A/N: This is a bit spoiler-ish if you haven't been up to date on the manga (about Tobi's true identity mainly), so my apologies. Tread carefully. This particular chapter has violence and language.
In the deep staunch of night, branches reach out like ghostly fingers, pale and bony in the moonlight. They snag his clothes, brush through is hair, and whip at his face as he runs. But he doesn't feel the sting; all he's aware of is the blood pumping through his veins, the air filling his lungs, and the hunters behind him.
He can hear the metal slice through the night and he leaps out of the way moments before the flying shuriken embed into the branch he was just standing upon. He knows that if he stops to fight there will be no end, not until they're all dead - or he is. He slaps a tag on the trunk of the tree and continues on, sprinting through the leaves. Moments later an explosion rocks the forest and he's still close enough to feel the heat wash over as cries of surprise fill his perfect ears. He dashes in a different direction during the confusion, but he can still feel them behind him, coming ever closer.
His senses tingle and he darts out of the way as kunai rain from above. Looking up, he's met with with a murderous smile and a well-aimed fist. He blocks and uses the attacker's momentum as he spins and pushes him forward, out of the tree. As he leaps away, a wire shoots forth and wraps around his ankle, and he is jerked back. As he falls, he sees the one responsible and his fingers fly in a flurry of seals before a wave of flames dance along the wire to its holder, engulfing him. It's then that his back collides with a branch, knocking the wind from him, and he free falls to the ground.
Rolling upon impact, he staggers to his feet, ignoring the searing pain that shoots up his leg. All around him, enemy nin gather: short, tall, wiry, bulky, muscular and brandishing kunai, katana, and axes - the only thing binding them together is the etching on their hitai-ate and the burning hatred in their eyes.
Lifting his own hitai-ate, his Sharingan seems to glow - a rare and magnificent ruby - and for a moment after the unveil the others hesitate. That tiny fragment of time freezes, a space of three or four heartbeats, that contemplative quiet before all hell breaks loose.
It starts with a cry, a declaration of malicious intent, as one of the taller nin rushes at him. Metal sings as their blades meet, clashing over and over, before he pulls his back stained with crimson. A kunai rips through the air, whizzing past his head. It's all a blur for him then - a chaotic swing and sway - as fists, feet, and blades attempt to slow him, to hook him and not let go. Even as movements seem to meld into one, he can still see their faces perfectly, can feel bones break in his hands, can taste the metal of blood in the air. He can hear the orders being barked out; he can sense the breathing as it stops. His body is in perfect sync with the tumultuous beat of battle, for it seems that in this rampage is he truly in harmony with discord.
It is a sight that is as beautiful as it is terrifying, and the begging to 'please, spare me!' is halted by his expert hands. He doesn't even flinch as he does it, and he abandons the kunai lodged deep in the man's throat to avoid being struck by another. It's here, crouched low with blood staining his face and ready to spring on his prey, that he resembles what all those years of training has molded him to be - a highly efficient killer.
His eyes aid him, and yet they also fool him. His left helps him to predict enemy movement, but his right blinds him to the unpredictability of human nature. It is as he is locked, arm to arm, that the enemy's comrade slices his own man in two with his large broad axe, delivering a wicked blow to his abdomen.
He stumbles back, feeling the warmth of his own blood as it spills and saturates the front of his clothing. He takes his eyes from the man crumpled in two to face the burly ninja before him. The axe man comes for him and he can see every step before it is made. He prepares to counter, but something goes very wrong. His feet are rooted to the ground. He looks down and finds that his legs are petrified. The blood oozing from his wounds wind like tendrils and attach to the earth. He begins to panic as the angry beast of a man continues to rush at him, now an easy target. Desperate, he activates Kamui in hopes of sucking the enemy into the other dimension, but it has no effect. His charging forms seems to distort, but then he breaks through, axe lifted high.
He screams as the sharp blade meets his hardened body. Blood rises in his throat and he chokes as he tries to keep breathing. Another hack of the axe sends him to the forest floor, where he tries to claw his way forward. But he is stopped and turned onto his back and the large man sits atop his middle. He can hear himself, his body, cracking under the weight.
"That's a nifty little eye you got there," he snarls as he places his axe beside him. His fingers snap open and close, showing he intends to pluck it from him.
As he leans forward, his face morphs - the facial hair disappears and the hair atop his head shortens and bleeds black like crows' feathers. The right side of his face caves in, showing ghastly crushed bones, and then ballons back covered in scars. His brow furrows, his right eye swirls and turns red, a glowing beacon in the night. His lips dip into a menacing scowl.
That face brings back so many bittersweet memories, and they flash before him now. That face momentarily stops his heart and has his lips trembling as he attempts to sound out his name. "Obi... to"
It is then that the man's eyes narrow. "Give it back!" he screams before his fingers plunge into his eye.
Kakashi jolted awake, breathing shallow and irregular. His body is quaking in the otherwise stillness of his room. His hair is stuck to his forehead in a sweaty, matted mess and he pulls his fingers through it. In an attempt to confirm his sense of security, he brings his hands to his eyes and it's then that he realizes he's been crying. A broken sob tears through him and he draws his knees up to his chest, not bothering to disentangle them from the sheets. Gently, and with great relief, he rests his forehead on his knees and wills his heart to stop pounding.
Even once his body has cooled, and the shaking has stopped, and the tears no longer come, Kakashi never closes his eyes. It's because when he does, he can still see his face - that carefree visage all grown up and twisted and sneering at him with such loathing, such distaste, such hatred. And Kakashi has no wish to be haunted any more tonight.
.x.X.x.
By the time the sun had risen, Kakashi had showered, shaved, and stripped his bed of its sweat-soaked sheets. He hadn't exactly been planning on doing laundry, but such was the way of things.
As soon as the laundromat opened, Kakashi was inside stuffing his bedding into the machine. He sighed as he deposited his hard-earned money into the slot. His clothing filled the neighboring machine and then he sat at the table. The steady hum and drum of the wash pulled him into a daze. Remnants of the dream still clung to him, as if it was a spiderweb he had walked through. That feeling of unease couldn't be shaken, and even now he could hear Obito's voice.
For the longest time his friend had haunted him in a much different way. And there were times Kakashi naively wished it could go back to that - to feeling less guilt, to looking at his ghost for guidance, wondering if he was doing the right thing, when he believed he was still his way to see the world. You'd do it this way, wouldn't you Obito? It's better this way, isn't it Obito? I could never protect Rin, but you're protecting her now, aren't you Obito?
Then he had to learn the truth - that wicked reality - that shook him to the core. It was his fault, it had been his failures that helped shaped his friend into the ruthless man he had become. The Obito he had come to care for had died long ago, it was true. The Obito he faced was a shell of the man he could've been filled with a vengeful spirit - a spirit that wanted nothing more than to rid the world of him. And he nearly succeeded.
The loud incessant buzz of the washer broke Kakashi from his reverie. With shaky hands, he transferred his belongings to the dryer, deposited more money, and took his seat again. He watched the sheets tumble inside, trying to lose himself in their rhythm - anything to keep his mind clear and numb. And it worked. The bell above the door chimed, but he was entranced and paid no mind.
Sakura smiled when she saw Kakashi sitting there. She filled a machine with whites and another with her colors, carefully measured out her soap, and then started her laundry. Never once did he greet her, which she found odd considering she purposely chose machines close to him. He had to have seen her. With a curious narrowing of her eyes, she walked over to him.
"Hey, Kakashi."
He didn't answer her and continued to stare mindlessly at the dryer. She followed his line of sight and was perplexed at how watching clothes dry could be so attention-grabbing. She curled her magazine in half. "Kakashi, hell~ooo." She gently bonked him over the head with it.
Her tiny action switched him into all-out defense mode and as he stood he knocked it out of her hand, surprising her with his sudden speed. His angry gaze met her wide eyes and then softened when he realized it was just her.
He slowly settled back into his seat and then reached across the table to retrieve her magazine. "Sorry, Sakura," he apologized as he held it out to her.
He noted that she was being cautious as she took it back, and he refrained from sighing.
"It's alight," she replied as she sat next to him. "I didn't think I'd catch you off guard like that."
He hummed in response and looked back to the dryer. Sakura toyed with the edges of the magazine before flipping it open. "So, what are you up to today?"
"You're looking at it."
"Do... you maybe want to get some tea after?"
"Are you going to add it to my debt, Sakura?" he bit out.
She took offense to his tone. "No, I just... you look like you didn't sleep well. I was just inviting you, as a friend, that's all."
He nodded, but didn't say anything. He had this sort of dark aura, a tenseness about him that worried Sakura. She reached out and gently laid her smaller hand on his. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he replied as he moved his hand from under hers and set it on his knee under the table.
She regarded him for a moment more and then flipped a page in her magazine. She skimmed a few more pages before she found herself looking at him again. Something was wrong, this wasn't the same man that had been smiling, talking, and laughing with her just yesterday. But he seemed so touchy that she wasn't quite sure how to approach it with him. She opened her mouth a couple of different times, but chose silence instead. Even so, Kakashi seemed to know that she wanted to say something.
"Just say it, Sakura."
She sighed this time. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm your friend and I'm here if you need me."
He turned to face her, lone eye blank and indifferent. "Why would I need you?"
The offense she felt was plain on her face. "I... I'm just saying that if you need someone to talk to or a-"
His hand came down on the table as the buzzer sounded. "I don't want to fucking talk about it! What is with you and talking?!" He stood and stormed over to his machine and yanked out the bedsheets, continuing, "You think you're my friend? My friends know that I don't gab about my innermost feelings. You? You're my subordinate; you are my medic and that's it! Stop trying to mother hen your way into my life, I don't need it."
He dropped the basket onto the table and faced her. Inwardly, he winced at the hurt that pulled at her featuers and had her eyes welling with tears, but he couldn't stop himself.
Her voice shook as tears slipped down her face. "But... Kakashi..."
He shook his head at her. "Couldn't you at least have had the dignity to wait until I was gone to cry? Konoha's perfect little medic thinks she can heal everyone. When are you going to grow up and realize that some people just can't be fixed?"
She sat there, stunned by his venomous words. The bell chimed, signaling his departure, and then she sobbed, letting the tears flow freely.
Upon returning home, Kakashi realized that in his haste he had only gotten the sheets. His clothes were still there at the laundromat.
"Fuck!" He cursed as he dropped the basket to the floor. Sakura would still be there and he couldn't go back. He couldn't face her, not now, not after what he had said. He could still see her big, sad eyes filled with distress as he attacked her. Why did he have to do that? What had he been thinking?
Exasperated by his own actions, he kicked the basket and balled up his fists. "Fuck... Fuck!" he yelled at himself.
Sitting on his bare bed, he put his head in his hands. What could he do now to make things right?
.x.X.x.
A couple hours later, Kakashi returned to the laundromat. He put on a friendly face as he approached the manager. "Hello, I believe I left some clothes here earlier. I was in a hurry-"
"Ah, you're that angry fellow from this morning," the older woman stated. She bent down behind her desk and lifted an armful of his folded laundry. "A young woman brought them to me and asked that I hold onto them for you."
His gut twisted. Sakura. He offered a bow as he took them. "Thank you."
"You shouldn't thank me, you should thank her... after apologizing of course," she scolded.
He bowed again and then turned to leave, the bell ringing out above him. It was then that he noticed a piece of paper was pinned to a neatly folded shirt.
After everything we've been through I refuse to believe that we're not friends. However, you've made my place in your life perfectly clear, and I won't forget it. - Sakura
He clutched the note in his hand, shoulders sagging as he looked up to the irritation he felt at himself came bubbling back up, and because he had no better word for it, he sighed and mentally punched himself.
"Fuck."