Part 1: Memory

"Why do you keep coming here?" the boy asked curiously. "The dead aren’t lonely."

Kakashi glanced up sharply, his one visible eye narrowed to a slit. His reflexes were sharp---perhaps the sharpest in Konoha---yet he hadn’t sensed the boy’s approach.

If there had even been an approach. . .

The boy looked uncannily familiar.

"Who are you?" Kakashi asked, frowning. He stood in a forest clearing in the rain, still and silent as a gray statue. The rain had soaked through the thick vest he wore, and plastered his shock of white hair against his head.

He’d been standing here for a very long time.

He had been here since dawn, and in that entire time there had been no other visitors to the cemetery. The only sounds he’d heard were the rustlings of water on the surrounding spring leaves, and the voices memory conjured up as he stared at the rows of stone before him. There had been no sound until the boy spoke.

"You know me," the boy insisted, smiling a little. It was a quiet, self-effacing sort of smile, and this time Kakashi allowed himself to recognize the person standing before him.

"I know you," he agreed, nodding. "But I haven’t seen you in so long. . .so very long. . ."

The boy’s smile wavered a bit.

"It hasn’t been that long. You come here every day."

Spiky black hair. Goggles that made his eyes look larger than they were, so that he seemed even younger. A round, honest face that gave new meaning to the expression "wearing your heart on your sleeve."

A jacket bearing the crest of the Uchiha.

"You’ve seen me?" Kakashi asked, an unusual earnestness in his tone. "You’ve seen me every day? Heard what I’ve asked, and never answered?" A pause; the Jounin’s throat tightened. "Why? Why did you never answer?"

Obito shook his head, his smile fading completely. He seemed sad.

"You come here when you’re troubled," the boy said quietly. "And even when you’re not. You ask ‘What would you have done, Obito? What would you say to me if you were alive?’ Well, I’m not that wise, Kakashi. Death didn’t make me wise."

Kakashi swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat. His eyes burned. Seeing his friend as if he were alive---as if his body hadn’t been crushed beneath the rubble. . . Speaking with him, face to face, as he had never dreamed he’d do again. . . Suddenly he was himself from twelve years ago, newly free of his arrogance and filled with newfound loyalty to his comrades. And his anguish now felt as raw as it had then, in the shadow of grief.

"You knew something I didn’t," Kakashi insisted, one fist clenched at his side in an effort to keep himself from stepping closer to his friend. He was afraid that if he did, the spell would be broken and Obito would disappear. "You showed me the courage it takes to protect your comrades, even in the face of death. If that isn’t wisdom, then every name on Konoha’s memorial stone belongs to a fool."

Obito took a step toward Kakashi, skirting around the gravestone. He looked somewhat nervous, as he had in life whenever he was about to take a stand.

"If that’s what you learned from me, then you’ve learned it," Obito insisted. "You’ve changed for the better; you aren’t selfish anymore. So now it’s time to live your life. . .and to let me go." The last part was added in quieter tones, which made it all the more cruel.

Kakashi lowered his head. Rain trickled down his forehead, running over the hitai ate fastened there.

"I let you go long ago, when I shouldn’t have," he argued in a low voice. "I let you die. You were a sacrifice to my selfishness." His gaze lifted, drinking in the sight of the young ghost before him. "That’s why you’re still that age---still the boy I remembered. I let you die too young, when there was too much left for you to do. . .for me to say. . ."

Obito’s mouth compressed into a grim line---a solemn look like the one he’d worn the day he died.

"Then say it, Kakashi," he finally replied. "Say what’s on your conscience and let me go."

Briefly, Kakashi closed his eyes, weighed down by old grief so intense it was practically fresh. It was burned into his eyes, those memories. He had been too blind to acknowledge the person who was most loyal to him until it was too late; until Obito’s body lay crushed and broken. He could still see---with his eye and Obito’s---that last glimpse of half a face, with blood running like tears from beneath an eyelid his friend had shut to spare him the sight. Those broken lips, curved into a smile. . .

"I do say it," Kakashi exclaimed suddenly, anguish plain in his voice. "I admit my guilt time after time, but it’s never enough. You still haunt me."

This time it was Obito who bowed his head in sorrow---sorrow for his friend. The rain fell soft between them.

"I forgave you long ago, when I chose to give you the eye," Obito answered gently. "But it’s you who haunts this place. It’s you who can’t forgive yourself." He stepped back again, closer to the grave. "Let me go, Kakashi, so you can finally be free."

Slowly, the fist at Kakashi’s side unclenched.

"What are you, then?" he demanded, suddenly angry. Whether it was anger toward Obito’s cruel, gentle honesty or toward himself, he couldn’t fathom. "What are you---a ghost?"

The boy shook his head.

"No. A memory, which you summon again and again, to call back the pain you think you deserve to feel."

Silence. The answer stung, like a blade through the heart.

"Then you’re not really there," Kakashi said softly, blinking rain from his eyes like tears.

"No," Obito murmured, "I’m not."

Kakashi sighed---a long, slow sigh better suited to an old man. With one gloved hand he wiped the water from his face, heedless of the fact that the rain immediately soaked again what he’d just dried. He just wanted the rain out of his eyes, so he could see clearly.

As he lowered his hand, he looked again and saw that Obito was gone. There was only a pathetic bit of stone, with the name of someone he’d once known carved into it. He stared at it for a long time, until at last he became aware of the slight ache in his legs, and the chill seeping through his clothing.

"Well, then," Kakashi said, inclining his head respectfully toward the grave. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

He turned and slipped quietly through the trees, returning to the village.

His calm footsteps carried him toward the river and over the bridge, to the place where three young people stood leaning against the wooden railings.

"Oi," came the flat greeting. "You made us wait two hours in the rain."

Kakashi blinked. The sight of them dispelled the strange mood he’d been in.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, rubbing his sopping hair and feeling a bit like laughing. Here he was about to spend a normal day training his students after spending the morning talking to the dead.

His three Genin misinterpreted his newfound cheer, and their faces narrowed into identical scowls.

"Why are you late?" Naruto demanded.

Naruto always asked that, as if in the hopes that one day Kakashi might actually give him a legitimate reason. Kakashi shrugged amicably, and decided to tell him the truth.

"I was visiting a friend," he answered.

Naruto scowled, apparently not buying this at all. Kakashi didn’t mind; in that sense this was just like every other morning.

Together, he and his team finished crossing the bridge, heading for the training grounds.

His memories didn’t follow.

. . .but he always knew where to find them again.

Part 2: Vengance
"Come ON, Sakura-chan! I’ll even treat you!"

Sakura stared at Naruto as if he were some sort of worm that had wriggled up from the rain-soaked earth.

"Naruto," she said flatly, "it’s pouring rain, and Ichiraku is halfway across town from here."

The three Genin were on their way home from training, all of them thoroughly soaked to the skin. Kakashi wasn’t the sort to cop out over mere weather, so they’d had to endure a rather miserable day, made more miserable by the Jounin’s aggravating obliviousness to their resentment. Now a storm seemed to be brewing, with the promise of distant thunder over the treetops, and Naruto wanted dinner. The problem was that his two comrades were put-out and sopping wet and keener on going their separate ways.

"I’m not hungry," Sasuke said sourly, swiping rain out of his eyes. It drove him crazy when it ran down his nose.

"Me neith-----" Sakura began, but she was interrupted by a sudden deep growl.

All three of them looked down toward the general region of Sasuke’s stomach. Sasuke scowled. Naruto’s face erupted into a grin.

"Aha!" he crowed triumphantly, jabbing a finger toward the source of the noise. "You ARE hungry! Come with me to eat."

Sasuke stepped back from the jabbing finger, folding his arms and looking stubborn. Sakura sighed.

"Why don’t we all go, then?" she conceded. She was only changing her mind because she sensed Sasuke was going to let himself be convinced after all. The fact that he hadn’t already spun on his heel and left meant he was considering it. "We probably can’t get any wetter than we already are," she added.

Sasuke was taking a swift mental inventory of the contents of his kitchen. It didn’t take long; all he currently had were two leftover mochi and an orange. He suspected the orange might have already gone bad. His stomach rumbled again.

"Fine," he said shortly. "I’ll go."

And off they went.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting at Ichiraku, with steaming bowls in front of them. Naruto was shoveling noodles into his mouth so fast it was a wonder he could breathe. Sasuke was eating far more politely, as was Sakura, who looked as if she’d rather abandon decorum to eat like Naruto but was too keen on appearing ladylike. And Naruto, who finished first, brought up a subject that was unusually profound for him.

"Hey. . .Sakura-chan, when you dream, what do you see?"

Sakura paused mid-chew. Her eyes slid sideways toward Sasuke, who was sitting on the stool to her right. Sasuke stared fixedly at a spot on the wall behind the counter, pretending to be preoccupied with mastication. He had no desire to listen to her stammer some stupid romantic thing about how she saw her true love and he was dark-haired and dark-eyed and pale-skinned and coincidentally he was an Uchiha sitting on a ramen-shop stool.

Thus it came as a total surprise to him when she frowned and answered, "My favorite dreams are always in the forest." She tilted her head to one side, looking thoughtful. "Where the trees are so large, I’m like an ant compared to them."

Naruto acquired a squinty-eyed look of distaste.

"You mean the Forest of Death? There’s flesh-eating slugs there. We almost died."

"SHUT UP!" Sakura exclaimed, brandishing a fist in an abrupt display of irritation. "It’s MY dream; let me tell it!"

Wary of the fist, Naruto closed his mouth.

Sasuke started on the egg atop his ramen.

"Anyway," Sakura went on, "I’m all by myself in the woods, but for some reason I’m happy because I’m alone. I feel strong and tall, even though the trees around me are so much taller."

"Heh." Naruto’s squinty-eyed expression had returned. "That’s IT? What a weird dream."

Sakura shrugged, seeming a little embarrassed.

"It’s peaceful," she argued. "It makes me happy."

To Sasuke, it sounded rather nice, but he filled his mouth with egg to avoid joining in the conversation. The rain drumming on the roof of the ramen stand was having a lulling effect on him. His mind wandered.

"Mmm. . ." Naruto’s lips pursed. "Well, then how about your worst dream?"

"You mean, my worst nightmare?"

"Not something stupid. What you’re most afraid of. . ."

Suddenly disgusted, Sasuke stopped listening to them. They knew nothing of nightmares.

They had never known the cursed Tsukiyomi, and so did not carry in their memories the same horrors that Sasuke did. Unnoticed by his two livelier comrades, his expression darkened.

‘I’ve seen what fear is,’ he thought. ‘After he struck me with the Mangekyou Sharingan, I dreamed long and dark. And I remember every single one. . .’

Their voices faded, and his eyes saw something else.

-----------------------------------------

"You’re shaking, Sasuke. Why are you afraid?"

Slowly he raised his head. In front of him, a square of moonlight slanted in through the open sliding door panel, illuminating the blood pooled on the wood floor.

He wanted desperately to say that he was not afraid, but his tongue would not produce the lie. He was paralyzed with fear; his throat was thick with it. Someone lay just beyond the thin stretch of light, pale arm motionless, fingers slightly curled.

And someone stood just beyond the one on the floor, partway in shadow and yet recognizable to him. The fear he felt now was equaled only by his anger.

"Uchiha. . .Itachi," he murmured. His fist tightened around the hilt of the kunai he held at his side.

"Are you so afraid of me Sasuke?" His brother’s taller figure stepped forward into the light, cloaked in black, as if Itachi carried with him a piece of the darkness from which he’d emerged.

At the clearer sight of him, Sasuke gasped and recoiled.

"After all, you’ve already killed me."

The moonlight shone through him. Though he stood there solid as flesh, he cast no shadow.

Itachi’s lips curved into a faint, sly smile.

"What. . .you’ve forgotten? When you’ve wasted your life dreaming of my death? Well, then, I’m here to remind you."

"You can’t be here," Sasuke murmured, "if you’re dead."

Itachi laughed, short and harsh.

"Did you believe I would vanish when you snared me in the Tsukiyomi’s web of dreams and drew a knife across my throat? Did you believe you would be free of me even then, after building your life to that moment?"

Briefly, Sasuke closed his eyes, remembering the spurt of hot blood over his hands; that baptism of vengeance so long awaited. There was blood on his hands now, but it was beginning to chill. His hands were trembling, as Itachi had said.

He opened his eyes. His brother’s ghost was still there.

"I KILLED you!" he snarled. "Why aren’t you GONE?"

Itachi’s Sharingan eyes gleamed crimson---a color made all the more striking because all else was colorless save for the blood pooled on the floor.

"I will always be with you," his brother promised. "Always."

Sasuke’s jaw clenched.

"You haunt me."

Itachi’s pale, angular face turned downward toward the figure lying on the floor between them.

"Your Mangekyou Sharingan was stronger than mine," he said quietly, "because in the end your hatred was stronger than mine."

The still, pale arm on the floor was flecked with blood.

Crimson eyes lifted.

"And your hatred, which did not die with me, is what binds me to you now."

Slowly, Itachi skirted around the corpse on the floor. Though he cast no shadow in the moon’s light, his sandaled foot splashed softly in the pool, like a living man’s. Instinctively, Sasuke circled around the other side of the body, knowing that Itachi was coming for him.

This maneuver didn’t seem to faze Itachi in the least. His brother stalked him slowly, keeping him transfixed with a stare.

"Murder is so very disillusioning, little brother," Itachi murmured. "The heart stops, and the flesh grows cold. . .and you are more aware of your own heart beating than ever before. But that’s all. There is nothing else. What you hoped to feel. . .what you hoped to kill. . .the part of me that runs through your veins like acid; burns your heart black. . . It lives on. You’ve shackled yourself to it; to vengeance; and those are chains that no blade can sever."

Again, Itachi’s gaze turned downward to the body.

"No blade may sever them. Not even yours."

And Sasuke came to a sudden halt, staring down at it as well. From this vantage point, he knew that dead face.

A fall of dark hair.

Moon-pale skin, spotted with blood from where he’d slashed the kunai across his own throat.

He knew that Itachi was watching him again, but he couldn’t keep the contortion of a silent scream from warring its way across his face. His brother’s shade moved slowly toward him, but Sasuke could no longer run. There was no running from this.

"You killed me years ago," the specter went on, coldly and inexorably. "And yet here you lie, dead by your own guilty hand. . .or by the madness of hearing my step haunt your dreams; whichever it was that moved the knife. See now what peace it’s brought you."

Sasuke could feel the whimper rising in his throat, but he could not suppress it. It came feebly and pathetically, like the mewling of an animal.

"I. . .I. . .I. . ."

Strong, cold arms wrapped themselves around him, tighter than chains.

And into his ear, death whispered, "I will always be with you. Always."

--------------------------------------------

"OI! Sasuke! Are you with us?"

One very loud, obnoxious voice cut rudely through his black reverie. He lifted his head sharply, turning to glare at the source of the noise. Naruto squinted right back at him.

"Your ramen’s cold," Naruto remarked, making it sound like an accusation.

Sasuke scowled. He supposed that, in Naruto’s estimation, letting ramen go cold was a crime.

"It’s fine," he snapped, digging his chopsticks into the now-lukewarm mass of noodles.

Naruto was still squinting at him.

"And you’ve got a weird dent in your chin from sitting with your head on your fist."

Sasuke turned to face forward again, staring resolutely at the same spot on the wall. So stupid. If they’d had any idea what the dream he’d just recalled was like, they’d probably piss their pants.

"Hey, Sasuke-kun." It was Sakura bothering him, this time. "Before Naruto interrupted, I was asking you about your dreams."

Silence. A grim smile stretched slowly across his face.

Itachi was wrong. He would be free someday.

But for now, he only answered, "I don’t dream."

uhh this looks like a fanfic. should go in fanfic forums.

the first chapter almost made me cry. and the second chapter was so awsome

you do understand that this person is no longer around

but still i love this fanfic. you are so creative

man thats relly deep

yeah that was nice i loved it ur a great writer