Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of its characters and make no money from this.
Day Twenty-Five: Been Drifting off, Where is the Surface now?
Today was the fifth time Shakes had come to exchange his empty bowls for filled ones. This meant that Sakura had alreay been gone five days. That he'd been alone for five days. His gaze drifted from the floor to the ceiling, to the walls, back to the floor. Red brick walls, gray cement floor, a lightbulb hanging immobile in the center of the room. So empty. So little to focus, no distractions.
Distractions. These were abundant in the jonin's life. They were necessary. Without anything to occupy his hyperactive mind, it ran wild, haywire. Memories buried deep floated back up to the surface, forcefully reminding him of every single failure in his life. He doubted that he could even count them on his fingers anymore. Maybe if he tried with his fingers and toes, he would be able to. Obito... Rin. Even Minato. It was unlikely there was anything he could have done to save the Yondaime, his former sensei in his fight with the Kyuubi. Maybe if he hadn't let Obito down in the first place, he would have lived to raise his son.
His mind raced with countless answers as he wondered how many people's lives his failures had affected, directly or indirectly. Unconsciously, he tried to count them, images of familiar faces flashing so quickly in his mind that dizziness made his head spin. Obito, Rin, Minato, Kushina, Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura... Fuck, any person who was involved in the war. Wasn't he the cause of it, in the end? If he hadn't been such a prick in his teens, maybe his best friend would have lived a normal life. If he'd been the one to be crushed under that boulder. The Uchiha would never have met Madara.
The faint whisper of a distant thought haunted him once more, convicing him that he really was a living curse. His mere existence was proof. Death should have claimed him decades ago already, which only one certainty for the jonin. No god was watching over him, he belonged to the devil. His life was most likely its favorite toy, a great tool to cause ravages on the lives of whoever came in contact with him.
Letting out a shaky breath as his head rolled back against the wall, his palms flew up to cover his face, continuing up for his fingers to rake through his messy silver hair. A string of incomprehensible curses left his lips, folding his legs up so he could rest his forehead on the top of his knees. His uninjured fist pounded against the wall as a sudden baritone shout filled the room, an outburst of vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to express.
If Sakura wasn't alright...
If Sakura wasn't alright, he would kill every last one of them. He'd rip Koroku to shreds even if the last drop of his blood had already spilled. A rampage, a massacre, a white hot rage. The atrocities he was capable of. Would she still look up to him if she was aware of what lengths he would go to protect her? There was only a fine line between the noble desire to protect and dark, unforgivable cruetly, after all.
A bitter chuckle rolled off his lips. How many enemies did he have that would pay fortunes to see him like this. To see the great Sharingan Kakashi break down, scream when no one could hear him, to lack the energy to even stand up.
A sick feeling made his stomach churn, his insides twist as one particular set of eyes he could barely even picture anymore appeared in his mind.
"Father..."
What would the White Fang think of his son? Even if his memories of the man were so blurry he could hardly recognize him anymore, the jonin treasured them preciously. He missed his father terribly, every now and then. Longed for the childhood joys he had been robbed of when Sakumo had taken his own life. His semi-death to Pein's hands at been had blessing to the Copy Nin, had offered him an occasion to meet the White Fang, an honor he would cherish to his last breath.
With some luck, maybe he'd be reunited with his old man soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Click Here
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