Chapter Text
Obito was washing the dishes when something clattered to the floor, followed by glass shattering. Looking up from the sink towards the living room to his right, the framed picture beside his retaken team photo plus Uzumaki Kushina on the wall was missing. He dried his hands with a towel and stepped around the kitchen counter, trepidation beating at the sound of his heart like a drum. Obito wasn’t one to believe in superstitions like the civilian elders he came to know, but when he bent down to pick up the shattered frame, the lines of cracked glass stemmed from Kakashi’s crescent-eyed smile as his beloved ninken surrounded him.
Nothing bad happened. A little incident is nothing to worry over, he repeated in his mind, over and over.
He swept the glass shards carefully with a broom and dumped them into a separate garbage bag. The frame was unsalvageable. It was a simple wooden frame, nothing special. Just… it was unsettling to hold the picture of his beloved with his bare hands, having nothing to protect it from the world. Obito sighed, carefully laying the photo on the kitchen counter after dusting away any tiny shards. He supposed he would have to go buy a new frame, something much sturdier.
When the feeling gripping his chest did not recede when he had yet to hear the turn of a set of keys after cleaning the apartment for the second time that afternoon, Obito grabbed his keys, threw on his coat, and stormed out the door toward the Uchiha compound. He needed to tell someone. He needed his grandmother.
No one stopped to question why he was back again that same day, nor did he give anyone a second glance either. Small, rushed greetings were exchanged to be polite, and in no time at all, he was back before the columbarium holding his grandmother’s ashes.
The building was situated near the outskirts of the compound behind the gardens that belonged to the main family. Unlike some clans, whose deceased members’ ashes were kept in the family home, the Uchiha prided itself on community and togetherness. A death in one’s family meant a death for everyone to mourn and remember.
Sometimes Obito wished he could keep his grandmother’s ashes in his home with Kakashi. Sometimes, what he wanted to confide in her was too personal, too great of a secret to utter in public where anyone could hear—these secrets that he wished no one else, not even his clan, but himself and his grandmother to know, regardless of whether she would judge him or not. Obito would gladly face shame and disappointment from her if only he could talk to her again.
“Obaa-chan,” he greeted. Fear gripped him, unlike earlier when he visited with a bounce to his steps and excitement radiating off his person. “He said he would return today at the latest. That was a week ago. Obaa-chan, you don’t think he would break his promise, do you? That idiot never breaks his promises...”
But, at one point, all those years ago, Kakashi had broken his promise, hadn’t he? Kakashi had given his word to protect Rin, yet death had come so close to taking them both away from him. Obito stood there, head bowed in shame, with a thousand apologies on his tongue. He remembered that night and the accursed mission that began it all.
Ten years ago, Obito thought his life had been forfeit. His biggest regret then, when he bled out under the boulder, his body had grown numb from the widespread pain, and the dust falling had stuffed his nose and made his throat go dry, wasn’t not confessing to Rin. It was finally forming a bond, an understanding between himself and his prodigious teammate, only to have it snatched away from his grasp just as quickly as it came. They were finally a team. Something between them had finally clicked—gave him a sharper clarity than even his Sharingan could afford—and everything bled away when it was just him and Kakashi against their enemy.
So, when Kakashi fell, his heart plunged. Before he could think to do anything else, he grabbed the unconscious boy and yanked him to where Rin was. Obito hadn’t even considered what would become of his fate. It felt right to save Kakashi just as it felt right to gift his Sharingan to the other half of his soul.
He had yet to understand exactly why he did what he did. During his time with the Old Man and the weird, spiral-faced clone he named Guruguru, Obito pieced together his feelings. The Old Man took one look at him and spat out curses like these emotions he felt were sinful and vile. Like they were wrong. Obito wanted to hear nothing more of it. His hope of returning home to the people precious to him kept him from succumbing to the delusions the Old Man kept spouting. But Obito wasn’t completely free from the Uchiha’s clutches either. While he wasn’t wholly convinced such a plan would truly achieve world peace, two years spent with a maniac geriatric and an alarmingly human-like tree clone was bound to keep him thinking of what-ifs, too.
A world where war no longer rampaged the earth, where families stayed together, and poverty was not an issue; a world where no children were left to fend for themselves, no orphans, no child soldiers. Obito had thought of Kakashi, a boy two years his junior who was both heralded a child prodigy and scorned as the son of a traitor. No one in his generation should’ve known about this, but as Kakashi’s teammate and self-proclaimed rival, he kept his eyes and ears open and asked Minato about it. He hadn’t understood it fully, not then, but as he trained and trained and trained in an underground cave cut off from the rest of the world with only his thoughts to keep him company without falling into insanity, Obito thought he finally understood what the world they lived in was truly like. Such a world where pain, death, and suffering could be stopped, a world where children could just be without having to worry about what tomorrow might bring. Obito understood this dream, this utopia, and he wanted.
Of course, he wanted it.
But to achieve such perfection through world domination, how many lives would have to be lost in exchange for that fantasy? Obito was no naive child—not anymore.
And yet.
If he had arrived a second later- if he had dallied watching from his hiding spot- he was sure he would break. He was sure something within him would’ve snapped. Not like a glass bowl tipped over the edge, shattering upon impact, but the kind where the threads were pulled too tight, too thin, too much tension until these threads finally frayed, leaving the tattered pieces clutched desperately in his trembling hands. But he didn’t. Obito didn’t. He panicked and feared; he wasn’t thinking again when he leapt into the fray.
Or maybe he did. Maybe a tiny part of him saw the danger his team, his loved ones, would be in and began unravelling.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t thought of the consequences when he lunged forth with a feral battle cry from deep within his chest, a sound unlike any he’d ever made. Maybe that tiny thread was many smaller ones ripping apart; he didn’t notice that he was spiralling into somewhere he never wanted to be, becoming someone he couldn’t imagine himself becoming.
He spiralled until he felt a weak hand grasping his wrist. A pale hand that used to be smaller than his was almost as large as his own. And maybe that was all he needed to stop his threads from unravelling further. Maybe that was the wake-up call he needed.
Obito saw carnage when he returned to himself—a bloodbath. There were dismembered bodies strewn all around him. Sharp pillars of wood as high as a mountain impaled bodies, limbs, and decapitated heads. Bile had risen in his throat, but all he could do was fall to his knees in a pool of blood as he cried like the crybaby Kakashi always teased him, clutching the younger boy in his arms who had gone limp. He hugged the boy closer to his chest and felt his slowing pulse beneath his fingers and shallower breath against his neck as more blood oozed from Kakashi’s wound, adding more to his already tainted hands. He watched, uncaring of his blood-soaked and tear-stained face, as Minato finished stabilising the seal on Rin’s abdomen and cried harder when she engulfed both her teammates in her arms before prying Kakashi from his grasp.
Sometimes, Obito wondered what he would’ve done if his world had shattered that day. Would he still return to Konoha to the broken remnants of his genin team and his ailing grandmother, or would he plunge head-first into the dark webs of threadbare truths and silken lies? He had been so close, after all. If either of them had- if Kakashi had-
“Obaa-chan, you don’t think…?”
In the end, Obito never got the chance to properly apologise for hurting him. Kakashi had brushed it off like it was nothing, like he understood the anger Obito felt and saw it justified to want him dead. Even now, whenever their conversation ventured anywhere near Rin becoming a jinchuuriki and Obito’s return, Kakashi would have a faraway look in his grey eye. When he noticed his surroundings again, his noncommittal hums filled the silence, and his smiles no longer reached his eye.
Obito hadn’t as much as flinched when two shadows suddenly dropped down behind him. He kept his inner turmoil to himself, wound it tight close to his chest when he turned his head slightly toward the newcomers. “Uchiha Obito, you have been summoned by the Yondaime Hokage to his office immediately.”
There was something strange, like a disconnect upon hearing that voice without the face to go with it, just a crane mask. Weasel remained silent beside his partner. There was also something to be said about this fear twisting his stomach into knots and the anxiety that he tried, again and again, to roll up in a bundle to be cast away into a fiery pit. He tried to tell himself what he was feeling—this premonition—was nothing more than a baseless worry. But to send two of his clansmen to summon him meant this matter was urgent and required his immediate presence. The lack of Crane’s usual jokes cemented his fears were founded.
Obito shunshined to the closed door of the Hokage’s office in lieu of answering. Sure enough, Crane and Weasel appeared right behind him.
After that singular line of thought he hadn’t considered before, that sinking feeling in his stomach returning in full force he might lurch, Obito felt like he was walking to his death. He knew he wasn't, but it sure felt like so. He could already be dead, and everything that’s happened was his last wish before drawing his last breath. This heaviness in his heart could be nothing more than the consequences of an illusion born from his heart’s desires because every good thing that came to him would eventually be taken away.
It took every ounce of strength in his body to remember to breathe.
Each knock on the door felt like a heavy thudding of footsteps down the stairway to the underworld. The muffled “enter” that followed only served as a prelude to his fate, already feeling the scorching gravel digging into his knees while he was obediently blindfolded and his hands were tied to his back. Crane and Weasel did not enter.
When the door shut behind him, locking him in with Rin and the Slug Princess, who helped him recuperate this past decade, and his former sensei, watching him with an unreadable expression. Rin, whose face displayed nothing, her wide, brown eyes that shone with life and strength stayed pinned to the floor, and her usual smile upon seeing him had turned into a straight line. Senju Tsunade, whose sharp teal eyes watched him like a hawk and whose sharper tongue bit and lashed at him, pushing him to better himself and gain control over his new ability. Now, she frowned, her arms crossed with something akin to pity in her eyes. Obito felt the coolness of a blade a whisper away from his skin, ready to swing.
“It’s good to see you, Obito,” Minato smiled warmly, but this did nothing to cease his worries.
“Likewise, Hokage-sama.” Minato, unsurprisingly, did not flinch.
There was an unfamiliar emotion in Minato’s expression as he clasped his hands together and leaned forward in his chair. Obito’s heart raced at his next words, “I called you here to confirm something for me.”
Something fell with a resounding clank onto the wooden table—an all-too-familiar identification tag reserved for ANBU operatives. On the small, thumb-sized metal plate was his name, rank, and registration number.
Finality—that was what it felt like. The sight of that goddamned tag without the man he gave it to was the final nail in the coffin.
Minato’s words sounded muffled to his unhearing ears, his chest constricting. A sharp pain in his temple, a throbbing migraine. The metal tag resting around his neck burned. There was a pounding behind his eye, pushing and pulsing and willing the image ingrained in his head to burn to ashes. But it never did. It never did.
“Brat, your eye.”
He blinked. His headache subsided.
He remembered to breathe.
“What was the mission,” he demanded through gritted teeth.
“That is classified information, I’m afraid.”
“You sent him out there alone!”
“He was in a three-man cell. You must understand, I cannot always send you both out on the same mission at the same time. That is not how the roster works.”
“It’s a special mission! You, the Hokage, assign us those missions. Kakashi and I work well together. We have the best teamwork than anyone you could ask for, sensei. Fuck-”
“Language.”
“Obito!”
“-if you wanted a team, you could’ve sent me, Kakashi and Gai! We’re more than enough! You don’t need more than that. What were you think-”
“Uchiha Obito!” Tsunade’s thundering voice silenced everyone. She gave him a critical eye. “You will respect your elder and the leader whom you sworn loyalty to.”
Rin nudged him. Her eyes hardened, and her jaw clenched down hard. Obito bit his lip and lowered his head. But he would not apologise.
Minato sighed, world-weary. It was a long, tense-filled moment before he spoke again, each word hammering in the dread that threatened to spill from Obito’s guts. “I admit I considered sending you on this mission together. However, and you did not hear this from the Hokage, Kakashi found traces of the clones’ whereabouts. How he managed to do so, I am not privy to. You must understand, Obito, that I cannot send the both of you on this mission. If what they want is a Uchiha, no matter how skilled you are, that is a risk I cannot take. Your clansmen will never let this go should anything happen to one of their own whilst knowing the risks.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This wasn’t the man he loved and respected. Was he even the same person as the leader of Team Minato? Could being Hokage change a person so much? “And Kakashi? Is he not worth anything because he’s the last of his clan? Is that it? Just another tool in the shed?”
This man, the stranger sitting behind a desk flooded with stacks of paperwork pushed to the side, wearing a pristine white cloak and an equally unblemished hat, symbolising the strength of one in an entire village. This man, whose unreadable blue eyes had never felt more distant yet more sorrowful than he did now. Looking at the man Namikaze Minato had become, his Hokage, Obito wondered if the consequences of bearing such power and responsibilities on his shoulders could change his worldview this much. If this was the price he had to pay to achieve his dream, trading the lives of a few for an entire village, would he still walk down the same path?
“There’s no body. You didn’t see the body," he shook his head, unwilling to accept what he was being told by his Hokage. A lie. It has to be! “It’s not him. It's not!”
“I’m so sorry, Obito.”
He couldn’t look his former sensei in the eyes, couldn’t stand to see how different they’d become. Obito couldn’t reconcile the sorrow in those bright blues with the hopefulness and cheer of the man he once knew. Hearing that tone again, the one he heard all those years ago as a greenhorn, the empathy, those useless sentiments made the threads he’d slowly repaired start to slip from his fingers.
The hypocrisy, a long-forgotten voice sneered.
“If you’re sorry, bring him back.”
He didn’t know what face he made or how he sounded when he finally ground the words out. All he knew was the bitterness on his tongue and the ugliness that left its residue resting at the pit of his stomach. That same twisted thing that took root in him in the underground cave. That same want to destroy anything that dared hurt the people closest to him. That ugly, wicked thing, a curse that once sprouted from his limbs and fulfilled his darkest desires-
But Obito would not do that here. Not here where his family lived and where they made the memories together. Not here where they were all working to protect something, to better the system that their lives were built upon. But out there, the ones responsible for Kakashi’s death. He would unleash hell like no one had ever seen before.
Obito stormed out without looking back. Kakashi’s name tag around his neck was the only thing left of his, the final gift and the heaviest weight of a promise. He stormed out of the building and rushed toward the closest gate, uncaring that what he was doing was an act of treason. He would desert his village if it meant finding the ones responsible for this. He had to make sure Uchiha Madara and his minions could never rise again!
Blinded by rage, he did not register someone following him. Before he could take a step further, he was flung to the side and skidded down the side of a slanted rooftop. He landed on all fours. Like a wild beast, he growled, “Don’t stop me!”
“You’re not thinking straight, Obito.”
“Rin!” He lunged at her with only one thought in mind. “What don’t you understand? Out of the way!”
Rin had grown stronger and fiercer after becoming the Sanbi’s jinchuuriki. She grew stronger still when she and the Sanbi found a balance, a way to coexist in harmony. They exchanged blow for blow and kicks and cuts and jabs to where it hurt most. There was no rhythm to this fight. Nothing beautiful, nothing impressive. It was a far cry from their spars as freshly graduated genin when Obito was unwilling to hurt his crush, and Rin was unwilling to make the first move that counted. Here, now, neither was willing to back down. She fought nasty but was still pulling her punches. Until a sudden hit to his ribs from his blind spot knocked him onto his back. Obito struggled to gasp for air, knowing he was internally bleeding. Probably. Blood coated the insides of his mouth, but he cared nothing for it. He couldn’t care less that he was injured. He didn’t care for anything else.
“Rin,” he wheezed, cried. His vision blurred. Why did everything have to hurt? “Why?”
The blurry figure knelt beside him, gently wiping away his tears. “Don’t do this to yourself, Obito. He wouldn’t want to see you like this. Pull yourself together,” her voice, though trembled, held strong. She was grieving, too. Obito wanted to laugh but found that he couldn’t, shouldn’t. He laughed anyway. It ended up as a coughing fit.
“If he wanted to complain about me crying again, he should’ve been here. He was supposed to come back home. To me! I even-” his voice cracked as more tears fell. He had their whole evening planned. A picnic under the stars. A recipe he found that he practised in secret to surprise his lover. At the bottom of the desk drawer in the small study, tucked safely out of sight, lay a small velvet box. “I even- that selfish bastard!”
Obito threw an arm across his face and wept. He ignored how warm Rin’s chakra felt as she healed his fractured rib. He ignored the pieces of himself stitching themselves together. He ignored the blood in his mouth and the tears on his face. How weak and pathetic, a voice eerily similar to the Old Man's scoffed. For once, Obito wholeheartedly agreed. This was like their genin years all over again. Only this time, he was nowhere near Kakashi. Only this time, he was not there to pull Kakashi out of harm’s way, nor was he there to have his back and protect him with everything he had and more.
“No one survived,” Minato had said, the only thing that registered in his clouded mind. No one. The three-man cell had been recovered by a team sent out three days ago. The bodies were unrecognisable. Only their ANBU tags helped identify who the bodies belonged to.
Rin was right. He wasn’t thinking straight. If he wanted proper revenge, if he wanted to end what had begun ten years ago, he had to be in top shape. If he wanted to get to the bottom of this, he had to convince his former sensei he was fit for the job, whatever that entailed.
His threads were fraying, unravelling piece by piece. Fraying as they were once more but not yet shredded to nothingness. He may be a man broken beyond repair, might become someone unrecognisable, or worse, a monster at the end of this when he no longer has anything to hold onto. When the darkness that took root in his heart, wound tight and locked away, would swallow him whole from the inside, the seed of doubt that was planted long ago would blossom into a vicious, vile thing. Until then, however long it would take, he had one goal in mind. A promise—a vow he was unwilling to break.
Obito lay there with his eyes closed and an arm over his face. His tears had stopped, and the pain in his body had subsided—but not the hollowness where his heart should be. Kakashi’s name tag around his neck weighed at his heart like the boulder that once crushed him.