Kakashi fic: That Kind of Trash
Title: “That Kind of Trash”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: post-Chapter 425 (SPOILERS for the latest chapters)
Summary: He was always caught in between, walking the thin line between the past and the present; but what of the future? Kakashi makes a choice. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. Lyrics from Today by Halou.
A/N: The spoilers for chapter 425 made me furious; the chapter itself made me tear up. I really wish it doesn’t happen, and I’ve already seen theories that those memories and visions aren’t for nothing. So here’s my version of how it should be.
THAT KIND OF TRASH
Waiting for the axe to fall,
And it will happen;
This I know.
Just not so far…
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m late.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re never on time anymore.”
He chuckles. It is strange to hear this soft reproach, given the circumstances.
She rises from the low perch where she has been seated and walks round him, as though appraising him. He hasn’t seen her for ages, but she hasn’t changed.
“To be honest,” he says insecurely, “I didn’t expect to find you here. I lost you-.”
“Oh, there goes the guilt complex again! I’m begging you, don’t even start! You made a promise to Obito, not me, so go bug him about breaking it.”
She takes long stealthy steps and finally comes to a halt, lingering behind his back where he cannot see her. Her hand hovers tentatively over his shoulder. The tips of her fingers brush the rough material of his vest. He can feel no pressure. He isn’t even sure she’s touching him.
“I’m dying,” he says as he turns to face her.
She shrugs. “Either that and you’re delusional, or you’re already dead and this is all real. As real as any afterlife can be, at least.”
He ponders briefly what he would choose. She mistakes his silence for something else.
“You don’t want to die?”
“I’m not afraid if that’s what you mean. Can’t say that’s what I planned to be doing at this time when I woke up today, but some things go unscheduled.”
“I feel like dancing.”
Her fingers are chilly as she takes him by the hand. She presses herself against him, and their bodies sway lightly like slender young trees in the wind. It is hardly a dance, but it makes him feel at peace.
“You know,” she smiles playfully, “I could play the all-powerful goddess and pretend I could let you go if you answered one question of mine.”
“Bring it on.”
Her fingers graze his cheek.
“Do you have anything to live for?”
He never asked himself that question. He was always caught in between, walking the thin line between the past and the present, neither here nor there - but dying for real, that was a whole different story. They were taught their loyalties lay with the living; then why did it hurt to let the dead go so much?
“Someone will cry for me,” he replies after a short pause.
That really shouldn’t be his concern.
She peels his mask off curiously. He does nothing to stop her. She saw his face enough times.
“I remember the day I transplanted this eye,” she murmurs, tracing the scar on his face gently.
“It was one hell of a day,” he says.
“He’s there, you know. Waiting to kick your ass for the broken promise. Somewhere out there.” She waves her hand indefinitely. “And he’ll be pissed when he finds you. How old are you again?”
He chuckles mildly. “You know how old I am.”
“Yeah. And we both know it’s not old enough. Moreover, we both know there is no such thing as ‘old enough to die’. There is no such thing as ‘ready to die’ either.”
His hand flicks up to his face. He pulls the mask back on to conceal a smirk. He shouldn’t be so skeptic about this dying thing; after all he was the one who would waste hours talking to the dead man like he could hear him.
“I should thank you,” he says. “I lost you but…”
“I didn’t lose you. By rights, I should make you revoke that promise.”
She takes a step back and pools of darkness swirl all around her. He is losing sight of her yet again, but this time around, knowing that somewhere, elsewhere, she is safe, he doesn’t have much fear.
* * *
“I really wanted to keep it. Those who leave their comrades are worse than trash, you know. You think he’d call me trash for this dying thing?”
“Sensei…”
Slowly he opens his eyes. He sees double and promptly squeezes the Sharingan eye shut. His body feels comfortably numb, but he knows it’s just an interlude. He will be hurting all over, and it’s perfectly normal. Dying can be painless; living never is.
He focuses his wandering gaze on the splash of pink and white near him. He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t feel anything, but he is most likely alive because everything is so bright and she is here.
“Sakura…”
She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Instead, there’s a small, constrained gasp, wet and heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were-.”
She tries hard not to give vent to her tears. He makes an attempt to lift his hand so he could touch her and show her he is real and solid and alive, but he’s completely drained of energy. Apparently, so is she for he is sure that she was the one to patch him up. Must have let it take the best of her.
“I was,” he croaks. “Didn’t like it there.”
Sakura snorts through the streaming tears. “Then don’t go back.”
Kakashi turns his head with effort. Everything here is just too bright. Life is built upon the foundation of contrast. Light versus dark, bright versus dull, insensibility versus…
He would rather be hurting.
“I won’t,” he says and smiles to himself.
Something tells him the way his life has turned it should have taught him out of giving promises he would probably fail to keep. But what the hell, he knows he is incorrigible. He’s just that kind of trash.
November 21, 2008
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: post-Chapter 425 (SPOILERS for the latest chapters)
Summary: He was always caught in between, walking the thin line between the past and the present; but what of the future? Kakashi makes a choice. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. Lyrics from Today by Halou.
A/N: The spoilers for chapter 425 made me furious; the chapter itself made me tear up. I really wish it doesn’t happen, and I’ve already seen theories that those memories and visions aren’t for nothing. So here’s my version of how it should be.
THAT KIND OF TRASH
Waiting for the axe to fall,
And it will happen;
This I know.
Just not so far…
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m late.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re never on time anymore.”
He chuckles. It is strange to hear this soft reproach, given the circumstances.
She rises from the low perch where she has been seated and walks round him, as though appraising him. He hasn’t seen her for ages, but she hasn’t changed.
“To be honest,” he says insecurely, “I didn’t expect to find you here. I lost you-.”
“Oh, there goes the guilt complex again! I’m begging you, don’t even start! You made a promise to Obito, not me, so go bug him about breaking it.”
She takes long stealthy steps and finally comes to a halt, lingering behind his back where he cannot see her. Her hand hovers tentatively over his shoulder. The tips of her fingers brush the rough material of his vest. He can feel no pressure. He isn’t even sure she’s touching him.
“I’m dying,” he says as he turns to face her.
She shrugs. “Either that and you’re delusional, or you’re already dead and this is all real. As real as any afterlife can be, at least.”
He ponders briefly what he would choose. She mistakes his silence for something else.
“You don’t want to die?”
“I’m not afraid if that’s what you mean. Can’t say that’s what I planned to be doing at this time when I woke up today, but some things go unscheduled.”
“I feel like dancing.”
Her fingers are chilly as she takes him by the hand. She presses herself against him, and their bodies sway lightly like slender young trees in the wind. It is hardly a dance, but it makes him feel at peace.
“You know,” she smiles playfully, “I could play the all-powerful goddess and pretend I could let you go if you answered one question of mine.”
“Bring it on.”
Her fingers graze his cheek.
“Do you have anything to live for?”
He never asked himself that question. He was always caught in between, walking the thin line between the past and the present, neither here nor there - but dying for real, that was a whole different story. They were taught their loyalties lay with the living; then why did it hurt to let the dead go so much?
“Someone will cry for me,” he replies after a short pause.
That really shouldn’t be his concern.
She peels his mask off curiously. He does nothing to stop her. She saw his face enough times.
“I remember the day I transplanted this eye,” she murmurs, tracing the scar on his face gently.
“It was one hell of a day,” he says.
“He’s there, you know. Waiting to kick your ass for the broken promise. Somewhere out there.” She waves her hand indefinitely. “And he’ll be pissed when he finds you. How old are you again?”
He chuckles mildly. “You know how old I am.”
“Yeah. And we both know it’s not old enough. Moreover, we both know there is no such thing as ‘old enough to die’. There is no such thing as ‘ready to die’ either.”
His hand flicks up to his face. He pulls the mask back on to conceal a smirk. He shouldn’t be so skeptic about this dying thing; after all he was the one who would waste hours talking to the dead man like he could hear him.
“I should thank you,” he says. “I lost you but…”
“I didn’t lose you. By rights, I should make you revoke that promise.”
She takes a step back and pools of darkness swirl all around her. He is losing sight of her yet again, but this time around, knowing that somewhere, elsewhere, she is safe, he doesn’t have much fear.
* * *
“I really wanted to keep it. Those who leave their comrades are worse than trash, you know. You think he’d call me trash for this dying thing?”
“Sensei…”
Slowly he opens his eyes. He sees double and promptly squeezes the Sharingan eye shut. His body feels comfortably numb, but he knows it’s just an interlude. He will be hurting all over, and it’s perfectly normal. Dying can be painless; living never is.
He focuses his wandering gaze on the splash of pink and white near him. He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t feel anything, but he is most likely alive because everything is so bright and she is here.
“Sakura…”
She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Instead, there’s a small, constrained gasp, wet and heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were-.”
She tries hard not to give vent to her tears. He makes an attempt to lift his hand so he could touch her and show her he is real and solid and alive, but he’s completely drained of energy. Apparently, so is she for he is sure that she was the one to patch him up. Must have let it take the best of her.
“I was,” he croaks. “Didn’t like it there.”
Sakura snorts through the streaming tears. “Then don’t go back.”
Kakashi turns his head with effort. Everything here is just too bright. Life is built upon the foundation of contrast. Light versus dark, bright versus dull, insensibility versus…
He would rather be hurting.
“I won’t,” he says and smiles to himself.
Something tells him the way his life has turned it should have taught him out of giving promises he would probably fail to keep. But what the hell, he knows he is incorrigible. He’s just that kind of trash.
November 21, 2008