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Chapter Thirty-Seven

The night before Kakashi Hatake woke up (for the first time since the car crash), he'd remembered having a long dream. But, when he woke up, most of the dream was forgotten.

He remembered dreaming he was somewhere else. The midnight sky was above him, filled with bright stars and constellations.

He felt heat, and turned to the source to find a fire, cackling. Memories of the car crash and the fire haunted him, but instead of the intimidating, horrifying aura from the car crash, this camp fire was surrounded by a calm, welcoming aura.

Like home.

He felt himself being pulled towards the bright fire. His legs unconsciously stalked towards it.

And he found, sitting on the other side of the fire, an old man.

"Who are you?"

"Are you one to forget your own father?"

...---...

Kakashi's head was pounding. The doctor recommended some pills to take the pain away, but that didn't stop it.

"F-Father?"

"It's me. In the flesh--well, actually, in your dreams, literally."

"What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk to you."

He tried to shake the conversation out from his head, but the words kept thrumming against his skull. They reverberated throughout his mind.

"About what?"

After that, it was a long pause. The man then patted on the log he was sitting on. "Come, sit, Kakashi."

No, he didn't want to hear it, because if he did, then he'd remember her--

"I'm not gonna be easy on you."

Kakashi could only sit in his curiosity as the old man shifted in his seat, as though he were preparing to deliver a speech. In truth, it seemed as though he was.

"I'm gonna tell you this, I'm glad you've made it this far. I mean, you've scored a job at the university, teaching something you're good at. It has decent pay and you live a good life. That's all I can congratulate you on."

Sakumo Hatake turned towards Kakashi, his black eyes reflecting the burning fire not too far away. The smile on his face was still there, but fading.

"I can't congratulate you on being a good brother, though."

--he shut his eyes and covered his ears like a kid. But that only let him see himself sitting there, next to his father on the campfire, with the fire blazing bright with every syllable his father pronounced.

He didn't want to hear or see it, but he had to.

"Father, I'm sorry--"

"I hope you are. But the apology is not for me. It's for your sister."

He resisted the urge to open his eyes and look at the slump on the hospital bed in the far corner of the room. The steady beat of the heart monitor reminded him that he has a sister.

"Even then, the apology is not enough."

Blowing out a sigh, he cracked his eyes open and grabbed the orange novel on the table--the one he'd already read, but decided to re-read if that meant getting his mind off the conversation. But that only resulted in getting himself tangled into two realities--one of the book, the other of the dream--and at first, it seemed as though his dream was fading, but soon, it grew stronger.