| Lead Me Away. [Closed to Kakashi and Ryouma] | [Sep. 1st, 2008|09:04 pm] |
Takes place about ten minutes after the start of Give the Other Fella Hell
Kakashi never moved when he had nightmares; a lifetime spent sleeping on the edge of war had twisted that habit into an essential survival trait. He lay next to Ryouma and Tsume, tied to his own softly beeping machines, and slept like the dead.
Which was fitting for a man who dreamed of nothing but the dead.
It was the sharingan's fault. Its first moment in Kakashi's head had been spent memorizing the image of Obito, half-crushed and fully blind, yelling at them to run while the rocks tumbled down. Its next moment had witnessed the birth of Kakashi's first working chidori, and the men that had broken beneath it.
And there were always more.
The mirror-eye had seen nothing, been released for nothing but the worst moments of life; the ones right before it ended. It took them and copied them and laced them through Kakashi's memory, bound into nerves and nightmares. Recalling them whenever he let his guard down enough--because he couldn't turn it off.
Which was something of a problem for a man who couldn't stand to see his teammates fall.
Kakashi dreamed, lying next to Tsume and Ryouma, and lived through the moment when he'd found them--twisted a dozen different ways. Tsume with her face, rotten and oozing down to the bone; and her clone without anything that even resembled a face. Ryouma with his chest flayed away; his fingernails ripped off; his eyes sharded dark with horror. Ryouma who hadn't promised not to die, but who Kakashi had hoped for anyway--because he was the man that broke the rules.
Right up until he hadn't.
The copy-nin slept quietly, locked in a body recovering enough to dream, and watched his rescue fail a thousand times.
Then he woke up.
The room was silent. He gasped one breath and found himself staring at the ceiling, both eyes open wide. The sharingan shrieked until he remembered himself enough to close it. With hands that didn't shake, he skimmed a quick touch down his chest and flanks, and found his armour gone, replaced by nothing but a pair of thin pyjama bottoms. His mask was still there, but twisted to one side. He pulled it right, and eased an IV needle carefully out of his hand.
The catheter was a little more of a problem, but he'd had them enough to know how to get rid of them. He freed himself with a distant noise of pain and dropped the contraption quietly under the bed.
Ryouma was still there. Tsume wasn't. Kakashi glanced across and saw nothing but blood. He jerked away.
It wasn't real. It was just the sharingan.
He still couldn't look.
Very carefully, he slid out of the bed. Sheets rustled; Ryouma twitched once. Kakashi stilled, then moved again when he'd settled. The dogs, both curled on the floor, stirred. Hoshika sat up, ears pricked.
Tsume? Kakashi growled softly, heart beginning to hammer. Where is--
Taken, boss, Shouma replied promptly. By the people-that-smell-like-her.
Inuzuka clan, Kakashi translated, and breathed. Her family. That was fine. She was fine.
He focused on his dogs, watching as they rose to sit at his feet. Hoshika was a little smaller than Shouma, with daintier paws and bigger ears. They looked tired; Shouma still held his injured front paw awkwardly. They'd been guarding for far too long.
Kakashi concentrated, feeling the threads of his chakra, and banished them both before they could protest. Wisps of smoke drifted away. He felt a weight settle into his chest.
He didn't look back at the bed.
He needed to get away. If he left now no one would die. Ryouma was safe and still asleep, and Tusme was with her family. They'd be fine and he wouldn't have killed them--
He could still hear Ryouma's scream.
He glanced back, and saw the glistening red of exposed muscle. The grainy texture of skinned flesh exposed to the elements, twisted between the remains of a tattoo. He shut his eye, taking away vision completely. The sharingan couldn't turn off. It didn't stop--even when he locked it behind a closed lid. The image was still there; it would be until he could find the strength to force it away.
He took a deep breath. It wasn't real. Not anymore.
And he couldn't leave; he'd made a promise. Even if it had only been in the silence of his own head.
Ryouma was part of his pack. Someone he'd sworn to guard.
He swallowed and turned away, searching the room for his armour. His weapons. His clothes.
There was nothing; the nurses had done what they always did, and taken them. They were probably being cleaned and folded neatly into storage. Or returned to the Quartermaster to hand back later.
Beneath his mask, Kakashi bit the corner of his lip. He had no weapons, but he could still guard. Judging by the way he felt, he'd slept for at least a day. And deeply enough not to have moved when someone had shoved a catheter into him. Enough to be mostly recovered, then.
He could feel his own chakra coiling gently beneath his skin, renewing itself. He'd be able to fight, maybe. He'd certainly be able to stay awake.
He didn't want to sleep again.
Very quietly, he found a chair and pulled it into the corner away from the door. Kuromaru, still wired up to his myriad of machines, didn't twitch. Ryouma sighed. Tsume's scent was gently fading. No one woke.
Kakashi folded himself into the chair, pulled his legs up to hide his bare chest, and wrapped his arms around them. A bead of cold sweat rolled slowly down his spine. He breathed through his nose, trying to focus on the scent of sleeping people, and set about forcing the images back.
They weren't real.
He still couldn't look at the bed |
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