Chapter Text
When the doorbell rang, Kakashi considered suffocating himself with his pillow. Only for a second.
Darkness clung to the streets; not even the birds had begun chirping—although there weren‘t all that many birds left after… everything.
Kakashi groaned and pushed himself up, swiping his mask off the nightstand and slipping it on prior to walking over to the door. “Coming,” he muttered. Who would want something from him now? He had gotten used to people disturbing his sleep, but usually they waited until sunrise to show up.
He hooked his finger under the iron bolt, lifting it until it became possible to nudge the door open with his foot. “Please, if you have any political requests, leave them at the office—“
He trailed off mid sentence as his mind caught up with his vision. Long, silky hair, pale skin, a tight lipped smile that always seemed to say ‘I know more than you, and you hate it’. The moonlight illuminated his silhouette like some kind of saint, which, in Kakashi‘s opinion, would be the most unfitting way to describe him.
His hand instinctively itched towards the kunai hidden in the clothing stand. Although the man had been officially pardoned, Kakashi still wasn’t very fond of the walking corpse that called itself scientist. “Orochimaru. What a… surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Orochimaru’s smile widened. His white gown rustled as he performed a quick bow. “Hokage! I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t.” Kakashi wiped the sleep sand out the corner of his eyes. “What do you want? I suppose it’s important, since it’s 4 in the morning. You do know that normal people do not operate like this, right?” He didn’t make any effort to hide his hostility. If it came down to it, and this would turn into a physical dispute, he’d win—even without the sharingan.
Orochimaru didn’t mind it. “I am aware. And yet, I hope my timing displeases you minimally.” The ‘s’ slid through his teeth with a slight hiss, causing an uncomfortable shiver to run down Kakashi’s back. “I trust you’ve noticed that I am acting to improve my relationship with this village—and that includes you. Naturally, I couldn’t let this day pass without marking it.”
Kakashi’s brow furrowed. “This day?” Had he forgotten an important event? It was plausible; he had been severely preoccupied with the reconstruction of the village, and the calendar on his desk had been covered by files regarding administrative matters he didn’t care about.
“Oh, you don’t recall? I don’t believe I noted it wrongly. It is September 15th, isn’t it? Your birthday?”
The silence stretched, only filled by the wind picking up. Kakashi blinked, once, then twice. “Oh. Yeah. That’s today.” The days had been a blur lately. To add to that, birthdays were the last thing on people’s minds, not when funerals were being held bi-weekly. Though, of course, Orochimaru wouldn’t have been affected by that. “So, you’re here because…?”
Orochimaru clasped his hands together, producing a crisp sound that echoed across the empty property. “To congratulate you! I imagine that being alive would be even more precious to you, given that it has become decently rare.” His tone was unnervingly cheery, making obvious that he didn’t comprehend—or rather, didn’t care—how messed up his words were.
“Ah.” It suddenly dawned on Kakashi how awkward this situation was. A breeze brushed against his neck, carrying the chill of morning dew, tinged with a faint chemical smell that made him wrinkle his nose. “Thanks, I suppose.”
He hadn’t invited Orochimaru in, and he wasn’t intending to. He wanted this conversation to end as quickly as possible, for the man to say goodbye and crawl back to whatever creepy underground lab he had come from. But somehow, he knew that it wouldn’t be that simple.
Orochimaru didn’t move an inch. The corners of his mouth hadn’t dropped one bit since he had arrived, yet for some reason, it didn’t look strained. Kakashi shifted his weight uncomfortably.
“I appreciate that you came all the way here,” he tried again. “I do have duties to attend to, unfortunately, otherwise I would definitely ask you to drink some tea with me.” He wouldn’t. Over his dead body. But diplomacy called for false friendliness.
“You wouldn’t.” Orochimaru spoke his thoughts out loud. Kakashi’s shoulders jerked before he caught himself. “ I don’t take offense, your wariness is understandable. I won’t bother you much longer, I’d just like to hand your present over personally.”
Kakashi gave a sharp nod, hoping that would settle it. Whatever present it was, he would throw it in the trashcan—likely in a bag labeled ‘toxic chemicals’—and move on.
At least, that was what he had hoped. His plans changed rapidly when Orochimaru stepped aside and revealed… a kid.
It must have been standing behind him, its tiny fist clutching Orochimaru’s coat. Black hair flowed down its shoulders, frizzy from the high humidity in the air, its color marking a stark contrast to the pristine lab coat it was wearing.
It appeared nine years old. At most.
Kakashi’s heart skipped a beat. His focus snapped from the child to Orochimaru, then back again. The air was steady around the figure, not flickering, not a genjutsu—this was real.
“That’s—That’s a kid.” He tried his best to mask his horror. For a moment, the mask did its job, up until his eyes gave it away, widening, disbelief painted across them. “Where did you get it from, Orochimaru? Where?” His fingers closed around the kunai faster than Orochimaru’s mouth opened to reply. “Do I need to remind you that abduction is a violation of the conditions of your pardon?”
Orochimaru’s composure didn’t waver when the tip of the blade pressed against his throat—he slowly lifted his hand and pushed it away, lazily, like it wasn’t a genuine threat to him. “I didn’t take him from anyone.” His gaze flicked to the boy, showing something resembling affection. On Kakashi, it had the same effect as a stomach bug. “Although he looks fairly old, his existence only came to be a few months ago. You see, I created him.”
Kakashi’s jaw tightened briefly, then relaxed in resignation. He should have expected this. It wasn’t out of character for Orochimaru to make a—what was this, a clone? Of whom? It was oddly familiar, staring at the few fallen leaves scattered on the ground like they were the most interesting thing.
Orochimaru kept speaking, blissfully ignoring the rage radiating off Kakashi in waves. “Well, if you’re pedantic, then I’d have to say I recreated him. A practically perfect replica. It was almost hard for me to give him away.” His finger curled around a strand of the child’s hair, pulling it up and letting it slide between his thumb and index finger.
A clone. He knew it. “So, whose DNA did you rip off for this?” Kakashi leaned forward, propping his palms up on his knees, aiming to catch a better glimpse of the boy’s face. Shadows darkened it, but the bits he could see were oddly familiar; a memory in the back of his brain, long buried beneath the experiences he had racked up between then and now.
“DNA wasn’t my sole source. The Valley of the End—or what was left off it after your skirmish there—contained plenty of his chakra residue as well.”
“Get to the point.” Kakashi rose back to a standing position, posture stiff like a coiled spring. “That, or I call for backup.”
Orochimaru’s expression dropped, finally. He sighed. “You’re so impatient. Not quite a good quality for the Hokage, isn’t it?” He went down on one knee, lowering himself to the child’s level. One hand cleared its face of the wayward wisps, the other went under its chin, tilting it into the light. “I planned for you to have the recognition by yourself.”
The kunai slipped out of Kakashi’s grip and clattered to the floor. He didn’t pick it back up. The line of his mouth broke open, just a fraction, enough to betray his shock through the mask.
The face shape. Rounder than when Kakashi had last seen it, with softer features, not half surrounded by scars.
The round, dark eyes which used to well up with tears anytime he got too frustrated.
The snaggle tooth peeking out his upper lip.
The realization hit like a fall from a building, pushing all air out of his lungs, violently. Kakashi pulled in a jagged breath. It got stuck halfway. “O—“ His voice cracked.
He dropped down, his hand brushing the kid’s jaw without thinking about it. It didn’t appear fazed—its gaze flew up to look at Kakashi, oblivious, cheeks puffed out. His chest contracted, sending a stinging flash of pain.
“…Obito.”