Chapter Text
Whatever god he has offended - and, with his very unfortunate record he can safely assume that the answer sounds many - must be really holding a grudge against him.
The rod that pierced his abdomen is gone, despite how he could’ve sworn it was crumbling away alongside his body, reduced to nothing but ash. Death was painful - he imagined it before, under that boulder. He had it happen to him when Konan decided to explode his body to pieces. It hurt as much as Rin’s death had.
And yet.
And yet, somehow, he is awake.
He opens his eyes - well, eye, and what a disappointment it is, to be visually impaired again; though he considers it a fitting punishment. He gave up his eye, and no matter what, he never was the kind of person who took his gifts back.
Still, the lack of depth perception is quite annoying.
The ceiling of his childhood bedroom stares back at him. The room that should’ve been destroyed during Pein’s attack on Konoha is intact - it looks clean, no dust left on the shelves.
He has seen Kakashi coming by to his house after the Kyuubi attack - whether he has done it even before that, Obito doesn’t know, because, while it might be hard to believe, he had better things to do than to stalk his best friend - cleaning, keeping everything as it was, perhaps in a naive, childish hope that one day he would come back and reclaim this place as his.
His home was just outside the Uchiha compound - something to do with his family’s reputation that made it so they were never fully accepted by their clan.
The key word. Was.
Because the walls are all there, the picture of their Team Seven is standing on the desk, and his clothes are neatly folded, his old jacket is resting on the chair, and the goggles are placed on the nightstand. Fresh flowers are in a decorative vase on the desk.
All things that shouldn’t be, somehow are.
In a world of tailed beasts, gods and reincarnations, time travel surely isn’t the most surprising thing to happen to him - just a few hours ago, he was almost equal to a god - almost held so much power no one but a bratty yapper could defeat him.
He should really reevaluate his life choices if all it took for him to change was a fifteen minutes long conversation with an idiot who he threatened to murder right after he was born.
He’s not wearing a mask - unusual, especially since he can feel his scars underneath his fingertips. His hair is long and the right arm aches with pain, like it did many years ago, when he was just a teen.
He takes off his glove and breathes a sigh of relief - as much as he would’ve loved to wake up during his genin days, the lack of mukoton would drive him crazy. It’s one of those little things that put him at ease; that make him feel safer.
“I’m sorry, Rin,” he whispers. Somehow, he can almost hear her voice; comforting, though he can’t make out any words.
Maybe he should visit a hospital and ask for some meds for that, actually.
He walks outside, careful to avoid any citizens; he keeps his chakra hidden, a churning feeling in his stomach.
He’s too late to prevent the harm he caused; the compound is hauntingly empty, and there’s a faint smell of blood - old, but still lingering despite the very obvious attempts at getting rid of it.
Maybe, he wonders, looking at Konoha, still vaguely in the same shape he remembers from his childhood, he could atone. He could go to the Hokage’s office and confess.
He could stop before it’s too late to back out.
Minato, for some unknown reason - it’s false, Obito knows it is. His sensei’s kindness was just like that, ever so present, and despite hurting him, he saw Obito as his failure, not his enemy - had spared him, when Kakashi was ready to finish him off.
For some reason, he saw something good in Obito. Something more than that awful mask he put on so often it had merged with his skin.
As soon as they started fighting Kaguya, he knew what would happen - he was very, very well aware that the stakes were high. And he wasn’t planning on going back, no matter how much chakra did Sakura pump into his dying body, or how much hope Naruto looked at him with.
He was going to die, leave Kakashi again - this time, hopefully, he would know better than to grieve someone like Obito.
And despite what should’ve been, he’s walking through the streets of Konoha, his body intact, his lungs working, heart beating.
He doubts there’s a reason other than to prevent him from destroying the world - again.
Naruto could’ve been chosen; Sakura; Kakashi would’ve been a better option.
Then again, maybe there’s no reason for it. Nothing but a cruel joke played on him by the Universe, just to see how long he will last facing all his mistakes.
He breathes in, the sun rising over the empty Uchiha compound. The tiles are reflecting the sunlight, rooftops drowning in the soft golden glow from beyond the horizon. The shadows are elongated, and Obito is standing in one, and he’s afraid he knows its name to be past.
With his heart aching, he finds himself breathing with his full chest.
Live, he can hear Rin’s voice again, this time clear as day. Of course she wouldn’t just guide him to his resting place. Maybe she wants him to prove that he can be more than what he chose to be.
Maybe she knows he isn’t the kind of person who rests easily.
All things considered, even if he is back in time, it can’t get that much worse.
It gets that much worse.
Sasuke is staring at him, his eyes wide and glossed over. He’s clutching a tiny, baby blanket in his hand, and his lip is trembling.
He really should’ve expected that. He should’ve hidden his presence better. For once he lowers his guard, perhaps foolishly, and he’s immediately spotted by someone he was aiming to avoid.
Obito curses himself for keeping his sharingan activated - but, somehow, the presence of it seems to be putting the boy at ease.
“He missed you?” He whispers in wonder, something akin to hope in his eyes. Obito feels something tug at his heart - probably the cursed seal. He should get to removing it as soon as possible, actually - and decides not to mention he technically took part in the massacre and was dead set on targeting anyone who was ever mean to him.
He really needs to work on his anger issues.
“It seems like it,” Obito forces out, then crouches in front of him. The boy looks nothing like that bitter, consumed by anger version he got used to. “Listen-“
The tiny body slams on his torso, arms clutching at his shirt, shaking wildly. Sasuke sobs, hides his face and clings to him like a lifeline.
“I thought I was alone-“ he whispers, then, with anger lacing his words, adds: “they made me move back in here, and it’s so quiet, and it’s never been quiet like this before-“
Right, leave it to Konoha to place a traumatised child right back at the place of the massacre. Great work, Sarutobi. Ten out of ten parenting.
Never trust a balding man.
For a brief moment, when he glances down at the boy, he can see that older version of him - consumed by rage, bitter and hateful. So easy to guide; to manipulate.
“Do you know why he did it?” He asks, despite the fact that he does know - he was the leader of the Akatsuki, of course he would look into the corruption that kept seeping into Konoha’s roots.
“To be stronger.” Sasuke’s voice is low, dangerous. Angry.
Obito pats his head, shaking his own.
“How old are you again?”
“Seven?” Sasuke tilts his head up to look at him, frown plastered on his face. Obito, once again, considers his odds. They are not in his favor.
“Can you keep a secret?” The boy nods, and Obito can sense a voice that sounds suspiciously a lot like Kakashi whispering to him that he must’ve fallen real low to trust with some very delicate information to a kid. Well, it’s not the lowest he has been, so what would that porn addicted idiot know, anyway? “Our clan was planning a coup. It could’ve thrown all of us into another war. Your brother didn’t do this to become stronger,” his gaze lingers on Sasuke. “He made a deal to save you. If a war had broken out, everyone would’ve been exterminated. This way, he could be sure that you’d be safe.”
Sasuke stares at him, disbelief very apparent within his features.
“That’s bullshit,” he accuses. “That’s- they would never-“
“Some of them would.” Obito flashes him a dangerous smile. “Not for long, though. Not while I’m here.”
Sasuke quiets down, conflicted. Obito isn’t oblivious to the war that must be raging inside of him.
Judging by the fact that everything has been cleaned, it must be a week or so after the whole ordeal.
He wonders if it was wrong of him to tell Sasuke about it; to risk sowing hatred towards Konoha in someone who he knows would grow into a powerful shinobi.
Maybe the boy will appreciate it; being treated as an equal, trusting him with the truth, despite how fragile and dangerous the things are.
He doesn’t seem like a person who ever had people who were completely honest with him.
“Do you hate Konoha?” Obito turns to him, taken aback by the question. It’s plain, simple.
Child soldiers sent to fight in wars created by those who seek power; a boulder crashing into his body; spending months isolated in that awful cave; Kakashi, put in a position where his hand ended up running through Rin’s chest. A world where children make the decision to kill themselves before they can consider any other option.
The Hokage, keeping around a man so twisted by his need for power; so ignorant that he didn’t notice when the rising tensions became so high that yet another child was manipulated and forced to become a monster, just to serve his village.
A wild kid with bright eyes, who, despite all the hurt Obito caused in his life, looked at him with hope, and reached out. So bizarre; the gesture taking Obito so aback that he hesitated, and turned from the path he’d been following for the most of his life.
His answer should be complicated.
It isn’t.
“No.” He ponders for a while. “I hate the system this world has created. I want to change it into something kinder, but the way I was planning to do it— I was clearly mistaken. Not everyone here is guilty. Revenge won’t bring much but a never ending cycle of violence.”
“Then-“ Sasuke hiccups. “Then I won’t go against Konoha. If you see some good in it, then there must be. We only have each other now, so I won’t be leaving.”
Obito had forgotten how trusting children were. He’s a stranger, a shady one at that. He shared with Sasuke something that must’ve shaken his entire worldview - then again, maybe he’s grown accustomed to it, with how eventful the last few days must’ve been for him.
“But what if those bad people find out that you survived?” He adds, and Obito grins. “What if he has to come after you?”
“We will make everyone believe in a ghost, then.” He stretches and yawns. Exhaustion - he hasn’t felt it in a long while. It’s not something that he missed, but the familiarity of it settles within his bones.
Despite the ghosts attached to his past, despite the empty compound, he feels peace.
Curse you, Naruto, for making him hopeful again.
Caring for a child isn’t much different from taking care of a terrorist organisation, Obito finds out.
Sasuke is, bless his little heart, well mannered - he doesn’t get into fights, despite his obvious disdain towards anyone who whispers about his clan; he doesn’t try throwing himself on the people on the street who stare at him a bit too harshly; he keeps his room clean, no blood or corpses in sight (thank you, Hidan, for scarring Obito with that one satanic ritual that was performed in the middle of the night, exactly as he was so sleep deprived he took Hidan for an actual demon).
“My hair is getting a bit too long,” Obito muses as it gets in his eyes when he’s chopping the vegetables. Sasuke looks up at him from his spot at the table - he’s skilled with a knife, and preparing meals with Obito helps him feel included (also takes his mind off of those tragic events from a few nights ago).
It’s a fragile thing, the peace they try to maintain. Both are emotionally dense, so, in their defence, they’re doing surprisingly well.
“It looks nice,” he settles on, then adds: “you look badass.”
“Yeah? I thought it would make me look scary, paired with the scars,” his smile is cheeky - his own face still feels alien to him, especially after all those years of avoiding to look at it.
Sasuke frowns, dissatisfied with his reaction. He pouts, his cheeks are growing red and lips are pursed into an unpleasant grimace.
“Your scars aren’t scary, they are cool,” he insists. “They are proof that you keep on living.”
“Oh, yeah? Who bestowed such wisdom upon you?”
Sasuke looks away.
“Itachi,” the way he says his name is enough to confirm it comes to him with a struggle.
Obito hums. He’s barefoot, and the sudden spark of energy outside alerts him to two foreign chakras. ANBU must be checking in on Sasuke; with a slight turn of his head, just to avoid letting the boy see his mangekyou, he activates his sharingan and puts up a genjutsu, making himself disappear from their view.
He’s not activating kamui just yet, but keeps it ready to go, just in case.
Sasuke, none the wiser, continues slicing the tomatoes.
“It was a smart thing, what he told you,” he says, interrupting the silence stretching inside the apartment.
Sasuke’s eyes are glossy, and he shakes his head slightly.
“Stop that. I’m not supposed to cry, that makes me weak,” he huffs, frustrated.
Obito laughs, taken aback by his bluntness. The boy turns to him, frowning.
“What?”
“I forgot about that whole thing. I used to be the crybaby of the team, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I did attempt to push those feelings aside, thinking it will make me stronger,” he leans in, as if to tell him a secret. Sasuke’s eyes are wide, and he’s waiting in anticipation. “I’ve met a shinobi more powerful than anyone I’ve ever fought, and he treasured his emotions. He kept his heart open for others to see, and treated it like a strength. Perhaps it was. He was honest with others and with himself. And then he kicked my ass hard enough to prove that feeling things never was a weakness I took it for.”
Sasuke frowns. He’s uncertain, playing with the knife.
Obito can see an echo of Kakashi’s younger self in his expression.
He can see his friend, standing over a bunch of rocks in silence, as if memorials of those who were long dead could love him back.
He can see himself, and the regrets he has for not coming forward.
In another life, Obito isn’t a coward, and he takes Kakashi home after Rin dies, and they hold each other until they run out of tears, and then they learn how to live again, together.
In another world, he isn’t too late, and he saves everyone.
In another world, he addresses the anger inside him and backs out of releasing Kyuubi just before the mistake he made in anger makes it all fatal. He puts down the mask and hands the infant over to Minato, and lets himself feel more than hatred for the world around him.
In another life, he joins Kakashi as he’s standing at the memorial stone, staring at his name as his newest team is losing their patience. And he’s even more late, but he comes to introduce himself with Obito trailing after him.
Mistakes upon mistakes, all fuelled by something that was in his control.
“If you keep it all inside, you’re risking it might boil over and spill when you’re not ready. You will have to address all those emotions inside you anyway, kid. And if you won’t do it, life will force you to.” Or a certain loud teenager will do it instead, and — and Obito still can’t believe he had fallen off so greatly it took less than fifteen minutes. He was the biggest threat, possibly had more blood on his hands than anyone could ever imagine, and yet he couldn’t double down on his ideals. Years of grief he oh so carefully pushed down and molded into anger, only for it to come back and prove that leaving something unaddressed didn’t make it disappear.
Sasuke stares at the knife, and Obito wonders, however briefly, if he pushed too hard, and will be met with a blade to his face.
But the boy puts it aside and curls on his chair, face hidden between his knees.
“I don’t think my dad was ever proud of me, but I still miss him. I don’t know- I miss mum, and I miss Shisui, even if he was annoying sometimes, and I miss Itachi- I don’t know how to go on-“ He sniffs, but refuses to let the tears flow, wiping at them with an angry look on his face. “How do I go on?”
Something inside Obito cracks - it used to be collateral damage. He used to see people as pawns; never getting close to them in order to not risk getting attached.
Madara taught him well - his master probably knew Obito better than he realised; he was aware where to push, and what would make him break and stride away from their mission.
“Little by little,” Obito offers; it’s pathetic - he can imagine saying it to himself, back after Rin’s death. Those words would mean nothing - only invoke even more rage.
It’s a good thing Sasuke isn’t him.
Did Konoha really leave this kid to fend for himself and proudly decided that, yep, it’s a problem that will surely solve itself?
A kid who, from a young age, was taught to control and repress his emotions, left alone, with no support system, no one who could hold him through it - yeah, an excellent idea, an exceptional one, to just let him be without ever trying to address anything that has to do with the Uchiha.
“If it matters, I think you’re pretty great,” Obito nudges him, and gets a watery smile in response.
A distant memory of a raging Uchiha brat with no remnants of emotional stability flashes through his mind. The maniacal laughter, the constant never ending monologues about revenge and Naruto-
He looks down at the boy and makes a promise to make sure he doesn’t lose himself to the Uchiha-inherited madness.
“Thanks.”