Chapter Text
Iridescent wings flutter around bare twigs, their greenery stripped by the seasons before. By endless wars. Through the cacophony in his mind, the tumult of ten beasts and their one voice keeping his thoughts suspended, no longer his own, Obito watches a butterfly break out of its cocoon from across the battlefield, born into a tragedy without any choice in the matter. He listens, watches, and in time the thing inside him lulls into a strained hush, a beast-instinct quiet that belies the power now flowing through his veins. He feels no danger even while surrounded by enemies; only emptiness.
Something is missing. The Jūbi clamors once again, its voice ringing in his head, echoing with the desperate need for completion. Find it! Find it! Find it!
A thick mist settles across his eyes, thoughts coalescing into a migratory pattern in search of a solution. There are interruptions in his chakra pathways, the tiniest of bumps interfering with full synchronicity between all the elements bleeding across his nerves. The thing inside him, stretching his bones and sinew to the breaking point, carving out his organs into nothingness as it devours his tattered memories, corroborates the theory with a glass-broken rumble, full of promises and tributes. He breathes out with false lungs and the Jūbi eases. It laughs, the mirthful notes dark and cruel, and tells him to hurry, hurry, little host. Obito straightens, staring at his hands, at the unnatural hue and warped scars, and inhales slowly — his senses guiding him to the welcoming void of Kamui.
In a blink, a moment marked by the increased heartbeat of another, Obito looks around the endless dimension, then at the would-be-corpse staring at him with what might be horror. Revulsion. And yet, beneath it all, a sliver of hope persists despite everything.
“Obito? What… happened to you?”
He has no answer. It doesn’t matter.
Devoid of hesitation, Obito teleports in front of Kakashi, lifting him by the throat as he molds a truth-seeking orb into a surgical instrument. This feels like the right path: taking back his eye, revoking a gift that’s served its purpose. Removing it now would certainly kill Kakashi.
He presses the needle-end of pure chakra closer, silent as Kakashi struggles. He would have succeeded against any other opponent, but against Obito? It’s useless.
Yet, at the first raw of blood, the cut precisely applied over the vertical scar, Obito stops— the dead silence of Kamui interspersed by Kakashi’s haggard breathing.
“Obito.”
That voice. It’s so very, very tired. It speaks of decades worth of exhaustion, of mourning. It speaks of acceptance, and the expression Kakashi aims at him is something resembling peace. He’s tired of living, struggling, and almost dying. He wants it to end. The mercy of death would be a kindness.
Obito tilts his head. The many voices of the Jūbi coalesce into one thunderous command: Take it! Take it! Take it!
It’s not the Sharingan it demands, he realizes. It’s Kakashi himself.
Stability. Connection. Balance. The ancient thing sees those possibilities in Obito’s former teammate. It bestows flicker-brief memories of a time his mind cannot comprehend, let alone understand, but it presses the point of a bond to the forefront. A bond promises much, a completion of the self; the formation of infinity itself. They’ve already begun the process, the Jūbi provides, pulling forth the memory of the cave-in and Obito offering his eye to Kakashi. And then of Kakashi piercing his chest with Chidori, the hum of a thousand birds echoing in his ears like the first storm in spring.
Give and take. It wants the imbalance between them rectified.
With the knowledge imparted, the thing inside him recedes and grows silent. It waits.
“Kakashi,” Obito says, lowering him to his feet. Gentle. His fingers linger over the bruises and smooth across the curve of his jaw.
“Obito,” Kakashi repeats, holding onto his wrist like a lifeline.
Kamui shudders around them, expanding once more into infinite shapes. Obito presses closer, able to feel the rabbit-quick pulse of Kakashi’s heart. Entreating, Obito moves Kakashi’s hand to where his heart should be, the empty space between his lungs ringing hollow at the contact. “Only you can help me.”
Kakashi’s exhale is a trembling thing, full of miserable confusion. His touch remains frozen, the splay of his hand warm across Obito’s chest. Eventually, a second, an eternity later, determination bleeds forth and pushes aside the doubt, his altruistic self proving true and unyielding.
“Tell me what to do.”
He must be willingly blind to the threat Obito poses to the world. Obito caresses his cheek with his knuckles, pleased at the response. The hungry thing inside him purrs, urging for more. More contact. More connection. It wants and aches for completion, reverberating through his marrow with the all-encompassing need. Humming, the sound low and dangerous, his hand drifts down Kakashi’s chest, a surge of pure chakra feeding into the injuries. Mending flesh without kindness, the faintest notion of an apology on his lips at the pained reaction, Obito leans closer, pushing Kakashi against one of the cubes, and kisses his left eye — drowning himself in the quiet gasp as Kakashi's white-knuckled grip scrapes across his shoulders.
“You can say no, Kakashi.” And he means it even if the Jūbi rankles at the idea. Obito hooks a finger into Kakashi’s mask, not pulling it down yet, and adds, “You’ve enough burdens to carry as it is.”
Still, even when he doesn’t fully understand the situation, Kakashi guides Obito’s hand lower, slow and intimate until the revelation of his face greets the twilight. It’s a beautiful sight in this ruined place; unworthy of someone ruined as Obito. “You’re the most important thing to happen to me. I want to help you.” There’s a lightness to his tone, the casual, reality-shattering truth curled in the corners of his mouth, and Obito makes a desperate, half-bitten noise, the yet human parts of him surging in, thoughtless of the action.
There’s a moment of too much pressure before Kakashi adjusts the angle of the kiss into something less bruising, with less teeth and more tenderness. It’s the easiest thing in the world to breathe him in, kissing Kakashi like he’s water, fluid and giving. He pulls away only slightly, resting his forehead against Kakashi’s, and gazes at him with a touch of breathless wonder. The restless noises inside him are gone, for now.
It’s a fleeting bliss he grasps onto with all his might.
The next series of kisses only grows deeper, sweeter. A push and pull akin to the tides. Barriers shed, clothes discarded, Obito traces Kakashi’s cheek with his thumb, unable to speak as those long legs wrap around the divot of Obito’s hips, fingers twisted into the short strands of his hair as he makes Obito sink further into him, all wet noises and gentle encouragement. Like Obito is a wounded, pitiful creature he’s taking care of — and maybe that’s close to what’s happening. His spine bows, shuddering with tension, and their hands twine together like the roots of an old, twisted tree.
The cold bite of Kamui’s air sends goosebumps up Kakashi’s limbs. It’s not quite right, but then nothing could be normal about this. Despite everything, they find a balance somewhere. Obito’s skin warms where Kakashi touches, and greedily, like the monster he is, he swallows the ragged groans with inhuman hunger.
(You can be rougher.
I’d rather not hurt you anymore, Obito told him.)
He needs more. The energy in him flares, the cascading torrents demanding for the pathways to be complete.
“Kakashi.”
“Tell me what you need.”
You, you, you.
He pulls Kakashi’s hand to his chest again. “Finish what you started earlier.”
Immediately, Kakashi’s eyes widen, muscles tensing with apprehension. Before he could pull his hand away Obito grabs it, guiding his fingers through the appropriate seals as he did during their fight. Monkey. Dragon. Rat. Bird—
“You won’t kill me. I promise.”
“Then tell me why you need this.”
Obito closes his eyes, feeling the electric resonance of Kakashi’s chakra build beneath the skin. “Something is missing in me, Kakashi. And you’re the key to fixing it.”
Ox.
“Then promise me something else.”
Dog.
“Anything,” Obito whispers, his senses feeling nothing except for Kakashi’s warmth. His entirety caring for nothing else save for Kakashi’s approval in that moment.
Tiger.
“Stop this senseless war.”
Please, his steel-edged eyes convey alongside the bell-like words.
In an unknown language, the sensation impossible to translate, let alone describe, the thing inside his bones, his soul, gnaws at all of him — surging to the surface with the need to appease. Please, please, please, it repeats. Yes, yes, yes, it chants so fervently. Anything. Ten voices respond and answer, though Obito can’t articulate it in their tongue. It seeks out balance, the steadying force of the bond circumventing all other priorities as the universe itself falls out of focus.
“I will.”
Monkey.
Birdsong fills the air and Obito stares at where Kakashi’s hand is piercing him, wrist-deep. He spits out the approximation of blood, ink-dark, and grins as the lightning spreads through his body, coalescing through the broken chakra paths like a healing balm. It should hurt. It feels lovelier than he’d ever thought possible.
Obito sighs and finds himself able to breathe, finally.
Lucidity comes with the price of sharp, prickling awareness, the memories of his rebirth painting a stark image in the mind’s eye. He attempts to sit up, but the weight atop his chest gives him reason to pause.
“I can hear your heart.” That is what Kakashi tells him, ear pressed to the scaled, inhuman expanse of his torso. He looks dazed.
“You gave it to me, after all.”
Somewhere in the quiet, the air settles; the sky inside Kamui begins to lighten. For a brief moment, Obito sees himself through Kakashi’s eyes, even stranger and more alien than before. And yet, he feels no revulsion from the man, his bonded. The steadiness holds.
They gather their bearings slowly, unable to stop touching each other throughout the process. No matter how brief the intervals, any absence hurts, Obito realizes, and feels the flicker-flame of joy each time he drags his palm over Kakashi’s spine. The Jūbi remains satisfied, finally silent and under his control as it preens at the whole-and-perfect connection.
“I like the new look.” There are fingers in his hair before they tug at something that he didn’t have before. “Is it because you were horny for me?”
Swallowing the defeated groan, preferring to lean into the touch rather than acknowledge the terrible wordplay, Obito traces the scar over Kakashi’s eye. The feather-light sensation reflects across his own nerves as their Sharingan spin, unhurried and in sync.
“You can feel it as well?”
Kakashi nods, his placid expression doing little to hide the conflicting emotions bubbling right beneath his calm veneer. Obito lets him have the illusion of privacy.
“It’s strange… I can feel you, and then there’s something else too.”
Wordlessly so, Obito understands. He kisses Kakashi, chaste and gentle, and kisses the corner of his mouth as good measure. “Any regrets?”
Something flashes across Kakashi’s eyes, twenty-odd years of tragedies condensed into this instant, but he shakes his head. “Not if it’s you.” He steps back, their hands still interlinked, the callouses and scars of their fingers wrapped up in an endless mosaic of a hard life, and gestures to the emptiness around them. “You made a promise, Obito. We can figure everything out later.”
Even Kakashi sounds unsure of what ‘later’ would entail, his fingers squeezing tight around Obito’s before forcibly relaxing, the watercolor-wash of trepidation tinting their bond, but Obito acquiesces. He moves Kakashi’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, managing to muster up a smile. He feels more human, more alive when Kakashi returns the gesture with equal amounts of affection, devotion. “I can bring you Madara’s head as a gift.”
“Maa, that would be a nice start, dear.”
The endearment, even when it’s delivered by a teasing cadence, does something warm to his insides; like honey dripping across the tongue.
“Ready?”
Outside the safety of Kamui, a battlefield rages on.
Undeniably, he feels nothing for the dead and dying, but Kakashi’s spike of sorrow, infused with a touch of horror at the evidence of carnage, spurs him to action. Indeed, neither of them are strangers to death, but it’s all for a senseless war; in vain, just according to a madman’s plans.
It’s time to put a stop to this.