A/N: Word count is ~5.6k

Rating: T for dark themes, language, and angsty-thinking.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

Chapter 3 - Identity and Homecoming

"Uchiha Obito."

Reluctantly, Obito shifted his gaze to the man that had addressed him—Uchiha Fugaku. He looked as hardened as Obito could remember: stern, and with a stick shoved up his cranky-ass, 24/7. "Uchiha-sama." His voice came out quiet and it cracked slightly, but he still managed to be heard.

Obito simply stared at the man, an impassive look in place, and he received an equally blank look in turn. Whereas Obito was simply staring, he knew that the man before him was assessing—assessing him. He briefly wondered how much Fugaku knew, and if the recent developments would cause the Uchiha clan to come after him. Whether "come after" was "come after his head" or "accept back into the family" he didn't know, but he preferred the first. At least then he could defend himself and be given an excuse to vent some anger.

It wasn't until Minato made a nervous cough that Fugaku seemed to remember what he had come for, and opened his mouth to speak. "I heard that you have awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan."

Ah. So that's how much he knew. Obito shifted his gaze to Minato, who looked slightly apologetic. He held no malice towards the man for notifying Fugaku, as his knowledge on the clan dōjutsu was minimal at best. It was the way how the Uchiha worked; they kept public knowledge of the dōjutsu to a minimum in the hopes of maintaining an air of mystery and power amongst the enemies. Minato could've simply dumped Obito off at the clan and allowed the elders to do whatever they wished with him, but the fact that the man instead opted to confide the "new ability" to a friend who just so happened to be the head of the clan spoke volumes on the blonde's character and care.

If Fugaku wasn't there, Obito would've surely hugged him. Maybe. If he really was his physical age and not trapped in some backwards reality wherein he is a fully-grown, adult male stuck in his twelve-year-old body.

"Yes. I have." Obito answered plainly, not caring to elaborate. He noticed a distinct twitch of the older Uchiha's brow.

"… When did you activate your Sharingan, and how did you awaken the Mangekyō?" Fugaku's eyes narrowed. "You do not know, but the only way to awaken the—"

"Actually, I do know how to awaken the Mangekyō, Uchiha-sama." The two adults stiffened, but Obito paid no mind. "I suppose it was gradual. I've been having dreams… Nightmares, about being put in certain situations. Certain situations that threatened the lives of citizens, the clan, and my team. I guess the Mangekyō awakened recently, when I had a nightmare about everyone on my team dying."

The clan leader crossed his arms and stared down his nose at Obito, who was unaffected by the motion. "The Mangekyō cannot be awakened in that manner. A simple dream would not be enough to awaken it, and if you knew half as much as you claimed then you would know this."

Obito kept his blank stare. "Uchiha-sama, the Sharingan isn't magic. It's activation isn't spurred on by the death or sacrifice of people. It's by the emotional and mental trauma induced by whatever the host experiences." He shifted so that he sat crossed-legged on the bed, facing the man. "My dreams were uncannily real, even more so than lucid dreaming. That's probably how I activated my Sharingan."

Fugaku opened his mouth to retort, but Obito held a hand up to silence him. His mouth shut with an audible click and he glared at the not-boy—whether it was out of humiliation of being silenced, or the fact that he actually obeyed, remained to be seen. "How else do you explain, then? I have these eyes, fully matured. I haven't killed anyone close to me, nor have I witnessed the deaths of anyone precious. You can probably see that, as my team is still alive. There is no other explanation, and quite frankly, I think it makes sense, if only because there simply isn't any other explanation." Obito knew that he was bull-shitting to the highest degree, and even though the Sharingan's activation was indeed caused by mental trauma, a dream would never be enough to activate it. Years of research already proved this; the mind's mental barriers wouldn't allow for such a scarring nightmare to take form in the mind, it would most likely awaken the host before reaching a peak. But no one in the Uchiha clan knew that—unless they turned to a Yamanaka for help, but for once, Obito was thankful for the incessant pride the Uchiha clan clung to. It meant that they would never turn to another noble clan for help, especially not in regards to their famed dōjutsu.

"Regardless," Fugaku rubbed the bridge of his nose and spoke in an exasperated tone. Obito knew that, even if neither of the other adults bought his lie, he had at least made a point that there really wasn't any other explanation. None that didn't sound like the fantastical musings of a delusional child, that is. "The fact remains that you've activated the Sharingan, and advanced it to full maturity. The clan will want to know how, and I doubt they will accept such an answer from someone who supposedly didn't have it but a week ago."

Obito's eyes widened slightly, though not enough to be noticed. Fugaku was… He was speaking as though he were conversing with an equal. He wasn't speaking as the clan head, or as a superior, but as someone on equal standing. Perhaps it was because he was in the presence of Minato, but the trust that Fugaku seemed to display did not go unnoticed by the physically-younger Uchiha.

"… I understand that," Obito began, warily eyeing the reactions of both his sensei and the clan head, "but I wish to remind you that it was the clan that abandoned me, not the other way around. I have no intention of returning simply because I have the most advanced level of the Sharingan, and therefore suddenly have worth."

A slight, almost imperceptible wince showed on Fugaku's features before disappearing. He turned to Minato—he had been a quiet bystander up until that point—who flinched slightly at the sudden attention. "Minato, can you leave for a moment? I apologize, but I believe that what is about to be said is best kept within the Uchiha clan."

Minato murmured a, "right," before nodding and retreating from the room. When his chakra signature was detected a few rooms over, Fugaku cleared his throat. "What is it that you are hoping for?"

Again, Obito felt surprised, but he didn't show it outwardly this time. Perhaps Itachi's father was not a corrupt individual, either, and was simply going along with what the elders had wanted?

Deciding that now wasn't the best time to inspect the reasons behind Fugaku's future-past actions, he opted to shove that topic to the side for later speculation. "I want to maintain my status as the 'black sheep' of the clan. I don't want to be tied to the clan, whatsoever. I have no intentions of being reintegrated, either." A small scowl made it's way onto his face, and he channeled his inner child. "I just want to be left alone, away from those power-hungry old farts."

Fugaku snorted, a small smirk in place. Obito's lip twitched upwards at the reaction. It seemed that even the clan head himself didn't think too highly of the clan elders, and honestly, it was gratifying to know. "I have a proposition."

Obito took on an impassive look once again. "A proposition?"

"Yes," the clan head nodded. "I'm afraid that the elders already know about the fact that you've activated the Sharingan—with three tomoe. However, they do not yet know about the Mangekyō."

The time-traveler nodded. It was expected that they would know about the fact that he had activated the Sharingan—when it came to their eyes, the clan paid extra special attention—but his Mangekyō should've also been known. "I take it I have you to thank for that, Uchiha-sama."

Oddly enough, Fugaku shook his head. "No. Minato had come to me after the incident in the hospital and asked me to come along in secrecy. It was at his request that the maturity of your eyes was not divulged."

Obito twitched. He already knew where the man was going with the conversation. "I see. You will keep this information a secret, but only in exchange for something else. What exactly is it that you want in exchange?" He had no money. He had no connections, aside from Minato, but the man was friends with the blonde. There was nothing that he could offer—

"I want you to train my son."

Obito blinked.

… Well, that made sense in a way; he had displayed some level of proficiency handling his dōjutsu by using Amaterasu, but… Fugaku's son? Obviously, he was referring to Itachi. But if he recalled correctly, Itachi was… what, two years old now? Three? Not to mention, it carried a bad stigma for the future of the clan to be trained by the black sheep of said clan. "Uchiha Itachi, correct?"

Fugaku nodded, and Obito gave an incredulous look. "Itachi is three," he deadpanned, formalities be damned, "the clan heir, and as such the future of the clan. I'm the black sheep. I think you know where I'm going with this."

"The offer still stands, but it won't for long. It's your decision," Fugaku replied plainly.

"I accept, I just want to know, why me?" Obito let out a humorless chuckle. It seemed he was wondering that often, lately. "Surely there are better tutors for your son."

"'Why' isn't relevant. We have a deal." With that, Fugaku turned on his heel and began walking out of the room, but he halted at the threshold. "… Obviously, you will not begin immediately. I will come to you when I wish for his training to begin."

As he exited the room, Obito called out, "I would've trained him anyway, y'know!" And it was true. Itachi was one of the few Uchiha members that he acknowledged and respected; Obito had no qualms with spending time with the young prodigy. In fact, the boy could prove a valuable resource against individuals like Madara, Zetsu, and Orochimaru. That is, if they weren't all dead by the time Itachi had grown old enough for battle.

When he felt Fugaku's chakra signature come to a stop near Minato's, he activated his Kamui to listen in. His control over the technique was a little shaky, as his Amaterasu had been, but unlike that particular technique the Kamui was one he had been using for the majority of his life. Altering the space to direct their voices to him was not something difficult, not when he was a master of utilizing the technique even in the heat of battle against S-Ranked foes. Besides, their conversation was regarding him, and he felt he had a right to know.

"Fugaku?" Minato's voice was calm, but with underlying worry. "What happened? What did you talk about?"

A sigh. "He wishes to remain independent from the clan. I cannot blame him for it, either."

"In that case," Obito could practically hear the grin in the blonde's voice. "Let me watch over Obito. I had already spoken to Hokage-sama about it, and he said that it's fine as long as I gain the Uchiha clan's consent."

"Minato…" There was a pause, and Fugaku sighed again. "… I will do my best to keep the clan elders at bay, but I make no promises. They will not be happy about this, I assure you."

"That's fine, I'm more than capable of defending against a couple of bitter elders, after all."

The clan head let out a frustrated groan and Minato chuckled. "The matter of the child's Mangekyo will remain a secret amongst your team and I. Make absolutely certain that your students keep this under-wraps, as I doubt the resulting fall-out should this become public knowledge will be pleasant."

"Of course."

Their voices filtered out, and the last thing Obito heard was a curt, "goodbye" before the sound of a door lock engaging alerted him to the end of the conversation. He canceled the Kamui and forced the chakra from his eyes, deactivating the Sharingan.

"Obito?"

His eyes snapped to the slowly opening door which revealed Minato, a sheepish smile on his face. Obito couldn't help it, but his eyes were riveted to Minato, watching every movement, every shift in expression. It had been many years since he had seen the man—alive and well, that is, and not an Edo Tensei—and one of the last memories he had of him was the cold expression he had worn when they battled on the night of Naruto's birth.

"Uh…" Minato scratched the back of his head, and Obito realized that his staring had perhaps been more than a bit unnerving. "Since you're going to be living here for a while, you'll probably need some new clothes. Like I said last time, nothing but the picture could be recovered—" At the alarmed look Obito shot him, Minato quickly supplied, "—which is over there, on the nightstand."

He pointed to said nightstand and Obito followed with his gaze, only to sigh in relief at the sight of the picture. It was placed in a new frame, a plain birch one, but that mattered little him.

His attention was once again directed at Minato, however, when the blonde grabbed Obito's hand to place something in his palm. When the man's hand withdrew, Obito found himself staring at a bright-green, plump and frog-shaped wallet. He mentally noted that it was a wallet that was very… reminiscent of Naruto.

"We should go shopping for some, are you feeling well enough to move around?"

Experimentally, Obito stretched his aching legs over the side of the bed and rolled his shoulders. His skin still felt a little sore, but as far as he knew, there was no lasting muscle or bone damage, so he was fine. He stood up and walked past Minato, before speaking in a quiet tone. "… Minato-sensei, could you… Could you leave me alone for a bit? I'll be back before sunset, I just want to have some time to myself."

If Minato was alarmed, he did well to mask it. From what he could see out of the corner of his eye, Minato's expression had not changed much—he only looked somewhat dejected—and only the barest fluctuation of chakra indicated the unease the man felt at Obito's statement.

Regardless, Minato sighed. "That's fine. Just don't do anything reckless. Please."

Obito nodded, before looking away. "Sorry… Sensei. I just need some time to myself, I'll be back to normal afterwards." After he took some time to organize himself, he could don that cheery mask that he had grown accustomed to. As it stood, he was far too lost and confused to, and some time alone was exactly what he needed.

Without another word, he walked out of the room and headed to the more lively areas of Konoha.

As Obito walked down a familiar street, he cringed at the sight he saw. It was far too familiar, and an internal battle had sparked to life almost immediately.

When he was a child, he always treated his elders—the elderly elders—with respect. It was just how he was, and he always went out of his way to help them. There was one woman in particular—"Hana-obaachan"—that Obito had a sort of grandmother-grandson relationship with. Whenever they crossed paths, the boy would help her, be it carrying her groceries, helping her water her potted plants, getting something out of the highest cupboard, or carrying her to the hospital because she suffered from a sudden arthritis attack.

Whatever the request, Obito was always there to help her. Heck, sometimes she didn't even need to say anything; it had become so routine for him to help her that he would just act on instinct. More often than not, that instinct proved to be correct.

So, Obito of 31-years who was stuck in his twelve-year-old body, stared at the woman. The woman who, was currently, on the ground in a prone position, face to the side with her eyes shut in pain. His first instinct was to turn away and continue walking. To ignore the woman's plight, and to move on. He had his own problems, too, after all, and it wasn't as if he hadn't done anything worse before.

Because he had already seen her die once before.

Well, he hadn't actually seen it. But he knew that she had died during the Kyūbi attack, and by extension, died by his hand. She had apparently been one of the many unfortunate souls that had been crushed to death under the beast's giant claws in the midst of its Sharingan-controlled rampage. Obito didn't realize she had died until one day, during his usual check-ups on the village and visitations to Rin's grave, he passed by the old woman's house (the remains of) and saw red spider lilies. The absence of life in the vicinity, along with the rather obvious flowers, were enough to notify him of her passing.

And again, the woman was dying. Obito recalled this incident, clear as day. It had been a mission day back then—obviously not this time around, for obvious reasons—and though he had been bone-tired, the sight of the woman lying on the ground, possibly dying, had snapped him out of whatever exhaustion-induced stupor to scoop her up and run her to the hospital.

But that was who he was before. Obito, while still Obito, wasn't… He wasn't him. He wasn't the carefree idiot that loved unconditionally. He was someone that looked at the value of a life and thought nothing of it, someone who had once dismissed the life of someone that he had once considered precious, all for the sake of a stupid ambition to live in a falsified world. The bonds that the younger Obito had were not his own because he had destroyed them himself. And he wasn't sure he liked the idea of resuming life and keeping these bonds, not when he didn't deserve them.

"… Obito-kun…?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and stared at the source of the voice, wide-eyed. Hana's eyes were still closed, but her hand was moving slightly—as though trying to find him. Obito grit his teeth. He couldn't, could he? He wasn't the same. He just wasn't. He had no ties to this woman, and even though she thought she knew him, she didn't know anything—

Hana's hand reached in his direction, and her face contorted in one of excruciating pain, deepening the already wrinkled exterior. "Obito-kun… Is that you?" She seemed to confirm his presence, and even through the sharp pain that her condition caused her, a small smile spread across her face. He felt his heart melt.

Fuck it.

Obito ran to her side and gently lifted her up, placing her on his back piggy-back style. He ignored the surprised gasp from the woman, more focused on refraining from causing her further pain and getting her to the hospital.

He stood by the hospital bed, staring blankly at the unconscious form of the woman before him. Obito had managed to rush Hana into the hospital, and just in time, as the stress had begun to shut down her bodily functions. Any longer, and she would've been killed—quite literally—by pain and stress.

His brow furrowed. When he had first found out that Hana died, and by his hand no less, he felt no remorse or guilt. He supposed that was part of the grand illusion he had built, the emotional barrier he had constructed to keep from destroying himself. That promise of a "new world" was all he had, and he clung to it for dear life at one point. That point in time when he had been "Tobi."

The young Uchiha released a sigh as he walked out of the room.

Now, he was Uchiha Obito… But also not. Of course, after his confrontation with Naruto, he had accepted that he really was Uchiha Obito, thanks to the boy's relentless fervor on the subject. It was a long process; Naruto's words, Obito's vehemence against his claims, Naruto literally beating the delusions out of him, and he yet still refused. When he finally gave in, he had felt liberated and free, a feeling that he hadn't experienced for years.

Yes, he was Uchiha Obito, and he had long since accepted that fact. Even with the Uchiha name—the label of being associated with that clan—he simply wasn't himself without it, he wasn't complete. Loathe as he was to admit it, the Uchiha was part of him. When he had "died" and turned to Madara's convoluted plan, the name had lost it's meaning—Uchiha Obito had died, leaving only "Tobi," a shadow. Without Rin, living in that pained world as Obito just wasn't worth it, not to his young and naive mind. Naruto had given the name its renewed meaning, and that was something Obito could easily admit to. He owed much to Naruto, not only for finding him in the darkness but guiding him out of it.

But still, it was difficult, what with the Uchiha clan alive… Along with his team.

He was himself, labeled as Uchiha Obito, but not the one that they knew. The meaning Naruto had given the name held no worth here, not to the people that didn't know this Obito—didn't know him.

It was easier back then, when he went by the name "Tobi." There was no surname to chain him, to own him, and it was a name that was indubitably his. He was free as Tobi. The "fake happiness" and frivolity wasn't actually as fake as some people thought when they found out his plan, found out that he was "Madara." No, he truly was happier as Tobi, even if it was a forced and artificial happiness brought about by the illusionary promise of a new world, a second chance.

It wasn't surprising that he was able to settle for some cheap replica of happiness, though. He had once been ready to scrap the world and trade it for some fake that went to his whims and wishes. To settle for fake happiness as well wasn't that far-fetched an idea when one was willing to live in an entire world of fake copies and intangible wishes.

Tobi was the name he had become used to, and it was both an escape and a label for his sins. A testament to his past, his sins, and his punishment. He was Uchiha Obito, thanks to Naruto. But he would always be "Tobi" as well, because he would never be able to escape that darkness that had grown, festered, and become him. The moniker would stick, just as the curse of hatred was ingrained in the very blood of the Uchiha.

Obito let out a breathy laugh. Perhaps that was why he was unable to relish the fact that he was in the past. That he was with Kakashi, with Minato, with Rin. His younger self would've gone about life as usual. He wouldn't have batted an eyelash at the change, he simply would've done everything he could to make sure that the Shinigami didn't lay claim to any of his precious people. Then again, his delusional self, Tobi, would've been able to enjoy this second chance as well.

So why wasn't he able to?

Was it the guilt? The guilt that their Uchiha Obito was untainted by, due to not having committed sins? The guilt that Tobi was unaffected by, due to his delusions and false hopes?

Obito found that he was stuck somewhere in the middle. Between a brash, morally just and self-righteous child that didn't know the horrors of war, and a war-torn and crazed man that was broken in the mind and soul, only able to find respite in the lulling promises of a false, malleable world. These two sides were polar opposites, and Obito found himself being tugged from both sides in a convoluted game of tug-of-war. A game that, no matter the outcome and victor, he was bound to lose either way.

Part of him believed that a dream world would've been easier. Another part believed that a dream world was fake, which it was, and that he should appreciate the fact that he was in the past and could change things for the better. He believed—knew, that he didn't know what to do. He was confused, and just wanted to be left alone.

He didn't want to face the reality. He had been tossed into the past, but for what? He wasn't Naruto, he had already gone over and acknowledged that. He was Obito. He didn't deserve this chance to change things… And yet, he also felt like he didn't deserve the psychological torture that came along with it. He was torn between the two, and he didn't know what to think.

He almost wanted to laugh at the painfully ironic hilarity of it all, but found himself feeling too bitter to do so.

It was a cruel combination, truly. He had the memories and pain of Tobi, but the emotional fragility of Uchiha Obito. He couldn't let himself hide behind the luring promise of a fake world, not any longer. He could no longer dismiss the lives of others as mere passing thoughts, like a flickering candle that could be snuffed out with a single movement.

He hadn't cared before, as Tobi, but now? He wasn't quite Tobi. He wasn't Uchiha Obito, not the one that they knew, but… He was Uchiha Obito.

Something orange in the corner of his eye halted his thoughts, and suddenly, Obito found himself standing in the middle of the street. A quick glance around himself told him that he was in the more populated areas, most likely the shopping district.

'When did I…?' He thought briefly, before shaking his head. He must've zoned out while in his thoughts, and his legs carried him there. How he had gotten so far while deeply engrossed in his thoughts, without bumping into anything or anyone, was a mystery to him.

He directed his attention to the orange object that had been responsible for snapping him out of his thoughts, and had to withhold a gasp.

A familiar spiral pattern, leading towards the right eye of the mask. It was a hideously vibrant shade of orange, but Obito had always been partial to the color. Even more so after meeting Naruto.

Immediately he made a beeline for the accessories stall to purchase the mask. It was a uselessly sentimental gesture, but he still felt compelled to purchase it anyway. An odd coincidence, what with where his thoughts had been before being distracted by the very object he held in his hands. But since he was buying something in memory of his time as "Tobi"…

His eyes zeroed in on a pair of goggles—they were rather different from his old pair, as there were no ear-coverings and the band was black—but the lens was tinted orange. That would do.

It was with these two items that Obito left, a small grin forming, before heading to the clothing store. Looking for a new wardrobe was a welcome distraction. He really didn't want to lose himself in his less-than-happy thoughts again.

The sun was setting in the late afternoon when Obito arrived at Minato and Kushina's quaint apartment, and before he could even knock, the door swung open to reveal a rather frazzled Minato. They simply stared at one another; Obito, his right hand held up as though about to knock, a blank look on his face. Minato, frozen in place with his hand still on the doorknob, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide with indiscernible emotion.

The Uchiha raised a questioning eyebrow. "… Minato-sensei?"

The addressed blonde blinked a few times before backing out of the threshold, his actions clearly indicating nervousness. He let out a strained chuckle. "Haha, sorry about that. I was just a little dazed, is all."

'Right,' Obito thought quietly. Minato was clearly still worried about the incident in the hospital. No doubt, the man had some questions for him—

"Can we talk?" Minato gestured to the living room couch.

Suspicion confirmed. Obito gave a one armed shrug and walked over to the couch to sit down, Minato following to sit next to him.

The young Uchiha watched with a strange fascination as his sensei fidgeted—him, Namikaze Minato, the damned Yellow Flash and future Yondaime Hokage, fidgeted—while grasping at words. Finally, Obito decided to relieve the blonde from his suffering.

"It's about the suicide attempt, right?" He questioned, straight to the point.

Minato visibly flinched, and his face took on a sickly pallor. Obito felt a small twinge of guilt in his heart at the reaction, but it hadn't really been his fault. He had truly believed he was in a Genjutsu, and for someone like him, was a death wish really so far off from possibility?

A few moments of tense silence passed before Minato let out a suffering sigh and combed a hand through his unruly hair. He stared at Obito with an unwavering gaze—no longer was he the awkward and distraught "sissy" (as Kushina liked to call him)—with the strength befitting his rank, and future rank, for that matter.

"… Obito, I want you to be completely honest with me. Is there anything that you want to talk about?" Obito blinked once. And then, he stared at his late sensei with no small amount of incredulity. No, there wasn't anything he wanted to talk about. He just wanted to bury his memories and move on—

"Let me rephrase that." Minato apparently caught on to the raven-haired boy's thoughts, most likely due to the look he had given. "You don't have to talk about it in detail, but I would appreciate it if you told me at least a little of what is going on. I'm your sensei, yes, but I think of Team Seven as my family. I want you to trust me."

Obito found himself under the scrutinizing gaze of the blonde, and it was a look that was eerily similar to the look he had on the night he died. The Uchiha strained to keep from averting his gaze, and instead looked into his sensei's azure eyes. A thought occurred to him, and he almost laughed.

'Sensei,' he thought quietly. Minato was indeed his sensei, but technically speaking the man was younger than him. Younger by almost a decade. And yet, that knowledge did nothing to Obito's view of the man, it didn't make him look down on Minato or see him as anything less than what he had known as a child. No, Minato was still that powerful, wise, and understanding figure that he had come to know and respect. He was exactly the same as he had been before…

And most of all, he was there.

He vaguely registered that he was trembling, but he disregarded the fact. Instead, he looked down at Minato's hands. "… Can I see your hand, sensei?"

The blonde seemed to hesitate for a moment before slowly lifting his hand towards Obito. The young Uchiha grabbed the hand with both of his, noting that his own were childish and small in comparison. He slowly traced his stubby fingers along the creases of his sensei's hand. While his own hands were smooth and retained visible signs of baby fat, Minato's were lean and muscular, but still somewhat delicate for a man's. They were rough and callused, most likely from the many battles they had seen. His skin was pale, but not in the ghastly manner they had been on the night the man died—it was a natural pale color, and radiated warmth and life. He had already grabbed ahold of the man's hand, but Obito suddenly felt a strange fear that, in any moment, the warmth would disappear. He was afraid that, suddenly, he would be standing over the corpse of the man, watching as blood seeped out of the gaping wound in his stomach, with eyes staring glassy-eyed into the dark expanse of the night sky.

Obito hadn't even noticed the warm sensation of tears flowing down his cheeks until he found himself in a tight embrace, a hand smoothing down his matted hair.

How many years had it been since he had shared human warmth? How many years since he had felt so cared for, so loved? This time, he did laugh, though it came out more as a sob through his tears. The intense happiness that welled up in him could not be expressed in any other way. Minato and Naruto truly were similar, far too similar, from their healing aura, their inspirational words, and unspoken understanding of others. Naruto had saved him once, and now, Minato was saving him from the new darkness that had threatened to swallow him whole.

Yes, he was in the past, yes, he considered it a punishment and a curse, yes, he felt lost when he first arrived.

But now, he knew what he was going to do.

He was in the past, and what he had been given was a second chance. No, he wasn't Naruto, but he still had people that he wanted to continue living. People that deserved their lives and the happiness that accompanied them. He would change things, build himself back up from the ground, and live. That was an awfully important factor if he wanted to protect his precious people.

In order to do so, he had to prevent certain events from happening. Prevent certain individuals from taking advantage of the key players in the timeline, in this game, the maze that life had constructed. He had to kill Uchiha Madara, and if he could at least accomplish that, he would gladly welcome the Shinigami.

Obito tightened his grip on Minato and released the last of his barriers. The years of restrained tears, repressed emotions, and discarded wishes, all of it came out, completely unrestrained.

For now, he would allow himself this reprieve. The feeling of being loved, being needed, and being with those he loved. He would allow himself to be Uchiha Obito, himself, and not the crazed avenger that he had to be in order to destroy the man that held the world's metaphorical noose.

It had been many, many years, and despite all he had done, he believed he deserved it.

I'm home. I'm finally home.