon.

It was too soon.

She saw it all, but couldn't react fast enough to save them all. Not all.

She stepped forward to kill the Iwa shinobi before he could act, but stopped—it was too late and the technique had already been released, rumbling the earthen walls around them and crumbling the rocks above, sending dirt and sediment raining down. So, she yelled.

"Get Rin and run!"

She dropped her mallet and turned her shield upward, over their heads like an umbrella—spread it out with both hands, as far as its golden edges would go as rocks fell and tumbled and cracked upon it and they all darted to Rin.

Kakashi reached her first. Quickly broke her out of her genjutsu daze and cut the ropes binding her as she looked up, around, wildly, eyes wide at the impending devastation she'd woken up to, flinching at the dust and impending doom surrounding them.

Namie did her best to shield the three and keep a safe path open as rocks crashed, thundered, shattered on the ground upon impact and flew like shrapnel—an unforgivably sharp shard caught Kakashi's eye and pierced deep into skin and tissue while he was distracted, helping Rin, and it could have been a coincidence but she knew better.

He stopped, grabbed at it—Rin stopped, too, to assess damage—and Obito reached out to help, with eyes a new and bright, burning scarlet, as rocks piled up on the golden chakra shining both bright and dim above them, weighing down heavier and heavier and her entire body struggled to hold it up, to keep the energy flowing, but it was thinning, it burned, and—

It cracked.

Part of the cave wall crumbled, fell forward, cast them into darkness, and she remembered the chūnin exam, her match against Miho, the wall she'd constructed to drown her shadows…

With one hand, she shoved Kakashi—

Obito shoved Rin—

Namie reached for Obito—

Everything collapsed.


Don't let this become something either of us will regret.

They don't deserve what's coming.

I'll never let anything happen to you three.

I promise.

I'll do it right this time.

I promise.

We'll get through it.

I promised.

I'm sorry.


Something fluttered near her fingertips.

An old, tattered, sweaty piece of paper she'd once treasured, that had become a habit to carry, like a lucky lottery ticket. It had been tucked under her headband, once, then in her jacket, close to her heart—and in her headband again, for this mission—no, where was her headband?

She couldn't feel it pressed around her head, couldn't feel it tying up her ponytail. Her hair had come loose, and it was cold. Muddy. Dirty.

But she focused on that paper, that old paper that kept her going, once, but was now just a…a thing. Couldn't even remember what it said, without looking.

It was there, in her memories, behind a door she'd locked, just to move forward. Where Toboe was. Where Kasuga was. Where another life was, too.

Maybe it was a copy. She couldn't remember if the original got lost in battle, if she'd come home and written its words down again before it was lost forever.

Why was it so hard to remember that one, simple little thing…?

Voices gradually floated through the bleak, paralyzed silence of her thoughts. Coughs. All far away, muted. Muffled.

A cloud of dust, and darkness hung around them, and barely a thing could be seen properly in the gray-and-brown smeared haze.

Blood was in the air, and on her hands. It was so familiar, it was nothing new, but this time it hurt.

It hurt. Like pain was all she knew, burning, consuming.

Someone was dead. Dying.

She didn't think it was her, but she didn't know. Nothing ever hurt like this.

No.

She wasn't dead.

No one was—yet.

Nothing changed.

Nothing changed.

Because Obito was still here, still crushed, still…

There was a gurgling cough, and blood.

—So, so much blood—

He asked if they were alright.

They moved—to her side, where she'd collapsed, so close, so close to having stopped it, changed it, but not nearly close enough—not nearly fast enough, no, because her brother was the one blessed with speed and she was left with…loss.

Always, always one step behind. Too slow when it mattered most, and unable to move when she should.

Couldn't.

And it was like the universe was laughing, waggling its finger, shaking its head, sticking out its tongue and holding a string of yarn out in front of her, waving it from side-to-side as she reached for it only to snatch it right away at the last agonizing, futile second, saying, "Too slow, too slow. Silly girl. Silly, stupid girl," but it spoke it with her mouth, her face, her disdainful eyes.

She had a feeling her hand was outstretched, that there was chakra glowing dull, fading out, but she didn't know. Couldn't focus on that, because she couldn't see it.

It wasn't there.

She didn't know when, but she'd dropped to her side, and she could see Obito's head, his face, felt his spiky hair brush her shoulder, felt the stickiness of humidity and sweat—no, blood—pooling under her, but she couldn't move. It was numb. Heavy, weighed down by the world, but numb.

And there was blood. So, so much blood, like the sand, like the sea—like—

It only hurt when she looked, so she didn't. She focused eyes that were too wide on Obito, strewn in red, only half-visible beneath the rock and if she didn't know what she was looking at, who she was looking at, she would have screamed. And screamed. And not stopped.

On black and white, it was so clean—so…censored.

There was so much blood.

Blood, bone, teeth, tissue—things she didn't want to think about. There might have been organs. Almost like a tube of toothpaste trying in vain to squeeze out the last bit.

She was pretty sure she turned and threw up, but it didn't matter.

There was so much blood.

And she couldn't move. Stuck.

They were speaking—Kakashi and Rin, and Obito, at times, and she was speaking, too, little words, yes and no—maybe more, maybe words that didn't fit, didn't make sense.

Two faces were bloody—not hers, not Rin's, but two.

All were streaked with tears, dirt. Dust. Sand.

No, not sand. Not here. Just dirt.

Obito had an eye—a red eye, a Sharingan—then he didn't. Kakashi had both eyes again, thanks to Rin—bless her. Bless the medic. She wasn't one for religion, ever, and never would be, but there were prayers in her head and if there was a god above, she wanted it to bless these kids. Save these kids. Help these kids, where she failed to.

She knew what they were saying, on a subconscious level. She'd read it, maybe twice. Seen it and heard it once? Who knew. She knew what was happening—painfully aware. Not where she was concerned, but she didn't matter, here. She didn't matter in the long run.

I'm going to die.

Someone—

I wanted to be together with everyone longer…

Someone said it—not her.

I'm sorry.

She probably said that.

I should have just killed you when we met. Let you die, back then…

She hoped she didn't say that.

If you were dead… If I just…

She had a feeling Obito had looked at her, before that eye was given away. Even with its socket empty, she had a feeling he was looking at her.

She had a feeling she was apologizing. Endlessly. Like a skipping record unable to stop. Like it mattered, like it would help.

Then there was a sharper, stinging pain, chakra, cutting into her arm, through flesh, through bone—like wire slicing through and she was in the desert again with Toboe, trying to save him, to save something, and it was hot, so hot—severing the pinioned limb that didn't feel like her own yet she'd lost it forever and then veins and arteries were closing, sealing, cells mending—not completely, but enough to keep her from bleeding out and dying, god forbid.

God please just let it happen.

Rin was low on chakra, though, and Namie never minded being at the bottom of the priority list. She'd live, and that was more than she could ask for. More than she deserved.

Obito was gone. Left behind.

Someone—Kasuga, Toboe, Rin—took her by the arm, held her by the waist and led her out of the cave, across rubble, over unsteady rock; she guided her closer to the exit someone had made—Kakashi, probably, because he wasn't there anymore and it was suddenly bright, too bright, but it felt good and awful at the same time, like new life, again, and like hellfire blazing hot enough to burn; to kill her.

She didn't really know what she was doing, but it made sense. There was blood on her hand—her blood, if not another's—and she made a shaky seal, slammed it to the ground, and feathers surrounded her in a whirling rush. There was frantic squawking—she didn't care to hear it. She didn't need to speak, because Takumi understood it was a dire situation even with her ban on the use of his cast, his family, his clan. He was a good summoning partner. A good bird. A good…man? He was off, immediately, to find Minato, find someone, and in the next instant, there were more feathers—another bird.

Kurumi, poking his head into the hole of the cave, ready to pick them up, all of them, and leave it all behind.

It was the last thing she saw, that day.


Kakashi killed the Iwa shinobi, and with his father's weapon.

It wasn't easy—it was one of the hardest battles of his life, because it was fueled by grief, loss, like everything culminated all at once and this was the breaking point. Kasuga—his father—Obito—Namie. Rin, too.

It didn't help soothe his grief, it didn't bring anyone back, didn't fix anything, but it felt good. Felt like revenge.

He knew it wasn't the end of the fight. Not after that cave-in, not after all the noise, the quake. More Iwa shinobi would rush them, soon, maybe kill them—and they still had yet to reach Kannabi Bridge.

He didn't care about that anymore—not so much.

Because he'd been wrong. So wrong.

His goal had been right—just not the intention behind it.

He was Hatake Kakashi. He was his father's son. He was Uchiha Obito's friend. He was a friend.

He was his own shinobi, no matter what anyone said, because his friends believed that. He had to honor that, now. No matter what.

Obito's Sharingan burned in his left eye socket, like it didn't quite fit, like it didn't belong, and both were true. But it worked—he could see, and he could see differently, now. He carried his friend's past, his present, his death, and would show him the future.

He'd be kinder to Rin, and he'd keep her safe.

Not only because Obito would, but because he wanted to.

And Namie…

Namie's hawk, the huge one, the hulking beast he'd seen her soaring above Konoha on, at times, crashed on the ground behind him and poked his head into the cave, seeking his summoner.

At the same time, at the worst time, Iwa reinforcements arrived in an unfair and unforgivably large group.

The earth rumbled again—they were going to bury them—and he didn't have time to think. He reached for Rin, for Namie, and they took to the sky. They escaped.

And they didn't look back.

Obito's final words echoed in his head.

"I wanted to be together with everyone longer…"

So did he, really.

So did he.


Takumi's message reached Minato, and he returned to his students—his family—as soon as the frontlines were secured.

It wasn't soon enough, for all of his Flying Thunder God fame, but he returned all the same to collect his students and complete the mission, to salvage…something.

The destruction of Kannabi Bridge was a success—with it, the war turned to Konoha's favor and remained that way at long last. But at great cost to many.

…And Uchiha Obito was still very much alive.