For the Dead

Chapter 1 - Kakashi

Carried by a cold gust of wind, the scent of earth and grass jammed in the back of Kakashi's throat — that familiar but unwanted taste of fear, loneliness and anger that funerals left in his mouth every single time. While his gloved hands defrosted into the shallow pockets of his black suit trousers, he shot a brief sideways glance at Tenzō, his kōhai and the youngest member of his squad, who looked as unemotional as he did, bunching his growing hair into a pathetically small ponytail.

Kakashi's eyes moved to the only sobbing figure standing around the dark mahogany casket, waiting for the moment it would lower six-feet underground. He understood death, maybe too well for a twenty-nine-year-old, but he couldn't fathom the desperate shedding of tears — it was pitiful and it bothered him. Yet, he had predicted no other reaction from Iruka — only a few months older than Tenzō — when the one being laid to rest that afternoon had been his father figure for years, and different from Kakashi, he wore his heart on his sleeve. It was annoying really.

"Hiruzen Sarutobi was a man of many lives, but essentially, he was a very good man. Wise, tactical, hard working, but above all, kind and compassionate," the unkept, white-headed clergyman said, slurring his words, likely drunk. "We are united here to mourn his passing because of that. He brought us all together as a family and taught us many lessons, many that I particularly ignored, I am so sorry, but..."

The eulogy continued with the same textbook compliments Kakashi had heard way too many times, just not from the intoxicated lips of a man who insisted on being a priest for reasons unknown. Putting up with him while he was drunk was a task many shied away from, but Kakashi endured and humoured the old man when he had the time as the Priest was also the author of a surprisingly popular, on-going, book series Kakashi was very fond of. The series was published under a pseudonym, as its content would likely burn upon entering any church — it was that unholy. As an avid reader and quite ungenerous with his money, Kakashi didn't mind a little torture in the name of free literature. He kept a good rapport with the Priest and with his editor, who showered him with books and previews for as little as a wink and a couple of flirtatious lines.

His attention shifted as he caught sight of a man in black and white cloak leaping out of a blue BMW, aided by two large bodyguards. One remained by the vehicle, while the other walked behind him towards the funeral. He took no more than two steps before halting and watching the ceremony from a distance, leaning onto his old fashioned wooden cane that seemed to sink an inch into the immaculate grass of the cemetery. He made no attempt to approach further despite acknowledging Kakashi with no more than a glimpse.

"What is the Overseer doing here?" Kakashi said lowly, leaning in enough to bump his shoulder against Tenzō's.

"Beats me," Tenzō said. "Paying respects?"

"Hm."

"Senpai?"

"It's unlike him to show his face at public gatherings."

"Well, he was friends with the Professor."

"Friends?" Kakashi looked at him, fixing the black mask over the bridge of his nose. "You and I are friends, Tenzō. I don't believe the Overseer is capable of our understanding of friendship." Tenzō's cheeks rosed lightly, which Kakashi was going to attribute to the cold. "I thought he'd have told you he was coming."

"We don't communicate as often as you think."

"Then, if you were going to assume?"

"I'd rather not."

"What if you had to—"

"Don't, senpai"

"... drink tequila with the maggot in?"