Title: the ones who are given

Pairing/s: None.

Disclaimer: Blame Masashi Kishimoto for the pain, it's what I do. The song Trash belongs to Suede.

Summary: But we're trash, you and me, we're the litter on the breeze, we're the lovers on the streets, just trash, me and you.

Kakashi is standing in the bathroom, pressing his toes against the cool tiles in an effort to see past the tall counter into the mirror above the sink. He's got dark grey eyes and stark white hair and skin too pale and too smooth for an experienced shinobi - but too baggy and too sharp for him to be marked as anything else. He's five years old and has been in the academy for nearly a month now, and they say that in another month he's probably going to graduate as the youngest genin ever.

They say a lot of other things, too

"You look just like your father," his mother whispers in his ear. Her hand is hot and clammy in his, and the words are meant to be reassuring, but they're anything but. "You'll do just fine. You'll make friends and learn jutsu. I'm so proud of you, Kakashi."

"You look just like your father," the Chuunin sensei says, but he's not proud or happy, just a little edgy. "Let's hope you have his intelligence, as well."

"You look just like your father," the boy on the playground sneers. His fist is raw and red with blood (Kakashi's blood),and his face is twisted in an ugly glower. "He got my mom killed. Why should I let a little punk like you play Ninja with us?"

Kakashi stares into the mirror, and then he's shaking, but not with hurt or betrayal or anything but raw, cold rage, and he shoves the mask up over his face to make the voices slamming around his head stop.

He hates his father, and he never wants to see his ugly, traitorous face again.

Kakashi is standing in the bathroom, pressing his fingers against the cool glass in an effort to wipe away the blood smearing it. (It's not working, maybe because the hand swiping at it is covered in blood, too.) He's got one grey eye and one red one spinning madly in his reflection, and skin too rough and too scarred for a pre-pubescent boy – and too tired, and too sad, and too old. He's thirteen years old and Obito's been gone almost a month now, and they say in another month the grief will fade.

Sensei doesn't say anything.

"I believe the White Fang was a true hero!" Obito shouts in his ear, and God, he was always loud, always shouting, and the sound reverberates in his brain over and over and over again. "I'm going to save Rin!"

"This is a memento of my father," Kakashi's own voice says. It's not proud, it's not happy, because he just wants this all to stop stop stop and the words slip from his tongue without warning. He doesn't say anything else, because then he's fighting for his life and Obito's dying and everything's going to hell.

"Oh, you're just the White Fang's brat," the Rock ninja sneers. His kunai is red and stinks of blood (Kakashi's blood), but before Kakashi can find him he's tossed it away with a laugh. "This should be no problem, then."

Kakashi stares into the mirror, and the Sharingan twists and spins and spins, but not with anger or hatred or anything but crushing, soul-eating hurt, and he pulls the mask down just before he gets violently sick and leaves it handing there because the voices are quieter, now.

His father was right. He just wishes he had learned that sooner.

Kakashi is lying face down in a pool of blood, pressing his hands against the damp earth to shove himself up, choking on the stench. He lost his hitai-ate somewhere in the fight, and the Sharingan is burning, burning in his left eye. No one can tell what his skin looks like – right now it's red with blood; his blood, the enemy's blood, everyone's blood. He's fourteen years old and he's been lying there for hours, he thinks, maybe days, and the sky is cold and dark and grey above him.

For once, the world is completely, utterly silent.

The only voice he hears is his own.

"Obito's dead," his voice whispers, "And it's your fault."

"Rin's dead," his voice says, "And it's your fault."

"You're alive," his voice sneers, and his hands are red and slick with blood (Rin's blood, oh God, everyone's blood.) "Why are you alive?"

Kakashi stares at his reflection in the blood on the ground, and then he's shaking and he's sobbing but not with hurt or anger or anything but for the utter sense of betrayal, because he betrayed her, he betrayed Rin and Obito and Sensei and everyone he's ever, ever cared for in his life. He's more of a traitor than any missing nin, he's the complete worst kind of trash that the world could ever conceive and he hate, hate, hates himself and he never wants to see his ugly, traitorous face again.

"You've killed her!" the voices scream. "You've killed her, you've killed her, you've killed her!"

Kakashi pulls up the mask.

The voices stop.

:owari: