Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moonlight stains the blood on his sleeve a midnight black. He coughs again, chokes on the metallic tang that fills his mouth and falters. The world is hazy and grey in a way that it shouldn’t be. Behind him lies the body of an Uchiha, two small punctures on the boy’s neck, and he recognizes the boy from the academy.

Obito.

Hissing cuts through his thoughts. Eyes up front. He tightens the grip on his tanto and steps back, putting himself between the looming figure before him and the unconscious boy behind. His arms shake and his legs crumble beneath his weight but he can’t turn away. He can’t just let this outsider take one of their own, he can’t—

But what can he do?

The stranger takes slow, even strides, his shadow overtaking them, yellow eyes a muted grey in the midnight air. 

Kakashi cannot move.

A pale hand reaches out, caressing his cheek with the pad of its thumb, and everything is screaming at him to run but his body won’t listen. A cold rush is spreading up from his ankle, one and then the other, and he feels the tightness of something coiling up his legs.

Snakes.

“Ahh, the Hatake boy,” the man hisses, locks of black hair hanging over his ghostly glowing skin. The man is smiling. “It’s a little late to be playing all on your own. I don’t suppose the White Fang is around, hm?”

Kakashi swallows the bile in his throat and tries to swing his tanto but can’t. His first attack is his last and another blind lunge will do nothing to this monster.

They are going to die here tonight.

“Seems like a waste to just get rid of you,” the man says, cocking his head to the side as he looks Kakashi up and down. “But I can’t let you go. You’d cause me quite the headache.”

He feels the sharp pinch of fangs on his skin and then through it. It’s the second time now. His vision grows darker with each bite but his mind is on the kid behind him, the one who started all of this.

Wake up.

The stranger’s grin stretches wide, wider than any jaw ever should, revealing behind it a long, serpentine tongue.

“You could be useful. Prove me right, little chunin,” the man says. “Show me something interesting .”

Chapter Text

It starts with a silent breakfast table after dawn. Sakumo lays out the meal he prepared and starts on the dishes without eating. He never feels hungry anymore. Food turns to ash in his mouth, and he can only keep it down long enough to digest it when his son is here with him. These days, Kakashi hardly spares him a glance. His hands stall, the running tap like white noise to his thoughts, and he takes a steadying breath. When he looks at his hands, he no longer sees himself. He sees what others see—the disgrace of the village.

This is how his son looks at him.

Kakashi is soundless when he enters the dining hall. Sakumo wouldn’t have noticed his entry had he not stolen a glance into the other room from the connected kitchen. His boy removes the lid from a steaming pot and serves himself. He watches until Kakashi watches back, the corners of his fingers curling beneath his mask, waiting. A silent command.

Sakumo closes his eyes and turns away. Soon he hears the sounds of movement and of eating, but he doesn’t look. He doesn’t quite remember when Kakashi started wearing masks and hiding his face From Sakumo. Perhaps that’s a memory long buried, and perhaps the best way to deal with it is not to address it at all.

He looks up.

Kakashi is gone from the table. The house is quiet and solitary without a passing word between them, and it weighs down on Sakumo like lead. He feels hollow. If it were only his village and his fellow shinobi who looked at him with shame, then maybe there would still be something left of his heart to scrape off the floor. But Kakashi looks at him with that very same contempt. What he did is as much Kakashi’s burden as it is his. Oh, how he hates it. He hates that his own shortcomings have become his son’s problems. Kakashi is a fine shinobi, even at a young age, even despite his petite frame and lacking height. He’s skilled with a kunai and absorbs every ounce of knowledge presented to him like a sponge.

Kakashi is given the same looks as his father when he’s done nothing wrong.

Sakumo scrubs his hands over his face and stares out the kitchen window at the main road in front of his house. Kakashi disappears down it today, just as he does every other day, and with his retreat come thoughts that Sakumo knows he shouldn’t humour.

Sakumo has not been given a mission in a long time. A part of him longs to be useful again. Another, much louder part reminds him of his teammates' faces carrying the same disdain as everyone else. Sakumo doesn’t regret saving them despite this. He could never. He doesn’t, but he does regret doing a poor job of it. If he had continued the mission alone, perhaps, or—

But he didn’t. He didn’t, and now he is paying the price.

There is not a lot to do for a ninja with no missions. Sakumo keeps the house spotless and tidy as a way of clearing his mind; he removes clutter and with it, his thoughts. But those same thoughts grow persistent with time. There’s a way to free his son from his shame, even if he, himself, will forever be remembered as a blemish in Konoha’s history.

Kakashi grew up without a mother. It wouldn’t be fair to force him to grow up without a father, too. Sakumo reminds himself of this, but with each passing day, it gets harder.

By the time Sakumo pulls himself from the spiral of his thoughts, he feels like he’s been drowning. He looks up and the sky beyond the window is dark. The house is darker. He creeps through the living room and up the stairs to his son’s room. This isn't the first time that Kakashi makes it home without Sakumo noticing, and he, at the very least, wants to check on his boy before bed. Sakumo doesn’t sleep much these days. It’s getting harder to let his mind go blank. With each passing breath, he wonders how long this can go on. He wonders how long he can last.

For a time, he stands outside his son’s door and wonders what to say when he opens it. He didn’t use to think like that. There was a time when words came naturally to him, as natural as a smile, as easy as breathing.

It’s so hard now.

Sakumo slides open the door to his son’s bedroom a crack, expecting to see Kakashi with the blankets pulled up to his chin. He doesn’t. The bed is empty and Sakumo frowns. He wonders if Kakashi’s mission is taking longer than anticipated. It wouldn’t be the first time. He enters the room and straightens the sheets, taking a cursory glance around and sighing. The family portrait on the nightstand lies face-down against the wood. Sakumo isn’t surprised.

He won’t be able to sleep, so he spends the night alone, digging through the old pictures he has boxed away in his closet. The only one he has of all three of them is the one Kakashi’s rejecting on his nightstand, but Sakumo has many of his wife. He has many of Kakashi. He flips through the photos with a tired smile. These two mean the world to him. He misses his wife dearly, misses her more with each passing second of the day, but Sakumo sees her in Kakashi. It's her face beyond that mask. Kakashi's hair and eyes are a product of his father, but everything else is his mother. Sakumo is grateful for that.

When she died, Sakumo knew that he would be okay. He would—had to be—because he had Kakashi. If the whole world turned against him, then that was fine. All he needed was his boy, his son, the memory of his wife there on that young lad’s face, and he would be alright.

Kakashi’s rejection is the last nail in a coffin that Sakumo does not want to build.

When morning comes, then evening, with hide-nor-hair of his son, bile threaten the back of Sakumo’s throat. It would not be the first time that a mission took a turn that caused a delay—Sakumo, himself, is frequently the subject of such turns, what with the war going on—but something doesn't feel right.

His first stop is Mission Desk. Mission details can’t be given out, no, of course not. But they can, at the very least, let him know if the team made it back. They did. The young lady on duty checks the scrolls and confirms with him that his son’s squad handed in their report before nightfall the previous day. That does nothing to ease his nerves. Kakashi is in the village and Sakumo should be grateful for that, but it doesn’t explain why he never came home.

Sakumo tries the team captain next, banging on the man’s door in the late hours after sunset. He gets a similar report—that the team separated after meeting with the Hokage, and that the captain completed the mission desk report alone. Kakashi should have gone home after that.

Sakumo is a calm man. It takes a lot to rile him up, and more still for him to panic. Sakumo does not panic. But there’s something inside him that won’t let him rest. It wrangles his feelings, trying to think rationally. It’s the same voice that made the decision for him that night when everything went wrong and as much as it put him in the position that he’s in now, he wants to trust it. He has to.

It’s all he has.

His last stop is the Hokage’s office. Sakumo can see that the lights are still on, and it brings him relief. He leaps up, tapping on the window, and Hiruzen slides it open with a too-tired sigh.

Hiruzen is an avid smoker. His pipe is lit, the tail end tucked between his lips, held in one hand as he signs documents with the other. With the advent of the war, the Hokage’s workload became even more burdensome than it usually was. Now, Hiruzen never sleeps. It seems that way, at least to him. Hiruzen looks more weathered now than even during the trenches of the last war.

“It’s unlike you to make such a late visit,” the Hokage says, never looking up from his paperwork. The bags under his eyes betray just how long he’s been here.

Sakumo climbs in through the window and humbles himself before the Hokage. No matter his rising unease or the disgrace that he brought his name, Sakumo is a shinobi of the Leaf, and he will treat the Hokage with the respect that he deserves. “I apologize, Lord Third. I know how busy you are.”

Hiruzen’s eyes lift, and he offers a tired, half-hearted smile as he waves away Sakumo’s formalities. “Enough of that. What ails you, boy? You’re white as a ghost.”

“Yes. Right. I’m sorry.” Sakumo takes a breath and with it, he grounds himself. He rises to his feet and wordlessly implores the Hokage to give him the answers that he needs. “I understand that my son paid a visit to you last night. Would you happen to know where he went after making his report?”

Hiruzen considers this a moment. He places his pipe down on the free space on the desk and interlocks his fingers, pressing them against his chin. If nothing else, Sakumo can be sure that his question is being taken with the utmost care. He appreciates it. “He never mentioned,” Hiruzen settles on. “Why? Is the boy missing?”

Sakumo presses his lips together and says nothing. He doesn’t want to admit it. It feels like if he does, his fear will become reality. Kakashi is not the type to run away, no matter the hardships he faces at home or how strained their relationship may get. But even if Sakumo can’t verbalize it, he nods.

“I’m sure he hasn’t gone off far,” he assures, more for his own sake than Hiruzen’s. “It’s just… unlike him. He’s never done this before, and I’m worried.”

Hiruzen narrows his eyes. Sakumo knows that look. He knows there’s something going on in that mind that he won’t like the implications of. But if Hiruzen has something to say, he doesn’t ever say it. “If he hasn’t turned up by morning, notify me. We’ll organize a search party.”

“Right. Thank you, Hiruzen. That means the world to me.”

Sakumo bows and leaps from the window in which he entered, worried more so now than ever, so much so that he doesn’t even notice the casual tone he takes with the Hokage. It doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is putting this puzzle together.

Sakumo first checks Kakashi’s usual hangouts throughout the village—the book store, the weapons shop, the playground that he’d go to occasionally to play with other kids his age. Kakashi was always in a hurry to grow up, leave his childhood behind and become a shinobi of the Leaf, and it saddened Sakumo. He encouraged the boy to play with his peers even as he ascended the ranks to chūnin at six years old. In reality, he never wanted his boy to be treated like the prodigy that he was. No matter how proficient a warrior his son may be, he is still a child. He is young and inexperienced and deserves the years of peace afforded to others his age before he’s forced to cope with the brutality of war. But that is not what the village wants. That is not what Kakashi wants. Still, Sakumo does what he can for his son to hold onto even the smallest bit of childhood.

Sakumo really, truly believes that Kakashi will be here. This is where Kakashi runs off to whenever they have a rare but heated argument. If he is mad at Sakumo or needs time away, this is surely where he'll be.

It isn't. The playground and the park to which it belongs are empty and desolate and for a time, all Sakumo has the strength to do is sit on a bench and wait out the night. He does so, head in his hands and a weight on his heart.

Kakashi does not have friends. There was a time when he got along well with children his age, even if he was a little boastful, a little too sure of himself. A little cocky. Lately, that hasn’t been the case. Kakashi withdraws in much the same way as his father, and it’s painful to see. He tosses aside the bonds he made and Sakumo knows with perfect certainty that if he were to ask any one of the children Kakashi once played with, they wouldn't know where he is.

Sakumo is alone in this. He is alone and scared, and the thoughts that once burdened him do not hold a candle to the weights confining him now.

Kakashi is the world to him. Kakashi is the one good thing he has left.

Kakashi is everything, and he’s not here.

The search party is a large one. It fans out in all directions, with Konoha at its heart. No matter their thoughts on Sakumo, every shinobi present is focused on their duty, on finding the budding young chūnin who disappeared that day. Sakumo has not slept since the last time he saw his son. Exhaustion weighs down on him, but he doesn’t feel it, not really, not with his mind so focused on Kakashi.

Sakumo is an excellent tracker. He headed a team of them back in the day before he was known as the White Fang. It was a time when he was just a budding newcomer, himself. His wife was on that team—a member of the Inuzuka clan, a woman with the skills and cunning of the greatest of hunters. That was how they met. They reformed that team again when the kidnappings started—children disappearing from the hamlets surrounding Konoha. By then, his wife was no longer there.

The worrying part comes when none of his ninken can locate the boy’s scent. This isn’t right. This has never happened before. His dogs never once lost a trail right at the start. These summons are his most trusted allies and for them to have lost the scent so early, to never make it out of the village—

There is something very wrong going on here.

By the fourth day, Sakumo is dragging his feet. By the sixth, he finally collapses. He wakes up in the hospital hooked up to all sorts of things that he can’t be bothered to care about. The moment he’s up, he’s trying to drag himself out the door. A hand pushes him back down onto the hard sickbay mattress, and when his eyes search for a face, he finds Hiruzen staring back. He doesn’t try to get up again. Instead, he swipes a hand across his face and smooths back all the emotions threatening to surface. He doesn’t want to see Hiruzen’s pity. It’ll only hurt more.

“What good will you be to your son if you’re half dead when you find him?” Hiruzen asks, sparing no sympathy as he seats himself on the bedside chair.

“I know,” Sakumo breaths. Once he’s sure he’s reigned himself in, he lowers his hand back down to the bedsheets. This time, when he moves, it’s to sit up. Hiruzen helps him prop up a pillow behind his back, and the moment he’s upright, his head starts to spin.

“You haven’t been eating,” the Hokage chastises, “or sleeping, have you?”

Sakumo won’t meet his eyes but knows that Hiruzen sees through him. He always has.

Hiruzen sighs. “Take care of yourself. If not for you, then for that boy of yours. He still needs you.”

“I know,” he says again. There’s a tray of food by his bed that soon finds its way into his lap. At first, all he can manage is to pick at it with his chopsticks. Then, with all the discipline drilled into him by the war, he eats. He eats as though this is a mission given to him by the Hokage because it’s the only way he can force himself to do so. If not for that, he would be chastising himself for eating while his son is still gone. He doesn’t have the time for this. He needs to get back out there, to rejoin the search.

Satisfied for the moment, Hiruzen leans back in his seat. His face is edged with unspoken stress and lined by age as it threatens to catch up to him. “Another child was reported missing the same day that you reported Kakashi,” he says. “An Uchiha within the same age group.”

Sakumo looks up from his half-eaten bowl. “You think they’re related.” It isn’t a question. They’ve known each other long enough to know what the other is thinking, and the Hokage's pursed lips say it all. It takes time and willpower to return to his meal. “This has been an ongoing problem, hasn’t it? Disappearances like these.”

“For many children, yes.”. He inclines his head, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes. “It stopped for a time, but I wouldn’t out-rule the possibility that this case is related.”

“Back then it was infants, if I recall.” Sakumo remembers. They had the families of the missing children bring belongings to the front gates the day that the search began—clothes and toys, whatever they were last seen interacting with. Sakumo used the scents from those items to give his ninken a starting point. They were able to follow the trail into the surrounding forests and then—nothing. “And the disappearances happened outside the village, not within it. Why would that change now?”

“Unclear,” Hiruzen says. “There’s a common thread between the Uchiha boy and your son, however.”

Sakumo nods. “Bloodline traits.”

While not comparable to the Sharingan eyes of the Uchiha clan, the Hatake’s heightened senses are a coveted asset, especially in the world of trackers. Kakashi’s sense of smell is not classified as a Kekkei Genkai, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s useful. It may be a stretch to lump it together with something as powerful as the Sharingan, but it’s the only connection they have. For now, it's something.

“Why, though?” he asks. The bowl is empty. His stomach sloshes uncomfortably, and he’s worried he ate too fast, but it’s too late to ruminate on that now. “This other boy, you say he’s Kakashi’s age?”

Hiruzen nods.

“The assailants in the previous kidnappings were after infants. Why now target a chūnin and a student?”

Hiruzen lifts his head and takes the tray from Sakumo’s lap to discard it off to the side. “I couldn’t say. But I’m hard-pressed to believe that those boys left of their own volition.”

No. Kakashi would never have run away. Kakashi isn’t like that. He’s much too responsible, too mature, for anything like that. Sakumo hasn’t thought about that possibility, not even once.

Hiruzen is standing now, squeezing Sakumo’s shoulder. “Rest. Return to the search when you’ve recovered. Don’t worry yourself into an early grave, old friend.”

Sakumo watches him leave. Despite his title and all the prestige that comes with it, the Hokage is much like an older brother to him. They fought alongside one another, and they returned from the trenches with only their lives and a mound of loss behind them. The war brought with it endless tragedies, but they came through it with no family to speak of, only each other. Hiruzen is family to him, as much as anyone can be.

Thoughts of his own personal failings are pushed to the wayside. Hiruzen is right. He needs to stay strong because if he doesn’t, who will?

It must be a scary experience to be called out of class by the White Fang. The girl, Rin Nohara, the last of her clan’s bloodline, leans back against the wall with her eyes cast to the dirt. She rubs one arm with her opposite hand, taps the toe of her shoe against the ground, and worries her lip. Sakumo smiles. It’s a tired thing, but it’s all he can manage in the two weeks of his son’s absence. He hasn’t lost hope, not yet, and this is only the next step in the process.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to worry you,” he says. His tone is gentle and fatherly, taking from what he used to use with his boy, back when they exchanged more than a few short words. She meets his eyes and her brows crease. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Obito Uchiha, if that’s okay.”

Rin’s eyes dart around before she settles on him again and pushes off the wall. “Are you going to find him?”

“I’m going to do my best,” he affirms. He doesn’t kneel to match her height or even crouch—it's rude, even to children, if his son is an example to follow. He gives her the utmost respect. She may have only had eight years to live by, but that doesn’t make her account of things any less valuable. According to Obito’s homeroom instructor, the boy was a bit of an outcast. He sees his only friend in Rin Nohara, the little girl before him. The only family that he has is his elderly grandmother, a woman in poor health who Sakumo spoke with the previous day. “Can you tell me a little about him?”

Rin thinks for a minute. “He’s a loudmouth,” she says. Her words are fond and exasperated all at once. “He’s going to be Hokage. He’s not very good yet, but he says he’ll be the best one day. I believe him.”

Sakumo nods. “I bet he will. Did you happen to see him the day he went missing?”

“We were walking home together. Obito lives further than I do, so he walks with me and goes the rest of the way himself.”

“Around what time was that?”

Rin thinks for a minute, her eyes raised to the heavens. “Sunset?” she answers uncertainly. “Obito pulled a prank on the teacher, so he was punished and had to stay late. I waited for him. He gets lonely.”

He smiles. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Rin blushes and looks down at her shoes. Sakumo’s too distracted to tell whether it’s a sign of a schoolyard crush or a simple show of embarrassment. Either way, Obito’s last known sighting lines up well with Kakashi’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Like what?”

Sakumo thinks for a moment. “Like, hm… Anything strange, perhaps? Something he wouldn’t normally say? Or maybe where he was headed?”

Rin shakes her head, shoulders slumped, looking for all the world like she’s failed her dearest friend. “No, I don’t remember anything like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sakumo ensures. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Will this help you find him?”

“I sure hope so.”

At the very least, it puts things into perspective. Before now, Sakumo had a lot of trouble finding witnesses to Obito that day. It appears that the boy isn’t given much attention around the village. Even the Uchiha’s clan leader, when prompted, did not want to speak of the boy. Were it any other Uchiha, the clan would be in an uproar. They pride themselves on their bloodline above all else. They keep track of their members with unhealthy scrutiny. But Obito Uchiha, this missing boy, is not their priority.

It’s the next day that Sakumo learns why. He goes to Hiruzen with this newfound information and a favour to ask. He’s given access to Konoha’s registry. It isn’t so hard a thing to gain access to—the registry—provided that the Hokage gives written consent. It’s through looking in the database and finding the scroll dedicated to the Uchiha lineage that he learns that Obito’s blood is not pure. A soiled bloodline is grounds for banishment from any old clan, and none are as stuck in their ways as the Uchiha. The father was ousted from the family when he asked the clan head for permission to wed his lover, a clanless civilian. After the birth of their child, both parents died, one and then the other. Obito was left with only his maternal grandmother to care for him.

Obito is a boy sorely missed by few, an Uchiha with no guarantee of inheriting the Sharingan eyes for which his clan is so well known. It’s easy to see why he makes for an easy target.

Why Kakashi, then?

Sakumo’s heart breaks the day that the search is called off. After two staggeringly long months, Hiruzen apologizes. The strain of manpower the search pulls is like poison in this time of war, and Sakumo understands, really he does. He knows better than anyone the travesties of war. For so many of their shinobi to be pulled into what is a meaningless endeavour to most puts everyone at risk. These are bodies better left to fight on the frontline, to keep the battle away from the village. To keep civilians safe. Sakumo understands, but that doesn’t make it any less of a blow to the gut.

Sakumo continues on his own. He hears the whispers in the streets of how his mind must have been lost when he made the grave error that he did in battle because he’s still out there searching for a lost cause. He hears the way people gossip about how his son left to put distance between himself and the Hatake name. Sakumo hears it all, and it feels like a pit of tar struggling to pull him down to a place he ought not to go.

A place where only death awaits.

But Sakumo knows Kakashi better than anyone else. He knows his son, and he loves his son, and the only thing that keeps him going is that love.

On the anniversary of their disappearances, when a memorial service is held, Sakumo does not attend.

The funny thing about time is that it numbs all wounds. In the early days of his son’s disappearance, Sakumo was nothing more than the byproduct of his own fear and loss. Now, he spends the majority of his day seated alone in the dining hall, one serving set in front of him and an empty bowl across the table. He sits there until his food grows cold, until he finally gathers the energy to eat, until the sun is cresting the horizon, and he’s ready to set out once more. The hope still buried deep inside is smothered beneath layers of apathy.

Sakumo no longer expects anything from his searches. He goes out simply because it's the only thing he can do. The gate guards look at him with sympathy every time he passes by. He tries not to think of it.

The forests of Konoha have always been home to him. As a young lad still learning his Hatake senses, he made those trees his own personal playground. He would track animal prints in the dirt and leaves and scent them out, follow them to wild game. The Hatake clan was one of high standing, but the war took its toll on the village. Poverty was something everyone experienced until the village pulled itself back together again and returned to normalcy. He hunted to offset the blow that it took to his family. He used his senses to hunt. Through hunting, he learned tracking. Through tracking, he became a jōnin. And through experience, he learned to fight. He owes everything to these forests.

Now, when he looks through the trees, he feels nothing.

Sakumo walks through the forest. Today is one of his off days, and the search feels like  little more than a formality. He cuts through the brush and drags his feet until he hits one of the thinner roads that mark merchant paths through the Land of Fire. He turns onto one of the branching paths—it doesn’t matter which, none of them ever take him to where he needs to go—and sways as he goes through the motions of his every day.

There’s something in the air. It’s probably a travelling merchant, he tells himself, but no—there’s something in this scent that’s buzzing in his mind. He doesn’t recognize it. It’s entirely new. But still, despite everything, there are alarm bells going off in his head. Instinct demands he locate it.

Sakumo takes off through the trees in a mad dash towards the scent. He’s no longer swaying, his feet no more dead weight than the rest of him as he leaps from one branch to the next.

His eyes catch on something in the fading sunset glow. He stops and crouches low on a branch and watches the forest floor through the leaves. A pale-white body takes broken steps below. It’s a boy, it looks like, a young one. His body is bare to the world, cuts and rips and bruises marring paper-white skin and leaves and dirt staining his pale hair—

Kakashi.

Sakumo drops from the branch like an anchor and lands not two feet before the boy. The child is startled. He stumbles back, arms pinwheeling at his sides as he tries not to lose his balance, but Sakumo catches him before he can fall. Sakumo leans forward and steadies the boy’s lithe body by the shoulders, drops to his knees and feels tears well behind his eyes.

“Kakashi—”

Words stick in his throat. The boy is pale-skinned with pale hair, yes, but to a degree more dramatic than Kakashi’s, he realizes. The hair is a stark white to Kakashi’s silver, the skin pasty as though the boy has never seen sunlight. It’s as though all the colours were bleached from his body, like a blank canvas. All but the eyes—charcoal black to Kakashi’s cool grey. Dark voids of eyes. Haunting eyes.

With one clumsy motion, the boy sneaks one of the kunai out of Sakumo’s pouch and pulls away on uncertain footing. He brandishes the weapon like a threat, his legs shaking, eyes wavering.

Sakumo doesn’t know what to say.

The face is all wrong. It’s not Kakashi. Sakumo sees a resemblance—he swears that he does—but that’s not Kakashi’s face. He knows Kakashi’s face, knows every line, every curve, a beautiful homage to his equally beautiful mother. This boy is not his son, he knows that, but there’s something so uncanny about him that Sakumo can’t look away.

Sakumo steadies himself with a breath. With it, he rises to his feet.

A kunai shoots past his head. It embeds itself in the tree behind him; he doesn’t need to look, the following thunk as good a sign as any. The moment the boy throws it, he loses his balance and falls into the dirt. His legs are unsteady and confused, like he’s never walked before.

Sakumo does everything he can to bite down the strange emotions that he’s feeling. This boy is an unknown. He’s an unknown, and he’s hurt, naked and shivering against the evening chill. For the first time in two years, Sakumo shoves thoughts of his son to the back of his mind and focuses on the now. Right now , there is a boy bleeding and desperate and scared. Right now, this is all that matters.

Sakumo smiles down at the boy. “That’s a good arm you’ve got there,” he says. “You held that kunai like a veteran.”

The boy opens his mouth, his lips quivering, but no words come out. He looks helpless for all of ten seconds before he looks angry, ready to lash out. He doesn’t. Nothing happens. Half a minute later, the boy is still sitting, dumbfounded, on the forest floor.

Sakumo leans forward and offers him a hand. The boy stares at it like he doesn’t know what it’s for, then makes to take it. His fingers are trembling. No, all of him is trembling.

In the end, he doesn’t take it.

Sakumo’s smile falters a bit, and he straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around. They’re out in the middle of nowhere—walking distance from the village, sure, but it’d be a long walk—and he’s got nothing on him to clothe the boy. Add to that the boy’s unwillingness to cooperate, and Sakumo isn’t sure where to go from here. He needs to get the kid back to the village, but how should he do that without scaring the poor thing off?

Sakumo feels a tug on his shirt. He looks back down to see the boy staring at the ground, the fabric of Sakumo’s shirt bunched in his weak grip.

Above all else, the boy is scared.

Moving slowly, cautiously, Sakumo leans down. The boy is shocked—then angry—then resigned. When Sakumo gathers the child into his arms, he’s met with no resistance.

“I notice you’re not having a good go of it walking on your own,” he says when the boy twists around enough to look at him. “I’ll help you, how’s that sound?”

The boy narrows his eyes, sharp words on a wordless tongue, but it doesn’t last long. He resigns himself to it, going limp in Sakumo’s arms, and Sakumo holds him like he’s made of glass. For how fragile he looks, perhaps he is.

Chapter Text

There’s nothing for a long, long time, no feeling in his limbs or memories in his head. The world is nothing more than an empty black pit. The first thing that he feels is an unrelenting cold crawling in from his extremities and making its home in his head. It’s all he knows, consuming the little consciousness that he regains, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. It seeps into his bones and he can’t move. Then, the world is wet. He feels it all around him as an extension of the chill.

One day, he opens in his eyes. It’s the first time he does that. The world is bright and merciless and he squints against the light. There’s something else, now, beyond the haze of green fluid before his eyes. There’s something over his nose and mouth, metal and heavy against his skin, forcing dry air down his throat and in his lungs, keeping him alive.

He realizes then that what he knows isn’t all that there is.

Beyond thick glass, bodies observe him. Strangers stand at the base of his prison with various things in hand. A pale man framed in thick black hair lingers longer than the others, blurred by the condensation built up on the outer layer of the glass, and they stare at one another until he loses his battle with sleep.

The next time he opens his eyes, he can smell. It’s something that he never noticed before, but he thinks its been there all along. The smell of the air. A scentless scent, and yet he can perceive it anyway, somehow, as it forces its way through his lungs.

Someone new stands below, jotting down notes, gawking up at him with morbid fascination. A woman. She can see him watching her through the fog and closes the distance between them. Beyond her, everything is swathed in a green glow. A second column of light juts out of the floor just the same as his own, but it’s empty. This is wrong, something tells him. It shouldn’t be empty. Something should be there.

Something. Someone. A person.

Pain shoots through his head and he follows that thought no further.

The room is filled with other things, but he can’t name them when the whole of his world is just cold and wet and air, and the woman taps on the glass. The vibrations made by her fingers are the first thing he ever hears. It sounds near and far at once, like he can reach out and touch it, yet never fully grasp it. Some of the condensation wipes away with the path of the woman’s hand and through it, he can make out a corner of her face. She mouths words to him too weak to pierce the glass.

He has a thought then. No, an impulse. With nothing to do buy follow it, he waits as more of the glass is cleared by the woman’s sleeve and their eyes can meet. All of the energy in his body rushes to his eyes, pooling there, and against the green-hued glass shines the faintest red. His sight is crisp and vibrant like it never was before.

The woman drops what she’s holding. She sways closer, her eyes unseeing, and presses her hand to a panel below.

A loud hiss echoes above and the boy cranes his neck to watch the fluid he’s in slosh about, the surface line sinking closer and closer. It reaches his hair first, then his head. The world without the fluid is even colder, and the shivers wracking his body cause momentary panic.

It drains, and he stands unsteadily on feet that have yet to walk, leaning against the walls of the tube for support. The front of the glass pushes out and lifts, and everything hits at once.

Unnatural sounds churn around him from things that he doesn’t understand. There are too many smells, voices he can’t decrypt, and it’s too much. Running away isn’t possible; the first step he takes sees him flat on his face, the outward pain of the impact against his skin an altogether new sensation.

Strangers try to reach him, but the moment their eyes meet, they fall prey to his will and walk away.

The boy scrabbles through the room into a deserted corridor, overwhelmed by the urge to leave. Anyone who happens by becomes trapped in his gaze, but the pull on his energy is causing his frail body to shake.

The world around him no longer matters. It’s too much at once, and he won’t sit here trying to make sense of it all. When his nose catches a scent and instinct tells him to follow, he doesn’t have the willpower to fight it. It leads him through the complex system of hallways until he comes to a set of metal rungs jutting out of a dead-end path. Up above, there’s a hatch.

When he steps on the first rung, he tries both feet at once. It goes about as well as expected, and he falls into a heap on the floor. His body won’t listen to him, and it’s getting worse the more aware of himself he becomes. He tries to grab onto the rung to pick himself up, but his mind can’t decide which hand to use, and he ends up doing nothing.

It’s only when some part of him relents that he’s able to climb up and open the hatch at the top. It’s heavier than he thought it’d be, but all the new smells on the other side are too much of a distraction for him to really feel the weakness in his arms. The air outside is crisp and clean. He pokes his head out to see grass and trees. A forest? As he picks himself up out of the tunnel and finds his footing, mud squelches between his toes. It’s a strange sensation that tugs at memories he doesn’t have. Some things are coming back to him, bit by bit. He’s remembering words now, that the burning yellow light in the sky is the sun. It’s cresting the horizon and night will fall soon, and that spells danger. How does he know this? Well… he’s not too sure. It’s an instinct, maybe. To find home.

But what does it mean to find home? Where should he go?

The boy collapses in the grass after an endless cycle of walking. The mental strength he needs to expel just to move is staggering, and his eyes are taking up all of his energy. He won’t be able to keep this up for long. Both halves of his mind are urging him to go in different directions and can’t come to an agreement, so he closes his eyes to lessen their drain while he works out a solution. Maybe he can just stay like this for now.

Not two feet ahead, a body hits the ground. The boy jumps up and away, his arms pinwheeling at his sides, and before he can fall the stranger reaches out. Strong hands steady him. For the first time since he won’t up, it doesn’t feel like he’s about to topple over.

The man drops to his knees, eyes wet and aching familiarity in his face.

No. This is the first time they’ve met.

“Kakashi—”

It hits like a rush of cold water, so right and wrong on the stranger’s tongue. He needs to get away. The boy reaches blindly, hooking his fingers around something—a kunai, something tells him—and pries the stranger’s hands off him. Staggering back, trying not to wobble, he brandishes the weapon and hopes it comes off as a threat.

The man just stares. He stares back. There’s not much he can do in the state he’s in. If this man decides to call his bluff, then he’s as good as dead.

When the man gets up, the kunai shoots past him and hits the tree behind his head with a soft thunk. He’s not sure if he intended to miss. With the passing seconds, a bead of blood blooms out of a paper-thin cut on the man’s cheek, flooding the forest with a familiar scent. The boy sniffs the air, and a part of his brain tells him to listen to this stranger. That he needs him.

The man wipes the blood on the back of his glove and smiles. “That’s a good arm you’ve got there. You held that kunai like a veteran.”

He wants to say that of course he did, it’s only second nature, but can’t. Other words hand there on his tongue, proclamations that he’ll one day be the Hokage. He doesn’t know what it means, but it feels true and right. No matter what words they are, though, he can’t say them. He bites his lip, anger bubbling to the surface, ready to scream because this is so unfair. Then, something washes over him, calm and aged with experience, that tells him that losing his temper won’t do any good. He takes a breath, steadying his nerves.

He’ll figure this out.

Oh. His eyes aren’t draining his strength anymore. His sight is dull, no longer cutting through the encroaching darkness, and he can barely see the stranger in front of him, or the outstretched hand beckoning him close.

The boy hesitates. The man’s smile is gentle, but everything is happening twice for him, and he doesn’t understand. It takes every ounce of his focus just to stay upright and alert.

The man pulls his hand away, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s been rejected. He won’t… leave the boy here, will he?

I can’t make it on my own, something tells him.

Where do I even go? There’s nothing here.

He’s safe. He’s my… He’s important to me. I can trust him.

Cautiously, he takes the stranger’s shirt into his fist and keeps his eyes on the grass. Help, he pleads. I don’t know what to do.

Kneeling down, the man slowly wraps his arms around the boy and hoists him up. Soon, he’s leaning against a broad chest, the scraggly, prickly hairs of an unshaven beard scratching at his cheek. The man’s grey hair is shaggy and overgrown, falling into his face as though he hasn’t groomed himself in a long time. It looks wrong. This man didn’t look like this before… but they don’t know each other. This is the first time they’ve met.

It’s not.

Then who is he?

I don’t know.

“I notice you’re having a rough go of it walking on your own. I’ll help you. How’s that sound?”

He wants to say that he can walk just fine, but lying is useless and speaking is a challenge anyway. He hates being treated like a child, but doesn’t know how old he is. Instead, he sighs, unspoken words dying on his tongue, and goes limp. He closes his eyes as the man’s scent drowns out all else, and it brings him peace.

He’s there again. Cold and damp, the air heavy with humidity and hard metal flush against his skin. He can’t move. It’s nothing new, and he’s gotten used to it. Sometimes he remembers his time in the village, the world rushing by as he leapt between trees, but it’s been so long that he can’t trust that those memories are real. It feels like he’s lived forever in this hell.

A scream bleeds across the room, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Against the far wall, another boy is strapped to a chair, bolts of electricity jerking his limbs. The putrid stench of burnt flesh permeates the air, and he wishes he could cover his nose. That boy usually suffers the brunt of their captor’s humour.

When the electric shock cuts off, the room falls quiet. Their captor checks the boy’s eyes, a sour look on his face, and it seems it’s another failure. The other boy leans back against the counter, drumming his nails impatient as the boy pants and whimpers but doesn’t cry. He’s growing numb to it. They both are.

“I wish you would cooperate, Obito. You’re making this very difficult.”

Obito snorts. There’s something wet and wrong with his breathing, but it’s been that way for a while now. He looks sick. “Like I can help it,” he coughs, choking on the words.

“Fair enough,” the man says, a serpentine smile curling his lips. “I suppose you have no control over it. But it’s really in your best interest to give me what I want.”

Attention finds him, then. Kakashi. While Obito can speak and move and fight against his restraints, Kakashi can’t, the seal on the back of his neck all-encompassing. All he can do is stare forward and watch, pale snakes coiling around his arms and waist and neck, hissing in his ear.

This man is Orochimaru. A sannin. Kakashi’s heard tales of that name from his father. It’s the kind of name that draws legends from its breath, awe and terror rooting it to the earth. The seal confining Kakashi is only a formality; the two of them, a chūnin and a student, could never stand on even ground with someone like this.

Even if he could move, there’s nothing that he could do.

When the sannin approaches Kakashi, Obito stills. Orochimaru takes notice.

“Perhaps you will be more cooperative.”

Kakashi isn’t listening to the vague threat. His eyes are across the room. The stump of Obito’s right arm is swathed in bandages, and it cuts through Kakashi like a knife. It hasn’t been long since that day. Beneath those bandages, he wonders if Obito’s healing well. The image replays in his head and guilt is born anew. All he could do was watch. The seal on his neck wouldn’t release.

The snakes curl around his throat.

Kakashi can’t breathe. He gasps and wheezes, but the air won’t come, and his eyes are stinging, his chest is tight—

And he’s Obito. He’s watching from a chair as Konoha’s prodigy stops breathing. It doesn’t make sense. There’s nothing there but Kakashi, nothing over his mouth or around his neck, but Kakashi won’t breathe. Colour drains fast from his face, his eyes glossy and wet, and—

“Stop!” he screeches, thrashing against his bindings, pulling and writhing and desperate to fix this before he loses the only company he has. It’s fine when Obito’s the target. He can handle losing an arm, getting starved or stabbed or shocked with electricity, but he can’t watch this. It’s all his fault. Kakashi’s here because of him.

Kakashi hasn’t spoken since they were brought here. He’s done nothing that Orochimaru hasn’t commanded him to do since this started. Obito knows that there must be a seal or genjutsu at play, but really, this all comes down to him.

If he could have protected himself, they wouldn’t be here.

Kakashi closes his eye.

Obito snaps his wrist against the cuff on his arm until the metal cuts into his skin. “Wake up! You can’t sleep now, damn it! Kakashi, Kakashi please —”

Kakashi is just as broken as he is, lines across his skin like battle scars telling their story, remnants of their time in this cold underground. Obito’s missing an arm. Kakashi, an eye. All in effort to force Obito’s Sharingan to awaken, none of them bearing fruit.

When Kakashi goes limp, Obito sees red.

Then he’s crying, scrubbing at his eyes with both of his arms, and the world around him is nothing but a void. He hiccups and whimpers against the crushing reality of how alone he is. Every sound he makes echoes and dies in the vast nothingness, but he doesn’t notice.

“Crybaby.”

Obito stills. Cautiously, he looks up. Kakashi stares back at him with both eyes, the lines across his body like a faded memory, no longer there. They’re here, together, as they should have been.

Kakashi doesn’t know what to say. He’s never comforted someone before, so he doesn’t know how. Or, no, that’s not right… Dad needed him once, but he didn’t know what to say. He was too young or too scared to understand, so his solution was to hide himself away. Kakashi’s good at that. Always has been.

“Kakashi,” Obito cries, and his breaths are no longer wet and wrong, “I-I thought—I thought that you—”

Kakashi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—we’re not dead. Probably.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

They look at each other, or maybe at themselves. Whoever is really here, experiencing this, is a question they can’t answer. They look down at their hands, so pale, paler than Kakashi and certainly paler than Obito. They flex their fingers, all ten intact, and watch them with both of their eyes. They’re whole, whatever being ‘whole’ entails, and they don’t recognize themself.

They see Kakashi, and they see Obito, and they see everything happening all at once.

Antiseptic hits him like a brick, and he scrunches up his nose. His stomach is turning before he even opens his, and he covers his face with his hand, but it doesn’t help. There’s a scent there, too, on his skin. It’s familiar, hearkening back to memories long ago forgotten, and finally he can put a name to this scent.

Sakumo.

Dad.

When he opens his eyes, fluorescent lights blare down at him from above, and he groans. He didn’t think anything could be worse than living in that green haze that’s occupied most of his waking days, but life’s full of surprises. A very vocal part of him wants to go back to sleep, but that’s a terrible idea because that scent is all over the place, flooding his mind and setting off alarm bells. He’s not in that cold, wet place anymore. The machines beeping around him aren’t the same ones from his days in that dark underground, and he knows that if he gets up now, everything will be okay.

It takes some finagling to sit up. His body still won’t listen to him. It feels like he’s being pulled in two different directions at all times, and he’s not sure how to streamline his thoughts, or if that’s even a thing he can do. Eventually, he manages to prop himself up against the pillow.

He’s in a hospital. The room is familiar. A long time ago, he had to visit Dad here. A mission went wrong, or something like that, and he remembers fighting back tears as he worried that Dad would leave him, too.

Sakumo sits at the foot of the bed. He’s wearing that fatherly smile of his, and warmth rushes over the boy. Before he can act on it, his other impulse shoves that warmth away, and he blinks his eyes rapidly. Something isn’t quite right. Scrubbing at them doesn’t help. They don’t have the clarity they did before, but that’s fine. His energy isn’t being drained, either.

The Sharingan was draining his chakra.

Why would he have the Sharingan? He’s no Uchiha.

Of course, I am.

No, I’m not.

Then how—

Focus.

He focuses. Both sides behave long enough for him to close one eye, then the other, to note the difference in their sight. The left eye doesn’t see very well. It’s not terrible, and he can manage, but he doesn’t understand why this is.

Ah, Kakashi was missing his left eye, wasn’t he?

Why would that matter?

“Finally awake?” Sakumo asks.

His heart swells with that voice, and he knows he’s home. Dad looks haggard, though, like he’s gone two years without sleep and hasn’t had a decent meal in just as long. His eyes are bruised and tired, and he’s in desperate need of a shave. How long has it been?

What about Granny? Is she okay?

Sakumo rifles through a bag on the bedside chair and pulls out a thermos. Some of the soup inside is poured into the lid and offered up to the boy. It smells rich and hearty, and the boy can’t remember the last time he ate.

He doesn’t think he ever has. Not as he is now.

“Must be hungry after all that walking. Here.”

He doesn’t take it right away. A lot is happening right now to someone who’s been so under-stimulated for so long, and he can’t process it all. Eventually, he does take it, eager to finally eat. And Sakumo eats with him. It feels so right.

At first, it does, anyway. Problems arise when he tries to pick up the spoon and his mind can’t make sense of which hand to use. The right seems appropriate for one part of him, but not the other. It’s the same for the left. His solution is to forego the spoon entirely and sip straight from the bowl. Sure, he burns his tongue, but the taste of real food puts the sting out of mind.

A medic-nin interrupts their meal to give the boy a head-to-toe assessment. He flinches when she goes near him, but she’s patient. She starts telling him what she’s going to do before she does it, and it eases his mind a little. Sakumo is his rock right now, though, and he keeps stealing glances Dad’s way, trying to gauge his reaction to make sure everything is okay. Sakumo probably notices. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

After he’s given the all-clear, he finishes his meal and hands back the lid.

Sakumo puts the thermos away and rifles around for something else. When he thinks about it, the boy realizes that he’s lucky it was Dad who found him. Were it someone else, he probably wouldn’t have trusted them. It was the scent. Dad smells like home, and that’s where he wanted to be. And he was so out of it back then that, even if he had recognized a face, he isn’t sure he would have followed. Even now, his head is a mess. But Dad keeps him grounded.

Sakumo notices the staring and smiles, and the boy hides his embarrassment behind a half-hearted glare.

Dad leans back in his chair, arms crossed, and this is usually a sign that he’s ready to get down to business. “I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me,” he says.

Reluctantly, the boy nods. He isn’t sure he has answers, but he’ll try.

“Good. Now, tell me: where are you from?”

He opens his mouth to answer and there’s a noise, a sound like a word but not, and he frowns. When he tries again, the same thing happens. The more he tries, the more frustrated he gets, fisting the paper-thin sheets over his legs. It’s happening again. He’s being pulled in two directions. This should be the easiest answer in the world, but he wants to word it in two different ways, and so he can’t speak.

Dad is a patient man and doesn’t rush him. When he gets a little too frustrated, Sakumo gives his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

Sakumo returns with a scroll, brush and ink pot, probably procured from the front desk. There’s a tray of untouched hospital food on the bedside table that he clears off, propping it on the boy’s lap with the writing instruments on top. “Why don’t we try that again?”

The boy nods. At first, it’s the spoon all over again; he picks up the brush with his left, then right, then left again. A part of him relents to the other. Even still, it takes every ounce of concentration to scrawl out his thoughts in laughably bad script.

‘Konoha.’

Sakumo’s eyes widen.

No, that’s not right. Dad obviously knows where he’s from; he must be asking where the boy’s been all this time. So he takes the brush in his right hand, crosses out Konoha, and tries again.

‘Underground.’

He wants to offer more, but that’s all he knows right now. Everything about his time away is hazy still. Maybe with time, he’ll remember, but for now this is all he can give.

“Alright, then,” Sakumo sighs. He pulls the chair right up to the boy’s bedside and seats himself, ever patient and smiling. “Why don’t you tell me your name?”

The brush slips from his hand and clatters against the tray. Ink splatters across the scroll, the sheets, and the hospital gown that he wears, but he doesn’t notice. All he can see is his father as his whole body trembles, and he echoes a question that he should never have been asked.

Dad doesn’t recognize him. Dad doesn’t know who he is. But he’s—Sakumo is—how could he not—

It cuts more than the blade that took his arm or the one that split his eye. He fists the sheets, grits his teeth, and remains silent.

A part of him doesn’t understand why he’s so upset. This isn’t his dad. Granny’s the only family he has left; his parents are dead.

No. Sakumo isn’t. He’s right here.

A hand on his shoulder stops his thoughts and he looks up, met with kind eyes that aren’t really seeing him.

“It’s okay,” Sakumo says.” Let’s try again when you’re feeling up to it.”

The boy hangs his head and hopes that day will never come.

Chapter Text

Sakumo knows why this unknown needs to be vetted by T&I, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He wishes the interrogation could be held somewhere the kid would find less intimidating. But, well. That’s none of his business.

The Hokage gives strict instructions to bring the boy to T&I straight after he’s discharged. The hospital visit lasts little more than a day; for all intents and purposes, the boy is in good health. Well. On the surface. The medic-nin weren’t able to do a full-body scan because the boy wouldn’t allow it. He would flinch and jerk away whenever they went near him, and he hasn’t said a word since he was found. Sakumo isn’t entirely sure whether he can’t speak or won’t. A seal might’ve been used to keep him quiet.

Thoughts like these are why there’s a knock at the hospital room door this evening. Sakumo’s gathered and packed away all of his personal belongings, and the child folded the bedsheets neat and tidy. He’s still stuck in a hospital gown, but if everything goes well with T&I, Sakumo will get him some proper clothes.

When the knock comes, the boy narrows his eyes at the door, his grip on the mattress knuckle-white. Sakumo can’t fault him for all of this mistrust. A stranger enters, a tall blond with a hitai-ate brandished on his forehead, and pushes the boy out of his comfort zone.

Minato Namikaze is young, but not without talent. He has skills beyond his years, and it’s his expertise in fuinjutsu that brings him here today. The jōnin walks in with a friendly smile and gives the unknown a short glance before greeting Sakumo.

“This is the boy you wanted me to have a look at?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all.”

Sakumo’s smile fades, and he takes a place between the bed and wall to keep out of the way. He notices that his presence has a bit of a calming effect on the child. “I found him in the forest, quite a distance from the gates. It doesn’t look like he has any serious injuries, but he won’t speak. I don’t think his mind is in a very good place, either, at the moment.”

The child can blatantly hear him saying this and looks mildly insulted, but he’d rather be blunt and get his point across than risk his words being misconstrued.

“I think he was being held somewhere underground against his will. If there are any seals lingering on his body, I would like to know.”

Minato nods. “As of now, I can say that there’s something there. I’ll have a look.” But when he reaches out for the boy, his hand is swatted away.

The jōnin share a look.

The next time Minato tries, he makes himself small by crouching by the bed. “Hey there,” he greets softly. “My name is Minato, and I’m a fuinjutsu specialist. I can detect and amend seals. Do you know if someone placed one on you?”

The boy considers him for a moment and glances at Sakumo for approval. Then, hesitantly, he twists around until his back is facing Minato and points to his neck.

“Thank you. You’re a great help.” Minato reaches out, but thinks better of it. “I’m going to touch your neck, okay?”

There’s no affirmation, but when he tries, the boy doesn’t flinch. With his palm on the nape of the boy’s neck, Minato pushes a steady stream of chakra through the skin until ink blooms across it. Sakumo watches from his place by the wall, but he doesn’t know much about seals and can’t read the trigrams.

“Well,” Minato sighs, “he’s certainly under the influence of a seal, and a nasty one at that.”

“Is that why he can’t speak?”

“I couldn’t say for certain, but it’s unlikely.” With his free hand, he gestures to some markings on one of the sides. “It’s a strong seal, for sure. It binds the victim to the caster’s will. So long as it’s activated, he shouldn’t be able to move, much less speak.”

Sakumo frowns. He was definitely confined against his will, then. “Why isn’t it active now?”

Minato pouts and scratches his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, I’m afraid. Although… hm. It should still be in effect. But what I don’t understand is why this seal… it wasn’t made for him.”

“What do you mean?”

Minato pulls his hand away and allows the ink to fade, and the boy twists around to watch him. “These seals work by cutting off the victim’s access to their own chakra. Instead, the chakra is funnelled through the seal and back out again. By doing this, the user can use it to control them, sort of like a puppet. They can stop the victim from moving or even breathing. It’s really powerful stuff.”

Hearing that turns Sakumo’s stomach. He wonders what sort of monster would do something like that to such a young kid. But it’s wartimes, he knows, and horrid things are happening to children all the time. As much as it makes him sick, he knows the dark sides that war brings out in people, and to what lengths people will go to meet their own ends.

“But seals like this need to be fine-tuned to the person that they’re used on,” Minato continues. “This one… it doesn’t match his chakra signature. It matches parts of it, but not enough to keep control over him. In fact…”

Minato is giving him an odd look, and he falters beneath it. “What is it?”

“It more closely resembles your chakra signature than it does his. It would be more likely to work on you.”

When they give the boy their attention again, he looks concerned, his brows knitted tightly together. The neatly folded sheets are now bunched up in his tightly balled fists.

Minato’s easy smile is back, and he reaches out to ruffle the boy’s hair, only to be slapped away again. He doesn’t let it bother him. “Not to worry. I’ll have a key made to release the seal in a matter of days. It won’t be used again, I promise you that.”

The boy nods and faces the sky beyond the windows.

The shinobi step outside, out of earshot of the boy, and close the door. Sakumo still watches through the window, but he doesn’t think the boy will try to leave. All things considered, he’s pretty obedient. Sakumo hopes, from the bottom of his heart, that T&I doesn’t find anything suspicious in the boy’s memory.

Now that they have some privacy, they can really talk. Minato is the Leaf’s prodigy and someone Lord Third holds in high regard, and this is not a village-appointed mission. It’s okay to share a little.

“Is that all you found?” Sakumo asks.

Minato sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, if I’m honest… I’m not sure. His chakra signature is abnormal, and it bothers me. Usually, those signatures are similar between blood relatives. That’s how it’s always been. But a part of his chakra reminds me of the Hatake clan—of yours—and another part reminds me of the Uchiha. The rest I don’t recognize. And, if I’m honest, I can’t be sure the parts that I do recognize are because he’s from those bloodlines, or if the blood he carries is just similar to both.”

Sakumo scratches his chin as he watches through the glass. The boy is flexing his hands experimentally, turning them over and watching as his fingers move. “The Uchiha boy who went missing, he’d be about ten now, wouldn’t he?”

“About,” Minato acknowledges with a pout, “but his chakra signature doesn’t match up with a full-blooded Uchiha.”

“Obito was only half Uchiha.”

“Was he?”

“His mother was a civilian. That would explain the discrepancy you’re sensing.”

Minato remains unconvinced, an unsatisfied scrunch to his face. “But that wouldn’t explain…”

Sakumo doesn’t entertain the idea that this child could be from the Hatake bloodline, simply because there is no one left. Apart from Kakashi, the clan is dead. There are parts of this child that remind him of his son, but he knows that’s longing talking, not logic, and he won’t let grief have that tight a hold on him.

“I’ll relay what we’ve learned to the Hokage after I deliver the boy to T&I,” he says finally, shutting the book on this issue here. “Thank you for your help today. I’m no sensor, so I would have been useless without you.”

“Not at all,” Minato says, his tone courteous. “If everything goes well with the interrogation, please let me know. I’ll need to test the keys I develop to break the seal, so I’ll have to see him again.”

“Of course.”

“Do you know what might happen to him after this?”

Sakumo sighs. “I couldn’t say. If it turns out that he’s Obito Uchiha, I suspect he’ll be returned to his grandmother. There’s a chance that he could be one of the children who disappeared from the hamlets surrounding the village, but… the ages don’t line up. In all likelihood, he might end up in the orphanage.”

It doesn’t sit right with him. A child who has been through so much shouldn’t be shoved into the orphanage and forgotten about. But his hands are tied. He doesn’t know what else can be done, and there’s no reason to worry over this now when they don’t know if the boy’s a plant.

“I could take him if need be.”

Sakumo turns to Minato, arching a brow. “You would?”

The blond sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, if it’s all the same to Lord Third, then I don’t see a problem. My house is quite large, and I could work on the key at home if he’s there.”

“I appreciate that you care, but you aren’t home often.”

“Kushina is,” Minato hurries to correct. “One of us is, usually. They don’t often send us out of the village at the same time. There will be someone there for him. I just—it feels wrong. The seal may not be able to suppress him, but it’s still rerouting his chakra, and I doubt he has good control over it as it stands. And the orphanage… I don’t want him there.”

Sakumo remembers a much younger boy from the Namikaze clan standing at the front gates of a large, expansive building just beyond the village walls, wiping tears from his eyes as the matron held him in place by the shoulders. Minato doesn’t have many fond memories of that place.

Sakumo pokes his forehead, earning a confused stare. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But thank you, Minato. You’re a good kid.”

Minato’s ears go red and he clears his throat.

“Tell you what: why don’t you relay our findings to Lord Hokage, and I’ll give my report later? You can plead your case then.”

“Thank you.”

A smile tugs at Sakumo’s mouth, and he nods down the hall. “Get going. I’ll finish up here.”

They part ways, and Sakumo returns to the hospital room to collect his charge. The boy is tense, his hands gripping his knees and eyes hard-set on the wall, but he doesn’t say anything. After gathering his belongings, he holds out a hand and smiles.

“Let’s head out.”

It takes a little prodding to get the kid to willingly hold his hand, but they eventually work it out. It’s mostly to help the boy, so clumsy on his feet, to keep his balance. More than once, Sakumo feels the desperate drag of the child’s weight. He doesn’t say anything.

Before they enter T&I, Sakumo faces the sky. Its red hues and blotches of colour warn him that it’s about that time, and he does the math quickly in his head. Most interrogations last a total of two hours, provided the interrogators don’t find anything suspicious, and Sakumo’s nightly searches normally last three. He feels guilty, but rationalizes that he can cut it short for just one night. Kakashi would forgive him, he’s sure. He’s just not so sure that he’ll forgive himself.

Sakumo gets hard looks when he enters the building. The boy notices. His eyes dart around, and he leans closer to his guide, uncertainty in his steps. T&I is home to many hostile critics of the actions he took that day, but after everything that has happened, Sakumo has too many more pressing matters occupying space in his mind to humour their looks.

He guides the boy as instructed into one of the interrogation rooms and sits him down. It’s only minutes later that Inoki Yamanaka greets them with a friendly smile. He’s the current head of the clan and one of the easiest people to be around. Hiruzen made a personal request that Inoki be the one to question the boy on Sakumo’s behalf. Out of all the shinobi employed at T&I, only one is good with kids. Most aren’t good with people, just in general.

“Sakumo,” Inoki greets. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“And who’s this we have here?” Inoki’s attention is on the boy now seated at the wooden table in the middle of the room. His eyes are friendly, but Sakumo can already see them searching the unknown, studying. If this boy is a plant, or if he’s part of a setup by one of the enemy villages, Inoki will find out.

Sakumo places a firm hand on the boy’s back. “That’s what we’re hoping to find out.”

He reported to Hiruzen all the odd behaviour that he noticed during his time with the boy, taking special care to describe his sudden mood swings and the way he wrote different answers with different hands when questioned. No doubt everything he said is detailed in the file that Inoki sets down on the table.

Inoki smiles and sits across from the child. “I promise I’ll do my very best.”

Sakumo believes him. Inoki is at the top of T&I not because he’s brutal or intimidating, but because he’s calm and resourceful. If anyone can tell them what’s going on, it’s him.

He takes a knee in front of the boy and looks up at the pale face, flashing vague, brief emotions back. Sakumo never crouches in front of children, not usually. He meets them with the same respect he does adults. But to the boy sitting in this chair right now, the world is already big enough without Sakumo adding to it. Just this once, he makes himself appear small. Just this once, he looks up at the child and smiles. “This is Inoki Yamanaka. He’s a friend of mine. He’s here to help, I promise you that. I need you to listen to what he says while I’m gone. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”

The boy glances over his shoulder at the interrogator and nods. For all of five minutes, he looks calm, as though he believes every word.

Sakumo hefts himself up and stretches. “I’ll be headed out, then. Oh—” His arms fall to his sides and he frowns. “You may not get verbal answers out of him. He can write, though—try using that.”

“Noted.”

When he makes to leave, there’s a tug on his sleeve. He looks back to find black eyes staring up at him, pleading with him. The calm is gone. The panic sets in. But just as soon as it comes, it’s smoothed over again. The boy lets go and turns away.

And now Sakumo feels guilty. He can’t stay, though; only members of T&I are allowed to be present during interrogations. And he has another boy to search for.

Still, there’s regret when he walks through that door and feels eyes on his back.

The boy watches Sakumo step out of the room and fists the hospital gown still draped over him. He hasn’t been given proper clothes yet. He thought Dad—Sakumo—would have given him some of his old clothes by now, but nothing’s come of it. He should expect as much; Dad doesn’t recognize him.

He wonders how different he looks. He wonders what’s happened to him. Everything is a blur, and he can’t make a timeline out of the images in his head.

Why am I here?

They don’t trust me.

Why the hell not?

Because Dad doesn’t recognize me.

That Sakumo guy? He seems nice.

The voices in his head are always talking over one another, and he doesn’t know where they come from. It didn’t use to be like this, he thinks. His thoughts were once coherent, and he could make sense of the world around him. He knew himself. Now, he has trouble sorting through even the most basic of thoughts.

Inoki Yamanaka takes a seat across the table from him and slides a brush and ink pot his way. Blank papers follow shortly after. He remembers seeing this guy with Dad a few times, but he’s also never met the man before in his life. Inoki’s nice. What he remembers of him. Which he can’t trust.

His head hurts.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Inoki says. “I need you to answer to the best of your ability. The sooner we have answers, the sooner we can get you out of here, okay?”

The boy nods. Both sides of him just want to get this over with.

“Can you tell me your name?”

He feels a cold rush through his body as that question rears its ugly head again. With his left, he grabs the brush, dips it in the pot, and writes.

‘Obito.’

Before the name is even finished, he switches hands, crosses it out violently, and starts another name.

‘Kakashi.’

No. It’s wrong. He wrestles the brush back into his left hand and covers the name with ink before Inoki can catch a glimpse of it. The page is tossed to the ground, and he tries again on the next, but the same thing happens, and he feels frustration growing inside of him.

What the hell is wrong with me?! I’m not Kakashi. He’s—

Me. He’s me. I’m Kakashi. Obito is—

I’m right here.

The brush slips out of his hand and his eyes widen. Twice today, his gown is covered in blotches of thick black ink.

And you are, too. Aren’t you?

His hands shake, and he heaves heavy breaths one after another as images race through his mind. Two boys sit across from one another, bound to their chairs in vastly different ways, and he sees through their eyes.

…What happened to us?

We’re right here. Both of us. We’re okay.

But when he looks down at his arms he only sees two, and they’re not Kakashi’s arms, and they’re certainly not Obito’s. But they’re familiar, still, distantly.

No, Obito’s wrong. None of this is okay.

Inoki clears his throat and draws the boy out of his thoughts. “If that’s too hard to answer, why don’t we start with something else? How old are you?”

The boy takes a breath and closes his eyes, collecting himself. He tells himself to be quiet and focus, and it works, somewhat, as he scrawls an 8 across a new page. But no, that doesn’t feel right… How long was he—were they —down there?

It takes a lot of concentration to write out a full question. He does so with his right hand, with Kakashi, because Kakashi is keeping his cool better than Obito despite his initial panic. The writing is sloppy. It’s not as bad as it is with his left hand, but it’s far worse than it used to be. Even when Obito relents, it’s like he doesn’t have full control of his arm.

‘What year is it?’

Inoki is writing something down absently in his notes when he looks at the question, the boy’s face and back again, and he sits up straight.

“You’ve been gone quite a while, haven’t you?”

The boy nods.

The questions that follow are a haze to him as he retreats inward to try to make sense of his situation. At some point, Inoki grabs a second brush and both sides of him are allowed to answer questions simultaneously. He’s coming to understand that he’s Kakashi, and that he’s Obito, but that he… isn’t. Not anymore. He’s both and none at once, and he’s wondering if the voices are just the memory of who he once was. If they’re not real.

They feel real, though. As real as the cold in the air. They speak to each other as though they’re both there, but they’re not, really, and he’s the only one left.

What do we tell your dad?

We don’t tell him.

But he’s your family, isn’t he?

And he’s waiting for Kakashi. And Kakashi isn’t here.

Then, what, do we go live with that Minato guy?

They could hear through the door. He knows Dad and the other shinobi didn’t expect that, so he won’t share. But his Inuzuka blood must still run strong in this weird amalgamation of a body, because he could make out their words, ever so faintly, through the walls.

I don’t know.

He thought that, even like this, maybe he could go home. But now, he isn’t sure.

There isn’t a place for him anymore.

Even in his darkest hours, Sakumo remains punctual. He’s waiting in the lobby of Torture and Interrogation two minutes before the two-hour mark with his arms folded across his chest. The search bore no fruit, but he’s used to that by now. It sours his mood nonetheless. When two minutes pass and the door to the unknown’s room remains locked, he decides to take a seat. These things are never timed. A few more minutes, maybe half an hour, and so long as Inoki hasn’t found anything suspicious, that door will open up. Sakumo is patient.

It’s at the three-hour mark that he starts to worry. Three hours usually means, they found something, and he really hopes that isn’t the case. The boy is… odd, to say the least, but nothing about him screams malicious intent. Sakumo can’t picture that tiny, wobbly wreck being a sleeper agent or spy. Then again, in times of war, there is no one you can trust. Everyone— everything —is suspect.

At three-and-a-half hours, the door opens, and he practically flies off his seat. Inoki sees him and tries a halfhearted smile, but it’s fake, and Sakumo fears the worst.

He wonders if the boy has been relocated.

Inoki is carrying a much thicker file now, loose papers shoved haphazardly within it. He adjusts them in his hands and clears his throat. Neither is really sure how to broach the topic. It’s late, T&I is empty, and Inoki was instructed to share with Sakumo whatever he found, which looks to be not all good.

They take a seat in the lobby. No one is left on the lower floors of the building, but Inoki would never speak so openly about his findings if they contained sensitive information, which is promising. Before he can speak, though, he pulls the loose paper from the file. Sakumo immediately recognizes the sloppy writing and the cryptic words written over top. He recognizes the ink splatter just the same. It looks like their young charge got frustrated.

“Do you notice anything?” Inoki asks.

Sakumo sighs and rubs his forehead. “He’s disjointed.”

“More than that,” Inoki urges. When he gets no response, he flips through the pages until coming across one in particular. He holds it up and hands it over, tapping the page demandingly. “This is what he wrote when I asked for his name.”

More than the others, this page is a mess. Words were written and then angrily crossed out, again and again, across the whole page. There’s more ink than paper showing. The only thing that can be made out in the mess is a short half-word in the bottom left corner, ‘obi’, and something crossed out next to it. It almost looks like ‘Tobi’ if Sakumo squints the right way. He’s fairly certain that’s not what the boy was trying to write, but ‘Tobi’ is better than having no name for the boy at all.

Tobi, huh?

How nostalgic.

There’s more frantic tapping against the page. It pulls him from his musings and he glances up at the Yamanaka. “I’ll assume your conclusion is that he doesn’t know it.”

“I’m not sure, to be perfectly honest,” Inoki says. “It’s almost like he couldn’t decide. He would pick up the brush and,” he makes an ‘x’ with his fingers, “cross it out. Violently .”

That’s certainly one way to put it. Sakumo flips through the pages and reads the random, unexplained words on each. With answers like these, he’s not sure what the questions were. They’re too vague. And to Sakumo’s untrained eyes, it almost looks like two different people were writing on these pages. Then again, it could all be conjecture; everything written is shaky and unfocused, regardless of what style the writing is in.

“He confirmed with me that he’s ten,” Inoki continues, and it hits hard because that’s Kakashi’s age. “I had to tell him the year first, though. From what I could gather, he was brought someplace underground against his will. I’ll assume a lab. He said there were other children there.”

A lab. Other children in a lab.

One of Hiruzen’s greatest theories is that, to this day, experiments on Wood Release are being done even after it’s been condemned as a forbidden technique. Infants are taken from their cradles in the dead of night to be used as unwilling test subjects. If this boy—if Tobi is one of those children…

But how could he escape?

“Relay this to Lord Hokage immediately,” Sakumo says, eyeing the inked pages with a level of scrutiny. “If there are other children, then we need to locate them.”

“Of course,” Inoki nods.

“Were you able to get a location out of him?”

“Not quite. I tried to look into his memories when he couldn’t give me an answer, but—” Inoki takes the pages from Sakumo and tosses them back into the file’s folder. “If I’m being completely honest, Sakumo, I have no idea where to start.”

Sakumo frowns. “What do you mean?”

Inoki needs a moment to compose himself, which is telling enough. He steeples his fingers and stares out at the empty room, choosing the right words. “When I entered his mind, I couldn’t make sense of anything,” he says. “It was as though he had layers of memories overlapping. Everything was jumbled together, and every time I asked a question, his mind would find two things to draw upon. I couldn’t grasp what was going on at all. Even the memories he formed in the moment overlapped—just slightly different versions recounting the same event.

“It’s not just that, though—there’s duplicity even in the way he writes. He can write separate answers with both his left and right arms simultaneously. And the writing is different—the style is different between both arms.”

Suddenly, Sakumo wants to take a closer look at those pages. He thinks better of asking. “What are you implying, exactly?”

“I don’t know.” Inoki throws up his arms in frustration. One hand held the file and, sure enough, all the loose papers slip free onto the floor. He curses, steps on one, and gets up out of his chair to gather them up. Inoki is a calm, pleasant man. For him to be this riled up, he must be feeling a new level of frustration. “That he was experimented on,” he decides then. “That he’s able to do things he shouldn’t be able to do because of it. And that, despite everything I just said, there’s nothing wrong with him. The seal on his neck isn’t preventing him from talking. Cognitively, he’s okay. He should be functioning normally, just—everything is happening twice for him and I don’t know why.”

Everything is happening twice, huh?

Sakumo thinks back to the hospital and the word salad that came in answer to his question. If everything is happening twice, he wonders if Tobi tries giving two separate answers as well.

“You don’t look worried by this.”

“Hm?” Sakumo pulls himself out of his thoughts and smiles. “Oh. Well, I was just thinking that it’s good he doesn’t seem to be a spy, if what you found is correct.”

“No. I’m certain he isn’t a plant from another village,” he says. “But now I’m not sure what to do with him. If he were a plant, we would keep him here in T&I.”

Sakumo bends forward and picks up the last scribbled mess of a paper off the floor, ‘Konoha’ scrawled messily across it in oversized letters. He hands it over to Inoki, who mutters a word of thanks around the pile he’s shoving back into the folder. Minato may be taken up on his offer eventually but for now…

“Let me speak with Lord Hokage about it.”

Sakumo opens the door to the interrogation room and on the other side, Tobi sits patiently. Tobi’s head swivels around to face him, and he releases a breath, the foundations of a smile somewhere in his eyes that never quite make it to his lips. “You’re back.”

He speaks. That’s progress. If everything is happening twice for this boy, then it must be a task to only speak once. Tobi makes no motions towards the effort, though, and if he won’t then neither will Sakumo.

“Sorry.” He smiles, entering the room. “I was held up a bit. I hear you cooperated well with Inoki. Thank you for that.”

Whatever threadbare smile was there is now gone, replaced with hard lines. Tobi glares at the table. “I couldn’t help.”

“You did, though.” Sakumo stops before the boy and reaches out a hand to ruffle the pale mop of hair. “You were a big help.”

The boy groans and ducks beneath the hand. For the first time, there’s a little colour in his cheeks.

Things get a bit awkward when both go silent. Sakumo isn’t sure how to broach the subject he needs to, or how Tobi will take it with how unpredictably short-lived his moods are, and scratches his chin. Eventually, though, he doesn’t have to say anything. Small hands pull his own from where it rests on the boy’s head and hold on, eyes averted to the wall.

When Tobi speaks, there’s no inflection. His eyes say what his mouth does not. “Let’s go.”

Sakumo is amused, if nothing else.

Chapter Text

Before Sakumo picked Tobi up from T&I, he paid Hiruzen a late-night visit with Inoki’s notes. The Hokage sat there with his hat discarded to the side of the desk and a pipe in hand, thumbing through the pages one by one. First came the report, then followed the loose papers where Tobi wrote his answers.

“What would you like to do with the boy?” Sakumo asked.

“Minato took an interest in him, isn’t that right?”

“So you intend to give the boy to him?”

Hiruzen let the pages slip back onto the table and met his eyes. “Have you taken an interest in him?”

“No, nothing like that.” Sakumo waved a dismissive hand, but he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. “I’m concerned. Minato and Kushina both leave the village regularly. And the boy is… He’s a good kid. I really believe that. But I’m not sure how well he would do on his own. At least until the war is won or his family can be located, I could—”

“You want the boy.”

“No. It’s not that. It’s…”

Hiruzen sighed, rubbing circles into his temple.

“I don’t do much field work these days,” Sakumo confesses. “My name has been tarnished and my son is gone. The White Fang isn’t very desired right now, and I know Minato has a mission coming up. At least until he’s back, let me care for the boy.”

The Hokage files the report away in his desk and steeples his fingers. “Sakumo,” he calls. “I won’t push back if you decide to take the child in. I trust you.”

Sakumo doesn’t smile as he stands before the Hatake estate with a small hand in his. He isn’t happy so much as he is relieved. Konoha’s White Fang did not become known as such through battle alone. Sakumo is nurturing by nature. He’s the type to protect the weak and give where he can. So when he’s presented with a child such as Tobi, it stands to reason that Sakumo will want to feed and clothe him and give him a safe place to wait out the next uncertain leg of his journey. It will be for a few days, perhaps a week, but in that time he’ll do his damnedest to make Tobi comfortable.

For the first time in a while, Sakumo is feeling a little proud of himself. He opens the front entrance of the estate to his new guest and doesn’t expect the sloped shoulders or instant slouch, or the clenched fists at the sides of Tobi’s body. Sakumo doesn’t say anything.

He enters the room and hangs up his flak jacket before wandering into the sitting room to discard the rest of his belongings. Tobi follows him in slowly. The boy is more surefooted and confident in his step. It’s a relief to see.

Tobi trails a hand along the wall, feeling the wood beneath his fingertips as Sakumo busies himself in the kitchen. Sakumo wonders what he should feed the boy. The medic-nin gave him a list of things to avoid that could upset his stomach and he’s concerned with what Tobi might like from that list. Then again, he’s getting ahead of himself. The very first thing Tobi needs is a bath and some new clothes. Wearing that hospital gown must be uncomfortable in a lot of different ways.

When he moves back out into the sitting room, he pauses. Tobi’s standing by the altar, holding Kakashi’s picture up to his face, and it stings a bit. He leans in the doorway and waits, watching as Tobi’s fingers run gently over the glass.

“Kakashi,” Sakumo supplies. Tobi jumps. He snaps around to face Sakumo and the picture slips from his fingers. It hits against the ground and cracks the glass, startling the boy again.

The kid looks horrified. He has Sakumo’s sympathies, really. “Sorry, I—”

Sakumo pushes off the wall and crouches next to Tobi, picking up the frame between his hands. The glass can be replaced. He’s not bothered. He smiles up at the boy and holds up the photo with pride. “My son. Cute, isn’t he?”

Tobi doesn’t say anything. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out and Sakumo assumes he must have two things to say.

Sakumo gives the photo one last fond glance before he places it back down next to the picture of his wife. “He’s missing,” he continues. “But we’ll find him.”

The jōnin pushes to his feet and nods to the door. “You’re looking a little a grimy after your night in the forest. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tobi finds his way to the bathroom all on his own. Sakumo waits at the bottom of the stairs and listens. Soon, there’s running water. The door is still open, the light filtering down the hall, and it’ll take some time for the bath to fill up. In the meantime, Sakumo enters Kakashi’s room. He takes a steadying breath at the door because this is the first in a long time since he’s done this, the first time since that first night, and then opens the closet. His son’s clothes are still lined up, untouched. Looking at them now, he’s not sure Tobi will be a perfect fit—he’s built a little hardier than Kakashi and has more height—but they’re a marked improvement from what the kid has on now. He takes a few and feels himself hollow out anew as he folds them over his arm and heads for the bathroom.

At the bottom of the stairs, he thinks he hears something. The bathroom door is swung wide, the bath still running. He waits a moment, curiously listening to a voice up the stairs. Sakumo may have a heightened sense of smell but his hearing is average, so he takes a few steps up the staircase when he can’t make out the words.

“—to’s eyes.”

He arches a brow. That’s Tobi’s voice, but there’s something different about it—about the inflection. It sounds… neater.

“And Kakashi’s, what? Everything?”

He drops the clothes. They crumple to the floor in a heap and it takes everything in his power to pick them back up again. He ascends the stairs two at a time until he comes up on the landing and stares into the bathroom.

Tobi snaps to look at him. He’s kneeling on the countertop, pressed up against the mirror above the sink. One hand holds him steady against the counter while the other presses fingers to the skin of his face, and he looks absolutely horrified.It lasts only a moment. Tob smooths out his face, a laziness to his eyes as he meets Sakumo levelly. “Clothes?” he asks, hopping off the countertop, holding out a hand.

Sakumo doesn’t know what to say. He hands over the few outfits that he grabbed, no longer neatly folded as they were when he fetched them, and the boy places them by the sink. Tobi looks them over carefully, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

He does not know what to say or how to ask about what he heard, so he doesn’t. It eats away at him as he forces a smile back into place. Everything screams at him to just ask, to demand to know what the boy was saying about Kakashi, but the more he demands this of himself, the more foolish he feels.

Tobi is a broken child that experiences everything twice. Sakumo’s ashamed for ever thinking that what he heard was something of ill intent.

“Take your time,” he says. “I’ll start on dinner. Any requests?”

Tobi opens his mouth but nothing follows. Speaking twice again, then.

Sakumo gives him a sympathetic look and wraps a hand around the door handle. “How about I pick tonight and you pick tomorrow?”

Tobi averts his eyes and reaches behind to scratch his head. “Yeah. That.”

Another tonal shift. Sakumo doesn’t mention it. He closes the door and descends the stairs. As he does, he hears words echoing from behind the bathroom door. Quieter this time, careful.

He knows better than to go back up and listen.

The boy finds himself alone in the bathroom. He starts running water for a bath while Dad rummages around downstairs somewhere, and it’s the first time he’s had a moment to himself. There’s a mirror that he isn’t quite tall enough to reach and both sides of him are curious about what everyone else sees when they look at him, so he hops up on the counter and steadies himself there. He doesn’t recognize the face staring back at him. It isn’t Kakashi’s, and it isn’t Obito’s, but the longer he looks, the more he can make sense of everything.

His eyes are a deep, bottomless black. “We have Obito’s eyes,” Kakashi remarks. He finds it easier to make sense of his thoughts if he allows the different parts of him to speak aloud and so he does, at least while he’s alone. He knows how it looks. He’s probably lost his mind, but that’s not something he can help. All he can do is try to work through this himself during his moments of solitude.

“And Kakashi’s, what? Everything?” Obito mutters bitterly.

It’s true that his colouring more closely resembles Kakashi, but even that’s not right. He’s pale, but too pale, and he wonders if it’s because he hasn’t seen the sun in two years. His hair is a bleached white, not a silver, and it’s overgrown. He wants it shorter, short like Obito’s, because it’s less of a hassle out on the field.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be back there again, though. If anyone will trust him enough to return to his position.

The other half of him wasn’t even a shinobi yet. He was in the academy, still taking classes—

His head snaps to the footsteps at the door and he freezes. Dad’s standing there, pale as a ghost.

Did he hear?

Play it off.

The boy calms himself when Kakashi takes over. Kakashi’s good at keeping the emotions off his face.

“Clothes?”

He hops off the counter and walks over, reaching out. Sakumo hands them over and the faded scent of Kakashi buzzes through his head. They’re his old clothes. They look so small now, staring down at them like this. He’s grown so much.

“Take your time. I’ll start on dinner. Any requests?”

Both sides try to answer but nothing comes out. They’re not coordinated enough yet, and questions are hard because of it.

“How about I pick tonight and you pick tomorrow?”

He feels ashamed. Embarrassed. He can’t even give a simple reply. “Yeah, that.”

The moment Sakumo’s gone, his entire body slouches. He turns off the tap before the bath overflows and lowers himself into the steaming water, but it doesn’t feel as nice as he expects it to. The reflection he sees is foreign and strange, and he hates it just a bit.

“We should tell him,” Obito whispers, just in case Sakumo happens to be on the other side of the door.

“No.”

“But why not?” Obito sighs as he dips his head back to soak his hair. “He has your picture on the altar and everything. He thinks you’re dead . Isn’t that sad?”

It’s Kakashi who scrubs the grime off the boy’s body, taking note of how long their arms are, their legs. Adjusting to the further reach he has and all the little nuances that tell him that this body is not his.

“I’m not who he’s waiting for.”

I don’t want to disappoint him.

Sakumo is an early riser. It doesn’t matter how late he goes to bed or how tired he is from a mission; no matter the circumstances, he always wakes at the break of dawn. He uses the time in the mornings to get everything done around the house and prepare breakfast. Kakashi was always a notoriously late sleeper on his days off, so that gave Sakumo plenty of time to work with.

When he wakes this morning, nothing is different. It doesn’t matter that he had a restless sleep; he’s still up at the first hint of sunlight and he’s still expecting to get everything that he usually does over and done with. What makes this morning different is that, for the first time in two years, Sakumo isn’t alone in the house. He’ll have to remember to prepare extra food for his guest.

But when he opens the bedroom door, all he smells is food. He follows the scent to the dining hall where there are two places set. The meal is simple—rice and one side dish, and the rice looks a little chewy—but Sakumo’s question is why .

The kitchen is a bit disorganized, honestly. Nothing has been cleaned or put away, not that such a simple meal makes much of a mess anyway, and he finds himself smiling. He wonders if Tobi struggled to find his way around an unfamiliar kitchen.

When Sakumo goes to sit, he notices the food is going cold. He frowns. Why did Tobi make it if he wasn’t going to eat? With his feet still dragging, Sakumo wanders around a little in search of the boy only to find the bathroom light on at the top of the stairs again.

He has no illusions about what he’ll find.

Sure enough, Tobi is sitting on the counter, staring hard at his reflection. He doesn’t notice Sakumo standing in the doorway—is too absorbed in whatever it is he’s looking at. This time, he’s not speaking.

Sakumo knocks on the door and jolts the boy from his thoughts. He smiles, nodding to the stairs. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Oh, uh. Right.”

The boy dashes down the stairs with considerable speed when compared to his slow, staggering walk from the night before.

They eat in relative silence and neither is too comfortable with that. It doesn’t take an expert to see the boy writhing in his own thoughts and Sakumo has enough pity left in him to search for a topic before the boy starts squirming.

“You’re a good cook,” he says—and the look he gets back tells him that Tobi does not believe that one bit. “Who taught you?”

Tobi shrugs vaguely. “Taught myself.”

“That’s impressive for someone your age.”

There’s another shrug. Tobi’s bowl is empty. He’s staring down at his reflection in the glass by his left hand, eyeing it. He’s fixated on his appearance, for one reason or another, growing increasingly agitated. Then, “Do I look—strange to you?”

Sakumo arches a brow. “Bit of an odd question to ask, don’t you think?”

Then all of that falls away—the impatience, agitation, everything—and in its wake is simply an absence. “Forget it.”

“You don’t,” Sakumo says, resting his chin on his palm as he gives the child a look-over. “A bit pale, though. You could use some sunlight.”

Tobi looks at him and something about it feels wrong on that face. Something about it reminds him so much of—

“Do I look like your son?”

Sakumo lifts his head and stares at the boy. The tone Tobi’s using is the calm one, the one he so rarely gets to hear. “I—” The words stick. “Why?”

The boy doesn’t look away. Sakumo is used to him averting his eyes and hanging his head, but he’s doing none of that now. “You called me Kakashi before,” he says. “When you found me.”

Sakumo thinks back to the pale hair and skin that stuck out to him in the brush. He remembers the staggering, unsteady body of a child so close in age to his son and all he could think was that finally —

He shakes his head. “No,” he says and then, after more consideration, “maybe a little in the face. At a glance, certainly. I’m sorry if I startled you. I let my thoughts get away from me that night.”

He’d hoped. He’d certainly hoped.

“I see.” Tobi closes his eyes and is silent a moment before, quietly, “Could I ask a favour?”

Tobi is a brave boy. He presents himself to the Hokage like a much older man, greeting Hiruzen with formality and respect. Sakumo gives him the space that he needs to speak, standing off to the side against the wall. It’s not hard to get in to see the Hokage, not as it should be for an unknown like Tobi. Even in the sorry state that he’s fallen to, Sakumo’s name brings with it enough respect to grant him an unscheduled audience. This is not the first and certainly won’t be the last, not for how long the two veterans have known each other, and he’s glad that the name he carries can still be useful to someone, tarnished and tainted though it may be.

Hiruzen sizes the boy up in a matter of moments. He sits at his desk with his fingers drawn together as Tobi makes his plea and listens. Tobi is using the calm tone again, as he seems to do whenever important matters are addressed. Then, when there’s a break in Tobi’s speech, Hiruzen draws a breath from his pipe.

“And you believe you can relocate this laboratory?”

Tobi nods.

Hiruzen does, as well. He goes rummaging through his drawers until he finds a map, one that he hands off to Sakumo to pin to the wall.

Tobi steps over to it and for a moment, his certainty crumbles. Sakumo isn’t worried. He steps over to the boy, crouches beside him, and points to a marked location at the center. The map is of Fire Country with Konoha at its heart. Instantly, the boy’s face lights up. “This is the village,” he explains, drawing his finger south on the map to a part of the surrounding forests, “and this is where I found you.”

Tobi lifts his hand to that marker and then follows it south still, close to a smaller civilian village on the map. “Here,” he says, circling a wide berth of the area. “Somewhere here. It was underground.”

Sakumo glances over his shoulder at Hiruzen. They exchange a knowing look. They share the same theory—that this could very well be where the missing children have been taken. Sakumo has to remember to breathe to keep from bursting through the village gate and marching on down there with all eight of his ninken.

Tobi’s hand falls to his side and he stares narrow-eyed at the map. “He kept us in… tubes,” he says, reaching for a better word that never comes. “He monitored us daily. I don’t remember much. It’s all—” He rubs his forehead and Sakumo is reminded of Inoki’s findings, of how jumbled everything is inside this boy’s head.

“We were across from one another,” he says. “And then we weren’t. And then…”

Tobi stares down at his hands and says nothing.

Sakumo hefts himself up and rubs the boy’s back. They’ve heard enough. There’s no reason to make the boy relive any past traumas when they have the answer they need. “There you have it,” he says. “How soon can we get a team out there, Lord Third?”

Hiruzen sighs. He looks his age again, which is never a good thing. “Rest up for the night,” he says. “Tomorrow we will move. Just until then, old friend.”

“Of course.”

He wants to go now. Hiruzen knows this, knows how ready he is to go out on his own and destroy every bit of forest until he unearths the lab and tears it apart. But Hiruzen also knows that Sakumo won’t take that risk. Not now, not when this is the only lead that he has on his son.

Tobi is dragging his feet on the walk home. Sakumo matches his speed, worried that the small confrontation in the Hokage’s office has stirred up unpleasant memories. It’s been a long while since Sakumo last had to comfort a child. Kakashi wasn’t the type to want that sort of support, and even if he had been… that was so long ago now.

He leads Tobi to sit on a park bench and takes momentary leave. Tobi’s too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice until half an ice block is being dangled in front of him. He looks up questioningly at Sakumo, who only grins.

“I think you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Tobi gawks openly before taking it. There’s a smile on his face, perhaps the first full smile he’s ever worn. Rather than eat it, he just stares.

“It’s going to melt,” Sakumo teases, dropping down next to him on the bench.

Tobi rolls his eyes. “I won’t let it melt ,” he insists—it’s the loud tone this time, the one he hears most often. “I just—”

“Just?”

He shrugs helplessly as the smile slides off his face. “No one’s ever given me something like this. Or, no, my dad—” He runs a hand through his hair and groans. “My head hurts.”

Sakumo won’t press. If even a Yamanaka can’t make sense of whatever’s going on in there, then it’s no wonder the kid gets headaches. Tobi has mentioned experiments, though—that the person who took him performed tests on the abducted children—and Sakumo wishes he could ask about it. He wants to know what was done to Tobi, and to the others—what may have been done to Kakashi and the Uchiha boy. He wonders if the duplicity of Tobi’s mind is the fault of those experiments. Fortunately, he’s not so tactless as to ask. Whether Tobi opens up about that or not, it isn’t Sakumo’s decision to make.

“Hey,” Tobi calls. At some point, he devours the entirety of his ice block. There’s a lingering look to Sakumo’s half and it’s easily handed over. “Why let me stay with you?”

Sakumo arches a brow. “Hm?”

Tobi averts his eyes and kicks at the dirt somewhat sullenly. “You’re waiting for Kakashi. Why open your house up to me?”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Well…”

“There’s plenty of space. You haven’t given us a name yet, so we haven’t been able to locate your family. Kakashi wouldn’t mind.”

“You sure about that?”

Sakumo ruffles his hair and earns an annoyed groan. “Positive.”

Tobi ducks beneath his hand, his ears burning red, and swats it away weakly. “Hey, Sakumo?”

“Hm?”

“What’s going to happen to me?”

Sakumo hums, his chin in his hand as he stares out at the park. There are some kids playing across the way, and he realizes that he hasn’t come here since Kakashi disappeared. “That depends,” he settles on. “If you can give us a name, we’ll try to return you to your family. But if you can’t, there will be someone to take you in. Do you remember meeting Minato in the hospital?”

Tobi nods.

“He wants you to live with him. He’s away right now, so you’ll be sticking with me until he’s back.”

Tobi’s head falls and Sakumo rubs his back.

“No matter what, you’ll have a home to go back to. I promise you that.”

Night brings with it a pleasant chill. Sakumo hasn’t been able to sit still over the hours since their return home. He paces and fidgets and the kitchen is the cleanest it’s ever been because he focused everything he had on polishing each surface until it shined. Then he cleaned the fridge. There was a smell coming from somewhere—it’s gone now, he’s pleased to note, but it’s not enough to pull himself from thoughts of morning.

He needs to sleep. He knows that, he does, he just…

Can’t.

He’s reorganizing the hall closet when he hears a voice again through the wall. This time it’s not coming from the bathroom, but from the spare room he’s given to Tobi. He stops what he’s doing and hates himself even as he does so, silent as he sidles up to the door.

“—it off.”

It’s Tobi again, of course. There’s no one else it could be.

“It’s not a light switch. It doesn’t just turn off .”

“Deactivate it, then. I don’t care what you call it, just do it .”

“Easy for you to say, I—”

It goes silent. He cuts himself off. It appears Sakumo’s been caught eavesdropping. He moves over to the hall closet and goes back to folding blankets as though nothing ever happened. Sure enough, the door slides open a crack. Sakumo pretends not to notice. It closes again just as quickly, and the boy is none the wiser.

There’s a crazy idea forming in Sakumo’s head that is as absurd as it is uncomfortably conceivable. He’s not ready to believe it quite yet, but the tonal shifts of dialogue in Tobi’s back-and-forths are so sudden and so seamless that he’s not sure how long he can shove this idea to the back of his mind. He hopes it’s not true. He really, truly does.

Sakumo heads to bed soon after. It’s a fitful sleep. He wakes up at least once an hour, tossing and turning with increasing desperation until finally he’s had enough. He climbs out of bed and drags himself toward the kitchen in the hopes that a calming tea may ease his mind but stops midway. Tobi is sitting on the floor in the dining hall, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

“Tobi?” he calls, edging into the room. “What’s wrong? Another headache?”

“No,” he mutters, then takes a defeated breath. “Yes.”

That’s about as clear an answer as he’ll ever get. He grabs two glasses of water from the sink and takes a seat across from the boy, sliding one over. Tobi doesn’t move. He flinches for all of two seconds and then his head lifts, his hands going with it.

“What did you call me?”

“Oh,” Sakumo laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Little nickname I came up with. If you’ve got something better, I can change it.”

Tobi purses his lips and says nothing.

Things are awkward again, which has become the norm of their few days of cohabitation. It’s inevitable, really, because this boy is always stressed over something and Sakumo’s mind is too clouded by distant thoughts to ever slice through the tension with any level of tact.

When they reach the twenty-minute mark and Tobi still hasn’t moved, there is something to be concerned about. “Tobi,” he repeats carefully, “what’s wrong?”

Tobi worries his lip in the ensuing quiet. “I don’t think you can help.”

“Perhaps not,” Sakumo acknowledges. Tobi’s background and body are so wrapped up in mystery that he’s not too sure there’s anything he can do if something has gone wrong. “But at least let me try.”

Slowly, Tobi’s hands come down. His eyes are closed. They stay that way for several long stretches of silence before, cautiously, they open. A cutting red stares back. Sakumo knows that red—Sharingan red. It glows unnaturally through the darkness, two tomoe spinning in one eye and one in the other. Those eyes bring Sakumo back to a day two years ago and to a forgotten name in an old village registry, to a little girl standing before the academy with begging eyes.

This is Obito.

Obito Uchiha.

Obito notices the staring. He hurries to cover his eyes again.

“No—” Sakumo steadies himself. He pushes back the flood of two-year-old memories and reaches across the table to take Obito’s hands in his, bringing them back down. “You’ve awakened your Sharingan. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Well, no, there are a few things wrong with that. While Sakumo is no expert on the Uchiha bloodline, he’s heard tales of the lengths that some will go to awaken their dōjutsu. There are implications drawn from such a young child having that ability and none of them sit well with him.

“It won’t go away,” he says, biting back his frustration. “I feel it using up my chakra but I can’t get it to stop .”

That’s why he’s sitting on the floor in the middle of the night with his eyes closed. Sakumo sighs, scratching his head. At times like these, he wishes he stuck closer to the Uchiha clan. These rare instances are the only times he wishes so. Sakumo’s own abilities are indefinitely activated. His aren’t the type to use up chakra and so there isn’t much to worry over. He doesn’t have any solid advice on how to help in this situation; from what he gathers, the Uchiha can automatically activate and deactivate their dōjutsu at will. Is this what happens when the bloodline isn’t pure, or is this a byproduct of whatever Obito went through in that lab?

“Well first, calm down,” he commands. Obito gives him a look that says ‘I’ve tried that,’ but takes a breath anyway. “Is this the first time it’s activated?”

“No,” Obito mutters. “It… the other day. When I got out. It activated. I don’t know what it did, but one of the assistants—she let me out. I made her let me out. I don’t even know if it’s supposed to do that.”

Sakumo doesn’t know, either. He supposes that with a well-woven genjutsu, anything is possible. “Do you remember how you deactivated it then?”

“No.” Obito speaks before he thinks about it. He rolls the thought around in his head for a while. Then something clicks. He looks at Sakumo and like magic the red recedes until nothing remains but dark, unyielding black. He cracks a grin. “It worked,” he laughs. “Lookit that, Old Man, it worked!”

Sakumo’s not ready to be called an ‘old man’ at this point in his life, but he has to admit that the boy has an infectious grin. "Good job. Found your trigger?"

Obito nods. "When I heard you in the forest. It just—poof. Stopped. Like magic."

Sakumo isn't sure why hearing that knots his stomach.

Dawn breaks. It's been a long time coming. It has been one of the longest nights in all of his thirty-seven years and to see its end leaves him a mix of bitter and relieved.

Breakfast comes first. He lays out a feast this morning because he already has side dishes prepared and sets the table for his young charge. Tobi—Obito, he has to keep reminding himself—is still asleep in the other room as far as he can tell. Sakumo will relay the discovery of the boy's identity to Hiruzen after the search. For now, though, he only has one thing on his mind.

If Obito is alive then Kakashi must be, too.

Sakumo is not the type to leave without saying goodbye. He gently slides open the door to the spare room but nothing rests beneath the futon sheets. It doesn't look like it's been touched since it was first laid out. While Obito can be, at times, a very orderly person and Sakumo would not put it past him to have straightened out the sheets after waking up, it feels like this is something else.

Sakumo frowns. Where could the boy have gone?

After checking the bathroom and the yard, Sakumo gets an idea. Like most of his ideas, he's none too fond of it.

Sakumo hesitates before the door of his son's bedroom. His mouth is dry and he stares at his feet, willing himself to just do it . Then he hears breath. It's the smallest thing, a tiny whimper in a sea of stillness, and it's enough to break his heart. He opens the door.

There is a boy with pale skin and pale hair lying beneath the sheets of Kakashi's bed, blankets drawn up to his chin. Obito is wearing one of Kakashi's shirts, one of the ones with the attached masks that go up over his nose, and Sakumo turns away.

He's shaking.

Sakumo can't bring himself to wake the boy. He retreats and scrawls out a message on a scrap piece of paper telling Obito that he's gone to join the search. He leaves it at the breakfast table in plain sight and wastes no time making a hasty retreat out the front door.

To Sakumo at that moment, anything is better than staying here.

Chapter Text

Tobi wakes sometime after dawn and groans. They want to roll back over and go to sleep, but the side that is Kakashi reminds them that the search party will be sent out today and that, if they want to see Dad off, they need to get out of bed.

They yawn, stretch toward the ceiling, and make a face. There’s a mask over their nose and Obito takes prime control, so it annoys him. He tugs it down around their neck. It’s something that he’s been slowly getting used to, but he isn’t ready to cover his face all of the time the way that Kakashi did.

“Why’d you do it, anyway?” Obito asks as he wipes the sleep from their eyes and throws their shirt off, rifling through the closet for something clean to wear. “I mean, we could all tell that it was you. You didn’t hide anything.”

He sniffs one of the shirts that he finds on the floor of the closet and shrugs. Smells fine. Next, he rifles through the dresser for pants. They’re all a bit too short and he hopes that Dad’ll take them out to get clothes that fit eventually. A lot is going on right now, so he gets it. These fit well enough, so it’s not a priority, but still…

“It was for Dad,” Kakashi mutters, not daring to speak out loud for fear of Sakumo overhearing him. “He always used to say I looked like Mom. I thought that if he didn’t see my face, he wouldn’t miss her so much.”

“Oh.” Obito stands in the middle of the room and pulls on the clean shirt. Awkwardly, he sets the mask over their nose, too.

He feels Kakashi’s bemusement and clears their throat, changing the subject. “What d’ya think we should make Dad for breakfast?”

“He’s already made breakfast,” Kakashi points out, catching the scent in the air.

Obito pouts. “Aw, damn. I thought we could make it for him. And like, pack a lunch to take with him and share with the other trackers.”

“He’s not going on a field trip.”

“Still!”

As Tobi passes through the hall, their eyes catch on their reflection in the mirror on the wall and they stop. They’re looking very Kakashi-like with that mask right now, but they see Obito, too, shining through. Looking at themself is getting easier with time. It doesn’t unnerve them like it used to and when they consider themself now, there’s no contempt. “Tobi, huh? What do you think?”

“Leans too much toward your name,” Kakashi says. “It’s biased. But…”

“But?”

“But it’s the name Dad gave us.”

“I like it, too.”

When they come up to the living room, they find a feast waiting for them. Dad gets like this when he has trouble sleeping, so they’re a little worried about his state at the moment. He probably thinks he’ll find Kakashi on this search and they feel guilty. But still, Kakashi won’t allow them to say it. So they won’t.

What draws their attention isn’t the magnificent spread that they can’t hope to finish themself, but the note neatly folded amongst it. Tobi’s face scrunches up as they take it in their hands, open it up, and read.

‘Gone to help the search. Don’t skip breakfast. If you get hungry later, there are leftovers in the fridge.’

Obito pouts and sets the note back down. “Aw, c’mon. He didn’t even say ‘goodbye?’ That’s rude.”

“Dad’s not normally like that,” Kakashi says quietly, taking brief control to read the note over one more time. “Something must have upset him.”

“Should we go?”

“What?”

“You’re worried, right? We could track him ourselves and see if he’s okay.”

Kakashi doesn’t even consider it. He sits them down at the table, pulls down their mask, and starts piling food onto their plate. Leaving the village gates now would be a bad move on their end. They’re just starting to get a grasp on working together. If something were to happen while tracking Dad down, they wouldn’t have the coordination to protect themself. Then there’s what Minato said—the Yellow Flash, they recall now that they’re more coherent. If the seal is interrupting the flow of chakra through their body, they may not even be able to perform their usual jutsu.

“It’s too risky.”

“Tch. You’re no fun.”

Obito doesn’t fight him on this because he knows Kakashi won’t back down. So, Tobi will be good and stay put for the day. Alone, in this big house, with nothing but themself to keep them company.

Today is going to suck.

It’s after they’re done eating and have started on the dishes that they hear the knock at the door. Tobi almost shatters one of the plates, but they manage to save it before it hits the floor. They sniff the air and make a face, the smell of sunshine and lightning burning their nose. They recognize the scent from the hospital. Ignoring it is the first thing on their mind, but the knocking is persistent and it’s none too pleasant against their sensitive ears.

Tobi dries their hands on a towel and opens the front door, staring dully at the tall blond on the other side. Minato is all smiles, though, waving excitedly at them.

“Hey there,” he greets cheerily. “Remember me?”

They shut the door in his face but he blocks it with his foot. That makes them pull harder, but they can’t out-strength the full-grown adult they’re fighting with. Eventually, they give up.

“I have some keys to test on that seal,” Minato hurries to explain. “If you let me in, we can try them out and see how they work. How’s that sound?”

Tobi narrows their eyes suspiciously. They assumed that he was back from his mission and intended to take them home, but if he’s just here to test the seal they suppose they could relent. The door slides open fully and they still don’t quite trust him, but he’s been given the ‘okay’ for the moment.

“Come in,” they say reluctantly.

They lead Minato into the living room and take a seat on the floor mat by the chabudai. The walls are filled with endless bits and bobbles, weapons, antiques, and centuries-old artworks that were passed down through the Hatake generations. Minato is distracted by it all, his eyes bright and shining as he takes in Sakumo’s collection. He’s never been here before. Kakashi can attest to that. He does remember seeing Minato hanging around Dad a few times, though, as far back as he can remember. They’ve never spoken.

Minato pulls himself from his awe to take a seat beside Tobi, who leans away automatically. He’s not bothered. He swings off his backpack and starts pulling bundles of scrolls and papers out onto the table. Soon, their organized living area looks like a bookkeeper’s worst nightmare.

Minato better be the one cleaning this up.

As the shinobi organizes his things, Tobi turns their back to him in anticipation. They want this seal gone. Two years of resentment have left them bitter and frustrated, Kakashi especially, and once it’s gone it feels like the nightmare will be over. But it won’t be. They’ll still be here, living like this, unable to separate themselves.

“You can speak now,” Minato observes as he unravels a scroll, scans its content, shakes his head and tries another. “I’m relieved.”

Tobi scratches their cheek awkwardly. “I had to figure out how. It was too hard before.”

“I suppose it would be,” Minato acknowledges, reading over the symbols on one of his key sketches. “There’s a lot to figure out with two of you in there, I’ll bet.”

Tobi’s eyes widen and they snap around to face the blond. They don’t know what to say or how to act, and even Kakashi can’t keep the shock off their face. Words die in their throat as Obito demands an explanation and Kakashi fights to keep calm.

Minato notices the staring and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was bugging me for days,” he confesses. “Your chakra signature. It’s a mess. But if you break it down into parts, it starts to make sense. Part of it feels remarkably like the White Fang’s, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that wasn’t quite right.

“Then one night, I was out on a mission. I won’t go into detail, but something reminded me of you, Kakashi, and then I realized it. It matches your chakra signature so closely. There’s some Inuzuka in there. Who else carries both of those bloodlines?”

Tobi doesn’t know what to say, so they just keep staring, mouth agape, until they can collect their thoughts and clear their throat. “Oh.”

Minato looks proud of himself. Annoyingly so. “And since the other section has Uchiha and another, unrecognizable marker in it, I think it’s safe to assume it’s Obito in there with you, right?”

“You make me sound like a lazy freeloader.”

Minato laughs and raises placating hands. “I don’t mean it like that, honest.”

Hesitantly, they turn back around, giving the blond access to the nape of their neck. It goes quiet for a bit while Minato tests the first key. There’s a spike of chakra that runs through their skin, a defeated sigh, and soon Minato is trying another one. It’s weird having someone know about them, but weirder still that he’s not making a big deal out of it. Their biggest fear is how people will react if they find out. Will they get hauled off to another lab to see how Orochimaru did it, or will they get looks?

Will they get the same stares that Dad does outside of the house? Will they be shamed by the village, too?

“I won’t tell anyone.” Minato notices their unease. “Frankly, it’s none of my business. But you haven’t told your father, have you?”

They ball their fists and say nothing.

“If you had, I don’t think he would have gone on that search today. He would be here with you.”

Tobi sighs, their shoulders sagging as they feel another rush of chakra assault the seal. “He would have,” Kakashi says softly. “Dad isn’t the type to leave someone behind. If there’s a chance to save someone, he takes it. So he’d go. Even if he knew.”

When Tobi takes another peek, Minato’s grinning, too bright to look at. “He’s a great man, isn’t he?”

It’s been a long time since they last felt this swell of pride. Kakashi blames Obito as he scrubs at their eyes and hides their face from the man seated behind them, but he knows it’s not Obito and he can’t get the crying to stop. Their shoulders are shaking and their throat is tight. There’s a hand rubbing circles into their back, but nothing will get it to end.

Nobody says that about Dad anymore. All Kakashi remembers are the different ways the villagers raked Sakumo’s name through the mud and every spiteful word that drove nails into his heart. He heard it for so long that he started believing it. He thought that maybe they were right, maybe Dad made the wrong decision. Maybe it’s because of Dad that the war is still going on. Maybe that was when they stopped eating together.

Before that, Dad was his world. His everything. He was Kakashi’s pride and dream and hero.Kakashi Hatake, son of Konoha’s White Fang, one of the greatest shinobi alive. At one time, he wore that title as a badge of honour.

When the crying doesn’t stop after ten minutes, Minato gets flustered and looks around for something that can help. He didn’t realize he’d opened the floodgates. “Hey, Kakashi, Obito, it’s okay! Once you tell him, I’m sure he’ll love you just the same!”

The crying gets harder because now they’re reminded of the fact that they can’t even apologize to Dad as they are, that Dad doesn’t recognize Kakashi and that Sakumo's not even the father of a whole half of them, and Minato panics. The key test is completely forgotten.

“Do you—would you guys like to go somewhere?” he tries desperately. “I have the day off, I can—we could, hm…”

Tobi scrubs at their face a little more, wiping their tears on their sleeves—it’s Obito that makes them cry so easily, it definitely is—and listens intently.

“How about dango? Would you like some dango? I have some pocket change, um—”

As Minato rifles through his wallet, Tobi rises to their feet and looks down on him. The tears are dried and their eyes are still puffy and red, but Obito has collected their fractured emotions for a more important matter. “Well, you coming or not, Sea Urchin Head?”

Minato hates the name but laughs anyway.

Tobi sits across from Minato at one of the tables in the plaza. There are a lot of street vendors in this area and a little outdoor patio for customers to eat at. It’s not very busy today. Between the shinobi sent out to fight in the war and the ones helping the search in the forest, it’s mostly just civilians loitering about. That’s fine by them. They get stares even now, even when they can’t be recognized as the son of the defamed White Fang or the outcast Uchiha, and the fewer people there are, the fewer eyes they’ll have on them. They think the stares they’re getting at the moment are for Minato, though, and not them. Minato easily meets the gazes of the passersby and waves at them with a smile, and it diffuses any unease they might feel. He’s so good at handling himself in public. How does he do that?

Between them rest multiple dango skewers. There’s one in Tobi’s hands, too, that they’re nibbling on. In his efforts to make the child happy, Minato bought as many as he could carry, and now they have way too much dango and not enough room in their stomachs.

That’s fine by Obito. He’s getting a thrill out of it. He never had all that many treats like this back in his old life, not for lack of trying. Granny gave what she was able but they were poor and got by as best they could. The Uchiha clan never extended a helping hand after his parents passed away. With the last pureblooded Uchiha in Obito’s direct line dead, they severed any remaining ties they had with their clan’s black sheep. So Granny had to support the both of them all by herself even though she was old, even though she had back and joint problems. She worked all the time. Obito was looking forward to becoming a genin because he’d be able to earn money and help out, but well, any chance of that happening went up in flames.

Obito thinks that Minato isn’t such a bad guy, after all. And Kakashi, well…

Kakashi isn’t sure. But he doesn’t think that he hates Minato, either.

Minato is watching them again and it unnerves them. The looks he gives them are reminiscent of Orochimaru but with fewer snakes and a tad less aggression.

“What should I call you?” Minato asks.

“Huh?”

“Well, if you don’t want anyone to know, I’ll need a name to use. Have you decided on one, or should we brainstorm?”

Tobi blinks, staring at their half-eaten dango, and feels their face heat up. “Tobi. Dad named me. Us.”

“Tobi, huh?” Minato raises his eyes skywards and nods. “Not bad. Not bad at all. It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute .”

“Sure it is, Tobi. Look how cute that sounds.”

Minato likes laughing at their suffering and they hate every moment of it.

After their dango is eaten and the leftovers are packed into a paper bag for later—Obito insists they leave some for Dad even though Kakashi knows that Dad doesn’t tend to eat sweets—they just sit and people-watch for a bit. It’s nice to be the one doing the watching for a change. All sorts of people pass through the plaza, from teams of genin that aren’t ready to be drafted into the war to mothers gathering groceries and academy instructors grabbing a meal in between classes. It’s been a long time since either Kakashi or Obito sat like this.

They often wonder if their memories are so hazy because of the passage of time, or because Kakashi and Obito, as separate entities, no longer exist. Tobi feels each side of them clear as day, but maybe those voices are just the remnants of who they were. Maybe Tobi is all that’s left.

They don't like thinking about it.

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?” Minato asks, dragging them away from their spiralling thoughts.

Tobi blinks. “Why?”

“Well, you’re alone today, right? I don’t mind keeping you company. I know you’re probably anxious with the search going on.”

He isn’t wrong. Tobi knows that if the lab is found then information on them, too, will be found. They don’t know exactly what Orochimaru wrote about them but, from what they can recall, he was always furiously scrawling down notes whenever he brought them out to ‘play.’ There will be something, at the very least, that will explain their situation. They’re scared Dad will find out.

At the same time, they can’t think of anywhere to go. They missed the village, sure, but neither had much to go back to. Obito wants to see Rin, but Rin won’t recognize him and that’s going to hurt. Kakashi wouldn’t mind checking up on Gai, but Gai has probably found a new rival by now, and it isn’t like he can spar with their body like this, anyway. They drum their fingers against the table as they think.

“A bookstore?” Kakashi tries, head tilted.

From within, Obito groans. Of course, the lame ninja prodigy wants to study. That’s so boring.

Minato collects their things and stands up, smiling sunshine-bright. “Sure. I have some things I want to look up, anyway.”

The bookstore isn’t too far from the plaza. It has an open storefront and two stories of books. Minato makes a beeline for the fuinjutsu section in the back left corner of the first floor, but Tobi suspects he’s already read anything useful they have here. In all honesty, Kakashi isn’t much of a reader, himself. He just thinks it might be a good way to stay distracted. If they’re reading, they’re not thinking about the search.

They browse the first floor, but it’s mostly old texts about history and they’re too young to fully appreciate it. There’s a sign on the landing of the second floor that mentions fiction and Obito’s more interested in that. Maybe he can find a cool novel about ninjas or something. So, he leads them up there and starts perusing the shelves but nothing catches their eye.

At the end of one of the rows, there’s a tiny display for a new book. One of the sannin is advertised as its author. Sannin—like Orochimaru. It makes their skin crawl. They’re about to pass it by but the title sticks out to them.

The Tale of the Gutsy Shinobi.

It’s Obito who snatches up a copy, giving the back cover a cursory glance. He goes to put it back but thinks better of it. Who knows? It might be fun.

“What about this one?” he asks Kakashi offhandedly.

“Jiraiya’s the Toad Sage, isn’t he?” Kakashi, unwilling to have them talking to themself in public, won’t bring voice to his question.

“Yeah? I mean, I guess?” Obito shrugs. He has no such reservations.

“He’s one of Dad’s friends.”

“Really?!”

“Keep your voice down. People are looking.”

Obito huffs, crossing their arms, the book still dangling from their hand. “Let ‘em look. What’re they gonna do? C’mon. Sea Urchin Head’s got our back, and people like him.”

“My name is Minato, Tobi.”

Tobi jumps and spins on their heel. They feel like their heart’s going to jump out of their chest because they honestly thought he was still down on the first level. Otherwise, Obito wouldn’t have been so openly using his name as a shield.

Minato doesn’t seem to mind. He’s sulking over the nickname, though. “What’s that you’ve got?”

“Oh, um—” Tobi holds the book up for inspection. “Buy it for me? It looks cool.”

Minato’s eyes light up and he grins. “As a matter of fact…” He leans closer to the display and picks up another copy, holding it up to match. “I’ve been looking for this, myself.”

It’s after they’ve paid for the books and are leisurely wandering through Konoha’s streets that Minato gives them an explanation.

“My sensei wrote this,” he says, flipping through the pages of his copy with fondness. “I haven’t seen him in years now, so I’m looking forward to cracking it open.”

“You’re Master Jiraiya’s student?” Tobi asks, Kakashi shining through.

“That’s right. His star apprentice,” he says proudly.

“Hmmm…”

Minato doesn’t look that strong, all things considered. Not the way that Dad does. They know the infamy that follows the Yellow Flash (at least, Kakashi does) but when comparing those stories to the man standing before them, they’re a little… disappointed. He’s just so soft. And quiet. And easy to fluster. But looks can be deceiving, so they don’t mention it.

On the way back to the Hatake estate, Minato pauses at the front of a shop. “Say, Tobi?”

“Hm?” They look back at him, their hands behind their head, blinking.

Minato points at the shop. “Why don’t we get you fitted for some new clothes? Those are looking a little small.”

Tobi looks down at themself. Kakashi’s old clothes are too tight, hugging their joints uncomfortably. The sleeves are too short and the pant legs even more so. They think that something loose-fitting would be easier to move around in and they see some shirts with fitted masks in the front display.

“Yeah?”

Minato nods. “Let’s have a look?”

Tobi isn’t sure where the swell of warmth in the pit of their stomach comes from as they meekly follow the jōnin into the shop. It’s not what they expect. This whole time, wading through the confusion and uncertainty, they never thought that they could have a normal day like this again. They never thought someone would so readily accept them as they are, take time out of his day to spend with them, it’s…

It’s too much.

They don’t cry. Kakashi takes control to make sure of that. They say nothing and sift through the racks of clothes, their ears a bright red whenever Minato holds an article of clothing against their chest and calls them ‘handsome.’ They’re out in the open, down one of Konoha’s busiest streets, and no one is slandering their father’s name or their Uchiha bloodline. They have a book they’re excited to read when they get home and someone to occupy these hard hours with.

They feel it all at once, and it’s too much.

But they don’t cry.

They’re home now and Tobi’s trying their hand at a stir-fry dish. They’re experimenting. They never made a meal like this as Obito because the ingredients Granny bought weren’t very varied, so they didn’t have much to work with. Obito knows a thing or two about cooking, though, even if he’s not that great at it, and he wants to do something to thank Minato for today. Even if Tobi, as a whole, is still wary that Minato is going to haul them away from Dad one day. Kakashi does something to show his appreciation, as well: he lets Minato back into the house.

Truly, he is far too kind.

While they cook their experimental dish, Minato sits at the dining table, scrawling out new ideas for seal keys. They tried the last few he made when they returned from shopping to no avail. Minato doesn't take to failure very well. He’s so focused on his work that he never notices when the food is set down in front of him. Tobi nudges him with their foot to get him to look up.

“Hm? Oh, Tobi. I think I’ve got another one for us to try. Take a seat.”

“Forget that,” Kakashi sighs, nodding to the meal set out around the papers. There wasn’t much room to work with, so they made do with what they had. “Eat. It’s time for lunch.”

Minato is genuinely confused as he looks between Tobi and the food, then out the window at the high noon sun, and laughs. “That time already?”

They take a seat across from the jōnin and are the first to eat. It’s a little chewy—again—but honestly, it’s a marked improvement from when they tried to make breakfast. They’re getting better, and it helps that Kakashi stopped the water from over-boiling.

When Minato starts eating but doesn’t say anything, they fidget.

“Is it okay?”

“It’s good.” To their skeptical look, he laughs. “No, honestly, it’s really good. You’re a pretty decent cook for your age. Is this a Kakashi skill or an Obito one?”

He asks it casually, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s only natural the two of them share a body, and like there’s nothing wrong with them, or with this situation. Like this, it feels like they can breathe.

“Obito,” states the boy in question with a grin. “I used to help Granny out in the kitchen.”

“Nice work, Obito. Skills like this will keep the two of you alive.”

“I’m amazing. I know.”

After they eat, it’s time to test the new key Minato’s been developing all afternoon. Tobi sits cross-legged with their back to him and waits for the same expulsion of chakra to run through the seal. They don’t expect it to work. This is, what, the sixth one today? For all his bragging, Minato may not be as good of a fuinjutsu master as he thinks he is. But that’s okay. The silver lining to all of this is that the seal can’t be used to control them because their chakra signature has changed, so the most it’s doing is blocking the flow of chakra through their body. Which can’t make that big of a difference, right? They haven’t tried to use any jutsu since they got out of the lab, but they don’t feel all that different. It’s probably fine.

When the chakra flows through them this time, it’s like a switch is flipped. One moment they’re wondering if Dad will be back tonight and the next they’re tensing under the sudden rush of chakra bursting to life across their body. It’s like a dam has flooded. Their eyes go wide as they stare down at their pale hands, their nerves alive and tingling, and it’s almost too much. 

“Whoo!” Minato cheers from behind, fists raised in triumph, and falls back onto the hardwood floor, laughing like a fool. “We did it!”

Tobi stares down at him, their mouth moving but no words coming out as they fight through their questions.

Minato grins, a cocky look on his face so out of character from his usual calm, quiet presence. “I’ll bet you’re happy you kept me around now. Not so useless after all, am I?”

“I—” Tobi blinks. “That’s… my chakra?”

“Yeah,” Minato says simply. “Pretty great, isn’t it?”

“But I’ve never…”

Minato is still on the floor. He’s not moving. It’s like the concentration he put into making the key has zapped all of his energy. “Well, technically, Kakashi ,” and oh no, he can tell them apart, what a force to be reckoned with, “it’s both of your chakra. Uchihas tend to have pretty big reserves to start, but when you merged, I’m guessing yours were added to Obito’s. If you learn to control it, you’ll be a monster shinobi when you’re all grown up.”

They don’t know what to say. It makes sense when they think about it; Orochimaru was probably trying to make some sort of super soldier with them as his guinea pigs. Of course, he’d try to combine their chakra reserves. But it doesn’t feel real.

“Kakashi,” Obito calls, grinning with their face.

“What?”

“Let’s practice jutsu!”

“Now?”

“ Yes now! There’re some training dummies in the backyard, right?”

“But we have dishes to—”

Obito rolls their eyes and groans. “It’s not like we can’t do them later. C’mon, c’mon! It’s gonna be so cool! ”

Minato’s been listening to them from the floor. He’s rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand, and he’s watching them with amusement. It’s the first time he’s heard their open back-and-forth but he’s not bothered by it. “What do you two say to a private lesson from the Yellow Flash?”

Tobi’s eyes light up and they nod eagerly. Kakashi’s only trained with Dad and Gai, and Obito with Rin. Training hasn’t been on their mind at all since they returned home. They’ve been missing their families, their friends, and are too worried over their current situation to allow themselves that normalcy.

As they run out to the backyard, Minato trailing leisurely behind, they wonder what their day would have been like if he hadn’t knocked on their door. They would have eaten breakfast and stayed home. Going outside alone scares them, so they wouldn’t have eaten dango or bought a book, and they would still be in clothes two sizes too small. They would have stayed in this house, alone with their thoughts, dreading Sakumo’s return and everything that comes with it.

Minato’s not so bad. His hair is stupid, though.

Chapter Text

When Hiruzen joins the search, Sakumo realizes that there’s something more going on beneath the surface. The Hokage walks amidst an entourage of ANBU. This unit is made up of specialized trackers and they’re some of the village’s finest, sure, but there are questions to be had when the Inuzuka clan isn’t brought in, as well. The Inuzuka and Hatake clans share similar traits. It was how Sakumo and his wife found commonality at first, the spark that brought them together. The Inuzuka are talented. For them to not be here—for there to be nothing but ANBU …

Sakumo looks at Hiruzen and sees a secret in those eyes.

When they reach the location that Obito pointed to on the map, the ANBU fan out. Sakumo’s approach is slower. As the rest of the team makes quick work of combing the forest, Sakumo kneels down on the earth and nicks his finger. He presses both hands to the ground and forces chakra through them. Through plumes of smoke, his summons arrive. They branch off, leaving Sakumo to wipe his blood on the leg of his pants and rise up. Hiruzen is with him still, no longer donning the Hokage robes that weigh him down within Konoha’s walls. Hiruzen scrutinizes him, and all he can do is smile.

“They have something to go off of this time,” Sakumo assures. “They’ll relay their findings to me soon enough, don’t you worry.”

It helps knowing that there is for sure something in the area, too.

“I trust in your skills.” At least one person still does. “Will you wait on the ground, then?”

“No,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re searching for Kakashi’s scent. I’ll track the boy’s. I’m the only one out of the team who knows it, after all, and I don’t suppose you have any Inuzuka hiding behind those masks regardless.”

A small grin tugs at the corner of Hiruzen’s mouth, drawn out by some thin amusement. “Very well.”

“There is something I would like to ask you, though.” Sakumo faces the Hokage knowing that he may not be allowed an answer. “Do you know who’s behind all of this?”

“I have a theory,” which is a delicate way of shutting Sakumo down. That’s fine; he won’t ask again. He just had to try, just once, for Kakashi’s sake and for Obito’s.

“Understood.”

Sakumo is a nurturing man and it is because he is nurturing that he hopes the ANBU find the criminal first. Should it be him, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

The first leg of their search is quiet. None of Sakumo’s ninken have reported back yet so the trail is still cold, but that’s fine. He doesn’t expect they’ll find much. Unless Kakashi, too, has escaped, there won’t be a trail to follow. So Sakumo places his bets on the ANBU and on himself. He starts by retracing the path he took the day that he found Obito there in the underbrush and is pleased to note that there’s still a faint trace of the boy’s scent lingering. By the luck of the Sage, it hasn’t rained. His only choice, then, is to follow it.

The scent leads him down an off-trail hike of which broken branches, disturbed leaves and impressions in the grass abound. Obito was so disoriented that first day that it doesn’t surprise Sakumo when the path takes a turn despite the boy claiming to have gone straight north from the lab; he wholeheartedly believes that was Obito’s intention, but Obito could barely walk at the time.

As the search presses on, red flags wave behind Sakumo’s eyes. There would be no telling that Obito is an Uchiha if not for the activation of his Sharingan. He carries none of the markers of one, aside from perhaps the dark eyes. The structure of his face is thinner, more angular, and perhaps those are traits of his clanless mother. Is it also her who lends him such light hair, then?

He knows now why there are no ripples in the clan over the loss of one of their own. The Uchiha are a proud bunch of fools, really, and if the boy does not carry their resemblance then he must not be theirs at all. Sakumo hates it. They have their child back and even when he’s returned to them, they won’t bat an eye.

The trail ends abruptly in the middle of nowhere. It stuns Sakumo for countless minutes like a douse of cold water. He shakes himself. No, this is good. This must be where Obito came up. With newfound hope, Sakumo starts tearing the place apart. He pushes aside bushes and leaves and carves up the earth with an array of jutsu until metal pokes out through the dirt. He follows the line of it down, further away from the nearest trail, when he picks up traces of Obito’s scent once more.

There’s an entrance here that requires a string of Doton to reach, Sakumo deduces from the folds in the earth. But there's nothing to be done.

There’s a hole, sloppy and desperate, as though someone clawed their way out by force.

Sakumo isn’t one to rush things. He shrugs off his pack and ignites the signal flare within, shooting it up through the trees and into the sky. The ANBU in the area should see it. If no one else, Hiruzen will. As much as he wants his son back, Sakumo won’t enter without precautions. There’s no telling what he’ll find in there, and a careless mistake could get someone killed.

The walls weep with the dampness of the forest. He follows thin hallways until he comes across the first door left ajar. It opens to a study lined with shelves of well-worn books. After feeling out the room for traps, Sakumo steps inside and slides one off its perch, briefly flipping through it.. The book is about one of the legends built around Hashirama Senju’s use of Mokuton. Some pages are marked—those on how Lord First utilised his jutsu and the many ways it manifested. Sakumo’s pretty sure he’s unearthed one of Fire Country’s biggest mysteries. Knowing that his hunch may have been correct leaves him bitter.

Broken glass is his next finding. It crunches beneath his shoe and he looks down, sharp edges glinting off the hall light. Whatever it was is in too many pieces to really identify.

Sakumo wants to look more thoroughly into the texts (there are some leatherbound journals stacked high on the desk that look like they’d glean some meaning behind all of this) but he won’t sit there reading when the perimeter is not secure.

There’s a faint glow seeping in through cracks of the next room, another door left ajar, and behind it Sakumo sees something through the dark. Once he’s certain no one is left inside the room, he presses forward.

Fluid spills out across the floor from broken tubes—long, cylindrical chambers that ruptured from within. It washes out into the hall, pungent with a chemical smell. Sakumo covers his nose when he nears the source. But there’s something familiar about it.

That scent trailed along with Obito that first day. It turns his stomach.

All of the machines are broken. The ones that are not physically so seem to have stopped working long ago. There’s only one at the far end of the massive space that gives off any light. Sakumo follows it.

There is a boy inside that machine. He’s small and frail, perhaps only five or six years old. When he looks at Sakumo there’s something distant and hollow in his eyes.

This boy is alive. He’s not Kakashi, but he’s alive.

Sakumo doesn’t touch the machine. He doesn’t know the first thing about it or what effect messing with it will have on the boy, so he leaves it be. He lights up the room with a hand sign and a flow of Raiton follows. A part of him wishes that he hadn’t. He sees children in some of the other tubes, too. In the broken ones.

He has to look away, bile rising up his throat.

Steps from the hall bring him out of it. A chill runs up his back as he unsheaths his tantō, holding it level before him, and he keeps steady. The chemical smell is too strong for him to scent out who it is.

When the intruders enter the threshold with faces hidden behind painted masks, he lowers his weapon. The ANBU search the room with slow steps but if they’re as disturbed as he is then they don't show it.

“Over here,” he calls, nodding up to the boy whose eyes are still transfixed on him. “This one is alive. We need to get him out of here safely.”

One of them, a woman beneath a fox mask, is the first to approach. She looks up at the child and waves when he notices her. The boy smiles. “How, though?” she asks, then rounds on her team. “Do any of you know how this thing works?”

The ANBU look between one another, expecting one to come forward. No one does. Sakumo isn’t surprised; they were chosen as trackers and this is not an ANBU’s field of expertise.

She lets out an exasperated breath. “One of you notify Lord Third. He may know who to send for.”

A man in a crow mask makes a hand seal and he’s gone. She nods at the rest.

“Investigate. See if you can find anything we can use.”

With them here, Sakumo feels a little less guilty about continuing his search. He smiles at the child one last time before he takes off down the hall again, relieved when the smell fades with distance. He isn’t sure how long he could have lasted in that room, between the chemicals and the darkened tubes. Those images will stay with him for a long time.

That room is not the only one like it. Sakumo is pleased to note that the next room is fully lit. The children here are alive —two and three years old, so small and young but they’re moving. He calls to the ANBU and points it out to them. He’s quiet about it as a precaution, but no one outside of their team seems to be there. Whoever ran this place must have left when they realized that Obito escaped.

Below the tubes, there are labels. The labels highlight the day the experiment was initiated, all roughly two to three years prior when the children would have been infants. Sakumo suspects that once they line those dates up with the long list of missing persons reports they have in Konoha’s records, they’ll be able to get the children home.

There are several unused rooms in this lab, but it’s not very big as a whole. He comes across a sitting area and a small kitchen.

It’s the second-to-last room and Sakumo expects to find more of the same. This room is smaller. Only two of those tubes lie beyond the door. One is lit. Both are empty. The one still running has been drained and the front half of the glass swings freely from its hinge. There’s a lot going on here that doesn’t feel like the rest.

There’s a desk in the corner. Papers are strewn across it and the floor and when Sakumo picks one up, he can’t make sense of the writing. It nags at him, though, those illegible words.

Obito was kept here.

He keeps looking. There’s a height chart in the corner with three lines drawn across it. Beside that, a scale. In the first drawer of the desk he finds vials—blood, by the look of it, discarded there as though unimportant. In the second he finds a journal. This time, the writing is neat and legible in an almost fascinating way. Its careful strokes are nothing like the angry smudges on the loose papers. In the corner of every new entry, there is a date and a name. The name he sees is Obito Uchiha and Sakumo worries that what he’ll find there is everything that was done to the boy. He flips the page.

Kakashi Hatake.

His heart drops. His eyes go up to the unlit machine and everything feels very, wholly wrong.

The early entries are primarily on Obito. It describes their efforts to force the activation of the Sharingan as well as general statistics of both boys—height, weight, handedness. They weren’t always kept here, it seems. They were confined someplace else and made to do various menial tasks for the sake of observation. Sakumo thumbs through it, unable to read each section at length without feeling sick. It goes into depth about each child’s reactions to various stimuli. Obito is the focus. Always, at first.

Activation of the Sharingan is known to proceed in times of stress. Simulation of high-tension situations may be necessary.

Fear is not enough of a motivator to awaken this dōjutsu. When threatened, the subject’s reaction is to posture. Physical pain appears to have some effect.

Under extreme pain, the Sharingan has not shown itself. Earlier tension showed promise but did not rise to match the severity of the stimuli. Amputation of the right humerus has not been enough of a trigger and methods of approach are to be reconsidered.

The subject has shown a reaction to the other child’s pain. Further testing necessary.

The stress used to activate the Sharingan appears to be a selfless one. The condition must hold with it powerful emotions. It is only when the Hatake boy is injured and under threat of death that the subject is able to activate the Kekkei Genkai. Currently, there is one tomoe in each eye. Full maturation is required before transplant.

Sakumo slams the book onto the floor with a growled-out curse. He hates this book. He hates it and hates it and hates it more . And there is more. There’s so much more but Sakumo cannot bring himself to get past the first dozen pages. No, he has to. Kakashi’s whereabouts could be detailed in this book, he has to .

But he can’t.

With venom on his tongue and blood boiling in his veins, Sakumo looks at the deactivated tube in the middle of the room. He looks at it and sees all of the darkened chambers in that first room and all of the children floating inside and he fears what it means. His fist slams against the glass but it doesn’t break.

There are steps behind him but he doesn’t care. It’s Hiruzen. Sakumo can tell by the smoke-filled scent and measured stride.

Hiruzen picks up the journal and stops beside Sakumo, staring up into the still fluid of the tube. Then he, too, thumbs the pages.

“He’s not here,” Sakumo says. There’s no venom now. His anger flickers and dies like a starved flame and all he can feel is hollow.

Hiruzen hums, scrolling through the journal, reading every page in depth. He doesn't balk. This is a man numb to the horrors of this world, no matter how deep they cut. “If he only needed another child to activate the Sharingan, where is the point in taking Kakashi?”

Sakumo lets out a bitter noise, his forehead pressed to the glass. He closes his eyes and steadies himself. “What does it matter?”

“He had so many children already. Why take another?”

Sakumo wonders that, too. He wonders why these two were kept separate from the rest. These experiments weren’t on Mokuton, surely, and that must be why.

But what was the goal in all of this, really?

Despite his protests, the Hokage slides the journal back into his hand and squeezes it tight.

“We will take care of the rest.”

Sakumo is home around sunset. The house is quiet, but he can’t bring himself to care. He shrugs off his sandals, hangs up his flak jacket, and sets the journal down on a table in the sitting room. There’s a dinner plate on the dining table, a cover over it, and no doubt Obito made it for him. He can’t eat. He doesn’t feel hungry. Food is like ash in his mouth and—this is so very, very familiar.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. At first, he thinks tea is best to calm his nerves. Even that turns his stomach. There’s no cleaning to be done, no clothing to be washed, and he’s sure that he should look for Obito because it’s too quiet, or maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe the boy’s gone off to his grandmother’s. Maybe Obito is finally taking his life back.

His eyes are drawn to the book and oh how he hates Hiruzen for giving it to him. He hates himself more so for picking it back up. All he’s able to do is flip through the pages that he already read, to revisit the anger and stew in his own personal shortcomings. Why couldn’t he have found that place two years ago? That was when the boys needed him. Not now, but then .

Orochimaru was a friend once. It feels so long ago now, but it’s only recently that he disappeared from the village. When Sakumo opens the book, that’s all he can think about. Two years and Orochimaru was still here, still in the village, eating alongside them as though he was not the monster that he is, vanishing only when they caught Obito’s scent.

Something sticks out at him, though, this second time around.

Amputation of the right humerus.

That can’t be. Obito has both arms. They’re both perfectly functional, too. There could have been a medic-nin on the bastard’s team, though—someone who could work their way through such irreparable damage.

Shouldn’t there at least be a scar? A line, even thin, somewhere on the bicep or shoulder?

Sakumo thumbs further through the journal in search of answers. Tests, failures to force the Sharingan into full maturation, but—

But.

On the pages about Kakashi, something else is happening.

“It is a shame for such a rare bloodline to go to waste,” it says. “I wonder, perhaps, if there is more to be done with him.”

That is the only line in the book written in first person. There is more after that, but it trails off the last page. There is a second journal out there somewhere—a journal with answers. But it wasn’t in the desk. It wasn’t in that room, or—the study, perhaps?

But that lab was abandoned. They would have taken anything important—any noteworthy advancements in their research. What is found on the Sharingan in this journal reconfirms a lot of old tales but brings little else to light.

The bastard took the research with him.

Sakumo hears something out back. A young boy’s voice tugs at his focus and he wanders over to the back door. The voice is louder now, louder and oh so familiar. Obito is out back. In the backyard there stand two straw dummies and a few wooden targets. Sakumo made them for Kakashi to help with training. They’re old, he’s not sure how well they’ve held up, but Kakashi still used them up until his disappearance.

He wonders, maybe, if Obito knows something about what happened to Kakashi. They were there together, right? That must be why Obito picked up Kakashi’s photograph that first night. Obito recognized him.

“Not like that,” Obito chastises himself. “Focus. Your grip is all wrong.”

“Shut up. It’s fine. ”

“It’s really not.”

Sakumo’s fingers curl around the edge of the door but he pauses. He listens. For the first time, he just wants to hear what these conversations Obito has with himself are about.

Something clatters to the ground—a tantō, perhaps. “Where’s the point in learning kenjutsu when I have ninjutsu? It’s stupid.”

There’s an exasperated sigh. Through the paper walls, Sakumo sees the small shadow bend over and pick the weapon right back up. “Ninjutsu has its own limitations.”

Sakumo expects him to keep fighting with himself but it goes quiet.

“Right.”

“Be ready for anything.”

“Yeah. Okay. Fine,” a pause, “but I don’t have to like it.”

Obito’s grip is firm. The stance conveyed in his silhouette is balanced, level.

Then it falters again. His hands fall to his sides. “That smell…”

Looks like it’s time for Sakumo to stop eavesdropping. A part of him feels guilty and he worries that he’s treating the boy like a commodity. He should be ashamed of himself.

“Dad’s home.”

Everything stops.

The door flies open. On the other end stands a wide-eyed boy with a black mask covering the bottom half of his face, the tantō limp in his hand. Sakumo looks, then— really looks. The expression on the boy’s face switches rapidly from shock to unease, then ends in a halfhearted glare. The boy looks to the ground.

Then back up, at Sakumo.

The boy is calm now. Sakumo is anything but.

Sakumo closes the distance between them and kneels down—and he doesn’t kneel to children, doesn’t make himself small, not normally, but he needs to see this boy head-on. He puts hands on the boy’s shoulders, keeping him there. Then, when he’s sure the boy won’t run, he curls a finger beneath the hem of the mask and pulls it down.

It’s not Kakashi’s face. It’s not, but parts of it are. Kakashi’s cheekbones and chin. His mouth. And maybe that’s all it is, maybe that’s all this boy has, but it’s enough to choke up the White Fang.

His hands drop to his sides and he doesn’t know what to say. The staring gets to the boy. There are averted eyes again.

All Sakumo can manage is a broken laugh as he fights against burning eyes. “Obito?”

The boy gives him a hesitant look.

“Is—” He swallows. “Is it Kakashi in there, too?”

The boy opens his mouth to say something. No words. Two answers.

He’s picking apart their mannerisms well enough to know that it’s Obito who nods.

Sakumo wraps his arms around them and holds them close. Their arms go limp around his neck and he doesn’t care that he’s crying or how uncomfortable they must be. He’s so happy and horrified and so so sorry.

“Oh Sage,” he breathes through hacked breaths and broken sobs, “you poor boys. You poor things.”

When their shoulders tremble, too, he pretends not to notice.

Chapter Text

Sakumo has a lot to think about. He has a lot to ask, too. To keep from overwhelming the boy—boys?—from overwhelming them , he busies himself in the kitchen. Cooking only takes up so much time, but it rattles his thoughts enough that when he serves all the dishes in the dining hall, he looks relatively normal on the outside. At first Obito—Kakashi?— they are fixed entirely on him. Then they notice the food. More and more is brought out, and there’s no way the two of them can eat it all. They know that. Sakumo does, too. He just doesn’t care.

They sit across from one another and pick at their food. None of them are in the mood to eat; Sakumo just needs an outlet for all this nervous energy.

He sees this boy and he sees Kakashi. He sees this boy and he sees someone else. The only thing blinding him to it before was that it couldn’t be so. Staring back from across the table is an impossibility.

“I’m not—” They think better of it, rubbing the back of their head. Their eyes shift, and now all Sakumo can see is Kakashi. “I can’t remember how it happened.”

Sakumo nods, unsure of what to say.

“It was Orochimaru.”

He knows. Oh, how he knows. The bastard’s scent left traces on the journal. He knows, and so does Hiruzen.

There’s a hunt for the sannin now, no doubt.

“You didn’t tell me,” Sakumo says, resting his chin on his hand. He can’t take his eyes off them.

“I’m not me ,” they mutter. “I’m not—but I am , I—” They take a breath. “I remember both. I know what I’m made of. But everything gets jumbled inside my head. I was Kakashi, and you’re my—you were my—”

They’re getting frustrated with themself again. Sakumo waits it out. He knows that, if they’re anything like his son, they won’t appreciate coddling. Then again, Obito seems to enjoy it.

“And I was Obito,” they continue then, a tone shift, “and I lived with my grandmother and went to the academy. But Kakashi’s a chūnin. Was. Was a chūnin. I’m always thinking two things at once and fighting with myself, and the only way I can make sense of it all is—”

“For both of you to talk it out,” Sakumo continues.

“But there’s just me. There’s no ‘us’, not anymore.”

Sakumo wonders about that. No, he’s certain that there is. Everything is split—their manner of speech, their body language and even their handedness. These aren’t things they seem to notice, however. It’s so much easier to see as an outsider looking in. Sakumo isn’t sure how to broach that topic, isn’t sure they really want him to, so he doesn’t. Not now.

One day, Tobi will realize this on their own. One day, Tobi will understand what they are better than Sakumo ever could. For now, Sakumo won’t force this revelation onto them.

Sakumo serves them a bit of everything and slides it over on a plate. Most of the dishes are Kakashi’s favourites—a resurfacing old habitat that’s hard to kill. These boys are too stressed, too upset, and he doesn’t want such things to last. This sort of thing will eat away at them. He knows that better than anyone. “Eat,” he says, smiles. “You’re breaking my heart, ignoring all this food.”

Tobi—at this point, it’s the only name he has to call them, even if it leans closer to Obito than it does Kakashi—sighs. With a short tug, the mask settles around their neck. What a change it is from Kakashi, whose mask was a permanent fixture. It’s refreshing, and a little bittersweet. Tobi picks at the food before taking their first bite.

This terrible revelation has Sakumo feeling the most normal he has in two years.

“I know what foods Kakashi likes,” he says after a while. “What about Obito?”

The boy eyes him.

“I can’t make it if I don’t know what it is.”

To his surprise, Tobi’s already halfway through their plate. After the first taste, they must have realized just how hungry they were. Or maybe they miss these home-cooked meals. “Dango.”

Sakumo arches a brow. “That’s a treat. What about real food?”

“Everything,” they say between bites. It’s the most exasperated sound they’ve ever made. “Anything.”

“Not a picky eater, then. Good to hear. Now, Kakashi doesn’t cook. I’ll assume you learned from Obito’s memories.”

A vague, noncommittal shrug. That’s fine—he has his answer. Best not to turn this into an interrogation.

There’s a book placed on the table that Tobi has been carrying around with him since Sakumo got home. Sakumo noticed it but hasn’t made a comment. Kakashi used to read, but not often. The books he had were always instructional. He would have one in hand when practising in the backyard, testing out different jutsu. Sakumo can’t read the title from this angle, but the cover makes him think it’s fiction. Is that Obito’s preference?

With their plate empty, Tobi picks the book up and cracks open the spine. They remove the folded up paper they were using as a bookmark and toss it onto the table. They’re only at the beginning of the book, and he imagines that they read everything twice, too, which must be frustrating.

“What’s that you’re reading?” Sakumo can’t keep his curiosity to himself, much as he’s sure it annoys the both of them. No matter how much he asks, there’s always another question. He wants to know them, and see them, and never let go. But Sakumo doesn’t want to push them away by coming on too strong. It’s hard to tell how they feel about him, especially the side that makes up Obito, and he and Kakashi didn’t leave off on the best of terms.

“Oh—” Tobi turns the book over to see the cover for themself and grins, and it’s all Obito. “The Tale of the Gutsy Shinobi. Minato bought it for me.”

Sakumo arches a brow. “Did he visit?”

“Yeah! He came to remove the seal—I’ve got so much chakra now, Dad!”

Dad, huh? His heart breaks to hear it, but it’s the best pain he’s felt in years. Despite those words belonging to Obito, they still see him as a father.

If he chokes up a bit, they don’t notice.

“He said Master Jiraiya’s his sensei. That’s who wrote the book. Isn’t it cool? Oh, wait. You’re his friend, right?”

Sakumo blinks away the misting in his eyes and reaches across the table for the book. Tobi gives it up without a fuss. “It’s already out, huh? It’s been that long already…” He hands it back with a smile. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.”

“It is! There are lots of cool shinobi fights.”

Tobi grins, their eyes back down on the book, scrolling across the lines of text eagerly. Obito has predominant control. This boy is growing on Sakumo like a weed, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to hear his son coming out more, if only a little. It’s okay, though. Knowing Kakashi is alive is enough. They can take their time to patch up their relationship, and Sakumo has the patience of the Sage.

He leaves them to read, but not before curiously picking up the paper they used as a bookmark when he notices ink peeking through from the other side. Unfolding it, his eyes widen when he sees the diagram of a custom seal key scrawled out in Minato’s script.

They’re using Minato’s hard work to keep the pages of Jiraiya’s book. Poor Minato has his sympathies.

Tobi lays in bed, hands behind their head and eyes cast to the moon beyond the window glass. They can’t sleep. It’s because of Kakashi that they can’t, though he would never admit it. For Tobi to sleep, both sides of their mind must be calm. That was all well and good when they were incoherent and confused, because they were ready to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. They’re malnourished, they know, to some degree. Now that they’re adapting, this is becoming more of an issue, mainly on Kakashi’s side of things.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Obito asks.

“I did.”

“I mean properly. Saying a word or two when you’re prompted isn’t really talking, Bakashi. I don’t mind taking a back seat.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Obito knows the truth, though. He can sense Kakashi’s thoughts almost as clearly as his own and heaves a sigh, feeling the fear and uncertainty crawling under their skin.

“I said a lot of things to him,” Kakashi mutters, “before all of this.”

“Apologizing is a thing, you know.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Obito huffs and rolls them onto their side, squeezing their eyes shut tight. “Well, I’m not gonna bail you out all the time. Don’t be such a coward.”

“Shut up, Obito.”

It’s going to be a long night.

The report to Lord Third is as painful as it is confusing. It comes late in the night because Sakumo couldn’t bear to part with Tobi until now. He only gets away with it because of his title, and their history together. Sakumo is concise and unaffected, but he knows how it sounds. Hiruzen thinks he’s lost it, but he carries on. There are words between them, not all of them good, and he nods his understanding.

A Yamanaka will make a visit in the morning. Sakumo dreads it. He bets Tobi will, too.

When he returns home, the house is dark, shadows stretching through the paper walls with moon fall. His first stop is Kakashi’s bedroom. He sees a small body beneath the covers, sheets drawn up to their chin. This time, the sight brings relief.

Inoki doesn’t look happy to be here. He’s a man of masks and hides it well from the ten-year-old staring back at him, but Sakumo has known him long enough to see the tension on his face. Poor guy. He thought he washed his hands of the matter the other night, but Hiruzen has other plans. Knowing who Tobi is—who Sakumo claims them to be, anyway—must put a lot of pressure on Inoki’s shoulders.

It’s Kakashi who Sakumo sees then, sitting on the chair back-straight and calm, dull eyes watching the interrogator. He knows what this is. They all do.

This test is just as much for Sakumo as it is for Tobi. If this goes south, Sakumo may very well be forced into early retirement for the sake of his mental health. He knows how it looks. He’s claiming that the boy he found is his son, merged with someone else. But he’s not wrong, and he won’t lie for appearance’s sake. Tobi is family. He needs to confirm that if he wants them to stay with him.

Inoki takes a seat across from Tobi and leans over the table. His smile is tight-lipped. “Do you remember me?”

Tobi nods.

“I’m going to do exactly what I did before. Your—” Inoki looks to Sakumo for guidance and finds none. Oh, how it frustrates him. “Sakumo is going to ask you questions while I search your memories. I just need you to relax while he does so. Is that okay with you?”

Again, Tobi nods.

“Good.”

Inoki wastes no time. A series of seals and gestures weave a pattern in his hands. Everything goes quiet, which is as good a sign as any to carry on.

“Sorry to put you through this again, Kiddo. Close your eyes for me.” Now, it’s Sakumo’s turn to work. He tries to draw up obvious questions first—answers that should be natural to the real Kakashi. It doesn’t seem fair to only ask questions about half the boy—and really, it isn’t—but there are so few things that he knows about Obito. “How old were you when you made chūnin?”

Tobi makes a face. Sakumo’s already made a mistake. “But I—”

“When Kakashi made chūnin.”

“Six.”

Sakumo nods. There’s no hesitation. “And Obito—”

“Is enrolled in the academy,” Tobi continues. Their tone shifts. This is Obito talking now, fighting to keep their eyes closed, a grin tugging at their lips. “Rin’s there, too. Or, wait, is she? Did she graduate without me?”

Sakumo leans over to ruffle their hair, earning very loud protests. “Not until next year. You’ll catch up.”

“Oh.” They breathe a sigh of relief. “Well, good, ‘cause I don’t wanna fall behind. Kakashi’s already a chūnin, which is insane.”

“He is rather young.”

“Six. Six , Dad. That’s just stupid. What kind of six-year-old becomes a ninja?”

“Focus,” Inoki bites out. Sakumo never knew he could still speak while this version of the jutsu was activated; the poor guy must be dealing with a whole whirlwind of unimportant thoughts to bring him out of it.

Sakumo clears his throat. Tobi’s eyes are open. The boy is immediately shamed. They squeeze them shut again, red-faced and slouching.

What to ask next, then?

“What’s Kakashi’s family name?”

“Hatake.”

“Obito’s?”

“Uchiha.”

“What about his parents?”

There’s a vague, noncommittal shrug. Tobi fists the fabric of their pants. “Never met ‘em. Grandma says that Mom was really pretty. She died when I was two. Dad—” They frown. “Dad was…”

There’s a snag. A glance over at Inoki shows that something odd is going on inside their mind. Obito Uchiha’s father died shortly after his birth. They shouldn’t remember anything about the man—it should be an easy answer.

Tobi opens their eyes again and blinks. “Well, you’re right here.”

There it is.

Sakumo strides over and pats their head. He thinks he can unravel this for Inoki. It shouldn’t be hard, but he feels bad about it. “Who am I, Obito?”

“Sakumo,” Tobi supplies, then frowns. “...Kakashi’s dad.”

“And?”

“And my dad was…” They sink into their seat, sullen and bitter. “He was never there.”

“He died when you were young, didn’t he?”

“Yeah…”

Looking back at Inoki, everything must have smoothed itself out. This session is looking to be a long one. Sakumo takes a seat and settles in, confident he’ll be able to untangle any knots that form in Tobi’s memories. They carry on like this for a while, building up Tobi’s knowledge of the boys’ histories until Inoki gestures for Sakumo to move on.

There’s something Sakumo’s been wondering for two long, bitter years.

“I assume that Orochimaru took Obito because of his Uchiha blood, but I’d like to know how Kakashi fit into his plans, exactly. Were both of you targeted?”

“No,” they say. They use an achingly familiar tone. A little more mature, a little older, a little weathered, but so much of Kakashi is reflected in it. “I was nearby and tried to intervene. Our skills were incomparable to Orochimaru’s. He overpowered us. I believe I was taken because I was a witness.”

“I see.” He thought as much.

“At first, he was only after the Sharingan,” they continue. “He took an interest in me once he got bored. Obito and I had suffered severe injuries by then, and Orochimaru was thinking of discarding us. Obito lost his arm, and I…”

Tobi brings a hand up to their left eye and frowns. Sakumo tries to focus, but anger is building in him faster than an oncoming storm. He needs to keep his mouth shut, though. This isn’t the time.

“He needed to wait for the Sharingan to fully mature before transplanting it, so I think this,” they gesture to themself, “was just a way for him to make use of us until then. At the time, Obito hadn’t even noticed that he had the Sharingan.”

“Kakashi saw, though,” Sakumo continues. “From where he was keeping you.”

Tobi doesn’t answer. They take a breath and fold their arms, and Sakumo thinks they’ve gone far enough.

“He wondered,” Tobi says, their voice a feeble shudder, “if he could put us back together.”

Orochimaru better hope that ANBU finds him first.

Tobi blinks their eyes open and twists around to face Sakumo, much to Inoki’s frustration. Obito is there again. “You know, I think we’ve been like this a long time, but I’m not sure. I remember when we were separate and Orochimaru was trying to activate my Sharingan. I can tell you all the things he did to us up until a point. Then, we woke up in the lab like this, and we were together. I had my arm and Kakashi had his eye, and you were there. But I don’t know what happened in between.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to remember.”

Sakumo thinks back to what he found in their room. No, he doesn’t want to call it theirs. It was a prison cell. He found writing, illegible and incoherent, spread throughout the lab. It reminded him of Obito’s script. Kakashi’s, too, maybe. He wonders what they were like at first. It makes sense to him that they don’t remember; he’s surprised they even remember meeting him in the forest that day.

“But it would help if I did, right?”

Sakumo shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. That’s all that I care about.”

ANBU better find him first.

Tobi doesn’t like going out. This isn’t the first time Sakumo has noticed, but it’s the most obvious.

While Inoki is off compiling the findings from their two-hour session into a cohesive report, they’re given a few days’ solace. Sakumo has no missions. He first returned to the field six months after Kakashi disappeared. It was a gift, really—a way to get him out of his own head. And it worked. When he was out on missions, there was no time to focus on the empty house back home or the stunted progress in his one-man search. The war was long and tired and so very, very sad, but it gave him an outlet. It gave him purpose.

He’s glad to have reprieve now, though, with his entire reality pulled out from under him.

When asking Tobi to join him on the market, he’s met with sidelong glances. There’s silence, too, and that’s all Kakashi. They need groceries, though. Sakumo could use the extra hands—that’s the excuse that sympathizes with Obito. There’s groaning and fussing and complaints abound, but Tobi’s getting up, getting dressed. Getting their shoes on.

Tobi is a good kid.

The market is alive with sights and smells. It’s the smells that draw Tobi in. Obito doesn’t have the same reserves that Kakashi does, having lived his whole life with a keen sense of smell, and their eyes dart from one food stall to the next. But they never move from Sakumo’s side. They straighten their mask, duck their head, and press in closer.

Tobi doesn’t want to be seen.

With two years of completed missions under his belt and a positive track record working its way back into his file, the White Fang s no longer the villainized former hero of the second war. His return to normalcy might have helped in that. Because of this, the whispers that once followed him through the village are no more, even if not everyone has forgotten the actions he took that day.

Sakumo stops at a vegetable stand and converses with the middle-aged woman running it while checking over her stock. She smiles when she sees the boy.

Tobi, to their credit, is polite. They afford the woman respect in a short bow, even if their skin prickles from the eyes watching them.

“My, what a good child. Is this your nephew?” she asks.

Sakumo has to admit, the thought is amusing. “Nothing quite like that.”

Tobi’s attention is drawn to the civilian crowds strewn about the street. They lean back, narrow their eyes, and the Sharingan activates. They’re following something, a pattern of movement—a point of interest just beyond the current of bodies along the road.

“No?” The woman looks between the two of them with a critical eye. “He looks so much like you.”

“Well, I’d think he would,” Sakumo laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “He is my son, after all.”

The Sharingan recedes and Tobi’s attention is on him. It’s cute, the mix of confusion and embarrassment that manages to show behind their mask.

The woman’s smile fades. All that she leaves behind is a trailing thread of pity. “Oh,” she says, hushed. “Is… is that so?”

Sakumo knows how it looks. The White Fang is a public figure, and even civilians know that he lost his son. This much is expected. But Sakumo has been on the wrong side of so many looks that they don’t cripple him like they used to. He smiles at her and nods to the boy, paper bags hanging from his arms. “We should get going, don’t you think?”

“...Yeah.”

Sakumo leaves a tip. A judgmental look isn’t enough for him to ruin his good mood, and he doesn’t blame the vendor for thinking ill of him.

His original intention was to buy new clothes for Tobi, even before the revelation of who they were. Kakashi’s old outfits didn’t fit well, and they looked uncomfortable, stuffed in clothes two sizes too small. But Tobi’s been wearing new clothes ever since Sakumo came back from the search. They’re loose-fitting, much more so than what Kakashi used to wear, but still practical. They fit in all the right places and billow out in others. Some even have room left for them to grow into. He hasn’t asked, but Sakumo has an inkling where they came from. He’ll have to treat Minato to something special when he can.

They wander further down the path until the crowds thin, and they take a seat in a park by the academy. It’s a small thing, the one that Kakashi used to play at all the time. Sakumo disappears for a few minutes and returns with dango. With the way Obito shines through then, eyes lighting up, he should have bought ten more.

Tobi usually wolfs down their food—a trait very much leaning towards Obito rather than Kakashi—but this time, they’re savouring it. There are children many years younger playing on the swings, chasing one another in the sand, looking for all the world like it’s the best day of their lives. Tobi isn’t watching them, though. Their eyes fall farther, past the park gates.

“Who did you see back there?” Sakumo asks, making himself comfortable as he leans back against the bench. “Must’ve been someone important for you to follow them with your Sharingan.”

Tobi reddens and looks at their feet. “You saw that?”

“You were being a bit obvious.”

Tobi groans. As though to bury their shame, they down the rest of the dango in one big mouthful. They barely chew. The moment it’s gone, they’re calm. Obito is taking a backseat, perhaps too embarrassed to speak openly about it. Sakumo’s noticed that both parts of Tobi like to push the hard conversations onto one another. While Sakumo never raised Kakashi to avoid his problems, he begrudgingly admits that he’d be tempted to do the same.

“Rin Nohara,” Tobi says. “She was out buying clothes.”

“Was she, now?”

Tobi sets him beneath a dull glare. “Dad,” they warn.

Sakumo raises placating hands. Tobi’s more sensitive to teasing than he expects. It’s only when Tobi’s eyes are off him that he cracks a smile. “Why not say hi?”

“Like this?” Tobi glares down at their hands. “She wouldn’t recognize me.”

“That’s not—”

“You didn’t.”

Tobi is not wrong. But, in some ways, maybe they are.

Sakumo grips their shoulder and goes ignored. “Talk to her next time. Strike up a conversation. The important part is that you make an effort.”

Tobi closes their eyes and heaves a sigh. There’s resignation in the slant of their shoulders, and Sakumo would be proud, if only his boys weren’t so stubborn.

Sakumo is starting to learn, so he keeps his eyes off Tobi where he can. Tobi doesn’t like being stared at, treated like a commodity. And no one can blame them for that. Even an outsider like him can understand why they feel like that, and they deserve to be comfortable. It doesn’t matter that Sakumo has finally been reunited with his son, or that his son is someone else now. That doesn’t give him the right to push his own comfort onto Tobi. He wouldn’t dream of it.

He also sees what’s going on in their head and wants to address it before it suffocates them. Thoughts like these are uncomfortably familiar. It breaks him, seeing those eyes on a child. His child.

“Tobi, listen to me carefully. I’m only going to say this once, alright?”

Sakumo feels their eyes on him, and he’s grateful they both listen so well.

“Things are different now. I won’t sugarcoat that. The way you are, it’s going to be hard for people to wrap their heads around it. Nobody can understand what you’re going through. I’m no different. I’ll probably mess up, and I’m sorry for when I do, if I say something to hurt you or don’t understand. So if you decide that you don’t want to tell anyone, then that is well within your right. Do what makes you feel safe. What you’re comfortable with. You’re not obliged to share something so personal with anyone. Not ever.”

They nod but don’t speak. The dango skewer is forgotten, dangling in the air, their arm resting on their leg. It’s not what they want to hear, reminding them of how horribly wrong their situation is, but it needs to be said.

“But Kakashi, Obito,” he says because he wants both sides of Tobi to know that he’s thinking of them. Even if he can’t see them. Even if there is only one body next to him right now. “There will be people that you meet who will welcome you as you are. As you age, you’ll make connections and grow, and you’ll start to see that the world is not as heartless and cruel as it feels right now. Because everything you think and everything that’s hurting, every fear you have will pass. Maybe they won’t understand. Maybe they can’t. But there will be people you meet who will try, and who will love you no matter who you are or where you came from.”

Sakumo twists to poke their forehead. Dark eyes stare up at him, searching his face as he smiles.

“For now, I want to try. I want to be there for you no matter what you need. Even if I can’t understand. And even if I mess up.” Then he hesitates, breaking eye contact before the boy gets uncomfortable. He doesn’t mean to stare. Sometimes, he worries that if he looks away, they’ll disappear again. But mostly, he just loves seeing their face. “Is that okay?”

Sakumo doesn’t expect the weight pressing into his side or the way Tobi’s face is buried into the crook of his arm. They stay like that, Tobi seeking comfort from him while hiding, and he can’t tell if it’s Kakashi or Obito in control. He wraps one arm around them, then the other, and pulls them tight against his chest. They’re bigger than Kakashi. Their skin isn’t quite as paper-white as when they met, collecting within it just a little of the sun’s warmth, and he thinks their hair may be starting to grow now that they’re eating properly. Their body is still too thin, a little underweight, but they’ve started filling out, no longer skin and bones. Slowly, they are changing. This boy who was once a stranger is continuing to grow. One day, they may no longer resemble Kakashi at all, and Kakashi as he was may only remain as a ghost at the back of his head.

Sakumo is okay with that. Even if it hurts. He’s okay.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” He’s rubbing their back, smoothing circles into their shirt, and he’s practically pulled them into his lap, but they don’t seem to mind.

“I didn’t,” it’s Kakashi, this quiet way they’re speaking, even and heartbreaking, “I didn’t mean any of it. What I said. I just—”

Sakumo isn’t sure what they’re talking about. It doesn’t register. He just listens, wordless, as he hugs them.

“They kept saying things about you and I started to believe it. I didn’t… understand. What you did back then.” It really is Kakashi. It’s more Kakashi than it’s ever been, and this is more than Kakashi has ever said, and Sakumo doesn’t know what to say in turn. “I don’t think… you did anything wrong. You helped people. Like you always have. I’m sorry, Dad. I was wrong.”

Sakumo can’t speak, so he just squeezes his boy tighter, closer, resting his chin atop their head, comfortable and warm. He laughs, too, as words he never needed are said anyway, and it feels like a heavy burden has been lifted.

There was a point when Sakumo did not know how many tomorrows he had left. The days blurred together, in and out, in and out, food ashen in his mouth, the sun too bright and the nights too cold, his body like a leaded weight, breath so tight he could choke. There were days when he thought it was best for the White Fang’s story to end so that Kakashi could be free.

He doesn’t think of these words as a kindness, but a warning. Sakumo has sons now. Two of them, even if everyone else sees one. Two boys, so different but so similar, and he can pick them apart even if they share a face and mind. Even if no one else can. Right now, more than anything, his sons are seeking comfort and warmth in a world that no longer makes sense to them.

He cannot bear the thought of leaving them behind.

Chapter Text

Konoha hasn’t been without a hero in the White Fang’s absence. While Sakumo was stewing in a sea of regret and self-pity, a new name dominated the Third Shinobi War.

Minato is waiting outside the Hokage office when Sakumo arrives, an easy smile and practised charm to his face that is reassuring. The boy bows, not that he needs to—they’ve known each other an impossibly long time—but Minato has always been incredibly polite. At least most of the time.

Sakumo waves as he draws up to the office door. “He summoned you, too?”

Minato rubs the back of his head. “Well, yes, but I already know what for. Is Tobi doing well?”

It’s the first time Sakumo’s heard that name from someone else’s lips, and it makes him feel warm. The boys in question must have introduced themself as such, so they must be fond of the name, at least a little.

“They’re adjusting,” Sakumo says. Minato knows about their identity. He’s a part of this mission, too, and has been briefed on their findings, but he might have figured it out on his own. As expected of a prodigy. “They’ve been asking after you. I think they’re quite taken.”

Minato smiles, easy and light, his face a bit red as he rubs the back of his neck. “Is that so? I’m quite fond, myself. Would it be too forward if I stopped by again, you think?”

“Not at all, please do. Obito talks about your training all the time. You made quite the impression.”

“I’m flattered,” he laughs sheepishly. “And Kakashi?”

Sakumo places a sympathetic hand on the boy’s shoulder, and that is enough. There’s a big sigh before they put pleasantries behind them and step into the Hokage office.

Minato enters first, and Sakumo stares at his back. Minato’s is a name where legends are born. One day, the Yellow Flash will overtake the White Fang, and this young upstart will outshine him/ He looks forward to it.

Hiruzen is there, looking somewhat less ancient and a little more youthful, which is a pleasant surprise, given the circumstances.

Orochimaru fled. ANBU lost his trail. The search won’t end here, though—not by a long shot. Sakumo’s sure he’s being called to rejoin the trackers now that some semblance of normal has returned to his life, but if that were all this meeting was for, he wouldn’t have been summoned alongside Minato.

“Lord Third,” he greets, using whatever formality he can muster in the face of the Yellow Flash. As well as they know each other, Minato is still a third party that doesn’t need to hear him speaking casually with the head of the village. “You wished to see me?”

Hiruzen lets out a sigh and extinguishes his pipe. It’s cast to the wayside, and he produces a file from a drawer. The pages within are fanned out across the desk, and he nods both men closer. “These are the findings from the lab,” he says. “The identities of the children we retrieved have been found, more or less.”

The documents are paired up, files on the rescued children together with missing persons reports from the most recent few years. These are the children from that second room—the one still alight with the glow from the machines.

“We have affirmed the identities of some of the deceased, as well,” Hiruzen adds, “but we’ve yet to find the family of one boy.”

“The one from the first wave,” Sakumo affirms absently, staring at the photo of the child in question. He isn’t surprised. Unlike the second set, the dates of the first set were nowhere to be found. Instead, they were numbered. If that were the only issue, they would have been able to identify him some other way. There’s more to this and, after seeing the state Tobi’s in, Sakumo doesn’t like the picture this paints.

“The boy is seven now and from civilian parents, we suspect, but was never reported as missing. He has spent many years away from his family and the village. Re-integration will not be easy. To make matters worse,” Hiruzen leans forward and taps the photo. Hollow eyes stare back, and he remembers them well from that day not long ago. “It appears Orochimaru’s experiments on the boy were successful, to some degree. The child can use Mokuton.”

Sakumo should be impressed. Mokuton is a skill not seen since the First Hokage. Instead, all he feels is dread. He knows what this means for the boy and where a path with unique skills like those will lead. Sakumo makes a promise to fight with Hiruzen over this for as many years as it takes to grant this boy a choice.

“What will happen to him, Lord Third?” It’s Minato who asks. There’s that look in the boy’s eyes again—the same one he wore when he offered up his home to Tobi. It’s sweet, really it is. The kid’s still green, barely out of training wheels, and Sakumo knows the feats of the Yellow Flash. But he also knows how immensely draining it is to be a parent, especially in the beginning, and that being a good shinobi and being a good father are two completely unrelated subjects.

Inoki and Inoichi’s father was a good example of this. He was the head of the Yamanaka clan, someone revered as a giant in his time, but Inoki practically raised Inoichi in their father’s absence for him to achieve that renown. Sakumo goes out drinking with Inoki, the current head of T&I, and listens to an outpouring of bitterness over bottles of sake every death anniversary.

Minato will make a great father. Minato is kind and impossibly fair, and Kushina is the warmest soul in all of Konoha. But they have their whole lives ahead of them, and parenthood is something that never stops.

If the look Hiruzen is giving the boy now is any indicator, his mind is following the same train of thought. “No one has come forward to claim him,” he says. “We’re considering ending him to grow up in the orphanage, but he has Mokuton and no control. There’s fear he could harm a child if left without an attendant.”

Sakumo understands. It isn’t that Mokuton is any more dangerous than the other elements. Children with strong affinities tend to be dangerous in general if they’re being taught at a young age, or if jutsu comes naturally to them. Kakashi was a real firecracker when he first figured out Raiton at the tender age of five, and the tree in the backyard with the charred branches can attest to that. The problem with Mokuton is that there’s no one alive who can use it, and no one to help him rein in the element-specific control that the child will need to go about his day to day. Children, by nature, have emotions that flash and flicker like candlelight. They can do things without ever meaning to because they feel a moment of stress or fear or anger. And those are children who haven’t had such a traumatic upbringing, who came into their chakra naturally. They can only guess what adverse effects those abilities will have on their host.

“We may have him trained and dispatched in ANBU, if it comes down to that.”

When Minato lurches forward, Sakumo holds up a hand to stop him from saying something he’ll regret. Sakumo understands, but now is not the time.

“This isn’t the reason I called you here,” Hiruzen says.

Sakumo can imagine.

Minato places a hand on the desk. The boy has regained his calm, and the smile Sakumo gets is a warning that he won’t like what he’s about to hear.

“Lord Hokage is sending me in search of Master Jiraiya and Lady Tsunade,” he says as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. As though he isn’t implying something that is unthinkable to Sakumo at the moment. “My place will need to be filled in my absence.”

Sakumo is expected to work. He saw this coming, but the reality of it fills him with dread. He nods anyway, his thoughts falling to his boys back home, worried that it’s too soon. For the better part of two weeks, they’ve stuck by his side like glue, and he’s never left them long enough for his absence to be felt. He doesn’t want to leave them alone. He doesn’t think they’re ready. But it isn’t his choice to make, is it? His hands are tied.

“Understood.”

Sakumo is a shinobi of the Leaf. He’ll do his duty, even if his loyalty is no longer all-consuming.

Minato straightens, his smile falls, and he casts his eyes to the photos in the documents. “There is something else that needs to be discussed, I’m afraid.”

Sakumo frowns. “And what’s that?”

“That boy,” Hiruzen says, his finger steepled over the documents. Tobi’s file is there, open at his elbow, their face staring up tiredly from a hospital bed. The photo was taken the morning after Sakumo found them. Seeing it now after having lived with them for a while, having gotten to know them and caught a glimpse of how they think, it’s so obvious how disoriented they were back then. The tight scowl is all Kakashi. It was Kakashi there with them, probably because Kakashi was the only one able to push aside his own terrible situation to give them attention. “The one you call Tobi. There is the matter of his reintegration, as well.”

Sakumo does not like where this is headed. “They’re my son,” he warns.

“He is also someone’s grandchild.”

He knows that. It’s not just Kakashi who makes up Tobi’s whole, and he’s better aware of that than anyone else, certainly more than the Hokage who sits there clearly thinking of them as one new person and not two halves. But what can he say? Hiruzen isn’t wrong. Minato, giving him pity off to the side for having to hear this, is not wrong. So he clenches his fists, grits his teeth, and nods.

“However.” Hirzuen pushes his elbows off the desk and leans back, turning in his chair to stare out the window. His pipe sits limply in his hand, unlit, and he shakes his head. “I don’t believe there is anyone better suited to caring for the child as he is now. You’ve handled yourself well, Sakumo. I can only wish you the best and offer my support.”

Try as he may, Sakumo can’t smile. He’s grateful, really he is, but the words stick with him. Tobi is someone else’s grandchild. Tobi has a family that is not Kakashi’s and may pine for their comfort when the only one they can lean on is Sakumo. It’s a hollow victory, and a sobering one, reminding him of young Obito, full of smiles, softer than a shinobi has any right to be.

“Inoki also informed me that the boy has awakened his Sharingan,” Hiruzen says.

“Yes, he has.” Sakumo feels a headache coming that can only ever form when the Uchiha are involved in something. “Will that pose a problem?”

“The Uchiha are protective of their Kekkei Genkai, as you’re already aware.”

He is. Painfully so. Sakumo visited the Uchiha district in the early days of his search for Kakashi and Obito. They saw his presence as a threat, as though he wanted to find the boy just because of the potential he had to serve the village as a member of the clan. They never thought that maybe, just maybe, Sakumo sought the boy out for the benefit of Obito, or because Obito was in danger and needed somebody. All they saw was a boy with tainted blood who may carry the genetics they prized so highly. If Sakumo never has to deal with them again, he’ll be grateful.

He will. He’ll have to deal with them. For as long as Tobi is in his care, for as long as Obito is in his life, the Uchiha clan will be at their doorstep clawing at his throat. That’s just something that Sakumo will have to deal with from now on.

“They won’t take kindly to the Sharingan being in possession of an unknown.”

“Then we relay the truth,” Sakumo says. He won’t play games or cater to clan politics. He’s no time for it. Neither does Tobi. “If it comes into question, we explain how Obito Uchiha is involved with them. That’s all we can do. We can’t ask Tobi to hide it forever. If they still wish to be a shinobi of the Leaf after all they’ve been through, there will be a time when they need it.”

“Which is why it must be you to care for him,” Hiruzen says. He gestures for silence with one hand and rubs circles into his temple with the other. Sakumo is lucky, he decides then. Sakumo can say he won’t humour clan politics, play favourites or get involved in the Uchiha’s war for blood, but the Hokage doesn’t have that luxury. The moment this comes out, they’ll bear their teeth at Hiruzen’s throat. “The Uchiha are very set in their ways, Old Friend. I would not put it past them to demand the eyes be returned to the clan. He will need protection from that, come what may. I could think of nowhere safer than by your side.”

“Of course.”

Sakumo’s not happy, but he smiles, the trust of his long-time companion renewing his diminished confidence. Even if he’s never been able to regain the infamy that once had, he can proudly say that the teammates he saved that day are still around to criticize him. There would be no words if they were dead. Sakumo takes care of his own.

He brings attention to Minato and his smile softens. “Sorry. I’ll take the role of their guardian, if it’s all the same to you.”

Minato’s eyes widen, and he sputters, frantically waving his hands. “Not at all—they’re all yours. I don’t think they’d ever forgive me if I tried to pull them away from you.”

“I don’t know about that. They’re quite fond, as I said.”

“With all respect, Sir, they shut the door on my foot when they saw me.”

Sakumo laughs, and some of the stress is leaves with it. “I’m sorry. Kakashi can be quite obstinate.” He sees the look Hiruzen gives him, the pitying one, but pretends he doesn’t. Hiruzen doesn’t understand, and that’s okay. Minato does. “I hope they apologized, at least.”

“Obito did, with a meal,” Minato sighs. “Kakashi was playing guard dog while you were away.”

“He tends to do that.”

Hiruzen clears his throat, bringing them back to the topic at hand, and catches Minato’s eyes. There’s more. There’s always more. Under that gaze, Minato stiffens. If Sakumo didn’t know any better, he’d think that Hiruzen was grooming the lad for the Hokage seat.

No, that’s definitely what’s happening here. Hiruzen wants to retire. He’s had the longest reign of any Hokage to date, and Sakumo doesn’t blame him for being done with it all.

Minato straightens his back and pushes away the silly, shy look he normally wears in favour of something a little harder. “We intend to hold a memorial service for Orochimaru’s victims,” he says, and his voice does not waver. “Since it’s been decided that you’ll be taking Tobi on as his guardian, we wanted to ask what you would like to do about Kakashi and Obito’s involvement in it.”

Sakumo covers his mouth with his hand and breathes. He can already see it, their faces there before a sea of mourners, incense lit at the memorial stone and their names carved in alongside the rest. He hates it. It isn’t right. Obito and Kakashi, they’re still here, even if no one can see it.

But if they keep those names off the stone and out of the service, there are people who will never get the closure they need. Sakumo can’t take the right to mourn away from them. But to admit—to claim that his sons are dead, it—

Sakumo closes his eyes and releases his breath. “Can you give me some time?” he asks softly. “I’d like to speak with them. It’s their decision to make, not mine.”

Minato looks to the Hokage for guidance, then nods. “Of course. The memorial is still a few days off. Please, take the time that you need.”

“Thank you.”

Beneath Tobi’s photo, hidden away in the file, he can see Kakashi, and Obito, their faces added to the document after their discovery. The corners of each are poking out from beneath Inoki’s report.

He’s not ready to take this step, but he needs to be.

Sakumo sits in the living room with two photos resting side-by-side on the low sitting table in the centre. He’s staring at them, his eyes soft and warm. Tired. It’s only through Hiruzen’s good graces that he was able to take them at all, and he suspects the only reason Hiruzen complied with his request was because those photos are no longer needed. To the Hokage, these children are dead. There’s nothing more to be said.

Being the sentimental fool he is, he picked up frames for them on his way home, as well as a replacement for the one Tobi broke the first night they spent here. The photo of Kakashi that sits on the family altar is an old one from his graduation to chūnin, and he’s young. The one Sakumo has now is the one that was used in Kakashi’s personnel file at the Hokage office. It’s of him not long before his disappearance. The light is gone from his eyes and the scowl is firmly set, but it’s Kakashi in his truest form, the way that Sakumo remembers him. It means something to have a photo like this. He looks at it, and he feels himself becoming a father in mourning, not just the guardian of Kakashi’s new form.

Obito’s photo is a little different. It’s from the academy, not the Hokage office, and he’s allowed to smile in it. He’s sunshine bright, a boy with a lot of colour to him, and Sakumo is so glad to be able to see his face now, there in front of him and not just in his memory. He can see Tobi’s eyes in this face, darker than night and sharp, but kind. Obito’s everything is reflected in this photo, and it brings with it joy. It’s bittersweet, having never known Obito before his meeting with Tobi in the forest, and reminds him of the part of Tobi that does not belong with him. He’s so fond of Obito, though. They’ve only known each other for weeks, but to Sakumo, it feels like Obito’s always been here. Like he was always meant to be.

He’s pretty sure Tobi knows he’s home. Tobi’s nose is as strong as Kakashi’s was, and they can scent Sakumo from outside the house if they’re not hyper-focused, but they haven’t come to greet him. He can hear them moving around the kitchen, though, bickering with themself as they so tend to. He likes listening to them like this. They don’t often do it within earshot. That’s still not something they’re comfortable showing him, as though they worry it will scare him away. As though anything ever could. 

“Wait—” he hears, a hollow voice from beyond the hall. “How much was it supposed to be again?”

“Too much,” Kakashi cautions, sounding all sorts of done. “Are you trying to bathe it in soy sauce?”

“It’s not that —okay, gross. Forget it. We’re starting over, Bakashi. Wash the pan.”

“It’s your mess. You wash it.”

“You’re so petty, you know that? Whatever. Let’s let it soak and try again later.”

“Lazy.”

“Jerk.”

Sakumo laughs quietly to himself, his head propped up on his hand, tired but fond. His house hasn’t been this lively since before his wife passed. Tobi hears, if the silence is an indicator. Kakashi’s senses are more heightened than Sakumo’s own thanks to his mother.

A few minutes later, they poke their head into the living room, a plate of sliced fruit in hand. They aren’t looking at him. They’ve been a little awkward ever since his talk with Kakashi. He’s not bothered. In fact, it’s quite cute, how embarrassed both halves of Tobi are now. It doesn’t matter. Tobi still sticks to him, even if they’re quieter about it. They’re right by his side most of the time he’s home, and it’s sweet, if a bit worrying.

They’ll be okay when he starts going on missions again, won’t they?

When they set down the plate, they spot the photos and still. They look to Sakumo for understanding, searching him for an explanation, for a reason their pictures are on the table and waiting to be framed.

Sakumo smiles tiredly. “I asked the Hokage for them,” he says. “I wanted to be able to remember your faces. Does it bother you?”

“No,” they answer simply, lowering themself onto the floor at the table. “I understand.”

“You’re a good kid.”

They duck under his hand when he ruffles their hair, the tips of their ears reddening.

“I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Dark eyes blink up at him from beneath his hand. “What is it?”

Sakumo doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to broach this, what he should say, how he should act, or if he should even ask at all. It’s like ripping off a bandage, he tells himself. Best to get it done and over with. It’ll be dealt with if he just asks now, and they can put it behind them, but he doesn’t want to see their faces when he does.

How do you ask your children how they want to be remembered?

“A memorial is being held for the children that were found in Orochimaru’s laboratory.” It takes everything he has to say it, but Tobi isn’t bothered. “Lord Third would like to know if you want Kakashi and Obito presented there, as well.”

“Oh.” They face the photos on the table, their eyes hard as they glare at Obito’s grin and Kakashi’s scowl, and their mask comes down. As they think, they offer fruit to Sakumo and steal a piece for themself. “We should be there, too.”

It’s that easy? Sakumo looks at them and frowns. It’s not. They’re thinking hard on this, but they’ve come to a decision. “You’re sure?”

They nod. “I don’t want Rin to keep waiting for me, and Gai should find a new rival. I don’t want Grandma wondering where I went. It’s okay.”

It’s not, though.

Sakumo pulls them into a hug, even when they groan and push against his chest. He holds them tight and runs a hand through their hair.

It’s only temporary, he thinks but doesn’t say. Everything that happens from this moment on is all up to Tobi. If they seek out those connections again, they can repair them, and if they want a fresh start, they can have it. Regardless of their choice, Sakumo will accept what comes and support them. That’s all he can do as a father.

The hug finally breaks, and they stare down at the photos. They aren’t bothered by them anymore.

“Obito was quite handsome,” Sakumo says, only somewhat teasing as he watches Kakashi’s annoyance flash briefly across Tobi’s face. “That must be where you get it from.”

“Dad, stop.”

“What?” He’s grinning as he picks the photo up by its corner to further examine it. Tobi’s trying to snatch it away, but for all that Tobi has Kakashi’s reflexes and Obito’s chakra, they only have a child’s reach. “Look at him. Uchiha eyes and hair, a cute, round face…”

“ Dad, ” Tobi warns again, stretching their arm as far as it’ll go. Sakumo’s holding them back with one hand and leaning the photo away with the other.

When Tobi practically falls over trying to snatch it away, Sakumo props them up and pokes the mole on their cheek teasingly. “But Obito isn’t the only one you owe that to, is he?”

Tobi glares dully at him even as the redness of their ears deepen, and they pull away, looking anywhere but at Sakumo.

“You’re so annoying,” Tobi grumbles under their breath, crossing their arms and sulking.

Sakumo laughs, and it no longer feels like the world is ending.

He has such great kids.

Tobi holds Dad’s hand as they gather for the service at Konoha Memorial. It’s a hot summer day. The skies are clear, and the sun beats down on their dark clothing as crowds flock with drawn faces and endless flowers. It’s Kakashi in control, and he doesn’t know what to expect. He remembers watching the corpses of children be carried through the open hallway door during his confinement, one and then another and another. Countless times. He doesn’t know where they were brought after that. He’s not sure if he wants to.

It never got easier.

Every time he closes their eyes, he can see plants bursting through a little girl’s skull, branches breaching her eye sockets and her face dripping blood. A boy who’s left side is reduced to a wooden husk. He watched them pass with the knowledge that one day it would be he or Obito making that journey. One day, the pain they felt would not end until their hearts stopped, and they could no longer move. They would die, Orochimaru would discard them like the rest, and they would never see Dad or Grandma again.

Kakashi doesn’t know who memorials are for, but he wants to honour them in any way he can. He asked to be here even when Obito didn’t want to be, so today is his burden.

“They’re all younger than us,” Obito says as they scan the photos on display. He’s right. They were always younger. Kakashi and Obito were the oldest children abducted from Konoha and the ones who were imprisoned the shortest. He doesn’t like thinking about what the other kids had to endure, already too aware of what he and Obito suffered. They were Orochimaru’s riskiest experiment but also his briefest. “It’s not fair.”

No, it’s not. Kakashi closes their eyes and pushes back Obito’s voice to keep it from influencing him. He’s in control simply because Obito does not want to be. Kakashi gets stuck with all the hard stuff, but he has no right to complain when he pushed their interactions with Dad onto Obito for so long. It’s karma, he supposes. As much as he wants to call it unfair, he really doesn’t mind.

If nothing else, he likes being able to hold Dad’s hand freely like this.

Dad looks down at them and smiles. It’s tired and grieving, but Kakashi relishes it all the same. Two years ago, Dad never smiled like that. There was a time when he and Dad never acknowledged one another, where he was bitter, and his father was sad, and neither of them knew what to do about it. It feels so far off, now, like an echo. But Kakashi still regrets it. He always will.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dad,” he warns.

Sakumo squeezes their hand. It doesn’t feel as big as it did before. Sometimes, Dad feels small to him. “Alright, then.”

People flock to the service in droves. There are so many—too many, really, too many crowds. Some are Konohan residents, but most are from the hamlets and towns beyond their walls, families of the deceased. They gather around the altar at the front, some weeping, others sharing their sympathies, endless flowers decorating the memorial. It’s not fair. Most of these people aren’t even ninjas, and their children were just civilians. Why do they have to be here grieving for something that shouldn’t have anything to do with them? They aren’t shinobi. Their world should be separate, but they’ve been pulled in because one man decided to play a god.

The village gates are open today because of them. The vetting of the gate guards is a lot less harsh than it usually is, and it’s easy to pick apart the families of the deceased in the crowds.

They can’t see the front, too many bodies crowding the memorial. They want to, though. Kakashi wants to pay his respects, and Obito does, too.

“Get up closer already. Jeez.”

Kakashi rolls their eyes. Fine. He’ll listen if only to get the part of them that is Obito to give their mind some peace. He goes to manoeuvre through the crowds, but the hand in theirs keeps them still, and they look up at their father. Dad isn’t smiling anymore.

“Are you sure?”

Tobi is confused but nods anyway. When their father releases them, they weave through bodies twice their height until they’re standing before the altar. Two photos stare back at them, achingly familiar, the same as the ones Dad brought home. Their head throbs. Their thoughts cloud, Kakashi’s meshing with Obito’s, twisting and knotting into one cohesive rhythm, and they hate it and hate everything because they’re not dead—

Kakashi reels them back and takes a breath. When they get stressed or scared, it’s hard for them to keep their thoughts separate. They bend and weave, integrating into Tobi, becoming one entity, and it scares them. It doesn’t last, never for too long, but the loss of control and of their sense of self is terrifying.

“Obito,” he cautions. It’s so hard not to speak aloud, but they can’t, he can’t. Not here, not now, not at a memorial for them. They made this decision for themself. Now, they have to live with it. “Don’t.”

“But they’re—” Ripples of emotions belonging to his other half circulate through Kakashi, and it’s getting hard again. Their eyes flutter as he fights the fog in their head, doing his best to push back against Obito’s all-consuming force, the stinging of white-hot tears in his eyes. “We’re not dead. Tell them! Tell them that we’re not—”

“Obito, we decided on this. We agreed, remember?”

It isn’t working, though, and their hands go to their head.

There are hands on their shoulders, grounding them, and they look up. Sakumo stares ahead at the altar, at the faces of Kakashi and Obito, and he’s not looking at them , not now, with his eyes so drawn to those photographs. They resent it, the longing in Dad’s eyes every time he sees Kakashi—

Kakashi takes a breath and regains himself. He relaxes their shoulders, fighting off the fog, but his eyes are on their father. Dad notices the staring. Their eyes meet, but he can’t keep his father’s gaze.

The memorial is for them, too. And that’s okay. They can’t return to the way they were, and it’s better to face this now than it would be to push this conflict aside and bury it until it can no longer be buried. They knew it was going to be like this, and they decided to go through with it anyway. It isn’t just for them. It’s for the people who were once a part of their lives, people who are waiting for them to come back when they no longer can.

This is acceptance as much as it is a goodbye.

Dad calls them Tobi now, and maybe this is closure. For them as much as it is for Dad.

Sakumo takes a knee behind them, holding them steady with his mouth to their ear. “Obito’s as handsome as ever.”

Their eyes widen, but they don’t look back. They can hear his smile, though, in the sound of his voice.

“He has your eyes and your smile,” Dad says. “It’s all Kakashi when you frown, though.”

They nod, their grievances forgotten as they duck their head, embarrassed. Dad notices a lot about them that they, themselves, do not. He’s always like this. They turn back slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him, and whisper, “When did you first see Obito?”

“When you disappeared,” Sakumo answers simply. “I was put in charge of the search, so I did some investigating on behalf of the Hokage. I had an inkling that his and Kakashi’s disappearances were related, as well.”

“You headed it?”

Sakumo nods, giving their arms a squeeze. “I’m sorry I did such a poor job.”

“No,” they hurry to correct, facing forward once more. “It’s not your fault. You’re the best tracker ever. If you couldn’t find us, no one could.”

There’s a laugh. It’s quiet enough not to disturb the crowds, just loud enough to hear. “It wasn’t enough, though. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner.”

Tobi rolls their eyes. “Come on, Old Man. Don’t sulk. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Kakashi pulls back and shakes his head. He’s been dawn in again. It’s different from the fog they feel when they’re stressed or scared, though. It’s a pattern they’ve fallen into as of late, where their thoughts and feelings overlap and everything, for just a few minutes, feels normal. It never lasts, but while it’s there, it’s nice. The headaches stop and things are quiet, if only for a moment.

When they open their eyes again, it’s to a small girl standing at the foot of the altar. She carries in her arms a bouquet of flowers and places it before their photos. She’s crying—Tobi can hear her hiccuping breaths even from so far away—and wiping her eyes. In her hand, she carries a pair of goggles that hangs there limply. Seeing them again is nostalgic.

Obito pries Kakashi’s control away and takes a faltering step closer. Sakumo is there, though, to hold them steady and keep them grounded.

“Not now,” Sakumo whispers. “This isn’t the place. Next time.”

Tobi bites their lip and nods. They remain where they are as Rin passes by, her eyes bloodshot and her heart heavy. Obito misses Rin. Oh, how he misses her. But he’s not a little kid anymore, and he won’t put his own feelings above hers. Dad’s right; approaching her now would only hurt her. He can grit and bear this.

“Hey, Kashi? Do you remember Rin?”

“Your friend, right?”

“No, I mean…”

Obito draws up memories by force from a time before Kakashi ascended to the rank of chūnin, and it tugs at something within them. For just a brief moment, there was a time when the three of them were together. Maybe they didn’t get along. Maybe they weren’t worth remembering to Kakashi, but—

“No. I remember.”

Oh.

“Dad probably does, too. He just can’t think right now. There’s too much going on, and he never learned your names.”

Tobi looks over their shoulder to Sakumo, transfixed on their portraits.

Smiling, though bittersweet.

Chapter Text

Day breaks with their morning alarm, and Tobi groans dramatically because Obito has primary control. They roll their eyes heavenward, their mask sitting around their neck, and fall back onto the mattress. Dad’s standing at the door with his arms crossed, looking vaguely unimpressed. Tobi does not care.

“Why do I gotta go back to the academy?” they whine. Kakashi is somewhat embarrassed from within, but Obito can’t be bothered to care about him right now because it’s too early for this. “I’m a chūnin, Dad. I’m past that.”

“No,” Sakumo sighs, “ Kakashi is a chūnin. Obito is a student.”

“Then let’s meet halfway and make Tobi a genin.”

Sakumo pinches the bridge of his nose, and Tobi’s a mix of amused and ashamed, because Kakashi’s never seen their father like this before. They didn’t fight, he and Dad. Kakashi was always the model son, skilled and obedient, if a bit conceited. He followed instruction impossibly well and excelled at everything he did. Never complained, rose to every challenge…

“Way to stroke your own ego, Bakashi.”

Sakumo tosses a bag onto the bed next to them. It’s already packed. Sakumo needs to leave for his mission in two hours, and there’s an hour until class starts. If they can just wait out the hour, maybe they can worm their way out of this. Obito isn’t sure how long Kakashi is going to sit back and let them embarrass themself in front of their father, though.

“I see Obito is choosing to be difficult today,” Sakumo says. It stings a bit. He’s gotten better at prying them apart through observation alone, but right now it’s probably obvious. Kakashi doesn’t throw fits like this.

“What of it?” Obito is not the perfect son. Obito is the black sheep of the Uchiha and, damn it, he’ll live up to his name if it means staying home today.

“Well, assuming you won’t let Kakashi and I talk this out…” The bed sinks beneath Dad’s weight, and Tobi looks up. They’re next to each other, practically touching, and Sakumo’s playing the scolding parent today. He doesn’t look very scolding, though. Dad’s face is far too kind. “Let’s talk. You and me. Make your case, Tobi.”

Tobi pouts. Now that they’re put on the spot, they don’t know how to bring voice to their own protests. “I,” they start, then think better of it. They don’t want to tell Dad that they’re scared, so they won’t. Dad probably already knows, anyway. It’s written on their face. “I have all of Kakashi’s memories and experience. I shouldn’t have to do it over again.”

Sakumo hums and nods. “True. But you also have a lot working against you. You’ve been gone for two years now, and you can’t remember how long it’s been since you merged, am I correct so far?”

They let out a vague noise of affirmation, swinging their legs back and forth anxiously. They can’t be sure when they merged. It feels like it’s been a long time, but they only registered it after meeting Dad in the forest, waking up in the hospital with a body they didn’t know. Even then, it didn’t quite click. The memories of the initial Sharingan tests are clear in their mind from both Kakashi’s and Obito’s perspective, but they both get vague after that. Everything was so jumbled that they didn’t know who or what they were. But once Sakumo sat them down and started asking questions, they started piecing the puzzle together themselves. Sakumo has this magical ability to straighten out their thoughts whenever they start to cross. He’s great like that.

“This is a new body,” Dad says, placing a hand between their shoulder blades. “ Tobi’s body. I’ve noticed that adjusting to it is taking a lot out of you. On top of that, you have a lot more chakra than you did before. The seal blocking it has just been released. Your Sharingan’s awakened. You need to work out what elemental affinities you do and don’t have and, above all else, you need to be comfortable in your own skin before you ever take on a mission.”

They wince at that last bit. Their shoulders go up and their head goes down. It’s a kick in the gut. It isn’t like they don’t know all this already, but they hate that Dad knows. And that Dad is pointing it out to them, reminding them of it when they just want to pretend everything is fine and normal now.

Sakumo doesn’t care about Tobi’s internal turmoil. Instead, he smiles. “Why not treat this downtime as a chance to sort yourself out?”

Tobi groans, cursing Sakumo to hell and back for using logic, their weakness. He’s right. They’ve made adjustments as they went. Walking was hard because they didn’t know how to both keep control at once, or how to follow the same path with their feet, to get the timing right. Honestly, Tobi isn’t even sure both sides of them are real. They theorize that the Kakashi and Obito in their mind are just impressions created by their memories. Either way, when both sides disagree, everything gets more difficult, and they have to work out a system for just about everything they do. Kakashi is often willing to take a back seat, which helps mitigate their struggles, observing rather than acting, and he’s fine with that.

Obito is not. The guilt he feels, not giving Sakumo much time with his son, is crushing and burdensome. Obito hates inserting himself where he’s not needed, taking Kakashi’s family away like a parasite and pretending that this dad is his own. It’s so hard, though, when they're so intermingled. It’s impossible to imagine a world where Sakumo was never there.

“Let’s do it,” Kakashi urges. “We can use the time to train. You’re not good at anything, honestly.”

“Shut up, Bakashi. You’re talking about the future Hokage, y’know.”

“If we’re going to be Hokage, all the more reason for us to train.”

Damn Kakashi and his logic. Just like their dad.

Tobi groans loudly and rises off the bed like a zombie. They glare dully at Sakumo, sullen and bitter, and rummage through the closet for clothes. “Alright,” they grumble, “fine. But I don’t have to like it.”

Dad ruffles their hair, laughing, completely unbothered by Obito’s sass. “Thank you.” He goes to leave but pauses, looking back on them as they pull on a fresh shirt. “Tobi?”

“Yeah?”

Sakumo smiles. “If you decide you don’t want to go down this path…”

“Hm?”

“That is, if you don’t want to be a ninja of the Leaf. If that day ever comes, tell me, please? I’m on your side no matter your choice. I want you to know that, okay?”

Tobi stares at the ground and nods shyly, kicking away a sock that must have fallen out of the dresser. They’re not sure why they’re embarrassed, but they are, and they want to hide.

Dad’s too good to them.

Tobi stands before a class of twenty-three of their peers, hands in their pockets and a slouch to their back. Kakashi doesn’t recognize more than half of them, but Obito does. He can put names to every face, from the first row all the way to the last, and Tobi draws upon them. Lord Hokage’s son Asuma is in this class, it seems. If they were lesser, they could try to curry favour with him. They’re not, though, so they won’t. Most of the kids here don’t make it to Kakashi’s mind. He just can’t be bothered, even if Obito is chiding him for it.

Whispers about them are already spreading like wildfire, but it’s Kakashi in control. Rumours flow off Kakashi like water. It wasn’t always like that. Those same whispers tore down his father and almost ruined them both years ago, and he knows they can do so again. But they have the power to stop it and by now, Kakashi is past the point of letting them get to him. He’s seen what they can do, who they can hurt, and how wrong they can be. That’s why Obito relinquishes control so easily. 

The instructor introduces them as Tobi Hatake, which sets off alarm bells across the class. They twitch. It’s fine. They won’t let it get to them, but they’re not sure that they should have gone with Kakashi’s last name. Uchiha would have been even worse, though, especially looking as he does and carrying so few markers of the clan. When put like this, there really is no better option.

Tobi looks on with cool indifference as they scan their classmates' faces one more time. They’re in Obito’s class—the grade he would be in, had Orochimaru not ruined everything. Rin is here. Their heart races in their chest at the sight of her. She’s looking out the window, her head propped up by her hand, and their presence goes completely unnoticed. At the opposite end of the classroom is Gai. There’s something odd there, too. Gai stares down at his desk, tapping the wood, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. This isn’t the Gai they know—not the Gai who Kakashi remembers. This is a whole different beast.

They’re not sure what to do with what they see.

“Tobi?”

Tobi pulls themself from their thoughts long enough to glance at the instructor and sigh. Right. It’s time for their self introduction.

“Tobi Hatake,” Kakashi says as though it’s the most boring day of their life. Then, after a thought, he adds, “The future Hokage.”

Obito is giddy just hearing it.

Nobody believes their bold declaration, and that’s fine. They’re not sure, either—the Kakashi side. Obito is dead set on seeing his dream through whether this life is his alone or shared, but Kakashi knows Obito well enough to think it’s a stretch.

They take a seat next to Rin. It sends their heart racing. It’s Obito’s influence, naturally. Kakashi doesn’t dislike Rin, per se. Obito’s love of the girl is bleeding into him, and it’s a pain, but he can’t say that her presence makes much of a difference, either. She’s just there, like the rest of the class. Background to his life, people he doesn’t need to get attached to. Peers to overpass.

Rin doesn’t notice them for a while. It’s about halfway through their first class that she spares him a glance and a short “Hello,” but that’s all they are to her. She doesn’t recognize them.

“Well, if we didn’t wear the stupid mask—”

“I’m not taking it off.”

“But if we didn’t—”

“She wouldn’t recognize you, Idiot.”

“Sakumo says we have my eyes!”

“Well, yeah—we have the Sharingan. We didn’t get that from me.”

“And my smile—”

Tobi sighs. They can’t help it. Obito is exhausting at the best of times.

The only person here who pulls Kakashi’s interest is Gai, sitting at the back of the class, quiet and sullen, nothing like himself. Like an alien wearing a Gai skin. If anyone were to approach them, it would be him, smiles and offers of friendship and spars and rivalry, but he hasn’t spared them a glance.

This whole class is a miserable waste of time, and they remind themself that it’s only temporary. They’ll stay here while they train and hone their control. They’ll learn how to use the Sharingan, what affinities they retain from their previous lives, and how to utilize their massive chakra reserve.

They’ll walk before they run, and they’ll be flying before long. It’s only a matter of time.

Classes are out and Tobi lingers in the classroom longer than strictly necessary. Their attention is on the green and black lump gathering his things at the back of the room, moving slowly even as everyone else, including Rin, is already gone. There’s no energy in any of Gai’s movements, like all his talk about passion has withered and died since they saw him last.

Tobi swings their bag over their shoulder and takes lazy steps toward their classmate, their free hand in their pocket. They stand over Gai’s desk, casting a dark shadow across it, and wait as he slowly meets their face.

Gai’s eyes widen, filled with tears, and he shoots up off his chair. “Kakashi?!”

Tobi tenses and takes a half-step back.

Gai searches their face for what feels like an eternity before he slumps back down in his seat and shoves the last of his books into his bag. “Sorry,” he mutters— mutters. Gai. Muttering. What is the world coming to? “I mistook you for someone else.”

It hurts a bit, but Tobi is used to it by now. “My name is Tobi,” they say, deciding not to address it.

“Tobi Hatake, right?” So he was paying attention. Gai’s smiling, but it’s not the winning smile that he usually wears. “Are you Kakashi’s brother? You look a lot like him.”

“Bet he wouldn’t be saying that if we didn’t wear the damn mask.”

“Shut up. You’re not helping.”

“Something like that,” Tobi evades. “You don’t look well. Are you sick?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I just…” Gai heaves a sigh and pulls on his backpack. They automatically leave the classroom together, wandering down the empty hall. “I knew Kakashi, actually.”

“Did you?” They feel a bit bad about deceiving him. Only a bit. This is their life now, though, so they better get used to it.

“He was my rival. He’s been gone a long time, but it didn’t feel real until now. I guess I always thought he was on a really important mission or something. Like he would come back one day and I would challenge him again like he was never gone. But they held a memorial recently, and his and Obito’s portraits were there, and they were on the list of deceased, a-and I…”

It's weird, hearing this. They feel small and guilty knowing that they’re to blame for everything that Gai is feeling right now. Kakashi never expected Gai to be so upset over his death. They were rivals, sure, but it’s not like Kakashi was ever that decent towards Gai. Kakashi didn’t have time to be decent. He was busy going on missions and being a shinobi of the Leaf, too focused on living up to Dad’s name and making him proud. Other people were just a nuisance.

“Do you still think that, Kakashi?”

He isn’t sure.

Gai scrubs at his eyes. “Sorry,” he bites out. “You’re his family. I don’t have the right to cry in front of you.”

Tobi raises their eyes heavenward and sighs. They pat their classmate’s back awkwardly, like they’ve never willingly given another human comfort in their life, and it’s all Kakashi behind it. “Cry all you want. It doesn’t cost anything.”

“Oh, so it’s okay when he does it, but when I do it, I’m a crybaby ninja.”

“Shut up. It’s different. You cry when Dad brings home a snack.”

“It’s heartwarming!”

Gai takes them up on that offer. There’s a lot of blubbering and wailing that follow words about his long-lost rival, his goal.

His best friend.

It hits like a stone thrown into a lake, ripples fanning out across the surface. Kakashi feels something, like a weight on his chest, and doesn’t know what to do with it.

They fall in line together as they walk home, but Tobi stops, turning to face Gai. Gai blinks at him, his eyes still red and puffy from his recently-dried tears, but Tobi doesn’t explain.

“When you look at me,” he starts, hesitates, and swallows. “Do you see anything?”

“I thought we weren’t doing this.”

Gai stares doe-eyed, searching Tobi’s face, confusion in every line of his body. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he nods.

Tobi leans in. “What do you see?”

“Kakashi,” Gai says simply. “He was your brother, right?”

Tobi opens their mouth and says nothing. They want to tell him, but they’re scared. Kakashi hesitates. Obito does nothing to admonish him, never tries to take control, and still Kakashi stands there, dumbstruck and scared, and he cannot do it.

He worries that the truth will disappoint him. Gai isn’t the judgmental type, Gai would never reject someone for something outside their control, but these intrusive thoughts are Kakashi’s shackles, and all he can do is slouch their shoulders and walk away.

“Let’s go home,” they say, muted beneath the winds in the trees.

Kakashi is a coward, but neither of them will say it.

Outside the Hatake estate stands a tall, pale-haired man staring at the nameplate on the front gate. Tobi sees this from some distance as they walk home from school, having parted with Gai not long after leaving the academy. Their steps slow, and they narrow their eyes at the man, spiky hair over a red haori, and they think they recognize him. Well, the side of them that’s Kakashi does.

“It’s the Toad Sage.”

“Master Jiraiya?!”

“Yeah.”

“Like—writer of Tale of the Gutsy Shinobi, Master Jiraiya?!”

“Yes.”

“Like Minato’s sensei—”

“Yes, Obito. That one.”

They approach cautiously, but freeze a few times. Their differing reactions to this man’s appearance causes enough divergence for them to momentarily have no control over their body, and they stand a bit away until the sage notices.

Jiraiya sees them. Something flashes across his face before he smiles and waves them over. It’s only then that they start to move. They assume he’s here to see Dad, but they don’t think Dad is back from his mission yet.

“Hey there, Kiddo,” Jiraiya greets.

“Dad’s not home,” Tobi answers simply. It’s Kakashi because Obito just wants to ask for an autograph, and they are not doing that.

“Dad, huh?” Jiraiya’s smile falls. He knew Kakashi, though not well, before this mess. They wonder if he knows about their situation, or if he’s like the rest, assuming their dad has gone off the deep end. Now they’re feeling particularly defensive. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Tobi narrows their eyes and walks past the sannin, unlocking the door. When Jiraiya doesn’t immediately follow, they nod. “Come on.”

They discard their bag at the door and gesture him into the living room before they slip into the kitchen to brew tea. Tobi is nothing if not hospitable, even when they don't want to be. As they wait for the kettle to boil, they remember Dad mentioning that Minato had left to mediate between the sannin. If Jiraiya’s here, does that mean that Minato’s back, too?

Not that they care. They don’t miss him or anything, they just… get bored easily now that Dad’s not around so much. They want someone to tease and spar with. That’s all.

The house is empty and dark. Usually, Sakumo is home at all hours, and the lights are always on. Now that he’s back to missions, Tobi is left to their own devices. This is fine. They’re not disappointed to come home to an empty dining table, or the echoing stillness of an estate far too big for them. They’re not bitter as they pop their head in the fridge to see what ingredients they have to work with for dinner. Kakashi absorbs knowledge like a sponge and Obito’s cooking is quite palatable these days, so they’ll manage something. Dad bought them a cookbook to try out, too, so they have options.

When the tea is ready, they take a tray out into the living room and set it down at the table in front of the sage. Jiraiya’s staring at the altar with a far-off look, his eyes shifting between Kakashi’s and Obito’s faces.

Tobi narrows their eyes and takes a seat across from him. They’re defensive because, even if this is the author of their favourite book, they think they know what sort of thoughts he’s having about their father and don’t approve. “I don’t know when he’ll be back,” they say, hoping it’s enough to get him to take a hint and get out after tea.

“I’m not here for Sakumo,” Jiraiya says as he’s poured a cup and watches the steam float between them. “I’m here for you.”

They tense up. “I’m getting tired of people taking an interest in me,” they say. “I’m not a lab rat.”

Jiraiya rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t mean it like that. Sorry.”

Tobi isn’t sure if they believe him, but let it drop there. Their mask goes down, and they drink some of their tea. It’s still too hot, so they burn their tongue, but no one could tell from looking at them.

“Orochimaru was my teammate,” Jiraiya continues. “He’s my friend.”

They don’t say anything. Orochimaru knows Dad, too. He knows a lot of people in the village. Tobi isn’t naive enough to think that being associated with that man is enough to warrant guilt. But hearing that name brought up again and again when they just want to forget it… It’s hard.

“I wanted to meet you for myself after I found out. I heard about your situation, and what he did to you. I’m so sorry, Kid. From the bottom of my heart.”

Tobi is very uncomfortable with everyone playing the pity card on them. They get enough of that from Dad already, don’t they? “I don’t want to hear it. Unless you put me in that tube or placed me under that seal, this has nothing to do with you.”

“You’ve got grit, Kid. I like it.”

“It’s Tobi.”

“The name you’re going by?”

They nod.

“Tobi, then.” Jiraiya grins, but it doesn’t last. “I may have no part in what he did, but that doesn’t mean I’m free of blame. I’ve been away a long time, you know. Training up some kids over in Ame. If I was here for him, or to stop him, set his mind straight… I don’t know. But I feel responsible. I want to make this right.”

“How?”

Jiraiya scratches his cheek and makes a face. “That’s the issue, isn’t it? Can’t exactly take you apart again. I know someone who can try, if you want.”

Tobi hears that, and all they can picture is being torn limb from limb, parts belonging to Obito and others belonging to Kakashi all divided up into labelled boxes, and they feel sick to their stomach. Living like this is better than ending up as a pile of soft tissue discarded in a lab any day. “Let’s not.”

Jiraiya lifts an eyebrow, probably imagining the very same things they are, but doesn’t ask. “You tell me, Tobi. What can I do for you? I’m the Toad Sage of Mt. Myōboku. If there’s anything within my power that I can do, I’ll do it. Anything at all.”

Tobi just wants this guy to stop suffocating them beneath his guilt so they can get started on dinner. It feels inappropriate to say, though, so they drum their nails on the corner of the table and try to think.

There is one thing that’s been bothering them. It’s been a constant struggle ever since they started reading Master Jiraiya’s book. Tobi holds a hand in front of their face and closes their right eye. Their left won’t focus. They haven’t told Dad about this yet because there were more pressing matters to be dealt with, and they didn’t want to overburden him, but the sight in their left eye is poor. Their assumption is that when they merged, Kakashi’s missing eye somehow meant that their vision was affected. Which seems stupid. If they have one perfectly working eye, and it’s combined with nothing, they should still have one perfectly working eye. They assume it has something to do with their right arm feeling a little weak, too. But vision isn’t something that can be trained. They either have it or they don’t.

With a sigh, they tap the skin beneath their left eye. “Can you do something about this? I can’t see well out of it.”

Jiraiya blinks. “Your eye?”

“Yeah,” the mutter. “It makes training difficult, and I find it hard to read. So do something about it.”

The sage scratches his chin, staring at the eye, as though doing so will provide him with answers. “Well, I suppose we could do a transplant—”

“Not an option.”

“Why not?”

Tobi lets Obito take over for this. Obito’s a natural. With a short rush of chakra to their eyes, their vision clears with the activation of their Sharingan. It helps a little with their left eye, but not enough to make a difference. “It’s like this.”

“Ah.” Jiraiya nods. “Right. No transplant, then, okay. I don’t want the Uchiha clan on my ass; they’re a real pain, no offence.”

Tobi snorts, resting his chin on his palm. The Sharingan recedes. “Nah, they're the worst. So can you do it?”

Jiraiya hums. He honestly looks stumped. Some great sage he is. “Well first, you haven’t had it examined by a medic, have you?”

“...No.”

“Let’s start there. They may be able to offer some treatment. Hell, I’ll drag Tsunade back kicking and screaming if I have to. And if that doesn’t work…”

“If that doesn’t work?”

Jiraiya claps his hands. “Glasses. Simple as that.”

Tobi pouts. Some great ninja sage this guy’s turning out to be.

“Is that all, though, Kid?”

“Tobi.”

“That all, Tobi?” Jiraiya corrects. “Come on, I’m Master Jiraiya. Abuse my power a little, why don’t ya?”

“Well…” Tobi hesitates, their eyes falling to the book sitting atop the shelf, half read. Obito’s still in control and is all sorts of wanting, but Kakashi has reservations. Mainly to maintain dignity. They don’t last, though, when Tobi finally leans over to pick it up and hold it out to the sage with a grin. “Can you sign it for me?”

Jiraiya gawks at them, slack-jawed and examining the thoroughly-read copy of his first novel. The spine is cracked and some of the pages are bent, but there are no tears or spills, and Minato’s seal key is still marking the pages at the halfway point. Then he laughs, loud and full, and slaps Tobi on the back. “Is that all?”

For Obito, this is the best day ever.

For Kakashi, it’s Tuesday.

After dinner, Tobi has a half-hearted fight with themself about who’s going to wash the dishes. They both cooked, but only one can be in control while they clean, and switching halfway through feels like a pain. Neither is actually bothered by it, though. They’re fighting out of loneliness rather than need.

“It’s quiet,” Obito murmurs, giving voice in the silence.

It’s been like this ever since Jiraiya left. Quiet. Still. Every room in the estate echoes when they walk, and it’s making them anxious. They’re not used to being alone.

“Mm,” Kakashi affirms. “Dad might not be back until tomorrow.”

“I know what you know, Bakashi.” They’re empty words, really, there to fill the stillness. Normally, they have more to complain about or people to distract them, but they’re never left to their own devices like this. And there will be a lot more of this now that Dad’s back at work. They could talk about their classmates, but mentioning Gai or Rin knots their stomach, and they haven’t paid much mind to the others. “Hey, what was that thing from the other day that you wanted me to practice? The kenjutsu thing?”

“It’s just a basic stance,” Kakashi shrugs. “Your form is terrible.”

“Well, sorry. I didn’t have a dad to teach me that kinda stuff. When I was little, Dad was always out on missions—”

Tobi frowns. That’s not right. Sakumo was always out on missions. Throughout the chaos of fighting a war, Sakumo still made time for his son wherever he could. Kakashi knew what lengths his father went to in order to be with him. Kakashi appreciated it, even if that appreciation was silent and distant.

Obito takes control. They slouch, head hung low and a hand on their forehead as they fight through the fog to their own truths. “I didn’t have a dad,” he confirms, scuffing the floor with his sandals. It’s hard for him sometimes, and it’s getting harder every day. The longer he spends in this house, the more he feels that he’s losing himself. The closer he gets to Sakumo, the more he slips up. Sakumo is Sakumo. Sakumo is not Dad. By thinking otherwise, he’s only hurting himself in the long run.

Kakashi protests this, tells him that he’s wrong and that Dad cares about both of them. Tobi is his son, not just Kakashi, and Obito wants to believe this. He really, truly does.

But every time he starts to, he sees Dad at Konoha Memorial, eyes transfixed on the photograph of a son he’ll never get to see.

A plate slips from their fingers and shatters across the floor. Tobi stares at it, their mind not quite registering what they’re seeing, before they bend down to pick it up. Pain shoots through their head, and they brace themself as spots cloud their vision. It’s another episode. They’ll ride it out. It’ll be over soon, they think, a white-knuckled grip on the countertop, but every second feels like a minute, and every minute feels like a year.

They need to move. Moving helps.

The plate is forgotten on the kitchen floor as they stagger from one room to the next, then out into the world.

Sakumo’s first mission is local. He’s grateful for that because it means that he gets to return home the following day. He’s not looking forward to the next, which looks to be a week’s travel round-trip. That’s if things on the battlefield pan out, and it’s so rare that they do.

He isn’t thinking about that. Right now, he’s thinking of the boys waiting for him back home. He’s too late to make breakfast. Arriving early in the day means that his report to the Hokage will take up the last dregs of morning, but lunch is on the table. He isn’t sure exactly what he’ll make; it’s anyone’s guess what Tobi took from the fridge. But Sakumo will make it work. He always does.

He’s fidgeting while Hiruzen reads over his report with all the speed of a snail, and repeats mantras in his head to will the Hokage to hurry it up. Sakumo knows he’s being immature. It can’t be helped. His sons are at home waiting for him, and right now, he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

Eventually, the report is cast aside and Hiruzen steeples his fingers. Sakumo hates when he does that. It means there’s more. There’s always more. What is it, then? Is there a mistake in the report? Did he miss a secondary objective? He had a kunai in his arm until he was back in the village an hour ago, as it was too deep for him to safely remove without a medic present. So, honestly? He’s not having a very good day.

“You wanted updates about the Mokuton boy, am I remembering that correctly?”

All of his complaints fall away and Sakumo blinks. The report is fine. The mission went well. Hiruzen isn’t about to add to his workload, he’s just… being a decent friend, and now Sakumo feels guilty for wanting so badly to get away from him.

He sighs. Tobi can wait. They’re a good kid. They can take care of themself for a little while longer. When Hiruzen offers him a seat, he takes it.

“How is he adjusting?” Sakumo asks. That’s what he cares about most of all.

Hiruzen finds his pipe, which means badly, or worse, not at all. Smoke fills the room, and Sakumo leans away from it. He’s lectured his old friend far too many times about this bad habit of his, but Hiruzen laughs him off and says it’ll be a good life if smoking gets him before the war does. It’s probably said in jest, but it’s not very funny.

“Danzō is watching him,” the Hokage says. “Wants him for Root, I think.”

Sakumo holds his hands in his lap and doesn’t let anything show on his face. Hiruzen already knows how he feels about this. He doesn’t need to throw a tantrum to be heard. They’ve known one another far too long for that. “And you’ll let Danzō have him?”

Hiruzen sighs. New documents are pulled out of the desk drawer and stacked on top, where they’re read through absently. “The boy is interacting poorly with the other children at the orphanage.”

“Of course he is,” Sakumo spits, reeling himself back and taking a breath. “Lord Third—Hiruzen—with all respect, the child was raised in a tube. I’m shocked that he can communicate at all, and you expect him to play nice with other kids? You can’t ask that of him. It’s not fair.”

“I know.” Hiruzen’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. He fishes out a stack of photos and passes them over the desk to Sakumo’s waiting hands. They’re from the orphanage, of the boy in question with various wooden structures twisted around him. By the look of it, he’s caused a fair bit of property damage since being shipped off there. There’s a tree growing through the corner of Konoha Orphanage’s main building. There’s something that looks like a wooden pillar jutting out of the playground equipment. In another, over by the front entrance, there’s just a hollow cocoon of wood. Just sitting there, the boy huddled inside. Looking scared. “We don’t have anyone equipped to deal with circumstances like his, I’m afraid. There’s no one alive to teach him control over Wood Release, but worse still, there is no one who knows what to do with him. He doesn’t understand where he is or why he’s here, and the orphanage staff don’t know how to explain it to him.”

“But you’ll let Danzō have him,” Sakumo says flatly. “For Root.”

“Give me a better option, then, Old Friend.”

Sakumo opens his mouth and says nothing. He’s not in a position to make promises he can’t keep. There’s already a boy waiting for him back home who needs his guidance. Two, in fact. Even if the world only sees one. So Sakumo can’t say anything. He needs to shut up because he doesn’t have a right to criticize Hiruzen if he won’t offer any solutions himself.

The final photo is of the boy hooked up to an IV, picking at the needle in the back of his hand, formless wooden structures surrounding the bed that he’s in.

“Let me meet him,” Sakumo says before he can stop himself. “I’ll try to think of something then. How’s that? Is this what you were fishing for, Hiruzen?”

“Possibly,” the old bastard answers, turning in his chair to watch the village beyond the window. Sakumo can’t see, but he hears it. The smile the Hokage wears.

Sakumo is a bleeding heart, and Hiruzen has no qualms playing that to his advantage.

The Hatake estate is empty. This would be fine if classes were still running, but Tobi’s class took an early morning excursion to one of the training grounds and were expected back around noon. It was a half-day for them. Tobi is still not home.

All Sakumo can see is Kakashi’s back through the kitchen window as it shrinks into the distance, a memory ingrained in his mind for two long, bitter years.

Not again. Not ever again.

Sakumo is out the door before he even thinks to take off his shoes. He scents the air and, thank the sage, he smells them. The familiar scent of Kakashi and the earthy undertones of Uchiha blood. It’s all over the property, and there are throngs of it in the surrounding streets now that the boy’s in school, but one trail stands out amongst the rest. It leads towards the Uchiha District, which feels all sorts of wrong. As Sakumo follows it, he wonders if maybe he shouldn’t. If Tobi would rather return to another life, if they’re missing Obito’s grandmother. Sakumo won’t blame them.

The last thing he wants is to get in their way.

Sakumo makes the selfish decision to follow. If nothing else, he needs to make sure they're safe. Once Tobi’s status is confirmed, he’ll leave.

The trail doesn’t make it all the way to the Uchiha District, and Sakumo is grateful for that, dragging his feet now that he knows it’s unlikely one of Obito’s clansmen spirited Tobi away for their eyes. This area is made up of civilian housing, and it’s mostly elders living here. Retirees, perhaps, but no active shinobi. It’s an odd place to find himself, but Sakumo has an inclination as to how they got here.

He’ll leave when the trail ends and he sees his boy. He won’t intervene.

As he rounds a bend in the road, Sakumo sees the boy wrist-deep in soil. Tobi kneels on the cobblestone paths surrounding the little house with a garden shovel in hand, a few flower bulbs and some mulch scattered around them. Their mask rests forgotten around their neck, and they’re smiling, big and bright and all Obito reflected back. They don’t notice Sakumo because there are too many scents in the area, but if Sakumo gets any closer they will. So he stops and watches.

An elder opens the front door, a tray of tea in hand that she offers up to Tobi. Tobi grins, wiping the sweat off their brow and hands on their pants as they go to take it, bowing their respect. They’re talking, but Sakumo doesn’t have his son’s hearing and can’t make out the words. Eventually, Tobi sits on the porch steps with the cup in hand. The elder—Obito’s grandmother—goes back inside.

Tobi notices him then and waves him over with a smile.

Sakumo arches a brow as he closes the distance between them. The flowerbed by the house is freshly planted, all done by hand, and it must have taken hours. Tobi’s covered head-to-toe in dirt. It’s on their skin, in their hair. Kakashi was never one to play in the dirt, but Obito seems to thrive in it.

“You’ve been busy, I see,” Sakumo says. It’s Obito looking through those eyes right now. He can see a light so impossibly fond in them.

Tobi rubs the back of their neck. “I got a bit lonely,” they confess. “I used to help Grandma with the garden a lot. She has a bad back, and I missed her.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Sakumo sits down next to them and ruffles their hair, much to their protest. “You’re a good kid.”

Tobi’s ears go red and they duck beneath Sakumo’s hand. “I knew she wouldn’t recognize me, but it’s nice to see her again either way, you know?”

“I know.”

Sakumo doesn’t like to think about how hard this is for Tobi, or how painful it can be for the pieces that make them up. He can’t imagine the loneliness Kakashi and Obito suffer every time they go unrecognized by a familiar face. Maybe Sakumo is a coward. Maybe there was once a time when he was a better man. Maybe the White Fang of three years ago would have confronted this reality with no hesitation. He wants to understand, but seeing them hurt is hurting him in turn.

He has to try regardless. He’s already made that promise.

Sakumo used to be good at confrontation. He wonders if it’s like muscle memory, if it will all come rushing back to him with a little prodding. If Tobi needs that from him, then he’ll make it so.

“Take your time,” he says. “I’ll wait here.”

Tobi doesn’t do that, though. They’re in and out of the house in less than two minutes, and they make their way back to the Hatake estate. They don’t speak, but Tobi’s hand is in his, and it feels nostalgic. Sakumo used to walk like this with Kakashi everywhere they went. Kakashi was younger then, of course. Smaller. Sakumo would carry the boy on his shoulders as they ran errands around the village. He knows that those days are gone and that he’ll never get them back, and it’s sad. It’s downright heartbreaking if he thinks about it too hard.

“Grandma has my picture up on the altar with Mom and Dad,” Tobi says. “Like you have ours.”

Sakumo heaves a heavy breath and nods. “It’s something to remember you by.”

“I was right there.”

“I know.”

“And I couldn’t—” They bite their lip, tightening their grip on Sakumo’s hand. “I couldn’t say it. ‘I’m not dead, Grandma! I’m right here!’ Why is that so hard?”

“You never told me,” Sakumo offers. “I don’t think you ever intended to.”

Tobi hangs their head and hunches their shoulders. Their crawling steps fall short until they’re standing just outside the doors of the Hatake estate.

Sakumo sighs. He doesn’t take a knee with children, not normally—except that this child, in particular, has been an exception to that rule ever since Day 1. So he takes a knee and looks up at Tobi. Tobi’s looking anywhere but at him, and he’s sure that soon, Obito will cower away and force Kakashi into control. These are Obito’s troubles, though—Obito’s and perhaps Kakashi’s too, but it’s Obito confiding in him right now. It’s Obito who wants to be here with him and listen. “You knew who I was before I knew who you were. You could have said something, but you didn’t. Do you know why that is?”

Tobi frowns. “Kakashi didn’t want to.”

“Why, though?”

“Because…” There’s a shift then. They stand taller, the creases on their brow smooth out, and they meet Sakumo’s eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Sakumo smiles, but it’s weak. “You didn’t,” he says. He holds the boy by the shoulder and brushes Tobi’s hair from their face. “Sage, Boy, you didn’t. Nothing you say could ever hurt me.”

Tobi narrows their eyes, flexing their dirt-stained fingertips. “I’m not…”

“Tobi,” he warns because it’s both of them that he’s addressing. “I would much rather have you as you are than not have you at all.”

Tobi’s shoulders slump. Their eyes fall. And honestly, Sakumo isn’t sure which side he’s seeing right now. It doesn’t matter. “I couldn’t say it.”

“And that’s fine ,” he says. “You don’t have to. To me or your grandmother or Rin or Gai—you don’t have to say anything. That’s your choice to make. If you want a fresh start, Tobi, then take one. If you have a name that you want me to call you by, give it. And if you want to leave—” He swallows. “If you ever want to leave, just promise me that you’ll tell me first.”

Tobi clenches their fists at their sides and licks their lips. “Then, can I ask something of you?”

Here it is. Sakumo isn’t sure he’s ready to hear it, but he nods, smiles, and brushes the hair out of Tobi’s eyes.

“Would it be too much trouble,” they start, their tone shifting, eyes averted, Obito . “Er, I mean…”

Sakumo’s patient. He waits as the boy fumbles with words.

“Can I stay with you?”

Sakumo stares. That’s… that’s it? That’s all it is?

He feels bad for laughing, really he does. But when Tobi gets all huffy and upset and embarrassed over it, he only laughs harder. It brings him to tears, and he fears that if he can’t rein it in, he’s going to suffocate.

There are worse ways to die.

“Sage, Tobi,” he breathes, somehow, through the fit. “Whatever made you think that you couldn’t?”

“Well, ‘cause, y’know…” They gesture to all of themself. “I’m not Kakashi. Not… not really. And that part of me keeps quiet. Isn’t it hard?”

Sakumo has to think for a moment. “Kakashi and I… we didn’t speak much. It was that way for a long time, Tobi, and I love him. I always will. Looking for him is the only thing that got me through these last two years. But Kakashi isn’t gone. Even when you’re speaking as Obito, I know that he’s here. He’s just quiet. He always has been. And that’s okay.”

He’s surprised when a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders, but maybe he shouldn’t be.

Chapter Text

Sakumo stares up at Konoha Orphanage, not for the first time in his life. It’s different than he remembers. It looks like it’s been overtaken by a forest, with how many trees have sprung up in and around it. He can only imagine how much this is going to cost to repair. The council must be ready to throw shit at Hiruzen for letting this happen, and Konoha Structures and Planning must have drank itself into a stupor after seeing the blow to their yearly budget. Sakumo exists outside all of those headaches, though, and finds it amusing how one boy could single-handedly upend the natural order of a hidden village. What? It’s funny. He doesn’t have to deal with any of the ramifications, so quite honestly, he finds it hilarious.

The last time he was here was over a decade ago. Just like now, his bleeding heart was manipulated by a very cunning Hokage, and he came to sort out a rambunctious young lad whose affinity for ninjutsu was causing the matron nothing but pain and heartache. His intention was to teach the boy some self-restraint, but instead, he came out with a child hanging off his arm and an unfortunate turn of events to report to Hiruzen. The old bugger laughed at him.

Minato hated that place with the burning intensity of a thousand suns. Once he was out of there, he mellowed out. Hiruzen called him the most well-behaved child in all of Konoha. When Sakumo asked, the boy said that it was suffocating there, and that living on his own, even before adulthood, was preferential to rotting away there like a prisoner. So the boy was given an apartment and an allowance, and he’d done well to take care of himself ever since.

Now that boy is being groomed for the Hokage seat. Oh, how time flies.

This visit won’t end like the last. The boy he’s here to see today is nothing like Minato, has no skills or life experience, and will die without a close and careful eye on him. That’s the hand he’s been dealt. Not his fault. According to the reports he got from the Hokage, the child didn’t even know how to eat. Even now, he refuses most meals, so he has to be force-fed through a tube. He’s frequently on an IV drip because he’s dehydrated and won’t drink, and he doesn’t speak. This boy is nary a shadow of what Minato was back then, but Sakumo is confident that a solution can be found somewhere.

He gets help from the front desk when he enters, and they lead him to the boy’s room. No name is given, which doesn’t sit well with him. The boy came with no name, and he’ll leave with no name. It’s all sorts of wrong. But Sakumo bites his tongue and thanks the caretaker, who leads him down the hall and to the end of it, where one of the trees juts out through broken windows and crumbling walls. Outside, a team of construction workers is cutting down the tree bit by bit to clear it away so they can work. They have his sympathies, but it’s still hilarious. In a twisted way, perhaps they should thank the boy for the business. They’ll be fed by his mistakes for a long time to come.

The caretaker is quick to leave him alone with the boy, which is as big a red flag as there can be in an orphanage. He's pretty sure the safety of his title as the White Fang is not part of the reason. The staff are terrified of the boy; most of them are civilians and have absolutely no idea what they're dealing with. Even trained, battle-hardened shinobi would pale in the face of a Mokuton user. But there is no excuse for leaving a child unsupervised and alone with a stranger.

He can see why Minato hates this place.

The door to the room opens up to a forest. He means this in the most literal way possible. Trees and wooden beams shoot up from the floor unnaturally. There are so many plants inside that the air is humid and thick, and at the centre of it all the boy is watching the door from a cocoon of his own making, cradling himself with a wooden shield. He peers around the structure with unnaturally hollowed eyes. Sakumo remembers those eyes from that day in the laboratory. He remembers the smile and wave that came with them, too.

So, that's what Sakumo tries. He takes a knee in the entranceway because, frankly, it's the only free space available in the room. Obito has taught him that meeting children on their level is sometimes okay, even expected, and it's times like this, when they're scared or uncertain, that they need it the most. He smiles. And he waves.

The boy instantly sits up and watches him curiously, trying to get Sakumo to spill all his secrets. Then, realization. Recognition. The boy remembers him.

Sakumo's flattered.

It takes a solid thirty minutes of this for the boy to come out. Sakumo's legs are asleep. It's quite painful. Still, he doesn't move. He feels like a statue, and if he doesn't get up soon, he may never move again. (He’s being dramatic. Only a little.)

The boy inches closer over the next ten minutes, wobbly on his feet. Like this, he closely resembles Tobi from those first few days together, and damn it, Sakumo promised himself that he wouldn't compare them.

A finger pokes Sakumo's shoulder. The boy crouches in front of him, those blank eyes still watching, and they smile at each other.

Look at this. Not a single tree attack in forty minutes. Sakumo’s a natural.

Sakumo raises his hand with the intention of poking the boy back, but when he sees those shoulders tense, he instead holds his hand up for inspection. Small fingers wrap around his own, pulling his limb to the young boy’s chest, turning it over this way and that.

“Hey there,” Sakumo greets softly, but the boy doesn’t react. According to the boy’s files, he doesn’t speak, nor does he give much attention to people who do. That doesn’t mean he can’t communicate (though that’s a distinct possibility), but it does mean that going any further than this is going to be difficult. He’ll try, anyway. “My name is Sakumo. I hear you’ve been causing quite a mess of trouble.”

The boy glances up at him. It’s brief, but there’s some sort of acknowledgement. Now the question is whether that acknowledgement was for the words that were said or the sound of his voice. Sakumo allows it when the boy starts inspecting the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t bring any weapons, just civilian supplies, in anticipation of this. A compass is pulled from one and examined thoroughly.

For a boy with no life experience, he seems to like exploring.

“Do you remember me?” He knows the answer already. He wants to see what will make the boy give him attention. “I’m the one who found you before you came here. Do you remember where you were before this?”

Something sprouts from the boy’s hand, and a small plant stretches around the compass, surrounding it in thin tendrils of wood. The boy understands. He uses Mokuton when he’s stressed or scared, so this is confirmation enough.

It begs the question of how, though. If the child spent his life in the lab, the idea that he learned language without any proper prodding is slim to none. Could he hear the researchers from his tube, perhaps? But the conversations he heard would have been about him, not to him, and it’s doubtful they tried teaching him anything. There was a good chance he would die. Every other child from that batch did, after all.

It must be lonely, thinking like that. Lonelier still, if the boy was aware enough to observe his surroundings, the other small bodies in the tubes going still one by one from the moment he opened his eyes until the day Sakumo found him.

Sakumo pulls a pouch out from one of the pockets that have yet to be pilfered. Inside is a cloth wrapping that he carefully unfolds and offers to the child. The child stares at the sakura-shaped wafers, gliding a finger over them, feeling the texture for himself. He pulls them up to his nose to sniff, too, and Sakumo suppresses a laugh. The kid certainly doesn’t have Tobi’s heightened senses.

“These are monaka,” Sakumo supplies, taking one from the boy’s hands. He breaks it apart to reveal the sweet bean paste inside and displays it to the eyes watching him so intently. “They’re sweets. You want to try?”

It took a lot of deliberation for Sakumo to determine what to bring to this meeting today. The boy looks like he’s five or six, but he’s actually about seven, according to the reports. Poor development will do that. That doesn’t mean he won't catch up in size as he gets older, though. Being seven means he’s close in age to Kakashi before his disappearance, so Sakumo tried using those memories to give himself an indicator of what might catch the kid’s interest… It didn’t give him much to go off of. Kakashi was by no means a normal child. That kid would have been happier to learn a new jutsu or get praised after a successful mission than he ever would have been playing outside or just acting like a child.

Instead, he turned to Obito. Unlike Kakashi, Obito actually acts his age, more or less. He gets excited over the things he likes, he complains when he has to do something he hates, and has interests outside of being a ninja, even if his dream is to be Hokage. And Obito likes sweets. Before coming here, he asked Obito what his favourites were. Dango was the obvious one, but the list he gave was never-ending, and Sakumo picked a few things that suited his purposes—treats that could be stored on his person without much of a mess.

This child is not good at being human. He’s eaten through a tube his whole life, so that’s fine, but it’s no way to live, and the staff haven’t been able to get him to willingly eat on his own. Sakumo imagines that he, too, would have reservations if a bunch of strangers who were scared and neglectful of him tried to get him to shove things he’d never seen before into his mouth. Add to that years of never needing to feed himself to survive and, well. It’s understandable.

ANBU better find Orochimaru, but they better not tell Sakumo where they’re keeping him.

Sakumo demonstrates by taking a small bite out of the monaka, chewing it, and swallowing. It isn’t like the boy hasn’t seen people eat before, and eating is a natural instinct. The only reason he hasn’t done so is likely because he’s been stressed and scared, and he’s so malnourished that he’s beyond the point of hunger. The kid is weak. Expelling all of his chakra to create these structures when he’s not eating well is exhausting him. His eyes are sunken and shadowed like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

Sweets aren’t the best thing to give someone when they haven’t been eating well, but the orphanage has been force-feeding the boy, so it shouldn’t be too bad. One treat is fine. Probably.

The boy scoops some of the filling onto his finger and licks it, and then he takes the other half of the broken monaka and puts it in his mouth. Willingly. His eyes find Sakumo, wide and bright.

“You like it?”

The boy nods.

It’s that easy.

It’s an hour after his arrival here that Sakumo has the boy sitting in his lap, picking at bits of monaka, savouring it like it’s the last time he’ll ever taste something so sweet, and leaning back against Sakumo’s chest. They sit like that for a while, listening to the sounds of construction just beyond the door. Occasionally, one of the caretakers passes by and stops in the hall, staring at them. They don’t approach. They’re too scared. Soon, a crowd forms out in the hall, but Sakumo doesn’t care.

All the kid needs is someone there for him. Why is that always such a hard thing to come by in this village?

Sakumo has the boy’s hand in his, smoothing the pad of his thumb over pale knuckles. His smile is gone. He’s just thinking, now, as the boy falls asleep in his lap. The room is filled with plants. It’s humid and suffocating, but the child feels right at home. Until he learns proper control over his Mokuton, the world around him will be collateral. When he’s stressed or scared or surprised, he’ll lash out with an ability that he doesn’t understand, and destroy the structures in his way. The people, too, if they get too close. The cost of repairs will be a drain on the orphanage’s funding and the village budget, and Hiruzen will keep having to placate the council until he can no longer sate their ire. Then, demands for the child to be integrated into Root will find the boy stripped of his still-forming identity and at the mercy of the darkest part of the shinobi world. Control will come when he has lost his sense of self, when there is nothing left of him but loyalty and obedience.

He gathers the limp body in his arms and carries it over to the bed within the wooden cocoon. Sakumo pulls the sheets up to the child’s shoulders, wipes some bean paste off the corner of his mouth, and stares down at him for a long, long time.

He can’t smile.

Sakumo leaves then, closing the door quietly behind him. The caretakers whisper praise to him, terrified of waking the child up, but he doesn’t listen. He stands in front of Konoha Orphanage and stares at the hole in the roof left behind by the now-dissected tree. The construction team is working on creating the framework of the roof now. They’ve made a lot of progress today.

He leaves with a weight on his chest. His heart is hollowed out and barren, and the world feels so, so cold. He tells himself that he can’t look back, so he doesn’t. The orphanage is left behind in the waning hours after sunset, and there’s a lot to think about.

Because he never looks back, he doesn’t see the tree that blooms anew when the boy wakes up.

Sakumo is preparing dinner in the kitchen, the tap running as he waits for the water to boil. Over the sizzle of the frying fish on the stove and the hiss of the tap, he hears a voice from the dining hall. It’s steady and strong, has been ever since he got home, and he smiles.

“—dunno, he’s kinda… Didn’t you always kick his ass when he challenged you?”

“He’ll make a decent sparring partner,” Kakashi says resolutely.

“What about Rin?” Obito tries. There’s a grin in his voice, and yes, Sakumo thinks there may be a boyhood crush hidden beneath it. “She’s gonna be an awesome kunoichi.”

“Doesn’t she want to specialize in medical ninjutsu?” Kakashi’s sigh is long-suffering. “We need a heavy hitter if we want to properly test our limits.”

“What limits?”

“This body is sure to have some,” Kakashi says. “You make up half of it.”

“Oi!”

Sakumo shakes his head, but he’s grinning. Tobi talks to themself openly these days. It’s refreshing to know that they no longer feel the need to hide it. At least from him. It’s a little weird, sure. To anyone who doesn’t know Tobi, it would be unnerving. But knowing what he does, Sakumo can only be hopeful. It feels like a change for the better.

He’s grateful to have these boys right now, playing at normal. It helps him distract his thoughts from another boy just a few years younger. 

“Gai’s prowess lies in taijutsu,” Kakashi continues as though he never insulted his other half. “Out of everyone in our class, he’s going to be the heavy hitter.”

“The guy can’t even use ninjutsu,” Obito huffs. “Rin can at least do that.”

“She’s average.”

“She’s not !” Oh yes, definitely a crush. Sakumo leans back to see Tobi through the doorway in all of their red-faced anger. “Fine, not Rin. What about Asuma? He’s Old Man Third’s son, right?”

There’s a sudden shift, Kakashi glaring dully at the far wall. “You can’t address the Hokage like that. It’s rude. But… no. Asuma’s nothing special.”

“You say that about everyone . We can’t all be chūnin at six years old, Bakashi.”

“Gai,” he says, arms crossed. “Final offer.”

Obito rolls their eyes. “What about Dad, then? He’s strong, right?”

Tobi sits back-straight and stiff, and then they eye the doorway. Sakumo’s already gone back to cooking as though nothing ever happened. He’s used to eavesdropping by now, and he’s good at it.

They used to spar a lot, him and his son. Kakashi was still learning, a budding young lad with a spark in his eye. He was talented, passionate, and wanted to learn anything and everything. It was cute. It was … until the council took notice. As Kakashi aged, all of his training focused on dummies and targets. It was all Sakumo could do to slow his boy’s progress. He erected those training dummies, painted those targets, and begged the sage, please don’t make him jōnin.

“Dad doesn’t…” Kakashi’s voice lowers, barely above a whisper. As though Sakumo won’t hear. “He’s too busy to spar.”

If only that were true.

Sakumo heads out into the dining hall and sets the places at the table, smiling at Tobi. “What’s this I hear about sparring practice?”

Tobi shrugs. “I want to see what I’m capable of.”

“A lot, I’m sure.” Between Kakashi’s skills and Obito’s Sharingan, he has no illusions about what they can do with practice and patience. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Tobi blinks.

“Helping you train,” he offers. He leaves the room again, this time returning with the first dish—the fish, carefully glazed and seasoned just the way his wife used to make it. They used to cook together before Kakashi was born. Between both of their missions, there were times when they didn’t see one another for days or weeks, but anytime they were both home together, they cooked. And oh, how that woman loved to cook. Sakumo likes it because she liked it. He likes it in honour of her. “I wouldn’t mind. Though, I do think that you should find some sparring partners amongst your class. It’s good to build relationships within your age group.”

Tobi drums his fingers along the tabletop. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“But before…”

Before, Kakashi was being thrust into active duty at six years old. Before, Sakumo feared the worst for his son. He never should have had to fight alongside his little boy in the war. Six more years, or ten, or twenty. It wasn’t right. So many times, Sakumo wished that his son was not born a prodigy, that he could attend the academy like a normal child, grow with his peers, make friends, and have a childhood. This village is cruel to those with promise. It bleeds them dry until they have nothing left to give, until everyone around them is dead, and they wake up in the night with memories no child should ever have haunting their sleep.

He won't ever say it, but he's glad Tobi's in the academy. He hopes it will stay that way for just one more year.

Sakumo’s thoughts are drawn back to trees and Root and red, and he feels bile rise up from his throat. He can’t. He can’t do this. Sitting here with them, smiling while knowing what is happening somewhere else, is making him sick.

“I have a big mission coming up,” he says, forcing it all back. “Let's train when I get back, okay?”

When Tobi nods, eyes alight, he thinks it's Kakashi that he sees.

Chapter Text

Minato doesn’t expect the knock on his window before the sun is up. He’s lying in bed with Kushina sprawled out on top of him, snoring away, and he’s the most comfortable he’s been in weeks. He just returned from playing carrier pigeon with the sannin—a job usually beneath his station, but his Hiraishin meant that he could travel faster than his peers, and time was of the essence—and all he wants is a solid twenty-four hours where he doesn’t have to hear about the war or the sannin or children in laboratories. He wants to wake up at a normal time and have a normal breakfast with his fiancée, and then he wants to take a nap because he feels that he’s earned it.

Minato instead wakes up to find a painted mask outside his window. He stares blearily at their guest, blinking away sleep, and plucks Kushina’s limbs off of him so that he can crawl out from under her. He unlatches the window and yawns, stretching his arms, and he’s not mad. This is what he signed up for when he became a shinobi. He’ll always put his duty to his village before his own comfort.

He needs to remind himself of that to keep from screaming.

“Lord Hokage has summoned you,” the ANBU says. “I’m very sorry, Minato, Sir.”

Minato scratches his chest, still trying to shake off sleep. “Has something happened?”

“We are in desperate need of your fuinjutsu prowess.”

“Fuin—” He twists around to look at Kushina, who is dead to the world, and wonders what seal is so important if their jinchūriki is here, safe and sound. If someone returned with a seal placed on them, it usually wouldn’t be in such desperate need of amendment or release that they would drag him out of bed on his day off. Unless the seal could cause death. But that’s unlikely, a curse tag would be used for that, so why— no, don’t think. He shakes his head. It’s not his place to question the Hokage’s orders. “I’ll grab my things. Brief me on the way.”

The ANBU inclines their head in a bow and vanishes from the window.

Minato gets dressed, gathers his weapons, his paper seals, his tools. He kisses Kushina’s forehead, brushes stray fire-red strands from her eyes, and lingers for only a moment.

He senses the ANBU on the roof and body-flickers out of the house, ready for yet another mission with little to no sleep. Like every time before it, he withholds a sigh and hopes that maybe tomorrow will be different.

Tobi rises from the dead an hour before they have to be at the academy. Kakashi isn’t a morning person while Obito is, so it’s usually Obito (or the half of their memories that think they’re Obito) in control during the first morning hours. Kakashi’s thoughts are a fog until they’ve at least had breakfast. They hop out of bed with a bounce to their step. Today starts their second week of class.

Today is also their first time with Dad gone for more than a day. Dad had to leave for his mission before the break of dawn, and that’s okay—it’s really okay—because they’ll do just fine on their own.

Tobi washes up in the bathroom, staring at their reflection in the mirror. Some days it’s still jarring. There are times when they wake up, and the person staring back at them is entirely foreign. Then there are days, like today, when they know who it is staring back. Tobi grins at themself.

“Food,” Kakashi demands from the muddied mess of their thoughts. “Stop wasting time.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

Tobi climbs down the stairs two at a time and stares at the lidded meal on the table, a note resting on top.

Good luck.

Tobi has plans for today. They’re not sure how well they’ll pan out, but they’re looking forward to it.

“Food.”

They roll their eyes dramatically and take a seat. “You’re so miserable in the morning.”

Sakumo expects to be on a mission to Kiri right now, but it’s been given to another jōnin. He’s woken by ANBU before dawn because Hiruzen has other plans.

The White Fang stands before the orphanage once again, and he’s not really sure what he’s seeing. Or, no, that isn’t right—he knows what he’s seeing. He can see what he’s seeing. He just can’t make sense of it.

The main building no longer has any right to be called a building. Everything is destroyed. Most of the windows on all three floors are shattered across the grass at the foundation, branches breaking through some and crushing the supports of others. The left wall has fallen into a heap of bricks where it once stood, and that entire side of the building has collapsed in on itself. The roof that once housed the orphanage has been replaced by endless leaves, and the inside is hollowed out by a forest of trees.

This has happened over the course of twelve hours.

As Sakumo stands there, another trunk sprouts up from nothing, unfurling its leaves to the sky, and more of the building falls.

The boy must be nearing chakra exhaustion, surely.

Sakumo hasn’t been given the all-clear to enter yet, so he stays put with his fists at his sides, fighting with himself to not disobey orders. It doesn’t make sense. Everything was fine. The boy had barely used his jutsu at all while Sakumo was there, so why?

The matron and her staff are standing on the front lawn, busily counting the heads of their children. They’re frantic. More are inside, and they know it, but no one is authorized to go in, so here they will wait. It’s not as dangerous as if this were an enemy attack, but they could be hurt by the boy’s Mokuton as it sprouts up or crushed beneath falling rubble, and injury or death is a very real possibility.

What is Hiruzen thinking?

The sun is up when Minato arrives. He runs over to Sakumo with confusion. If he’s been briefed, he doesn’t show it.

“What is this?” Minato asks.

“Mokuton,” Sakumo answers absently. This is the last straw. The boy will be shipped off to Root.

Minato looks between the destruction and Sakumo, and sputters. “That boy from the lab? He did this?”

“He’s upset.”

“I would think that’s an understatement, Sir.”

Why is Minato here? Why is Sakumo here? It’s bugging him. They haven’t been able to speak directly with the Hokage as they were told that the matter was urgent, but then Sakumo’s been standing here, waiting for orders, for well over an hour. This situation is ridiculous, but any jōnin worth their salt should be able to subdue a seven-year-old boy. There’s no need for the White Fang or Yellow Flash. And to give away Sakumo’s mission for this?

But Minato can place seals, can’t he?

When several minutes pass and the matron confirms the number of missing children, Sakumo decides they’ve waited long enough. He’s the highest commanding officer here, and he’ll accept the consequences.

“Minato,” he calls, grabbing the young man’s attention, “we’re going to secure the victims’ safety. This isn’t an enemy attack; we don’t need to subdue him first.”

“Right.”

“Take the right. I’ll take the left. Once the children are safe, meet me in the left wing. You have your fuinjutsu tools with you, right?”

Minato nods.

“We’ll need a seal to block his chakra.”

Minato frowns. “All of it, Sir?”

“No, not all,” he sighs. How can they expect him to learn control if he can’t practice? “Just enough. Half, or maybe a seal that can be deactivated at will. You got anything like that?”

“As a matter of fact…” The boy pulls numerous paper seals from his kit. They’re the type that burn a pattern onto the skin when infused with chakra, so they’re easy to apply.

Sakumo can’t help but laugh. This is a mess, but no one is prepared for disaster the way Minato is.

Within a moment, they’re in the structure, standing before the front desk, and they fan out. They don’t take the ANBU inside; they’ll safeguard the perimeter and keep civilians out of the danger zone. Some of the children already outside are injured—cuts, mostly, and splinters, so nothing serious. There’s a medic-nin caring for them nonetheless.

Sakumo finds the first child hiding beneath a bed with fat tears running down her face, and he smiles, offering her a hand.

“It’s okay,” he coos. “You’re safe now.”

Safe, huh? Safe from the boy turning her home into a forest.

Sakumo does not like the outcome he sees waiting for them at the end of this.

Rin makes a habit of staring out the window while waiting for class to begin. She’s not sure when it started or why, but all she does lately is stare at the clouds and wait out the hours. Her thoughts are rolling on and on in her head, always jumping around from one subject to the next. The more she thinks, the less she fixates, and she’s come to see this as a very good thing.

She knows that Obito is dead. She didn’t need a memorial to understand that. It only forced thoughts to the surface that she didn’t want to entertain, and now it’s all she ever thinks about.

Obito was her rock. Having both lost their parents in the second war, he was all she had, and he knew that. They stuck together like glue. Obito was the class clown, a bit of an idiot. Silly and funny and not very good at anything he did, but earnest. They shared their dreams together and picked each other up off the floor every time they fell, and it was only natural having him there. Then he was gone, smiling at her from the street, never to be seen again.

There’s a clatter at the front of the room, followed by whispers. A shadow looms overhead, and Rin looks up, blinking clueless eyes at the boy she sees there. A classmate takes purchase on her desk, his legs dangling over the side, leaning back on his palms as he stares at her.

She lifts her head and gives the boy a look-over. She doesn’t recognize him at first. He’s pale with pale hair, dark eyes. It takes a moment for her to draw up a vague, unimportant memory from the week before. “You’re…”

The boy stares down at her with dull eyes, then nods to the left. “The one who sits next to you.”

Oh, right. She forgot.

He narrows his eyes. “You forgot.”

Oh, no. He knows.

Rin puts on a smile and leans away. His legs are dangling right next to her, and part of her wants to kick him off the desk and onto the floor. But their instructor will be here soon, and she doesn’t want to blemish her spotless record. She’ll be graduating this year; it’s too late to cause trouble. “No, I didn't,” she lies through her teeth. She hasn’t paid a moment of attention to class in weeks, certainly not to this one kid . “You’re that transfer.”

“That transfer,” he scoffs, bitter and insulted. “Tobi.” He taps the desk impatiently. “ Tobi. We sit next to each other. You could at least introduce yourself.”

“Er…” What’s there to be so annoyed about? “Okay, let’s do that then. I’m—”

“Rin,” he says.

So he already knows. Then why make such a fuss?

“Okay, Rin .” The bottom half of Tobi’s face is covered by a mask, but she can tell by his eyes that he’s grinning beneath it. “You’re going to be my sparring partner.”

“Says who?”

Tobi shrugs again. “I mean, you can refuse,” he says, “but I don’t think you will.”

Tobi slides off the desk and onto his seat, and suddenly class is starting. Rin looks around. People are whispering. No one dares to say anything to Tobi’s face—she doesn’t know why—but she hears them utter his name beneath their breath. Tobi Hatake.

That name brings her back to an altar of flowers, and it crushes her heart. Obito isn’t the only one she mourns for. But as far as she knows, Kakashi and the White Fang are the last of their clan.

She looks over at this kid and wonders where he fits in.

He smiles back at her, and it sort of makes her want to punch him.

Sakumo stands with Minato outside the room where he encountered the boy yesterday. It’s at the heart of all the chaos, and he’s pretty sure the boy won’t leave the room of his own volition because it’s become a safe haven for him. Minato’s nod confirms it. It’s always nice to have a sensor to work with; they make everything so convenient.

To not risk detection from the boy, Sakumo signs his instructions and waits for Minato’s confirmation. They won’t try to slap the seal on until the boy’s calmed down. If they make him panic, it’s only going to put him in more danger. These two are jōnin. They can take care of themselves, but the kid is only a detriment to himself.

The door is half off its hinges, so Sakumo nudges it with his foot and watches it clatter to the floor. Beyond is a room even more densely packed with plants, and he sighs when he finds the boy huddled in the little cocoon at the heart of it, staring at his feet, looking like he’s about to fall asleep.

Those eyes find Sakumo, and widen.

Sakumo raises placating hands. He isn’t sure if the boy will see him as a threat, so he doesn’t approach. “Hey there,” he greets, careful to use the very same words he said during their last encounter. It might reassure the boy: ’I’ve been through this before and nothing bad happened then, so nothing bad will happen now.’ He kneels down and smiles. “Do you remember me?”

The boy’s eyes are wet and wavering, and he buries them behind his knees.

When nothing happens, Sakumo takes a gamble. He figures there’s no saving the main building in the state it’s in, so the threat of more damage is a moot point. The only risk now is to the boy’s own safety. Sakumo has good reflexes. He can handle this.

Sakumo enters the room one step at a time and pauses between each. Nothing happens. He gets all the way up to the front opening of the wooden cocoon and sits cross-legged there until the boy looks at him.

Red-faced and crying.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Little Guy?” he asks softly. “What happened to make you so upset?”

The boy doesn’t scrub his eyes or hide his tears. He doesn’t do anything but watch Sakumo.

Then he holds out his hand, ready and waiting.

“Oh—” Sakumo laughs, patting himself down. He has something in here, somewhere. Like magic, he pulls a cloth-wrapped package of daifuku and plops one of the cakes onto the boy’s palm. “This is daifuku. It might be a little stale.”

The boy doesn’t hesitate to nibble on it this time. He sniffles, his tears drying, and savours it.

While he eats, Sakumo nods his partner into the room. Minato tries to make himself small, but the boy still watches him nervously, even with Minato’s diffusing smile firmly in place. Soon, the jōnin are seated next to each other, across from the boy, and everything is quiet.

“This is my friend.” Sakumo claps the blond on the back, grinning. “Minato here has been wanting to meet you.”

Minato gives him a look, head tilted, but then nods along.

The boy remains suspicious.

Minato scoots a bit closer and pulls the paper seal designs out of his kit, fanning them out between them. They catch the kid’s eye, but he isn’t fond. “I’m a fuinjutsu master. That means that I know how to place seals. Seals are—they’re like locks. Like that door handle there. They keep things out. Or, in this case, in.”

The boy picks one of the papers up with sticky fingers—much to Minato’s horror—and traces the sigils with his eyes.

“You didn’t mean to do any of this, did you?” Sakumo asks, gesturing to the room.

The boy looks up and around, through the hole in the cocoon, at all the structures he’s made, and pulls his lips into a line, shaking his head.

“You were upset, and they just happened on their own, that right?”

He nods.

Minato taps the papers, drawing attention back to him. “Well, with these, that won’t happen anymore. Not so badly, anyway. We can stop your jutsu from activating with your emotions until you learn how to control it. How does that sound?”

The boy keeps staring at the images on the paper, as though considering it. But all he does is demand another of Sakumo’s daifuku, and is immediately rewarded.

This is going to take a while. But of all Konoha’s jōnin, they are the most patient.

If nothing else, Minato’s eyes light up as he explains each of the seals in detail, looking like there’s no place he’d rather be.

The bell tolls. While her classmates gather their things, Rin turns her attention to the new kid. Everything about him has shifted since this morning. His energy is gone, and he looks entirely too bored to really be paying the world any mind. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that he didn’t retain a single thing they learned in their lectures today, not that she can say anything. Just like the rest of the class, he’s packing his books into a bag and taking his time doing it.

They haven’t said a word to one another since the start of the school day, and frankly, she doesn’t know what to make of him. They’ve sat next to each other for a week now, and he’s given her as little attention as she’s given him, so why is today any different?

She gets up and leans back against her desk, hands securing the straps of her backpack as she watches him and waits.

“Fallen for me already?” he asks, sounding thoroughly put out by the thought. His tone is entirely different from how it was before—quiet and rolling like a wave. “That’s no good, Rin. I like playing hard to get.”

Rin rolls her eyes and gives him a look. “You said we’re sparring partners,” she levels. “Let’s go, then.”

Tobi makes a vague noise of amusement as he snaps his bag shut, slings it over his shoulder, and meets her eyes. “You want that?”

“Well, if you keep questioning me, I may change my mind.”

“Fair.”

Tobi shoves his hands into his pockets and drags his feet to the row of desks against the classroom’s inner wall. Gai is still seated, halfway through packing up. The three of them are all that remain in the room. Everyone else is filing through the front gate with freedom on their minds.

Tobi kicks the desk. It rattles, the legs scrape along the floor, and Gai looks up.

“You heard the lady. Let’s go.”

Gai is wholly confused, looking between the two. When Tobi leaves the room first, he and Rin share a look.

“Are we doing something?”

Rin waves her arms and heaves a sigh. “I guess so. Did he ask you to spar with him, too?”

“Spar?” Gai’s attention follows Tobi out of the room. “No, he never— spar ?”

Why is it that Gai practically launches himself out of his seat? What makes him run to catch up to Tobi? Rin’s not sure. She’s the last one left now, though, and takes a cursory glance around the class. He’s right; she won’t refuse. It’s not because she particularly needs a sparring partner or wants to test herself; she hasn’t had feelings like that in a long, long time.

Rin doesn’t like going home. She doesn’t like walking down the path they used to take together, and she doesn’t like unlocking the door to an empty, dark little house. She doesn’t like sitting there, stewing in her memories, and she hates thinking of all the ways she failed him.

Rin isn’t sure about Tobi, but he’s giving her an outlet. She would be stupid not to take it.

The training grounds are empty at this time of day. Rin looks around. Training Ground 13 is one that’s used for genin training. With the way things are going now, they may be standing here with a jōnin instructor next year. She may be the medic of a budding new team being sent on their very first missions, and that thought used to excite her. It doesn’t anymore.

Obito wanted that more than her. She feels guilty making it there without him.

Rin slides her backpack off and looks around. Gai is stretching, his feet planted shoulder-width apart, looking more alive than he has in a long time. There were times, years ago, when Rin saw him with Kakashi Hatake. He’d follow the village’s youngest chūnin around like a puppy and demand challenges, and now he’s lost that. He’s lost something, just like Rin has. He lost a friend. But here he is, a long-gone goofy grin back in place. Maybe they’ve become friends over the past week. Most people try not to make eye contact with Gai because he can be… well. He’s sweet and loyal, but he is a lot.

Rin sighs. She better get warmed up, too. She does stretches of her own, glancing now and then at Tobi. Tobi isn’t getting ready at all. He yawns, looks at one of the trees in the training ground, and something tells her that he’s thinking of taking a nap.

He doesn’t think they’ll be a challenge. It irks her. It pulls her from her melancholy long enough for her to decide that she’s going to use his corpse to mop up the blood when she’s done with him.

Tobi notices her glare and smiles behind his mask. Oh yes, she’s going to beat him into the ground.

“Alright,” she says, her body feeling loose enough now to pull out a win. “I’m ready. Who’s first?”

Tobi arches a brow. “Hm?”

“Me or Gai? Who should kick your ass first?”

Tobi looks between the two of them, his eyes slowly panning from one to the other. He laughs.

It sounds so completely different from the dull tone he took moments before.

Tobi faces them then, hands still in his pockets. He pulls one out and tosses something to Rin—a kunai pouch. “I’ll take you both on to start.”

Rin blinks. “You can’t be serious.” She shares a look with Gai, who’s just as insulted as she is. Gai’s never worn a face like that, as far as she knows. When she opens the bag, she finds professional-grade kunai. They’re nothing like the dull-edged training equipment back at the academy. Does this kid want to get hurt? Rin is agile and has strength. What she lacks in raw talent, she makes up for in tactical skill. And Gai—well, sure, he can’t use ninjutsu to save his life. But lately, Gai’s taijutsu skills have shown him to be so much more than he used to be. In a taijutsu battle with anyone in class, Gai will come out on top with a smile on his face.

“Maa, I’m sure you’ll do fine. I believe in you.”

She doesn’t care if it’s unfair. She wants to hit him. And she wants it to hurt.

Rin straps the pouch to her leg and readies her stance. He wants to use real kunai? He wants to play? Fine. They’ll play. She stomps over to Gai, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in. He yelps, blinking at her, and she grins.

“Alright, Gai. Let’s knock him down a peg,” she says.

Gai makes a face. “That’s not very good sportsmanship.”

“Yeah, well, he started it.” Her defence is weak and she doesn’t care. “Tobi’s new, so I don’t think he knows anything about our fighting styles. That’s where we’ll get him.”

Gai spends a moment thinking about it before smiling. “You want to work together, then?”

“Of course.” Tobi brought this upon himself. “I’ll keep him busy. Up close, you should be fast enough to break his hand signs if he tries any ninjutsu, but I’ll counter if any get through. We don’t know his fighting style, either, so it’s better to be cautious. Sound good?”

“You almost done conspiring over there?” Tobi yawns. “I’m falling asleep.”

Rin releases her partner from her grasp and spins around to face their opponent with a tight-lipped smile. “Ready when you are!”

Tobi narrows his eyes. “I don’t like that look you’re giving me. But whatever.” He nods at them. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Both students vanish on the trailing edge of his voice. Tobi looks around, scratches his head, and sighs.

Rin watches from the brush. The training ground is divided up into a flat plains section and a small wood, the perfect cover for any shinobi worth their weight. If she’s learned anything from class, it’s not to be hasty. Now, she doesn’t know Gai very well, but he doesn’t seem the type to lie in wait. She can’t stay here long because of that, and even if she does, nothing will change. Tobi isn’t moving. What started out as a spar has quickly turned into a mock battle in which she holds the trigger.

Tobi yawns again. The moment his eyes shut, Rin’s out of the bushes and gliding through the air with three kunai splayed between her fingers. They shoot down at her target and they hit . The body vanishes in a puff of smoke. In its wake, a log clatters against the dirt. She never took her eyes off him; when did he have time to set up a substitution?

She ducks into another tree, and there he is, perched upon the branch she was going to land on. Her hands flash through a succession of signs. Water pulled from the air gathers before her in droplets, and she takes aim as she falls.

Tobi makes a noise of amusement. “Water style. Is that your affinity?”

They shoot at him like bullets, and he’s gone, nothing more than a dispelled clone. Rin expects that. She swivels around, another kunai in hand, and reels back her arm—

He’s there on the ground.

She throws the kunai and follows it down. Tobi catches it just as she lands, but that’s her last one. She won’t let it go. With one fluid motion, she kicks at his arm, knocks it out of his hand, and snatches it out of the air.

Then Tobi’s behind her. When did he—?

There’s a kunai to her throat. She can feel the cool steel pressing into her skin, and her hands are empty. She knows that she grabbed it. She knows that, she does, but—

Where is Gai?

“Maa, you’re not much of a fighter.”

Rin twitches. She swallows against the blade at her neck.

“Well, as a medic-nin—”

She’s not sure how she manages to punch him in the face—how he’s distracted enough for her to do so, or how the blow actually lands—but seeing him drop to the ground is impossibly satisfying.

Rin blinks. She looks around. She’s not where she was standing just a moment ago. In fact, she’s exactly where she was at the start of the match, as though she hasn’t moved at all.

Tobi’s on the ground, rubbing his cheek, and beside her, Gai is lying face-first in the dirt, looking like a defeated man.

“What?” She looks around again. Nothing changes. Feeling the pouch tied around her leg, all the kunai are there. “Huh?”

Tobi groans his pain, but then he’s laughing. “You have such a nasty right hook,” he teases. “Why bother with ninjutsu when you can brute force your way to victory?”

Rin is red-faced and confused. She doesn’t much appreciate the teasing.

Tobi looks up at her, and his eyes are red. Really, truly red. A pattern weaves through them as he stares back at her. His eyes are spinning. His eyes are spinning, and that’s the Sharingan, that’s the sign of an Uchiha— Obito —

Rin covers her mouth. She feels like she’s going to be sick.

The red recedes and Tobi’s smile is gone. He hops to his feet and nudges Gai with his foot. “Get up. How long are you going to sulk?”

Gai pries his face out of the dirt to stare teary-eyed at his opponent. “R-rival…”

Tobi cocks his head to the side, considering Gai for a moment. Poor Gai looks like he got into a physical fight with Tobi, meaning Tobi only kept Rin occupied with that, er—with whatever that was.

Tobi offers a hand and pulls Gai up. Gai’s shielding his eyes with his arm, muffling his sobs with his sleeves, and Tobi looks incredibly put-upon.

“What are you crying for?”

“Y-you fight just like…”

Tobi heaves a sigh and pats Gai’s back. “There, there. Stop blubbering.”

That only makes Gai cry harder. Tobi is a lot of things. He’s shown so many faces in this one short day that Rin can’t even describe his personality. But one thing she can say is that he doesn’t know how to comfort people. He looks completely lost.

“Hey,” Rin calls, stepping forward with her hands on her hips. “What about the match?”

Tobi arches a brow. “I won, obviously. You got trapped in my genjutsu.”

“I knocked you down,” she counters. “ And I got out of it, all on my own. And—and why do you have the Sharingan?”

Tobi shrugs. “It’s a mystery.”

“Don’t ‘it’s a mystery’ me! That’s an Uchiha bloodline trait. The only way you could get that is—is—”

Tobi waits. She falters. What is she accusing him of, exactly? Stealing Obito’s eyes?

Tobi shoves his hands back into his pockets when there are no more words to be said. The moment he starts away, Gai recovers. It’s like magic, really, how he does that.

“Let’s have a rematch!” Gai demands, chasing after him.

“Maa, I’m tired.” Tobi yawns again. This is, what, the fourth time? Fifth? “I just wanted to test the limits of my genjutsu.”

“Then tomorrow—”

“I’ll be tired tomorrow, too.”

“But Tobi—” Gai lights up. “Then, I’ll challenge you—”

“And the next day. And forever.”

“But—But—” There’s despair in Gai’s voice. It’s tragic, really. “Where’s your spirit, Tobi? This is the springtime of our youth! Why waste it away sleeping?”

“Sleep is nice. Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

“But…”

They’re leaving her behind. Rin isn’t sure what happened while she was in Tobi’s genjutsu, but she hasn’t seen Gai like this in—well, in—

He hasn’t been like this since Kakashi was alive.

The setting sun gives a haunting glow to the world around them. Night’s coming, and she hates it. She doesn’t go home late anymore. She doesn’t go outside at night. When the sun sets, all she can think of is their last moments. It’s a memory unmarred by time, clear as the day it happened, Obito’s grin as he left her at her door. She looked down at him from the top of the stairs and yelled, she told him, ”Don’t be late!” He rolled his eyes and grinned at her, waving back at her with both arms.

“See you tomorrow!” he told her. 

She’ll be waiting for tomorrow for the rest of her life.

Tobi drags his steps and looks back at her. “We’ll leave you behind,” he cautions. “Hurry up, and I’ll walk you home.”

Tobi is annoying and cocky and a bit of a show-off. He’s lazy and quiet and loud all at once. Everything about him seems to only last a spare few seconds.

Rin wants to hate him, but it’s so very, very hard.

The boy is asleep in Sakumo’s arms, the ink of a freshly carved seal bleeding away on his stomach. Minato says it will restrict access to his chakra pool so that he can only use a limited amount at once. This seal fades away over time, and if it’s not regularly amended, then it will go away all on its own. It’s a fail-safe in case, sage forbid, something happens in the war and Minato is no longer around to remove it. It doesn’t hurt, he assures, watching as the last of the ink fades into untouched skin, and they pull the boy’s shirt back down.

“It’ll be harder for him to knead chakra in his stomach. That may be to our advantage, though, since he’ll need to focus more to cast jutsu and will build up his control in doing so.”

Sakumo nods. The boy’s hair is just long enough to get in his eyes, and Sakumo brushes it away. They haven’t even given him a haircut. There are splinters in his fingertips from being around his own unrefined structures, and Sakumo sets about removing them with his med kit.

Minato starts folding up his paper seals and placing them neatly inside his sealing kit, then gathers the rest of their things. They let the kid play with a lot of what they had on them, anything that wasn’t a weapon, and he tired himself out. “For a kid so small to do all this damage… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He’s pushed himself to chakra exhaustion, though,” Sakumo sighs. There’s a hospital trip in their future. He won’t be going home today.

Minato’s cross-legged, thumb and forefinger against his chin, and Sakumo knows that look. Once the Yellow Flash fixates on something, there’s no stopping him. He’s taken an interest in this, and he won’t be hearing anything that anyone says until he’s sated his curiosity. “His chakra reserves aren’t especially large. They’re average for his age. When you consider that, he shouldn’t have been able to do all that he has. Wood release must have less of an energy strain than the other elements. Better payout, so to speak.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas, Minato.”

“Oh, never, Sir,” he says, still entirely fixated. “I don’t want to test it. Not until he has control over it, anyway. Seeing all that he’s done to this place…”

Minato’s eyes are far-off, unseeing.

“This is your first time back, isn’t it?” Sakumo asks. “How does it feel?”

Minato’s lips twitch. It’s his only tell. He smiles above it all, calm like the untouched surface of a lake. “I’d rather be anywhere else, if I’m being honest.”

“I thought as much.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” He’s quick to change the subject as he leans over the boy, searching him for secrets. Minato loves secrets. He loves solving puzzles, too, and fixing things. That’s probably why he studied seals with such fervour growing up.

“Well,” Sakumo grunts, shifting the boy’s weight so that there’s less strain on his arm. In the end, it’s easier to lay the boy flat against his chest. He can wrap his arms around and use them as supports, and the boy won’t slip. “I’d love to say that his problems are solved, but the council is going to throw a fit over this, and Danzō will no doubt use this to his advantage. He’s wanted someone who can use Mokuton more than anything, except maybe the Sharingan, and if he can play to the elders’ stress and assure that he’ll keep the boy from causing more damage, I’m afraid there isn’t much to do.”

“Lord Third won’t allow for that,” Minato says, but there’s doubt in his voice. “He’s just a boy.”

“Kakashi made chūnin at six. He’s already fought in the war. If he hadn’t disappeared, he may very well have died out there.”

It’s a sobering thought. In some strange, twisted way, Orochimaru may have saved Kakashi. 

The two of them sit there for a while, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. They really should be headed outside, but for as long as they’re in here, no one will bother them, and the quiet is nice. When they leave, they’ll hand the boy over and await instruction. If Sakumo had to guess, they’ll be summoned to the Hokage office for a debriefing, and then they’ll be sent home. But see, there’s something in Sakumo that doesn’t want to stand for that anymore. There’s a fire lit beneath him, and he doesn’t know why or how, but it’s there, and it isn’t going away. He’s tired of it all. This village has failed children since its foundation, and he doesn’t want any part in it. Konoha is his home, nothing will change that, and he will never leave. So many precious people are here with him now. He won’t leave, but he wants it to change.

He’ll do what he can, however he can, and to the best of his abilities. Where the village fails them, he will try for himself.

“Minato?”

Minato blinks at him. “Yes, Sir?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a Hiraishin marker placed by the Hokage office, would you?”

Chapter Text

There’s a commotion outside the Hokage office, voices of alarm and warning, and the door swings inward. Sakumo stands on the other side with the Mokuton boy a dead weight on his back, Minato trying to placate him quietly in Hiruzen’s presence. For his part, Hiruzen is calm as he stamps his seal on the document in front of him, a request for a budget increase from Structures and Planning. He doesn’t even look up. He expected this, and honestly thought they would have been here hours ago.

Sakumo’s as determined as he was when they fought on the front lines together. He looks young again, like the fire that’s lit in him brings with it the White Fang who single-handedly turned the tide of the last war.

“You are not sending the boy to Root,” Sakumo says, as rude now as he was as a boy, and suddenly the years of good manners mean nothing between them. “With all respect,” meaning with none, “this incident falls on you.”

Hiruzen sets the request aside and reads over the next one. Another request for a budget increase, this time from the director of the orphanage. This, too, he approves.

“If we had sealed his chakra sooner, or if his caretakers paid him any attention at all, none of this would have happened.” Sakumo is doing that thing where he steps forward with his words for emphasis, and it’s quite charming. “You can’t place blame on a boy who can’t even think for himself. This happened because of your decisions. So, you’re going to take the fall for this. You are going to explain to the council why this is your fault. And you are not going to send the boy to Root.”

Hiruzen sighs and puts his stamp down to grab his pipe. Beside his old friend, Minato is pale as a sheet, looking like Sakumo is about to be beheaded right before his eyes. “And we’re to do what with him, then? Leave him at the orphanage he destroyed?”

Sakumo wilts for just a moment before his rage comes back anew. “His chakra is sealed,” he bites out. “There is no reason he can’t be cared for by any able person, Hiruzen. Mokuton won’t be an issue.”

Hiruzen nods and releases smoke into the air. It swirls between them, blocking out the text on the documents. “So, then, who do we give him to? Danzō has been the only one to show interest. We can’t force an independent shinobi to raise a child.”

Minato shyly raises his hand. “Actually, I—”

“Then I’ll do it!”

Hiruzen lowers his head so that the brim of his hat hides his smile.

“I’ll take him in,” Sakumo breathes. “He will be my responsibility. But I can’t be sent on missions until he’s settled. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Now, I am taking him to the hospital to treat his chakra exhaustion,” he says slowly. “You will not send ANBU to spy on us. And you will not let Danzō know where he is.”

“Very well.”

Satisfied, and maybe a bit confused as to why there’s no pushback, Sakumo clears his throat and bows politely as he body-flickers away.

Minato is staring like he just faced the sage, hell, and all nine tailed beasts. “Lord Third, he doesn’t mean any of this. He’s just upset. I’m so sorry, I—”

Hiruzen waves dismissively with a chuckle. “You’ve never seen the White Fang angry, have you?”

“Um. No, Sir.”

The memory still feels like yesterday. “I suppose you are too young. Rest assured, I am not mad. He’s the one person in this village willing to stand up to the Hokage. I have nothing but respect for him.”

“I… really?”

“He means every word,” Hiruzen says as he leans back and lifts his head, revealing his smile. “Sakumo is slow to anger, but has never backed down after going off. He is simply bringing voice to thoughts that normally remain dormant.”

The boy looks wholly confused, which is fine. He doesn’t need to understand. One day it will be Minato in this seat and the White Fang in opposition, and today’s events will become clear. For now, though, he does not need to know.

Minato frowns. “Lord Third, could it be that this is the outcome you were aiming for?”

“Which seal is it that you used?”

“Sir?” Minato hurriedly rifles through his kit and offers up a faded paper seal, no longer usable. “This one will fade in time. I can make adjustments if need be, but there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

The Hokage nods as he examines the sigils. It’s a good seal, likely to last three years on its own power. If the boy doesn’t have good control by then, they can amend it and slow down its degradation. “Excellent work, as always.”

“Thank you, Lord Hokage.”

He hands the seal back and returns to the small pile of paperwork that has been collecting over the day. It’s a never-ending stream, really, one that hasn’t disappeared in over thirty years. “Sakumo is going to need the support of the village from this point on. If ever he needs you, please protect him.”

Minato rubs the back of his neck. “With all respect, Lord Third,” he must be picking that phrase up from loitering around the White Fang too often, “I believe he is quite capable in his own power. If I were to intervene, I would only get in the way.”

“In other circumstances, you would be correct,” Hiruzen sighs. “But he is now guarding two village secrets. Young Tobi will bring with him the wrath of the Uchiha when his Sharingan becomes public knowledge. He is the only outsider of the clan to possess it. Now, he possesses the village’s first Mokuton user since the First Hokage. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“I understand. I’ll help in any way that I can.” There’s a long, deliberate pause, Minato’s frown deep-set. “Could I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

“How much of this was planned?”

The Hokage laughs, the lines around his eyes deepening with his smile. “You think too much of me, I’m afraid.”

“You called for me,” Minato says. “You wanted me there to follow Sakumo’s instructions. I needed to be there for him to come to the conclusion that he has.”

“Is that so?”

“And the ANBU… They already secured the perimeter. They would have located the missing children and the boy, and confirmed their statuses—you have sensors on that team.”

This is why Hiruzen has taken such a shine to this boy, but will never say so aloud. Honesty is not the most desired quality for Hokage.

“You gave us no instructions because you wanted Sakumo mad enough to take action,” Minato explains slowly, lifting his head. “This is really bad, Lord Third. If the council hears about this—”

“So they won’t hear it.”

“Excuse me?”

Hiruzen steeples his fingers and lowers his head. “You would do well to remember that, as Hokage, you are alone. Those who rule by your side are always seeking their own gain. Opposing them, instead, may be the only way to keep the village safe.”

Class starts the next morning with an empty desk. Rin is drawn to it despite herself. She wonders if Tobi is sick, or if he just can’t be bothered to show up. During roll call, the instructor asks around about him. No one has seen him. No one knows him well to begin with. Yesterday aside, he spent his early days at the academy in relative solitude outside of walking home with Gai.

Rin isn’t disappointed. She’s just… curious.

When Tobi wanders in an hour into class, he looks like he just fell out of bed. Or got into a fight. The visible skin on his arms is discoloured and tender, soon to bruise.

“Tobi,” the instructor greets. He is not impressed. “So nice of you to join us.”

Tobi shoves his hands into his pockets and yawns. “Nice to see you, too.”

The instructor taps his desk impatiently. “Care to explain where you were this morning?”

“Not particularly.”

Rin wonders how long this kid can hold onto the instructor’s good graces.

“Take a seat, Tobi.”

Tobi drags himself into the room and drops down next to her. He’s uncaring of the eyes on him and the attention he’s brought himself. And it’s like magic, the way he starts falling asleep the moment the lesson resumes. Rin tries to focus on the front of the class, but her eyes slide back. There’s bruising on Tobi’s arms. It’s strange seeing him hurt when he so easily disposed of Rin and Gai yesterday.

She looks at him, and she does everything she can to push back the thoughts of who he reminds her of.

It’s morning, and Sakumo has slept exactly four hours in the hospital. The chair he’s on is uncomfortable and digs into his shoulder blades, so he leans his head onto the boy’s mattress, watching the little sleeping body that’s hooked up to all the machines. It reminds him of Tobi.

How does he keep getting himself into these situations?

This isn’t to say he’s upset with the decisions he’s made. Tobi is his son. Kakashi, Obito—they’re family. The only family he’s had all this time, really.

His story isn’t special. It’s a tale as old as Konoha, and one paved by a road of blood. It seems there is no end to the war, and being the sole survivor of one’s clan is nothing new. Parents lost to the first and second wars, a family decimated by enemy villages—none of this is unique to him.

When he met Naya, it was different. The family he found was his and his alone, but he couldn’t protect it. He failed, left with a son of four years and an estate of ghosts. Kakashi wouldn’t know, but there was a time when he looked at that small boy, the one already garnering praise and whispers of prodigy, and wished that this burden were not his.

Sakumo is not the man that he once was. He’s aged into a sentimental fool, apparently.

The boy’s eyes open, and he looks at Sakumo first with confusion, then relief. He must be happy to be out of the orphanage. There are no questions, no words at all, just as it has been between them since they met. There are just grabby, expectant hands, and Sakumo laughs.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any sweets on me at the moment.”

Though tired and bleary-eyed, the child’s disappointment shines through.

“You should be eating healthy food, anyway,” Sakumo continues. He rummages through his bag and pulls out an odd assortment of fruits and vegetables that he picked up from the market earlier, and sets about slicing them up in offering. The eagerness isn’t there the way it was for the treats yesterday, but the boy nibbles on whatever he’s handed. “I promise I’ll make you a nice meal once we’re out of here. You overused your chakra, so we need to get you back on your feet before I can take you home.”

Sakumo wonders if Inoki makes house calls. Or if he doesn’t, if he’d make another exception for an old friend. The boy won’t have many memories to read, but having a Yamanaka look through his head will help them understand what he knows and grasps, and what direction they should take to integrate him into the village proper. If Sakumo’s going to do this, then damn it, he’s going to do it right.

He realizes that he’s decided to bring a stranger into their home without consulting Tobi, and yes, he feels bad about it, but there’s nothing to be done now. It’s in the past.

“Home?”

Sakumo only realizes that he’s been buried in his own thoughts when he hears that voice, small and hoarse, and feels a tug on his sleeve. The boy’s been trying to get his attention for however long he’s been ruminating.

The boy can speak.

“Home,” he affirms. “My home. You’ll be staying with me. Is that okay?”

The boy nods.

“Okay,” he swallows. “Okay, good.”

He passes another slice of apple across the bed, and it’s chewed, slowly and carefully. The boy’s still shaking, so it isn’t likely that he’ll be out of the hospital come morning. Sakumo thinks he’ll have to stop at home soon to get supplies and fill Tobi in on what’s going on, but he’s not sure leaving the child alone is the best idea. While he shouldn’t be able to destroy the hospital if he’s stressed, it isn’t good to stress him in the first place.

This is a mess waiting to happen, but Sakumo can’t help but smile as he watches the boy eat.

“I fell,” he says.

Rin looks up from the healing glow of her hand to settle him under a dull glare. She never asked. She didn’t, and yet he’s giving her excuses, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck, looking like an entirely different person. Where has the confidence of yesterday gone? But she won’t prod. It’s none of her business.

It’s none of her business, and yet she’ll spend their lunch break healing his bruises.

“Really,” he insists. “You don’t need to be upset.”

The glow of her hand wavers and she bites her lip. “I’m not.”

Tobi lets out a small snort, crossing his legs beneath him and hunching his back. They’ve migrated to the roof for privacy; the classroom is crowded and there’s too much going on in the yard. Rin is in the early stages of learning medical ninjutsu. She’s not very good yet. Even the smallest bit of healing takes a tremendous effort, and she needs focus. Classmates chatting with one another doesn’t allow for that. The kids playing tag are distractions she can’t handle at this point in her studies. So, they’ve come here.

They asked Gai to join them, but he’s set a personal challenge for himself. She can just imagine him doing something stupid, like walking around the perimeter of the school on his hands for the full hour.

Tobi is grinning at her. His eyes are on her, and he’s watching. She tries to ignore it, but it’s hard.

“I mean it,” he says. “I’m okay. I got—” He thinks. Frowns. Shakes his head.

He’s such a strange creature.

“Have you ever fought with yourself?”

Rin gives him a look.

He laughs. “Stupid question, huh?”

“What kind of fight?”

“Huh?”

Rin’s hand falls away from the mostly-healed bruise, and she gestures for his other arm. She takes it in hers, running her thumb over the damaged skin on his forearm. If he’s telling the truth, he probably used his arms to break his fall. That’s how the damage appears to her untrained eyes. “It depends on what kind of fight you mean,” she says absently. The healing glow of her hand returns. She can feel a gentle heat radiating from her palm. “I’ve been angry with myself before. And frustrated. Sometimes I just want to scream at myself. ‘Why did you do that? Why are you like this?’ That sort of thing.”

Tobi’s grin is gone. He sits, back hunched, his free hand on his ankle, sitting like Obito used to sit, and it’s hard for her. It’s been hard ever since yesterday, ever since she saw those Sharingan eyes. But Obito never awakened his. She reminds herself of that whenever the resemblance gets to be a bit too much. “And what,” he starts, and hesitates, “what do you do then?”

Rin has the wrong idea about this kid. She knows that now. She sees it in his pleading eyes and cautious words. He’s not the self-assured genius he played the part of yesterday. She smiles at him. “I’m still trying to figure that part out,” she says. “So you got—mad at yourself? And you fell?”

Tobi pouts and averts his eyes. “Something like that. I got… frustrated. Then it was like both sides of me wanted to do something completely different, and I just—I dunno. Lost control for a moment. Fell down the stairs. It’s super embarrassing.”

“Sounds like it.”

Rin can’t see behind the mask, but she can see Tobi’s pale ears flush with colour. She wants to call it cute, but doesn’t dare. How can he be cute when she doesn’t know what side of Tobi she’ll see next? It’s scary, in a way, how unpredictable he can be.

“Then how do you think I feel?” she asks. “I lost to your genjutsu yesterday, only managed one punch. It didn’t even bruise. Then you show up the next day beaten up by the floor.”

“Shut up,” he mutters.

“Be more careful. I need to save face.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

The bruise is all but gone. Rin checks him over for any more injuries before finally washing her hands of the ordeal. She grabs her lunch—a paper bag that’s been sitting untouched since they first got here twenty minutes ago—and takes a seat next to Tobi to eat. She’s exhausted. It takes a lot of fine control to heal, and she’s not used to the mental strain.

He’s easier to talk to today. He’s familiar. She doesn’t know why, but it scares her.

Rin jumps when she feels him leaning against her shoulder. She’s ready to shove him off when she stops, barely hearing his shallow breaths.

“I’ve missed you,” he says.

It breaks her heart.

Tobi makes a habit out of walking Rin home. For Obito’s sake. Kakashi would much rather spend the time it adds to their commute training, making note of their limits and learning their affinities. The Hatake estate and Rin’s home are in completely different districts, so it’s just a hassle, really, and it’s not like she hasn’t gone home on her own before. Obito insists, though, and here they are. It’s a dingy little thing, the same as it’s always been, with a little vegetable garden out front and a wooden bench on the lawn. They used to eat dango here when they graduated to the next grade at the academy. It’s why Obito’s so fond of sweets: he only ever got them when something good happened.

Gai’s with them this time. He walked the whole way on his hands to strengthen his upper body. He also tried challenging Tobi to a hand-walking contest, but they refused, if only to not embarrass themself in front of Rin, doing silly things like that.

They’d have won, of course.

Rin passes through the low-sitting gate, pauses, and looks back at them. “You guys want to come in?”

Tobi and Gai share a look.

“Um,” they say, dumbly, “sure.”

Kakashi sighs internally because this will just further cut into their training. If Obito wants to be Hokage so badly, he should actually put some effort in.

“Shut up, Bakashi. Taking it easy is okay once in a while.”

“The problem is that you never stop.”

Civilian housing is nothing like the Hatake estate. Tobi’s home has multiple buildings and a large courtyard at the centre that comprises a garden and a training ground. The whole thing used to be a garden, Dad told them, but it was too hard for him to keep up by himself after Mom died, and when Kakashi started getting older, there was a need for a safe, quiet practice area. They mostly use the main building, but they do upkeep with the rest, as well, to keep them in good repair. The first time Obito saw it, he felt jealous. Here the Hatake family was with their enormous home all to themselves, and there Obito and his grandmother were, shunned from the Uchiha clan and living in a little hole-in-the-wall that they could barely afford.

But then, for all of that land to be theirs, everyone in their clan was lost. Obito can’t sympathize with what that means, as his clan is prominent, and he hates them anyway. But he can feel how Kakashi feels. Kakashi doesn’t know what it meant when they lost their clan, but he sees the looks Dad gives when it’s brought up, and it must have broken his heart.

Rin’s house is nothing like this. While also from a clan that was wiped out in the war, the Nohara family didn’t leave behind anything to show for it. Her ‘estate’ is a small one-bedroom home afforded to her by her inheritance and the allowance the Children’s Foundation allows orphans. It isn’t as shabby as Obito’s place. The inside is neat and clean, and even Kakashi is impressed with how organized everything is. There are ink paintings framed on the wall, eloquent and very Rin-like, whatever that means, and there are flowers in a vase on the bookshelf.

She sits them down and offers tea and snacks, which consist mostly of fruits. Gai’s smiling the whole time they’re waiting for her, practically vibrating in his seat.

“You okay?” Tobi asks, eyebrow raised.

Gai nods eagerly, like he has more energy than his body can contain, and his face is a little flushed. “This is the first time I’ve been to a friend’s home.”

Oh. Huh. It’s Kakashi’s first, too.

“You’re such a sad thing.”

“I didn’t have time. I had to train.”

“You don’t have to speed through life like that. Just smell the flowers, you idiot.”

“I can smell them from here.”

“Oh sage, Kashi, I can’t with you.”

“Kakashi never invited you over?” Rin asks. She slides the door to the kitchen open with her foot, balancing an over-filled tray in her hands that she carefully sets down on the table.

Gai shakes his head. “We mostly met in the training grounds. He would leave after I challenged him.”

Ah, that’s true. Sometimes, Kakashi would walk away in the middle of Gai talking, actually, because it was a waste of time.

“I hate people like you…”

Rin makes a face. “Well, I guess he was like that… Socially inept, but really cool.”

The jealousy that Obito feels at this moment makes him want to take up Jiraiya’s offer of prying them apart.

Tobi, as a whole, goes unfazed.

Rin sits down adjacent to them, folding her apron skirt beneath her and serving the tea. It’s a cold tea to combat the summer heat, fruity and light and nothing like the bitter herbal stuff Dad keeps at home. “Why did you hang around him, then, if he was such a jerk?”

Gai blinks, his eyes automatically falling to Tobi, as though saying the wrong thing means dishonouring the Hatake name. “Kakashi wasn’t a jerk,” he says simply. Which is a lie. Kakashi has only ever been a jerk. It’s all he knows. Obito declares this as such. To her skeptical look, he flails. “No, really—Kakashi used harsh words, but he would never ignore me, even if I couldn’t beat him in a spar. He still acknowledged me. He was really great. The best of friends! I want to be strong so that I can be like him!”

Tobi stares down at the sweet bun in their hands, picking at it absently, suddenly very aware of the mask on their face. They wonder if taking it off will reveal the similarities they share with Kakashi. The eyes are all Obito, Dad says, but the mouth is Kakashi. They know that neither of their classmates have ever seen Kakashi unmasked, but the fear is still there.

“What about you?”

Tobi stills, a piece torn off their bun and held between their fingers, and faces Rin. “What about me?” they echo.

Rin sips at her tea, slouched on the floor, looking all sorts of tired. The medical ninjutsu from earlier must have taken a lot out of her. Instead of inviting them in, she should have taken a nap. “You’re not from Konoha, right? We would know if you were. Where’d you come from?”

Ah. They’ve been dreading this. The questions. The problem they face is how much to lie versus how much to stretch the truth. But while Kakashi has fought enemy villages, he’s never been to those villages himself. Those fights were always on the field. He knows about them, but doesn’t have the first-hand experience of somebody who’s lived there, so claiming to be from one is a gamble. In addition to that, they’re in the middle of a war. Moving between enemy territories isn’t much of a thing at the moment. “I am from Konoha, though,” they settle on.

Rin and Gai look at one another, each asking questions that both deny.

“I wasn’t in the academy,” they say, and on Kakashi’s part, it’s true. “There were circumstances. My dad’s been training me at home.”

“The White Fang, right?” Rin asks.

Gai nods in their place. “Tobi is Kakashi’s brother!”

Her face lights up. “So that’s why you look so familiar! Oh—sorry. For your loss, I mean.”

Tobi doesn’t like where this is headed, so they try to steer clear of ‘dead sibling’ territory and get back on track. “Since I was on my own a lot, I didn’t make many friends. But it didn’t matter because I had Dad.”

“You’re both such sad sacks,” Rin sighs. She doesn’t know half of it. “I guess I don’t have room to speak. I only ever had Obito. Oh—I guess you wouldn’t know him, huh?”

Ouch.

“I’ve heard of him,” Tobi mutters, unwilling to dismiss a piece of themself like that.

“Really? Oh, right, the memorial…” She’s halfway through her tea while Tobi hasn’t even touched theirs. Her smile is soft and distant, like she’s looking into a past that only she can see. “He was a bit infamous, too, I guess. The Uchiha reject. But he was really sweet. The sweetest person I’ve ever known. He would help the elders in his neighbourhood, and they would give him thank-you gifts. Just little things, like pocket change or treats, or produce from their gardens. Then he’d climb the wall to my yard and share them with me. He was just like that.”

Tobi stares hard at their reflection in the tea and goes very, very red. Rin does not notice. She’s not looking at them, too wrapped up in her memories, staring at the picture of her and Obito that’s next to the flower vase across the room.

“He wasn’t a born ninja,” she says, shaking her head. “Far from it. But he tried. He really did, and he would have gotten there.”

Tobi’s mask rests over their nose, and their tea goes untouched. They stand, shoving their hands into their pockets and drawing the attention of their classmates in doing so.

“I should head out,” they say. “I have some stuff to take care of while Dad’s gone.”

“Already?”

Gai sets down his sweet bun, brushes his hands off on his pants, and makes to stand. “I’ll see you home—”

“It’s fine,” they assure with a smile. “You two have fun.”

They leave quietly. It isn’t late yet; they weren’t at Rin’s place for long, and the sun is still up. But they feel endlessly tired. When their eyes sting and tears well up within them, they sigh.

“Obito,” they murmur in the empty streets, dragging their steps. “You’re such a crybaby.”

For once, there’s no snappy retort, no insulted gasp or angry reprimands. There’s only silence. Their eyes are red, but they’re not sobbing. Kakashi’s control won’t allow for it. It makes them uneasy, though, when there’s no reply.

“Obito,” they call again, firmer this time, because Obito has never ignored Kakashi before. They don’t do that, not sharing the same headspace, not when they need each other so desperately now.

“I miss her so much.”

Kakashi knows. He can feel it, deep and cutting, like the longing is his own.

They don’t go straight home. An empty estate waits for them there, one far too big for Tobi alone. Instead, they wander. They pass through Grandma’s neighbourhood, check on the garden, and avoid the Uchiha district like the plague. Then they wander further out to the little bridge at the river and perch on the arm rail. They watch the water ebb and flow through the village. There’s a fishing spot nearby, and some civilians are out with their rods, tackle boxes resting at their feet. Tobi doesn’t usually go out this way. There isn’t any need to.

They don’t know why they’re here, really. They just need to be somewhere new.

“Hey, Kashi?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think would have happened if we met normally?”

“How do you mean?”

“Like, on a genin team. Like… if we attended the academy together, or worked together, or something. If we met like everyone else meets. Do you think we’d be friends?”

“Oh no. You’re sentimental.”

“Shut up! I’m not!”

Tobi drums their fingers against the wooden supports, crossing their legs, their feet dangling over the river. At this time of year, the water is clear enough to see through, and they can make out the bodies of trout as they follow the current. Kakashi thinks about it longer than he needs to. In reality, he already knew Obito. They met once or twice before Kakashi’s promotion. Before the academy. The reality of it was that, well…

“I don’t think we would be.”

The reality of it was that Kakashi passed right over him. Obito didn’t mean anything to Kakashi, because his eyes were always on something else.

His father’s back.

The village’s expectations.

Being good enough.

“I figured you’d say that. Ass.”

Tobi does a lot of observing. Since everything they do requires cooperation or relinquishing control to one another, sometimes the best thing to do is nothing at all. They’ve come a long way, though. The simple fact that they can sit on the railing and stay balanced is progress. A month ago, something so simple would have been unthinkable.

“You’re everything that I was told not to be,” Kakashi says, keeping perfect control over their body, Obito comfortably taking a backseat. “Everything you do or say is wrong to me. You’re weak, but you act like you’re strong. You reject your clan but not the dōjutsu that you inherit from it, and you never take anything seriously. You want to be Hokage, but your work ethic is terrible. You call yourself a shinobi, but cry at the drop of a hat—”

“Okay, jeez, I get it. Way to bring a guy down.”

“You’re very human to me.”

Tobi slides off the railing and sits instead on the seat of the bridge, dipping their toes in the water. The cold erases the heavy fog of the summer heat, and they lean back, supporting themself on their palms as they stare at the sky. They never used to cloud gaze like this. They’re slow and sluggish and lazy, and it feels like they’re wasting time that could be better spent training, but they can’t be bothered. It’s kind of nice, slowing things down like this. Just living and experiencing. Breathing in the fresh air.

“I’ve never been good at that. Being someone.”

“But you’re Kakashi Hatake,” Obito says, as though Kakashi doesn’t already know. “You’re the village favourite.”

“I’m the village tool. Like… a cog. And if I ever broke, I’d get switched out for something new. That’s all shinobi ever are. Dad told me that once. To not be like him. But all I’ve ever wanted was to follow the same path he took. I don’t think he liked that.”

They close their eyes, feeling the breeze in their hair and the sun on their skin. Like this, they could fall asleep. They never took naps as Kakashi. There was never any time. Even resting after a mission made Kakashi stir-crazy, and he would practice his hand signs and his chakra control even from a hospital bed.

“I’ve never lived the way you do. So being like this now, and going along with your whims, and reading books that aren’t instructional, I just…”

“Feel like a person,” Obito finishes for him.

“Feel whole,” he says.

Kakashi’s control wanes and Obito naturally takes his place, a blush on their cheeks and a grin on their face. They rub the back of their neck, feeling all sorts of gross. “Aww, I like you, too, Buddy. You socially inept hard-ass.”

“You know what? Forget I said anything.”

Chapter Text

Tobi fishes through their pocket for the keys to the Hatake estate. It’s their third day with Dad gone, and they’re getting used to opening the house up for themself. What should they make for dinner? Dad’s mission will last a minimum of four days, so they’ll be making their own meals for a while. They’re getting pretty damn good, too. Soon, their cooking will rival Dad’s, even if Kakashi thinks that’s impossible because Dad learned from Mom, and Mom was the best there ever was, according to Dad’s biased recounting. Still, they’re learning, and it’s a nice pass-time between practice.

The smell of a hot meal greats them when they step inside. It doesn’t make sense. But Dad should only just be arriving at his destination.

They take off their shoes at the door, drop their bag against the wall, and sniff the air. They smell miso glazed eggplant, the kind Dad makes. There are other things, but they’re twisted together and none stand out as much as that one scent. They can smell something other than food, too, beneath it all.

And they hear voices.

“A day. Two, tops?” It’s Dad. They practically run down the hall at the sound of him.

“That’s a relief.” There’s a sigh, and it’s Minato’s voice. Unlike Dad, whose scent is practically a feature of the house, Minato’s sunshine and lightning stands out.

“Wanna eavesdrop?”

“Dad always does it to us. It’s only fair.”

They peek through the crack in the shōji screen. Dad’s sniffing the air. He doesn’t do that unless he’s tracking out on the field, so sometimes they forget he has the same ability they do.

“Tobi’s home,” he acknowledges while carefully stacking containers of food into a bag. There’s more on the table.

“Mind if we say ‘hi’ before we leave?”

Leave? Why leave? They just got here. Did something happen on the mission?

“Well, if I know them as well as I think I do…” He finds the crack in the shōji screen, meeting their eyes. “Well, hello there. So kind of you to announce your presence.”

They avert their eyes and slide the door open. “Sorry.”

Dad isn’t mad. It’s not easy to anger the White Fang. He’s smiling, kneeling down, and they comply automatically by finding his arms. Dad’s hugs are tight and all-consuming, like he’ll never let go.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes. “Are you doing okay?”

Tobi nods, embarrassed to see Minato watching them. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. But I may be back as early as tomorrow.”

“Okay,” they say. “Can you tell me why?”

“Well…”

Tobi doesn’t like this weird air that’s going on between Dad and Minato as they exchange wordless looks like they’re in on a secret they won’t share. Obito hates being left out, but Kakashi understands that, as shinobi of the Leaf, there are some things that can’t be spoken about openly. They won’t press. It’s probably mission secrets; it would make sense for Minato to be in on it then. Maybe they’re on the same team this time around. That’s fine. There were times when Kakashi had to hide mission details from Dad, too, not because he wanted to, but because—

“Say, Kakashi, Obito?” They look up. “How would you feel about having a brother?”

Ah, they’re teasing Tobi. Stupid old men. Tobi crosses their arms and sighs, looking extremely put-upon. “Dad, people aren’t groceries. You can’t just buy new family members at the market.”

Minato doubles over with laughter.

Dad is not laughing. He smiles, though, as he takes their hands in his. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to discuss this with you before now. It wasn’t my intention, and it was time-sensitive.”

“...You’re serious.”

Dad nods.

“Who is it?” they ask.

“One of the children from the lab,” Dad confesses. “He’s seven, and he’s been at the orphanage until now.”

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one, I’m afraid.”

It drills into their head that they were the exception, finding themselves there when they already had established lives as Kakashi and Obito. They were lost without a name, too, before Dad named them.

Then Dad was there, and everything was okay.

But they bristle at the thought of a stranger in their home, sharing their father and their table and watching them. Not accepting or understanding who and what they are. Judging them as they talk to themself, or the way their moods flip like a light switch.

Dad squeezes their hands. “Kakashi,” he calls, “Obito. I can’t promise this won’t be stressful for you. And I know it’s not a good time. But this boy needs us. I can’t turn my back on him. Do you understand?”

They feel Dad’s thumbs smoothing over their knuckles, pleading with them, even when it’s not their decision to make. He wants them to be okay with this, and the idea of forcing it on them when they’re not ready is bothering him.

In a way, it already feels like they gained a brother in each other. Maybe it’s a little more intimate than just sharing a space with someone else, but they’ve been stuck with each other, suddenly and without warning, ever since they became Tobi. They’re Dad’s son, not just Kakashi. Not just Obito. This couldn’t be worse than that, could it?

“We understand,” they say. ‘We’ and not ‘I’ because Dad addressed them both, and they both should answer.

Dad’s face lights up, and he brings them in for another hug, even tighter than the last. This time, they roll their eyes and groan, as they can see Minato watching them.

Minato laughs again. If Dad weren’t here, they’d burn his stupid sealing kit. Dad doesn’t need to see their wrath. They’ll play the good kid in Kakashi’s honour.

“Thank you, boys,” Dad breathes, as though the weight of the world is off his shoulders now. “He’ll need a name. Would you like to help me think of one?”

Tobi pouts. “I dunno,” and it’s Obito who speaks. “We haven’t even met the kid. How’d you choose our name, anyway?”

“Oh, that?” Dad exchanges a look with Minato, who must know. “Well, Inoki showed me your writing back at T&I. I saw you had crossed something out, and I could make out part of Obito’s name next to that.”

He didn’t. He wouldn’t. “You named us after Obito’s chicken scratch.”

Minato covers his mouth to stifle his humour.

“No, no! That’s just where I got the idea. I named you after your grandfather.”

Kakashi’s grandfather died before his mother did, long before Kakashi was ever born. They think there may have been stories, but don’t remember any. Certainly not a name.

They aren’t buying it.

Dad pleads with their guest to back him up as Minato slings his bag over his shoulder. They’ll be leaving soon, no doubt. Everything is packed away, and if Tobi weren’t there, they would’ve already been gone.

“Tobirama Senju,” Minato supplies with a grin. “Lord Second.”

Tobi just stares. The meaning of that name dawns on them over the passing seconds. They know the names of all the Hokage. Obito knows from school, and Kakashi just… knows. Has always known. But they’ve never connected that name to something personal, like family. It was just a name, like any other.

Tobi. Named after their grandfather, Tobirama. Konoha’s Second Hokage.

“Oh,” Kakashi says, because that’s all he can say. Obito isn’t satisfied with that. He shoves his way into control and looks between the pair, talk of their ‘little brother’ now completely gone from their mind. “Wait, wait, wait—so,” they eye Minato, who’s endlessly amused, “we’re the Second’s grandson. That is what you’re saying to us right now.”

Dad sighs and slips the last container of food into his backpack. “Yes, Obito. Welcome to the family. Kakashi never told you?”

Tobi makes a face. “Kakashi didn’t know.”

“He should have,” Dad says. They’re heading out. It isn’t that Dad looks mad or upset, just… resigned. Like he expects this, like he knows it’s inevitable. “I suppose that’s my fault. We have to head out now, but let’s talk when I’m home, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dad pats their head and smiles. “See you soon, Tobi.”

They nod. “Bye, Dad. Good luck with your mission.”

Minato links his arm around Dad’s and keeps it there, secure, grinning at them. “You want to see a neat trick?”

They eye the blond.

The jōnin stand before them, and it’s like their bodies flicker. One moment there, the next gone. It doesn’t feel like a standard body-flicker, though. It’s more substantial than that. They sniff the air, the scent of lightning lingering long after the pair is gone. As it fades, they take the extra portions of food Dad left them, pull down their mask, and eat.

“We’ve gotta get him to teach us whatever he just did,” Obito says.

“Mm. It seems useful.”

“I think he was showing off.”

“Definitely.”

“Man, Minato’s so lame.”

They want to learn more things from that lame man in the future. He’s quickly becoming their new favourite person.

Names are hard to come by.

Tobi knows this because they spend their evening mulling over them as they go about their day-to-day. They wash the dishes, including the pots and pans and other clutter left in the wake of Dad’s impromptu cooking session. It isn’t that they’re sorting through names and not finding any that are good enough; they can’t think of any to begin with. It’s a dilemma that sours their evening alone.

Obito groans their frustration, running a hand through their hair as they sit on the engawa, gathering their weapons for practice. “This is so unfair. We don’t even know what this kid’s like. Why do we have to name him?”

“We don’t,” Kakashi says as they inspect the dulled edge of a kunai. It needs sharpening, but Dad hides the file when he’s not home. Somehow, their father thinks that sharpening a blade is less acceptable for a child than carrying one, and they suppose that flawed logic is a side effect of shinobi life. “Dad didn’t push the responsibility onto us; he’s just trying to be inclusive.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then don’t say something stupid.”

It’s times like these when they most wish they could separate, just so they could glare at one another. They can just imagine it, Kakashi standing to one end of the training grounds, arms crossed and half-lidded eyes settling on Obito. Obito, across from him, hands on his hips and chin held high, wearing his emotions on his sleeve as he returns the glare with a scowl of his own.

They long for days like those just as much as they fear them. For all that it would be nice to finally have that silence, that solace in their life—privacy—they’ve been together so long that they don’t know how to be alone anymore. As the days tick by, they’re getting used to it. It’s becoming second nature.

What does it feel like to be truly alone in the world?

They sigh, rub the back of their neck, and toss the dull kunai back into its pouch. Over the next half hour, they practice with the training dummy. It’s getting roughed up these days, used for target practice on the regular, and the fabric encasing the wood is torn and frayed. It’ll need replacing soon.

After they tire of throwing kunai, they slide their tantō from its sheath and hold it steady, taking their stance. Knees bent, shoulders square, body angled. They thrust the blade in one fluid motion, again and again, envisioning the enemy before them. Kakashi’s no stranger to battle on the front lines; he can picture shinobi from Iwa and Kiri as easily as breathing. He knows what their uniforms look like and how they move.

Obito has never been to battle, but sharing Kakashi’s mental image makes him feel like he has. He can taste electricity in the air from Kakashi’s raiton as an aged memory surfaces. It was far beyond the forests of Fire Country, foreign to Obito in much the same way the rest of the world beyond the walls is, and yet he could see it.

He feels it as the blade cuts deep and blood grips the metal. It flows along the tip and drips onto the grass below.

They lower their tantō and stare across the courtyard. There’s no blood. There’s no enemy. All that stands before them now are the compound’s other buildings and a small, thirsty garden that takes up half the courtyard.

They step back.

“I didn’t like that,” Obito says.

“That’s your goal if you want to be Hokage.”

“I know that,” he bites out. “I know, I do, I just… wasn’t ready.”

Seeing Mom’s garden looking as sad as it does, they forgo the rest of their training to tend to it. Tobi likes gardening. Obito, mostly. They dig out the watering can from the shed, fill it at the tap, and carefully and meticulously water the flowers. Dad’s been busy lately, so caring for the garden slips his mind. They can pick up the slack a little.

If it eased his mind, they would do anything for Dad. They don’t know where they’d be without him.

As they tend the garden, their eyes drift to the empty buildings that make up the estate. If Tobirama was their grandfather, then this compound was once his, right? But he was a Senju. Was their grandmother a Hatake, or was Tobirama himself part of the clan? How does that work?

Was the clan prosperous back then? Were there many clansmen living there together? Was the courtyard filled with life once, their family vast and numerous here like the Uchiha are in their district?

They’re not sure it matters. It probably doesn’t. Still, they wonder.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“What about Naruto?” Obito asks. “You know, like from Master Jiraiya’s book.”

Kakashi sighs. “Obito. We’re not naming him after a ramen topping.”

“Worth a shot.”

Minato likes kids. He isn’t good with kids, but he tries.

The problem isn’t trying. It’s trying too hard.

After dinner, the mokuton boy lays in bed, fiddling with a wooden block that he made while they were away. They left him under a medic-nin’s watchful eye. Being a shinobi herself, the boy’s abilities didn’t intimidate her the way they did others, and she was generally pleasant. But the moment they were back, the boy latched onto Sakumo’s pant leg and wouldn’t let go. It was cute, if a bit mildly concerning, when his tiny arms somehow maintained an iron grip on the fabric. They had to divert his attention with snacks in order to free Sakumo so the poor man could stretch his legs.

Sakumo doesn’t seem to understand that the boy trashed the orphanage after waking up alone, nor does he grasp the implications of that. Minato pieced it together over the past few days after several conversations with the orphanage staff, but no good will come of sharing this, so he doesn’t.

Minato’s still reeling over the convoluted plot concocted by Lord Third. He’s pretty sure if the council finds out, heads will roll, but what can he do?

Well. Tell the council. That’s what he can do. But at the end of the day, no one was hurt, and Lord Third will be making a personal donation to help with repairs, so he doesn’t feel the need. The boy is in better hands now.

While Sakumo steps out to stretch, Minato is left alone with the boy for the very first time. He has the kid’s attention, whether he wants it or not, so he smiles to assure that everything is okay.

The boy narrows his eyes and leans away.

Minato is not good with kids.

He drums his fingers awkwardly against his knee and shifts in his seat, trying to think of something to fill the silence. It’s harder than he expects. Then his eyes settle on the little wooden block, and he has an idea.

“Can I see that?” He holds out a palm.

The boy stares at the hand like it personally wronged him before he complies. Even when he does, he doesn’t let go of the block right away, and for a while, they stay like that. When it’s finally free, Minato holds it to the light for inspection. The wood has rough edges and jagged bits. It’s not safe to leave in the hands of a child, but well… said child materialized it, and even if they confiscate it, he could just make another.

Minato hands it back and watches with mild amusement as it’s snatched away.  “This ability of yours is special, you know. It’s called mokuton. Not just anyone can do it.”

The boy picks at a splinter in the wood with an anxious finger, looking at the door, waiting for Sakumo to return and save the day.

This just makes Minato want to try harder.

“The last person who could use it died a long time ago, so you’re the only one who has it now. Isn’t that cool?”

Nothing. In retrospect, getting kidnapped and experimented on, watching other children around you die, is not at all cool. Minato doesn’t know how to talk to kids. The drumming of his fingers continues.

“Want to see something?” he asks, resting his arms on his knees. “Could you make another wooden sculpture for me, please?”

The boy gives him a skeptical look.

“Really, I’m not trying anything. I promise!” This child is taking a lot out of him. Before today, Minato thought himself to be pretty amicable. His confidence is breaking. “I’ll need to lift your shirt to show you, though.”

After scrutinizing him for many moments longer, the boy raises a palm. He waves and twists a stock of wood from his hand, straining to make it longer than a few centimetres. In this time, Minato leans over to pull the boy’s shirt up to his chest.

“Look.”

The boy looks. Visible on his stomach is the seal Minato placed there days ago. He gasps, his wooden sculpture tossed aside as he reaches down to touch the ink. When he stops infusing chakra, it bleeds away. But the boy is clever. He immediately realizes the connection between making sculptures and seeing the seal, and makes another. This time it’s more controlled. He forms it slowly, painfully so, and is able to touch the ink before it disappears.

In his confusion, he looks to Minato.

“That’s the seal we placed on you. Do you remember that?” Minato’s feeling quite pleased with himself now. “It’s harder to make your sculptures, isn't it? That’s because this restricts access to your chakra. Once you have better control, we can ease the seal up and let you use more of it.”

This kid has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Think of it as… a tube? It’s like your chakra has to go through a tube for you to access it. Right now, the tube is very, very thin, so only a bit can get through at a time. But once you’ve practised, we can widen that tube, and accessing it will get easier.”

No, really, he doesn’t understand any of it.

Oh boy. Okay. Minato can do this.

He presses a finger to his chin. Explaining this to a child who’s never attended the academy is going to be difficult, but he’s Konoha’s Yellow Flash, the future Hokage, and he’s nothing if not tenacious.

He brings out a whiteboard. It’s stolen from one of the hospital offices.

By the time Sakumo returns, Minato is standing at the end of the boy’s bed. Diagrams are drawn meticulously across the board. There’s no writing—he is pretty certain the boy can’t read—and every line is precise.

He taps his diagram of the human body, right where the stomach is, and circles it. “And since the chakra is pooled here in the stomach, we’re able to place a lock. Remember the door handle? Good. So the lock, here, is that tube I mentioned. It narrows the chakra pathways throughout your body so that—oh, Sakumo. When did you get here?”

Sakumo leans in the doorway with his arms crossed, smiling, shaking his head, and Minato has no idea what that look is for.

The moment Sakumo’s existence is brought to attention, the boy hops off the bed and tries to run for him. Both adults scramble to stop him as the IV pole rattles, threatening to fall, and it’s Sakumo who manages to scoop him up before disaster strikes. They both sigh.

The boy is completely oblivious to their panic. He’s just smiling, staring up at Sakumo like he’s found his hero as he’s placed back on the bed.

“Careful,” Sakumo cautions. “We can’t have you running around when you’re hooked up to all these machines, okay? You could hurt yourself.”

The kid nods. Minato isn’t sure he understands that a metal pole nearly fell on his head, but that’s fine.

It’s late, and soon it’s just the two of them while the boy rests. Minato doesn’t need to be here. He’s between missions now, so he has time, and he’s missing his fiancée. They spent yesterday together, but Minato felt the urge to check in with the mokuton child and Sakumo. It doesn’t feel fair to leave Sakumo with all the burden, especially knowing he has children back home who are adjusting to their own life-changing events. Minato wants to help. He knows he’s not the best at it, but he tries.

Sakumo tucks the boy in, folding the blanket beneath small feet and prying unrefined wooden blocks from loose hands. Minato doesn’t remember his parents. It’s likely that they died, and it was the same for many of the children at the orphanage. The war brought with it too many casualties, and their rooms were overcrowded. Some children didn’t have beds. They would share futons and pack rooms so full that there was only narrow walking space. There wasn’t even room to breathe.

When Minato wonders what his parents would have been like, this is what he pictures. Sakumo has this air about him, this parental love that oozes from his smile as he takes on more and more responsibility without asking for anything in return. It’s incredibly humbling, seeing the weight this man carries on his shoulders without breaking, but it’s just as unfair.

He wonders if Sakumo needs someone to care for him, too, now and then. To share that burden with him.

“So?” Sakumo glances at him, and the lamplight dances across his face. “Were you trying to teach him chakra theory?”

Minato rubs the back of his neck. “You caught me.”

Sakumo laughs. “Might be a bit too soon for that.”

“He was curious about the seal, and I wanted to help him understand. But in order to do that, he has to know about chakra systems, and before that, he needs to know what chakra is, so I figured the best method of approach was to—”

“Minato,” Sakumo cuts in, a teasing smile on his lips. “He’s a kid. All you have to do is explain, ‘this stops you from making trees,’ and he’ll understand well enough.”

“O-oh, well…”

Minato can’t look at Sakumo for fear of being laughed at, so he keeps his eyes on the blackened sky through the window. He needs to head home soon. Kushina will have his head if he doesn’t make dinner for her. He made a promise, after all.

He sighs. “I’m not a very good teacher, am I? It was easier with Tobi.”

“Tobi has a lot more life experience. Kakashi was a chūnin, and Obito attended the academy, so they’re familiar with topics like that.”

This, Minato knows, is correct. It doesn’t make him feel any better. The mokuton boy is a whole different beast, and as much as he wants to help, he isn’t sure he can. Minato may be a renowned shinobi toted as a genius, and he may have developed his own seals and jutsu, but outside battle tactics and fuinjutsu, he’s just as lost as anyone else. Worse, perhaps, because his need to understand and fix things is as much a vice as it is an asset.

Sakumo squeezes his shoulder. Their eyes meet, and he looks incredibly fond. “I truly believe he felt the sincerity in your lesson. Thank you for that.”

Minato nods as he watches the boy roll over in his sleep.

“I try my best, Sir.”

If it wasn’t enough that they walked her home after class, Tobi’s made a habit of stopping at Rin’s place before heading home. All it took was an offhand remark about how much she hated being alone at night. Then, Obito was pleading his case with Kakashi about the benefits of keeping their sparring partner company, all ‘Dad wants us to build bonds,’ and ‘Being a shinobi means being part of a team.’ It was a load of crap and both of them knew it, but Kakashi relented anyway because Obito’s laziness was rubbing off on him.

This time, they’re out in her garden. She has a little wooden bench beneath her front window that Tobi takes for themself, lounging on it in the shade of the large oak tree in her yard. Gai’s with them, a constant fixture in their life. He has weights on his arms and legs now, covering the ends of his ridiculous green jumpsuit, and regales them with this week’s training regiment. They sparred with him a bit earlier. Just to show off, Tobi only used taijutsu. They still came out on top.

It was a closer fight than it used to be. During their time as Kakashi, Gai didn’t stand a chance against them in combat. That was part of the reason he started proposing all those random challenges, some of which Gai actually won. These days, it isn’t so simple. It could be because of Gai’s training over the past few years, or a side effect of their stilted control over their body, but the taijutsu specialist is right on their heels, ready to overtake them.

Rin, on the other hand, hasn’t asked for another spar since the first. She’s content tending to her vegetable garden while the boys beat each other up, and she didn’t bat an eye when Gai loudly and dramatically challenged Tobi to a fight. Afterwards, she treated them to some cold tea.

At some point, Rin goes inside to wash up, dirt embedded beneath her nails and on her skin, and Tobi’s left alone with Gai. They scoot over when he heads their way, offering part of the bench. For a while, they sit in silence.

Gai wipes the sweat off his brow, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the sky. The days are long now so the sun is still high, beating down on them like an oven, and it’s the worst sort of weather to exercise in. On days like these, Tobi leaves training until late in the evening when things have started cooling down. Usually, Gai’s a ball of hot energy with a mouth to match; getting him to shut up is the trick. But he’s been quiet today.

“Can I ask you something?”

Tobi folds their hands together in a white-knuckled grip and nods.

“Kakashi doesn’t have a brother, does he?”

They shake their head, stomach turning.

Gai nods.

“What gave it away?” they dare to ask.

“The fight.” Gai isn’t smiling. He doesn’t look mad, either, as he processes one revelation and then the next, painting a picture in his mind that Tobi can only guess at. “You move the same way. Mostly. Once I noticed that, everything else seemed obvious.”

Tobi makes a small noise of affirmation, too wary to ask for their classmate to elaborate. How much does he know? Did he notice Obito, too, in his observations? Are they giving him too much credit?

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

“Don’t say anything to Rin,” they mutter, averting their eyes when they hear the warble in Gai’s voice. He’s going to cry, and they don’t need to see it. “She doesn’t need to know about this.”

Gai scrubs endlessly at his eyes with his sleeve, but the waterworks just won’t stop. Even through his blubbering and wailing, he finds time to peek out at them. “But why?”

Kakashi’s in control, and Tobi sighs. Obito wants nothing to do with this. This is Kakashi’s mess, Kakashi’s friend, and Kakashi can be the one to clean it up. But he needs more to go off if he’s going to explain anything, so he dares to ask, “How much do you know, exactly?”

“I—”

“Hey, you guys want more tea? I can—” Rin pokes her head out the front door just in time to see Gai’s tear-stained face, the two of them tense and awkward, and they both shut up. “What’s wrong, Gai? Did you hurt yourself? Let me see.” 

Gai dries his tears and smiles at her through puffy eyes and flushed skin. “Not at all! But thank you for your support, my friend!”

They can continue this conversation later. Tobi’s heart is in his throat.

It’s Gai’s first time visiting the Hatake estate. He walked home with Kakashi a few times long ago, and then again with Tobi, but they always separated out front. This is the first time Tobi gestures him inside after unlocking the gate, and he’s filled with both excitement and great trepidation as he crosses the barrier into the front garden. It has an old-world aesthetic. The Hatake estate is this really grand affair, big enough to house an extended family, but the clan is dying out, and it must be lonely to have all that space.

Inside, they take off their shoes and place them neatly by the door. Tobi grabs some spare slippers for him from the hall closet.

They make for the sitting room. As Gai follows Tobi in, his eyes find the altar on the opposite wall and the photographs that adorn it.

Gai didn’t really know what it was he discovered when he noticed the discrepancies in Tobi’s character. He recognized Kakashi in this stranger a week after Tobi came to their class, and from then on, he couldn’t unsee it. When the memorial was announced, some of the details surrounding the missing children’s cases were revealed, but not much. He knew they were taken to a lab by someone high-ranking in the village, but didn’t have any idea what they could have wanted with a bunch of kids, or what they may have done. So when he sees Kakashi and Obito’s side-by-side, the weight of this situation pulls on him like lead, and Gai finds himself unable to move.

The Sharingan eyes should have been the first clue, but Gai is not a clansman and doesn’t pay mind to clan politics or Kekkei Genkai. Eye transplants are common these days with the war going on, so he thought nothing of it. Kakashi was given an Uchiha’s eyes. He didn’t like the idea, but it ended there.

They were Obito’s eyes.

He’s guided onto the engawa where the estate opens to a big inner courtyard. There’s a training area taking up half the space, and in any other circumstance, he would be over the moon and begging for a practice match. Tobi sits down, his legs hanging over the edge of the engawa into the grass, and pats the ground beside him. Gai is quick to follow.

He can’t stop looking at Tobi, searching that face for answers.

Gai remembers Obito well. They weren’t close, but Obito was just as loud as he was, and just as often the butt of the joke. While the rest of the class looked down on him for being rejected by his clan, Obito stuck up his nose and declared that he’d take the Hokage seat one day. The first time he said it, he lit a fire under Gai. There was camaraderie in that, even distant as they were.

He peeks at Tobi, wondering if he should ask. Wondering if he can.

Tobi notices right away, leaning back on his arms and letting out a heavy breath. “Go ahead and ask.”

“Are—” He pauses and thinks about it. “Are you Kakashi, or… are you Obito?”

Tobi shrugs. “A bit of both. Maybe neither. I don’t know.” It’s not a very satisfying answer, and with a groan, Tobi lies back on the porch with his arms behind his head. His mannerisms are different. He changes sometimes. The way he moves and the words he says—they change so abruptly. “I was both, at one point. And now I’m not really sure. I want to think that we’re both in here, but I just don’t know.”

Gai nods. He’s not sure if he understands all the little nuances between Tobi’s words, but he gets the feel of what’s going on, and that’s enough. Gai wants to think they’re both in there, too. He sees it in their shifts, the different inflections they use, and the way their mood can flip at the drop of a hat.

“Call me Tobi,” they say, and he thinks it’s Obito speaking right now. They lean up, getting in Gai’s personal space and cutting him with a sharp glare.  “And don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t!”

“Not a soul, you got it?”

“Of course!”

“Not even a ghost!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

They eye him, suspicious, but drop the subject and roll onto their back. “‘Kay. You can leave, then. Interrogation over.”

But he really wants to try out those training grounds. It’s not the time, though, is it? That’s insensitive. Tobi’s opening up about something so personal with really heavy implications, but—but the thing is that, for all that he’s sorry Tobi’s had to go through whatever it is they did, he’s so relieved to have them here, now, right in front of his eyes.

When Kakashi and Obito’s names were carved into the memorial stone, it felt like Gai’s heart was hollowed out with an ice pick, like a piece of himself went with them when they passed. Gai has no family. Kakashi was the only personal tie he really had to the world. Obito was a comrade in spirit, someone to grow with and aspire to be like.

It feels like the world has righted itself, and it’s hard for him to stay down about it. Sadness doesn’t look good on Gai.

Tobi notices all the not-so-subtle glances towards the training grounds and deliberates for only a few minutes before dragging themself off the engawa and hauling over to the wide-open space before the practice dummies. “Fine,” they relent, and it’s all Kakashi as they raise a single finger in a declaration, “you get one match. Just one.”

Gai practically leaps off the porch after them. “Of course!”

It’s at the end, when Gai’s on his back, heaving laboured breaths with a pair of dull black eyes hovering over him, that he can no longer hide his smile. He takes the hand that’s offered to him and feels Tobi’s support as he rises to his feet. Before he leaves, he turns that smile on his friend. His rival.

“Tobi?”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”