Chapter Text
Dark.
Quiet.
Cold.
Obito didn’t know how long it has been since he was imprisoned after the Fourth Great Ninja War ended. Days blurred into weeks, maybe longer.
All he knew was that they were still deciding what to do with him after all the crimes he has committed.
As if there was anything to decide.
‘Hypocrites. Fucking all of them.’
He could already imagine how the Kages sat in judgment, weighing his crimes, as though their own hands were clean. As if they had not sent children to die for borders drawn in blood. As if their villages had not slaughtered each other’s shinobi for power, for land, for wealth.
They called it duty.
But blood was blood.
And it stained them all the same.
This is a world where only the powerful receive salvation, where victory is worshipped. While the weak are sacrificed and used as a stepping stone for somebody’s ambition.
He had believed that once, when he had carried out Madara’s plan telling himself every death would be worth it.
A necessary loss for a greater cost.
And oh, how wrong he had been.
Obito realized it too late that he was manipulated and used like a pawn.
A pawn of Madara, of Kaguya.
For a plan of salvation, or dare he say, deception.
It’s too late for regrets now, too many lives lost to that false plan. Perhaps, it was the reason why they didn’t kill him yet.
Death is the easy way out.
Obito knew that helping save the ninja world from the circumstances he created was not going to totally pardon him for the gravity of his sins, for the blood on his hands. A last-minute change of heart would never erase the weight of what he had done.
He already accepted it.
But they are taking too long to decide.
And waiting was beginning to feel worse than the sentence itself.
Frankly, Obito wished they would just kill him and get this over with. An easy escape, better than being left blindfolded in a freezing cell, arms bound in a straitjacket, chains biting into his ankles, chakra sealed.
Left alone with his thoughts.
And his thoughts weren’t helping him.
‘I am better off dead.’
He should have died in the battle against Kaguya. When he stepped in front of that gray rod meant for Naruto. When he chose to use Kamui to save Kakashi instead of himself.
That was how it was supposed to end.
Obito had already accepted it. The thought of seeing Rin again, smiling the way she always did. He'll probably receive an earful from her for the things he had done but either way, thinking about it, made him feel.. at peace.
Just him and Rin. Together.
He was ready.
But it was as if fate was mocking him, it refused him even that semblance of mercy.
The gray rod meant to pierce through him veered sideways at the last second. It sliced through empty air, missing both him and Naruto. The impact hit the ground instead. A sharp, splintering crack that rang through the battlefield like a verdict denied. Stone shattered. Dust burst upward in a violent plume. The vibration climbed up Obito’s legs, rattling through his bone and blood, reminding him in the cruelest way possible that he was still alive.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
The wind stilled.
The ash hung suspended.
Naruto’s breath hitched somewhere behind him. Kakashi’s voice — half-formed, terrified — never finished his name.
Obito blinked.
Kaguya’s aim had faltered.
Again.
And in that terrible, aching second, he understood that death would have been too kind for someone like him. Instead, he was left standing there, breath ragged, heart still beating, still trapped in a world that had taken everything from him.
Rin was still beyond his reach.
And fate, it seemed, wasn’t done punishing him yet.
‘Fuck.’ He was thinking about what happened over and over again.
The way Kakashi had looked at him when he used Kamui to pull the gray rod away from him instead of saving himself.
Kakashi looked.. scared.
As though the world had almost taken Obito from him again, and he wouldn’t have survived it a second time.
The way Kakashi embraced him after the war ended, pulling Obito into his arms and holding on, as if he loosened his grip even a little, Obito would slip through his fingers and disappear into thin air the way he always did. Obito’s arms hung awkwardly at his sides. He did not know where to put his hands, did not know how to respond to a touch that held no ill will. It felt wrong — too close — something his body didn’t know how to take in. Something in him resisted it, and yet he did not pull away. He stayed still and felt the tremor in Kakashi’s shoulder and the uneven rhythm of his breath against his neck.
And then came the apologies.
“I’m sorry.”
Over and over, right against his ear.
“I’m sorry, Obito,” His voice faltered, followed by a shaky pause, like he had to steady himself before saying the next words.“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect Rin."
The words came out rough, as though they had been trapped inside his chest for years, heavy from being carried too long. Like a prayer whispered to a god that had never once answered him.
“I’m sorry.. I-I couldn’t save you.”
Save him? from what?
From Madara's manipulation?
From the pain of seeing Kakashi’s hand piercing through Rin’s heart?
From the choices Obito had made with his own hands?
Obito didn’t know.
And he didn’t want to know.
In that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
And yet, it was painfully obvious that Kakashi had been carrying a grave inside his heart for years, suffering beneath its weight.
Obito knew.
He had seen it with his own eyes.
The way Kakashi visited his and Rin’s memorial stone every day without fail. Just him and their names carved into cold stone. Standing there in silence like a sinner kneeling before an altar, as if showing up enough times would undo what had happened.
As if guilt, endured long enough, could become atonement.
Kakashi did not speak of it.
He endured it.
And he had never once set the weight down.
Each apology grew quieter, softer, that maybe if he said it enough times, the universe might get tired of hearing it and undo what it had done.
Kakashi pulled him even closer, his fingers slid into Obito’s hair gently, as if he was afraid even the strands might break under too much pressure. Like a man clinging to something he never thought he would touch again. Obito didn’t know what to do with the intimacy. Kakashi and him had never hugged before — never stood this close, never shared warmth like this. Their history had always been made of rivalry and missions fought side by side, not quiet embraces.
And yet, Obito’s forehead brushed Kakashi’s neck before hesitantly settling there, resting against the warmth of his skin. Not because he wanted to, but it was as if the years of fighting had finally caught up to him all at once. The exhaustion in his body, the weight of everything he had carried for so long and Kakashi’s presence, steady and familiar, offered something dangerously close to comfort.
In that brief moment, Obito let himself lean into it. And there, he caught his scent.
It wasn’t strong or overwhelming. It was faint, familiar. Clean linen and rain. With a hint of the metallic smell of dried blood.
but still unmistakably Kakashi.
Exactly the way he used to smell when they were teammates. When they were just kids, too young and stubborn.
It was the scent of familiarity.
Steady.
The kind of presence that didn’t demand attention.
Grounding.
Obito felt his body tremble against him. Just slightly. A small, involuntary shake. That split second where he couldn’t keep himself steady.
Not from pain or exhaustion, but because something inside him finally gave way.
For the first time in years, he stopped fighting, stopped being always on high alert. He finally let his guard down.
And for the first time in a long, long while—
Obito felt safe.
It felt as if that gentle, familiar scent was telling him..
It’s okay now.
You don’t have to fight anymore.
You don’t have to carry it alone.
In that moment, wrapped in Kakashi’s arm, He wasn’t a villain nor a war symbol.
He was just Obito.
For the first time in years, he finally rested.
Then, by the time Obito woke, the war was over.
And he was here. In a prison, he assumed. His wrists burned where chakra-suppressing bindings dug into his skin. Chains weighed heavy around his ankles. Even his vision was swallowed in darkness, a blindfold wrapped tight to keep him from using his kamui, as if he could when his chakra is sealed away.
The last thing he remembered was warmth — Kakashi’s arms around him. That brief, trembling embrace that felt too fragile for a world like theirs.
He didn’t know how long he had been here; weeks, perhaps, or long enough that time itself had begun to lose its meaning. He hadn’t spoken once or eaten since. Not that he needed it to survive because with Hashirama's cell in his body, hunger and thirst wasn’t something that could kill him anymore.
The only voice he heard belonged to the ANBU stationed outside his cell; distant, cautious, almost wary. It was through him that Obito learned the Five Kages were deciding his fate, on what to do with someone like him.
But he didn’t care about that. What he cared about was the slow, simmering heat coiling in his veins.
It was coming.
His rut.
He could already feel the early signs — his pulse running too fast, senses sharpening painfully, instincts gnawing at him from the inside. Trapped like this, restrained, unable to move would drive him feral. It would break him before any execution ever could.
He needed to get out. Not to escape. Not to run but to take care of it alone, just long enough until it passes and Obito knows that there was only one person who would understand his request.
Kakashi.
But there was no way to reach him, except through the ANBU outside. Obito didn’t need to confirm their presence. He could feel it, the chakra in the corridor, controlled and disciplined. He knew he was being monitored 24/7 because they would never leave him unguarded. Not someone like him. Not after everything.
So after what felt like an eternity of swallowing words, of letting his throat forget how to form them, Obito forced himself to speak into nothingness. Hoping that the Anbu would hear him through his cell.
“Please… tell Kakashi…” His voice cracked from disuse. His lips felt dry. His breath hitched unevenly, chest tightening with the effort of forming something so simple, “I need to talk to him.”
For a moment, there was nothing. but then, there was the faint scrape of a sandal against stone and sharp intake of breath. The ANBU was probably caught off guard. As if hearing him speak was more unsettling than his silence.
“You want to speak to Lord Sixth?”
The title landed like a stone in his chest.
Lord Sixth.
For a second, something inside Obito twisted, ached, and, impossibly, felt warm.
Kakashi had done it.
He had become Hokage.
The dream Obito used to shout about with reckless certainty, grinning too wide, declaring to anyone who would listen — especially Kakashi — that he would be Hokage one day. Back when it was just the four of them; Rin laughing softly and Minato watching them quietly.
Back when the future still felt reachable.
Back when the world still wasn't a pitch black hell.
Now his dream is fulfilled through Kakashi.
And strangely, It eased something in him. He might not be the Hokage but if anyone was meant to lead at the top;
It was Kakashi.
Not because he was the strongest or feared, but because he understood loss and carried it like a kunai with its blade turned inwards and not outwards, making sure that he doesn't cut anyone but himself.
Because even after everything — after his father’s death, after Obito’s, after Rin’s, after Minato’s — Kakashi still chose to protect, to live.
Obito had once wanted to become Hokage so the village would see him.
Kakashi became Hokage so he could see everyone else, to protect what remained.
And somehow, that felt right, painful, but right.
“..Yes,” Obito answered at last, his voice quieter now.
There was no response after that. Only footsteps retreating down the corridor.
Silence returned.
Obito waited.
And waited.
Shackled and blindfolded.
The heat in his body pulsed, slow and inevitable.
At some point, exhaustion dragged him under again. A shallow, restless fall into darkness.
Obito.
Obito.
His name drifted through the darkness like something fragile. Somebody was calling out to him.
The sound pulled him, like a hand reaching through deep water. Consciousness returned slowly, thick and heavy. His body stirred, a low grunt slipped past his lips when he felt something brushed against his cheeks — a gloved hand, warm even through the thin layer of fabric, thumb grazing lightly along the edge of his jaw.
Gentle. So impossibly gentle.
He flinched on instinct, body still conditioned for pain, for defense. The blindfold pressed against his eyes as he tried to focus through the darkness, as if he could force himself to see through cloth and shadow.
“Obito.”
The voice was closer now, sounding restrained like it was holding back something heavier beneath it. The hand didn’t leave his face. It lingered there, thumb brushing once, twice as if reassuring him that this was real. Obito’s thoughts moved sluggishly. For a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming. If this was another cruel trick his mind had conjured to survive the isolation.
Then, a familiar surge of scent cutting through the suffocating cold smell of prison.
The scent of familiarity, of safety.
Clean linen. Rain. Something sharp beneath it, like distant thunder gathering in the air.
There was no mistaking it...
That scent.
That voice.
That touch.
His throat tightened.
“…Kakashi.”
The name left him rough and disbelieving, barely more than breath.
But it was real.
Kakashi is here.