a/n: This is a Same Age AU in which Kakashi is a Konoha nin fighting in the third war, and Sakura is not a shinobi (yet). It is dark and contains explicit violence.

come away to the water

little lambs to the slaughter

Mist rolled over, dense and cool, weighty and blinding. It was peaceful, despite the horrors that lay blanketed beneath it. He could hear the moaning of men futilely clinging to what little life remained to them. He had no such delusions; he had been living on borrowed time for quite awhile now. He had resigned himself to a burial in the mist the moment the scroll had been handed to him, and now that it was rolling over, he thought he could have faced a worse death.

There was always poignancy in the goodbyes spoken before a convoy left for the Land of Water. It was seldom said, but every shinobi knew their ticket was punched when they received the assignment. He was no exception. The only difference was that he hadn't had anyone to deliver his emotional last words to. He supposed that was telling in itself, if anyone ever wondered why the Leaf would have sacrificed a revered shinobi, such was he.

This battalion had been comforted by his presence. He could see it in the way they kissed their wives and children like they might get to do it again, and could hear it in their footsteps behind him. Their feet marched forward with purpose, rather than dragging with hopelessness. He didn't have the heart to tell them he was just as doomed as they were.

He had fought many battles in his short life, but nothing could have prepared him for the wreckage that awaited them. He had fought long and hard against the Mist, he had fought with every ounce of power he had to prolong as many lives as he could, but it all proved fruitless. He couldn't fight every nin that popped out of the cover of the mist. Not even the Sharingan could watch the back of ever Konoha nin on the battlefield.

They had laid waste to them. The only thing Kakashi could see clearly through the mist was the blood of his comrades. He had known what was awaiting them in this land, but knowing had not prepared him. He had taken as many of them out as he could, but now his chakra was depleted, and he knew it was all for nought.

The sounds of fighting had passed. All that was left was the sound of the water lapping at the shore, and the groans of the dying. He wondered what would be waiting for him once his wounds took him; if they took him. Kiri was infamous for taking enemy nin hostage and torturing them for intel. He supposed they would be happy to find him. Perhaps they would try to use him as a bargaining chip.

He only hoped the tracker nin found him before Kiri did. There were so many bodies laying beneath the mist, though. It could take time for them to find his. Aside from the chakra depletion, he didn't feel particularly weakened. He had wounds; he could feel the blood slowly seeping out of a long gash on his outer thigh, spurting with every pump of his heart, and the broken ribs that ached in his chest, stinging with every laboured breath he took.

Nothing critical, he thought. Were if not for his chakra, perhaps he would have made it out alive. Perhaps he would have gotten some under his command home alive. It was too late now. He could hear the gurgling of final breaths being taken not far off from where he was laid face up in the mud, staring blankly at the bleak fog.

He could kill himself, he thought; his last deed in dedication to the Leaf. The Sharingan was a prized possession; Kiri would certainly want to get their hands on it. If he plucked it from his own skull, and destroyed it, would they still torture him? Probably. But the trauma might just kill him first.

It was a good idea, but it was pointless. He couldn't even lift his arm up to his face right now, let alone muster the strength to pull an eye from its socket.

He should have brought poison, he thought. It was short-sighted of him. He had been certain he would die in the fray, and that it would never have come to this, but now, here he was, very much alive and completely defenceless against the Kiri shinobi that would undoubtedly come for him.

He had no idea how long he laid there. This land was perpetually grey, sun or moon, all he saw was grey. He knew time passed by the way some of the groans faded into nothingness. It was easy to pretend the waves swallowed up the sounds, instead of dwelling on the knowledge that his comrades were dying, slowly and painfully, while he listened, completely unable to help.

There was a superstition about Mist. He had never taken superstitions to heart, but shinobi could be superstitious sorts of people, so he had heard this story before. Lately, it had circulated the village much more frequently. Every time a convoy would be sent out, the murmurs could be heard. "Well, you know what they say about the Mist…"

They said the mist would kill you itself. It would sweep over and suffocate you; hold you down in the mud and stifle you, if the nin didn't get you first. Kakashi had never believed in such nonsense. Kiri nin killed with exceptional skill, and the ones they didn't kill on the battlefield would be captured and tortured, probably to death.

But the mist was weighing on him greatly; the heaviest blanket he'd ever been beneath. His men were dying. He could her them, choking on their blood, spluttering for a few more breaths of life, before their limp bodies fell to the soggy ground with dull thuds. After the fifth instance of that, he wondered if he was hallucinating. Perhaps the mist was poisoned? Or he was under a genjutsu?

And then he heard footsteps, so soft and quiet, so lithe, quickly pattering over puddles, running to and fro. He could smell rain. Rain, and grass, and blood; so much blood. Fresh blood.

"Rest now, shinobi-san." It was a melodic little whisper; innocent and twinkling, like chimes in the wind. It was followed by a gasp, a choke, and a thud. It was the wind that carried the sounds to him; a burst of it, unnatural and unexpected. The fog around him cleared to reveal a being that looked like fog itself. He gaped up at it. Perhaps the mist really was alive, and he had been the fool all along.

It moved slowly, encroaching on him just as the mist had befallen upon this battlefield. He was paralyzed. Even if he were physically able to move, he was certain he wouldn't have been able to in the face of this creature.

"This one is special," it whispered. Its veiled head tilted as it peered down on him. Its entire body was swathed in grey, gauzy cloaks, billowing softly. He could hardly see where it ended and where the mist began. "This one is not dying…what do we do with the ones that are not dying?" It leaned closer over him, so slow and gentle; he wondered if he was already dead.

"He'll be dying soon enough. Save him the trouble." The strange wind carried over another twinkling voice. The being before him tilted its head to the other side, leaning further over him, close enough that he could nearly see through its veil.

"What are you hiding, shinobi-san?" it whispered, its veil fluttering softly as it spoke. He couldn't stop it from nudging his hitai-ate up and peering into his stolen eye. "That eye…"

"Kill him and be done with it," the other voice spoke. He tried to argue, to scuttle away, but all he could manage was a low grunt as he stared up at that veil.

"Who are you…?" it asked, head tilting again as it looked at him. He could see its eyes shining behind the grey gauze of its veil, just as sparkling as its voice. The strange winds whipped quicker, and the second being appeared before him, a bone-white hand reaching out for the twinkly-eyed creature before him.

"It's too late, they're here. Leave him," That hand clasped around something solid within the misty swathes of fabric and yanked the being away from him. Fluttering fabric was swallowed up by the mist, but not before he saw a flash of colour; a single lock of pink hair, poking out between misty greys. It disappeared just as quickly and surreally as it had come.

As the Kiri nin found him, he thought he finally understood the creatures he had seen. Perhaps there was something to those old superstitions after all. They had come to save him from the hell he was about to endure. They were harbingers of death, come to collect before his soul could be further corrupted. These were mercy killings. He should have had more faith, he thought. Perhaps if he'd had faith, they would have killed him too.

"Copy-Ninja Kakashi." A masked nin stared down at him, black eyes dancing in morbid delight. "What a treat."

a/n: this is v short, pls just consider it a lil prologue

this will come up later in the story, but just as an fyi, kakashi is ~16 and sakura is ~13

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