Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kakashi walks down the dirt path, a narrow trail carved between swaying trees and patches of sunlight. He’s on his way to the training ground with Obito to his right, rambling on about something Kakashi stopped listening to five minutes ago. His arms wave dramatically, voice far too loud for how early it is.

“…and then she said I couldn’t beat that guy from the Mist just because he’s got longer reach—like that matters! Hah! I’ve got speed!”

Kakashi sighs through his mask, hands shoved in his pockets.

“You lost that match in under thirty seconds,” he says, dry.

Obito makes a sound of betrayal. “That’s not the point, and you know it!”

Rin, on Kakashi’s left, giggles softly behind her hand. “You should listen to Kakashi, Obito.”

Obito stumbles on a rock.

“H-Hey! Why don’t you ever take my side?” His voice cracks in exaggerated injury as he nearly topples over trying to keep up with them.

“Because Kakashi’s smarter than you. Duh,” Rin replies without missing a beat.

Obito halts mid-step, heart clearly shattered, head drooping like a wilted sunflower as he falls behind. “That’s just… cruel,” he mutters.

Kakashi glances back at him, trying not to smile. Typical.

Rin leans in a little, just enough that her shoulder brushes Kakashi’s. “Don’t let him get to you,” she says warmly. “You’re always so composed. I admire that.”

Kakashi tenses. Uh. No.

He looks back again, once more searching for Obito… but he’s gone.

The trail is gone, too.

The trees twist, melt, and suddenly—

Obito is under the rock.

Bloodied. Broken. One eye crushed shut, the other wild with pain.

Kakashi stumbles toward him, coughing on dust, rubble shifting underfoot. The greenery is gone—only ruin remains.

“What—Obito?” he chokes out.

“Take it,” Obito replies, voice raw, chest heaving. “My Sharingan. Take it and protect Rin.”

Kakashi jolts, his hand rising instinctively to his eye—

Gone. The left side of his face throbs with emptiness.

“Protect her,” Obito gasps again.

“Kakashi!” Rin’s voice rings out from behind him.

He turns—relieved.

She’s standing there, her smile as bright as always.

“We’ll be late meeting sensei,” she calls, lifting a hand to wave.

But there’s a hole where her heart should be.

She stumbles forward, blood blooming from her uniform, lips trembling. “Ka…kashi…”

He smells it now—ozone.

Feels it—heat, chakra.

Looks down.

His hand is through her chest.

He yanks it back, staring in horror at the blood coating his fingers.

Everything sharpens into painful clarity. Picture-perfect detail. His eye burns—not from absence now, but from exertion. His Sharingan spins violently.

“Rin—!” Kakashi calls out to her.

Behind him, Obito’s voice cuts like a blade.

“You didn’t protect her.”

Kakashi whirls around—

And now, he’s standing alone in a vast field of green. Gentle wind combs through the grass. Clouds drift above.

Minato stands in the distance.

Kakashi, numb and wordless, can only watch him approach.

Minato smiles. “Where are the others?”

Kakashi’s mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

He thinks, They’re dead. They’re all dead. And it’s all my fault.

Then, a warm laugh.

Kushina comes, glowing with life, her belly round with promise.

Minato greets her with a kiss on the cheek. She beams, then looks to Kakashi.

“One day,” she says, “you’ll look after him, right?”

She gestures to her belly.

Kakashi looks down at it. The ache in his chest eases, just slightly.

“Of course,” he says softly.

But Kushina’s smile doesn’t stay.

Her eyes darken. “You won’t let him die,” she says, her voice lowering, “like you let the others die, right?”

His head snaps up—but she’s already dead.

Minato is dead, too.

Bodies crumpled at his feet.

Then—

Obito’s voice, Rin’s voice, everywhere, nowhere.

“You failed them.”

“You’ll fail the kid, too.”

“It’s better if you don’t get close.”

“Everyone you get close to dies.”

Their words close in like a cage, like a curse burned into his mind. The weight crashes down on his shoulders, thick and suffocating. He drops to his knees. He can’t breathe. The pressure digs in hard enough to crush him.

Maybe it should.

Maybe he deserves it.

Then—

“Wake up!”

A voice. Not from the past.

Familiar. Grounding.

“Wake up, Kakashi!”

~*~

He gasped, shooting upright, breath ragged and eyes wide, as if emerging from beneath water.

The Hokage office.

Light streamed in through the windows. The stack of paperwork on his desk sitting untouched. The scent of ink and dust, too sharp.

And in front of him, Sakura.

He blinked, sweat sliding down his temple, the echo of Rin and Obito’s voices still ringing in his ears:

“Everyone you get close to dies.”

“Are you okay?”

Her voice cut through the haze like a gust of wind, soft but urgent. Kakashi finally looked up to meet her eyes. He was still breathing hard.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps as the office swam into focus. His fingers curled around the edge of the desk. It was just a dream, he reminded himself. A nightmare. Nothing more.

The pressure on his shoulders—he only now registered—was Sakura’s hands. Firm, steady. Grounding. Not suffocating.

She must’ve shaken him awake.

He glanced toward the window. It was dark out.

Of course. He remembered now—he’d stayed late to catch up on paperwork after a full day of meetings. He must’ve dozed off somewhere between one report and the next.

“Kakashi,” she spoke again, voice low and close.

He turned back to her, realizing he hadn’t answered the first time. She was crouched slightly, trying to catch his gaze, brows pinched in concern.

“You’re crying.”

He startled, instinctively raising a hand to his eye, fingers coming away damp. Quickly, he wiped at his cheek with force, more than necessary, before responding. “Sorry, just…”

He trailed off. There was no excuse that fit—and nothing he was willing to say aloud.

So instead: “What are you doing here?”

Sakura didn’t look impressed with the deflection. Her frown deepened, but she let go of his shoulders.

He hadn't realized she’d still been holding onto them. Somehow, he almost missed it.

“It’s late,” she explained. “I got off shift and thought I’d drop off my reports for you before tomorrow morning. I was planning to sleep in.”

That tracked. That made sense.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmured, and her expression tightened. Not because of the words, but because of everything he wasn’t saying.

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” she asked, arms folding across her chest.

And he knew exactly what she meant. Knew it wasn’t a question born from curiosity, but from concern. Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to answer.

He forced a smile. “Maa, what do you mean?”

“Kakashi—”

“I mean, there are a lot of 'thats' you could be talking about,” he cuts in, voice light, deflective. “You’ll have to be a little more specific—”

But before he could finish, she grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him up.

His words stopped short. His smile faltering.

Apprehension flickered through him. He half-expected her to yell. Maybe even take a swing at him. Frankly, he’d have preferred it.

But she didn’t look angry.

She looked… sad.

Deep, heart-hurt sad.

The kind that didn’t lash out, but ached.

And that—

That twisted something in his chest.

His face fell the rest of the way.

“Why didn’t you tell me you have nightmares?” she asked, voice gentle now. The question was quiet—but it landed heavy.

Kakashi hesitated.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand where she was coming from. It’s just that he wasn’t the type to open up. The type to unpack grief like a story. Especially not to a former student, someone he was supposed to look out for. To protect.

But she was standing here now—hurting for him. And no mask, no soft dodge, no lie would convince her what she’d just witnessed was anything less than what it was.

A memory. A scar. A torment.

“Ah…” he murmured, then finally said, “What would telling you have changed?”

Sakura scoffed, her grip loosening from his collar. He nearly collapsed under the sudden absence, but managed to steady himself just in time.

She turned away.

And again, he thought—it was better this way. He’d rather her be angry. Furious, even.

But when she turned back, she was crying.

He felt like a failure all over again.

“You don’t give me enough credit,” she hissed, voice laced with pain, but steady. “For once, can’t you just let someone else be there for you?”

The words hit harder than anything from his dream; because they weren’t the past, they were the present.

And they were the truth.

He’d spent his whole life protecting. Shielding. Fighting. Keeping those he loved just far enough away that when the inevitable came—when death came—it wouldn’t rip him to pieces on the way out.

He’d learned to live with that space between himself and everyone else. It was what kept him alive. What kept them alive.

But not this time.

She was standing in that space now. Closing it with every step, every word.

“Let me in,” she said, voice firmer now. “Let me look after you.”

The tears on her cheeks had stopped falling, but her eyes were still wet, still shining with something unshakable. Something stubborn. Dependable.

The light from the desk lamp caught her from the side, casting a soft glow around her pink hair—just so. It looked almost like a halo from where he was sitting, her jaw clenched tight yet somehow still delicate.

Beautiful, he thought, suddenly and with such clarity it terrified him.

His heart ached again—but it wasn’t pain this time.

It was something far more dangerous.

Something he would probably spend a long time running from, too.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she was asking to be let in. And he’d never been one to deny Sakura much of anything.

So he breathed, slow and heavy, and said,

“…Okay.”

He’d let her in.

Let her look after him.

If just a little more.