Title: Disciple
Summary: YonKaka. Kakashi hates Namikaze Minato.

Kakashi hates Namikaze Minato.

It's not something anyone would guess and it's not something he would broadcast, but Kakashi hates him so much it hurts.

Kakashi.

At least, he thinks it hurts. Sometimes he can't tell what it is that's hurting. Usually that's when he's out on a mission, when he's injured by enemy ninja or a self-inflicted wound. It could be the sting of senbon needles slicing across his flesh, or the ache of having kunai driven into his back, or the burn of a sharpened blade gutting him in the stomach, or—

In those situations, it's too hard to differentiate between the types of pain.

It's a relief.

Kakashi-kun.

It's when he's perfectly, physically healthy, or, as healed as the healers can manage without disrupting the flow of too little chakra in his body, that he feels the acute twisting pain suffocating that beating organ in his chest that makes it that much more difficult to draw oxygen into his lungs in a way that hands squeezing tightly around his neck never managed.

He's felt it since the day the Yondaime sacrificed his life for the village and made himself a hero. Every time he stands in front of the cenotaph, head bowed and eye stubbornly closed so that he doesn't have to see that name carved into the weathered stone, a little less oxygen flows through his veins and the throbbing grows that tiny bit sharper. He feels what's left of his heart dying just a fraction more.

He hates that feeling the most.

Please…

Every breath he has to take, every single day of every week, month, year. Always, he'll see his sensei's face, bright eyes dimming as he smiles brokenly at him. There's something in his eyes, usually so blue and lively, that's shattering into so many tiny, little pieces. He hurts too, Kakashi will realize one day. It's hurting him as he takes his last shuddering breath to exhale the word that will make Kakashi hate him so much as he holds the crying baby in his arm, so desperate and young and naïve, always so very naïve. His sensei knows this, knows it so well that it hurts, that it will keep hurting, that this path would be one full of pain and loneliness and hate.

Live.

It's a command. It's cruel. But he says it anyway because he knows Kakashi can't disobey because Kakashi is a good ninja loyal to the Hokage first and Konoha second.

His sensei fails to inhale again, and that's when he first feels like someone's just stabbed him in the chest, over and over and over again.

A good ninja, but not good enough, because he can't quite kill his emotions.

It hurts.

Pleasedon'taskemethat—

When he wakes up in the morning, staring up at the plain, white ceiling, he wills his mind to remain equally blank. But he can't, because Kakashi is a genius and geniuses never stop thinking.

So he thinks.

Of Obito and Rin and sensei.

Of the only team he's found worthy of accepting.

The same team that's currently in as many pieces as his heart seems to be.

And he thinks of failure. Or maybe it's success. He isn't sure.

It's been twelve years and nine months and twenty-three days.

Live.

And Kakashi hates Namikaze Minato.