Chapter Text
The door had barely clicked shut behind Minato before Obito’s breath broke.
His ears rang violently, a high, shrill whine that swallowed the room. The world tilted, edges blurring, his vision stuttering as blood loss finally caught up to him. The bond thrummed tight and frantic, vibrating with everything he couldn’t say—fear, rage, the animalistic need to move.
Before he could stop himself, he bent low and pressed his face into the line of Kakashi’s throat. The smell of their scents tangled together hit him hard enough to make his knees weak.
He needed it—needed the scent, needed the proof that Kakashi was still real, still here. Pine and mint flooded his senses as he dragged his scent across Kakashi’s skin, pressing hard, too hard, trying to burn mine, safe, alive into him.
His grip clenched on the back of the chair, muscles vibrating with fury and panic he had nowhere to put.
Is he safe with you?
You’re dangerous like this.
You could hurt him.
Blood smeared where his cheek dragged across Kakashi’s neck—warm, slick—and the scent shifted wrong. Too rough. Too desperate. Too much murder. Copper cut through everything.
Kakashi’s body went rigid beneath him, pulse spiking violently through the bond. The flare of distress hit Obito like a physical blow—sharp, nauseating, unmistakable.
Obito froze, horror snapping through the haze.
No. No—
He tore himself back like he’d been burned, stumbling away, breath ripping out of him in a broken sound.
“I—” His voice came out wrecked. Too thin. “I need— I can’t— just—”
Say something. Do something. Fix it.
But the words wouldn’t come.
He felt trapped in his own skin, instincts screaming run and fight at the same time, nowhere to go, no way to win.
He was trapped.
They were trapped.
ANBU would be watching. They always watched after meetings like that. Shadows in trees, masks behind rooftops. He could feel it—like pressure on the back of his skull. Like eyes he couldn’t see.
They were probably just outside, lurking in the shadows—waiting for him to make the wrong move.
They couldn’t leave. At this point Kamui wold most likely tear them to shreds. He couldn't risk taking Kakashi with him. And he couldn’t leave him here, then they would take him.
The thought spiraled viciously.
If he tried, they’d follow. If they followed, they’d fight. If they fought, Obito would kill them—or die trying—and Kakashi would be caught in the middle.
He’d get Kakashi hurt.
Or worse.
“Obito.”
Kakashi stood.
Obito’s eye snapped to him instantly and he staggered back another step, chest heaving, Sharingan flaring bright without his permission.
“No,” he rasped. “I can’t— I don’t—.”
Don’t move. Don’t leave. Don’t make me worse.
The room felt too small. The walls too close. His ears rang louder, the world spinning as his blood pressure dipped dangerously low. He was dizzy. Unsteady. Barely holding himself upright.
And all he could think was—
I’m going to hurt him. And I’m going to lose him if I leave.
Both choices felt like death.
He stood there shaking, blood-soaked and feral and terrified of himself, watching Kakashi breathe slowly—carefully—like he was trying not to trigger him again.
But Obito didn’t feel reassured by it.
He felt exposed.
And the worst part was knowing Kakashi was right to be careful.
Because Obito didn’t trust himself either.
“You won’t,” Kakashi said quietly.
The words hit Obito wrong—too calm, too certain, like Kakashi didn’t understand what Obito was barely holding back.
Obito shook his head.
But the longer he stayed there, the more he could feel it—how close the edge was. How easy it would be to lose it.
His whole body was trembling now, and it had nothing to do with the cold. His breath came sharp and uneven, a low snarl locked behind clenched teeth like he was fighting himself.
“You don’t—” he started, then stopped, breath tearing. “I can’t control— I could—”
He couldn’t finish.
Because he could see it happening in his head too clearly.
Kakashi flinching. Kakashi hurt because of him.
Obito had seen it. Felt it through the bond.
I did that.
Kakashi stepped closer.
Not crowding him—just into his line of sight. Close enough to be real. Solid.
The movement snapped something in Obito.
He recoiled like he’d been struck, stumbling back two sharp steps, breath ripping out of him in a harsh, broken exhale. His chakra flared violently, wild and uncontained, slamming into the walls like it was searching for a way out.
“You don’t,” he rasped. “I can’t control— I could—”
He turned abruptly and walked the length of the room. There was no way out. ANBU could be just outside. They probably were just outside. Placed there by Obito’s own sensei in case Obito lost it.
In case he hurt Kakashi.
He walked back again. And again and again.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
He couldn’t stop. His body wouldn’t let him.
Blood slid down his forehead from an open gash, dripping over the bridge of his nose, warm and distracting. His breathing was a mess—too fast, too shallow—like he was still mid-fight, still expecting another explosion, another blade.
And his head. The loud shrill ringing in his ears. His hands dragged hard through his hair, fingers tangling, pulling to stop the ringing, then dropping uselessly to his sides before rising again to do it over and over again.
Please, make it stop.
The room was too small. The exits were wrong. The windows felt watched.
ANBU.
The thought surfaced again, cold and relentless.
They were probably still there—on the roof, in the trees, in the shadows just outside the walls. Watching. Waiting. The Hokage didn’t leave houses unguarded after meetings like that.
He couldn’t leave.
He catalogued doors, windows, blind spots that didn’t exist anymore, his gaze snapping from corner to corner like he could will an escape into being.
He was trapped.
His chakra lashed out blindly, reacting to threats that weren’t there anymore, burning through what little control he had left. He could feel it draining him, but stopping felt impossible.
And underneath all of it—under the adrenaline, the blood loss, the ringing in his ears—sat one terrible certainty:
I’m dangerous like this.
Kakashi had flinched from him.
Obito had felt it through the bond—the discomfort, the tightening. And his mind had leapt to the only conclusion that made sense in the haze.
I scared him. I hurt him. I’m the reason he is scared.
It didn’t matter that Obito was the one bleeding. That his body was wrecked. That his head was still spinning from shock and loss.
All he could see was Kakashi being careful around him.
Afraid of him.
He couldn’t stop pacing, even when he knew he was burning himself out.
His instincts screamed to flee and fight at the same time, and somewhere beneath it all, buried under fear and exhaustion, was the unbearable knowledge that what he needed most right now—was the one thing he was too afraid to take.
Because if he hurt Kakashi again—
He didn’t think he’d survive that.
“Obito.”
He dimly heard Kakashi’s voice.
Obito’s pacing stuttered—just half a step—but it was enough to send a spike of awareness through him. His breath caught, lungs burning as he dragged in air that felt too thin.
“You’re hurt,” Kakashi said, voice low, steady. “Let me help.”
The words hit somewhere deep, somewhere Obito didn’t have language for right now. Help meant close. Close meant danger.
He wanted to be close. He wanted to keep him safe.
And right now he was too dangerous to do that.
His breath stuttered again, feet skidding slightly on the blood-slick floor as his body fought itself.
“You can’t,” Obito snarled—but the sound shook, cracked at the edges. “I— I’ll—”
He couldn’t even finish. He couldn’t even find the words.
His head dipped forward, hands dragging hard through his hair as if he could physically pull himself back into control. He was still shaking, blood-soaked and feral, terrified of his own hands—of what he might do if he reached out again. He wanted him to be close. The ringing in his ears continued, loud and piercing. His jaw locked tight, teeth bared without intent, chest heaving.
I’m dangerous like this.
“Not safe,” he forced out.
Not you.
Me.
Kakashi stepped deliberately into his line of sight, slow and open, no sudden reach, no sharp angles. Every movement was careful. Measured. Like he was approaching something wild and wounded instead of a man.
Kakashi saw him as something dangerous, and that hurt worse than the blood loss.
Slowly, Kakashi lifted his hand. And took Obito’s.
“It’s all right,” Kakashi said as warm skin closed around cold leather.
The contact sent a jolt straight through Obito’s chest—sharp, grounding, terrifying. His instinct screamed to pull away, to bolt before he did something unforgivable—
Control yourself. Hold it. Don’t break.
Kakashi didn’t flinch. Didn’t tighten his grip.
He watched him like he thought that Obito wouldn’t hurt him.
That Obito was trying to protect him.
Even from himself.
“Come with me,” Kakashi said quietly, nodding toward the hallway.
For a moment, Obito felt like glass under pressure.
Every instinct screamed don’t move. Don’t loosen your grip on control. If you do, everything will shatter.
His throat tightened.
Obito felt it—felt the tension in his own body ease by fractions, tiny cracks forming in the iron grip he’d locked around himself. His fingers twitched, then curled around Kakashi’s hand in return before he could stop them.
Then—barely, but enough—he nodded.
Kakashi turned, not pulling, just guiding.
Obito followed stiffly, each step a deliberate act of will. His legs felt heavy, uncooperative, his head swimming as the ringing in his ears refused to fade. The hallway blurred. The world tilted.
The bedroom swallowed them in shadow.
The scent changed immediately—familiar fabric, old warmth, them—layered beneath the sharp, violent tang rolling off Obito’s body. Kakashi didn’t turn on the light. He just led him into the center of the room and stopped, as if trusting the dark to do some of the work for him.
“Come on,” Kakashi murmured, fingers brushing lightly over Obito’s arm. The touch was brief—but intentional. “Let’s get you out of this.”
Obito stood there rigid, fists clenched so tight his hands ached, shoulders wound tight enough to snap. The bond throbbed heavy and strained, every pulse weighted with the effort it took not to freak out.
Kakashi’s hands moved to the fastenings of his cloak.
Obito tensed instantly—but Kakashi went slow. Inch by inch. Predictable. Careful. Easing the heavy fabric down his shoulders like he was dismantling armor instead of stripping him bare.
His gaze stayed locked on Kakashi, tracking every movement, every breath—waiting for the moment he’d pull back.
Kakashi’s hands were steady—gentle, careful in the way only he could be. The moment the cloak shifted, Obito felt it—the violence clinging to it, thick and aggressive, like it had soaked up everything he’d done. It hit the floor with a soft, wet sound. The smell of iron filled the room, thick enough to choke on, and Obito couldn’t even look at him.
It’s my fault. I did that.
Kakashi reached for his left glove next, peeling it off with slow precision, exposing the scarred skin underneath. Obito barely flinched—those scars were real, his.
But when Kakashi’s fingers brushed his right wrist—when they found the edge of the other glove—Obito’s entire body seized.
He flinched violently. The breath left him in a sharp, involuntary sound. His hand jerked back before he could stop it. The bond spiked so hard it made his vision blur.
He didn’t want Kakashi to see that. To know it.
“Obito—” he heard distantly.
Something as pure as Kakashi shouldn’t have to bear the sight of something like him. Or touch something like him.
He hated this.
Hated the thought of Kakashi seeing what was underneath—the pale, synthetic skin, the mockery of flesh stitched together as if it had once belonged to someone else’s body.
That he had a body that wasn’t even fully his.
He was a collection of left-over parts and the only real thing left of him was the rage.
The room shrank. The walls closed in. The air seemed to vibrate and it all became too much.
“Can’t you feel it?” Obito snapped, the words tearing out of him raw and frantic. “I’m not— I’m not right.”
Kakashi shouldn’t see it, shouldn’t see him.
He was too good. Too pure.
And Obito was wrong.
He staggered a step, caught himself on instinct, and veered away hard before Kakashi could touch him again. His boots scraped sharply against the floor as he turned and started pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
He couldn’t stop.
Obito couldn’t meet his gaze. He turned his head, breath coming hard through his teeth, every muscle coiled tight. Shame crawled under his skin like fire.
His chakra bled out uncontrolled, thick and hot, scraping against his own nerves like standing too close to open flame.
He could feel the words building in his throat—the same useless apologies he’d bitten back a hundred times before. But nothing came out.
I am something WRONG.
He snarled under his breath and dragged both hands through his hair, fingers tangling, pulling, dropping, rising again. His pacing tightened—shorter steps, faster turns. The ringing in his ears intensified. Agitation climbing instead of easing.
“I’m—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, chest hitching. “Not safe.”
I could hurt you.
The words tasted like failure.
He turned away again, pacing faster now, movements sharp and erratic—like if he stopped moving, something worse would happen. Like stillness would mean losing control entirely.
His chakra spiked again, tore at itself, instincts clawing desperately for something solid and finding nothing to anchor to.
He could feel it burning him from the inside out.
He knew it even as he did it—knew that if this kept up, his body would give out before his mind did. The dangerous cocktail of chakra drain blood loss and shock would soon drag him under.
“Obito.”
His name cut through the noise like a blade.
Obito froze mid-step.
Every muscle locked, instincts screaming don’t let him closer—not because Kakashi was a threat, but because Obito was.
His shoulders still shook. His breath still came too fast. His Sharingan still burned bright in the dim room.
But his feet stopped moving.
“I trust you,” Kakashi said.
The words hit Obito square in the chest.
How? How could Kakashi trust him.
Obito was dangerous. Cruel. Wrong. And Kakashi was everything that was good in this world.
“No,” he rasped, voice shredded. “You shouldn’t. I’m not— I could—”
He didn’t finish. The words didn’t come.
Because Kakashi stepped closer anyway.
A low growl tore itself out of Obito’s chest before he could stop it—raw, broken, instinctive.
Stay away from me.
The instant it left him, shame slammed down hard. His jaw clenched tight as if he could force the sound back inside.
You’re losing control.
“I trust you,” Kakashi repeated.
And stepped closer again.
Obito’s body tensed hard.
How could Kakashi trust someone like him?
Kakashi didn’t reach for his arms or block his escape. Didn’t corner him.
He made it obvious—every movement slow, visible. One step closer. Then another. As if Obito was a startled animal backed up into a corner.
“Stay,” Kakashi murmured.
The word lodged somewhere deep.
He shouldn’t have to treat Obito like something wild and dangerous.
Pull yourself together, Obito.
Obito swallowed hard. His jaw clenched. His shoulders shook as he fought something violent and internal—every instinct screaming to bolt, to protect Kakashi by keeping him away.
Then—barely—he nodded.
Kakashi’s hands found his chest, fingers curling against his heartbeat, steadying him without resistance. The world narrowed to that touch, that warmth, that quiet promise beneath the chaos.
He felt his own heart hammering beneath Kakashi’s palms—wild, uneven, frantic.
A sharp, full-body shudder tore through him like a fault line slipping, hands clenching hard at his sides, leather creaking under strain.
He stood there shaking, eye burning bright as his instincts screamed that he should run.
But he didn’t move away.
Even though Obito didn’t feel safe.
Even though Obito wasn’t.
Kakashi took his wrist.
Gently. Carefully.
The contact sent a jolt through Obito’s arm—sharp enough to make his instincts flare—but Kakashi didn’t pull. Didn’t drag. Just guided, steady and deliberate, toward the bed.
“Sit,” Kakashi said softly.
The word hit like an order wrapped in care.
Obito resisted for half a second—muscles locking, instincts snarling don’t—and then his knees struck the edge of the bed and he gave in. He sank down heavily, breath tearing out of him, hands bracing hard on his thighs like if he let go he might spring up again without warning.
He hated how weak he felt. Hated how out of control he was.
Kakashi crouched in front of him.
Obito saw his eyes move—fast, professional—scanning him the way medics did after explosions. The room was dark, shadows pooling thick around them, lit only by the faint spill of light from the hallway.
Blood soaked his clothes so thoroughly it swallowed color, turning fabric into dark, uneven patches that glistened faintly when he shifted. It streaked his face, smeared his chest, dried in jagged lines along his neck and jaw. Even in the low light, it caught—wet in places, tacky in others.
Too much.
The copper scent of his blood hung thick in the air.
Obito knew it the moment Kakashi’s gaze lingered.
He saw Kakashi swallow. Saw the way his shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.
I’m disgusting him, the thought whispered.
“I’ll get a towel,” Kakashi said quietly. “And something for your chakra. I’ll be right back.”
He started to stand.
Panic slammed into Obito hard and fast.
His hand shot out without permission and closed around Kakashi’s wrist, grip tight and unyielding. Leather creaked. Blood-slick fingers trembled as he held on.
Don’t go.
The bond spiked violently—fear, raw and instinctive, flooding out of Obito before he could stop it. The message wasn’t subtle. It tore through both of them.
Kakashi stilled.
Obito looked down at his own hand like he didn’t recognize it—then up at Kakashi.
If he let go, something terrible would happen. He didn’t know what—only that his body was certain of it.
Kakashi’s face softened.
He shifted closer instead of pulling away, bracing one knee against the mattress as he leaned in slowly, deliberately, resting his forehead against Obito’s temple.
Obito flinched at first—then froze, breath hitching as Kakashi stayed there.
“Okay,” Kakashi said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Obito’s grip loosened—not fully, but enough that the panic eased from a scream to a roar in his chest.
It wasn’t loud at first—just a subtle slipping, like his thoughts had lost their edges. The room felt farther away again. Sounds dulled. His vision lagged when he blinked, shadows stretching where they shouldn’t. He dimly registered movement somewhere at the edge of the room—shapes, maybe the dogs—but it all blurred together, unimportant, unreal.
Stay awake, he thought hazily. Don’t pass out.
Then Kakashi was suddenly right there.
Closer than before.
Obito blinked, startled, and realized Kakashi was holding something out in front of him.
“Here.”
Obito blinked.
Kakashi held out his hand for him. Two pills in his hand. Obito distantly recognised them as the chakra replenishing pills he kept in the bathroom. They were effective, but foul tasting.
And Kakashi wanted him to take them.
He hadn’t noticed Kakashi moving away. Hadn’t noticed him coming back. The gap in time made his stomach twist faintly with unease—but Kakashi was here now, solid and real, and that mattered more than whatever he’d missed.
Obito stared at the pills for a second.
Then at Kakashi’s hand.
His fingers felt too clumsy where they were trembling against Kakakashi’s sides. It felt too far away to simply reach for them.
But if Kakashi wanted him to take them, he would take them.
Instead, he leaned forward and took the pills with his mouth, his breath ghosting across Kakashi’s palm, and he felt Kakashi tense—just a fraction—before fingers brushed against his cheek.
Obito swallowed them down dry.
Kakashi’s hand stayed where it was, fingers resting gently at his jaw, thumb pressing lightly beneath his cheekbone. Obito leaned into it without thinking, eye slipping half-closed like his body had found something it trusted more than conscious thought.
It took a few minutes before the pills set in.
Not all at once—nothing dramatic—but in slow, unmistakable shifts.
Obito shuddered, a harsh exhale tearing out of him as his chakra finally—finally—began to settle. The wild edge didn’t vanish, but it pulled back inch by inch, like a tide retreating under force it couldn’t fight anymore. His head dipped forward with a strangled breath, shoulders still locked tight, lungs still working too fast—but he wasn’t trying to crawl out of his own skin anymore.
He could feel it now—warmth spreading outward from his core, slow and steady instead of jagged. The hollow, dizzy pressure behind his eyes eased. The ringing in his ears dulled, then faded entirely, leaving the world quiet enough to breathe in again.
Underneath the blood and exhaustion, his body started doing what it always did.
Healing.
He felt it along his ribs first—deep aches softening as tissue knit back together. The raw burn in his thigh faded to a heavy soreness. Even the tight pull at his forehead eased, skin drawing closed beneath dried blood.
You’re not allowed to die, his body insisted.
Kakashi stayed close.
Obito was dimly aware of him watching—felt the attention like a steady weight. Even through the haze, he could sense Kakashi’s discomfort, the way the sight of Obito unsettled him. Obito hated that. Hated knowing he was the reason Kakashi was uncomfortable. Hated that the world had carved him into this monstrous creature.
Obito saw his eyes move—fast, precise—scanning him the way medics did after explosions. Assessing damage. Counting injuries. The room was dark, shadows pooling thick around them, lit only by the faint spill of light from the hallway.
Everything felt distant. Soft at the edges.
Obito’s vision swam as he blinked, the world lagging half a second behind his thoughts. The pills were working. The blood loss wasn’t screaming anymore. But the exhaustion pressed down heavy, dragging strange ideas up from places he usually kept locked tight.
His gaze drifted.
And caught.
There—at Kakashi’s throat.
A smear of blood, dark and drying, dragged across pale skin where Obito’s face had pressed there earlier. It curved slightly, uneven at the edges.
Like a band.
Like a collar.
The thought hit him sideways.
Oh.
Something twisted in his chest—not sharp, not explosive. Just heavy. Inevitable.
That’s what I do isn’t it.
His breath hitched quietly.
He cages him.
The blood wasn’t just blood—not in his head, not right now. It was proof. A mark. Just another leash he hadn’t even realized he’d put there. Another way of saying mine, whether Kakashi wanted it or not.
Obito’s fingers curled weakly against his own thigh.
I trap him. I cover him in my violence and call it protection.
The idea settled in with awful clarity.
He couldn’t leave. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t take Kakashi with him.
So instead, he stayed—and turned the house into a cage, the bond into a lock, the scent into a collar.
Just like everyone else had done.
Just quieter.
His vision darkened at the edges again, pulse slowing as fatigue dragged him under another inch. He swallowed thickly, throat tight.
He doesn’t even see it, Obito thought dully. Of course he doesn’t. He never does.
Because Kakashi was still there—still kneeling in front of him, still careful, still gentle. Still touching him like Obito was the one who needed saving.
Not realizing he was wearing the mark.
Obito looked at the blood on Kakashi’s throat and felt something like grief curl low in his gut.
I ruin everything I touch.
The thought wasn’t angry.
Just tired.
Kakashi moved closer.
Obito barely registered the motion at first—just a shift in weight, a change in the air. Then warmth pressed in, familiar and impossible to ignore, and Kakashi leaned in and scented him.
Obito felt it before he understood it—Kakashi leaning in, pressing close, dragging his scent deliberately along Obito’s jaw. The contact cut through everything. Pine and mint overlaid the copper and ash, rewriting the air, replacing the battlefield with him.
Marking him. Claiming space. Telling his instincts, this is safe now.
Obito went still.
The contact hit him wrong—not frightening, not overwhelming, just… incomprehensible.
Why?
His thoughts felt thick, syrup-slow, slipping sideways as exhaustion pulled at him. He couldn’t follow the logic of it. Couldn’t make the pieces line up.
Why would Kakashi do this?
Why would he mark him—again—after everything? After the blood. After the rage. After the way Obito had lost control and dragged violence home with him like it was something inevitable.
Obito swallowed, throat tight.
You don’t have to, he thought dimly. You should run.
But Kakashi didn’t.
He pressed closer instead, scenting Obito’s jaw, his throat, breathing him in like this—this—was a choice. Like it was something Kakashi wanted, not something he endured.
The bond responded immediately, warming, deepening, settling into something steady and intimate. Obito felt it bloom despite himself.
Kakashi moved closer and swung one leg over his lap, then the other, settling there with deliberate weight. The contact grounded Obito instantly—solid, inescapable, real. His hands twitched at Kakashi’s sides, instincts warring between holding on and letting go.
“Easy,” Kakashi murmured.
Then he wrapped his arms around Obito’s shoulders and pulled him in—close enough that there was no room left for doubt. No space for fear to wedge itself between them.
Obito didn’t understand how Kakashi could look at him—blood-soaked, half-feral, shaking apart—and still choose closeness. Still choose him.
I cage you, Obito thought, the idea still lodged deep and painful in his chest. I trap you here. I put collars on you and call it safety.
And still—Kakashi stayed.
Still pressed his scent into Obito’s skin like he was grounding him, not claiming something that already belonged to him. Like the scent was reassurance, not a lock.
Kakashi pressed his face into the side of his neck and breathed him in—slow, steady—and then began to scent him properly. Along the jaw first. Then the throat. Careful, deliberate passes of skin and breath and intent.
His breath ghosted over Obito’s collarbone, then higher, brushing the line of his throat. His hands came up—slow, unhurried—fingertips barely grazing Obito’s ribs.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was instinct, deep and deliberate—Kakashi breathing him in until his own scent unfurled like warmth through the cold air, sweet and grounding.
Obito froze. The sound that left his chest wasn’t quite a sigh, wasn’t quite a groan—it was something pulled from deep inside, something that hurt and soothed at once.
He should have moved. Should have told him to stop. But instead, he tilted his head just slightly, eyes falling shut, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides.
Kakashi’s scent—soft, cool, home—threaded through the copper and ash still clinging to his skin, smothering the iron tang of blood.
Obito felt it sink in.
Felt the way his instincts responded despite himself—tension loosening, muscles unclenching by fractions he hadn’t been able to force on his own. The blood was everywhere now—on Kakashi’s face, on his own skin, on their clothes—but Kakashi stayed.
Obito didn’t understand it.
But he leaned into it anyway.
Because even caged, even broken, even convinced he was doing everything wrong—
He wanted Kakashi close.
And he didn’t have the strength left to push him away.
“I’ve got you,” Kakashi whispered into his neck.
Something inside Obito cracked.
A broken sound tore out of him—half growl, half whine—as his hands finally latched onto Kakashi’s back, gripping fabric like he might fall apart if he didn’t hold on. His forehead dropped forward, pressing into Kakashi’s shoulder as if his body had finally been given permission to stop fighting. He pulled him closer—not roughly, not urgently. Just enough to make sure he didn’t drift away.
Even if Obito was a cage.
He loved him.
He loved Kakashi enough to want him close even when he believed—wrongly, painfully—that he was only tightening the bars.
Enough to choose him anyway.
Enough to cling.
I can’t let you go.
Kakashi didn’t rush him.
He moved methodically, reverently, scenting every part of Obito he could reach—cheekbones, hair, temples. Fingers threaded through dark strands, pressing his face there until Obito’s scent shifted beneath his own. Until it softened. Warmed.
“There you go,” Kakashi murmured. “Stay with me.”
Obito shook beneath him, breath stuttering once—then slowing. The glow of the Sharingan dimmed further, heat ebbing from the room like a storm finally losing momentum.
I can’t live without you.
The thought didn’t scare him. It felt like truth.
Kakashi kissed along his temple, down the bridge of his nose, over the place on his forehead that had already healed. Not kissing to claim—just breathing, scenting, taking the space back from the violence that had tried to own him.
“You’re safe,” Kakashi said. “I’ve got you.”
Obito believed him.
He responded carefully and pressed his face into the curve of Kakashi’s neck, breathing him in the same way Kakashi had. Deep, grounding pulls. Pine and mint filling his lungs like oxygen.
I have to keep you safe, Obito thought fiercely, even as his body sagged further into Kakashi’s hold.
I have to keep you good. Keep you clean. Untouched by what I am.
The thought twisted painfully—but it didn’t loosen its grip.
Kakashi tilted his head automatically, giving him better access.
Obito exhaled a low, rough sound and scented him back—slow, reverent, clinging to every bit Kakashi offered like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Good,” Kakashi murmured, fingers in his hair. “That’s it.”
Obito’s arms locked around him fully then—tight, desperate, crushing. His face pressed into Kakashi’s shoulder, breath finally evening out as the last of the chaos drained away.
Still shaking. Still wrecked.
But healing.
The pills continued their quiet work.
Heat spread. Pain dulled. The sharp edges of injury softened into something manageable. His chakra stopped tearing at itself and began to flow again—slow, heavy, exhausted, but his.
Obito barely noticed when the panic in his grip faded.
One moment he was holding on like letting go would kill him—next, his hands had softened without permission, the desperate clutch easing into something looser. Safer.
Kakashi shifted just enough for Obito to register movement, fingers finding the hem of his shirt.
“Let me,” Kakashi said quietly.
The words reached Obito through cotton and static. His thoughts felt slow now, like they were sinking through thick water.
For a split second, the exhaustion lifted just enough for something sharp and ugly to surface—an instinctive recoil that had nothing to do with fear of touch and everything to do with being seen.
Not like this.
His body beneath the shirt wasn’t clean. Wasn’t whole. It wasn’t something that belonged neatly to him. It was scars and grafts and synthetic flesh—foreign in ways that went deeper than skin. A body patched together by hands that hadn’t cared whether it felt like his afterward.
A man made of spare parts.
He didn’t want Kakashi to see that.
Didn’t want him to see how broken he really was underneath the blood and armor and rage. How much of him was damage that never quite went away, no matter how fast he healed.
His breath hitched.
If Kakashi saw it—really saw it—something terrible might happen. Pity. Revulsion. That careful, quiet distance people got when they realized what you were.
Don’t look, his instincts whispered. Don’t let him see.
He loved Kakashi too much for that.
But he loved him too much to refuse him, too.
He hesitated—instinct twitching weakly—then nodded once. Shallow. Stiff.
That took more effort than it should have.
The fabric dragged where it clung to dried blood, tugging unpleasantly at skin already too sensitive. Obito tensed instinctively, breath hitching as the shirt cleared his head—bracing for the moment Kakashi would see.
Really see.
Cool air brushed his chest, and with it came a strange, unexpected relief—like something heavy had finally been lifted off him. The battle-scent faded with the cloth, violence peeling away layer by layer.
Kakashi’s hands followed immediately, warm and deliberate, gliding over muscle and bone with the practiced confidence of someone checking damage. Obito felt the assessment more than he saw it—fingers pausing, pressing, moving on.
Obito waited for it.
The flinch. The pity. That subtle tightening people got when they realized how much of him wasn’t human anymore.
It never came.
Kakashi’s expression didn’t change.
Not even a flicker.
The ringing in his ears was gone now, replaced by a low, distant hush. His vision began to darken at the edges, shadows creeping inward whenever he blinked too long. His body felt heavy. Boneless.
Good, some distant part of him thought. Healing.
The pills were still working, warmth spreading deeper now—along his spine, through his limbs. The ache in his ribs dulled further. The raw soreness in his thigh softened into something bearable. Even his head felt lighter, the pressure easing as his body stitched itself back together piece by piece.
Kakashi kept going.
He worked methodically, unfastening buckles, brushing over joints, skin, scars—all of it, unseeing but certain. No hesitation. No revulsion. No careful, softened look that meant I’m sorry this happened to you. Kakashi touched him like this body was simply… his. Like it belonged here. Like it didn’t need to be explained or excused.
Pants next—just as soaked as the cloak had been. Obito barely registered the motion as Kakashi worked them off him, careful and unhurried. The fabric hit the floor with the rest of the discarded armor.
Piece by piece, the weight fell away.
By the time Kakashi finished, Obito was bare and unguarded, the last of the storm stripped from him. He didn’t feel feral anymore.
He felt… empty.
Like a man standing in the quiet after destruction, shaking from the echo of it.
Shame rose hot and sudden in his chest, fierce enough to make him want to turn away, to vanish, to tear himself apart just to escape the unbearable tenderness of being seen like this.
But Kakashi didn’t look away.
Didn’t linger either.
He nodded faintly to himself, still working as if none of it—the blood, the scars, the patched-together body—mattered at all.
As if Obito was not broken.
Just here.
Kakashi reached for his last glove.
“I’m taking it off,” he said gently.
Obito swallowed. His throat felt thick, heavy. He nodded again—smaller this time—and let go.
For the first time, he wondered—dazed and aching and still half-afraid—If maybe Kakashi wasn’t choosing him despite the damage.
But simply choosing him.
The glove slid away sticky with dried blood. The cool air hit the pale, smooth surface of the synthetic arm, but Kakashi’s fingers never hesitated. His hand beneath was wrong, but whole. Kakashi checked it anyway—wrist, palm, fingers—touches slow and thorough. Obito barely felt it, awareness drifting in and out as his eyelids grew heavier.
Kakashi’s gaze moved over him again—he could feel it. Blood crusted into the lines of his knuckles, smeared across his bare chest, spattered along his arms and thighs.
But no pain followed the scrutiny.
Just fatigue.
Just the weight of everything finally settling.
Darkness crept further into his vision, like night falling without ceremony.
Then the towel touched his face.
Cool. Damp. Gentle.
Kakashi started at his jaw, wiping upward in slow strokes. The fabric came away dark almost immediately. Obito breathed through it, anchoring himself to the simple rhythm—wipe, pause, breath.
He leaned into it without thinking.
His head tipped forward, forehead brushing Kakashi’s shoulder as the towel passed over his cheekbone. A sound slipped out of him—quiet, unguarded—before he could stop it. His hands tightened faintly at Kakashi’s hips, not in desperation, not even in need. Just habit. Muscle memory. Like this was something his body remembered how to do.
Like this was familiar.
The blood was everywhere.
Dried against his skin. Crusted under his nails. Soaked into the seams of his clothes. It had cooled long ago, but he could still feel it—tight and sticky, a second skin made of everything he wanted to forget.
The wounds beneath were gone, already knitted shut by chakra, but the stains remained. Everywhere.
One towel wasn’t going to be enough. It would never be enough.
Some distant, practical part of Obito registered that much—the way Kakashi kept wiping and wiping, the fabric growing heavier, darker, until it stopped cleaning and only smeared the blood around. He knew he needed more than this. A soak. Scrubbing. Time.
But Kakashi did what he could.
And Obito let him.
“…You heal fast,” Kakashi murmured.
The words barely registered. Obito made a low, unfocused sound in response—something that might have been agreement, or maybe just breath. Language felt far away right now, heavy and unnecessary. He had the dim thought that he should probably explain the healing. The grafts. The way this body worked.
But not now.
His forehead settled back against Kakashi’s shoulder, and he stayed there as Kakashi continued his quest of getting blood off him.
It felt—wrongly, painfully—like being a kid again.
Like scraped knees and split lips and Kakashi crouched in front of him with dirt on his hands and worry in his eyes, cleaning him up even when Obito laughed it off. Like quiet corners after missions where Kakashi didn’t say much, just stayed close and made sure he was okay.
Back when being cared for didn’t feel like duty.
Back when it didn’t hurt to accept it.
The darkness crept further into his vision, soft and insistent. His body sagged forward another inch, weight settling more fully into Kakashi’s space. He didn’t fight it.
He was so tired.
And Kakashi stayed with him, quiet and steady, continuing to wipe the blood away while Obito drifted—held in place by touch, scent, and the certainty that he didn’t have to keep himself upright anymore.
That someone else was doing it for him.
Just like he used to.
Obito wanted to be something pure again, untainted, something Kakashi could touch without remembering the ruin that came with him.
But now— Now, with Kakashi’s scent pressed into his skin, all he could think about was this.
The way Kakashi leaned against him, the way his breath stuttered faintly against his neck, the way the bond hummed between them—warm, alive, right.
So when the towel left Kakashi’s hands, Obito’s hands came up.
His fingers curled into Kakashi’s back with sudden force, digging hard into muscle until it bordered on pain—not to hurt, never to hurt—but to anchor. To make sure Kakashi stayed where he was. Solid. Real.
The grip trembled at first. Then—slowly—it steadied.
Kakashi didn’t pull away.
Obito pulled him closer—not roughly, not urgently. Just enough to close the space completely, to press them chest to chest where there was no room left for fear to creep in.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kakashi murmured.
The sound of it tightened something in Obito’s chest painfully. His grip tightened in response, fingers curling into skin like if he let go Kakashi might vanish.
Kakashi leaned in and dragged his scent along Obito’s jaw and cheek—slow, deliberate. Grounding. He pressed his nose briefly into Obito’s hair and breathed him in, then kissed his temple.
Once.
Then again—along his cheekbone.
Near the corner of his mouth.
Not rushed. Not demanding.
Just here. Mine. Safe.
The bond answered immediately.
The jagged edges dulled. The frantic pulse softened into something warmer, heavier. Obito felt himself sag a little against Kakashi, shoulders finally giving up the fight they’d been waging all night.
Kakashi stayed close, cheek pressed to his, scent wrapping around him like a blanket. One hand slid up to cradle the back of Obito’s neck, thumb moving in slow, familiar circles.
“It’s okay,” Kakashi whispered. “I’ve got you.”
That was all it took.
The noise that rose in Obito’s throat was low, dangerous. The kind of sound that came from somewhere between desperation and devotion.
His control frayed. His arm slid around Kakashi’s waist, pulling him flush against him, breath catching as the last of the world’s noise fell away.
The blood didn’t matter anymore. The guilt didn’t. Only the pulse against his mouth when he leaned in, only the scent of his omega pressed against his skin, only the quiet sound that escaped both of them when he finally let himself breathe.
For the first time since the hunt, Obito wasn’t burning.
He was home.
Obito’s hands trembled where they rested against him. Every breath he drew carried Kakashi’s scent deeper into his lungs until there was no air left that wasn’t theirs.
Kakashi didn’t resist; he leaned closer, steady and sure, his own heartbeat thudding slow and certain against Obito’s chest.
The bond surged—warm, bright, alive—and for a moment Obito could almost feel it pulse under his skin like a second heart.
He wanted more of that. Wanted to drown in it.
A small, broken sound slipped out of his throat as he turned his face in, nuzzling into Kakashi’s neck. He breathed him in like it was oxygen—like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Kakashi let him.
Didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t try to fix anything else.
He just stayed—kissing Obito’s face softly, scenting him again and again, letting Obito anchor himself in the simple truth of closeness.
And in that moment—breathing the same air, clinging to the same fragile calm—Obito didn’t need words.
His nose brushed the curve of Kakashi’s throat, the faint warmth of his skin grounding him in an instant. The scent that rose to meet him was soft, familiar — sharp with ink and steel, threaded through with pine and that faint sweetness that Obito couldn’t place.
He breathed him in once. Then again. Then again.
Kakashi tilted his head a little more, a silent question in the movement—patient, trusting, steady.
That quiet trust undid him.
Obito pulled him closer—slow, reverent—until nothing in the room existed except their shared warmth, the rhythm of their breathing, the way their scents tangled until the line between them blurred completely.
Every thought, every sharp edge of anger and guilt, burned away in the closeness.
Minato could call it delusion. He could call it obsession. He could call it grief.
Obito didn’t care.
Kakashi was his. Not because of a bond or a memory, but because even stripped of everything else, he was still Kakashi.
And that was all that mattered.
Obito pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him.
The effort cost more than he expected.
The feral sharpness was gone—not replaced by calm or clarity, but by weight. His shoulders sagged instead of coiling. His head dipped forward slightly, like holding it up had become a conscious choice. The Sharingan was gone entirely now, the red faded to dark as his eye struggled to stay open.
Everything felt dimmer.
His vision darkened at the edges, tunneling in and out as he blinked slowly. He was so tired. Bone-deep. Past adrenaline. Past fear.
Obito’s gaze traced Kakashi’s face by habit more than intent—checking him piece by piece. Still here. Still breathing. Still real. His hand slid up to Kakashi’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek with surprising gentleness.
Kakashi looked so close. Too close to lose.
‘You don’t have to live with it,’ Minato had said. He’s not the same person anymore.
But staying here—breathing in the quiet rhythm of Kakashi’s scent, the steady pulse beneath his hand—Obito couldn’t see the difference.
Yes, the memories were gone. The history. The years. But he was still here.
Still kind. Still clever. Still painfully stubborn in all the ways that made Obito’s heart ache.
Still the person who could look at him—at everything monstrous and unlovable in him—and not flinch.
And Obito knew, with the kind of certainty that burned, that it didn’t matter what Minato said. It didn’t matter if Kakashi never remembered the boy Obito used to be.
Because the man standing here now—this version of Kakashi who still met his touch with calm, who still reached for him instead of pulling away—was everything he needed.
Everything he’d ever wanted.
His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Just the ghost of one.
“I love you,” he breathed.
The words slipped out unguarded—too quiet to take back.
Kakashi’s breath caught. Obito felt it.
But he didn’t wait.
He couldn’t.
His body swayed, balance slipping without warning, and his forehead tipped forward to rest briefly against Kakashi’s shoulder. The last of the words followed, barely more than breath.
“…every version of you.”
It happened too fast to stop.
One moment he was still braced against Kakashi—the next, the world tilted sideways and his strength vanished all at once as darkness closed in completely.
“Obito—”
Hands caught him.
And for the first time since the forest, since the masks, since the fear—
Obito let the dark drag him under.