WARNING: M/M, rape, violence, and shota. This is not a happy fic.
In Our World
Sakumo x Kakashi
Written for the March Contest (theme: betrayal) at "Dads Gone Wild" over at Y!Gal.
Note: For given/surname order, names of jutsu, etc, I normally will use the translation used in the anime – ie, given name first, Kyuubi = Nine-Tailed Fox, Konoha = The Hidden Leaf Village. This is just personal preference, but I know it annoys some purists.
Also, for canon references – Kakashi's age at various points in his life, historical facts, and all that stuff that I just can't store in my head – I have used .com, since it seems to be the most extensive and generally accurate source. When something (like Kakashi's mother's name) just doesn't exist in canon thus far, I've made it up ;)
People talk about the end of the world with a morbid fascination, with fear and awe, but such little faith. Underneath it all, they know it will eventually happen. Asteroid, super-volcano, nuclear war...somehow. But they don't really believe.
They can imagine scenarios of hell on earth, an apocalypse to consume the entire world and everything in it. The only problem is that they don't have the scope to realize that it would swallow them up and everyone they know and the billions that they don't.
It wouldn't be so bad for most, though. Most would never realize that their world was gone. But for any hypothetical survivors...
There are only a few people alive that can even begin to imagine what it would be like to be among them. Most are older shinobi, but not all.
Iruka Umino, and the rest of those who lived through the attack on the village, those who were old enough to remember it, but too young to fight and die.
Sasuke Uchiha, who saw his own world end at his brother's hands. I suppose Itachi counts as one, too, even though he was the one who ended that world.
The only other was a young ANBU captain, who led a team of eight men against the Nine-Tailed Fox, who was the only survivor of his team, though the other men were far more experienced, who was only fourteen years old.
But that wasn't the first world I saw come to an abrupt and violent end. In fact, my world began at the end of my mother's. She was a civilian medic from a rural village in the Land of Lightning. My father met her on a mission during a brief struggle between the Leaf and Cloud Villages, and within a few months, they were living together, and she was pregnant. Shortly after they realized, they were married, but it was only on the day of their wedding that my father found out her age. She was fifteen.
Naturally, there were a few raised eyebrows, but if the main family of the Hyuuga were allowed, under the table, of course, to take branch family children as sex-slaves – a well-known, but generally unspoken fact – a quiet marriage between a fifteen year old girl and a thirty-nine year old man couldn't very well be prohibited.
They enjoyed seven months of a content, loving matrimony before she died in labor.
I knew none of this when I was younger. It trickled down to me through friends of the family, mostly Minato-sensei and his wife, Kushina, who had been close with my mother, and, ironically enough, had shared the same fate years later.
I spent my childhood ignorant of the world I had brought to a close.
But as I grew, Sakumo – he always insisted that I call him by his first name – began to shape a world for us. He started me at academy early, and pushed me to excel. I graduated in a year and was placed on a genin team. I competed at the chunin exams a year later, and was one of three genin to be promoted. The others were far older than me, and I didn't know them. After that, missions were few and far between – Sakumo insisted that I was too young to be constantly out of the village. He also took fewer missions, to spend more time with me.
We were each all the other needed, and our world began to close in around us – the occasional mission or visitor the only interruptions, seen as nuisances. When I was seven, Sakumo was called away for a very important mission – a nine-man team was required, and the village needed the very best to staff the squad. He had no choice but to leave.
Minato-sensei – my personal trainer long before Obito, Rin, and I formed a team – agreed to stay with me while he was gone.
"It's so dark in here!" was the first thing he said when he came inside, and he pulled all of the long curtains open to the sunlight, exposing the dust and cobwebs of the house.
I sat indifferently at my desk, looking over old mission reports. If Minato-sensei saw anything wrong, he didn't mention it.
The weeks went by.
The team was long due back without a word from them. I could see the panic in Minato-sensei's eyes whenever the subject came up. The whole team was expected to be dead.
After a month and a half, the Hokage sent out a backup team, which returned later that night. They had come across the team less than fifty miles outside the border. Seconds after Minato-sensei told me they were on their way, I was at the gate, waiting. Eight men walked through – tired, but unharmed. My father was carried in on a stretcher.
"It was my fault," he told me later in his hospital room, and his speech morphine-slurred, but he spoke with conviction. "The mission failed because of me."
I started to shake my head, to tell him that it couldn't have been his fault, but at that moment, a nurse came in and shooed me out. Another followed me.
"You should know," she said in that obnoxious baby-talk that I still got far too often. "Your daddy's in very bad condition, okay, sweetie? He's gonna be okay, but he's gonna need a lot of help around the house when he gets home. Do you think you can do that?"
I nodded. "I'll just stop taking B-ranks altogether."
She looked surprised, but never talked that way to me again.
It wasn't too much longer before the doctors sat us both down and told us that his left femur and right ankle were so badly fractured that he would never go on a mission again. They weren't one hundred percent sure that he would even walk again. But the rest of his injuries had healed, and they just needed to keep him overnight for observation. In the morning, if he was feeling up to it, he could go home, but they recommended at least three more weeks of bed-rest before he tried to move around. Physical therapy was available on an out-patient basis, and they went so far as to suggest that he might just be walking on a cane in a few months, providing that the fracture healed in the best possible manner.
Sakumo put on a brave face, shrugged and smiled, but it wasn't right. It wasn't his usual smile at coming home.
I pushed him home in his new wheelchair, his leg still elevated in his cast.
The months passed, and I didn't leave the house once, always by his side. A medic came to the estate twice a week for therapy, and Sakumo took his first few painful steps, unable to put any weight at all on his left leg.
When the medic left, Sakumo put his arms around me, smiling through the lingering pain in his legs, and said, "I'll be better soon, Kagami." He had given me that nickname after he came back from the mission. I was thrilled whenever he called me that – it means "mirror," and I saw it as a comparison to him. I was so proud that he thought of me as a reflection of himself.
Sakumo smiled again, kissing me.
And then we heard the shouts outside, and the breaking of glass. Sakumo jumped to his feet, leaning heavily against his cane, wincing at the pressure on his still-tender ankle. He limped to the door, but I overtook him and ran outside first, his tanto in hand. There was no way he could defend himself.
As I slammed the front door open, a man sprawled to the ground. One of the eight-man team. The rest weren't far behind him, sporting heavy stones and cans of red paint. I glanced back at the door. The word, "Traitor," was crudely scrawled in dripping red across its surface, and two of the front windows were shattered.
The vandals jumped back in surprise, but quickly regrouped and advanced towards me. My age and size were my greatest advantage – no one ever took me seriously in battle.
"You two have a lot of nerve staying in the village!" The apparent leader of the group barked.
"Leave us alone!" I gritted out. "If it wasn't for my father, you'd be dead!"
"So he says! As it is, the village just lost an entire outpost. A thousand shinobi and civilian lives lost in one attack, just because your father abandoned our mission!"
I had heard enough. I sprung towards them. The blade was awkward in my hands, but effective. As soon as they saw my speed, and realized that they were completely defenseless against me, they scattered and ran.
Watching them retreat, Sakumo pulled a scroll out of his vest pocket and summoned the ninja dogs.
"Yes, sir!" the oldest of our dogs barked the second he appeared.
"There are vandals on our property. Secure the corners of the estate, and keep on patrol at all times."
He grunted, and sprinted off.
Then, our world closed completely, and it would be a very long time before it opened up again, even a little.
That day, we were in Sakumo's bed, his arms tight around me. It was how we passed most of the time, just tangled together like kittens. He kissed my hair. Without therapy, it was difficult for him to walk, so I brought him his meals in bed most of the time – he refused to touch the wheelchair.
"I love you, Kagami," he said softly, and sat up, stretching. "I'd like to go outside."
I nodded, and led him out slowly, his cane clicking against the floors.
No sooner than we had sat down in the grass together, a figure appeared out of the trees.
"Who is that?" Sakumo asked, tensing. No one had gotten past our dogs yet.
"Sakumo!" the figure shouted, sprinting into view. It was Minato-sensei. He stopped just short of us, running a hand through his wiry mop with a worried look. "Have you been up here this whole time?"
"This is private property, Minato," Sakumo said patiently. "You're trespassing."
Minato-sensei laughed, looking more cocky than worried for a moment. "There's no such thing as trespassing to the Hokage."
"The Third resigned a month ago. I'm here on official business."
"Well, what is it? The sooner it's finished, the sooner you can leave us alone."
Minato's brow creased. "Sakumo, it's not healthy for a growing boy to spend all of his time at home. That said, it's not very good for you, either."
"Is that your official business?"
Sighing, Minato sat next to us. "No. I was looking over old mission reports. The last one you submitted doesn't match up with your team."
"Doesn't it?" Sakumo laughed bitterly. "Well, then, maybe I lied to make myself look better."
"They've all been suspended. Their story is impossible. There just isn't any conceivable way that you could have completed the mission alone, and it's unlikely that you were the sole reason they got captured."
"Is that what they say happened? It doesn't matter. In the eyes of the village, I'm a traitor. Whether I am or not, I've permanently damaged my family's honor."
After that, Minato left with a sigh that clearly spoke his giving up on the two of us.
Inside, Sakumo turned to me, the lines in his eyes and forehead deepening. "Everyone I ever trusted has betrayed me," he said. There was no self-pity in it. It was just a statement, a fact. "How long before you betray me, Kagami?"
"I won't," I replied, smiling as always at my nickname, and it was just as much a fact.
Sakumo thumbed the handle of his cane, smiling. "I wonder," he said. "How much would it take? How far does your love go? What would I have to do before you left me?"
Then his expression strained.
"Do you remember when you came back from the hospital?" he asked. I tipped my head in questioning. I had been to the hospital several times after missions.
"When we lost the baby."
Staring, I asked, "The baby...?"
"When he died. I don't remember what happened exactly, but you left me. You left for a long time, and I was alone. But you still came back, even though it was my fault."
I glanced at the door, considering running after Minato-sensei. Something was wrong with Sakumo. What was he talking about?
Suddenly, Sakumo grabbed my arm and pulled me up in front of him, between his knees. Frightened, I grabbed his hand by reflex, not to stop him, but just to hold it.
"You still hold my hand?" he asked, his eyes out of focus. The way he spoke now was broken and choppy, as if he couldn't hold anything, even his own words, together. "You won't! I know you won't!"
With his free hand, he snatched his tanto from the dresser. I squeezed my eyes shut as he pressed its tip to my back. Then, without ever cutting me, he dragged it down, ripping a clean line through my clothes. He pulled off my ruined shirt, then my shorts, and, when they were off, his cane struck my thighs.
"Let go!" he hissed. Shaking my head, I clung harder to his hand, suddenly crying. It wasn't the pain – I had dealt with enough of missions – but I was surprised and frightened.
It struck again, over my back, the insides of my knees. I collapsed against Sakumo's chest, unable to stand.
Again, he shouted, "Let go!"
But I still refused.
Growling, he tossed his cane away and hauled me up into his lap, shifting his clothes around. I felt my eyes widen as something warm brushed my thigh, just as his hands pried my buttocks apart.
"How far do I have to go, Kagami? I know you'll leave me!"
Any normal child would have been confused, would have had no idea what was happening or what to do, but I was a shinobi, and part of that training was to deal with the possibility of rape. If a shinobi is captured on a mission, he is taught to expect any and all tactics to gain information, including humiliation and sexual assault. What could I do but follow protocol? I relaxed, going limp as I had been instructed – to fight would make the pain worse, and the injuries could be critical.
Then I let my mind wander, oblivious to pain. I thought as if nothing was wrong, and that all would be normal when I returned. I thought about what I would make for dinner, if Sakumo would want to go outside again. I thought about requesting to be made a jōnin The Hokage keeps a list of candidates and appoints them based on their credentials and the village's need. If I were a jōnin, I would go on missions again. Sakumo got around better on his own now; he didn't need me as much as he had in the months after his injury. I could get out of the house, away from our world and the suffocating walls around us, away from Sakumo's crushing embrace, his kisses, all too much, too intense. I could leave, I could run away, and never...
I couldn't think anymore. All of my thoughts led back to the very moment, to Sakumo's hands, his mouth, to the sharp pain that slowly dulled and turned to an ache – an ache that burned away into something sweeter that bubbled deep in my body until it boiled over, An unseen hand arching my back, pulling on my tendons until my head flew back and my toes pointed and then curled, wrenching my entire being into a violent climax. Our world shattered, and formed anew, from quiet, peaceful purgatory into a monstrous hell that I prayed would only last for that moment.
I realized that I was screaming, and that I had never let go of his hand.
He looked into my eyes, and I could see their reflection in his – huge, wet, reddened. His were suddenly clear, and terrified.
"Kakashi..." he whispered.
I trembled, on the edge of shock, and fainted.
When I finally opened my eyes again, it was dark, and I was in my own bed in fresh clothes. I struggled to remember what had happened, but I couldn't. It was like a dream that slips away at waking. Maybe it really was a dream all along.
I padded out into the hall, looking for my father, but he wasn't in his office or his bedroom. I checked every room of the house except for the prayer room – he rarely used it, and it remained locked the rest of the time.
As I passed it, I heard a noise behind the door, like a fish gasping for air.
"Sakumo?" I called, my hand pausing on the handle. The noise came again, and I threw the door open.
I had never been allowed inside, but what I saw was a grand shrine to the dead, incense lit and strewn with offerings – a picture on the corner of a girl I had never seen.
And slumped against the wall, was Sakumo, his tanto beside him, everything shimmering red. Through a bloody grimace, he forced a smile.
"Kakashi," he gasped, air hissing from a punctured lung through a mire of blood. The cuts on his abdomen were gruesome, fiercely carved. Remembering my brief and inadequate medical training, I pulled off my shirt and pressed it tightly to the wound, binding it around his trunk by the sleeves. The blood soaked quickly through it, and before I could call for help, Sakumo was dead.
I stayed in the house for three days, in my bedroom. I was sure that it was another nightmare, that I would wake any second. Every silent second, I heard his steps in the hall, heavily leaning on his cane, but when I ran out to meet him, he was gone. In that house, I went as mad as he had been, starving, jumping at every sound, screaming sometimes, for hours, until I couldn't scream anymore. I clawed at the walls, the sheets, at my own arms. My reflection frightened me. I turned the mirrors to the walls, or broke them, but I could still see myself in the windows, so I broke them, too, with my bare hands.
On the third day, I was sure I was dying. I went into the prayer room and curled up beside Sakumo, resting against his bloody chest. I slipped a hand into his, and went to sleep.
I woke, expecting to be in my room again, the nightmare over, but I was in the hospital. My arms were bandaged, and a sheet was pulled up to my chin. I waited until someone came in.
The first was a nurse, who checked my vitals.
Then another, who brought me breakfast.
After that, Minato-sensei came, and wrapped his arms around me – a warm, pitying embrace, and I clung to his shoulders until he pulled away.
"Are you okay?" he asked. Then, "Stupid question. Sorry."
I shook my head. "I'm fine. When can I go home?"
"I was actually wondering if you wanted to stay with me for a little while. After that, we can get an apartment in town lined up for you, or you can go back to your estate if you want to."
"Okay," I nodded.
Minato-sensei pulled something out of a pocket and slipped it into my hand. It was the picture from the altar.
"I know Sakumo never told you much about your mother," he said. "We can talk later. I knew her pretty well. But I wanted you to have this so you'll know her name. When you're out of the hospital, I can tell you as much about her as you'd like."
With that, he left, and I was alone for the night.
I looked at the picture. So this was my mother? She was young, and she looked happy in a blue summer dress, her hair falling around her bare shoulders. I turned the picture over. Her name and the date were printed in the upper-right in Sakumo's handwriting.
I read it, and then put the picture on my nightstand face-down.
I couldn't believe it. I saw it in my head, read it over and over again.
The words slurred together of the page, blurred and blended until I saw my own name. I felt sick. What did that mean? Why had Sakumo called me by my mother's name?
And that was just it. I had never been a reflection of him. I had been her reflection -- I was the mirror in which he saw her, resurrected her in my name. I was the child he said had died. If only in his mind, he had killed his child to bring her back, ended one world to preserve another.
Well now, none of them existed – neither his heaven with her, his purgatory with me, or the hell where the two met.
There was nothing.
Everything was gone, consumed by this apocalypse, and I was the lone survivor.