Chapter Text
He is in the cusps between child and adult. Child and adult.
Adult.
He is an adult. In the eyes of the law, in the eyes of the greedy dictators, in between his nation and his military, there is nothing that signifies him as a child.
Not his unreached height, nor his too small face with baby fat still clinging to the cusps of his small cheeks.
It is the eyes, they say. His eyes that have watched the blood engulf his all too childish figure, blood that his etched onto his skin no matter how many times he tries to rub it off.
Friend-killer, they whisper. Whisper among the crowds, whisper to stab, to hurt, to satisfy their own selfish quenching without even understanding the impacts of …
He is not a child. Perhaps it happened when he reaches the kunai before his own toys, before he even came to kill as his innocence washes away like the blood of his enemies. Akin to the land where the red of children who have not even reached puberty laying lifeless as their leaders languish in their riches beneath their worthless sacrifices.
As such, he does not view himself as a child, more akin to a weapon used and disposed of as needed from his leaders, his gods, his everything. He breathes within them as they wield him too, delicate and beautiful and deadly as he cuts down animals without remorse nor humility. He is merciful, cruel, anguished as he is a tool necessary for whims and dictions of his gods.
If he cannot be wanted, he will be needed and if he cannot even be needed, let him be used of until there is nothing left except for the crimson flow of his heart and the howl of the Hatake blood ringing amongst the plains.
Anbu is a place where he can express himself most freely. He is free, the Hatake blood singing the names of the people he has cut down with utmost efficiency and demanding at the expense for more. Anbu is his saviour, a place to freely let go of some of his distorted personality hidden by the plains of his mask with astounding proficiency.
With Minato-sens- no. With Hokage-sama, he almost could taste the freedom of his humanity still there. Could still envision the bright God among mortals laughing, singing his praises as even the sun shone down for him.
Now all he can imaging is the red blood crying for him, encasing his so small figure that reminded Kakashi that even Gods can fall. And the higher the God is, such the pedestal that Minato stood upon, shining and breathing life even as the canaries of the seas sang for his blood, that the harder the fall is. And as such, when Minato fell, when the God among mortals ceased to exist and the seas cried no more and the shine blotted away, all that’s left is the eyes of a dead man, gone and dead and only left with the gaping hole in his body.
Oh how the stars sobbed in the wake of their fury, how the star of Gods shone too brightly and perished too soon. Oh how the Uzumaki waves crashed for their dead Princess, used nothing but as a weapon till her very last breath, agonizing and crying and nothing existing of her fiery personality that she should be remembered as.
Kakashi only remembered them as dead, with only a gaping hole and the last of both their connections crying wildly in the dead of the night. How Naruto Uzumaki’s heritage sang to the Gods of the waters, and how the stars shone brightly in the wake of his existence.
He can never be close to him, for Kakashi will only let the red of his entire being seep into the untainted child, child of the God among mortals and the Princess of waves, seep and seep until even the innocence will be washed away.
He does not let himself get close, for his open wound that was never stitched back up will only bleed onto the child of sunshine and Gods - Naruto.
So he throws himself into Anbu missions, knowing every mission he takes might be his last. He doesn't mention the look in Sandaime's eyes when he passes them, for the God of Shinobi must think of his village and its people before his weapons.
That is what it is to be a Kage.
The Sandaime does not look at who Minato considered his own child, bleeding and grieving over the absence of his people, with blood as his only companion. He passes suicide missions and finds the Sandaime cannot look him in the eye.
Maybe Kakashi is already considered a dead man, because what is he if he is not but a living corpse?
And this particular mission, he may not actually come back from.
Kakashi accepted the Anbu mission to assassinate a shinobi that was influencing the trades of Konoha's enemies and knowing they must be cut down.
It was meant to be simple, really. Kakashi had completed the mission. He was to take on another one as soon as he entered Konoha's gates once again.
What they didn't know though, was how much Kakashi was desired for his eye. How astronomically valuable, a Sharingan was to a single man.
And when Kakashi is alone and by himself, bleeding and panting in exhaustion standing in front of the multiple figures of blank masks, he realises.
Realises how much Obito had sacrificed himself for, how much he had truly given him for a single eye. For a single Sharingan is more treasured - above the remains of a 13 year old boy with dreams and memories and a future.
For they left a boy to rot and remain discarded had Kakashi Hatake not brought back his single Sharingan eye. How it had more value than letting him go with respects and returned to the fire from which all Uchiha were conceived from.
For if Hatake Kakashi had not come back with a single Sharingan, had that Sharingan be left with the body of Obito Uchiha, he would've at least been tried to retrieved, tried to be recovered, but without the Sharingan the remains had no property, no value.
Everyone tries to covet a Sharingan, but to be so desperate, to be so needed of such an artifact, they go to such lengths to discard of even a Konohan soldier, weapon, dog.
One of their most elite, in fact. There's a reason Kakashi still hasn't been killed yet.
Kakashi stares in the pale blanks of his fellow weapons, and feels a sense of kinship. And then, anger.
How dare they?! How dare Danzo?!
To kill a fellow comrade is treason. To covet a bloodline limit is even worse.
How dare they try to desecrate Obito's memories? How dare they, how dare they, how dare th-
All Kakashi sees after that is red - and a single blood drops from the iris of his left eye.
He's severely disoriented when he wakes. He blanches - he can feel the cusps of chakra exhaustion and the edges of his wounds pulling him back down.
Wisps of shouting is pounding into his head, the clang of metals reverberating through his skull.
He doesn't- can't remember what happened, and all he has left is the bloodstains left of the vest of his uniform.
When he awakens his eyes - its to fighting. Multiple enemies, fighting in an enclosed area he has never seen before. It doesn't look like any Hidden villages he's ever encountered, and his senses are going haywire at all the new visuals and smells he's receiving.
He has landed in the middle of a fight and immediately ignoring his body- jumps taunt as he is flung with multiple weapons from different directions.
He carefully assesses his injuries and enemies, calculating his chance of survival. There are multiple enemies, all armed with ranges of weapons, clumsily handled without care nor question.
He is bleeding heavily, a large gash to his ribs and multiple lacerations across his entire body. His left arm is fractured, and he can feel his ribs grinding in protest whenever he slightly moves- he ignores the hitch of his breath when it does. It does not matter. He will fight and fight and continue to do so until his last breath, until his Gods say he can die, until they order him to lay down and give rest.
A shinobis death is almost never peaceful, for peaceful is for wrinkled skin and old age and should -should be for the sun that perished too fast and the fiery woman who’s hair was as red as her blood.
He will not die, until his Gods order him to die, because it is not up to him to decide what he will do to his own body, for it is not his, not ever and will be. So he knows he will not perish, his body trained to be in the war for more than a decade and these enemies don’t even know the top and bottom of their own weapons. He ignores the man bleeding sluggishly, crushed into the floor, unresponsive while blood pools around him.
(Now take this; it is as similar - so achingly painful and hurt- Kakashi doesn’t see a man who used to be so bright even the stars sung for him and a woman so protective the waves cried in her blood as they both disappeared to the injuries of the mortals realm.)
He only needs one kunai. It is all he needs. It looks something of Orochimarus creation- something failed, something ugly, something exactly like him.
For he is only but a weapon in the eyes of his Gods, forevermore used and used till he is discarded and abandoned.
He ignores the drips of blood coming from his wounds marring the floor, ignoring the children (fight now, fight now, assess assess later).
He lunges at the creature, the creature too big and too large his movements so obvious and predictable even Obito could defeat it.
(But he can’t defeat him when his body is half crushed, blood smearing his features as it is forever trapped in his memories, crystal clear as Obito is dying, 13 forevermore and a Sharingan to see the future for him.
Obito only saw the death of his beloved Rin, whom he failed to protect.
Friend-killer, they whisper.)
It is laughably easy to hit it with his kunai, hitting deadly accuracy even with his wounds dragging him behind. He thinks he almost has it, before the monster starts to push out the kunai and regenerate before he can even start throwing his next rounds.
Monster. Monster. Monster.
(No. Those are reserved for those sitting behind their wealth, watching beyond their surroundings to condemn children younger than they to fight a war they never should be in.
Monster is for the people who let the boy who is forevermore 13 die in the remains of enemy grounds, eternally alone and scared with only a gifted Sharingan to see his future.
Monster is for the people who desecrated the body of the girl he swore to protect, terrified eyes and only the sound of chirping birds permanently engraved into the black of the night.
Monster is for people- people like him. )
He readies his grip in his kunai, automatically assuming a stance that will guarantee him a direct line of path to go for the head of the monster.
It will be clean and silent, everything is pounding in his ears and he is on the verge of collapse, but until he kills this thing-
"DO NOT WORRY, FOR I AM HERE."
This isn't good, he thinks. Too many enemies, he's gravely injured and he doesn't have a way out of this situation.
He can’t - can’t pass out in enemy territory. Everyone knows it’s a guaranteed death. No. Kakashi will fight with blood and teeth and dirty even if he has to make it back to his Gods.
He holds up both hands for the incoming assault, and faster than a blink of an eye the bulky man is already on top oh him. He's almost as fast as-
Kakashi goes plummeting onto the next floor of the area, the wind knocked out of him and a fresh new batch of blood pouring out of his mouth and drenching his chin. He knew it was coming, and yet the punch from the blond man is making him see black spots in his already wavy vision.
Kakashi is crumpled onto the floor, and he cannot move to stand up. Red is in most of his vision, and where he places a hand to his mouth he can feel the vibrant liquid seep in between his fingers. He doesn't have to be a medic nin to know it isn't a good sign.
Another voice joins, but his hearing is so mottled he doesn't know if he's hearing correctly or he's having hallucinations from the blood loss. "All Might! The bird looking one! That's the villain!"
He thinks he hears gunshots as he struggles to get himself to stand. He has to escape now when he has a chance.
Clutching his stomach, he scraps the last of his energy to make a desperate limp towards the exit.
Trust in his luck to know the Gods are never truly on his side.
Upon him, 3 enemies gather around him. Only one speaks.
The man that tries to talk to him is so achingly similar he can feel a wound rip open again and again when there was never one. The blonde only two shades off, but the brightness, the stars, oh how it revered amongst the mortals and whispered 'you killed him, you killed Minato.'
“Hey hey, what’s your name buddy? We don’t want to hurt you, okay?”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Everyone wants to hurt him. Even his own father.
Covet me, covet me if you dare. I will perish with only my teeth in your back and the Hatake blood marked into your history.
Covet me, covet my blood, my body, my eyes.
He is most deadly when cornered, and right now despite his wounds he is the most cornered animal of all.
He snarls, blood tainting his face as it drops down his chin and across his vest. These enemies are ones he has never encountered, too colourful for the shinobi world and dressed in eccentric fashion like something Gai would wear.
He can’t think straight, chakra exhaustion pulling at the edges of his vision, blood loss making him spin when he has several enemies in front of him. He can’t die now, can’t die when he has to see Obitos future for him.
Immediately his eyes glance to the woman with midnight black hair, as she moves to rip her sleeve. He doesn’t understand why, but he doesn’t have to.
(He doesn’t understand why they don’t kill him, when he is so obviously weak and could be killed with one stab.)
“Move, and you die,” he rasps out, blood in his throat making it hard to talk and breathe.
Even if he dies, he’ll take at least one of them with him.
For he is of Hatake blood, and they do not go down at least without vigour or spite nor everything in between.
(Sakumo was a weak man, weaker than anything he will ever be and he died alone and cold with only the sound of his own sobs to echo within his death.
He died and left his 6 year old son to find the remains of his honour.
He had none, and that is why Sakumo died a weak man, and never as a Hatake.)
He loses track of their standstill, but he curses himself when he takes his eye off for one second-
And just like that, not out of his own volition, he begins to feel the dredges of sleep pull him under. He knows it is the work of something or someone, and he desperately tries to fight and fight but he is so tired.
In one last ditch attempt, he reflexively tries to swing his kunai to his own arm, ignoring the sounds of muffled shouts, and he grits his teeth and bears the pain.
Even so, he cannot fight the instinctiveness in his blood that is bred to be a shinobi, hanging onto the last dredges of his consciousness as he sees black swarm into his vision.
He knows he won't make it back out alive today. He knows, knows, but still his limbs fight and his mind screams when all he wants to do is just lay down and rest.
At least, he hopes, that he will see Minato and Kushina, Obito and Rin, and beg and grovel at their feet for his sins will never be washed away. It is a cruel thought, one of simplistic dreams, for he will never go to where they went.
For we will meet his own father down in the pits of hell, the Hatake blood calling for repentance where one died by his own hands, and the other let all his precious people die except for himself.
There is no other side, Kakashi realizes.
Somehow, that thought gives him comfort.
The last thing he sees before he plummets to the hard ground is in the sea of his own blood, his reflection of himself stares back at him like a forgotten ghost.
He had forgotten what he had looked like.