Chapter 11 - The Lost Man

The scribble of Obito's sharingan stared at him from the crumpled page, unfolded and open again in the safety of his office. The upper floor of the Hokage tower had been cleared completely — save for his most trusted and loyal ANBU. Minato could sense them on the edge of his mind like muted, wavering shadows bearing down from above.

When he'd first taken up the post, he was willing to admit that it gave him some anxiety — for who would want to be watched near every second of the day? Now they were a comfort; ensuring that his secrets were kept as such. This little one, at least. Despite attempts to plug holes, the boat leaked when it wanted to. Especially when certain leaks were beneficial to a certain few. On the other side of the stretch of Konoha's streets, there was a good chance that a Uchiha clan head knew a certain secret and would be seeking answers soon enough. Dangerous answers. Minato wanted to laugh. For a moment, he and Senju Tobirama had shared more than an office in common with their willingness to place the blame at the feet of the Uchiha. Innocent once again, it seemed.

But who but the gods could have foreseen that the last known Hatake — formally deceased at that — was the one responsible instead? Minato tipped his head back, allowing himself a small moment. It wasn't often he was at such a loss. He knew himself well enough that it wasn't so immodest to say he usually had a handle on things. Dealing with an otherworldly traveller who happened to be his dead student was not having a handle on things. Maybe Kushina would have more of an idea but he kept himself from telling her the truth. Rin and Obito too — even as both of them acted like caged wolves, desperate and snapping at the bars he placed between them and the truth. Holding his tongue was as much for them as it was following protocol. There was nothing so bitter as the devastation of crushed hope.

What a mess.

At the sound of footsteps in the hall, Minato snatched the drawing back up, tucking it safely into his flak jacket. A pair approached the door and a hard knock echoed not a moment later.

"Yamanaka Chihiro, Lord Hokage."

"Let her in."

Haruka stepped aside to let an old, frail woman through the door as Minato stood in greeting. Despite her frailness, she bowed low and deeply formal, a proud stiffness to her manner and form. Inoichi's great aunt, Minato recalled, as he returned the gesture and offered the chair before his desk with a hand. Lady Chihiro seemed to glide as gracefully as a crane, seating herself and arranging her long flowing orange skirts embroidered with a veritable garden of blossoms. Haruka bowed with Minato's dispatch.

As the door slid shut with a soft flush of wood, the Hokage activated the barrier seals woven into the walls of the office. In a flash, intricate overlapping seals whipped white across the surface of the walls from beneath the paint before they faded into silence once more. The old woman kept her poise, unmoved by the display of the old masterwork.

"Lord Hokage," she greeted, once she had settled the pleats of her kimono.

"Lady Chihiro. I would offer tea but I'm afraid poor Haruka is ready to drop coming and going about this late. Would some sake suffice?"

The old woman smiled.

Minato set about arranging a pair of cups, feeling deftly awake as he sat back in his chair to take a broad sip. He would need it. Chihiro sipped at her own cup with thoughtfulness, both hands supporting its base.

"A gift from Lady Tsunade."

"I have never known the woman not to choose her sake well," the Yamanaka woman said lightly, the smallest prick of a thorn that could find a place on the silk of her garments. Minato kept his smile polite.

"You have completed the examination then?"

The woman bowed her head, not a strand coming undone from the severe waxed comb of her hair. "Just so."

"Forgive my eagerness, but...?"

"He was initially reactive to the intrusion but had the capacity to force himself to settle. I will say it plainly, Lord Hokage. The subject possesses memories that do not align with events experienced and recorded over the past thirty or so years." She placed her cup on the small side table tucked against the bow of her chair's arm. Her drooping eyes narrowed further. "I was warned, but still it was a surprise to be greeted with such a queer assortment. Further was I interested to discover that there were events that coincided with my— our own experiences. I have sampled some of these but I have not done a full recollection. Moreover, I have sampled sparingly according to the significance the subject has emotionally attributed to the memory. A full recollection would take a significant amount of time — months, even, and would cause significant mental distress. This one especially would react poorly, I think. He is fragile in his current state."

Minato nodded. "Which memories coincide?"

"The suicide of Hatake Sakumo as a result of his infamous failed mission for one. The formation of a genin team which included yourself as sensei, as well as Nohara Rin, and Uchiha Obito — though I suspect you are already aware of this similarity. Still, according to the subject's memories, he himself graduated from the Academy at an age not seen since..." she paused in recall. "The end of the first war, I believe. Or perhaps even younger. Five years old. His clan would not have liked that, if I do also recall the attitude of his grandfather toward their young. But alas, the Hatake clan was reduced to one before the boy's birth. There too, as it was here."

Minato brow wrinkled. Kakashi would have been the youngest ever to graduate. At least according to our records here. He was surprised his mother would have allowed it. Stern and professional though she had been, she seemed to have wished him to have some kind of childhood before he would be pushed into earning a wage. Perhaps the Yukiko of this other world had thought differently. Though from what history he had learned of traditional Hatake principles on the matter, it was severely unlikely she would let such a thing happen even if Sakumo had passed by his own hand by then. But then again, she been no Hatake; only married one.

He gestured to her to continue. She did not, instead looking at him down her short, square nose.

"What is it?"

"I understand, Lord Hokage, that you have a deeply affectionate, even familial relationship with your former students?"

In a sudden strike, Minato felt somewhat uncomfortable under the woman's inspecting gaze, like he was the one having his mind unpicked and turned over. "That is true."

"This carried. He holds significant affection for you and your wife, as well as his teammates." There was relief in that. "There are a few other similarities that I quickly sampled relating to the War. The skirmishes in Kumo igniting the animosities. The assassination of Lord Yoji of Earth Country. These the subject heard about but did not experience first hand, though he attributes some emotion to what resulted because of them."

"And the significant differences?"

Her stare intensified and her withered face remained neutral even as her words struck like a hammer. "Significant for him? The death of his genin teammates. Your death. Lady Kushina's death. The attack of the Kyūbi no Kitsune on the evening of your son's birth and his becoming a Jinchuuriki. I can provide further details if you wish."

Minato grimaced. "That isn't necessary."

When he had first heard the admittance from Kakashi, he had been corralled by a morbid curiosity. The same that prodded him now. Yet if he was to hear the gory details, Minato would rather it be from Kakashi himself than by proxy, especially if it had created such emotional wounds. "And your final determination?"

Chihiro folded her hands in her lap, clasping her fingers together. Her expression was contemplative before she nodded. "The subject spoke the truth. He is indeed from another world, as per your report."

Minato let the words simmer, propping his fist beneath his chin. "Could he not have implanted memories?"

"It is possible," the Yamanaka woman acquiesced. "The story his mind tells is certainly outlandish. Yet he believes it, outlandish or not. Even so, if the memories were false, it would have to have been done by someone extremely skilled. I only know of a handful of people capable of such a feat — myself included. The only other capable in Konohagakure is dead, Kami guide his young soul."

Minato grimaced once again. Shisui. His sacrifice and those of the genjutsu masters echoed over the years. Some had given their lives. Others their sanity. And in the case of the last of the masters to survive that day — his sight. All to provide them a chance to free the world from the Fox and the demon's year of hell. We were truly willing to do anything, Minato thought. Itachi had tried and failed to report their battle with the Fox to his Hokage once, and Minato had never asked it of the boy again.

'Time flowed differently there.'

"It is possible with a high skill level in genjutsu," Chihiro spoke, "but while it may convince the victim, there are aspects to a memory created through its use that fail against a true lived experience. Full use of all available senses. An utter lack of doubt in reality. A knowing embedded deep within the chakra imprinted within the memory. The subject has all of these. Through him, I too saw this monstrous statue he faced and the demonic chakra of the Grand Yōkai held within it. The Kyūbi's chakra in the process of being embraced by it. I too felt his conviction and his intention to destroy it, in what he had deemed a safe space to do so. He did this, full well knowing his death was assured." She leaned back, pondering the books on Minato's shelves. "Had I been in his place, I likely would have done the same."

A selfless act with unintended consequences. Yet this single selfless act would have saved countless lives and thwarted the intentions of a terrorist group with the ill intentions of sowing disorder and war. So little was known about the possibilities of space-time. More and more, it was clear that they were simply fumbling about in the dark recklessly. Minato swallowed a sigh. One thing was clear. He truly did have the person responsible for this catastrophe sitting in a secured medical suite, the blood of two hundred and thirty lives on his hands. It was not lost on Minato that Kakashi had chosen to sacrifice himself to save others. At least that was a common trait between their world and this foreign other. An old guilt weighed in his heart.

"What is curious to me, however, is how he survived." Minato raised his head to give Chihiro an inquisitive look. She smoothed her skirts. "His death was assured, Lord Hokage. No one would have survived that. From what has been reported to me, those that were close to the blast were all but vapourised. Those just far enough away sustained terrible injury. Yet he survived and near wholly intact? Well, how very strange."

Kumi's office was a squat, square cubby, despite the woman being of some rank in the facility. It boxed Rin in. The desk felt too close, the chair took up too much space, and the shelves were too full of folders leaned down to peer over Rin's shoulder. Rin rubbed the hardened sleep from her eyes, picking away the nodules that stuck fast. Lately her eyes had felt gluey, and the lack of restful sleep wasn't helping the drum in her head. It kept her awake to think.

She looked over the black and white scan in her hand, trying to process what the record of Kakashi's circulatory system told her and what Kumi had pointed out, finger prodding the paper hard enough to crease it. Normal and healing, provided he kept to a therapy regime easy enough that someone with at least some competence could help him with. She hadn't needed to volunteer herself. It was already a given. She scratched at a small misprinted blotch, miming the nervousness that scratched under her ribs. Obito's words — said from a place of anger and emotion though they were — had stuck with her to march along with the concern of the other man keeping to himself since their argument. It pained and plagued her, and Rin could only smoke so many cigarettes to chase the feeling away before she was sick to death of the stench.

It had been days now. Minato would have told them if the man in that medical bay were as something as dire as a clone.

But what if Kakashi were still attached to something dark and unseemly?

Rin knew she shouldn't just assume ROOT's involvement, though with it being so close to home and knowing some of the... unique avenues of research sections of the institution dedicated themselves to... it was easy for the mind to wander that way. But Konoha was hardly unusual in that. Some other nation, perhaps? Kumi had excitedly expressed some theories about Kakashi's ability to adapt to the sharingan. One that would be useful to those seeking to utilise the dojutsu for their own benefit. Kiri, for one...

Rin grit her teeth and tried not to crumple the scan as emotion welled in her breast. Enough of this, she pleaded with herself. It was agonising, being forced into a constant state of flux that wouldn't relent. She hated being so unsettled; feeling like a little girl again. She clamped down on the sound of chirping birds thundering like a drum in her head. Seeing Kakashi again had invited the same old nightmares about the last time they were together. More vivid and... visceral than usual. This time there was no Mai to soothe her as she gasped in the dark.

It's alright. It'll be alright.

She dropped the stack of prints to the dulled metal surface of the desk and drew in a deep breath. Rin swiped at her eyes. He was waiting for her.

She found him in the midst of exercise, stretching out his limbs in proper clothes rather than the thin simple linen set he had first been given. Typical Konoha blues of chakra weave trousers and a sleeveless shirt with a half-mask attachment. Plain but appreciated, by the ease of his movements. Upright and standing, Rin was struck by the long, litheness of his limbs. He was tall. Not quite as tall as Obito, but not the short, skinny boy he had been. Skinny, though he still was. There was a faint odour of cooked meat in the air and Rin was happy to see the IV drip was nowhere in sight. The ANBU agent haunting the corner had also disappeared, but a quick sense of chakra told her that 'Toad-face's' post had been moved behind the one-way glass. Whoever was in the vents held them still.

Kakashi raised his head at her entrance, turning in greeting with a smile that crinkled his eyes. His arms bared, she blinked at the faded red tattoo on his shoulder. Obito hadn't lied.

"How are you feeling today?" she greeted first, dropping herself on the chair with a polite smile.

"Good enough for exercise," he chuckled, pulling himself to his full height. "I hear you're going to help me properly mould chakra again."

"In theory. In practice I might blow your arm off."

"I'll take the risk. Wouldn't be the first time that's almost happened."

"Should I ask?"

"Probably not."

Rin smiled against the warmth in her chest, her nervousness suddenly nowhere to be found. She gestured for him to sit and allow her his arm.

She pressed two of her fingers to his, carefully testing them as she followed the pathway to each point down his fingers, to palm to wrist. He gave her no trouble in revealing which ones were tender, which ones ached, and which were numb between murmuring playful observations he had made about his situation in her absence. That still caught her off-guard. It was surprising to Rin how easily they fell into a back and forth. Something felt like it had slotted back into place and the years hadn't weathered the pieces as much as she had decided they had. Except this time, Kakashi wasn't so grumpy and standoffish. She enjoyed that part the most.

She took on his other arm, and when he promised less pain in that one, she had him turn on the cot to follow the Gates down his spine. He only grunted in a peel of tender surprise when she prodded at his heart gate but was quick to assure her it was more the strange feeling of her chakra passing through so vital an area than any true pain. She was less assured he was telling the truth when Kakashi quickly rubbed at his sternum and sat straighter on the cot, bidding her to continue.

"That's the last of the important ones," she said, pulling away from his lower back and wringing the chakra from her hand. "Kumi said your legs are healing the best and I'm not to touch the delicate points in your head or I'll be barred from the facility."

She watched him flex his arms, rolling his shoulders in his joints and cracking his neck in an angle that made her wince. "No pain?"

"Other than the few, no." His eye crinkled, and he scrubbed a hand through his grey hair, messing the already messy strands. Rin fought the urge to ask about the covered side of his face. Patience. "Thank you, nurse."

Rin snorted. "How's the chakra control?"

"Shit," he said bluntly.

"And your reserves?"

"Barely there. Confirmed by Kumi and my own curious prodding."

She twisted her mouth. "They'll come back. It'll just take a bit to build up and repair." She gestured at Kakashi to hold his palms out. "Cycle your chakra and perform a jutsu. Not one of your affinity."

He did just that, flying through a pair of hand signs she barely caught. He's fast. In the vents, chakra signatures spiked in apprehension. Sucked from the moisture in the air, water condensed in his palm. The bubble levitated for a few moments before it faltered, splattering onto his hand and the bedsheets, a few flicks of water wetting the tiles beneath. Kakashi frowned at his wet palm, unimpressed with himself and from the sudden heavy breath he took — winded.

"It'll get better," Rin assured, feeling a little crestfallen on his behalf. Picking herself up from the bedside chair, she took up a place on the mattress beside him. "It's only been two weeks. And you've suffered life threatening injuries, Kakashi. Recovery will be a process." She could only wonder at how frustrating — distressing — it would be if she were in his position.

His black eye clocked toward her. "Yeah," he said, softening. "Thanks for your help, Rin. I mean it. I— well, you know."

What is it? Tell me, she wanted to say. I want to know everything. Where were you? How are you here? She bumped his shoulder.

He dropped his hands into his lap, scratching idly at one of the small raised white scars that crossed his knuckle. Kakashi had a lot of those. "So," he began instead, understandably wanting to steer clear of an already depressing topic, "how's life on the surface? I'm afraid everything's a bit routine here. What have you been up to?"

Dealing with a pig-headed man who won't answer the messages I've left under his door. Lighting another stick of incense at the memorial stone. "The usual. Handling things around the village. The occasional overnight mission."

Even the unperceptive could see how she stayed herself. Kept her words thin. Under his mask, Kakashi flattened his mouth for just a moment. He understood. "Routine for you too then."

Minato's orders. He had his. She had hers. Minato had made her promise it when he had granted her leave to visit Kakashi.

He hesitated, cocking his head in consideration before he came to a decision.

"Rin." The heavy way her name was spoken squeezed at her heart. "There's something I... want to ask. If you'll allow it."

"I'll try."

He nodded. "Is Obito around too?"

There it was. Rin bit the inside of her cheek. Kakashi caught how her face twisted and something passed over Kakashi's eye, dulling it. Oh, she realised, he thinks...

"He's fine," she reassured. She couldn't deny him that. For all she knew that Kakashi had been wondering and perhaps Minato would scold her for it but Rin would take that on the chin. "He's here, in Konoha."

Kakashi settled with a small bow of his spine, looking... lighter. He tugged at his own hands before he stilled them, reigning himself in. Did he really not know? she wondered. Where had he been all these years to be convinced that Obito was dead? With the way he looked at her the other day, Rin was inclined to think that he thought her dead too.

"He hasn't visited with you... Ah—" he caught himself. "A mission."

"No," she said with a sigh, then mumbled, "it's because he's being an idiot." At Kakashi's wide, questioning look, she gave herself leave to explain, "you have to understand, we thought you were dead. Obito will come around, he only needs to sort himself out first. We grieved you and some hurts... they're deep."

"I can see that," he answered gently. "I know something of how that feels." He looked down between them and peeled one of her hands from the sheets, clasping it in his own to softly squeeze it. Her heart jumped. He looked at her hand for a long moment. He turned his chin down but she could see how his throat bobbed.

"Rin." The gentle reverence in the sound of her name made her still. "I wanted to say that I'm glad you're here. I'm glad that you're alright." His tone dipped, like sediment settling in water, "I'm glad for a lot of things."

As she looked down at their joined hands, something in Rin quivered and cracked. She slipped. She couldn't hold the pieces together.

Oh. Oh.

It's alright.

Under the buzz of the medic bay lights, she heard the thousand thousand chirping birds wailing in her ears. There was mud on her knees. Ozone stung her nostrils. Her heart beat backwards. Hesitantly, so hesitantly, she wrapped his hand in both her own.

It'll be alright.

I don't care, she realised, the warmth of his palm heating her's. The vibration of his pulse beat through his skin. I don't care if he's a clone. He's here.

Kakashi, she thought, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you from what you did to yourself. She wanted to tell him all the things that she had been waiting to say when they finally met again. You were so brave. She wanted to tell him that; for him to know, even though she had seen how the boy's hands had shook and how his chakra had stuttered and how he had choked on his words and how the bright flashes of blue had lit up his wide eyes.

It's alright. It'll be alright. Rin. Rin. It'll be alright.

It won't. It wasn't.

If I had just been better. If I hadn't fallen for their tricks. If I had realised what they had done to us sooner. You wouldn't have had to do that to yourself. If I had just been the fucking medic-nin I was supposed to be, I could have healed you. I'm so sorry. Kakashi, I'm so sorry.

She bowed her head, each breath coming harder in her chest. Rin brought his hand to her mouth, pressing it against the web of little scars.

"I'm glad too," she gasped around the thickness in her throat and the moisture in her eyes. "You can't know. I'm so—" She held his right hand. The same one.

Kakashi breathed harshly in her ear and as she held on, she could feel the tremor in his fingers. He threaded them through her's. Rin held them together, not wanting to let go; not for an instant. As if by holding them, she could prevent a second time. Kakashi was warm as he pressed against her side and his nose bumped her temple. She pressed herself back against him.

"Rin," he called to her until she looked up. There was a wet blot on the cloth covering his eye. The other looked large and dazed. He gave their intertwined hands another squeeze. "I never thought..." he murmured before drifting off.

She swallowed. "What?" she whispered.

He shook his head, the grey strands over his brow shivering.

"You know... nevermind. It's not important. It doesn't matter anymore," he told her, his voice stronger and gentler and kinder. He lowered their hands to the bedsheet. He breathed a sigh. And he didn't let go.

She watched how the light danced on their fingernails.

I understand.

Gently, gently, the choir of birds in her ear softened their chirps. The smell of ozone drifted away. The mud on her knees dried and Rin knew that if she wanted, she could brush the flakes off.

She didn't have to sit on the Hatake verandah with Obito, grieving to the drum of the rain. She didn't have to feel Mai's hands in her hair as she shivered in her bed. The memorial stone, with that single dark name, didn't wait like a shadow. The incense she lit could be for someone else.

And if she wanted, she could let the tears slip down her cheeks.

Obito threw his pen down, just about ready to shatter it in frustration. The afternoon sun was too bright and his apartment too stuffy with its sparingly few windows open. The pen clattered and rolled, trailing toward the lip of the kitchen counter before it stopped at its edge. He leaned over to snatch it back up, tempted to drop his head into the strewn paper and ink. At least then he'd have to deal with scrubbing off words printed to his forehead rather than putting more on the page.

He picked up one of them, eyes roaming the lines of the report that seemed useless; too stilted, too professional, too... emotionless. A statement of what had happened. What they had seen. What they had done. It didn't even scrape the breadth of the more that there was to it. It couldn't, in all its succinctness, even touch the churning mix that filled his gut, pulled at his heart, and made his throat twist. And every time he thought of the reason, Mosa's admission clanging in his head. And every time he listened to the short, simple report said more out of spite than order, Rin's spitting words followed. Coward.

It didn't make sense. Kakashi was here, alive and whole but... but...

It wasn't him. It couldn't be him.

And yet it was.

And once again, Obito circled around to the crux of this... ploy. Why Kakashi? Could it really be because of that monster? No. It couldn't be that. We killed it. We unravelled the bastard. The beast was dead and as good as gone. Just like all the others.

So why?

He made a noise of frustration. The pen returned to the counter. Obito scrubbed his hands through his hair, catching and gripping the ends. There had to be some catch. When had the world ever just been kind? The world wasn't good for no reason, despite what that old man Kaishun had said. There was always a catch. And he was afraid that there was more to this one.

Obito's eye strayed to the uncharacteristically neat lines of his report. Detailed, and more methodical than he's ever been capable of. There was an irony to it, a contrast between the professionalism of a captain (ex-captain) implied by the precise language and cold description and the man sitting before it, pen thrown to the counter. Obito's mind kept straying.

It returned to how Kakashi had been looking at him so intently like he was trying to suss Obito out. How his eye had widened in recognition and his jaw had slackened in his mask. Like Kakashi realised who he was for the merest moment, even though Obito had his face covered. Even though there was little recognisable of the boy Obito had been, the very last time they had faced one another. That time when Kakashi had joked with him at the training field. When he had told Obito that he thought he was strong. When Obito had wished him luck on his mission with Rin, only for the next time that he saw him was when the other boy was pale and dead on a table. But in that Taki forest Kakashi had seen him as the man he was, and recognised him still.

Seated in his kitchen, Obito felt fragile. Weak. Unsure. He pulled at his hair harder, biting down a snarl. He hated this. He hated this. He dropped his head, the urge to flee to Kamui strong. Somewhere safe and lonely.

He sat and sat longer, letting his thoughts spin on an axis until the sun began to sink below the horizon and shadows splayed their long fingers over the apartment. The dark brought a false coolness as the humidity hugged his shoulder blades, adding weight to his thoughts and the misery of stifled sweat. His long reverie broke with a knock on the door.

"Evening," Minato greeted lightly when Obito opened it to the evening. The man looked worn, and there was bruising beneath his eyes. He regarded Obito with a soft, imploring expression. He sighed and let the Hokage in. Slamming the door in the Hokage's face might get him a reprimand.

He returned to the safety of the kitchen counter; something stable at his back to lean his hip against. And to hide the work-in-progress report from view. Obito tightly folded his arms. When he realised Minato was waiting for him to speak, he gave a heavy shrug and threw a hand. What do you want? "How can I help?"

Minato's expression folded minutely before he raised his chin and the imploring expression made a return. "I know what you think — about this. About how I'm choosing to deal with Kakashi." Obito's eye narrowed. Minato huffed a small laugh. "Rin."

The carpet suddenly became infinitely more interesting. Of course she had told Minato. He hissed out an exasperated sigh.

Minato closed the distance to gently grasp his shoulder. It felt heavy. "Obito."

"What?" he responded petulantly.

"I know how this looks. As though I'm needlessly complicating the situation by hiding the truth — and having Kakashi hide the truth — from you and Rin. Even Kushina. But I'm also trying to undertake procedures that will support Kakashi's story without undermining our security. Konoha's as well as our own emotional security. It's no secret that Kakashi was my student. If someone wished to hurt me and those close to me, that is one way they could do it." A contemplative look passed over his face, one that was tinged with sadness. "Please don't think I'm just trying to hurt you. I know how much he means to you. Both you and Rin."

The reasonableness of it left Obito feeling like a child. He always manages to do that, he thought with a little more petulance. He watched as Minato released his shoulder to slip a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper. It had probably once been neat, but now it was crumpled, the edges curled and the folds mismatched.

"What's this?" Obito grunted, taking the offered square. Frowning, he opened it.

A drawing of his own Mangekyō sharingan glared up from the sheet. Obito's stomach dropped as he stared back.

"Obito, Kakashi passed the verification procedures. With some reasonable limitations, he can be trusted. It seems the situation is far more complicated than we thought. And, well—" Minato gave a laugh that was thin and incredulous. "He certainly has one hell of a story to tell. But the story he told me was the truth." He replaced the hand on Obito's shoulder. "The man that you brought back to Konoha is Hatake Kakashi, Obito. Down to his very genetics."

Obito curled inwards at his sensei's admission, his shouldered hunching, and fingers creasing the little scribbled drawing of his eye. No... he didn't want to hope. He flailed for some grounding, something to grip and settled on an adjacent crisis.

"So what's the official story for Kusa and Iwa then," he rasped, feeling choked. "What do we tell them? They can't know about..."

Minato released a soft snort from his nose. "Well, it does seem ROOT was kind enough to provide a second lead during the mission, right? I'd say that's as good a place to start as any."

Obito closed his good eye, taking a breath. A hand drifted up to curl around the nape of his neck, gently threading its fingers into the hairs there. When Obito looked up, Minato's eyes were already on him and he smiled. The same kind of smile he always gave when his sensei would find him secreted away somewhere, hands gripping his knees as his mind played with frustration or anger or simply being morose for not being good enough. For not succeeding like the others did. For feeling useless. Minato would find him — always find him, no matter where he was — and he would sit and give him the same reassuring smile. Obito wanted to keep his anger. But he couldn't.

"Go to him, Obito," the Minato of the here and now bade. "Listen to what he has to say. I think he's been missing you too."