Reborn

“Today we are going to discuss how to deal with hostage situations.” The new instructor barks out, their usual teacher absent during the start of the term. The new instructor has an ugly gash running down their cruel demeanor, a meanness etched onto their otherwise ugly face, with their teeth bared towards them. Sakura notices the unworn space of cloth on the instructor's missing right arm. Her eyes stick on it longer than she expects as the instructor catches her looking. Sakura winces at being rude. Nothing at all like their old teacher, who was nice and enjoyed laughing amongst her female students. Sakura shivers under the intense air that surrounds their new instructor, not wanting to gain their attention despite being a teacher’s pet.

“It’s been briefed to me that none of you have covered this unit yet and you are all approaching your last year.” She says, while scanning the room for any student to speak up. No one does. Clearing her throat, her voice bellows out like a drill sergeant; a sign that whoever their new teacher is doesn’t work with children often but grown soldiers. “Can anyone tell me what one should do if they are held hostage?”

Female students anxiously look around, unnerved by the rude nature of their teacher while their lack of answers upset the instructor as they steadily grew annoyed.

“What has this come down to?” The female instructor whispers under her breath, Sakura can barely catch it since she is sitting in the front row as she usually does. Now, she cannot escape the scope of disapproval that flashes in their flinty eyes as they look at her long pink hair and manicured fingernails. Sakura flinches, ashamed with how she looks. Tearing their gaze away from Sakura, the scarred instructor begins.

“Depending on the treatment you receive, you must be prepared for psychological, sexual, and physical trauma to occur. From the moment you are captured, you are no longer human. Do you understand me? You have lost your value as a human being and instead are a commodity. A thing to be traded and sold, and if you cannot prove your value, you will die.” The classroom collectively sweats as the pressure in the room mounts. The female students collectively look physically uneasy.

“As a commodity, you will need to figure out quickly what their aim is and what they want from you. Use any methods available to you, kill off any quarrels you may have about dignity, ethics, or pride because those will not help you. You must negotiate for yourself why they should work with you to complete whatever transaction they are attempting to achieve.”

“Wait a minute!” A bold voice rings out, “what about our teammates? Won’t they work to save us?” Sakura almost wants to look back at Ino but stops herself when she sees the way the instructor deadpans at her insinuation.

“Who is to say they are responsible for getting you back?” The question shocks Ino enough to momentarily shut her up. “Why would a Team Captain risk more of their squad from facing possible causalities? The appropriate response is to report to the higher chain of command to await an extraction squad.”

“But then that would be the same for being left for dead!” Ino stubbornly rebukes, unsatisfied with this answer. 

“What is more important, the mission or your teammate?” The instructor challenges all of them, eyeing them all down until some grow restless. “Is your life more important than the village that feeds you? Is your life worth more than the rest of your squad?”

The question rings out mercilessly. Sakura thinks it’s a tough situation with impossible choices. For once in her entire academic life, Sakura hears Ino reigned into silence. She can imagine the furrow of concentration on her pastel features. When the instructor is satisfied with their control over the classroom, they move on.

“Like I stated earlier, the moment you are captured, you cannot think of yourself as a human being. You are a commodity, and you need to look out for yourself. Always assume that you are on your own until help comes. Any more objections?” No one speaks up but Sakura can sense Ino grinding her teeth with the unsavory answer the instructor had thrown out. The old teacher would have never spoken against Ino, a sly smirk ticks her lips.

“Continuing on, what possible strategies can one use?”

Sakura contemplates while looking at her unchipped nails that had been recently shaped and painted in clear gel at the nail salon. In all her cases of targeted bullying and tough social situations, there has only been one technique that she has fallen back on. Her hand meekly rises into the air, the mean instructor raises an incredulous eyebrow. Taking this as permission to speak, Sakura tries to not feel stupid as she answers, “You could get your captors to like you?” Her voice is uncertain, and it makes her think of a time when she was a shy bookworm with no dreams and backbone. Sakura dislikes thinking about those times.

“Pinkie here is partially correct. The more suiting answer within this situation is to humanize yourself towards your captors. Although this can have its cons if not done tastefully. Humanizing yourself towards our captors can be great for gaining information, causing hesitation, and creating opportunities for escape. However, it can come at the cost of creating bonds with those said captors, which in turn can hinder you from doing what needs to be done to escape.”

“How so?” Sakura asks before she can stop herself.

“Cases such as Stockholm Syndrome can occur, although it requires more long-term scenarios, can happen with the use of this strategy. You must remind yourself that those feelings are not real, but without proper mental and psychological intervention it is highly possible for you to lose sight of the original objective. Although not all cases will end up like this, it depends on the severity or duration which these bonds get forged. That’s why it’s recommended to stick with just the basics, don’t give out more than you should. Toss out a first name, mention having a mother or father to create the feel of a family that misses and cares for you. Repeat simple facts about yourself to make yourself more human to them. Create a believable mixture of lies to get them to relate with you. As your instructor, I caution you while using this method: it requires high levels of acting that has not been taught to you yet and none of you have the proper emotional training to deal with this. As you progress this year, my training will tackle the basics and your assigned team leader will cover such methods they find best suit your position to pass down.”

“Is it easy to get Stockholm Syndrome?” Sakura curiously asks, a morbid fascination with the topic. The instructor pauses before they pace around the chalkboard.

“No, that was an extreme example, but that doesn’t take away the dangers from becoming emotionally entangled with those who wish you harm. Now, any other strategies?”

More hands raised themselves in the air.

Pointing out to someone in the back that Sakura cannot see, the instructor harshly says, “You, speak up.”

“O-our bodies?” A civilian-based ninja in her class said, embarrassment flooding into their unassuming voice. What was her name again? Sakura racks her head as she comes up short. The gash on their instructors’ cold face sickly gleams, the new darkened skin being hit by the sunlight that floods into their classroom as the afternoon crawls by.

“One of the main differences between men is our bodies. In exchange for information, men can slip up and reveal things to you. It can be a moment of weakness, the perfect moment to strike if you are in close range. Vitals are easy to hit, and weapons will be available to ransack. As I stated at the beginning of my lecture, at the moment of your capture you must use all things available to you and this can include the utilization of your physical assets. Extending your time to look for ways of escape or gaining help through seduction can also have its drawbacks. Rape is not uncommon in these situations and often, you will not be in control. Have any of you gone over these subjects yet?” 

The silence speaks for itself.

Gritting their teeth in frustration the instructor asks rhetorically, “Just what in the hell have they been wasting their time teaching you about?” Sakura can practically feel Ino’s rising temper with how much disregard for civility the new instructor has for their specialized class.

“The first thing I will tell you is that each nation, jurisdiction, and providence all differ in the sense of legality. Age of consent fluctuates, here in the central regions, the age of consent is 15. Konoha adheres to this, in civil and military courts, and must take this into consideration when deploying active service members. This means, that until you are 15 years old, you will not be allowed to take on seduction-focused missions. Other nations are not like this, the age of consent can raise or drop. For example, Mist has had a history of child marriage for the sake of bloodline purity until they realized that it was impacting their cognitive performance.”

The revolution on student faces was noticeable.

“It wasn’t just Mist who adhered to this, before Nations were formed and even shortly thereafter, this was the norm everywhere. The age of consent was only recently formed through the help of the Slug Sannin, when discovering the medical issues that prolonged long after. Mist, Sand, Lightening and Earth all followed suit once findings were similarly correlated within their own databases. Mist’s age of consent is 12. Lightening is 17. Sand is also 15, sharing similar laws as we are on friendly diplomatic terms. Earth is 14. All these ages will become meaningless the moment you are captured.” The instructor takes a moment to pause, to make sure the lesson is sinking in for everyone.

“Unless you are on track to enter the Seduction Unit, which I can already tell that none of you are, it is tantamount to suicide starting this technique. For those who disregard this standard, which are many, to let someone walk away after knowing this information would be moronic. It would be easier for them to kill you than to release you, getting caught breaking enforced national laws is something no one wants that on their official profile.”

“What about pregnancy?” The civilian student desperately cuts in.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” The instructor coldly smiles, “Some of you will be given the option to learn a coveted technique that will protect you from possible insemination. Others will be given the choice to seal off their wombs, either temporarily or permanently through ingested tonics. If you are not a combat-focused ninja, then regular birth control options exist unless you want to start a family. But many women who are committed to the lifestyle will not have children.”

“Why is that?”

“Orphans.” The answer is curt, and Sakura can practically hear the shattering of dreams within the small classroom for Kunoichi Training. “Any other questions? No?” Sarcasm heavily coats the harsh voice of their new teacher as she decides to settle her attention elsewhere. “Any other methods that one can think of?”

Sitting in the front row with her, Hinata trembles with such ferocity, Sakura almost feels bad for her.

“Spit it out girl, I don’t have all day.”

“Y-You c-could t-try to launch-h a final a-attack be-fore g-going o-out.” Hinata stutters heavily while anxiously twiddling her fingers. Stunned, Sakura stares at Hinata with wide eyes at her heavy answer, her usual refrain from speaking broken. Taking her by full-fledged surprise, Sakura wonders what drove this response from the timid girl in the first place. The female instructor takes an additional moment to look at Hinata, as if holding her at a new light.  

“That’s also an applicable strategy.” They neutrally state as Hinata refuses to look up from her worn down desk.

“Now wait a minute!” Ino interrupts again, “You can’t tell people to kill themselves! No one wants to willingly die in the first place!”

“Unless you are carrying important information or come from a heralded bloodline, the best thing you can do for your country as a loyal servant is die.” The classroom erupts into mayhem with the words the instructor harshly tosses out, students argue about how wrong that is. Konoha values their soldiers, they wouldn’t do that! The female instructor almost looks at them with a confusing mixture of pity and disgust, their lips pulling into a dissatisfied smirk.

“You are holding onto pride, which is a luxury that people in hostage situations cannot afford. I will not continue sugar-coating subjects just because it upsets you. You all must fully face the fact that death is a genuine possibility within this line of work. It is inescapable and it would be borderline foolish of me to continue to shy away from these subjects just because you cannot handle it. Often, this strategy is the most used and it applies to many other scenarios. You are not yet ninja, but once you graduate you don’t just belong to your clan or family; You will also belong to Konoha and under no circumstances can any information fall into enemy hands. You will protect Konoha, or you will die doing so.”

The bell rings, signaling the end of class, but everyone stays in their chairs unable to fully grasp the heavy implications the instructor flings into their face. It keeps Sakura up at night as she stares up into her ceiling, words reverberating into her head as sleep eludes her. What if she isn’t suited for this type of work? Sakura thinks, as worry festers. Her eyes remain glued at the boring wall as the sun rises for the new day. She is on autopilot, as were a few others in her class after the shattering lecture, and choses to sit in the back rows this time when the class bell rings again. Except instead of the mean instructor walking through the door, an older woman with a limp makes her way towards the podium.

“I apologize for confusing all of you, it seems after a few filed complaints the Academy went with another instructor. Your old instructor will be reinstated after they complete their assigned mission, until then you all will have to work with me.” The old woman who looked like a librarian stated as they moved on to take attendance. But what about the techniques? Sakura frets, how was she supposed to act knowing this information now?

  ☁☁

Sasuke closely watches as Naruto slips through the thick oak door to speak with the therapist who will evaluate them. A frown is already snaking its way onto his subtly angry face, did Naruto even know what a mental evaluation was? Probably not. Trying not to sigh to himself, Sasuke attempts to settle in until his turn comes. The clock is his only company as he fidgets while trying to fit onto the couch that is overflowing with throw pillows. Silence wasn’t his enemy most of the time, in fact Sasuke welcomed it. He liked not having to say anything and that he thought about the things that mattered: the things that made him a prodigy. An avenger. 

The thoughts he had on his mind separated him from everyone else in his age group, they just didn’t get it. He could see how unserious they were in their training and how they constantly whined about doing extra work. It pissed him off to no end. They acted like children, and the weight of the headband was a heavy burden that his classmates didn’t seem to fully understand. They were idiots, and they were not worth his time. Sasuke wasn’t a boy anymore; he had already been exposed to betrayal and death in ways that no one could truly seem to understand or care about. It was his losses that made him a man. 

Time was precious, it was a finite resource- so why couldn’t anyone around him see that? Sasuke should be on the training fields right now practicing his new bloodline and figuring out its limitations. He shouldn’t be here. It would be his first mental evaluation since…then. An all-too familiar anger makes him clench his teeth together, his jaw aching as he relentlessly stares ahead, unmoving. Attempting to lean back into his seat proves to be impossible as the odd fabrics of the overabundant throw pillows begin to awkwardly jab into his back. If Sasuke was more immature, he would have had the gall to tear the pillows to shreds and leave the remnants by his feet. 

…but he wasn’t. So the pillows remained untouched. Mentally overcoming the instinct to set fire to the offensive waiting room, Sasuke’s eyes remained glued to the clock that seemed to not be moving at all. 

How was that even possible? 

Annoyance came all too easily to him but the sole fact that it was a mental evaluation makes him sit tight. Sighing angrily, Sasuke reflects on how everything seems to piss him off. When Kakashi had smiled as he opened the door to the very well-hidden clinic, Sasuke had to throttle the urge to sock him in his stupid, smug face. Sasuke was pretty sure Kakashi noticed. Good. Maybe then Kakashi wouldn’t try to pull this stupid stunt again.  

His teeth grind together, a habit he got when he was reaching his breaking point. It's tight enough that it is causing him pain, which grounds him, then the cycle starts all over again. The ticking of the clock interrupts the false air of calm that is painted all over the office. With a look of disdain, Sasuke eyes the walls that are drenched in a non-offensive pastel color, clearly meant to put whoever had been formerly sitting on this lounge chair at ease. Abstract paintings hanging in nice, tight frames on the wall offer something to think about as the clock races towards the appointment time, as motivational quotes and ninja phrases are found occasionally in the corners of the room. They don’t make Sasuke feel comforted, instead they rub him the wrong way entirely. Eyeing the quote that read, ‘there is neither good nor bad, but thinking that makes it so,’ Sasuke feels fury for such foolish words. 

What did that make of murderers? Of massacres?  

If Sasuke were to be asked how he is feeling right now, the genuine answer would be homicidal. The plush pillows that were placed on the ends of the lounge couch brush up against his elbows as the ticking of the clock mocks him. Everything in this clinic seems to raise his blood pressure. Even though he knows what he is truly feeling, it doesn’t mean he is ready to acknowledge it.  

Why now? Sasuke seethes as he clenches his hands over his knees only to release his grip. Sasuke doesn’t want to fidget with his white armbands, the violent urge to rip something to shreds or better yet leave the waiting room becomes tempting, but Kakashi’s words dully ring in his loud mind. If he avoids this meeting, then this means he will have to be benched until he completes his mental evaluation. That would mean he couldn’t train; he couldn’t get stronger. Sasuke would fall behind. So, Sasuke is stuck between a rock and a hard place, which he doesn’t like at all. 

The utter helplessness of being given virtually no choice makes him feel like a kid and Sasuke knows he is anything but. Onyx eyes glare at the dull clock that signifies that Naruto had only been gone for about 20 minutes since he walked through the oak door. Sasuke knows the purpose of the mental health check. It’s for Sakura. A wave of regret almost drowns him until Sasuke smothers the feeling with a familiar ruthlessness that appears when an obstacle tries to deviate him from his mission. Sasuke needed to think about the things that mattered. Not of recent affairs. 

Yet his attention strays until they think about one of the people who had been troubling his mind: Naruto. 

He isn’t sure about Naruto, if he had been the only one in the squad that had his first confirmed kills, but a dark curiosity rears its ugly head against his better judgment. Naruto never verbally confirmed it, but Sasuke remembers how Kakashi had softly broken the news of Sakura's death and the battle that had happened while he had been knocked out by Haku. He can feel the pulsing power pressing up against his eyelids begging to be used, but Sasuke has been benched. 

The sharingan had scorched everything into his memory in a way that was entirely unnatural. Recollecting the sense of bile on his tongue, Sasuke is immediately transported back to the sickeningly sweet smell of corpses floating aimlessly in the water and the freshly plucked wildflowers they had placed on Sakura's empty grave. There had been no time to search the river basin, but Kakashi had vaguely alluded to how the fall was a death sentence and any chances of survival were surely thrown out the moment she sank to the bottom. Kakashi had wasted no time in bringing them back to Konoha, where they were safe from physical and political ramifications but Sasuke knows this won’t be the last of it. 

The sharingans power had been supernatural in recounting what happened, Sasuke felt overwhelmed with the whiplash of emotion that overcame him when he thought back towards the moment of activation. His first taste of power had erupted the never-ending fire that wildly burned through him, yet, he didn’t care of the repercussions. If Sasuke wasn’t as in-tune to his wants and needs, he could have painted this sensation as the torch of his ancestors beckoning him to use his gifts, but that wasn’t true at all. What Sasuke had tasted within the first serious fight he had ever partaken in was power. Sheer, unbridled power that would crush him under its unrelenting heel if he could not learn how to use it. It was invigorating, and Sasuke craved more. Its cruel burn delighted him beyond comprehension, an agonized sense of euphoria blurring his thoughts to replace the manic focus it incurred. 

However, now that Sasuke hadn’t used it in two weeks since their last mission, if this is how the first stage felt, then how much more intense could it get? The clan records could only vaguely paint a picture of what one should look forward to in signs of awakening, but the reality was a completely different beast. Words had paled compared to sensation. The first step towards his destiny had fallen into place but what power would he yield? Would it be for honor? Or would it be so that he would become untouchable, to stand tall over the enemies that tried to kill him and crush them without remorse?  

Naruto would have used it for mercy. Naruto had surprised him consistently despite being an idiot. It seemed like he was not the only one with a bloodline of sorts. The sheer power that emitted from Naruto had almost made his sharingan seem like child's play, an overbearing aura that encompassed death itself was no laughing matter but it wasn’t anything new to him. Sasuke notes that Naruto had been the last one standing out of all of them and now had experience under his belt that Sasuke needed in order to fulfill the destiny on his shoulders. 

What was it like to kill a man? Was it easy? Was it cruel? 

Gritting his teeth in frustration at the inadequacies he had been displaying, Sasuke is forced to acknowledge a scary thought. He was falling behind again, the growth of his rival reaching new heights but there was one thing that he had gotten out of the entire ordeal: the Sharingan. But at what cost?  

 It had awakened, but at the price of self-sacrifice towards Naruto. The thought ferments in his mind at the implications. Sasuke had chosen Naruto over himself which went entirely against the point of his way of life, his very goal. He would never admit it out loud, but that scared him to his core. Sasuke was supposed to be alone, an avenger who had dedicated his life to justice and would bring forth revenge towards the man who ruined his life. Sasuke had to make sure that monster wouldn’t be around to live once he becomes of age to inherit the clan resources. That man wasn’t allowed to live a life of freedom after what he has done.  

But somewhere along the way, his steeled resolve had weakened without him even realizing and Sasuke had even shown aspects of himself that he guarded with every fiber of his being. That under the cold polite façade, he was just a raging cesspit of volatile emotion. He wasn’t supposed to be making close friends and family in his life, he couldn’t betray the people who had loved him first. Sasuke couldn’t do that to them and yet he had. 

Feeling rattled with the unsettling revelations, Sasuke takes to reading the quotes on the pastel color walls that mock him with their false air of superiority, an ignorance that Sasuke avoided at all costs like the plague. His warring emotions frightened him, because if what he feared was to be true then it could only mean one thing. Sasuke would have to kill Naruto one day in order to get the same eyes as his brother. 

No, Sasuke shot down immediately, it was too soon to tell. His brother had achieved the pinnacle of doujutsu within his clan and had gone mad. Would this be his future as well? A lurch in his stomach makes him hunch over. What price was he willing to pay to achieve his goals? Gaining the Sharingan was always a part of the plan, but Sasuke had only imagined what it would feel like once he gained it.  

When did his team even have the chance to sneak past the guards around his heart? Thinking about it proved to be fruitless when considering the sheer power Naruto had in terms of compassion and empathy. His idiotic classmate had a way with words and people that was unlike anything Sasuke had ever seen. A fond smile quietly breaks out across his stiff, regal face before it drops off. They were not important to his goals and yet, somehow, Naruto had become a person who mattered to him. 

Naruto, the school loser, the boy who had fearlessly proclaimed himself as the next Hokage. The boy who he was certain, he would give up his life for. Naruto doesn’t seem like the type of person to hurt someone intentionally. But neither did his brother and Sasuke loved-

A shaky breath rumbles in his chest, a constricting choker straining his throat as Sasuke frantically looks around him to find something else to think about. This was getting dangerous. Emotional involvement never ended well for him or towards anyone he had ever cared about. The proof was him sitting in this comically annoying waiting room. 

Sasuke rarely says anything, but the lack of pink hair and red dresses made the lead in his stomach weigh down into his gut. It shouldn’t be this quiet, it reminded him faintly of the abandoned Uchiha estate that had fallen into shambles, with no one to care for it after its legendary fall. It didn’t feel real.

Sakura with her pleasant voice, always trailing him with fondness. It was different from the other looks he was used to: cold analysis of his stature and deep hunger for his name. Her love had been unknowingly pure, in its childish pursuit of love. It was something he felt himself respond to, a dying urge to protect before the shinobi world would stomp on it with all its might and replace it with cynicism. While there were some things that annoyed him deeply about how she phrased things, Sasuke was quick to realize that she had meant no actual harm in her naive thoughts. 

Sakura had been able to worm herself under his skin in ways he was discovering now that her absence was stark and quietness followed. A creeping panic attack makes his limbs feel cold as Sasuke can’t help but be transported back into the past. Shutting his weary eyes, ignoring the urge to let his bloodline whirl to life, Sasuke recollects Sakura squeaking his name with erratic disbelief. It’s a tone Sasuke is intimately acquainted with. Her sugary voice trembled fiercely, crumpling around the choked cries that erupted from her delicate throat. His name on her tongue trembled with so much emotion, Sasuke forced himself to hold onto the thin string of consciousness to try and reassure her. It was soothing to be faced with so much unbridled affection. The shakiness of her clammy hands anxiously petted his face, but they had been warm as they cradled his cheeks. 

Her warmth was intoxicating, as was the soft way she held him. The scent of her lavender shampoo washed over his face as he deliriously thought to himself how much he had missed someone caring for him before embarrassment had flooded his system. Sasuke knew when her warmth left him, the sounds of her loud uncertain footsteps as she had boldly stepped forward in front of him to deal with the hired help that had gotten lucky in passing Kakashi and Zabuza. Sakura, the sheltered weakling, the girl who had repeatedly professed her love for him had died. 

It was wrong. Sasuke can’t help but think as self-loathing floods him. Sasuke has sacrificed himself only to live, why couldn’t it have been the same for her too? What made his fate more important than hers? Plucking and weaving wildflowers into a bouquet to lie on her empty grave was not enough, she had not received the Konoha burial rights but Kakashi had told them they could not bring back anything from the mission without further explanation. It screamed of a secrecy that Sasuke was too intimate with, a silence that choked his fury down with an unrelenting grip.  

The massacre had been held the same way, without ever getting the chance to see their bodies one last time before he set the sacred pyres on fire to send their souls off to the Pure Lands. How no one had paid their respects or came to visit him during the mass funerals Sasuke had to organize by himself. Sasuke remembers everything too well; he’s an avid overthinker. The haunting memory was very faint, delicate like blemished watercolor. There were no other words that would come after that because all the people he had ever come to love had been murdered.  

Sakura’s last words had been his name. His parents had done the same thing. Shuddering, Sasuke trembles from the acid that crawls to sit heavily in his chest as the air thins. He doesn’t need to activate the sharingan to feel her warm hands anxiously petting his face as the sweet perfume of lavender floods his nose in the waiting room. Gulping for clean air, Sasuke frantically tries to find a spot on the wall to focus on as the feeling of Sakura’s hands playing with his hair no longer brings him ease but discomfort. 

An intrusive thought forces itself under the spotlight of his devolving control. If Sasuke loved his team, would he have to kill them one day too? In order to reach similar heights like his brother? And if so, then what would that make him? 

The thought is old and beaten but it never stops impacting him the same way as it had all those years ago, but Sasuke prepares to run towards the nearest waste bin when his mouth dries out. Mercy was sometimes more painful than death and as a warrior, Sasuke could not be the person who would wield it. It was dishonorable, it went against the Uchiha teachings. Yet it was this lack of mercy that left him an orphan at eight, when he woke up alone and frightened in the small luminescent hospital room. It was this lack of mercy that left him without a teammate he had softened up to. 

No one predicts themselves to be an orphan, nonetheless a victim of tragedy. 

The nurses had taken such pity on him, letting him roam around the sealed halls of the private wards blankly asking for his family to come when the massacre had happened. Childish hands grasping at nothing but ghosts. Blank onyx eyes were unsettling in the face of a seven-year-old, and the muttering that was directed at no one as he wandered the ice-cold white halls of the sterile hospital with nothing to keep him going saddened the ward. How could one have forgotten the death of his family? The brutal massacre of his kin? The tears that trailed down his older brother’s cheek as he- 

Sakura and Itachi had both cried for him. The sudden comparison is revolting, but his memories are all Sasuke has to his legacy. Sasuke cannot afford to forget, not as long as he was breathing. The burden of his family hangs over his stiff shoulders, another death that would demand his eternal acknowledgement towards. Another to light the sacred pyres to guide them to the Pure Lands. 

No more, Sasuke desperately thinks, do not give me more people to care for. 

He did not want this.  

(How dare he wish to forget? Every day is tainted with guilt if he does this- would it absolve him? Would he finally be free? Would it be okay to forget and move on?)

Abruptly cutting off that thought, failing to ground himself, he desperately checks the hands of the clock. Only 35 minutes since Naruto had gone in. Has it really been that long? Nerves shaken with the unwanted introspection; Sasuke feels on edge. 

I’m fine, Sasuke chants to himself, do not think about that now. The clock keeps ticking, the pillows force him to be in uncomfortable positions on the couch. Sasuke hates the colors of the walls. Anger simmers underneath the haze of nausea and fear. What is Naruto talking about right now? 

☁☁ 

The world was absent of color, painted in metallic, dreary grays and black; like sharpened kunai that reflected ugly distortions coated in bodily fluids. The noise from outside infiltrates the thin walls of his run-down apartment, a gray abyss that displays nearly no signs of residency. Kakashi owned as little as possible, only getting a bed, some sheets and clothes and a few dog beds for his pack. It was the bare minimum, and Kakashi would always say he deserved less than this. His obsidian eye slowly blinks, as if carrying the weight of the world. His hair is silver, his eyes are gray, and his heart is dead. His memories are all too sharp yet muddled from depression, he can’t remember the last time he had color in his life.

The last time he laughed. 

He remembered, it was just too painful to acknowledge that those he had laughed with were now forgotten and rotting under Konoha's regime. But was it just Konoha?  He brutally shuts down that train of thought, it’s not what a good soldier would think. A good soldier would have been able to save his comrades. A good soldier would have been able to trudge forward through warzones and return in one piece. He was nothing but a series of horrors and empty cobwebs; enticing but unpleasant to find. He knows he should get up to go to his shift, to complete the Hokages orders like the bloodhound he is but his will is missing. His shallow breaths barely move his chest and for a moment he fantasizes. Wonders if death is the only release, he will be able to manage in his gray, bleak life. How it wouldn’t be that hard to turn over and find countless ways for him to take his last and maybe he could finally feel something in his last moments. 

Kakashi no longer fears having a silent ending, a muted close to the supposed bright future he is currently enacting. His body sinking into the tossed covers and stiff mattress. He reminisces about his father and thinks he can finally understand. He could make it clean and spotless, to not give others grievance of finding his dead body and having to clean up. 

 It would be so easy. 

He stares endlessly into his white ceiling, ruminating on his intrusive thoughts until his fingers twitch in response. It would be all too easy for someone like him, he muses playfully as his hand crawls under his flat pillow to grab hold of his sheathed tanto. His jonin uniform scratches his scarred body as if to remind him how death flocks to him like an obsessed lover. Entirely unwanted yet escorting its mere presence in his arms.  

It covers up all the scars and burn wounds scattered across the pale expanse of his skin. His sole sharingan starts to spin, crimson and pearl white, bone and blood. His hands grip the generic, rough bed covers; typical grief and regret flooding his system to anchor him back to hollow reality. The medic-nin would be highly upset if he undid all their healing, fingers lightly gripping the tanto that is within arms-reach.  

Kakashi heaves a soft sigh, remembrance on the forefront of his mind as pale after-images flutter through his mind. Purple and brown drip down the gray canvas, the colors becoming distorted and ugly. He closes his eyes softly in defeat. 

“I know.” He softly mutters to an empty, desolate room. Ghosts wrapping themselves around his shoulders as the familiar weight of his sins keep him barely breathing. It was the guilt that kept him alive, the only feeling he had left when all was said and done. Kakashi fed his guilt enough for it to become an uncomfortable thorn in his side, injecting himself like an addict who needed another fix. Otherwise, he would truly be hollow, a living ghost that should have left but refused to move on. His body creaks as he starts putting on his gear, polished and nice as he heads towards his minimalist living room and kitchen.

Gray. It’s all he sees. 

There is something about the guilt and gray colored world that has become addicting to him in the same ways that made him want to quit once in for all. The same pot of bland, cold stew sits in front of him on the kitchen counter, the only meal he allowed himself when he wasn’t using field rations. Kakashi stared at the pale broth, the urge to eat was bluntly missing. After dropping off Naruto and Sasuke for their mental eval, now was the appropriate time to do what he had been dreading. But he was lacking the resolve.

The authorized notice of compensation and benefits from the death of a ninja would not soften the debilitating blow that would come with the news. Kakashi knows best what it feels like to be handed this kind of scroll, he knows that he does not deserve forgiveness in any sense for his mistakes. Tossing the broth down the drain, Kakashi doesn’t have to look at the clock to know he is running late to report the notice. The straps are pulled tightly into his forearms, skin tugging from the tight wrappings he has given himself. A possible liability in the field, but he has yet to encounter someone that could even give him the chance to make one small mistake- one small trip for it to look remotely believable. 

The legend of his heroics and abilities have isolated him in ways that gave him empty pleasure, although scathing self-deprecation was a more accurate way to put it. Apparently, this had caused a unique level of concern amongst his peers, those he had left after burning every bridge he possibly could after hellfire itself had scorched the village dry. This was where he was supposed to act as support for his fractured team, but his capacity for such matters was frayed to the point of snapping. The pitiful traces of humanity only spared towards a very select few. His choice disappointed everyone, burned some bridges and left more unfavorable opinions about him but Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to care. He was selfish, bitter.  

His mandated therapy sessions had a level of merit to them, he allowed his therapist to talk about the dangers of a brilliantly damaged mind. As much as Kakashi had loathed sitting on the dull colored sofa in a small, minimalistic room there were some valid points to be made. Ever since he had been decommissioned from ANBU, his mind seemed to occupy grim-filled corners of his decaying intellect. 

The first being how he never spoke about his traumas, sessions terse with stilted silence and dismissive efforts. Kakashi couldn’t talk about most of his missions due to their classified nature but in a world steeped in fucked up individuals and killing for a living- how was one supposed to remain sane? It was a sheer miracle that he was still functioning. It was because he was born into the kami-forsaken battlefield. He had been born into war. Kakashi had repeated his past mistakes, without even noticing, he had chosen the mission over his team.

Another oath he had sworn his life upon had been shattered. Why did he allow this to happen? After all he was supposed to be the great soldier, Konoha’s treasure. Hizuren was right, he should have immediately turned back around after the first ambush. Disgust ripples amongst his core, the flagellation of self-hatred thriving for the person he is now. He never should have been a teacher. How was someone like that supposed to indulge in normal hobbies or lifestyles? How was he fit to lead the next generation? The questions haunt him, ghosts weighing his shoulders down and scraping against his raw, hollow chest.

Bending over to put on his shoes, his lower back muscles pull uncomfortably from the hunched postures he had done while he rotted in his bed. The quick, efficient motions of tying the laces to his special grade boots momentarily give his obsessive brain relief from his lingering regrets. Kakashi's hands are steady, the level of control exerted is almost surgical.  

Then his mind quickly circles back to the task that has been given to him.

The decommissioned asset had died for her country, just like a good soldier, even if it wasn’t within the parameters of her plans. But soldiers don’t get that choice, not even him. Kakashi ignores the inappropriate flare up of jealousy at the impending death scroll he is sent out to deliver. A scroll that was issued because of his negligence and arrogance. Stuck in a forward fold, his shaking hands still grip onto his taut shoelaces. He had been putting this off for as long as he possibly could, but he could not deny her parents the right to closure. The river of self-hatred overflows as he mentally prepares himself to walk towards the household in which he will depart upon them a black robed scroll that is issued for unfortunate situations such as this. 

 Unlucky Team 7 strikes again. 

But it also draws focus to how he had failed his first assignment as a teacher, to the loss of life that resulted due to his apathy. A girl that should have been alive and thriving under him. The girl who had taken Obito’s words to heart. A life that now mattered more because of her death. Sakura would never be able to leave him, just like all the rest. It was necessary to create some distance from her, to help ease the discomfort lingering within his crumpling life. The official cause of death that was agreed upon within the confines of the Hokages office was death by paid mercenaries. It helped displace the blame that would have fallen on Konoha by using Sakura as a political scapegoat. Kakashi knows he isn’t going to the Pure Lands when he dies, he has betrayed everyone who had loved him. Dashed their hopes and pulled out his true colors when their support became meaningless. 

Grief spun him deeper into its tangled web, times that he could never return to and in turn would never be able to give back. All he would be able to give towards her unknowing parents would be bone-chilling sorrow. The picture of a warm, loving family was going to soon be broken to shreds by him. He strongly recalls hating the shinobi that had been tasked to do this exact same thing… but now he was doing this towards another unsuspecting family. They will hate this imparting memory for the rest of their lives, like he had. 

If he could not die, then he would make sure to make living as painful as possible for himself while he still drew breath. Kakashi would force himself to live under the heavy cross of atonement, a dreary existence, to make up for the lack of those who had sacrificed themselves. Kakashi could not feel sympathy for the bridge-builder on the other hand. If it wasn’t for the lie, Sakura would still be alive. The impenetrable hand of Konoha that squeezed the life out of its enemies, unbeknownst to other villages, would soon come for the rest of what they had. Their flames burned bright but the scorch marks that they left behind were permanent. Konoha was as shallow and dark as they came. Their people reflected that, in the way that willful ignorance and underhanded tactics ran rampant within the military community, boiling over into its civilian counterparts like a plague. 

It was disgusting but what was more so was himself. For playing by the same rules.  

 From a socio-political standpoint, lying within a military-issued contract had resulted in the young loss of a potential talent Konoha would never be able to recuperate from, hardly from the truth, but it explained the important fact that they did not outright officially violate the peace treaty. Sakura would never be able to get an official head marker due to how the classified mission ended up exposing too many Konoha secrets. A harsh truth Kakashi already knew, but it doesn’t stop the fact how much it makes him feel like a piece of shit. The official slip issued under the Hokages seal burns in his pocket, a heavy weight that threatens to finally topple the mountain that breaks his hunched back. He knows he is running late and that if he was still Hound, it would be wrong to displease his superiors.  

Flat granite eyes watch the routines of his fellow ninja through his clean window, the rusted hinges speaking of the thoughtless treatment from all the years of sneaking in to fall into an endless sleep. He steps up onto the windowsill and slides open the rattling windowpane, the dewy breeze tickling his sensitive nose through his worn mask. The sun rays creep out from over the long horizon, painting everything in gold. The village should inspire something inside him, a sense of home but Kakashi can’t help but coldly look away and melt back into the obscure shadows. He doesn’t address the emptiness in his gaping chest, the lack of attachment to what he is sworn to protect.  

Having studied the address, Kakashi swiftly goes towards the trashed alleyways where he knew no one would casually walk through. His feet drag behind him, actively prolonging his dread. Avoiding people was something Kakashi constantly considered when devising unseen ways to move around Konoha, it was better to walk amongst the lined piles of trash than to bump into anyone he knew. He wasn’t sure how to react when the public already had taken up gossiping about the latest scandal surrounding the cursed Hatake heir. As always, Kakashi would never refute it.  

Everyone who befriended him, who had ever had the unfortunate chance of coming to love him died. Each death imprinted forever into his soul, like the bounding black chains that branded his tongue and displayed itself on his arm. Kakashi went by many different sobriquets, names typically too awful to utter in public. It made him unapproachable, which he appreciated distantly.  

They say that if you can't be loved, then you can be feared.  

The affirmation is steady, just like his hands.  

Shaking off ruminating contemplations off his back like water, thoughts emptying out until all that was left were orders, Kakashi moves closer to the civilian district. He had a duty to accomplish them to the best of his abilities and being covert was necessary for this upcoming task. Moreso, afraid. 

Kakashi stops at the steps of a warm looking civilian house that has chic window boxes filled with flowers and the permeating sound of rambunctious laughter bellowing past the soft yellow walls that are painted with imagery that holds no significant meaning to him but most likely does for Sakura. Sickly sweat breaks out across his lower back, he destroyed this. Obito would be so disappointed in him. The world presses down on him with its crushing weight as he spirals, venomous ghostly voices drowning him alive in broad daylight. For the nth time, Kakashi knows he shouldn’t be alive. He doesn’t deserve it. He wishes this was the worst thing he has ever done, but the weight of duty he has towards those that torment him pushes him closer to the wooden door that has a worn-down welcome mat. Whatever anger and hatred they throw at him, Kakashi will take it all.  

He deserves it. 

His finger hovers above the doorbell, an opened can of worms twisting his stomach at having to face the parents of a girl they had entrusted to him, only to receive news that because of his actions, their only girl was dead. Dead on her first mission out of Konoha and he would not be able to tell them what happened. They would have to grieve without knowing anything about how their daughter had passed; if she had run away in fear or terror, or if she had stood proudly, a hero in her own right. Kakashi wishes he could say he knew what had happened, but he had been too distracted with Zabuza and Gato.  

Kakashi had failed, again.  

Looking into the warm windows of the Haruno household, Kakashi knows how they must feel when he shoves the scroll into their unwilling hands. Without thinking, he presses the doorbell, a faint chiming ringing inside the house as he hears the loud, unrefined footsteps of civilians coming to the door. 

Standing in front of him is a blonde-haired woman dressed in merchant robes accompanied by her pink-haired husband wearing a jolly disposition. The floor underneath his feet drops. “Hello! How may I help you?” A middle-aged woman with a bright disposition and laugh lines looks expectantly at him, wrapped in bright colors. A debilitating moment passes as he becomes the symbolic sacrifice to cruelty, imprinting another trauma towards another family. The smile on her beautiful face is warm, as green jeweled eyes pin him to the ground. Kakashi can see where Sakura had gotten her beauty from, the features that shaped her young face as she was thrown off the bridge. The guilt wracked his nerves. Kakashi cannot do this. Delivering the deathblow, he quickly hands them the black scroll.  

“Due to the severe nature of the mission, I unfortunately cannot tell everything that came to pass. But please do know that she was brave until the end and that the bandits responsible for this will no longer be able to perpetuate their crimes. What happened to her…” Kakashi struggles to soften the blow amidst their palpable confusion, “I regret it, it was my fault so if you need someone to blame, please blame me.” Kakashi can’t say anything more than that, his failures are spilling out into the open without mercy. 

This time, he is the one delivering the scroll. Images of his father ferociously come to mind at the sight of their miserable faces. Strangling the bubbling guilt down his throat, Kakashi bows deeply to avoid looking at their faces any longer. Obito would be so disappointed in him. Shoving the Konoha flag into the clumsy, unresponsive hands of Sakura’s mother, he cannot spare to look at the befallen expressions lingering on the civilians faces as he reverse summons himself back into his bleak apartment to crumble apart.