Tenth 2010DC post. I found this buried under 'incomplete oneshots' and decided to finish it up because I liked it. The word document was labeled 'Shinobi Pain Study' and I think that's what this is, Kakashi and his situation being the example but representing shinobi as a general population/theme, more specifically shinobi who've had their comrades die around them in battle. I know it's not perfect, but please enjoy~

S h i n o b i P a i n S t u d y

Drowning.

There is something inexplicably terrifying about the feeling of blood rising to the back of one's throat. It's almost as if they're drowning from the inside, as if there's no possible way to escape. Every time Kakashi feels the hot liquid hit his tongue he feels the rush of confusion and fear, no matter how many tens of times it's happened. That was one common civilian misconception; that shinobi became used to the pain they felt.

As Kakashi's back slams against the wall his skull cracks against the stone. He forces himself to stand up, to avoid the next blow, but his head is still ringing and his vision is so blurry he can barely see the oncoming barrage of kicks and katana swings. Blood drips down his neck, sticky like sweat. Of course, it could be sweat and he's only imagining things. It had happened before to him, though he'd never admit it, and it wasn't uncommon for shinobi to believe in unreal injuries. Everything just hurt so much it was near impossible to accept that no serious damage had actually been done.

"Is this really the best the famous Hatake Kakashi, sharingan copy-nin can do?"

By now Kakashi is more in control, and he jumps out of the way easily as the kunai whizzes past him, sparking dully with lightning charge. Without hesitating he throws back his own kunai, nearly out of chakra but unable to give up. His body aches so much, and every time he reaches for chakra it cries out because he has squeezed it so dry there's nothing left. Still he forces himself forward, backwards, to take the skin-splitting kicks in his hands when he can't slip out of the way in time. Blood drips down his arms from his palms that sting so badly he can barely move them. "This is it?" The enemy continues to taunt and threaten him and, as hard as Kakashi tries, he can't ignore it. He clenches his numb fingers painfully and has to keep from screaming. He was angry, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

Fear.

No one thinks shinobi feel fear. The young, of course, they have yet to learn how things work, but the battle-hardened jounin who don't even scream as their bowels are spilled and their skin is burned down to the pulsing red muscle- they feel no fear. There is no fear in their eyes as they walk into battle, as their leader emotionlessly assigns them all their suicide missions, there is nothing there but clockwork.

Everyone was always so wrong. I can see it in your eyes, you are not afraid. Kakashi was once told this, by an old woman in a small village he had been setting out to save. Kakashi didn't answer because he didn't know how. Was civilian terror so different from a shinobi's that they could not sense it in one another? But maybe it was different. In civilians it came like a wild, spitting flame, burning them and weakening them so that they crumpled and all their bravery was dried away. For shinobi fear came fast and cold, merely slowing their limbs and unfocusing their eyes. Maybe only other shinobi could sense this. All jounin could. As Kakashi's eye flickered from Gai's to Asuma's to Shikaku's he could see it in their eyes, and he knew they could see it in his.

There is one thing all shinobi fear, no matter whether they'll admit it or not. Well, maybe shinobi such as Morino Ibiki don't, but experience dulls the fear to an extent, and much experience takes it all away. Chains, ropes, one's own ripped uniform sleeves. It was always something and it was always tight, always constricting and claustrophobic. For many there was the threatening darkness of blindfolds or a quick slice across the eyes, but for Kakashi, as for some, there was the gut-wrenching red. The red stood out so darkly against the pale skin and green fabric there was no way to miss it, and Kakashi couldn't look away, even after hours and the man's screams had finally quieted into shaking gasps into a lifeless silence. It was only when the masked figure took his head in his hands and turned it to face him that Kakashi turned away. "I'm glad I decided not to kill the others too soon. Would you like me to kill them as well, or will you tell me what I need to know?"

Kakashi had long forgotten what he was supposed to be telling them but it didn't really matter. They're going to kill me, they're going to kill me, that was all he could think. Was it fear? Anger? Relief? In the end he couldn't really tell, and before he could continue to think about it they'd dragged in the half-conscious Nara, and started the process again.

Lethargy.

There's something about the constant aching that slowly begins to numb the body. He can't feel anything specific anymore, only a constant burning sting, barely flinching as he feels Obito's eye ripped from its socket. Obito… It's so hard to think Kakashi can barely remember who the boy was, only that he was special, and that the thing he'd just lost had been something important…

Idiosyncrasy.

The way they all stare at him is disconcerting. Something deep inside of Kakashi tells him that they're dead, that it's his fault that they are, but his brain can't process the information.

"I'm sorry Kakashi."

Kakashi doesn't respond, only staring at the floor with his one blurry eye. They all come and go so often it's almost annoying, but he likes the company. They avoid the subject he can't bring himself to think about so it works out fine, and sometimes they get him to smile brightly, showing off his mouthful of broken teeth and the deep purple gash in his tongue that makes it so hard to speak. He hears them talking once or twice of how happy he is, and how bad of a sign it is. Kakashi doesn't see what's so wrong with being happy.

Abnormality.

Kakashi is feeling slightly better now, and undeniably much worse. There is a stage every shinobi goes through if they don't die first, the suspension between disbelief and the shallowly repressed memories of traumatic experience. The medics and nurses don't even bat an eye lash as he awakes with screams of pain and fear, as he cries in terror of some forgotten nightmare that leaves him without memory of where he is or what has happened. Even as he wakes one night calling for the dead Hokage like a child the medic fixing his bandages only sends a calming flow of chakra through his dry systems, whispering half-audible words of comfort. Medics understand shinobi better than anyone else does, having spent every day and night tending to the men who gasp for every painful death, who cry for the teammates who died in a fruitless attempt to save one of their own. A shinobi never cries, but the hospital is a world where no one is a shinobi anymore. In the hospital there are the healers and the wounded. The wounded cry and the wounded are afraid; it's the way it's always been. Some people don't understand this, but a step into the thick air of the intensive care wing and the unembellished truth is hard to ignore.

Every morning Kakashi wakes up he expects to find himself dozing in the grass beside Shikaku; expects to have to shout down Gai for waking them all up so early and to growl as Asuma chuckles. Every day he remembers the three of them, how much or little time he'd spent with them in their academy and genin days. He escapes a few times from the hospital and as he walks to the memorial stone he expects to see a quick flash before the taijutsuist will block his way and smile broadly, challenging him because they were only… what was it? Whatever the score had been Kakashi had been two points ahead. Suddenly it didn't feel like it mattered anymore. Suddenly it didn't matter. It had ended.

Somewhere inside himself Kakashi wishes Gai had won.

Shock.

Not many shinobi ever work past this stage in the process of acceptance. They pretend that, as shinobi, they need not such things as emotions or sentiments. They pretend that, now that their friends and loved ones are dead, they have no need to care. Kakashi had long been stuck at this stage. He eventually worked through his father's death and Obito's death, but by the time Rin and Minato were buried he'd gotten stuck again. This time he's not even aware of the shock, he just keeps staring blankly at the wall and hoping it will all go away. Every day now his students visit, they're all grown up now it's scary how tall and strong they are, but he can't bring himself to look them in the eyes. A part of him is afraid he's weak, and is afraid they'll find this out if they look hard enough. A part of Kakashi doesn't want to accept that he loves them like he loved Gai and Shikaku and Asuma and everyone else who died to save him.

It takes him four months and until Sasuke ends up beside him, his skin covered in bloody bandages and the medics shouting for pain killers, that he can't deny it any longer, and his vision blurs with tears.

Perfection.

It's a common mistake, that such a thing even exists. But then, it's also a mistake to believe that it is completely impossible as well. Perfection is not a state but rather a stage, a point in time when one accepts that things as they are can't get any better. It hurts Kakashi physically to know that his life is 'perfect'. He stands by the memorial and stares down at the seven names and can't help but wonder how this can be anything close to happiness. How the scars covering his skin can be a good thing, how the limp that means he can never fight again can be anything but endlessly maddening. But perfection is hardly ever a 'good' thing. People with perfect lives are hardly ever 'happy'.

Sometimes Naruto takes his arm and helps him up to the Hokage monument, and they sit there and stare out and over the village. The sun will be setting, and Kakashi will have to grudgingly admit that it's beautiful. Naruto will shake his head, squeeze his hand tighter, and say 'no, it's perfect.'

Kakashi can never bring himself to deny it.

Contentment.

At his funeral they all come. Every single one of them, because all of them knew him and knew his pain and feel a twinge of their own as they see his corpse. He hadn't died fighting as they knew he'd have wished, but his mouth is in a faint smile anyways.

Under the sunset the tall blonde man kneels by the large memorial, takes out a small knife, and chisels his name into the stone.

Maybe now he'll be able to meet them all again, and finally he'll be happy.