Work Text:
the sound of you
They do not have the resources, or the time, to bury everyone.
Forces are spread thin, and the shinobi who aren’t critically injured have their hands full with rebuilding.
Kakashi nimbly steps out of the way of a team of kunoichi. The body on the stretcher they carry is frighteningly still.
The war may be over, but Kakashi knows this is really just the beginning. In reality it’s only been a week since it ended.
Since he died.
A week, and Kakashi feels the loss of Gai like a gaping maw in his chest. Fresh, raw. Oozing.
The village is quiet, without him. Too quiet.
Tsunade has announced the date for the mass funeral. He’s expected to give some sort of speech. Encouraging those remaining, leading the people towards a new future, yadda, yadda.
But Kakashi hasn’t showered in four days. And he’s threatened, on at least six different occasions, anyone who has approached him about the ceremony with bodily harm.
He can hear Gai chastising him. Challenging him. Laughing at him. Warmly and brightly, loud enough to chase away his demons. Loud enough to make the world feel at least a little bit okay, even though everything has gone to shit.
Gai would have galvanized him into action—or at least a bath.
He sighs.
Kakashi also knows Gai would have made a better speech.
“Hatake,” Tsunade strides down the hall, robes billowing. “Stop scaring my staff. They’ll be yours soon enough.” Kakashi has half a mind to launch himself out of the office window, but Tsunade bars his exit. She thrusts a stack of papers in his hands.
He tilts his head. Groans with distaste. Swallows the bile in his throat.
Tsunade tsks. “Just read from them, brat.” She tugs on her sleeves. Her hands are red and chapped. “At the funeral, tomorrow.”
Kakashi bows his head. She turns on her heels, waving at him almost dismissively. “Feel free to adlib, kid.” She looks back at him for a moment, eyes dark and weighty. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Then, she wrinkles her nose. “But for kami’s sake, shower.”
When he stands on the stage Yamato had hastily thrown up, peering out at the broken, quiet, masses, Kakashi dissociates the entire time.
He mouths the words from the papers with a numb and leaden tongue.
It’s a good speech, he’ll give Tsunade that. The civilians look up at him, misty eyed and grateful. The few shinobi who make it carefully school their expressions, but he knows that they’re listening. Processing.
Kakashi ends the speech by reading out names.
Not everyone. Gods, no. They’d be standing in the centre of Konoha for hours, wasting time, wasting away.
No, the names he reads are those the council wants announced. Heralded. Paraded. As if death was some sort of noble sacrifice—
“Maito Gai.”
He catches and squashes the hitch of his breath, wrapping up his performance with such intensity it makes Tsunade shift her weight on his left.
He’s very careful of the eyes on them. Very careful not to shrug off Tsuande’s hand when she places it on his shoulder.
He thinks someone cheers. Someone grins and chuckles and—
RIVAL!
Tsunade pulls him off the stage before he can make a fool of himself.
Designated collection days.
Kakashi knows they’re necessary. They provide closure to those grieving. Families are meant to retrieve items of the deceased.
It still feels like his guts have been scooped out with a rusty spoon.
It’s early in the day when Kakashi ventures out, ignoring the ants that crawl under his skin and the way his ears ring.
It’s a beautiful day. Sunny. Warm. Green.
Yosh! Perfect day for training!
Kakashi narrowly avoids turning around. Gai won’t be there. Not to greet him, or challenge him, or laugh with him.
Kami. Kakashi misses his laugh the most.
He rolls out his shoulders, turning the corner sharply. The collections office is really just a mednin tent that hasn’t been taken down yet. It’s also green and Kakashi’s breakfast sloshes about in his stomach.
Lee and TenTen arrive at the same time. They look haggard. It’s a sharp reminder that while they have lost Gai—Kakashi’s heart clenches—they’ve also lost Neji. He nods at them.
What was it that Yamato had once said? That Konoha had a knack for cutting down saplings?
As Kakashi shuffles along in line, listening to the muffled sobs of those around him, taking note of the blank stares of shattered shinobi—he, once again, hears Gai’s laughter.
He has a visceral reaction. Jolts in place and twists. Kakashi’s panic momentarily bleeds through, and Lee is placing his hand on his back.
Kakashi supposes it’s something Gai would do. Declare something utterly ridiculous and boisterously chuckle as he slaps kakashi on the back, if only to break the sombre atmosphere. He’d pose in his ridiculous green jumpsuit, head band wrapped around his strong waist, and Kakashi would let himself be manhandled—to be held in the way only Gai could hold him.
Even in death, Gai is there to pull Kakashi out of his head. It’s sickening—and for one, brief, moment, Kakashi wishes Obito had killed him instead.
His stomach sinks like stone. Gai’s cheery grin flashes in his mind. Gai tells him how proud he is of everything Kakashi has accomplished, of the man he’s grown to be, and the things he’s overcome. Gai is so loud, in the cramped space of his own mind, that he wheezes out a short breath.
RIVAL!! He’s shouting. YOUR YOUTH IS NOT YET OVER!
Kakashi rolls his shoulders again, old wounds tugging and pulling. TenTen shifts in place. Lee is uncharacteristically quiet, but the soft assuredness, the determination, that sits so quaintly on his face…that is entirely Gai.
Though Kakashi supposes it is now entirely Lee.
And for another brief moment, Kakashi thinks everything will be okay.
But then they’re at the front of the line. And Sakura is there, behind the desk, volunteering. She’s been working triple shifts at the hospital, hands equally red and raw as Tsunade’s and Kakashi knows Sakura’s finally been kicked out for some much needed rest.
Though, Kakashi also knows his student. Sakura won’t be able to rest. Not when she understands there are things to be done and people to help.
When Sakura looks up, she meets kakashi’s gaze. Her expression pinches, then softens. She hands Lee and TenTen their own, separate, packages. They’re addressed in Gai’s hand, and Kakashi feels the world fall out from beneath him.
There is one for Neji, and Sakura only pauses for a moment before TenTen is asking to take it, too.
Silence stretches out between all of them. Someone coughs in the distance.
A look is exchanged between the three students. Lee and TenTen leave, huddled together with their packages, which they cradle in their arms as if precious.
“Sensei,” Sakura begins, “wait here a moment.”
She heads to the back of the tent and rummages around. Unlike Lee and TenTen’s crude packages—that were lovingly prepped by Gai’s hand, his mind unkindly supplies—Kakashi gets a box.
He knows this box. He’s seen it a thousand different times, for a thousand different reasons. For a thousand different people.
Obito had a box like this, once. So did Rin. So did Minato and Kushina and Yasu and Sakumo—
Kakashi takes a breath.
Blinks.
Estate boxes.
Boxes curated by teams of shinobi, for shinobi. A detached offering. Remnants that weren’t always remnants. He’d be lucky if Gai’s headband was in there.
Kakashi’s not quick enough to hide the flash of horror that flits across his face. The shameful disappointment that arises in the same moment. His heart seizes—he can’t help it. It seems so impersonal, so—
Sakura’s hand is gentle on his. “—Sensei,” she murmurs, low enough that the families behind him don’t hear. “Gai-san left something for you, too.” She reaches beneath the desk and pulls out another, smaller, package. It’s as messily wrapped as Lee and TenTen’s had been.
It’s very Gai.
It’s beautiful.
Kakashi stares at it for a moment. Sakura’s hand is still on his, and she squeezes it warmly. Her gaze is heavy, but she says nothing.
“Maa, maa.” Kakashi lilts, gaze refocusing, “I’ll be alright, Sakura-chan.” He holds up his prizes carefully. “Thank you.”
She pins him with a look, then sighs.
“Take care of yourself, Sensei.” Sakura warns as he practically flees from the tent. He doesn’t look back, knowing she’s already moved onto the next bleeding heart behind him.
For the next few hours, Kakashi lets his feet lead him.
He passes Yakiniku Q, stuttering to a halt only once when he spots something green in the distance. The woman turns the corner, scarf billowing out behind her. It’s not quite the hazardous green Gai was so partial to, but it’s close enough that Kakashi gets lost in his thoughts.
Asuma had gathered the jounin for a barbecue. He’d downed his third drink by the time he finally mustered up the courage to tell them all, in hushed tones, that Kurenai was pregnant.
Gai had laughed so loudly Kakashi’s sure the paint on the walls had peeled.
CONGRATULATIONS! He shouted, privacy be damned, and clasped both Asuma and Kakashi’s shoulders, shaking them. Gai had celebrated. He had always celebrated. With every smile and every word, Gai lived his life the only way he knew how to.
And his hand had been so warm on Kakashi’s back, Gai’s joy so infectious, that Kakashi couldn’t help the smile that parted his own lips.
He walks a little faster.
Ichiraku slaps him in the face as he turns the corner.
47-45! Gai groaned as he flopped over the counter. In your favour, Rivalurrggghh!
The word had ended in a cut off garble. Kakashi paused, asked him if he was alright, to which Gai had then promptly emptied the contents of his stomach—on Kakashi’s brand new sandals.
Kakashi, incredulously, had tilted his head back and laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
No one stops to ask why Kakashi Hatake, Hokage candidate, is suddenly speeding through the streets of Konoha, white knuckled and pale.
“Are you going to haunt me, too?” He whispers to the tiny package he’s balanced on top of the box. Surely Gai can hear him from the Pure Lands by now.
He doesn’t bother making his way to the memorial. Gai had found him there often enough, scolded him often enough, that Kakashi knows Gai would frown if he stood there like a ghost, speaking to ghosts.
He is so sick of speaking to ghosts.
When I die, Kakashi suppressed the muscle spasm that threatened to overwhelm him. Gai’s voice was clear as day. Don’t you dare waste away your youth in front of that stone. The man had been uncharacteristically serious, even as he plucked at the spiked ends of Kakashi’s hair, checking him for injuries after a spar.
You’re not dying any time soon, Gai. Kakashi had levelled him with a flat stare, then challenged him to a sushi eating contest. Gai’s laughter echoed throughout the courtyard.
That had been years ago.
It had also been a lie.
“Ma,” Kakashi mutters, gaze despondent as the sky begins to darken. Rain was sweet on the wind. “Maybe I’m cursed.”
He pauses on his walk. His apartment is just over the hill. But suddenly he can’t bring himself to finish the trek.
The guilt consumes him. It’s always been there. Ever since Sakumo.
It has grown, and grown, and grown—from his father to obito to sensei—kami. Kakashi will greet guilt with a smile. He’ll shake hands with it on most days; face it toe-to-toe with his palms burning and birds chirping—
But now, now, it eats at his entrails and pecks at his eyes. Because why the hell is he still alive, when every good person he has ever known is buried 6 feet in the fucking ground?
When Gai is gone?
A sudden shove at his shoulder makes him stumble. When he looks back, no one is there, but the box sits warm in his hands.
Lightning arcs across the sky. Rain clouds swell and thunder rumbles through the heavens. He shunshins across rooftops, box tucked against his chest and package in hand. He makes it to his front door just as the rain crashes down.
Gai had lived in the same complex, once.
Yosh! Gai had cried, vaulting over the balcony rail as Kakashi trudged up the iron steps. Rival! While Mother Nature blesses us with her shower of youth, we should spar!
Kakashi remembers how Gai had bodily collided with him, warm and heavy, as Kakashi lost his footing on the wet stairs and tumbled back down to the ground. Gai landed with a grunt on top of him, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly as Kakashi wheezed beneath him.
Gai. Kakashi groaned. He was certain he’d broke a rib. I yield.
The world had started to spin then. Kakashi cracked a grin through the pain. It definitely looked like a grimace.
If only people could see the infamous copy nin now, laying in a heap of tangled limbs, concussed to the point of delirium.Gai had taken one look at him and laughed.
Gai always laughed.
Kakashi fishes out his key, precariously balancing his possessions on one hand, and slots it into the lock. He takes a moment to collect himself before pushing open the door. It creaks and groans as if mocking him. As if trying to fill the sudden, painful, silence.
The world around him wept. It roared and flashed and it was quiet. The world was so quiet without Gai. Without his laugh. Without his voice.
Kakashi shucks off his shoes, leaving them in a puddle of water, and shuts the door. He places the box on the entryway step, gently, forgotten, as he stares at the small package Gai had left him.
His name is scrawled across brown paper. He’s not sure if Gai has glued or taped it shut, but he spends the next fifteen minutes trying to pick it apart while keeping most of it intact.
Kakashi barks a laugh when he finally sees what it is Gai left for him.
It’s a fucking turtle. Of course it’s a turtle.
…Kakashi knows this turtle.
He doesn’t move from his spot in the entryway. His left eye aches as he remembers what was once recorded by his sharingan.
Kakashi tried his hardest to understand why, exactly, sandaime-sama had paired him with Gai. He had really, really, tried.
RIVAL!! Gai had been loud and green and—
-Gai. Kakashi hadn’t hid the disdain in his voice back then. He had, however, twitched monumentally when Gai all but wilted like a daisy upon his greeting.
Right. Sensitive.
Kakashi pointed to his hound mask. Gai instantly brightened. OH! RI-IGHT!
Kakashi shook his head at Gai’s mix up, shoulders slumping. He cursed the gods. He cursed Hiruzen. Treason sounded good most days.
Then, Gai slammed a friendly fist into his back, chattering about all the things he had seen in the village they’d travelled to, the souvenirs he’d bought. He waved his parcels around without a care, and an oddly shaped piece of pottery went flying through the air. Gai’s startled gasp hardly registered as Kakashi flickered over to the left, catching Gai’s…whatever…with practised ease.
It was a turtle. For burning incense. Kakashi had snorted, turning it over in his palms and muttering a quick it suits you to Gai, as he pressed the ceramic into his partner’s hands.
Gai had gaped at him. Kakashi never did understand Gai’s reaction, and his sharingan burned in his socket as Gai leaned in, near reverently, to plant a sloppy kiss on his mask.
Not many things had ever shocked Kakashi Hatake, boy genius.
But Gai.
Gai .
Rival? Gai prodded at his shoulder. Kakashi stared dumbly into the distance, unresponsive.
Gai spent the next several minutes trying to figure out how he had managed to break his dearest companion. Fretting and probing as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.
We should—. Kakashi’s voice hitched. He warbled around his words and rubbed at his mask. W-we should head home.
Home. Kakashi is home, now.
He holds the turtle ever-so-gently in his hands, thumbing at the curves and lines. It’s stained with soot and smells cloyingly like jinkoh.
“Sentimental fool,” Kakashi admonishes. Whether to himself or Gai, he doesn’t know.
A single finger traces the line of his cheek.
The rain pelts the windows. Sighing softly, Kakashi presses forward. He meanders down the hall, to his bedroom, and sets the turtle on his nightstand. He fiddles with the contents of his drawers for a while before procuring his own incense.
Kakashi prefers mild scents, with the sensitivity of his nose. He has bundles of Tabu, which some would argue has no scent—but it does, he tells Gai—since it acts as a binder.
He switches out the incense and lights some jinkoh with a small katon.
Kakashi shuffles further into his bedroom. He flips the picture frame on his nightstand over. Then flips it upright. Then repeats the process two more times before he finally realizes the flowers Gai had given him are dead.
The picture stares back at him.
“Tomorrow,” Kakashi murmurs. “I’ll change them out tomorrow.”
His footfalls are soft against the wood floors. His kicks a stray tatami out of his way as he ventures down the hall, back to the entrance of his apartment, to stare at the box on the landing.
It takes him another three hours to pick it up. The rain still howls outside, and Kakashi’s hands burn from where he grips the box.
It finds its place on his bed.
Four days later it’s still on his bed, the flowers are still wilted, and he’s burned through all the incense he’s ever owned.
“Tomorrow.” He reiterates. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Gai’s laughter echoes quietly off the walls, lively with scent of jinkoh.
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