Title: Come True

Summary: The Infinite Tsukuyomi. Those under the influence, experience dream worlds where their deepest desires are fulfilled.

What would he have dreamt of, if Kakashi Hatake had been captured in it?

Warnings: Language, Sexual References

There is a moment upon awakening in which the haziness of slumber elicits a lag in the emergent consciousness of one's surroundings. In this moment, one may experience a limbo state between dreamscape and reality. Where one cannot ascertain whether what they have dreamt about is true or false.

Come True

Chapter One – Hangover

Kakashi's reflexes couldn't keep up with the sudden and dreadful comprehension that his students were in grave danger. That everyone, quite literally everyone, was in danger.

That Madara…

Madara Uchiha had won.

Kakashi yearned to stand and fight back. Resist. Resolute to not going down without a spectacular fight.

'Don't underestimate me, I don't quit and I don't run…' a younger, determined, knucklehead's words echoed through his busy mind like clever lyrics. Inspiration at its finest.

However, as his body sluggishly caught up with his panicked mind and hauled himself upright, activating his defences, the apprehension simply dissipated. No sooner did he sit up and reach to his sides in search of kunai, did the reason for these drastic measures escape him. All logic and sense, evaporated.

The desire to respond to Sakura's high pitched squeal of defeat blurred into a constant dull whine, giving way to a searing migraine. One which grounded into his temples, sharp and heavy.

There was no enemy or battlefield. No Sasuke or Naruto, finally proving their true worth. Not even a concrete memory of the anything remotely relevant to his reality. Only a comfortable bed, upon which sat a lone, uncomfortable man.

"What the f-?" Kakashi could barely spit out the profanity. His throat may as well have been lined with industrial sandpaper. He wondered if he had smoked a cigar -or twelve- last night as he clutched his neck in agony. As if stroking it from the outside would somehow hydrate the ash-tray within.

'What even happened last night?' he contemplated fleetingly, as he struggled to maintain a steady thought process.

A vague memory of Might Guy's audacious laughter came to mind but that wasn't exactly a pinpointing piece of evidence. This preceded a brief image of multiple empty sake cups stacked in four neat columns. And karaoke. Oh fuck no! He didn't partake in karaoke did he?

Kakashi cringed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The humiliation. He hoped that whomever was responsible for initiating the mystery escapades of last night was worse off than he currently was. If not, he intended to make it that way.

A most disgusting mystery gunk, present in apparently all of the pores on his face, seemed to glue his right eye lid closed. He was pretty sure he ripped the entire layer lashes off forcing his eye open.

And the light. The belligerent sunlight seeping through the shudders of the window, burning his retina. May as well have been beams of glass shards.

Vision was a bitch. A blurry, irritating, dizzying bitch. Necessary, however, upon the concerning realisation that he had awoken in someone else's bed.

Fuck.

Even with the rest of his senses running at sub-par Kakashi conducted a rudimentary inspection of his surroundings. Not that he was in much of a condition for reconnaissance, but he was still a great deal more talented in this condition than others at their peak.

Nothing was familiar. Things were lazily strewn about in the generous sized bedroom. Untidy, but not unclean, kind of akin to the way he kept his own apartment. The two doors to the room, which he assumed lead to an en suite and the rest of the home were closed.

An antique record player stacked on a cinder block caught his eye briefly as it seemed a little out of place in a room so sophisticated and modern in its interior design.

The setting seemed safe enough but Kakashi couldn't shake the sickly-off feeling he was getting. Like he had missed something threatening and dangerous.

The presence a large vase of potpourri likely suggested a woman lived there. If not that then the light blue small silken robe draped over a corner chair was a rational indication. Aromatic bed sheets were draped lazily over him. And he, -the other out of place element in the room- he was completely naked.

Starkers.

The inference was simple. A stranger's bedroom, nudity and a splitting hangover… You didn't need to be a highly trained jonin-cryptoanalyst to connect the dots.

A one night stand.

Kakashi had no ill-feelings about what his peers would later refer to as 'a most impressive conquest.' In fact he had no immediate feelings on the matter at all. It was easy to remain in a state of nonchalance when he couldn't remember a single moment of it. Easy to assume it was as equally underwhelming as all the previous one night stands before.

Infrequent occurrence as it was, he had been in this position before. The aftermath of which he found highly uncomfortable. Being susceptibly unclothed and unprotected wasn't helping either.

Instinctively, he reached beneath the pillow at his back, discovering a slip of black fabric. Thankful, he pulled it over his aching head. The vulnerability of complete exposure nullified significantly just by a simple mask.

Feeling as if he could think a little more clearly, his next point of action was deciding which mode of escape would be more effective. The window or the door. Although, since there was no one present he needed to sneak away from, the decision wasn't all that pressing. Ironically, he actually kind of liked the 'morning after sneak away' in which he would vacate, undetected, taking with him any and all evidence of himself having been there in the first place. The success of the departure amused and even somewhat thrilled him, twisted as it may be.

The other side of the bed displayed an indented pillow and rather rustled sheets. A clear indication that it had been more than just slept in. He brushed his fingers over the length of the bed, mulling over last night. It was rather curious that he would awaken alone.

How frustrating that he couldn't remember her face. Or any part of her for that matter.

The bedside table situated on 'her side' presented to him the most desirable glass of water he'd ever seen. Tall, clear, and coupled with two paracetamol pills and a note.

Ingrained red flags would normally protest Kakashi's decision to consume a beverage and pills from an unknown origin, but at this point he was willing to risk any poisoning in order to pacify his throbbing head and burning oesophagus.

Sweet, mild, relief. He welcomed it. Glorious liquid turned the desert in his throat an oasis. If only it was accompanied by a generous meal of excessively fatty foods and a doubly caffeinated black coffee, he'd be set. Nevertheless, he felt grateful.

The note, written in a feminine cursive, read:

Yuanfen,

Called on for an unforeseen urgent mission

Home in a few days

Lunches are in the fridge

Xox
M

'Heh?'

Kakashi reread the slip of paper four times over, carefully as if it was written in hieroglyphics. He didn't know where to begin with it. So few questions were answered, so many more raised.

'Who the hell is Yuanfen?'

Kakashi wondered if he had used a fake name last night to pick up this women.

To his knowledge, he had never done that before. He was too mindful of the fact that most shinobi -and plenty of civilians for that matter- already knew him by name. Attempting to pass off a fake name probably would have backfired, unless of course he was using a transformation. But then, that just wasn't like him at all. And even if it was, how likely was it he'd pick a weird name like Yuanfen if he did conduct a transformation? It sounded foreign. Not even particularly interesting or sexy.

'Home in a few days'

That was another particularly concerning line. It suggested that she expected him to be waiting for her return. How delusional, what did she think this was?
He then wondered if the note was left for someone else, like an unwitting boyfriend or husband. The thought of which forced him out of the bed and across the room to a pile of clothing housing what he knew to be his shinobi uniform.

He disregarded the reluctance his limbs purported and the heaviness in his knees and simply moved. Intense focus and urgency overcame him. He decided to forgo playing detective and instead just leave as discretely as possibly.

It wasn't that he was afraid of the repercussions inflicted, rightfully so, from a hypothetical, cuckolded husband. More that he had a reputation to keep intact. Young shinobi who supposedly looked up to him who'd give him an earful if this got out.

He dressed himself without tact, his buttons misaligned, collar askew, he didn't even bother putting his headband on. He shoved the note in his pocket before making for the window. Upon drawing the blinds, swiftly and silently, Kakashi caught sight of his own reflection in the glass pane and froze.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

His left eye.

He kept it habitually closed so as not to waste unnecessary chakra on his sharingan. But where his closed eye lid would usually grace a grisly vertical scar lengthened from above his eyebrow down to his cheek bone, there was nothing. Nothing but clear, flawless skin. A few more wrinkles than he remembered, but no mark.

'It can't be,' he whispered. Gliding the pads of his calloused fingers down his face in bewilderment. He opened his eye, slowly and with dread, revealing the same matching, ebony iris gazing back at him through the reflection.

Kakashi began blinking repeatedly. Partly because it had been a lifetime since he'd actually blinked his eyes simultaneously, strange a sensation as it was. And then partly because he was hoping he'd open his eyes again and discover that his mind was just playing tricks. He'd go back to 'normal.'

He didn't.

Kakashi became acutely aware of the nauseous feeling in his stomach, on the brink of declaring war. He clutched at his abdomen trying to manually hold himself together. Unsure if it was a delayed symptom of his hangover or if the conundrum facing himself was making him physically ill.

The thesis statement of his peril was no longer 'What happened last night?' nor 'Whose home is this?' it was 'Who am I?"

A genjutsu.

It had to be a genjutsu.

He took deliberate, laboured breaths. He was unaccustomed to having a panic attack. Not even the type to get worked up by high intensity situations. Largely the opposite in fact. He was a rational man and the rational -and only- explanation for his change in appearance, was that he was caught in a genjutsu.

Fixing his eyes closed, he focussed his breathing and forced his composure. He concentrated on the gentle ebb and flow of his chakra. Tracking it, feeling it, understanding it before compelling it to cascade harshly in on itself. A technique that had been flawless in the past for fleeing from a genjutsu.

"Release!" he called and opened his eyes to an unchanged location.

'Why didn't it work?' he griped before suppressing another wave of nausea.

Kakashi had been so hung up on his own inaccurate reflection in the glass pane that he, up until now, hadn't noticed the scenic view from the bedroom window.

The house he had awoken in was situated in a familiar location on a far edge of the Leaf Village. From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the Hokage mountain. A grand, awe-inspiring monument detailing the Great Stone Faces of the Hokage past and present.

But it was all wrong.

For adjacent to his late sensei, Minato Namikaze, placed an entirely different fifth Hokage. It was not Lady Tsunade, of the legendary Sannin. It was impossible. A cruel trick. A lie. A fake. A dream.

'It's not real,' he told himself.

Again, and more urgently than before, Kakashi attempted to break the genjutsu. Siphoning what little chakra he could still bear to shift. Except that his body wasn't exactly in the condition to be causing internal chakra-tsunamis.

'Not real'

He couldn't hold himself together much longer.

To refrain from being sick all over the carpeted floor, he reached for what he rightfully assumed was the doorhandle for the en suite. Proceeding with caution he opened the door, planning on hurling into the nearest available vessel.

'Not real'

He didn't. He couldn't.

The en suite was actually already in use.

'Not real'

A girl. Young. About three or four maybe, he wasn't sure. He didn't have a very good frame of reference for young children. He didn't like them, outright avoided them when he could. She was sitting on the toilet and dangling her stumpy little legs which didn't reach the floor. It took her a moment to notice him standing there.

'Not real'

All rehearsed demeanours of 'calm' were depleted. His face heated up and sweat, laced with that filthy mystery gunk pooled in his palms. He was probably more embarrassed than her at the intrusion. That's not to say that she wasn't unhappy about it.

"I'm in here!" she yelled an angry look plastered on her childish face, but Kakashi had slammed the door closed on her before the conclusion of the first syllable.

'It's just a dream,' he told himself as he shook. The nausea had passed but he was left raw and weak.

The sound of the toilet flushing had Kakashi taking 3 steps backwards against the wall. As if the three year old was a vicious wild animal set to pounce into the room any moment, wreaking havoc on all those present.

'Not real'

Fake. It's all fake. The home. The incorrect Hokage. And she's, she's just a little girl. The one that happens to live in this stranger's home.

'Not real'

Just a girl.

One with a prominent head of long, shiny, blatant white hair.

A/N: So I promised myself I wouldn't start any new stories until old ones are finished. But you know… that was wishful thinking…

I am still trying to focus on Four Weddings and a Funeral but this might serve as some nice 'get over my stupid writer's block' material. Plus I have undying love for Kakashi XD

Continuation of this story will be highly dependent on my muse… and any encouragement from you guys. So if you likey likey… please leave a reviewy reviewy. XD