"The fallout from the war is doing more damage to Kakashi's equilibrium than the fighting ever did."

Kiba's probably the only emotionally well-adjusted member of the Konoha 12, and he's been aware of that for a while. He never thought that would qualify him for time travel, though.

"Kamui's chuckle is low and thunderous, rolling through the darkness, and she breathes out a gust that smells of ash and night. Obito keeps stroking her whiskers, glancing over at where the harness for her rider hangs, carefully oiled and polished. He’s maintained it meticulously, even though Kamui hasn’t ever officially had a rider. Not that they need one.

They had one, once. A partner, to both of them equally, but—

Thirty seconds of connection probably doesn’t count as much of a partnership to anyone, even if it meant everything to Obito."

"Obito gives up on getting the coffee off his hand. He takes a breath, steeling himself, and looks up. “What do you want, Kakashi?” he demands. “Hasn’t Akatsuki done enough damage to Konoha already?”

The leader of Akatsuki smiles, like Konoha isn't a smoking ruin outside the window. Like Obito wasn’t dead until Naruto managed to convince Nagato that taking over the world wasn’t the way to bring peace. Obito saw Minato, in that dark place, finally got to apologize, but—

His breath shakes as it escapes his lungs, and Kakashi comes to a stop three long paces away, watching him with the dark grey eyes that Obito remembers all too well."

"Kakashi glances up at the sun, at the mountains to their left. “We’re somewhere past the River Country border,” he says. “Once we find the road, it shouldn’t be more than two days to the village.”

Two days. Obito closes his eyes, steels himself. That sounds too long and too short all at once, and he can't figure out why. He opens his mouth, pauses, and looks at the mountain as well. It’s not the correct silhouette, he thinks, but he doesn’t know what would make it right.

“What if there's someone after us?” he asks, but this time Kakashi pulls him along with a hand on his elbow that feels more like a restraint than a guide. He doesn’t answer."

“Who the hell are you supposed to be, un?” Deidara demands, bristling. “The villain from a shitty Princess Gale movie?”

"It had been a long time, he knew, since he had stayed in any one when for more than a few days consecutively, and even longer since he had been in his own when, but it was a small price to pay for killing Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries, three days after his eighteenth birthday." (40,392 words)

Tobirama follows Hashirama to the river with a thousand points of light burning in his head.

He leaves with one as all he can see, a bonfire, a conflagration.

Uchiha Madara sets a match to his life with the simple fact of his existence, and in his wake Tobirama is left standing in a field of ashes.

The best revenge is living well. And maybe also spitefully staging a minor political coup to take over Konoha as payback for getting stuck in an arranged marriage.

Kakashi has a lot of work ahead of him if he wants Tsuna to survive, but at least the company is agreeable. And cute.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel like they don’t fit right in his mouth. What are you supposed to say, really, when someone gives you a piece of their spirit-form? Especially under these circumstances. Shisui wishes treason came with some kind of manual. Maybe a book full of helpful hints. When plotting to overturn decades of hatred and stop a war by lying to the whole world, be careful not to offend the man giving you his teeth to wear as earrings.

Kakashi is enjoying this a hell of a lot more than he thought he would, and he had high expectations going in.

“What is that?” Tobirama demands incredulously.

“Your way out of this system,” Kushina says cheerfully, and Tobirama suddenly understands far better why she’s hanging on his arm like she’s going to physically pin him in place.

Shikamaru squints at him out of one eye. “Omoi,” he says, exasperated.

“I'm going to be the first Avatar to ever throw the world out of balance,” Omoi says. “I'm going to cause—”

“—me to go prematurely bald,” Shikamaru interrupts, and reaches up to grab his wrist, dragging him down onto the blanket next to him.

Obito recognizes the divine messenger immediately.

Iruka wakes to silence, a rare break in the constant rain.

Shisui's breaths feel too loud in the quiet of the room, like they’re coming too fast. It’s like he’s panting, like he can't get enough air, and it makes his head spin. His whole body is shaking, overheated, burning up from the inside, and he has to catch himself on the edge of the sink and lean there, gasping for air, acutely, exquisitely, awfully aware of every inch of his skin.

Behind him, a page turns, crinkling, and there's a quiet hum.

Nagato is in over his head, and getting deeper.

“There you are,” a voice says, sudden enough to make Shisui startle. Before he can even take a step back, though, a familiar figure is stepping out from beneath an overhang of carved stone. Silver hair is bright in the moonlight, even though the light washes color from everything else, turns the red dripping from the tantō black and leaves the pools on the ground depthless.

“Captain?” Shisui asks, throat tight, and has to swallow again, has to resist the urge to take a step back. “What—what are you doing here?”

Kurenai looks thoughtful. “So you want help picking someone who will annoy him?”

“I want help picking someone who will give him an aneurism,” Asuma corrects, because he’s always been a fan of go big or go home.

“Pissing off the mayor seems like a bad idea,” Raidō ventures after a moment, but he’s already looking around the lunchroom, scanning for targets.

Asuma snorts. “I'm not pissing off the mayor, I'm pissing off my father,” he says. “Despite what he wants to think, there is a difference.”