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“Good to see you here, Sasuke,” Kakashi said. The sun had sunk low in the sky to line up with the window behind Kakashi’s desk. It cast orange light throughout the room except for the spot right in front of him where the willowy shadow of the Hokage created a void. He sat down—partially to remove his ominous shadow where it fell on Sasuke, and partially to hide. He searched under his chair for the lever and let his chair lower as short as it could go. That way, he could slink low behind the desk and use it as a sort of metaphorical shield.
“Kakashi,” was all Sasuke said in response. He was wearing the dramatic black cloak that he had on more often than not, but peeking through the front opening was a green jonin vest.
“Sasuke,” Kakashi said. “You have my attention.”
“I quit.”
Kakashi shook his head. “On the first day? You were never one to back down from a challenge. What’s wrong?” His question was rewarded with an audible creak as Sasuke ground his teeth together.
“It’s not a challenge,” he spat. “I just hate children.”
Kakashi shifted in his chair to cross one leg over the other. “Does anyone like children, Sasuke?”
The question seemed to stump Sasuke, who opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t come up with an answer, so it stayed hanging open.
“Plus, you were fine. A much better first day teaching than mine was, at least. Did you know that you, Sakura, and Naruto, were the only genin that ever picked up on my first day lesson about teamwork? That’s not because the other genin teams were dumb. It’s because I was a bad teacher.”
Sasuke scowled at him, then tried with effort to relax his face back to neutral. “I’m worse,” he said.
“No,” Kakashi sighed. “Trust me. You were very patient. Your genin now know they can make mistakes and you’ll help them get better.” Then he threw in, “And it was cute how you let them splash you.”
Sasuke’s expression darkened as he narrowed his eyes. Kakashi had almost forgotten about the Rinnegan where Sasuke hid it under his long hair, but he was well aware of it now as he felt Sasuke’s chakra spike in warning. “You were spying on me?”
Kakashi grimaced under his mask, then forced his eyes into the squint of a smile. “Yes,” he said lightly. “It was a condition of making you a jonin sensei. I had some naysayers.”
The room itself seemed to darken with Sasuke’s glare, and Kakashi was hit with a sudden wave of fondness. For all his newfound power and destructive ability, Sasuke was still the same kid and hadn’t really gotten a chance to grow up properly yet. Kakashi was reminded of the time Sasuke became so sick during training that Kakashi had to carry him home on his back. They’d entered the forlorn Uchiha compound, and when Kakashi laid Sasuke down on his bedroll, he was met with the same solemn, closed-mouth expression. And then Sasuke had sat up and thrown up on Kakashi’s sandaled feet.
“You should have listened to them,” Sasuke said. “They were right.”
His tone was the same flat and uncaring one he always used, but to Kakashi, it sounded more tired. Or maybe Kakashi was tired and he was projecting. He tried to imagine his younger self standing in the Sandaime’s office and having this same conversation. He’d probably moped almost as much as Sasuke. Ah, the folly of youth. He smiled warmly. “How are you going to prove them wrong with that attitude? You can do anything if you put your mind to it. Just remember my old lessons!”
“You didn’t teach us that.”
“Ah. Well, pretend that I did.”
Sasuke grunted and finally slouched into one of the chairs against the opposite wall. Kakashi couldn’t tell if sitting was giving up or agreeing to stay and hear him out. He considered—what words would cheer Sasuke up? Set him on the right path? For Kakashi, it hadn’t been words so much as five years of strange, soft moments adding up. Still, he could try. “Sasuke. Do you think we can ever make things better?”
Sasuke’s brows furrowed as he jerked his head to the side then cut the movement short. “You’re too optimistic.”
“Am I?”
Sasuke didn’t answer.
“Are things not better now than they were when you left Konoha?”
Sasuke bit out, “They are.”
“You see?”
“Naruto improving the village doesn’t mean I should be a teacher. I’m—this is beneath me. Naruto would be the better choice.” Kakashi had been expecting him to come up with I’m a failure, or I’m too tired, or even I’ve been in too much war for something peaceful like this. He’d forgotten who he was talking to—Sasuke, with his porcupine spines to keep away any threat of sympathy.
“You know, I thought the same thing when the Sandaime assigned me as your sensei. I thought he was pulling me out of ANBU as some sort of punishment. Everyone I’d ever loved had died, and half of those deaths were my fault. The only thing I had left was ninja work, and he was taking that away from me.’”
“Hn.”
“How cruel, right?.” Kakashi smiled. “To take a powerful ninja in his prime and waste him on a genin team? Or, no—wait.” He tapped his chin. “To force him to interact with people who care about him? Show him the brighter future of the next generation? Yeah, you’re right. It’s awful.”
Sasuke was less expressive as an adult, but Kakashi could almost picture the childish scowl when he crossed his arms. “You may think I’m like you, Kakashi, but I’m not. I’m—”
Kakashi held up a hand. “I’m not saying you are. I’m saying… oh, I don’t know. Don’t listen to me, I’m pretty much obsolete at this point anyway.”
Sasuke pointedly looked out the window where the sun was setting directly behind Kakashi’s head carved into the Hokage Mountain. Kakashi spun slowly in his chair to follow his gaze. The village looked peaceful, the sun looked orange, and his giant stone head looked as ridiculous as always.
“It’s hard to start trying again, isn’t it? Very easy, though, to do what comes naturally. And when you’re like us,” he turned slightly toward Sasuke, “what comes naturally is killing. Maybe dying. Or maybe failing to die.”
Sasuke held himself very still, expressionless. Kakashi waited. When it became clear that Kakashi wouldn’t be the one to break the silence, Sasuke scoffed. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of emotional vulnerability.”
“That’s fine, I’d rather you didn’t. I got enough of that from you in your childhood. Too much, in fact. Do you remember when you threw up on me?”
“I was sick! That was physical vulnerability, not emotional!”
“Think about what you’ll be missing out on if you quit after today. Who will your students vomit on then?”
“Their parents! Each other! Not me!”
Kakashi smiled to himself. Wasn’t irritation a form of emotional vulnerability? He just needed to get Sasuke a little more worked up. He waved a hand dismissively. “Maa, I don’t think you could handle it, anyway. It’s probably for the best that you gave up before you embarrassed yourself by trying and failing.”
Sasuke stood and took two sharp steps forward to tower over Kakashi at his desk. “I won’t fall for this. I know what you’re trying to do.”
As Kakashi stood, his shadow once again fell over Sasuke, then followed him as he made his way out from behind the desk. “You caught me. Getting too wise for your old sensei. But tell me, Sasuke, why did you accept the assignment in the first place?” He was tempted to place a hand on his student’s shoulder, but held himself back.
“I wanted the village to trust me again,” Sasuke said stiffly.
“Ah.” That wasn’t quite it, though. Kakashi could tell. “And you doubted Naruto’s credibility when he vouched for you?”
“No, I—” Sasuke swallowed. “It’s just not enough.”
“Most don’t blame you for anything, Sasuke.” He smiled and this time, he did place a comforting hand on Sasuke’s shoulder to sell it. The words weren’t a lie, but they weren’t the whole truth. Kakashi certainly blamed Sasuke for a whole lot. Blame wasn’t exclusive, though; Sasuke bearing blame didn’t mean that Orochimaru couldn’t share it, or the Sandaime, or, of course, the ultimate and most blameworthy of all: Kakashi himself. “I, for one, am just glad to have you back.”
“But you shouldn’t be,” Sasuke said, his voice quiet and tight. After all that bluster, he now sounded very emotionally vulnerable indeed. “I’ve been an enemy of the village. I abandoned Sakura. I nearly killed Naruto.”
“You know I had the Mangekyou Sharingan too, Sasuke.” Sasuke’s eyes sharpened. He’d forgotten. “I failed you, and Naruto, and Sakura.”
Sasuke thought on that for a minute. At some point, the fiery orange light of the sunset had cooled to red embers. The light of the sunset felt too warm for the two of them, Kakashi thought, when it’d always been the harsh blue crackle of the chidori between them. The dying light was nice, though, soft and peaceful .
“I accepted because I want to be better,” Sasuke said finally.
“We can work with that,” Kakashi said. “Did you really think you’d be instantly good at it?”
Sasuke just rolled his eyes.
Kakashi walked over to flick on the lightswitch. “I made you a sensei for a similar reason. I believed you could be better. And I still do.” He walked back to his desk and settled in his chair. “And also, we were scraping the bottom of the barrel. We’ve been very short on teachers.”
“Hey,” Sasuke protested, sounding utterly flat and unoffended.
“I’ve been there and failed,” Kakashi said. “But I believe the village can be better too. It’s not just Sasuke-sensei on his own. You’ve got Konoha-sensei backing you up, not to mention your very own Kakashi-sensei.”
Sasuke crossed his arms. “Great. All three of my genin will be dead within the week.” He turned to leave.
“Your genin?”
Sasuke looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t get too excited, Kakashi. I’m only doing this to prove I’m better at it than you were.”
Kakashi snorted. “Seriously, that’s a low bar.” But he also thought that maybe, just this once, while talking to Sasuke in his office, he’d managed to do okay at the whole sensei thing.