Rough sheets sliding against his skin, a papery gown that does nothing to keep him warm, the caustic tang of antiseptic burning his nose—

Even before he opens his eyes, Kakashi knows he's in a hospital. He suppresses a groan as he sits up, rubbing his face with his hands and squinting. The harsh white hospital lights don't help his headache at all, a dull ache building at the base of his skull.

"You look like shit."

Kakashi glances over to catch Tenzo grinning at him. He's sitting on the floor by the far side of the room, flipping through something, his hospital gown doing a poor job of preserving his modesty.

"I-" Kakashi shakes his head, and then quickly regrets it as pain throbs behind his eyes and he grows dizzy. "What the fuck happened?"

"They gave me this report," Tenzo says, standing up and tossing a beige folder to him. "Apparently, a jounin patrol found our whole team incapicated, and Lord Danzo dead."

"What?" Kakashi says, eyes wide. "There's no way. I-I would remember that. All I remember is travelling through that forest."

"I don't remember anything either," Tenzo says. "The field medic report in there says we were all under a genjutsu when they found us."

Kakashi closes his eyes, straining to remember something. His mind's a little fuzzy and he's having trouble concentrating, normal symptoms for someone coming out of a strong genjutsu. He sighs, opening his eyes slowly and staring up at the ceiling.

"Are Shisui and Itachi alright?" he asks, examining a brown-colored stain stretching over part of the ceiling. Tenzo snorts with amusement, leaning against the wall.

"They're fine. Well, as fine as Shisui ever gets," he says. "They're still out cold, but they're probably waking up now."

"How are you awake?" Kakashi asks, narrowing his eyes. "You woke up before any of us did."

"Well," Tenzo says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "As the most powerful member of Team Ro, it makes sense. I think-"

"Ok, shut up," Kakashi mumbles, covering his face with his hands. "You're full of shit and you're making my head hurt."

"I liked you better when you were unconscious," Tenzo grumbles, returning to his spot on the floor. Kakashi groans as Tenzo's gown rides up his legs again.

"Tenzo!" he yells. "Put on some fucking underwear!"

Itachi's head always hurts when he uses his Sharingan. It's some sort of strain-related migraine, that's what the medics he went to always told him. An unfortunate side-effect of his undisputed mastery.

But the pounding in his head is much more intense than usual, and he can't help but grimace and groan, covering his eyes with the back of one hand.

"Big brother?"

It's a gentle voice, soft with concern and unbridled affection. Despite the ache at the base of his skull and the painful dryness of his mouth, Itachi's mouth quirks up into a small smile as he opens his eyes and looks at his little brother.

"Hey, Sasuke," he says, his voice gravelly. The five-year-old's eyes go even wider than they were before, a blinding grin flashing over that eager face as Sasuke crawls onto the bed and lands on top of him. Itachi can't help but chuckle as tiny arms wrap around his chest in a vigorous hug.

"Sasuke! Let your brother breathe," his mother says, pulling the boy off him. "How do you feel, Itachi?"

She's smiling at him, holding a squirming and very unhappy Sasuke back from his big brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his father standing by the window, and he relaxes just a bit. It may just be an impersonal hospital room, but it's Konoha. It's home. This is safe.

"Just a little headache, but I'm fine," he admits. "What-how am I here? I was on a mission-"

"Mikoto," his father says quietly, turning to face his wife. "Can you take Sasuke to go see if Shisui is awake too?"

His father stands on the far side of the room, his back to the three of them, staring out the window. His voice is normally prideful, full, rich. And now it's not, it's tired and distant and shaky, and Itachi's never heard him sound so…

Dead.

"Can't I stay with Itachi?" Sasuke says, pouting fiercely, too young to pick up that something's wrong, and his mother laughs softly. Now Itachi can see that her smiles are forced, not quite reaching her eyes.

"Sasuke! You'll hurt Shisui's feelings. Come on," she says, tugging gently. Sasuke whines all the way to the door, all pleading eyes and chubby cheeks. Then the door swings shut.

His father's still standing in the same spot, silhouetted against the window by golden sunlight, and Itachi opens his mouth to say something, to ask what's wrong—

"Your ANBU team was incapacitated and put under some form of genjutsu. Councilman Danzo has been killed," his father says. Itachi's eyes widen, and the sheets rustle as he sits up abruptly.

"Is Shisui okay?" he blurts out, his chest tightening suddenly.

"He's fine," comes the clipped reply. Itachi slumps back against the pillows, but there's still an anxious churning in his stomach. Sure, his father can be demanding and strict, but he's never like this. He won't even look at Itachi.

"I-I'm sorry, father," Itachi mumbles. "I know you're probably disappointed at the failure of my mission. I'll train harder-"

"Itachi," his father interrupts. His voice is different now, a little softer, and a little more gentle. "I'm not-I don't care about your mission. I'm glad you came back safe."

"What's wrong, then?" Itachi says, his eyes fixed on the Uchiha clan crest emblazoned on the back of his father's shirt.

"I called off the coup earlier today," his father says bluntly, hands clasped behind his back. Itachi grows very still, a half-dozen thoughts crashing through his tired brain.

"What do you mean?" Itachi says, startled. He couldn't have heard that right, there's no way—

"The Hokage and I came to an agreement," his father says. "The coup will be abandoned, and the restrictions on our clan lifted. And you will become Hokage. You've already been discharged from ANBU."

Itachi wonders if he's still caught in a genjutsu, or if he's dreaming.

"I can't become Hokage," he says, shaking his head. "I'm too young, and entirely inexperienced-"

"You're seventeen years old, Itachi. You're not a child," his father says, cutting him off. "And you won't become Hokage right away. You'll train under Lord Third for a couple years and learn everything you need."

"You're just… abandoning the coup?" Itachi asks hesitantly. His father sighs.

"The situation changed. It wouldn't have worked out as we intended. Besides, the Hokage's solution puts an Uchiha in charge."

There's hope, fragile hope, building in his chest and climbing up his throat, and he bites his tongue to keep himself from laughing. This is absurd—

But there's something strange in his father's voice, something off. He can't help feeling that the older man is trying to convince himself of his own words.

"Why me?" he asks. "There's plenty of people more qualified than a teenager to serve as Hokage. Why does the Hokage want me?"

"Lord Third wanted his successor to place the good of the village over any personal ties," his father says. His voice is cold and heavy, leaden and dull. "He said the fact that you spied on our clan for the Council proved that you were willing to sacrifice anything, even your family, for the sake of the village."

His father finally turns around, and Itachi wishes he could melt through the floor. The older man's face is crushed, hopeless, and above all, hurt. His dark eyes look into Itachi's, and there's no anger or betrayal there. There's only pain.

And the happiness that threatened to burst out from Itachi's chest just moments before burns up, consumed by black flames and leaving the taste of ash in his mouth. He's numb, he's shaking, and now he just wants to look anywhere but into his father's face.

His father draws near and stands by the side of his bed, his fingers brushing over Itachi's cheek in a tender caress. Itachi studies the far wall, neither willing nor able to meet his father's eyes.

"I don't lie to myself. I know I was never the father you deserved," he says to him, his fingers ruffling Itachi's hair. "But since the very first moment I held you in my arms, you've been my whole world, Itachi. Everything I ever did was to make sure that you'd live in a world that was better than the one I lived in."

Itachi takes a deep breath, letting it out as he stares at his father's shirt. It's the easy way out, the cowardly way out, but he just doesn't know what would happen if he looked into the man's face instead.

"I don't know how I lost you," his father murmurs, letting his hand fall to his side, and Itachi feels the absence acutely. There's a long pause, populated only by shaky breaths and fleeting glances and the crushing weight in the air of two people who don't know what to say to one another.

"Do you hate me?" Itachi asks eventually, breaking the silence. He doesn't know what to say, or how to act, but he just-he needs to know. He's looking at his father fall apart, and it's his fault, and maybe it's selfish but he needs to know—

"No," his father says sharply, jolting Itachi back into the moment. "No. Gods, Itachi, I… I could never hate you. You could do anything, and I'd still love you. I love you."

Relief washes over him, so intense that Itachi feels his eyes sting and grow wet. His fists clench in the bedsheets, pale skin against white sheets, and he lets his gaze slide back up to his father's face. He sees a stricken, dazed man staring back at him, dark eyes overflowing with desperate affection.

Itachi knows he has the same expression plastered over his own features. His father swallows once, and then speaks again.

"I just need to know, Itachi. If they had asked you to take up arms against the clan, would you have…" His father's voice, choked and wounded, trails off for a moment. "Would you have done it? Would you have done that for the village?"

Itachi's a warrior. He's a soldier, an assassin by the age of eleven. He's killed more people than he can count, told more lies than he can keep straight, and endured far more suffering than anyone his age ought to have endured. All of this is true, and yet—

And yet, when it comes to it, Itachi Uchiha can't look his father in the face and lie to him.

So Itachi says nothing, staring back listlessly and watching his father's heart shatter in real time. His father takes a step away from Itachi, shoulders slumping and his eyes widening, and then he looks away.

"I see."

He walks towards the door, quickly, as if he's anxious to put distance between himself and his son. Itachi wants to say something, wants to stop him from leaving. But he can't think straight, his limbs won't move, and all the words he wants to say, that he should say, tangle in his mouth.

He watches his father push the door open, standing in the threshold and casting one last look back at his son. His eyes shine with unshed tears, and Itachi realizes that he's never seen his father cry. Until this moment, right here.

"You'll make a great Hokage one day, Itachi. Congratulations," he says. Then the door swings shut with a click, and Itachi stares blankly into the dying rays of the setting sun.