Chapter Text
Every Shinobi has their own theories on what comes after death. Many subscribe to the belief of the Pure Lands; a place with no war or strife. A place where every soul could come together in peace and live out the rest of their existence with everyone they’ve ever loved or cared about.
In Kakashi’s opinion, it sounds utterly boring. That’s not to say it’s a flawed concept in and of itself, but it sounds rather like the Infinite Tsukuyomi Madara (Obito? Kaguya? Zetsu?) had tried to plunge the world into, and if that was the case, what point was there in living in the first place? He also rather strongly believed the existence of beings such as the Shinigami, and jutsu like the Edo Tensei also rather handily disproved the Pure Lands theory.
If souls really did move on, then how could they be summoned back with such ritual ease? Especially people like Minato-sensei or Sarutobi-sama, whose souls had supposedly been consumed by the aforementioned God of Death? How had he spoken with his father, who had been stuck waiting for decades?
No, Kakashi really didn’t believe in the Pure Lands - as lovely a concept as it was - but neither did he believe that souls were destroyed after death. And really, it was for quite the same reason. If souls could be summoned after they departed, it was only logical that the souls themselves stayed intact. For Kakashi, this also ruled out the theory of reincarnation. Or no, perhaps not ruled out, but made the whole concept rather uncomfortable. He had a feeling that if the souls were ripped out of their new bodies and summoned back, it wouldn’t end so well for anyone involved.
In the end, Kakashi would rather brush the concept off; a few well placed eye-smiles and lackadaisical replies to keep himself from being drawn into philosophical conversation about something he really wasn’t certain of anyway. What happened after he died wouldn't really be his problem anymore, so why waste time musing over it?
And then one day, so fast he doesn’t even remember how, it became his problem.
The first thing he registers is the intense, near blinding headache searing his corneas and forcing a weak whimper from his throat. He’s lying prostrate on the ground and Kakashi is relatively certain the intense smell emanating from his left is urine of the human persuasion. It takes a moment to recenter himself (and really, just how bad had his pain tolerance gotten that a weak headache could take him out like this?), but slowly, Kakashi forces the muscles in his abdomen to contract and force his body up into a sitting position.
His nostrils burn, his left eye won’t open all the way, and the sight of the rancid alleyway he’s sprawled in hits him like a kunai to the gut. Kakashi knows this place. He's also rather certain that the whole thing had been leveled during the Kyuubi incident, and then again during Pein’s invasion, where Kakashi had then directed Tenzou to put a new apartment complex directly on top of it.
This alley shouldn’t exist anymore, and Kakashi can’t quite bring himself to look down at the sorry state he’s in. He forces himself to his feet, deliberately ignoring how he’s not even tall enough to touch the lid of the dumpster he’d been hidden behind, and staggers his way forward. For a nightmare, this is shockingly realistic. There’s voices at the juncture in front of him, and Kakashi absentmindedly mouths along, word for word.
“How can you even fathom walking away from this right now, Jiraiya? You are a jounin of Konohagakure-no-sato, are you not? Have you no shame? No conscience?” snaps a cold voice, dripping with venom.
“ I’m not the one walking away right now, Oro-teme,” another, deeper voice shoots back, the edges of something more than anger creeping into his voice. “I’m gathering intel. I’m keeping our forces from being decimated overnight! You can’t say what I’m doing isn’t important!”
“That is not even remotely what I am implying, and you are fully aware of the fact,” the other man hisses, chakra shifting ominously. “You are acting as spymaster, and I am not ignorant of the invaluable information you have brought back to our frontline fighters. You have saved lives; entire battalions. That is not the factor I am contesting.”
“Then don’t argue at all! What I’m doing here is just as important as what you’re doing in the field. Just because I’m not up front, intimidating Iwa shinobi with my freaky snake-face doesn’t mean I’m not helping.” There’s a light scuff of shoes on stone, and even though Kakashi can’t see them now, he knows Jiraiya is jabbing a finger into the other man’s chest.
“How many more have to die, Jiraiya? How many more do I have to bring home in body scrolls? They revile me in the field for keeping them safe, and their families spit on my name in equal turn when I bring them back in pieces.” There’s a rush of pinched air, someone exhaling through clenched teeth. “Your intel is invaluable, however it appears we have a difference in opinion on what will decisively end this war.”
Jiraiya lets out a derisive snort, taking a step back and kicking at the wall. “A difference of opinion, Orochimaru? What could you possibly know that would fix this whole war with me at the frontlines? So I save a few more shinobi; what happens when a whole other battalion is blown to pieces because I missed something?”
“You speak as if it is not your own comrades who are dying in the first place!” Orochimaru exclaims, an edge of true frustration creeping into his tone. “I am not enough on my own, Jiraiya. If you and Tsunade were to finally get yourselves together and come to our aid-”
“ Tsunade isn’t coming back, ” Kakashi whispers at the same time Jiraiya shouts it, grabbing Orochimaru’s collar and dragging him forward.
“Just because you’re an unfeeling bastard doesn’t mean she is! She’s lost everything, and now you’re going to pin this war on her too? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jiraiya snarls, shaking the man in his grip slightly.
“You think me unfeeling?” Orochimaru’s voice comes back, soft-spoken but ice cold. “You think I have not lost anything from the strife of our village?”
“Of course you’ve lost people, idiot. That’s not what I’m saying,” Jiraiya says, this time with much less heat. He drops the other man and whirls away, back to Orochimaru. “But Tsunade- she’s got nothing left. Her clan, the love of her life. It’s all gone, and we have to respect her decision.”
“Respect it?” Orochimaru inquires, tone flat. “And how many more shinobi should die of perfectly treatable wounds while we ‘respect it’, Jiraiya? I am only one man, and despite any medical knowledge I have assimilated by having a medic of Tsunade’s caliber assisting me for so long, I am not her. This childishness has run its course long enough. If Sensei were not such a sentimental fool, she would have been declared rouge months ago. What she needs is a-”
“You’re a real bastard, you know that, Orochimaru?” Jiraiya cuts him off again.
“And you are blinded by your own emotions and cowardice.”
There’s a tense, stilted silence for a few moments, before it’s broken by a shaky, barely controlled inhale.
“I’m not doing this. I’m not going to argue with you about this. You’re like a Sage-damned broken record, I swear. You can fuck right off with your selfish, unfeeling bullshit. I have intel to gather, and every second I’m wasting arguing here with you is people dying.” Kakashi can hear as Jiraiya walks away, if only just. “If you can’t empathize like a normal human, then I’m done with this. Go complain to Sensei, and maybe try and find it in that dead heart of yours to appreciate the fact that at least you still have someone.”
And then he’s gone. Kakashi half-heartedly tracks the man’s chakra signature for a few moments until it slips silently from his range. It’s odd, he hadn’t stuck around nearly this long before. Hadn’t seen how this argument had played out, or if it had even continued after Kakashi had made his rather unsubtle escape to the rooftops to avoid any confrontation. He doesn’t know what it says of his psyche that it’s filling in the gaps of a dream like this, but is then startled out of his fugue as Orochimaru speaks again.
“What have I, Jiraiya?” he whispers, Kakashi’s sensitive ears straining to make the words out. “A team in shambles, a Sensei who can no longer bear to look me in the eyes, and a village that denounces my presence in the same breath they request I save their lives. A buried team of genin, an empty home. What have I, Jiraiya?”
Kakashi wonders if this is the moment that truly broke the man; the one that turned him from Konoha’s last line of defense into the monster he became. What was the old adage? ‘A child who is not embraced by their village will burn it down to feel its warmth,’ or something like that. He wonders what that says of Orochimaru’s character that he stayed loyal for so long. What that means for the man. What it means that he’s hearing it now.
Kakashi finally drops his lopsided gaze downwards, taking in the scuffed, stained genin blues and child-sized sandals that were so readily produced during a wartime. He’s not sure if it’s better or worse that the village had to make these custom for him, his tiny, five year old frame too slight for even the smallest issued sizes. His knuckles are scraped raw and flaked with dried blood, and his bangs scratch uncomfortably against his forehead.
Reaching up, Kakashi absently loosens his Hitai-ate, brushing his silvery hair backwards and pulling the blue cloth downwards to cover his swollen eye. It’s uncomfortable, but nothing he’s not used to. From there, Kakashi hesitates. He knows what today is. He knows what’s waiting for him at home, and exactly what to expect when he pulls the shoji doors apart the moment he steps inside. He wonders fleetingly if perhaps he could anonymously tip off the Hokage to do a wellness check, but immediately casts the idea aside.
It’s a wartime. The last thing the village is going to waste their resources on is a mental health check for their most hated resident. No, Kakashi is going to have to go, pick up the small scroll left behind in the doorway and press it into the Jounin-commander’s hands once more. Perhaps this time, it won’t be as bloodstained, since Kakashi knows not to waste his time checking for a pulse. The blood was still warm last time. Maybe this time, he’s been delayed long enough that it will have cooled.
Considering this is a nightmare, Kakashi has a feeling it won’t be the case. One thing he is sure of, though, is that he doesn’t want to go alone. Not if there’s another option openly waiting for him at the lip of this cursed alleyway. Kakashi takes a measured step forward, studiously ignoring the ache in his ribs as he makes his way out of the filthy side-street, and catches sight of the Snake Sannin for the first time.
Outright, the man looks entirely unruffled, and if Kakashi hadn’t known he’d just been in a massive argument with his former teammate, he probably would have missed the very slight tension in his jaw and clenched fists hidden in the sleeves of his dark, informal kimono. Kakashi wonders if, perhaps, the man is back on medical leave, as he can’t fathom another reason he would be standing around in anything other than his standard uniform during a World War, but at the same time, his mind is a strange place. He should probably just be grateful it’s not bright green and orange, and that the Sannin isn’t sporting a bowl cut.
Slitted, amber eyes track his movement, seemingly writing him off as inconsequential, and the man turns to leave. Without fully knowing what he’s doing, Kakashi allows his body to act of its own accord, tiny fist catching on a long sleeve and tugging sharply. Orochimaru doesn’t startle, simply turning slowly and looking down at Kakashi with a (shockingly) patient look on his face.
“Yes, child?” the man asks, tone impossibly smooth.
Kakashi can’t even find it in himself to be miffed at the write-off, as he knows for a fact he’s basically the size of a large housecat at this age. Instead, he makes simple eye contact with the man and pulls his sleeve again, this time far more gentle. Orochimaru takes a conciliatory step forward, worryingly content to follow Kakashi’s lead. It’s his dream, though, so that probably makes sense, somehow.
He lets Kakashi lead him through empty backroads and rundown civilian sectors for long minutes of silence, studiously ignoring any disgusted looks or not-so-subtly barbed whispers floating around. Surprisingly, they seem to be in equal amounts direct at the both of them, and Kakashi feels almost sick at the blatant disrespect towards a man who has been keeping the village safe for so long. They’re more than three quarters of the way back to the compound before Orochimaru speaks up.
“You are Sakumo-san’s son, are you not?” he inquires, gaze raking his form up and down.
Kakashi answers with a tense bob of his head, not quite wanting to speak yet and shatter the tentative peace they’ve managed to acquire. He doesn’t know exactly what Orochimaru thinks of the whole White Fang situation, but judging from his calm demeanor, Kakashi has a feeling the man is one of the few who actually appreciates what his father had done.
“You are quite young to be wearing a Hitai-ate. Even during a wartime, it seems rather unprecedented.”
Kakashi can’t help but agree, wishing his younger self would have been a bit more like Shikamaru and allowed himself just a touch longer to truly enjoy the freedoms of being a child.
“Alas, but war makes monsters of us all,” Orochimaru continues, his tone wistful. “I should only hope that our illustrious leaders are intelligent enough not to send such potential onto the frontlines to be slaughtered.”
Kakashi can’t help but let out a derisive snort, and he sees the ghost of a smirk grace the Sannin’s face.
“Quite,” he agrees simply. Silence stretches for a few moments before the man speaks up again. “Did your father send you to fetch me? It has been quite some time since we have spoken.”
Kakashi bites his lip, mask camouflaging the motion as he grips Orochimaru’s sleeve that much tighter.
“I see,” the man says after a moment, and they both fall back into silence.
When they finally reach the gates of the compound, Kakashi freezes so abruptly Orochimaru nearly steps on him. There’s a flash of… something in his gaze before it tracks over the abandoned, decrepit remains of the Hatate clan’s home. Kakashi can see the man putting the pieces together in his head, so he starts walking again before he can’t. Within moments, he can smell the thick, cloying scent of blood filling the air with his enhanced senses.
Orochimaru tenses incredibly subtly, and Kakashi wonders if the man’s sense of smell is as developed as his own. They make it a few more feet towards the main house before Orochimaru speaks up.
“Wait,” he orders, halting them both. He turns to Kakashi, eyes boring into his own. “Do not move from this spot without my permission. Do you understand me?”
He’s gripping both of Kakashi's shoulders now, making sure the message sinks in before pushing onwards. Kakashi can’t help but feel oddly touched, the amount of care displayed for someone who is all but a stranger somewhat jarring.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kakashi replies anyway, tone devoid of life. “I already know. I’ve already seen.”
Orochimaru doesn’t react outwardly, far too advanced a shinobi to give off such blatant tells, but Kakashi can see as something in his eyes flickers and dies. A shame, really.
“Regardless, do not move from here. It is not necessary for you to see it again.”
Kakashi just nods, deadened gaze dropping down to his feet. There’s a brush of knuckles against his hair that sends him reeling, a sort of comfort he would never have expected from someone like Orochimaru before the man turns back to the building. He strides forward, looking all for the world like a man on his way to the battlefield rather than an execution.
Kakashi thinks he might be sick as Orochimaru slides the door open, the thick smell intensifying tenfold, intermingled with the scent that is irrefutably pack. He watches the man blink, bending down to pick up the sad excuse for a note his father had left and scanning it briefly. He steps inside where Kakashi can’t see, and only moments later what he assumes is a shadow clone reemerges and takes off at preturnatural speeds towards the Hokage tower.
Several minutes later, Orochimaru steps back out into daylight, his expressionless face looking far too hard for Kakashi’s comfort. The Sannin walks back over to him, placing a hand on the back of his neck and steering him gently out of the compound.
“Hatake Kakashi, that is your name, correct?” he asks as they cross through the gates.
Kakashi nods, tucking himself slightly closer to the man to avoid stumbling.
“It is a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance then, Kakashi-kun. My name is Orochimaru, though I am rather certain you aware.” Orochimaru squeezes the base of his neck as Kakashi nods before letting his arm drift back to his side. “There are no words I can offer to make what you have just witnessed easier. It is a horror that no-one of any age should have to witness, let alone someone as young as yourself. The callousness of our village will never cease to amaze me.”
Orochimaru tugs Kakashi further into his side, nearly tucking his face into the extremely soft kimono to block out the latest round of glares the villagers muster up at their arrival. With his left eye already covered, and the rest of his world all but blocked out by billowing black sleeves, his piercing headache eases for the first time.
"What I can say is that you need not worry over the particulars. I will take care of everything."