Kakashi had been lying awake half the night brooding. It was this uncertainty that occupied him. On the one hand, he wanted to do something against Madara, to finally be free of him, on the other hand, he wondered if what he was planning would achieve anything.

When the early rays of the sun had spread on his carpet and the cheerful chirping of birds penetrated through the open window, he had made up his mind. He would try. With a grim determination he got up, went to take a shower, at least washing the blood from his skin that had come out of the deep scratches on his right hip and had once again messed up part of his clothes, and a quarter of an hour later he stood up in front of the mirror.

His wounds on his face were now only light-yellow shadows with a hint of a green tinge, the hematoma on his stomach had a blotchy pattern of yellow and dark blue, but had also gotten much better in the past few days after Kakashi had treated it more extensively with heparin ointment. It would probably take a few days at most until you couldn't guess anything about his last meeting with Obito and Asuma.

In fresh clothes, with halfway dry rubbed hair and after a few choked loaves of bread, he knocked on his father's door. "Dad?" he asked and pushed the door open. As usual, the thick curtains blocked any daylight and it stank of sleep. Sakumo lay on his back in his bed, not moving. Kakashi went to the window, pulled the curtains aside and opened the window for ventilation. Then he groped around the bed and carefully woke his father. "Hey, dad, wake up."

Sakumo grumbled a little, turned his head to the side and squinted into the blinding morning sun. "What..?"

"It's Wednesday," Kakashi explained.

Apparently, his father needed a moment to come to terms with the world. He yawned, wiped his face with his one usable hand and groaned heavily. "What do you want?"

Kakashi nervously scratched his index finger through the palm of his hand. "It's Wednesday, dad."

"And what is that supposed to tell me? Why are you waking me up? I need rest."

"I know," Kakashi murmured meekly. Especially with the general mood lately, he was very reluctant to address this topic, and yet it was a tradition. "I thought I'd bathe you, so you'd be fresh in the afternoon."

"What's this afternoon?"

The two hadn't exchanged so many words for days. Kakashi plucked up some courage and said, "Today is mum's birthday."

Sakumo's facial features derailed. The already permanent resentment turned into horrified anger. "Excuse me..?" Kakashi didn't want to repeat it, waited for Sakumo to continue on his own. "Are you kidding? How dare you mention that?"

Kakashi breathed courage into himself. "I thought, since we've been doing this for years, it won't be any different today. I don't have to work either, the day is all ours. Diana and Henry will certainly be happy that we don't let this ritual stop." Again, he inhaled with quivering nostrils. "What happened between us doesn't change anything on this day in my opinion. It's mum's day. She would certainly be disappointed if we didn't honour her."

"She can't be disappointed anymore because she's dead," Sakumo hissed. "And if she wasn't, she would be disappointed in you rather than in the fact that I don't play this childish game."

Kakashi didn't want to be brought down. "It wasn't childish for her, she loved it. If you don't want to do it for my sake, ok, but for Noriko it had always been important. Dad, I know you don't want to hear that, but.." His hands clenched into trembling fists. "I never told you what her last words were." Sakumo's eyes widened and he gasped softly through a narrow slit between his lips. "She said, 'Don't mourn my death, celebrate my life.' That.." Kakashi had to swallow. He had said it so firmly, almost bluntly, but in his ears, there was the faint, anxious voice of his mother, who had feared not only death, but also what would happen to her husband and son when she was no longer there. She wouldn't have wanted the two most loved ones in her life to break each other up like that, he was sure of that. And this was his attempt to set certain things straight again, to get closer to his father again. "At the time I didn't understand what she meant by that, today I know all the better. Her last wish was that we do not forget ourselves in the grief. But dad, I'm afraid we've both done that by now. I know, the last few years it was more of a must for us, but please, let's celebrate mum properly. Yes, she is dead and therefore can't see or feel anything anymore, but I have the hope that she does and has already put on her party hat today. Let's work to make sure she doesn't take it off again. Please."

Sakumo was silent, which was not unusual recently, but his look betrayed that Kakashi had gotten through to him. There, in the glassy, dark grey eyes, there shimmered something of the father he loved and missed. Kakashi hesitated a little longer as he reached for the packed disposable syringe and the small box with the morphine. Sakumo didn't intervene, so he continued. Without a word, Kakashi stuck the needle into a disinfected area in Sakumo's upper arm and pressed the analgesic into his flesh. He wiped away the tiny drop of blood with a swab. There was silence for a few minutes, during which Kakashi wondered what was buzzing around in his father's head, finally he asked quietly, "May I bathe you, dad?"

Without looking at his son, Sakumo threw back the blanket, stood up and scuffed into the bathroom. He left both doors open, which meant unambiguous, albeit non-verbal agreement. Kakashi hurried after his father and turned on the tap for hot water. However, he left out a bath additive, as this was not supposed to become a foam party. Besides, Sakumo would call something like that stupid anyway, and Kakashi wanted to make him benevolent.

While the tub filled with loud splashing, Kakashi helped his father out of his smelly clothes. First, he took off the cuff, Sakumo moved his plaster arm with painfully pinched eyebrows, but also a relieved sigh. It was followed by the sweaty T-shirt, sweatpants and underpants, which, judging by the smell, he hadn't changed since Sunday evening. Apart from the cuff, Kakashi threw everything into the laundry basket and watched, worried and ready to intervene at any time, as Sakumo supported himself with his bandaged hand on the wall tiles and stepped into the hot water. He sat down with difficulty and leaned his head back with his eyes closed, the elbows of both arms resting on the edge of the tub so that his bandages wouldn't get wet.

Kakashi took one of the sponges from the shelf, soaked it with water, rubbed the soap block over it, knelt on the floor and, after a final, timid look at his father's deeply relaxed and at the same time wistful face, began to gently scrub his slightly hairy chest. Sakumo didn't protest, so Kakashi became more courageous.

Without either of them saying anything, Kakashi ordered his father forward so that he could clean the scarred back and hair, then back again after he had unsweated his shoulders and armpits. After washing out the cleaned areas and a new load of soap, Kakashi went to Sakumo's belly, which was breathing calmly, removed any fluff from the navel and was just about to follow the dark grey strip of hair into the groin area, when Sakumo grabbed him by the upper arm and growled angrily, "Where do you want to go?"

Stunned, Kakashi looked up. "I just want to clean you thoroughly."

"You won't touch me down there, in the end you'll slobber over me. I'm not your wanking material, you pansy."

Kakashi blinked in shame, felt tears of anger, despair and humiliation burning in his eyes, looked at Sakumo's left hand and started to undo the bandage. The burn that Locke had inflicted on him with the frying pan had hardly healed properly, oozed and shimmered bloody as ever. It was a risk to dip it in the bathwater, but Sakumo probably wouldn't let Kakashi get anywhere near his cock even with miserable discussions. In the past, something like this had never been a problem. Especially when Noriko was still alive, they had often bathed together and sometimes they touched each other by chance – without it having been intended by either side. That was probably Sakumo's newfound dislike for Kakashi. And Kakashi was tired of arguing.

So, he accepted a possible contamination of the wound, handed the sponge to his father and looked away emphatically while Sakumos washed his genitals. Even when drying off afterwards, he left this area to Sakumo himself, only registering subliminally, since this had now become the topic for the first time, that he seemed to look exactly like his father in every aspect, only younger, with a little less body hair and no scars.

But Kakashi didn't want to think about how Sakumo had satisfied his mother with that rod, preferring to help his father into fresh clothes and wrap a sterile bandage around his hand. Finally, he packed the cast in the cuff and now dared to say something again. "In an hour you have the appointment with the doctor. I'll drive you there and pick you up again."

"No, I can move on my own. I'm not a frail cripple yet," Sakumo fended off.

"Okay.." Kakashi mumbled, although he had a completely different opinion. But that would involve a discussion, so he did not contradict Sakumo's stubbornness. "Then.. um.. Should we meet later in the pub, around two or three? I'll bring the cake."

No verbal answer, just a disgruntled brow crumple. Sakumo walked past Kakashi and slipped into his street shoes, left his jacket hanging, marched out of the flat, certainly or better: hopefully towards the bus stop.

"Yes, of course, son, that's a good idea, that's how we'll do it, see you later, and thank you for taking care of me so much, I love you and look forward to the afternoon with you," Kakashi aped and chucked a middle finger at the closed door. " Fuck you, too, pal." He glanced at the wall clock above the wardrobe, shortly after nine. Taking a last deep breath, he also set off.

Unlike Sakumo, who drove to Moss Side to visit his family doctor's office, Kakashi steered his Beetle north to Manchester Police headquarters. It was a huge, multi-storey building made of sandstone in the heart of the City Centre, with all kinds of flourishes and mouldings on the façade and arched window frames. Kakashi entered through the main entrance and walked to a glass-enclosed counter, behind which stood a young man in a dark blue uniform. "Hello. What can I do for you, sir?"

Kakashi was brutally nervous. He cleared his throat but still couldn't get rid of the lump in it, and said in a hushed voice, "I would like to file a complaint, please."

"Of course. What is it about?"

"Um.. uh.. Rape."

The policeman's gaze became doubtful, which did not exactly support Kakashi's mind in his courage. He preferred to leave, just continue to endure it silently and then everything would fall into place, but he stayed, because leaving would probably be even more embarrassing than just going through with it now.

"Who do you want to report?" the policeman asked further.

"Madara Uchiha."

The man's facial expressions tensed and a clearly fake smile played around his lips. "Wait a minute, sir." He slid the door in the speaking glass shut, picked up the phone receiver and talked to someone for a moment, nodded several times, looked up at Kakashi every now and then, who tapped the floor restlessly with the tip of his right foot. Then the policeman hung up, opened the door again and said, "Please go to the right to the door, someone will guide you from there."

"Thank you," Kakashi said and did as he was told. To the right of the counter was a thick security door with a sign on it that said, "Admission only after approval". He waited, the lock of the door whirred and was opened by another policeman, who, after a quick check for any weapons, waved him behind him and led him through cold corridors lined with petrol-coloured linoleum to an interrogation room on the first floor. There he planted Kakashi on a chair at the bare steel table and left him alone.

Taking a deep breath, Kakashi rubbed his sweaty palms over his jeans. The light in this small room was kind of frightening, the one-way mirror right in front of him aroused paranoia in him that he was being watched, and in the corner above a red light flashed on a camera. It was certainly only protocol that he was sitting here, but he still felt like a felon.

It took minutes, Kakashi's nervousness rising immeasurably, until finally the door opened and a man came in, who didn't look like an errand boy with the shimmering plaques on his tailor-made uniform. The man put a notepad on the table, sat down on the other chair, folded his hands on the edge of the table and looked at Kakashi with piercing red irises that made Kakashi gasp in fright. This red.. His eyes darted to the two badges on the epaulettes, a crown and a star. No, this was not a simple errand boy, this was Chief Constable Fugaku Uchiha, Chief of Police of Greater Manchester. How stupid it was to have come here at all.

"So," Fugaku began to speak, "you want to file a complaint against Madara Uchiha?"

"Um.." Kakashi murmured and pinched his knees, which wanted to give way despite a sitting posture. "I.." What, WHAT?! Here, opposite him in the preliminary stage of a prison cell, sat an Uchiha, who was related to Madara through whatever connections, and Kakashi was supposed to express the suspicion that Madara had raped his brother..? Kakashi swallowed dryly. "Yes, I.. I would like to report a rape." Was it even more stupid to try anyway?

"Who is the victim?" asked Fugaku formally.

"I don't know his name."

"Aha? And how are we supposed to talk to the victim then?"

"He's his brother."

Fugaku's interlaced fingers twitched slightly. "His brother?"

"Yes."

"So, you claim that Madara Uchiha raped his brother?" The doubt in Fugaku's voice was unmistakable.

"Yes.." Kakashi murmured, losing hope more and more.

"Do you have any evidence of this?"

"I.. um.." He would have hints from Madara, the picture in the porn bunker, that's it. These were no evidence, at most presumptive ones, and the Chief fucking Constable would not investigate his cousin for that. "No, sir, I haven't."

"Aha.." Fugaku grumbled and sounded just as know-it-all as Madara. "Then where do you get this assumption from?"

"I.. He told me."

"When?"

"Two days ago."

"Under what circumstances did he tell you?"

Why was that important? With painfully boiling cheeks, Kakashi lowered his head and whispered roughly, "I.. was at his home."

"And what did he say exactly?" asked Fugaku, who either took no notice of Kakashi's shame or couldn't care less.

"He.." Kakashi started and thought feverishly, scraping together his memories and trying to reproduce Madara's words as truthfully as possible, ".. said he realized he was gay when he wanted to fuck his brother instead of his sisters."

Fugaku's eyes flashed up. "And further?"

"Uh.." Kakashi said and was kneading his knees in the meantime.

Impatiently, Fugaku leaned forward. "What does it sound like rape to you?"

"This.. well... Isn't that already striking enough?"

Now Fugaku assessed him with grimly narrowed eyes and Kakashi finally broke out in a sweat. Yeah shit, this guy was also an Uchiha. He probably fucked his sisters or aunts or anyone else from his family. Good God, how much this clan disgusted him right now. "So.. yesterday he explained to me how you can tell if someone doesn't want sex. And that.. well.. um.." Towards the end he became quieter and quieter, his hope and confidence shrunk to a rabbit dropping. It was stupid. He was stupid. He should have just let it rest.

"And did Madara also happen to mention when this happened?"

"No.."

"All right." Fugaku straightened his stature again. "So, you come here, without any evidence or other knowledge, you are speculating that Madara Uchiha raped his brother Izuna Uchiha – which raises the question: Before or after his death, or do you also want to accuse him of necrophilia?"

"Excuse me..?" Kakashi breathed. "He is—"

"Dead, very true," Fugaku snapped at him sharply. "Izuna Uchiha had a fatal accident twenty years ago. Why do you come here today and tarnish his memory, Mister...?"

Kakashi did not want to give his name. He would have bet all his possessions that Fugaku would tell Madara about this conversation, and perhaps a description of his appearance would be enough to establish the connection to him, but he didn't want to shorten this puzzle unnecessarily. "I'm sorry, sir, I… I think I just made a mistake or misunderstood something or stuff."

"Aha? Misunderstood? And with such a small slip-up, you run straight to the police?"

It became unbearably hot in Kakashi's neck. Sweat ran down his back, tickling, and stuck his T-shirt to the skin. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you any work. I.. uh.. Mh" – he cleared his throat – "can I go again now?"

"You still haven't told me your name."

Gradually, Kakashi's socks burned out. He rocked his leg incessantly, his shoulders began to tremble. "Yeah, no, I didn't.."

"Why not?" Fugaku asked calmly, but with a certain threat that every Uchiha of a certain rank seemed to have internalized.

Kakashi scratched his fingernails over the denim on his thighs, pressed his hands between them, looked up at the constantly flashing camera. Even if anything happened here, would anyone ever care, when it was the Chief Constable himself who would be involved, and he was nothing more than a little drunkard from Hulme? Kakashi indicated a shake of his head. He had come here out of a naïve conviction that he could do something, and now he wondered if he would come out again. "Sir, please, I don't want to tell you my name. I also don't want to file a complaint anymore. Madara Uchiha didn't do or say anything, I'm only here for rumours."

"Expressing a false suspicion is a criminal offense, are you aware of that?"

Kakashi closed his eyes, prayed to someone to let him leave this building alive, and nodded. "I'm sorry, sir.." he whispered powerlessly and close to tears. "I didn't want to hurt anyone, please.."

"Mh-hm," Fugaku was not very convinced. "Are you under the influence of narcotics?"

"What..?"

"Have you drunk alcohol, did anything, injected, snorted, smoked?"

Gradually, Kakashi's lungs wanted to collapse, with every short breath he became dizzy. "No.. I didn't do anything. I'm just... well.. please.."

Fugaku looked like he was saying something about Kakashi's apparent condition, but he decided against it. "Well, if there's no complaint, I don't see any reason why you should be here."

Relieved, Kakashi looked up into the Uchiha's face. The man didn't smile, didn't show any other signs of friendliness, but his panic subsided. "Then I can.. go now?"

"Of course, sir, I don't want to detain you," Fugaku replied, got up and went to the door.

Hesitantly, Kakashi did the same, but when he reached the door as well, Fugaku didn't open it yet. He leaned forward a little, brought a smell of chemical cleaner with him, and whispered barely audibly, "Keep your hands off Madara." Ignoring Kakashi's questioning face, he pushed the handle into the depths and twitched the corners of his mouth, the rest of his facial expressions didn't change. "Please, sir, I'll take you outside."

Kakashi was undecided whether he liked the presence of this Fugaku or not. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to believe him and did it without evidence, but he had something to cover and was trying to keep Kakashi out of the line of fire – whoever was aiming for what. "So then, sir," said Fugaku, his spine stretched out in a military manner, "have a pleasant day."

"Thank you.."

There was something in Fugaku's eyes that Kakashi couldn't interpret. It was something like a warning. The guy probably meant it. He should keep his hands off Madara. But how could he do that?

Well, not at all. He still had 22,600 pounds of debt outstanding, but before that he couldn't do anything. It was futile. He didn't want to, but he had to see it through, to the last penny. Because apparently even the damned police chief had respect, if not fear, for what Madara was and what he was capable of. As the last link in the food chain, he could do nothing about it. So, everything remained the same: He had to fight and swallow.

After a forty-pound trip to a car mechanic who had built a brand new, admittedly used, but at least working cassette deck in his Beetle, and with a nicely decorated chocolate cake from a small pastry shop in the passenger seat, Kakashi drove back to Hulme to the Winchester Tavern. This was a pub near the Crescents, where Kakashi had spent half of his life even before he came of age. Since Noriko's death, the Hatakes' visits had become rarer, as she had been the driving force behind the countless evenings in which Kakashi had sat with a Coke or a grape spritzer in their usual place in the corner by the flowered curtains and watched his parents dance to all kinds of songs.

As soon as he pulled the heavy wooden door open, the familiar smell of wood, cigarettes, beer and smoked sausage hit his nose. He immediately felt reminded of his childhood, of a time when he had been happy, before life had torn him apart. He couldn't resist a blissful smile, nor did he want to, and entered the taproom.

Behind the wide, wooden bar stood Diana Winchester, a woman of staid age with flowing grey hair and fake breasts under her stone-grey blouse. It was not difficult to imagine that she had once been a very sought-after barmaid, her beauty was still clearly recognizable despite wrinkles and aging youth. When she heard the creaking of the door hinge, she looked up and at the sight of Kakashi, a smile settled in her bright eyes. "Kakashi!" she shouted, carelessly putting aside the beer mugs she had actually wanted to put away, scurrying around the counter and pressing him feisty to her large chest.

Kakashi grinned into her wavy hair at this usual joyful greeting and patted her gently on the back. "Hi, Diana."

"Man," she said, breaking away from him and clapping her slightly wrinkled fingers, still hot from the dishwater, on his cheeks, "you've grown so big."

"We only saw each other a year ago," he mumbled embarrassed and balanced the box with the cake again so that it wouldn't be damaged.

"Yes, but for me you'll just be that little boy with the grape spritzer," she explained cheerfully and patted him briefly before letting go of him again. "Say, how are you?"

This question was not forced small talk from her, but Kakashi still swindled, "Good."

"Yes? I'm happy about that." With her effortless smile, this lie hurt even more. "Henry! HENRY!" she yelled over her shoulder and through a side door behind the bar came her husband, a burly guy in his mid-sixties with a green checked shirt, greying hair and a heavy box of lemonade in his hands. "Look who's here."

Henry heaved the box onto the counter, came to Kakashi as well and smiled in his full beard. "Hello, Kakashi. Good to see you." They exchanged a firm handshake. "You've grown up."

"I said so," Diana giggled teasingly. "Today it's that time again, isn't it?" she asked to Kakashi, who lost his smile and nodded. "Yes, dad will come by later."

"I'm really glad to hear that," Diana nodded. "It's great when certain constants in life don't disappear – even if it's a day with the Hatake men."

"Yes," Kakashi replied, didn't know what else to answer.

"Is there the cake in there?" Henry asked, pointing to the box. Kakashi nodded. "Give it to me, boy, I'll chill it so that the icing doesn't run."

"Thank you."

Henry and the cake disappeared into the kitchen. Kakashi without cake sat down at the table where he had always sat and let his gaze wander around the room. Only a few other guests were present at this early lunchtime, drinking coffee or even beer, eating the dish of the day – shepherd's pie, of all things, Kakashi got hungry – and looking at the TV at the bar, where the news was playing.

This place was just as cozy as it had been in Kakashi's childhood. Over the past nine years, the pub had lost a good deal of its charm, although nothing had changed on the outside. But there was an important part missing that Kakashi connected to Winchester: his mother. She used to dance over the blemished floorboards here, swung her wiry curls through the air, earned applause from those present. She had been such a cheerful nature that it hurt all the more that Sakumo and he had been infected by her death as much as by her life. So, Kakashi was all the more confident that today could give him and his father back a spark of that carefreeness if they both forgot that she was gone forever.

"Here you go," said Diana, placing a glass of sparkling grape spritzer in front of his nose. Kakashi laughed at the sight. It was his glass, which he had always used, with the small paw prints all around. "That you haven't thrown it away long ago.."

"Why should I?" Diana replied indignantly. "This has its place in the display case and is taken out every year on July 24, just for you. That's how it always was, that's how it always will be."

Kakashi smiled gratefully at her and took a sip, but was immediately distracted by a group of people who squeezed through the door, heavily laden with all kinds of instruments and large, black boxes. "Hello," said the man who led the way – dull brown hair, dark, slightly greyish-looking skin, thin eyebrows, black tank top, pierced ears and clearly visible tattoos on the muscular upper body and neck through the sleeveless shirt. "Sorry if we're too early, but we didn't want to be late either."

"Ah, the gentlemen of the evening – oh, and the lady, sorry," Diana beamed and turned away from Kakashi, who was looking at the motley crowd of people with interest. There were seven people who could hardly be more different in terms of look. The guy who had spoken was best matched visually by the only woman among them, with two dark red braids, pale skin, an emaciated face, black make-up around her sunken eyes, silver studs on her ears and a tattoo that stretched from her collarbone down to the neckline of her olive-green top. Even the fattest and tallest of them could roughly be counted as a punk – rings on the earlobes and nose, reddish-brown full beard, a topknot with a brown headband and a fluff of chest hair on the black shirt collar.

The rest of the squad fell completely out of the pattern. A guy who must be in his forties with a grumpy face, a broad nose and a dark blue knitted cap, one you would call a "hippie" without offence, with his colourful wooden beads in his beard and hair, one with skin so pale and hair so white that without his black T-shirt he blended into the bright sunlight at his back, and the wildest of them all: a man, his skin white as snow, his hair blond and tousled like an old bale of straw, tall and scrawny, as if he would be blown away by the shallowest breeze, white ribbon wrapped around his unnaturally long neck and a face that might as well have been a mask.

Kakashi was completely confused. You could see Greyskin, Meth-Crone and Podge in a rock band with a lot of imagination, but the others? What was Straw-Mask supposed to do, rattling with the visible bones?

He looked after the group, which was guided by Diana to the back of the pub. When she came back to the front, Kakashi stood up and took over one of the high bar stools. "Who are those birds?" he asked shamelessly.

Diana, now finally stowing the clean beer mugs under the counter, explained friendly, "These are musicians from London, call themselves 'The Seven Swordsmen'. They're playing here tonight."

"On a Wednesday?"

"Why not?" she shrugged. "Many are free in the first weeks of the holidays and well, admittedly, we are not a big pub, no crowds are expected here. But Henry and I were happy when we got the request. This is something new again, we want to be well received by the young people."

"You do, or am I already as old as you?" joked Kakashi and earned a playful slap of the tea towel.

"Not so cheeky, young man!" laughed Diana and washed another round of glasses. "I can well imagine that the music will appeal to you. You still listen to rock, don't you?"

"It can never be hard enough," Kakashi said as he raised the glass to his lips, and at that exact moment an aroma of sweat and a spring-fresh men's deodorant reached him that made him forget about swallowing. He got spritzer in his windpipe, snorted across the counter and rattled with bursting lungs into the crook of his arm.

"Ho-ho," said Greyskin's voice next to him and a strong hand patted him on the back. "Is it okay?" he asked when Kakashi could breathe coughing again. With tears in his eyes, Kakashi nodded and gave the man a quick look. It was he whose smell had thrown him off his game so much. "Sparkle," he choked out, turning away from the guy and his broad muscles as far as he could on the stool, and desperately trying to regulate his breathing. For some reason, he was infinitely embarrassed by the way he behaved in front of this man. And even worse: the reason for it. Why had he felt a tingling sensation in his crotch just by his smell?! Something like that was not normal! And then with a man. No, that wasn't normal. Had Diana mixed drugs into the spritzer?

"Hey, is it really okay?" asked Greyskin with a mixture of worry and amusement. "Ma'am, could I get a handkerchief for our friend here?"

"Please, call me Diana, I'm not old enough for 'Ma'am' yet. Here, Kakashi," Diana said and a red napkin was held in front of his watery eyes. Kakashi just nodded, dabbed his tears with it and let out a burp, for which he immediately apologized.

"Gee, no more carbon dioxide for you, huh?" joked Diana and took the half-empty glass away from him.

"Man, now I've scared you so much that they're stealing your drink," Greyskin grumbled. "Can I at least order you something new?"

"Uh.." Kakashi said, cleared the last drops from his trachea and ran his hand through his neck in embarrassment. "It's all right, that.."

"No, honestly," Greyskin straddled in, "I don't want to deprive you of your refreshment. What would you like to have?"

"Beer," Kakashi only managed to say. It was still much too early, not even one, and he had never drunk alcohol at the Winchester, but something about this situation demanded the sweet release that only alcohol could trigger in him. And even if it was to block out the smell that this guy pressed into his nostrils.

Greyskin nodded and ordered eight beers, one of which he pushed Kakashi to. "By the way, I'm Zabuza," he introduced himself as he slowly let go of the handle of the jug.

"Kakashi and yes, I can swallow normally." Why had he said that now?!

"I want to see that," Zabuza winked, placing the remaining seven glasses on a tray that Diana gave him, and bringing the drinks to the back room. Again, Kakashi looked at the door frame for a long time, but in contrast to before, it was not an irritated curiosity that blazed in him now, no, it was something else that he couldn't define, apart from the shame of his ambiguous saying.

For the next few hours, he ate slightly oversalted shepherd's pie, talked to Diana and Henry about the pub and the commotion that the Crescents' imminent demolition caused among the people, listened to sound samples from time to time, resisted the urge to just go to the back and watch the Swordsmen set up their instruments for the evening. Around three, Henry took the cake out of the fridge, which Kakashi placed in the corner with two small plates on the table, and he waited.

And he waited even longer.

It was four, five, six, seven.

Sakumo didn't come.

Again, there was this tiredness, which did not come from a lack of or poor sleep, but from a tormenting certainty that he was about to lose his father into depression once and for all.

He lifted a piece of cake onto his plate, chewed a bite, but the pastry tasted bland and dry. It probably wasn't, but Kakashi felt as if his taste buds were slowly dying. He pushed the plate away from him, got up and walked over to the jukebox, where he chose a special song for the sake of tradition.

"This is for you, mum," he whispered without anyone being able to hear him, took his empty beer bottle, which Diana had simply put in front of him at some point, probably because she was a good-hearted person and knew what was going on in Kakashi, and held it in front of his mouth like a microphone.

It whirred, clicked and Piano Man started. Kakashi waited for the harmonica's first solo and began to sing softly with Billy Joel. "It's nine o'clock on a Saturday.. the regular crowd shuffles in.. there's an old man sittin' next to me~" – he put an arm around the shoulders of an unknown pensioner – "Makin' love to his tonic and gin~" – the man raised his glass with a smile.

The second solo, Kakashi, moved away from the man at the bar and stood in the middle of the room, singing louder, "He says, 'Son, can you play me a memorry~? I'm not really sure how it goes.. But it's sad an' it's sweet an' I knew it complete.. when I wore a youn~ger man's clo~thes."

During the "La lala di-dee-da~ Lala di-dee-da, da-dammm~" he swung back and forth like a flower in the wind, took a breath during the harmonica and bawled, "Sing us a song, you're the piano maa~n.. sing us a song ton~ight.. well, we're all in the mood for mellodyy and you've got us feelin' alright.."

For a long second, Kakashi forgot the song and felt it much more clearly at the same time. All the memories, all the good times, them as a family, here, when everything had been fine, beautiful; they brought tears to Kakashi's eyes. One rolled over his cheek, fell from his jaw when he started singing again, not as before with Noriko and later Sakumo, now dancing all alone through the pub, including other guests in the lyrics, getting a drink from a woman, playfully inviting a couple to a kiss.

Towards the end of the last verse, he had reached the back tables, where the swordsmen had spread out, watching his performance. Kakashi's gaze immediately landed on Zabuza, who was sitting sideways of the outermost chair with a bold smile, his arm resting on the backrest.

"It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday~ .. and the manager gives me smi~le.." – in fact, Zabuza's smile widened – " 'cause he knows that it's me they've been commin' to see to forget a~bout life for a whi~le.." – Kakashi couldn't take his eyes off the dark brown of Zabuza, didn't put the energy into singing that would have been necessary – "and the piano it sounds like a carnival.. and the microphone smells like a be~er" – he toasted his beer-bottle-microphone in Zabuza's direction, who laughed into the loud music, Kakashi grinned scornfully, shrugged his shoulders, moved his head to the side, and struck up the last lines, now with more vigour again.

His musical journey took him back to the bar, to Diana and Henry, both of whom seemed like overly proud grandparents, equally sad about the occasion of the performance and amused by the way Kakashi made a fool of himself in front of all these strangers. They had always been here, a time capsule for the happy memories of the Hatake family, a small consolation, a candle under the dark veil of mourning.

When the singing ended and harmonica and piano made their last notes, Kakashi bowed deeply to the two, remaining in this position until the jukebox fell silent and applause erupted. He straightened up again, tilted his head to the left and right with a pinched smile to thank the audience, looked into the eyes of the Winchesters, which glittered with tears, and took a deep breath. "Thank you, mum," he whispered tonelessly.