A grave of stone and coffin of glass

It's no big surprise you turned out this way

Drip. Drip. A mind numbing repetition of rain drops falling on smooth concrete that rang hollow with every pitter. He could rather easily pretend it was rainwater rather than his own blood if the masked man hadn't taken his, rather rudely he may add. The grating smell of iron stung his nose and he could feel the cloying metallic taste cling to the inside of his throat and nostrils. His back and thighs twinged and sluggishly dribbled from the open lacerations.

"You know I'll never tell you, correct?" Kakashi hoarsly inquired in a lilt of rhetoric. Grey eyes peered at the looming silhouette mischievously only to widen as a gloved hand clutched his neck into a chokehold. He gasped, coughing and sputtering in the insisting clench as rope chaffed at his bound wrists. He gazed smugly under a false mask of confidence and silver lashes. "Kinky huh? Want me to call ya' daddy next?"

There was a beat of silence. Then two. His vision was spotted with black,blotchy and dancing with colours. His ears rang incessantly and the orange masked shinobi loosened his grip ever so slightly, keeping a firm grip but not so tight as to crush his trachea. He felt almost fragile under the broad hand which is an absurd thought considering how he's a well renowned shinobi, a prodigy of his generation. Thousands fell in his wake, leaving a crimson path. The quiet was foreboding of what may come. Imminent death? More torture? It continued undisturbed as tension thickened the air. Something... isn't right. Kakashi risked a glance at the looming figure grasping his neck only to shudder under a glowing red glare. The sharingan. How did this man obtain it? Did he want to know is the question. Sasuke... He refused to continue that trail of thought. He's safe and better off without his pathetic sensei. Tenzo or Gai will take care of him.

His inner monologue is halted when the hand on his neck unexpectedly withdrew, causing him to suck in air once his body got the memo that it wasn't limited in oxygen. He could hear his pulse rushing in his ears and was suddenly aware of the drying blood on his skin, his blood. Not some random shinobi, not Rin's, his. The sensation was odd if not exhilarating in the way that for once it's not the blood of comrades nor enemies. His.

The moment he comes back down to earth was the moment he registered the touch of a smooth glove, feather light and gentle. It traced the shape of his scar, the very same one he took in place of Obito. A reminder of how he should've taken another meant for him. Obito. His eyes felt unbearably dry, as if someone just up and dumped him in the middle of Suna's vast deserts. Why him? Why him and not Kakashi? He never understood and he still can't. Why him?

His captor was being suspiciously tender with him, a vast contrast to his former treatment. He couldn't fathom as to why the change in nature occurred, although he couldn't complain. For some odd reason, the soft touch felt like... home. He was surely driven mad to think thoughts such as this. The hand continued to trace the thin scar, roving over his eyelid lightly and trailing his jawline lightly. Kakashi shuddered, face tilted by nudging gloved fingertips as he felt the soft fabric ghost his lips. He felt heat rise on his cheeks, stormy grey irises bashfully averted. A crimson eye, not unlike the red pooling beneath him, swept over his bound form. It seemed to soften a touch, the black gloves palm reaching further to encompass his bare cheek like the mockery of a lover's endearment.

"This can be over in mere moments. All it takes is some information." the stranger (? He feels so familiar-) paused "which I doubt is out of bounds for the copy nin. Tell me, Kakashi. How is that little sunshine student of yours? Quite the furry little secret the boy bares, neh?~"

Kakashi's blood ran cold. The man had rattled off information tightly kept under the wraps of an S ranked secret as if listing his shopping list. Only seconds before a white hot rage prickled beneath the surface of his marred skin. His blood lust leaked into the air, the pungent, spicy scent of pure anger rippling through the musky surroundings. His agitation was comparable to the impending doom of somebody about to perform a fire jutsu in a room with demolished gas pipes. His sharp eyes previously hazed with pain cleared in the finesse of his title, the copy ninja, wielder of a thousand jutsus. To his credit, the instigator seemed indifferent, hell, unbothered by his display. "Saa bad boy, so fiesty. You aren't behaving well are you?"

He forced his eyes into crescent moons, slamming down the façade of nonchalant cheer "Seeing as you've thrown what grains of respect I was beginning to form for you to the wind, yes. Yes I am." he drawled with a malicious grin. The grinning grimace he sported was all teeth, a vicious predator bound like a dog. Ironic. The inky haired man hummed, hand carding through spiky black strands. His cloaked torso bent to level his mask's eye hole to the piercing glare. "If you're not quite willing to answer that, then how about that eye of yours? Peculiar, haa? I wonder, how the boy who gifted to you that eye felt under all those rocks... Oh my, must have been heavy~" the gratingly fake pitched voice dipped in false sympathy "I wonder how he felt when the girl he entrusted you to protect fell by your hand?"

The tomoe lazily spun beneath the man's mask, slowly merging and morphing into the mangekyo. A design eerily familiar.

"Obito?"

His mouth ran dry, tongue leather and tied as if weighed down by the dawning realization. His lungs were suddenly on fire and oh kami. Obito saw. He-

He saw the boy rip his arm out of Rin's chest. The macabre imagery of muffled chirrups of his jutsu in her ribcage. Did he feel her heart sputter and fail as it was vaporized and burned to cinders? Oh k a m i. The man who stood before him is not the same as the child who died in the cave. To be quite honest, something inside the silver haired man died along side him.