#and kakashi did this BEFORE he had the massive chakra sink in his head removed

[panharmonium]

me when sasuke and zetsu said that kirin couldn’t be “blocked, dodged, or evaded”: 🤔🤔🤔

[suitedsalamander]

last white lie | MadaKaka

this is super long and also on A03! this lines up with wage my soul IT DOES STAND ALONE  though I do advise reading wage  my soul and struck me yet is after this in the timeline. Gah I blame the enablers @madakaka which made me turn out over 3k which became this fic yesterday. another round of thanks to @purple-possibilities

Mature with some sexual themes. | Kakashi POV | MadaKaka

Agony is what he knows when he awakens.

This is familiar, so Kakashi moves to the next step: assessment.

His body isn’t about to go anywhere, and he lets himself sink fully into the muck as rain washes over his corpse. His chakra pathways are flaming lines of pain with no energy to speak of.

There’s nothing left.

Blood is seeping out from his left eye and the rainwater causes it to run down his face.

Obito’s parting gift burns and aches; the rain is cool and soothing on his skin, but chilling to his bones. If his wounds don’t kill him, hypothermia certainly will.  

Kakashi’s head is jumbled a mess of things that could have happened, should have happened, and what will happen. All at once he feels younger and lighter, but twice as heavy and ancient for the knowledge he now possesses.

Is this my price?

Plagued by these thoughts, Kakashi can’t find it within himself to move.

Every breath rattles his body, the urge to cough itches the back of his throat. Kakashi doesn’t hear the footsteps, but even in his weakened state he can feel the presence of another. The power emanating from them is a startling warmth in the chill of the downpour. Forceful as well as fiery; he’s captivated by the chakra he's sensing.

And they are leaning right over me.

A cough wracks Kakashi’s body as he tries to move, iron flooding his mouth. Strong hands are gently grasping him and then removing the mask from his mouth, peeling off the last vestiges of his life.

He raises his hand up in an attempt to shield himself and instead grips silky hair.

Kakashi’s eyes flicker open, Sharingan swirling. The expression that passes of the dark-haired individual’s—a man’s—face looks like shock. It could also be rage, he’s too distracted cataloging the massive amounts of information the Sharingan gives him; the little lines on the man's face. The halo of long black spiky hair.  The wild red hue of chakra almost too massive to be human.

Kakashi’s nerve endings are a tortured mass of suffering and this man is a balm to his vision.

“Angel?” He asks—surely this man can be nothing else.

“Shinobi,” the being clarifies. That’s just as good.   

Kakashi has known demons; they could never look him in the face.

It's easy to look someone in the eye and lie.

Only one had been so daring as to hold him this way.

If this man is also one then so be it. His arms are comforting, and if he is the devil then Kakashi can count on the man to guide him properly into the next life.

But, Kakashi’s blade has fallen beside him, and he can’t reach it—as he must reach it—to pass on. It’s an old practice, and one passed down his family since their founding.

The Hatake were Farmers and Samurai first, then Shinobi. He remembers his grandmother first showing him how to hold a blade. She later passed, and then his father—sure and strong—directing his swing.

“Please,” Kakashi rasps. “Please put my sword in my hands.” Let me die with honor.

The air is getting thinner, and his sight blurring. There are none left who need him to fight for them.

In this silent place,  everyone he once knew is absent. There is only the Will of Fire and the unknown Shinobi’s company to keep him warm.

Who am I without my loyalty?

There is a possessive curve and an edge of cruelty to his angel's lips.

Instead of a sword, another hand is placed in his. Kakashi finally places the symbol on his armour as the Uchiha fan.

“Not today.” You must not die. The man tells him, tomoe circling his scarlet eyes,

“You don’t have my permission. ”

Kakashi has never disobeyed an order.

“Angel,” he declares upon waking.

“Madara,” the man corrects, a wry smile twisting his lips.

“Angel,” Kakashi repeats, unwilling to take back his words. Then, “Kakashi,” half a beat later.

“I half expected you to be cursing me,” the Clan Head tells him, brushing his hair back with one hand. Dark circles rest under Madara’s eyes and he doesn’t look much better than Kakashi feels.

A glass of water is handed to Kakashi and he happily quenches his thirst. “Tough week at the office?”

“Ah. Yes.” Madara agrees, though Kakashi can tell he doesn’t exactly understand.

“Cranky old men, Elders, you know how it is,” Madara gestures and drops his hands to grip one another. It’s endearing to see the Uchiha Clan Head attempt to make awkward conversation.

“Yes,” Kakashi concedes before he can help himself. Shit. He doesn’t know the rules for this kind of Jutsu, but he does know he didn’t ask to get taken back. “Maa, did you tell them to find a kunai and sit on it?”

Madara arches one black eyebrow and laughs, low and throaty. His features are sharp and angular, though not to be mistaken for delicate or ephemeral in the way of Mikoto's or Itachi’s.

The resemblance in their rare smiles is . . . jarring.

“I should try that next time. Setting up a new village is tedious, and getting anyone to agree moreso. Then there was the subject of your appearance. “

“Why are to telling me all this?” When in doubt, bluntness rules out.

“You are one of ours now.” You are mine now. “If there is a security issue”—here Madara pauses to convey his doubt—“I will deal with it.” Your life belongs to me and I am responsible for everything you are, is what Kakashi hears.

Kakashi relaxes. “Duly noted. I have faith in your abilities.” My loyalty is yours.

Nothing more needs to be said.

“You should sleep,” Madara suggests, picking up a familiar orange book from the table to read. I’ll watch over you.

Kakashi hums and settles back down on the bed. Safe, he succumbs to sleep.

“Hello.” The young man has his head propped on his chin and he huffs out a bit of air in greeting. His long dark hair falls away from his face  when he stretches

Ah, Kakashi thought, they come in miniature, then, where's the big one?

For a moment he thinks it’s. . . it’s. . . it’s. . . someone else. The hair’s too long, he reassures himself.

The newcomer grins and his eyes flicker down to beside Kakashi where Madara has fallen asleep. Madara’s long hair is coiled around him, leaving the impression of a slumbering dragon.

Kakashi’s position becomes immently more clear when he realizes the warmth he’s feeling is coming from Madara, and his hand just might be trapped in said hair as he pets the Uchiha Clan head.

The locks feel silky and strangely soft in Kakashi’s hand, despite their coarse appearance. “He must be tired after breathing all that fire.”

The young man kicks his feet out from under him, the move graceful and fluid but also making him appear five times younger than he is.

“He told you about the meeting with the Elders?” Bright eyes looked at him questioningly.  His actions and appearance are achingly familiar. The breath leaves Kakashi’s lungs and he can’t manage to formulate a reply.

The Uchiha doesn't seem to care. “Oh.” The boy seems to shake himself.

“I'm Izuna by the way.” The way his lips tug at the corner says he’s more used to smiling then most Uchiha.

“Nice to meet you. He might have mentioned it in passing.”

“Huh. They wanted to rip out your eye. Big brother got a little huffy.”

“A little?” Kakashi muses, smiling. Someone—most likely Madara—has tied a bandana-styled bit of cloth over most his face. His hitai-ate is notably absent.

“Okay, a lot.” Izuna crowed, scooting closer at the prospect of sharing gossip. “His hair stood on end and everything, like a huge porcupine ready to stab someone with its spikes.”

“Kashi?” Madara mummers gripping him and nuzzling closer.

“I'm here,” Kakashi says, still trying to extract his hand from Madara's hair.

“S’nice. Stay,” the Village Hidden in the Leaves’ personal demon grumbles.

Kakashi stills and resumes his petting, fearing removal of his limbs otherwise.

Izuna stifled the Uchiha equivalent of a giggle (a different form of air exhilaration) behind his hand.

When Izuna still lingers in the room, Kakashi realizes that the younger Uchiha is acting as a buffer, not only for him but the older Uchiha. Clan tensions, it seems, are high.

“I’ve got him,” Kakashi tells Izuna, and he means it. His sword isn’t that far away, placed as it is on the table as well, and it’s not as if he needs his blade to afflict damage. Chakra is a steady thrum, resting just under his skin, ready at a moment's notice.

“Good,” Izuna agrees with an almost imperceptible nod. “He needs his rest.” The younger Uchiha stands. ”I’ll leave you both to it—oh, before I forget, training starts in a week.”

The door closes, Madara briefly stirs, reassures himself Kakashi is there, then sinks back to sleep.

Kakashi was skilled before he danced with the Shinobi of this time. Here, now, he was among the greats; how could he not seize the chance to learn more? Many of his abilities and renown came from his “Jack-of-all-trades” nature. He is still able to surprise his opponents, but takes care not to use too many Justu that he thinks may not have been invented yet.

Although Kakashi doesn’t sell himself short, he is no Madara. That being said, Kakashi has never had the opportunity to spar with one of the Founders before.  His ability grows exponentially after each bout, or “training session.”

Sometimes one can’t progress without a good opponent; Madara is all that and more. He won’t actually kill Kakashi if he loses. Yet. The man is a monster on the battlefield, and they spend half as much time repairing the training ground as they do using it.

Over the course of weeks, theses session give them something equally valuable. They teach Kakashi and Madara how to move and work with each other. Madara is also in the process of examining the best way to connect and utilize Kakashi’s Sharingan, something he is immensely grateful for. Little by little the chakra drain lessens and Kakashi can feel himself growing stronger.

Kakashi takes to rising early each morning, and under Izuna’s watchful eyes, practices his swordsmanship.  Specifically, the Kata’s passed down in the Hatake family for generations. He has always been good with a blade, and made point of keeping up on that. Left with little else to do, he practices to an extent he hadn’t bothered to since becoming a Jounin.

Izuna’s eyes are mirthful whenever they regard Kakashi, as well as speculative.

Madara has alluded to his appreciation of swordsmanship.

The younger brother begins to bring his own Katana along to face off against Kakashi’s Sabre.

Afterwards, Kakashi will seek out Madara for a brief spar, or find the man pouring over scrolls, frustration etched in every line of his body until Kakashi can convince him step away and fight.

It’s during the return journey from one of these morning workouts that Kakashi overhears the argument.

“This has gone on long enough! It's  improper!” protests one voice.

“When last I looked, I was Clan Head,” Madara’s voice cuts in, low and angry, a monster roused from the depths. “I decide what's improper or isn't.”

“It's simply unsightly! You can't possibly mean to have him trail after you everywhere like some stray; Madara, see reason.” Bids one Elder.

Kakashi knows he shouldn't stop, that he ought to carry on and let Madara handle this.

He's  dealt with this same talk before, and he’d be damned if he didn’t face it again on his own two feet.

Kakashi promised Obito he’d get to see the world; whether it was the last one or the next has no bearing. No matter how badly Kakashi wants to burst into that room, sword swinging, it won’t help. Anything he does now will only hurt their chances; this is a matter of custom and proprietary.

Beat them at their own game.

Minato’s voice spoke in Kakashi’s head, drawing him back to the days when his sensei was Hokage and had to deal with this incident in the first place. Kakashi recalls all the formal terminology and etiquette he was made to learn when it came time to meet the Uchiha Elders. If they were just as tiresome now, then it was a wonder Madara hadn’t ripped out their guts already, just to be done with it.

“He is a valuable asset and I consider him one of ours.”

“No one is disputing that merely, the matter of the eye.” “What would you have me do, rip it from his skull? Then what? Mount it on the wall like some sort of prize? We are not barbaric Senju to do such a thing!" Madara laughed low and mocking and Kakashi’s skin broke out in gooseflesh "I assure you, your retirement will occur before I allow that.” There was a wicked edge to his voice that stirred Kakashi’s blood. His heart is pounding out of control, as if he awoke in the middle of a thunderstorm and tried to call the lightning down.

Here is someone that will never leave him for any cause but Konoha.

In the face of honesty like that, Kakashi reverts to step one: assessment.

Kakashi use Shunshin to escape to his assigned room. It takes him a moment to locate his equipment in another dresser drawer. He’d mostly been wearing other Uchiha clan members’ castoffs. It didn't escape his notice that most of his tops had a huge Uchiha fan embroidered proudly on the back.

Kakashi’s ANBU armour and former clothes have been cleaned. His hound mask rests on a folded undershirt. He lets his hands trail over the painted ceramic. There are no flaws that he can find with touch or the naked eye. It’s smooth as the first day it was handed to him. The work of seals no doubt.

Kakashi dresses swiftly, straps the painted mask to his hip, and then steps out the door.

Madara is already waiting a mission scroll in hand.

“They're going to give us hell,” Kakashi states, observing the scroll and mission ready clothes.

“It might just be the other way around.” Madara smiles and nothing about it’s pleasant. Kakashi must still be recovering from blood loss, as he finds it attractive.

“Shall we?”  He offers, gesturing for Madara to lead the way.

“Let’s.” Madara echoes, already striding away.

The day of the incident with Izuna and Tobirama, Madara is stuck in another meeting with the Elders and is only notified slightly before Kakashi. The kunai scarcely avoided all of the vital areas. Izuna himself seems to be taking the news the best and has been placed on light duty.

Right now, at the younger brother’s behest, Kakashi lopes down the corridors of the compound, seeking the elder of the two Uchiha. Madara had eventually left Izuna’s beside with murder in his eyes.

“Kakashi,” Madara says upon seeing him. The Clan Head is the sharpest he’s ever sounded. Darkness envelopes Madara  like the bleakest of traveling cloaks.  If Kakashi doesn’t stop him, he might very well storm out and kill the Senju brat for nicking his baby brother.

“This may not be the best time.” Madara continues.  With fire blazing in his eyes and smoke swirling after his steps, he stalks closer. Kakashi closes the distance. The air is filled with the smell of soot and ash; Madara is a man made ruin. The threat of violence lays in wait.

Want, snarls the ugly part of himself, scenting blood.

Kakashi reaches for Madara and pulls the man down the narrow corridor  of the Uchiha Clan’s main building. If they don't get out, they'll suffocate. Kakashi desperately needs to ground himself.

What’s resting between them shouldn’t fester any longer. This is his boiling point, and he refuses to let go even when the other man moves to pull away.

No more running.

“Kakashi,” Madara warns, clinging to his name like a lifeline. Madara acts as if he needs the reminder of just who he’s dealing with. There are a myriad of emotions flickering across his face in the subtle way of the Uchiha.

What Madara’s attempting to do, that’s not going to work. Kakashi knows who he’s dealing with. Destruction rests in Madara’s eyes, that’s fine; Kakashi wouldn’t mind being destroyed. Fire and chaos are just one part of creation, and he breathes in.

“Yes,” Kakashi answers, and knows what he's agreeing to. Kakashi tugs the mask down his face and steals a kiss from Madara’s lips. Madara grasps his arm and reels him back in for another.

Then another, and another, till Kakashi’s lips are swollen and his head is dizzy.

He can’t say when he last got the chance to breathe.

Kakashi curses when their positions reverse and his head hits the wall. Madara is holding him upright and caging his body with his.

Safe. Possessed. Owned.

Madara is doing everything in his power to steal the air from Kakashi’s lungs and return it every time their mouths meet. Madara is an inferno blazing hot enough to match the stars.

Kakashi’s wounds are being cauterized by his flame.

The sun rises and climbs over the mountain, prompting the people of the sleepy village to wakefulness.

Kakashi lays resting on Madara's broad chest. He’s humming to himself an old song Rin used to sing, his eyes half lidded. Arousal simmers under the surface, ignored for now, as Madara plays with the spikes that is his hair.  

“The Silver Wolf, that’s what they’ll call you,” his lover says abruptly. By now, though, Kakashi understands that Madara never does anything abruptly. It’s just that what he contemplates isn’t always spoken out loud like he intends while thinking. It’s an amusing and, dare he say, adorable quirk.

“I've always been more of a dog person. A hound,” Kakashi admits, conceding to the point. My father was The White Fang, he wants to say.

Madara brushes a kiss on his shoulder, following the trail of previous marks.

“Dogs have masters, ” he murmurs, tugging on Kakashi’s ear lobe.

Panting, Kakashi tilts his head, baring his neck. “Then does that make you my keeper?”

Madara weighs his words, smugness dripping from him. “Perhaps.”  Madara languishes, a god absent from his throne, and Kakashi basks in his presence.

“Every demon needs a hell hound,” Kakashi reminds him, kissing his jaw.  Kakashi thinks he knows what kind of evil he’d like to be. He can always smell the residual iron of blood on his hands from where it never washes off. Here in this space, with this beauty beside him, is close enough to prayer.

“You are so much more than that,” Madara corrects, a hint of anger creeping in. “Kakashi, look at me,” he demands and grips Kakashi’s chin, tilting his head further till their gazes lock.

“You're mine,” growls Madara, seizing Kakashi’s lips for a searing kiss. His head spins. “My Samurai, I found you first.” The Uchiha declares.

Konoha was built because of a feeling, a shared dream between friends.

It will continue to stand because of their commitment.

“Live for the sake of it, for me.”

Kakashi can’t turn away from those garnet eyes.

There is only one reply to that order.

“Yes, Angel.”