Chapter Text
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There are many meetings, Kakashi discovers, when one acquires an eye from one of the most sought after bloodlines.
But he takes a deep breath, the sharp scent of the dark cedar floors washes away the remnants of his dull thoughts, and he straightens under the weight of the critical eyes turning to face him.
The memory of Sandaime’s heavy eyes seem to pale in comparison to the full table of the clan heads; the lines creating a rough sketch of his aging face had deepened throughout Kakashi’s report and eventually he had reached for his pipe with a sigh. His other hand had come up to smooth the crevices between his brows in a slow familiar manner. Similarly, the light pressure at Kakashi's back had never felt quite so grounding. Risking a quick glance up towards Minato, he noticed Rin too had chosen this split second for a glimpse of comfort. Everyone, save Minato, had indulged in weakness.
In the end, the Sandaime had chosen to delegate. He would not be the executioner.
Now there were no reassuring hands at his back. Minato had accompanied him to the room, but when the door closed shut with a minute click behind Kakashi, Minato had remained on the other side, concern creasing his visage.
The sound of shuffling papers brings him back as Shikaku dully passes what Kakashi can only assume is his written report to the other clan heads. Unsurprisingly, he sits at the head of the long table furthest from Kakashi, and Inoichi and Chouza surround him on both sides. It’s clear where the power resides. The Inuzuka is beside Chouza, and the scowling Hyuuga clan head sits across. On Tsume’s other side, the Aburame clan head sits, his face passive, revealing nothing. Finally, his gaze is drawn to the Uchiha clan head furthest from Shikaku.
He knows it didn’t used to be like this.
His father had brought him once, maybe twice; the empty chair across from Fugaku hadn't existed then. He hasn’t thought about his father, much less what his father would drag him to back when the Hatake clan had meant something. Glancing at the chair now, he wonders if he’d still be standing here today on this end of the room if he had accepted the claim to become clan head, and then the thought is dismissed like a leaf in the wind.
Obito is dead, and Obito’s eye is in Kakashi’s head. That’s what matters.
“Well, sounds to me like it can’t be bloodline theft if all witnesses agree the eye was given.” Shikaku starts with a drawl. It’s clear he already views the matter dealt with. The low murmurs that follow show that there is dissent in his conclusion.
“The witnesses at hand are Kakashi and his teammate, how do we know she wouldn’t lie for him?” Hiashi refutes. “Who knows what a silly girl might do for a crush?”
Kakashi hears the echoes of angry protests and flashes of orange and a head of ruly dark hair. He forces the shouts and images to drown far enough down to join the memories of a man he had once proudly called his father. He cannot afford weakness.
But perhaps—
“The shinobi handbook prevents lying to superiors according to rule number forty-seven.” He recites, voice carefully flat.
Tsume barks a laugh, “The little boy knows his rules.”
“This is not a decision for the council, it is a decision for the Uchiha.” The Aburame chimes in. “Why? It is the sharingan he has obtained, and following historical precedent, the Uchiha have always dealt with such matters privately.”
“Seconded,” Tsume says with a sharp look at Hiashi who refuses to meet her narrowed eyes. “We should not make it a habit to dictate other clans.”
Something odd happens then, a shift of energy that Kakashi only barely registers in the midst of turning heads and subtle hand movements. He wonders what else they have been dictating for it to become a habit. Perhaps on a path made of different decisions he would know.
“Well then, all those who delegate this matter to the Uchiha raise your hand.” Shikaku says, a note of finality coloring his voice; he does not expect the meeting to extend beyond this, Kakashi suspects.
He is right. With 7 hands raised, no matter how reluctant, the vote is passed, and Kakashi is dismissed with a wave of the hand and a promise of another meeting to come.
Fugaku never opened his mouth to speak once. Kakashi isn’t sure what to make of it.
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Minato and Rin are the first to greet him outside the short, but stout, administration building with tension lining every inch of their body. The sharp tang of the wood finally leaves his mouth as the dull, dry air of the summer penetrates his mask. The sun has risen lower in the time passed, and the sky has grown darker with a splash of orange clouds around the horizon.
He cuts off their flow of questions before he finds himself overwhelmed like a tree in a windstorm.
“It’s been given to the Uchiha to decide. I have another meeting, they haven’t agreed on a time yet.” Hopefully, that will satisfy them.
Rin whirls around to face Minato, “How are the Uchiha like, Minato-sensei? They can’t actually think Kakashi stole Ob- …Obito’s eye, can they?”
Her volume stutters to a near watery whisper, but her back stays straight and her shoulders pulled back.
How he wishes to be alone. (Then, he would have no reminders, no visions of grief and its choking hold on his precious people. No flashing images of dark blood pools and stiff corpses. No blurry images of rocks falling and a limp, cold hand stretched out beneath—)
“Well,” Minato gives a small smile, his eyes remaining sad. “It’ll depend on who gets the final say.”
Oh, how he wishes to be alone.
Then he would not have to care for his fate.
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He may find satisfaction in that Fugaku clearly doesn’t want to be here either, but the uncomfortableness of his position overrides whatever small joy he finds in Fugaku’s scowling face. He has not had to sit in seiza position since his father trained him on proper clan etiquette.
(He has thought of his father more times in the past week than he has the whole rest of the year. It has the same ache an old wound possesses, he discovers. It hurts.)
It is an intimate meeting with only six people in the dimly lit room. Dust coats most everything to the lampshades on either side of the elders to the padded mats they are sitting on, and Kakashi fights the urge to sneeze. The three clan elders face him, while Fugaku and his wife, Mikoto, sit to the side also in seiza position. Much like the clan head meeting, it is clear where the power lies, and once more, Fugaku is found lacking.
“I say the boy is a bloodline thief,” the elder furthest to the left, closest to Fugaku, proclaims with a raspy voice.
The one furthest to the right wags her finger. “I say Obito would have given his eye to the boy, you forget he was never our brightest, Jiro.”
“As if that matters, we cannot let the sharingan be paraded beyond the clan like this. We must either execute the boy, or take the eye back. It is only right.” Jiro retorts.
“No other clan will think it just, other than the Hyuuga and they have no ground to stand on. We must not stray further away from the clans as is.” The other warns.
Jiro huffs, “They have already abandoned us, Kyoko, don’t be dull.”
“Then why have they given us this boon?”
The middle one finally clears his throat, and the other two fall silent. “I find that boon may be the right word. We have only ever given our eyes to family, and Obito clearly considered this boy to be like a brother, something we never managed to give him, might I add. Precedent would st--”
“You must be mad, Toshiko!” Jiro protests.
“Oh hush,” Kyoko says.
“Precedent would state that the boy before us is Obito’s brother, and therefore, part of the clan itself. It would be wrong to try to take the eye back when it is already within the clan.” Toshiko finishes calmly.
“Kyoko, surely you cannot accept this?” Jiro’s voice is still booming despite his rasp.
“I must admit, I did not think that was what you had planned Toshiko,” Kyoko tilts her head. “But I find it rings true.”
Jiro turns to the left. “And you, Fugaku? Mikoto?”
“We have found a similar solution to Toshiko-dono.” Fugaku begins. “The boy’s sensei is Minato, and the Sandaime has already shown preference for him to succeed him. It would benefit the Uchiha to remain in good relations with both the boy and his sensei.”
Kakashi blinks, he hadn’t known Minato was in the running for being Hokage. (Politics had been his father’s field; he was perfectly fine being a good shinobi following orders. Again, he has thought of his father, and his heart tightens.)
Mikoto sends him a quick glance, but he has no baseline for the emotions swirling in her eyes or for the curve in her brows.
“Kakashi is the last Hatake as well, many would object to his execution, but should he keep the eye, we would have the ability to train him.” Mikoto adds. Kakashi is surprised to hear the unsaid words, they would be able to claim the last Hatake as their own.
Absently, he envisions a world where he does protest, where he refuses to be trained by the same clan that left his teammate (his best friend) unable to fight properly, unable to survive. They had brought Obito up like a pig to a slaughterhouse, and now they wanted to train him? Kakashi clenches his fists in his lap.
But, Kakashi’s hands smooth out, he is a good shinobi and they follow orders.
He stays seated, his feet faintly throbbing, and the words fade away. It makes no difference to listen, he will simply do as he is told regardless.
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Before Kakashi can even knock, the door is pulled open with warm light spilling onto him and the smell of mushrooms and cabbages greets him. Kushina is already pulling him into a hug before the door is shut behind him.
(Why had he come here again?)
“Oh Kakashi, how was it?” Kushina asks, her hands on his shoulders. Kushina always acts like this; concerned, a little too involved, and brimming with excess energy.
“I didn’t know Minato-sensei was in line to become Hokage.” He isn’t quite sure how else to answer her.
She must understand though, because she just hums and brings him further into the house. “It’s something only those high up know for right now, so make sure you don’t go telling everyone, hm?”
“Only three people are supposed to know,” Minato cuts in with a glance at Kushina.
“Oh please, Mikoto had already guessed,” Kushina waves her hand dismissively. “What’s a little confirmation between friends?” She winks at Kakashi.
He hadn’t known that she knew Mikoto.
“Come sit, Kakashi, you know the drill.” Minato says as he places the cast iron dish from the stove to the small round table that somehow manages to fit five chairs around it. Kakashi takes the same seat he always has, the one nearest Kushina. “We’ve made a little stir fry with some leftover mushrooms and half of the cabbage Gai brought us last week. You’ll have to make sure to thank him for us, Kakashi.”
He just hums noncommittally, the day he intentionally seeks out Gai is the day he’s caught in a genjustu, and scoops some of the steaming stir fry onto his plate. He wishes Minato would stop trying to make him interact with others.
“So what I’m hearing is that Mikoto successfully schemed around a bit so you could keep the eye?” Kushina probes, eyes bright as she settles down into her own chair.
“...I will be kept in the village for the next six months to be trained with the sharingan.” Kakashi reluctantly answers.
“And I suppose Hiruzen will have to approve that,” Minato mumbles under his breath before clapping his hands together with a smile. “So who will be your new sensei? Who do I have to compete with?”
“Uchiha Kagami.”
“Oh!” Minato looks surprised, his blue eyes wide. “Well, that’s certainly a tough one to beat. He was taught by Tobirama himself.”
“Mikoto certainly went above and beyond,” Kushina beams. “When do you meet him?”
Kakashi finishes his plate and pulls his mask back up. “Tomorrow morning.”
“How exciting!” And then, “Minato, pass me the salt, will you?”
And so Minato passes her the salt, and Kakashi allows their voices to drown out as he slowly relaxes his tense body.
(He knows why he came back here despite his aching legs and heavy heart.
He is a lone moth fluttering in the open night sky, and they are a flame of all things warm, lighting up the sky like a bright star.)
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