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They never recovered Rin’s body.
There was blood all over the field where they found him, too much and too muddied to be of much use. But Kakashi knew which was hers. He didn’t need a DNA swab to secret it out. After the inquest and the hospital, after being checked over by a medic and a psychiatrist, he was finally allowed to wash his hands; he scrubbed and he scrubbed, from fingertip to elbow and under his nails, but the smell remained. It was all over him, no matter what he did.
They told him it was unavoidable and that it wasn’t his fault. This was a war, and cruel choices had to be made. He was too valuable a person to lose, and so they had him wrapped in cotton wool, placed under heavy watch wherever he went, whatever he did, for several days. Minato-sensei’s very own guards saw to it that he was safe while sleeping, eating, and doing his chores; while brushing his teeth, Genma sat on top of the hamper lid, even though Kakashi warned him it wouldn’t hold, and stared.
Genma didn’t say much, and that suited Kakashi just fine. They spent quite a companionable day together while basically ignoring one another—Kakashi with his nose buried in a book, and Genma with his whittling. Dinner was ramen, and Genma warned him on the way there not to try anything funny: it was the first thing he'd said since ‘good morning’ and ‘mind if I sit here?’. It almost sounded like a challenge. Kakashi would’ve reminded him he wasn’t a prisoner, and he had no intention of running anywhere, but a sour voice in the back of his head said to leave it be. Objection was the mark of a guilty conscience, and he had no say anymore.
He was as Obito had said: worse than garbage. Genma didn’t ask about it, didn’t bother him or pry, but he noticed Teuchi noticing, and Kakashi saw something flash across his face. Pity, maybe. Empathy. Whatever it was, it made him want to slap the other boy for even daring, and for having the temerity to smile when Kakashi looked pointedly down at his food.
It was cute, Genma said later, how he got all embarrassed. Then he presented Kakashi with a carved, wooden owl. ‘People think they’re wise,’ he said. ‘But they’re actually some of the dumbest birds.’
He hoped that wasn’t a commentary on himself. It probably was. From Genma of all people. But Kakashi thanked him regardless, and promised he wasn’t going to do anything drastic. He never made a habit of mentioning or talking about his father, but he knew what Genma and everyone else was thinking; he knew Rin’s family would be out for his blood if they found out. He was a walking dead man, either way. There were two ANBU stationed nearby; one wedged behind the chimney, and one hidden up a tree. He’d noticed them earlier and hadn’t said anything about their lack of concealment.
Genma pointed to the one in the Monkey mask and bent to mutter in Kakashi’s ear. ‘This guy was with us during an offensive. Someone farted in the bunker and nobody owned up, but we all knew it was him.’
He said, ‘Mention it the next time you see him. It’s beautiful watching him try not to panic.’
It was clear he wanted to say something else. As they sat on the porch that night, eating apple slices and pitching pebbles at the outhouse, Kakashi would catch Genma looking at him. Staring. At his face, his hands, at him. Staring with this worried, bemused little frown, his tongue tip sometimes peeking out under that ever present skewer, and Kakashi again wanted to slap him. No. He wanted to grab him, and do what he wasn’t sure, but he pictured launching his hands at the larger boy’s shoulders and just latching on.
And when he noticed Kakashi staring back at him, he smiled. ‘My shift ends at midnight,’ he said. ‘I thought now would be a good time to mention…I’m a buunshin.’
‘Huh,’ Kakashi grunted.
‘Hoo-who,’ said Genma, laughing. ‘If you’d used that eye of yours, you would’ve noticed.’
‘Hoo-who,’ Kakashi shot back. ‘If you hadn’t said anything—’
‘Try and hit me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want a fight, but I will defend myself.’
This wasn’t a bluff or a threat, nor was it to be taken as a challenge. Genma wasn’t Gai. He was a whole other level of danger, as yet unquantified, and clone or not, Kakashi was in no mood to try him. Some other time, perhaps.
When Raidou came to take his shift—with a showy bang and cloud of smoke—Genma stood and laid a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder. Which was something people didn’t do; touch him, that was, and so casually.
‘Take care,’ he said, then just as casually, broke the jutsu and vanished.
Kakashi was now faced with the strangeness of welcoming one more interloper into his home, whom he knew even less well than Genma. He didn’t suppose Raidou knew how Minato-sensei was fairing ‘outside’, and the information was no doubt privileged anyway, so he didn’t ask. He just stood, and tried not to be too surprised when Raidou huffed and said: ‘You can talk to me, you know. I won’t bite.’
‘Oh?’ Kakashi said. ‘Unless I want you to, is that right?’
Raidou smirked and lightly tapped his right temple. ‘Just bear in mind, anything you do say will be remembered later on.’
Another buunshin. Were they so short handed, Kakashi wondered; or were they that afraid of him?
He had clear memories of crawling into bed, and he must have slept for a while. He wasn’t sure how long, but it had still been light, and suddenly it was dark. The fear hit him like a wall of water. He woke up gasping. He couldn’t work out what was going on, why he was home in bed, or why he was afraid. He just knew that something bad had happened, or was about to happen. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He was pretty sure he called out, which was uncharacteristic of him, but how else could he explain not attacking with lethal force when Raidou appeared in the doorway? He heard his voice, and part of him recognized it. But not the part that was in control.
They were on the floor before Kakashi even realized he’d moved, and he was on top of Raidou, eye to eye with both arms barred across his throat. He let go as soon as he realized what he was doing, who he was doing it to. Raidou pulled in a choking gasp, and Kakashi crumbled. He saw his hands fluttering white against Raidou’s black shirt front. He kept apologizing and asking, was he alright? Was he hurt? He felt sick and he couldn’t stop shaking. He didn’t know what to do.
Of course, he’d forgotten this was a buunshin, and they tended to go off like party-crackers when you killed them. Raidou was fine. He must have been expecting this. He sat up in time to grab a wastebasket, and sat rubbing Kakashi’s back while he vomited.
‘It’s alright,' Raidou said. ‘It’s alright. Let it out if you want.’
He wouldn’t cry, but for a while his breath came out in great heaves, and he sat shivering under a blanket while Raidou sat close-by. It wasn’t alright. He wasn’t alright. He was sure there was something really wrong with him, that he’d gone crazy just like his father had, and he was certain he was going to die. He saw himself lying curled around a sticky puddle on the kitchen floor, only there’d be no-one to come find him, no-one to clean his mess up.
‘I killed her,’ he said, over and over whilst gagging, ‘I killed Rin.’
Raidou sat with him until he was able to calm down, then asked him if he needed anything.
He nodded his head.
‘There’s some mugwort in the pantry,’ he answered dully, still not ready to look him in the eye. ‘I usually mix it with shochu.’
‘Will you take it with tea?’ Raidou asked, solicitously not mentioning Kakashi’s age.
He nodded again, cowed and obedient. He tugged his mask up—a pointless action, but it helped him feel more secure—and followed Raidou out into the sitting room. He had no idea what time it was, but it felt late. Far too early to be awake. He sat down by the large window overlooking the lane, its colorful patchwork of roofs and balconies; the dark, glossy leaves of trees shivering restless in their sleep; his dim reflection staring listlessly back, while Raidou filled his kitchen with comforting everyday sounds.
He was a shadow, Kakashi had to remind himself. He had all of Raidou’s memories and feelings and motivations, and was able to act independently of his own free will. He was solid. He could touch and be touched, and he’d react to pain or pleasure in the same ways Raidou would. But he was impermanent. A human soap-bubble kept going by chakra and surface tension. If, like Genma, Raidou were to break the technique, he’d vanish without a trace, taking all his accumulated experiences with him.
And Raidou would know everything. He was as good as there in person, but knowing this was a buunshin made the prospect of facing him again prickle uncomfortably. He’d know, but he didn’t know yet. He was there, but not there. And the more Kakashi watched him move around the small kitchen area, the more alone he felt; the more he wished Genma had stayed. Selfish of him. Everything he did was born of selfishness. He didn’t think. He was—
‘Feeling a little better now?’ Raidou asked. He crouched down quietly beside him and held out a mug.
Kakashi nodded. ‘I…apologize,’ he said, tugging at the edge of his mask. ‘I behaved shamefully tonight.’
‘Couldn’t be helped,’ Raidou said gently. ‘I know what it’s like. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s normal. There’s no need—’
‘I should’ve been stronger,’ he muttered. ‘I thought I was.’
Raidou frowned. ‘Better the reed that bends, than the mighty oak that breaks,’ he said. ‘I always thought that was a load of hogwash. If only I were stronger. If only I tried harder. If only I weren’t human.’
‘You’re a buunshin,’ Kakashi pointed out bleakly. He tugged his mask down and carefully tested the temperature of his tea. It was pungent and bitter, and Raidou had added a number of extra things which did nothing to help.
‘Ah, you know what I meant,' Raidou grumbled. ‘You’re in a dark place right now, pretty much as bad as it gets. But you’re not alone. And you can talk to me any time.’
He gave a hollow nod. He wasn’t so far gone, though, as not to be suspicious. ‘That’s what they want, isn’t it?’ He asked. ‘They want intel, and you’re here to break me.’
He saw Raidou’s face harden, and supposed if he had even an ounce of fear left inside him, he’d be quaking. But he had nothing, was now thoroughly empty, thoroughly cored and peeled. Which was usually the point at which most subjects talked, when they had little left to lose; when the big man with the cattle-prod finally left the room, it was the hand offered in sympathy, the one that wiped away your tears, that you need most fear.
But Raidou said, ‘That isn’t what I do.’ He said, ‘I kill people.’
He wasn’t there to assassinate Kakashi, either. Or he’d have done it at the outset. He promised the tea wasn’t poisoned. ‘Though I can’t vouch for the taste.’
There were much quicker acting toxins, he explained dispassionately, and those were best delivered straight to the bloodstream. He showed Kakashi his ring-claws and described how he’d employ them: usually from behind, just a quick hand across the throat. He said if the subject was a vouched homophobe—and most were—they’d leap away in panic before they knew what was happening. Sometimes he’d have his face disguised, sometimes not. They’d be dead inside a minute anyway, and the rest he’d leave to his retrievers.
‘My mother was also a poisoner,’ he said. ‘She taught me everything she knew.’
He’d been sick his first time, and proud the second. It was just a job, he said; something he was good at, something the village needed him to do. He looked forward to the day he’d quit, and spend his peaceful old age in the garden tending bonsai. It bothered him little whether or not he’d even live past thirty.
He said, ‘We make ideal soldiers, people like us. We have no wives, no children, no families. When we die, we leave nothing behind.’
What about their friends and comrades? What about lovers? If Raidou was saying all this because he thought Kakashi, too, was a homo, Kakashi had no real grounds or impetus to dissuade him. It didn’t matter, since no matter what, he’d never have a family himself. He’d never allow any one single person to get close to him. Not Obito, not Rin; not Gai, or Shizune or Genma or anybody.
And it was here, belatedly, that Kakashi realized they had no means, no intention of breaking him. He was broken already. And Raidou was there to warn him, to give some last little token of comfort, before the grooming began.
They’d already deemed him suitable, capable, willing even. He just required a bit of shaping, a bit of primping, beforehand. And he made a very sleek hound indeed. How the other dogs looked on with jealousy when they allowed him out of his cage.