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The mokuton user looks angry, even while unconscious.
It’s unsurprising. Kabuto has kept the flow of poison into his bloodstream steady, knowing that at the earliest chance, the shinobi will destroy his own body or attempt to escape. The former seems more likely, in his current position. The pain must be excruciating. And beyond that, in his waking moments, he’d had the same frustrated expression as almost all shinobi in this pitiful world. The face of someone who had tried and failed to protect someone. Uzumaki Naruto, in this man’s case.
Madara, as the world knows him now, approaches the man. The sharingan works best with a clear line of vision, so he waits until Kabuto is preoccupied with his reanimations in order to begin extracting information. Kabuto’s supposed truth serum hadn’t been very effective, perhaps because the Kyūbi’s bodyguard was already too far gone to speak. When Kabuto had pried open his mouth, there’d been blood, likely from the man trying his best to bite down on his tongue.
No matter. It’s no difficult thing for a sharingan to see into another’s mind. Madara removes his mask, and forces his captive to wake up.
Yamato stares up at him, and only has a half-second to register surprise at the face he sees before his expression goes blank.
Madara suspects that someone who carries the mokuton might have some sort of seals on his mind, depending on the degree of paranoia his village leaders possessed. So he starts with a memory he can verify, and makes Yamato recall when he’d come to speak to Uzumaki Naruto in an inn.
The image conjured is one of himself, as seen from below, standing beside Hatake Kakashi while he plays at being bound by Yamato’s mokuton. He hears himself recounting Itachi’s story, and taunting the jinchūriki with words about Sasuke and Nagato.
As is a byproduct of this kind of mental intrusion, the feelings that Yamato experienced are rising to the surface. Frustration, again, directed at Madara. Confusion and doubt, about Itachi. Worry, largely for the jinchūriki behind him, but also for Kakashi, and the pink-haired kunoichi who Madara had seen with them sometime earlier, all of whom call Sasuke their teammate. To Yamato’s credit, he is better at keeping his emotions in check than many other shinobi, but the undercurrent of the feelings still runs through the memory, a minor distraction.
He follows the scene to its end, and watches Kakashi ask him what it is that he wants.
“…Well, if you must know… it is to become complete.”
He feels Yamato’s dread at his words, and watches himself disappear.
He can’t find any flaws in the memory. Each word is exactly as Madara first uttered it, and the sharingan can’t see any chakra in their surroundings to indicate that Yamato’s mind has been fortified to prevent further invasion. It seems safe to proceed for more useful intelligence.
Battle formations are a more pressing need than the jinchūriki. Kisame’s intelligence had been fairly thorough, but Kumo’s Killer Bee doesn’t have the patience for war council meetings, so there are gaps. They are likely to have moved the jinchūriki from the last location after Yamato’s capture. And with the right bait, Naruto will bring himself to Madara. So he prods Yamato’s mind in search of a memory related to the Fourth Shinobi War.
He feels Yamato begin resisting with a surprising degree of force for someone so weak. It’s not clear whether he’s regained any control of his chakra, or if he puts up a fight by sheer force of will. Madara sees Konoha’s war council blurring in and out of existence. He pushes back against Yamato’s attempts to throw him out of the memory, and the room becomes clearer.
Several tables line the room. Among them, there are faces that Madara can place among Konoha’s elite. Yamanaka Inoichi and Nara Shikaku, the village’s strongest minds. The leaders of the Aburame, Inuzuka, and Hyūga clans. The Yondaime Hokage’s former guards. At the front of the room are the Godaime Hokage and her advisors.
By the looks of it, there are still a few open seats, so the shinobi talk among themselves in solemn whispers.
Yamato’s position is towards the front of the room. He sits stiffly, with his hands clenched in his lap. He doesn’t speak to the neighbour to his left. More so than the previous memory, Yamato clamps down on any emotion that manages to take root for more than a moment. His focus is entirely on his Hokage.
Until, that is, someone settles into the seat on his right.
“Yo,” says Kakashi, waving a hand.
“You’re late, senpai,” says Yamato, with no real aggression in him. In fact, his stiffness lessens a bit, seemingly by instinct.
In Yamato’s periphery, Kakashi shrugs. “Not the latest,” he says, nodding to the empty seats. “The Sarutobi clan leader still hasn’t arrived, and Shizune is still outside the doors verifying everyone’s entrance.”
Yamato angles his body towards the other man slightly. “Neither of them will be leading a battle regiment.”
Kakashi mirrors him. “Tsunade-sama hasn’t named me publicly yet.”
“There’s no one else,” says Yamato simply; warmly. “You’re the most qualified leader in Konoha.”
Laughing, Kakashi says, “Last week you told me my feelings cloud my judgement.”
Yamato shrugs. “They do,” he replies. From what Madara has seen of the man Kakashi has grown to be, his assessment of Kakashi’s character is correct, yet Madara can feel no less respect emitting from the subject of his genjutsu. “Even so, your love of your people will bring more of them home.”
Kakashi seems like he’s about to say something, but the Sarutobi clan leader arrives, and they are forced to direct their attention forward once again.
Senju Tsunade’s words confirm what Kisame’s report conveyed. The Allied Shinobi Forces are 80,000 strong, divided into five main battle regiments. As Yamato predicted, she names Kakashi as Captain of the Third Division, handling short-to-mid-range battle. He stands with a straight back and accepts, as Madara knew he would.
The other captaincy choices are much to expectations. Yamanaka Inoichi is named Captain of the Intelligence Division, and Tsunade’s right-hand woman Shizune will head the Medical Division. Nara Shikaku will take the role of Chief Strategist.
The Nara have always been clever, in the same way the Uchiha have always been easily overcome by their fragile emotions. But in particular, Madara knows, Shikaku has been a burning star among his bright clansmen.
It will be a pity to lose him before they enter the new world. But inevitably, Madara will be forced to eliminate the brains of this beast. No doubt, he will have occasion to return when all is righted.
He supposes there’s no use getting lost in halfhearted sentiment. As it is, his attention is pulled away when Yamato’s name is called, and he stands before his Hokage.
“Your mission is to protect Uzumaki Naruto and prevent him from becoming involved in this war,” says Tsunade, with pursed lips which indicate she was outvoted on this matter.
“He’s already involved,” Kakashi mutters, quietly enough that it’s likely only Yamato can hear him.
Yamato doesn’t let his gaze flicker. He nods and bows. “I understand, Hokage-sama. I will do my best to keep Naruto safe.”
“Two jōnin will accompany you. Aoba, Gai.” She gestures to the two shinobi, who stand further down the table.
The presence of Yamashiro Aoba at the capture site had been confirmed by Kabuto not long ago, and though he hadn’t noted Gai’s presence, Kisame had, and it’s possible Gai was locked away with the jinchūriki at the time. It is useful to know that they have been abiding to their war council plans thus far.
Although each individual member of the forces is not named, based on the input from the clan heads, and their discussions of strategy, it is fairly easy to ascertain where the nation’s most powerful ninja will be distributed. And knowing Konoha and Kumo’s contributions, Madara can easily understand where other important names will fall into place.
He already knew the Akimichi would be using their hijutsu to hold the coast on the edge of Kumo. Foolishly, they keep their plans open and consistent in information channels across the villages.
The Hyūga, by nature of their techniques, will be largely placed in the close combat division. Madara knows their eyes will not be of much use against the Zetsu. Those that work with animals like the Inuzuka and Aburame will be in special battle units. While more pesky, they are bound to the needs of their partners, and won’t last.
As the most versatile, Kakashi’s regiment will be the one that will be pushing forward on the front. This group will be the most important to delay.
It seems that Konoha’s mokuton user has value in more than merely sustaining the Zetsu, after all.
Oddly, Yamato himself doesn’t seem so convinced of this fact. Beside his ever-growing worry for Uzumaki Naruto, the greatest emotional output from him as the council adjourns is a feeling of helplessness. It stems from neither cowardice nor despair, which makes it harder to understand.
Kakashi understands, it appears, by the way he puts a hand on Yamato’s shoulder as they filter out of the room. “It seems like you’ve got an even harder job than I do.”
“Yeah,” says the other man, sighing. “It won’t be easy to keep him in the dark. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stop Naruto from learning about the war. And once he finds out…”
“…He’ll be on the battlefield in a heartbeat,” Kakashi finishes, sounding equal parts exasperated and proud. “Tsunade knows it too.”
Yamato rolls his untouched shoulder back, and it pops from having sat forward in the chamber for so long. The sensation is made strange for Madara by the knowledge that the DNA within this body is not dissimilar to his own composition. The sheer amount of time spent in this memory is settling him too much into Yamato’s experiences.
“It feels like we’re just humouring the other villages,” Yamato admits, rubbing at his sore joint. “And besides, if the mokuton is the only power with a chance against the bijū aside from your sharingan…”
“You feel as though you could improve the survival chances of the main battle regiments.”
“Vastly,” Yamato says, without arrogance or presumption. “I know that this is where I’m needed, for now, but it’s difficult to accept that I won’t be able to be of much use in this war.”
At this, Kakashi pauses his stride, forcing the other man to turn around and face him. “Of course you’ll be of use,” says Kakashi. “You’re the key to stopping Madara’s plans from coming to fruition, Tenzō.”
The name strikes Madara as strange. He’s only ever heard this man referred to as Yamato, and he wonders if he’s finally happened upon something that might reveal a false trail or trap lying in this mind. He presses Yamato’s memories for the name Tenzō, and without meaning to, opens some kind of floodgate.
He’s in a kind of tent, with a heavily-bandaged jinchūriki and another young shinobi. But the teenagers are not where Yamato’s eyes are focused in the memory. He is looking at Kakashi, and shaking his head profusely. Kakashi looks back with every indication of great amusement. “Don’t you even want to hear what I have to say before you make up your mind, Tenzō?”
And then he’s in a hospital, staring down while Kakashi sits up on the bed. “I’m going to need your help if we want Naruto to have any chance of standing up to the Akatsuki, Tenzō.”
Abruptly, Kakashi is younger, and wearing an ANBU uniform and mask, recognizable only by his silver hair and the sharingan gleaming in his left eye. Yamato dons the same outfit, his red tattoo visible as he stretches his arm out to check the pulse of a young Uchiha. Madara knows for a fact the girl is not alive, because he had been the one to kill her. Kakashi reaches for Yamato’s wrist and says quietly, “There aren’t any survivors in this sector. We have to keep moving, Tenzō.”
In a moment, Kakashi is younger still, and there is a difference in height which makes Yamato tilt his head head to look him in the eyes. Kakashi’s eyes are crinkled. “What’s with that face? Are you worried about me, Tenzō?”
The perspective shifts, and Yamato is lying down on the ground. There is something almost familiar about the sensations that Madara senses coming from him, and when Yamato’s gaze drifts to his side, he sees a wound that is clearly poisoned. Unintentionally, Madara searches for Kakashi in the memory, and sure enough, when Yamato looks back up, there he is. Yamato’s eyes struggle to stay open, and Kakashi reaches out to pat his face firmly. “Stay with me, Tenzō. You’re going to be fine.”
The poison certainly does its job weakening Yamato, because Madara can feel his emotions running higher in this memory than the ones previous. Surprisingly, what is foremost in his recollection is neither fear nor pain. It is silent, unguarded affection.
The same feeling has been threaded through all of these memories, Madara realizes. Beside irritation or sorrow or concern, there is always something in Yamato which clings to the comfort he finds in Kakashi. Admires him. Perhaps loves him.
Nohara Rin comes to mind unbidden, and suddenly Madara feels horribly like Uchiha Obito.
And like Yamato can hear the echo of that name in his mind, the scenery changes once again.
“…Got this eye?” Kakashi is saying. Both parties lean against a tree in a darkened forest. It is evident in Yamato’s line of vision that their clothing is bloodied and ragged. “It was a gift from my best friend.”
Obito (for that’s who he is, for the present moment) startles. This version of Kakashi is in sharp contrast to the shinobi he’s seen protecting Uzumaki Naruto. He looks young and vulnerable, and without the hitai-ate to hold up his hair, far too much like he’d looked with his hand through Rin’s chest.
“I thought Gai-san was your best friend,” says Yamato. A mix of curiosity and caution flows from him to Obito.
“There are different kinds of friends,” replies Kakashi lowly. “Obito wasn’t a rival, exactly. But he was someone who drove me to be better in ways other than my fighting skills.”
Yamato stares into Kakashi’s open eye. “I understand,” he says, and Obito can feel the boy merging the description of his future captor with his image of Kakashi. “He sounds admirable.”
“He was,” says Kakashi, a gloved hand coming up to touch his scar. His hand drops, and he lowers his head. “He was the one who taught me never to abandon a friend.”
Bizarrely, Obito can feel gratitude towards himself through Yamato. The boy in the memory smiles. “I suppose if not for him, we might not be here now.”
“In the middle of Kusa waiting for back-up with barely any chakra to speak of?” asks Kakashi, turning his head. There it is, that same tinge of amusement that Kakashi never had as a child. It’s not quite sincere enough to be called playful, but it’s a marked change from his severity. “If he knew we were here, he’d probably come after us himself.”
“He’d likely run into at least half a dozen enemy on his way,” remarks Yamato. As he says the words, his eyes inspect their surroundings warily.
Kakashi shares in the vigilance, if the way he briefly opens his left eye is any indication. It is always odd for Obito to see it, but it’s been Kakashi’s eye longer than it was his. “Obito would get to us eventually. He was always showing up late anyway,” he says, amusement fading to a more tired look.
Yamato reaches out to cover Kakashi’s eye with his hand. “It seems I have Obito to thank for your bad habits, then.”
Kakashi moves the fingers away, but closes his lid over the sharingan. “And the good ones.”
Obito wonders if Kakashi is fixating on him so heavily because he’s in Kusa, where Kannabi Bridge is located, or because he’s been using the sharingan. But he suspects the answer is much simpler. It is the same reason why Obito has seen him stand at the memorial stone and Rin’s grave every time he has returned to Konoha. Kakashi knows only how to grieve, and he has seen enough loss to be sorrowful for a lifetime.
Kakashi mourns for Rin, and for himself, and for their sensei, all of whom are nothing to this world anymore. He mourns for Uzumaki Naruto and Uchiha Sasuke, who have not yet died. He’s probably begun mourning for Yamato, who will soon be nothing but fodder for the Zetsu like a worm beneath the earth.
Men like Kakashi are the perfect example of why this reality must be rewritten.
Yamato disagrees, both by the echo of his pride for his teammate and the near defiance he is leveling at him. “Wherever your habits came from, senpai, they’re the reason we’re alive. Give yourself credit for that.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet.” To emphasize his point, Kakashi turns suddenly, and surely enough, a moment later two bloodied Kusa nin emerge from the cover of the trees.
The Konoha ANBU rise to their feet. Though Yamato doesn’t look back at his partner, his words are clearly for Kakashi when he forms a serpent seal and smiles. “Exactly.”
Obito finds himself jerked back into the present. He stares at Yamato’s wide, blank eyes. He hadn’t expected to hear that name in this man’s memories. He’s stood brazenly in front of both Yamato and Kakashi, but never under the name of the boy who died at Kannabi Bridge.
It is clear from this memory and all others that for Kakashi, Obito has never stopped being a friend. Kakashi reveres his bonds with his dead comrades, inserts them into the broken pieces of his life even as he anguishes over their absence. Even constructs imagined friendships between them and new precious people.
Would Uchiha Obito have gone to save Kakashi and his friend? Would he have appeared behind the Kusa nin at the last minute and paired his sharingan with Kakashi’s to defeat the enemy, as Obito had once imagined?
Would Yamato have become Obito’s friend, too?
Perhaps that friendship would also find a way to fall apart, like all the other bonds that have surrounded Kakashi’s life. Either by the cruelty of this world itself, or what they have become by living in it.
Kakashi certainly had too much grief to consider Rin’s feelings for him. There is no reason to believe he will carry any less when dealing with Yamato.
Or Obito himself could be the one to drive them away. Always, always, too late. Half-successful, but never on the side with significance. Still unable to forgive Kakashi for failing to protect the one good thing this world had to offer. Rin.
Obito knows it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. But if Yamato knows Kakashi this well, if he’s been by his side since his early days in ANBU… had he known Rin? Had they spoken, before she was ripped from this world?
The inclination to see her, living and breathing, as she is meant to, is too strong for him to resist.
He dives back into Yamato’s subconscious, a single name in mind.
“Why did you kill Nohara Rin?”
Unsurprisingly, the first thing Obito notices in the memory is Kakashi. What does surprise him, however, is that Kakashi is advancing on Yamato as he would an enemy. It feels as though Yamato is making even more effort to attack than Kakashi.
Soon, Yamato is pinned to the ground, with a lightning blade hovering above his chest. Kakashi’s killing strike.
Yamato was of Root. There’s something almost amusing about Kakashi befriending another lost soul. It is nearly the only type of person he knows how to attract.
He should’ve known this memory would be fruitless. The very words that began it told him there was nothing to gain here.
Halfway through Kakashi’s excuses, the laboratory fades into a bedroom, lit only by moonlight. By the photos on the desk and shuriken blanket, it is Kakashi’s.
This time Yamato is sitting cross-legged on the bed, while Kakashi sits on the ledge the window, fiddling with the leaves of a plant.
“Kakashi-senpai, may I ask you something?”
Kakashi shrugs. With his back to the window, his expression is hard to discern. “What is it, Tenzō?”
“It’s about the flowers,” Yamato says carefully. “When we paid our respects to Uchiha Shisui today, the flowers you laid were white. But earlier, when I spoke to you, the flowers you had in your hand were pink.”
Even in the dimness of the room, Obito can see Kakashi’s eyes lift in a smile. “Very observant.”
“Kakashi.”
Kakashi’s pleasant expression fades to something more sombre. “Those flowers weren’t for Shisui.”
“Rin?” asks Yamato, but Obito can tell he already knows the answer. “They were… an unusual colour, for the occasion.”
“She liked the brighter ones,” Kakashi says guilelessly. It is a fact he and Obito had fought over once, when they’d gone to visit the grave of Rin’s father and Obito had insisted that Rin didn’t want them to bring white lilies. “I bring them to her, when I can.”
“Did you—” Yamato cuts himself off before he can complete his sentence, but Obito can feel the ANBU’s own pressing interest in the question. “Never mind.”
Kakashi uses the foot hanging off the ledge to prod Yamato’s leg. “It’s unlike you to hold back your thoughts with me, Tenzō.”
Patiently, the other man lets silence fill the room until Yamato musters the will to speak. “Did you love her?” he finally asks, rushed and embarrassed.
Kakashi turns, so half of his face is to the window. “Obito loved her.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Kakashi’s pale hand rests against the glass. “I abandoned her. Whatever she felt for me, it’s not something I deserved,” he says.
Where Obito expects the echo of jealousy, instead Yamato feels indignation. “You’re a good person, Kakashi.”
With a feeble laugh, Kakashi says, “You sound like her.”
“Good,” Yamato replies. A hint of the embarrassment comes back, and Obito can guess the source. Still, he persists. “You should listen to both of us.”
“I’ve never been very good at listening,” Kakashi says, reaching out to let his fingers brush the photo frame by his bedside. It’s too dark to see it, but it’s obvious what it is.
Obito can’t stand to hear this anymore. This isn’t what he’s come here for, is it? He already knows what pains Kakashi, because it is the same thing that ailed him, before he’d seen the answer to their problems. What he needs is to know what causes pain in Kakashi’s allies. Friends. Comrades.
Yamato begins fighting Obito’s intrusion again, as if he’s woken up. Obito decides to use the awareness to his advantage, letting Yamato summon forth the memories for agony and Konoha himself.
He sees a picture book of a pale boy with black hair and his grey-haired brother, doomed to fight each other.
He sees the pink-haired kunoichi crouching over Uzumaki Naruto’s burned body.
He sees Sasuke striking at his two former teammates, uncaring whether they live or die.
He sees Sarutobi Asuma’s students laying flowers at his grave.
He sees Konoha in ruins after Nagato had unleashed his retribution upon them.
He sees Naruto clutching his heart and collapsing into the snow.
He sees Hyūga Hizashi’s body being delivered to Kumo by three ANBU in his brother’s stead.
He sees Maito Gai explaining how his father died with an overtly bright smile.
He sees Kakashi standing at Rin’s grave, and then the memorial stone, the same age he is now, a picture of their old team in his hands. At this moment, Yamato tries to pull focus onto that picture, onto Obito. Obito lets him, for a moment, tired of being bombarded with this man’s pathetic feelings.
“Your team is—” says Yamato, in the memory, before Obito pulls them both out.
When they return to the cave once more, he finds Yamato’s eyes have somehow regained some of their light. It might be that Hashirama’s cells are adapting to the poison, or that they didn't drain enough of his chakra from the start. The latter won’t be true for long, so Obito does not concern himself with the questioning gaze.
“You’re… Kakashi’s…” Yamato manages to gasp out, through his bloody mouth. “You’re… Obito.”
“Not anymore,” Obito tells him quietly, putting his mask back on. He raises his voice to call out deeper into the cavern. “Kabuto! The mokuton user has served my purpose. Now let him serve yours.”
Yamato doesn’t have any energy left to speak after that, but his eyes never leave the Uchiha as he’s pulled into the darkness.