Fic: Smell
Title: Smell
Summary: Sometimes Kakashi just can’t deal with the mission aftermath
Rating: worksafe, just really angsty.
A/N eh…not to pleased with this story, feels like its missing something, but I just had to get it out. *shrugs*
He could smell the blood, and it wasn’t his own. The metallic tang was too strong, just a little too rich. It was all he could smell; he felt like he was drowning in it. He heaved over the sink, gagging dryly.
It was from his clothes, he decided wildly, it must be. See, there was scarlet splash across his shirt and vest, and he could feel the stickiness from his pants, the soaked cloth clinging to his legs like some disgusting second skin. Frantically he tore them off, the fabric tearing under his trembling hand. He stared at the pile for a moment, shaking, clad only in his boxer. He could still smell the blood; it rose from the clothes like noxious fumes. With fumbling hands Kakashi when through the familiar seals, and soon the clothes were flaming merrily, collapsing on themselves into glowing ash.
He could still smell it, like the scent had somehow working its way into skin, and was living there, buried there like some kind of parasite. He looked down and saw that the blood had soaked through his shirt, and had stained his skin. For a wild moment he wondered if he should burn his skin as well. With a growl, he wrenched his head up, only to be confronted by the mirror.
Kakashi glared balefully at the mirror. A murderer looked back, eyes glinting madly under the harsh fluorescent lights. Kakashi bared his teeth at the image and the person in the mirror grinned back, a gory, carmine trail dripping from a lacerated mouth, teeth a violent shade of red.
“FUCK OFF!” Kakashi screamed, voice cracking.
“What’s going on here?” Minato cried, striding into the bathroom. He had been turning in the mission report when he heard Kakashi’s voice. He felt his heart ache when he saw his student, pale, shocky, and looking utterly deranged. The bathroom had the sharp tang of smoke, ash and charred blood, and Minato saw the pile of smoking ash in the corner, and Kakashi’s lack of clothes.
“Come here.” He murmured holding his arms out.
‘No, no!” Kakashi panicked, backing into the sink. “I’ll get you dirty, you’re all clean.” Sensei was always clean, he never smelled like blood, only warm, like hot sunshine on a grassy field.
“But I’m not.” Minato said quietly, sadly. “I’m just like you.” And with those words he took a few steps forward and held Kakashi until the boy’s icy skin was warm again, and until he stopped shaking.
Summary: Sometimes Kakashi just can’t deal with the mission aftermath
Rating: worksafe, just really angsty.
A/N eh…not to pleased with this story, feels like its missing something, but I just had to get it out. *shrugs*
He could smell the blood, and it wasn’t his own. The metallic tang was too strong, just a little too rich. It was all he could smell; he felt like he was drowning in it. He heaved over the sink, gagging dryly.
It was from his clothes, he decided wildly, it must be. See, there was scarlet splash across his shirt and vest, and he could feel the stickiness from his pants, the soaked cloth clinging to his legs like some disgusting second skin. Frantically he tore them off, the fabric tearing under his trembling hand. He stared at the pile for a moment, shaking, clad only in his boxer. He could still smell the blood; it rose from the clothes like noxious fumes. With fumbling hands Kakashi when through the familiar seals, and soon the clothes were flaming merrily, collapsing on themselves into glowing ash.
He could still smell it, like the scent had somehow working its way into skin, and was living there, buried there like some kind of parasite. He looked down and saw that the blood had soaked through his shirt, and had stained his skin. For a wild moment he wondered if he should burn his skin as well. With a growl, he wrenched his head up, only to be confronted by the mirror.
Kakashi glared balefully at the mirror. A murderer looked back, eyes glinting madly under the harsh fluorescent lights. Kakashi bared his teeth at the image and the person in the mirror grinned back, a gory, carmine trail dripping from a lacerated mouth, teeth a violent shade of red.
“FUCK OFF!” Kakashi screamed, voice cracking.
“What’s going on here?” Minato cried, striding into the bathroom. He had been turning in the mission report when he heard Kakashi’s voice. He felt his heart ache when he saw his student, pale, shocky, and looking utterly deranged. The bathroom had the sharp tang of smoke, ash and charred blood, and Minato saw the pile of smoking ash in the corner, and Kakashi’s lack of clothes.
“Come here.” He murmured holding his arms out.
‘No, no!” Kakashi panicked, backing into the sink. “I’ll get you dirty, you’re all clean.” Sensei was always clean, he never smelled like blood, only warm, like hot sunshine on a grassy field.
“But I’m not.” Minato said quietly, sadly. “I’m just like you.” And with those words he took a few steps forward and held Kakashi until the boy’s icy skin was warm again, and until he stopped shaking.