FIC
Escape
Rating: R, for
violence, angst, etc.
Pairing:
Kakashi/Iruka
Status:
complete
Summary:
life comes full circle, sometimes
Genre:
angst
Warnings:
deathfic, loads of angst
Disclaimer:
I asked Kishimoto-san for several shinobi for my birthday… I kinda
conveniently forgot to put them back when I was done… So
technically they aren't mine, but I think they have a lot more fun
with me… ok maybe not in this one…
Authors Note:
I don't normally see Kakashi as the suicidal type, but I wrote a
few of these short angsty pieces this fall while on heavy antibiotics
while I was sick. Medication and I don't get along very well…
obviously…
The man stood before the dark stone, the morning mist soothing his fevered brow. He imagined soft lips doing the same, a warm, calloused hand stroking his cheek. Trembling fingers traced the new lines so recently engraved on the stone the edges were still sharp, lines as deep as the ones now marring his covered face. The stone was as cold and still as the unnaturally pale flesh he still saw before his closed eyes, etched into his mind even more firmly than anything he had ever copied with the solitary sharingan eye. This, more than any other death, he held close to himself, this one his own grievous fault even more than the others.
He had seen it all unfold so clearly, had known and anticipated each move before it happened. Watched the kunai rip through the air, computed the trajectory, analyzed both the target and the origin. Anticipated every move before the final, telling one. Never considered the kawarimi no jutsu that switched his shielding stance with the dear body he was trying to protect. Felt the sable-haired chuunin drop heavily against him, throat torn apart and spilling a crimson waterfall upon him. Let fly a katon ryuuka no jutsu. Heard the abruptly choked off screams as the dragon-fire took down the unknown attacker and the final bubbling breath of the one he held close. Observed the warm brown eyes go cold and flat, hazing over. Sensed the other forms drawing close, intent this time caring, not deadly. Felt the hands pulling them apart, separating him from his beloved, felt the sting of the drugged senbon, numbing him no less than the events he had just witnessed.
He knew he had mere moments before they realized he was gone, dragged him back to the cold empty room, the silent watchers, but he was quicker, craftier than them, had been in ANBU before they had even entered the academy. He knelt before the stone, white kimono open, and drained a small bottle, all but the smallest drop, then drew a broken blade, making the cut left to right, with a sharp pull upwards at the end, exposing his true intentions. A vertical cut followed by another horizontal created the juu symbol. Already he felt peace settling upon him like a mantle of snow from a dimly remembered past. Life coming full circle, repeating itself endlessly, death just another facet of life, only this time, no caring hand to ease him along, end his suffering. If by some chance they discovered him before he bled to death, the slow poison would make sure of his escape.
"Dear Kami-sama, let me just see Iruka one last time," Kakashi whispered.
(belly and spirit in Japanese language are often synonymous, and even in English, having no guts is having no conviction).