Dream § 011
It isn't like you to be so careless with your gear, to let shuriken spill and splatter sharp over darkened pools that slowly congeal, to drop your face in a space meant for shoes, chest armor half-dangling over it, revealing only a flash of white and red. But at least you've taken off that face, the one that isn't really yours, the one that doesn't have a name, other than the animal it represents. There are times and nights when you forget to remove what isn't really you, but then sometimes you're not sure what is or what isn't, if you still are or aren't -- when are, aren't, is, isn't, are all variables that don't exist to begin with.
(Or aren't supposed to, when you're not supposed to.)
But they do exist, even when you tell yourself they don't, because if they didn't exist, you wouldn't be going numb under the icy rush that pours itself over you in pricks of cold that soak through fabric, skin, and into bones, settling deep under tissue and sinew and muscle, stabbing through fresh ravines that open up along your back and side, dripping hot and dark against the winter that creeps inside. (So unlike the heat of his heart when it burst apart in your hand, lightning screaming, screeching, searing in descent.) And it's cold here, but at least it's quiet, and you can't really feel the intensity of the chill that sinks into you, or the heat that was all you could feel every step home after, radiating and pulsing with blood that was and wasn't yours.
And anytime now, he is probably going to burst in and ruin it, and you know this, but really don't give a shit, when water is filling your ears anyway, and you can simply pretend that you can't hear all the fucking endless optimism he always tries to stuff into your ears. (But if your ears are filled with water, he won't be able to fit optimism in, and if he does, maybe it'll simply drown and disintegrate and you won't have to listen to any of it.)
His presence is suddenly filling the air, and he's saying your name and then the water is suddenly off, and the baritone of his voice fills the small room with words like, "You shouldn't be doing this."
~
"Get out." The words come out in a sharp snap of sound.
He doesn't even look to the door, instead shaking his head firmly. "No, Kakashi. Let me take care of those wounds."
"I'm fine." You insist, voice toneless with indifference more frigid than your skin. Your arm doesn't lower, nor does your stance waver, as you stand your ground and draw a steady breath in. You need to get him out of here, need to deal with this on your own, because control is fleeting, momentary, and being so conscious of everything around you reminds you again of everything you don't want to be aware of, don't want to face at this moment. The blood can soak through your shirt and it won't matter, when you have a ritual, a way of decompressing, and he's in the way of you being able to take care of it, and complicating things more when what hold on control you have is fraying apart at the seams, threads wildly unraveling.
"Go home, Gai."
"Kakashi...." He's shaking his head again, bending and picking up the medical kit. "Either take responsibility for your own health, or let me take care of it for you." He never backs down because he doesn't know how to. And instead of moving back, he's moving forwards, holding the kit aloft, a weapon, shield, both at once.
And you're reeling back away from him, chakra spiking dangerously with intent that never should be directed at a friend. But you need your space, need your time, need to go through the steps that will bring you back, and your mind is still hovering between there and here and what control you have over yourself is quickly slipping away-- Gai is in the way, and you need him to go away-- "I'm fine," you insist again in a harsh breath, eye moving between the kit and Gai's face. You've had worse scrapes before and survived, these cuts will eventually congeal in time -- it isn't going to kill you (even though sometimes you wondered when it would) and what you need aren't hands trying to stitch you up when you need to feel, need to bleed, because the pain gives you a focus, and reminds you of what human is still left, not just a weapon harnessed in war with no name or face except for the one that now lies on your floor.
"I'll take care of it later. Just go." Because the longer Gai stays, the longer your resolve strays with flickers of a former comrade's face; eyes dark with accusation, the pain had contorted features that could have once been described as refined (you once trained together in summer, with the sun hot on your back and sweat pricking your skin, the scent of summer grass strong and sweet, kicking up dirt as you sparred) and he only managed to get out a breath that sounded like your name, but you weren't sure because your hand was screaming through the man's chest, and the lightning was loud, the scent of blood too sharp and coppery and suffocating all at once, and if Gai doesn't get the fuck out now, you're going to throw him out by force--
But the lightning is so loud you can't hear, and all of a sudden you're back there, looking down with your hand sparking lightning through the chest of a boy you once failed to save, and he's looking at you with such wide eyes, black bleeding red bleeding shock and dismay and how could you? You see in him the twelve year old boy you once taught, the one who never called you "Sensei" -- and you're trying to pull away, trying to rewind, this isn't happening, this isn't right, you can't possibly be here with your hand in his chest -- he's not there anymore, his face is changing, warping, melting into the image of his older brother when he was only thirteen, and he's looking at you with that same expression, the one that says how could you -- and transforms into the face of a boy half crushed and shattered. He looks at you with his eye empty, bleeding down the unbattered side of his face, smiling as he says, "I hope you're happy now."
[Gai | youthfulpassion]
[ooc | Gai is actually wearing ANBU gear in this dream. And looks a lot younger. The dream, as usual, is through Kakashi's eyes. He sounds younger, though!]
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*He doesn't realize he's awake until he hears the sound he makes, a choked, strangled sound that could've been a swallowed scream, his breath coming in sharp, audible bursts as he tries to breathe. His mind is spinning still with all the images, and for a moment he's a little too caught up in it -- staring down at trembling hands, seeing blood that isn't there -- when he remembers a moment too late this is being fucking broadcasted and then he's scrambling for the Dreamberry. Fingers close around the screen, and the next moment, there's a flash of something like electricity, white-blue and bright, and then the Dreamberry is flying, the world a blur in the screen before it hits something with a hard thunk, then drops down onto the floor. All that can be seen is his ceiling. It looks like there's a crack running through it.*
(Or aren't supposed to, when you're not supposed to.)
But they do exist, even when you tell yourself they don't, because if they didn't exist, you wouldn't be going numb under the icy rush that pours itself over you in pricks of cold that soak through fabric, skin, and into bones, settling deep under tissue and sinew and muscle, stabbing through fresh ravines that open up along your back and side, dripping hot and dark against the winter that creeps inside. (So unlike the heat of his heart when it burst apart in your hand, lightning screaming, screeching, searing in descent.) And it's cold here, but at least it's quiet, and you can't really feel the intensity of the chill that sinks into you, or the heat that was all you could feel every step home after, radiating and pulsing with blood that was and wasn't yours.
And anytime now, he is probably going to burst in and ruin it, and you know this, but really don't give a shit, when water is filling your ears anyway, and you can simply pretend that you can't hear all the fucking endless optimism he always tries to stuff into your ears. (But if your ears are filled with water, he won't be able to fit optimism in, and if he does, maybe it'll simply drown and disintegrate and you won't have to listen to any of it.)
His presence is suddenly filling the air, and he's saying your name and then the water is suddenly off, and the baritone of his voice fills the small room with words like, "You shouldn't be doing this."
~
"Get out." The words come out in a sharp snap of sound.
He doesn't even look to the door, instead shaking his head firmly. "No, Kakashi. Let me take care of those wounds."
"I'm fine." You insist, voice toneless with indifference more frigid than your skin. Your arm doesn't lower, nor does your stance waver, as you stand your ground and draw a steady breath in. You need to get him out of here, need to deal with this on your own, because control is fleeting, momentary, and being so conscious of everything around you reminds you again of everything you don't want to be aware of, don't want to face at this moment. The blood can soak through your shirt and it won't matter, when you have a ritual, a way of decompressing, and he's in the way of you being able to take care of it, and complicating things more when what hold on control you have is fraying apart at the seams, threads wildly unraveling.
"Go home, Gai."
"Kakashi...." He's shaking his head again, bending and picking up the medical kit. "Either take responsibility for your own health, or let me take care of it for you." He never backs down because he doesn't know how to. And instead of moving back, he's moving forwards, holding the kit aloft, a weapon, shield, both at once.
And you're reeling back away from him, chakra spiking dangerously with intent that never should be directed at a friend. But you need your space, need your time, need to go through the steps that will bring you back, and your mind is still hovering between there and here and what control you have over yourself is quickly slipping away-- Gai is in the way, and you need him to go away-- "I'm fine," you insist again in a harsh breath, eye moving between the kit and Gai's face. You've had worse scrapes before and survived, these cuts will eventually congeal in time -- it isn't going to kill you (even though sometimes you wondered when it would) and what you need aren't hands trying to stitch you up when you need to feel, need to bleed, because the pain gives you a focus, and reminds you of what human is still left, not just a weapon harnessed in war with no name or face except for the one that now lies on your floor.
"I'll take care of it later. Just go." Because the longer Gai stays, the longer your resolve strays with flickers of a former comrade's face; eyes dark with accusation, the pain had contorted features that could have once been described as refined (you once trained together in summer, with the sun hot on your back and sweat pricking your skin, the scent of summer grass strong and sweet, kicking up dirt as you sparred) and he only managed to get out a breath that sounded like your name, but you weren't sure because your hand was screaming through the man's chest, and the lightning was loud, the scent of blood too sharp and coppery and suffocating all at once, and if Gai doesn't get the fuck out now, you're going to throw him out by force--
But the lightning is so loud you can't hear, and all of a sudden you're back there, looking down with your hand sparking lightning through the chest of a boy you once failed to save, and he's looking at you with such wide eyes, black bleeding red bleeding shock and dismay and how could you? You see in him the twelve year old boy you once taught, the one who never called you "Sensei" -- and you're trying to pull away, trying to rewind, this isn't happening, this isn't right, you can't possibly be here with your hand in his chest -- he's not there anymore, his face is changing, warping, melting into the image of his older brother when he was only thirteen, and he's looking at you with that same expression, the one that says how could you -- and transforms into the face of a boy half crushed and shattered. He looks at you with his eye empty, bleeding down the unbattered side of his face, smiling as he says, "I hope you're happy now."
[Gai | youthfulpassion]
[ooc | Gai is actually wearing ANBU gear in this dream. And looks a lot younger. The dream, as usual, is through Kakashi's eyes. He sounds younger, though!]
------------------------------------------------------------------
*He doesn't realize he's awake until he hears the sound he makes, a choked, strangled sound that could've been a swallowed scream, his breath coming in sharp, audible bursts as he tries to breathe. His mind is spinning still with all the images, and for a moment he's a little too caught up in it -- staring down at trembling hands, seeing blood that isn't there -- when he remembers a moment too late this is being fucking broadcasted and then he's scrambling for the Dreamberry. Fingers close around the screen, and the next moment, there's a flash of something like electricity, white-blue and bright, and then the Dreamberry is flying, the world a blur in the screen before it hits something with a hard thunk, then drops down onto the floor. All that can be seen is his ceiling. It looks like there's a crack running through it.*