Irony. The bitter symbolism or connection between things that should be irrelevant.
Sasuke. You. Me. The last living wielders of the Sharingan. Intertwined so deeply, it was beyond blood. Interconnected, tracing back...
So, what do you think you're really doing?
Taking up my little brother as your student. Sasuke. What did you hope in that? Did you really find him promising as a shinobi? Was it out of pity?
Oh, but you couldn't have done it for that reason. A blood thirsty hunter, ANBU Hound, couldn't feel pity after the five years of hunting and killing men, women, and children daily. No, because this world was so ironic, so intertwined, it had to be because...
No.
"Kakashi," I growl.
What were you trying to prove?
You stay silent. You know damn well why this you've changed, why you accepted Sasuke.
You wanted to undo the damage I had done to him. Take back the images I put in his head of dead family members and blood skewed across the buildings like expressionistic artwork. Take back that hatred and helplessness I filled him with. Take back his thirst for atonement in my death.
You really are a fool. A hopeless dreamer.
What a misleading thought. Luck and irony, after all, is a ninja's third hand.
"When will you give up," I shook my head slowly, my bangs blowing in my face.
Still silent. That's my job, you moron. You ingenious moron. Sharp wit, even if you don't realize it. It's on the tip of your nose, I'm holding it there, a dangling piece of raw flesh off of some misfortunate foul, wild beast, over your head, and you can smell it, a unique stench so powerful it would make any shinobi tear up from the acidity and blood stinging their eyes.
But you'd enjoy it because that's all you can do once you've sold your soul to the ANBU.
And I won't let you have it.
Not yet.
"Why did you leave?" You realize that I don't necessarily require an answer. Most shinobi don't. Our job is to interpret after all. Not sure yet if I want to give you one.
For you to question this though only shows how those fools back in Konoha are still as naive as ever. If no one has tracked the point of discontinuity, my real split, from their so called "society" based on "morals" and "justice". If they didn't know "why" by now.
They never will in reality. But there's always a second side to it, another reality behind the mask, which only the Sharingan can see beyond. It's one that I teeter on.
Glancing at you again, remembering you plastered to the floor cut to ribbons... I decided.
"Power." Your face becomes pensive, hardened with intense thought on deep levels, and lean forward toward me, eye fixed on me seriously. Not deadly though. I'm not sure if I'd rather have it that way.
"What is the good of power if you can't use it for something?"
Use. Everything in this world is determined by use. Use of chakra, use of strength, use of knowledge, use of instincts and environment. Use of a ninja and the funds that come in from their services. But use of power? It was something different.
This is the closest I've felt to being alive.
"I use and I waste it as much as I want to. Not what other weaker people want me to do with it." To enjoy myself, to not enjoy myself.
Are you enjoying yourself?
The bait's still above your head, though, whether my fanning it will make a difference in smell is still unknown. Sharp nose, sharp wit.
"Get to the point." Apparently not. As expected. Diversion tactics were never that efficient against you, were they?
My eyes are dark and foreboding, always condemned with damnation, as I stare at you. We've both come a long way, discussing what went wrong where... it's far too tedious to think about.
But I've never forgotten for a moment what I wanted. Since I've heard of your stories with Uncle Obito. Since I saw you pass the Chuunin exam at 6. Since I saw you pass the Jounin exam at 13. Why I joined the ANBU, became your leader and watched you kill and fall into your own pit of darkness.
What I really wanted and why I let Sasuke live...
"I want you to feel like you're nothing."
Your body stiffens as it hits you, the pieces of the puzzle no longer vague, standing out like that carcass smell, but right there in the open to anyone who considered themselves ninja. I watch you for a while, fascinated by your reaction.
What do you think about this? About my relation to Sasuke, about how I really have felt about you?
That you are the reason and undoing of our clan and of every scrape of humanity in Sasuke? In me?
It doesn't matter. I ignore your shocked eyes fixed on me, wavering with confusion, maybe even weakness, move over beside you and grab you by the shoulder, gripping it tightly. My cold hand pierces your skin as you shudder, instinctively jerking back and resisting, trying to tear away from me, clawing for distance. But it's futile with your chakra so depleted, and I pull you forward roughly, meeting my knee to your abdomen. You hang there for a moment, coughing wetly, blood or spit or even intestinal juices lurching in your throat, and rolled over onto the grass again, clutching your sides.
Your pain is refreshing as I weave my fingers into your fair silver hair, grabbing a fistful of it.
Abusing beautiful things was something I'd like to call a specialty.
The light in your eyes, your consciousness behind them faded away before I was able to pull your head up to look at me.
Enjoy the flesh of the raw truth.
But I'm no where near done with you yet.