Another time-travel story. Why not, I guess. Honestly, I love this kind of fics, so I decided to give it a go :') And Obito needs more attention yo

Beta-read by the amazing Sanatoria! Be sure to check her out, seriously.

(Chapter title from Katie Melua's "The Flood")

Chapter I - broken people get recycled

Hell.

He was actually in hell.

Of course, a bitter stray thought echoed quietly, laced with resignation, where else would I go?

It was idiotic of him to expect that perhaps mercy was still attainable to him and the afterlife would bring even an ounce of peace. While maybe in the end reality had shaken him awake like never before and he had played a part in ensuring the world's survival (he desperately hoped, at least), it obviously wasn't nearly enough to atone for all the mistakes, the murders, the agony he caused. It wasn't enough for even a speck of it.

So, naturally, what was left of his soul was doomed to spend eternity in anguish.

Despite that, despite knowing all he earned was pain and despite it making perfect sense, he was nevertheless greatly dismayed to learn that this was what fate decided to punish him with.

Kneeling in a pool of thick, quickly cooling blood and cradling the lifeless form of his love .

The single most excruciating moment of his life.

This particular memory had haunted his dreams and thoughts regardless of the time of day ever since that fateful night up until the very end. Well, near end. In his last moments his mind had been filled with bright images of her face, her smile and her voice instead of the horrid ones that were the main driving force behind his dedication to the Moon Eye Plan. In fact, the last thing he could remember was finally reuniting with her and for the first time in a long while believing everything was going to be alright.

But that was... that was...

He didn't know what that was, but certainly not what he deserved. Perhaps it had been a mere flash of euphoria so that his pending suffering would only sting more. If that was even possible.

A distant thought murmured how cruelly ironic his predicament was. He had spent the better part of his life in a dire attempt to forever erase this particular event from ever occurring, but in the finale he was destined to forever be trapped in it.

Fate surely knew how to pull her strings.

Nevertheless, a tiny, almost indiscernible part of him silently marveled at the experience. While he had relived these certain minutes (or hours) an uncountable amount of times, never had it felt this crushingly real. The way her petite, childish body laid in his grasp, as if it was a perfect piece of a puzzle yet at the same time so disturbingly unfitting, the way the blood trailing down her chin glistened in the moonlight, the way she was slowly yet surely losing warmth, or how his chest heaved with great difficulty, how his small hands, tightly gripping her form, were smeared in such intense red, how his whole body ached and right eye throbbed, and how the chill of the air around him was seeping into his bones.

He didn't remember it being this cold. Then again, only Rin's lifeless body had been clearly etched into his memory, as if carved in flesh with rotten nails. Poisoning, choking, tearing him apart until the bliss of death came to release him.

Though that obviously wasn't the case. All his demise did was grate at his still heavily bleeding heart.

So there he was, clinging to Rin desperately despite fully understanding his situation. Nothing could bring him more torment and yet he refused to let her body go. If he was fated to spend eternity with his love's corpse, then at least he would accept his punishment with her in his arms.

The fragile, glass-like moment where an instant stretched to forever was suddenly broken by an unexpected voice. The sound of it was akin to a droplet landing in a lake, yet at the same time sent devastating waves crashing to the shore. It even made him jerk quite violently.

''Obito...''

At first he thought he had merely imagined it. It took him a short beat to place the voice to its owner, but he still couldn't comprehend the reason for its existence. It felt so disgusting, so inappropriate , as if it tarnished something sacred. Something never meant for anyone else's eyes or touch or presence.

And yet...

His eyes painfully peeled themselves off of Rin's bloodied face and focused on his hands. A snowy white shone from beneath the pints of red, its surface slightly warped. He blinked at the sight, his lips pursing ever-so-slightly.

Right. These weren't his hands, per se. They were...

( His shell suddenly felt too tight, scorching, tearing —)

But why was that thing in his hell? While he could logically understand the cause behind him being present, seemingly given that his afterlife was shaped to replicate the most agonizing part of his life, but since he thought this was a loop, it didn't quite make sense to make the white being sentient and being able to speak .

And apparently expecting an answer.

''Obito, we should leave.''

What the hell was he talking about?

If this was a ploy to somehow cause him even more misery ( not possible ), then he refused to play along. He would remain here, on the cold ground, soaking in his victims' and her blood and never letting her go.

''Konoha is probably arriving soon. They can't find us here.''

In his world it would have made sense. He never did remain long enough to have this certain conversation, though. No, he had had a new goal and could not wait a single second to start his journey to it.

This time there was no urgency. So he remained still. Silent.

Evidently, the creature wasn't satisfied with his reaction.

''Obito, we have to—''

''Shut up,'' he said, a low growl escaping his lips. He himself was taken aback by it. However, the mild surprise was quickly replaced by an inexplicable emotion which crushed his throat, rendering him breathless for a short while. The sound of his young voice send waves of shock, despair, guilt and everything in between over his already weakened from sorrow body. It felt foreign to his ears, so overwhelmingly out-of-place, as if the melody of a nightingale in a dead desert. Too high, too light, too innocent , even if its tone betrayed the heavy misery it carried.

He barely managed not to choke.

''There's no point in staying here anymore, we should get back to Madara—''

As if it were deadly poison, rage quickly spread through through his veins at the mention of that name.

''I said shut the hell up.''

Logically, he knew that Madara had also been used as a pawn in the grand scheme of things. Logically, his intentions weren't inherently evil. Logically , he was merely an idealistic fool, much like Obito himself, who decided no means were too cruel to achieve his idea of a world of peace. But logic rarely played an important role in one's feelings, and as much as Obito despised himself, there was plenty of hate left for his honorable forefather.

Perhaps one day, after spending a considerable amount of time in this hell, his hatred would diminish, insuperable melancholy taking its place. That seemed like probable progression.

Finally, the creature appeared to have taken the hint and remained silent. A tinge of relief soothed his soul and he once more tried to shift his focus back on the frail body. To his great dismay, she had almost completely lost her warmth.

What an odd concept—the sensation of time in Hell.

A lot would had passed, probably.

He was unable to bask in her ghastly presence for long before it was once again interfered with. This time with something considerably stranger. At the edges of his consciousness a familiar sensation trickled. One he knew all too well due to his senses always being heightened regardless of time and place, which apparently covered afterlife, too ( wait, what? ).

Distant chakra signatures quickly approaching.

That certainly caught his attention and made his concentration shift. Confusion now beginning to steadily leak into the chaotic mix that was his heart. He extended his senses and focused.

A sharp inhale followed.

He hadn't felt these specific signatures in ages. While he didn't know most of them personally, he knew for a fact that a good portion had died a long time ago. And even though, once again, it sort of made sense , if this whole situation was a recreation of his past, but at the same time it didn't. Why would a team of Konoha shinobi be part of his afterlife?

They're probably a search party , the sole, quiet, sensible part of his mind that was left supplied, and this isn't a continuous moment.

Obito blanched at the intrusive thought. His eyes shot up to the sky, only to find it not the inky black as he remembered so vividly, but rather a gentle navy, and gradually brightening. A whisper echoed in his head that morning was coming.

Rin's body was cold and stiff. He had no actual memory of that certain feeling.

''Obito! They're coming! We have to go!''

Slowly, a different, completely unfathomable thought brewed inside his mind, next to his original belief. One he refused to entertain and yet it continued to scrape and hiss, strings of his logical thinking finding it more and more worthy of notice.

While Obito couldn't accept it, it was not entirely impossible that he was, in fact, not dead.

Sometimes, though it was not often, he cursed whatever sensibility he had left.

He would much rather believe he was in hell rather than... than...

''OBITO!''

The signatures were too close for comfort now and Obito knew he had to make a split-second decision. He could continue on being convinced this was some sort of twisted afterlife and stay, or he could consider the idea that perhaps somehow he was alive and flee.

He shifted his eyes back onto Rin's lifeless face.

Then, almost involuntarily, he turned his head to look at his other former teammate who appeared to be very much alive, if still unconscious.

A flurry of words invaded his mind and a decision was made.

Caressing Rin's cheek one last time, Obito gently placed her down and leaped out of the clearing, sparing a glance back at the horrifying field, littered with bodies of his mutilated victims.

If he really was in Hell, there really wasn't much he could do to mess up more.

Other chapters will be longer, don't worry. Like... at least twice the size. For a good while updates will be weekly, on Sundays. At least until exams roll around, anyway. Bleh. But I'll try to write up enough for that time, hehe. Everything is pretty much outlined by this point, so technically I shouldn't face any setbacks, but we can't really predict life :')

But anyway! It would mean the world to me if you dropped down a review, truly. Thanks for reading!