#this was originally meant to be one of the trope prompts but the mood didn't fit the prompt

[butter--peanut]

fic snippet: Kakashi’s mental health and Obito’s stalkerish way of helping (642 words, angsty, t)

On Kakashi’s latest mission with ANBU, he’d killed dozens of nin — many younger than his own nineteen years — and one of his own teammates had been killed in the process.

Obito had watched the mission grimly, hidden in Kamui, and he continued to watch as Kakashi returned to Konoha, gave his mission report to the Sandaime, and then stood by the memorial stone until midnight, motionless but for the slight sway of his exhausted body in light wind.

When the moon ran high and all law-abiding Konohans had long ago crept to blissful slumber, dress rehearsals for the main show that Obito would bring to them, Kakashi returned like a dog to a kennel to the tiny corner of the Hatake estate that he slept in. There he promptly threw up in the sink. After expelling his stomach, he turned on the tap and washed the meagre remains of his ration bars down the drain, then kept the water running and started to scrub his hands. He scrubbed far longer than needed to wash the traces of vomit away. The water turned hot and steam started to rise from the sink, and Kakashi’s hands were turning red and raw from the scrubbing and the heat. His head hung over the sink. From his left eye saltwater dripped down, unnoticeable if not for Obito’s Sharingan.

“It won’t go away,” Kakashi said to himself.

He scrubbed futilely for a minute more, then gave up. He staggered to his futon and lay down and huddled over his blanket, and there he started to sob, fist pressed into his mouth to stifle any sound, body curved around himself in a ball like he was trying to give himself comfort.

It was good to watch this. It emphasised that everything was wrong in the world and everything that Obito was doing with his life was correct. Kakashi was a pathetic hero, crying out to be offered a pathway where he wouldn’t have to hurt other people. That would never be a path he could take. He was a Shinobi, he was a weapon, he was a friend killer.

It was good to watch this, but Obito couldn’t watch any longer.

He stepped through the Kamui portal, and Kakashi wasn’t so lost to the world that he didn’t notice. With only a fraction of a second of surprise, he threw himself up to standing, left hand gripping right wrist, Sharingan meeting Sharingan.

Kakashi’s eyes glazed, caught in Obito’s genjutsu.

His hands returned to rest by his side. His breath began to even out.

Obito sent his mask back to Kamui; it was no longer necessary. He stepped forward until he was standing in front of Kakashi, who was staring into the middle distance.

Obito took Kakashi’s hands in his own and brought them up to his lips. He kissed the fingers of Kakashi’s left hand, then his right. He could feel the abraded skin from the excessive scrubbing. Kakashi’s fingers trembled in his palm.

“C’mon,” Obito encouraged. “Let’s get you to bed.���

He pulled off the covers and helped Kakashi to lie down, on his side, facing away from Obito. Then Obito lay behind him, wrapping his arms around Kakashi’s waist. Kakashi was cold, but Obito had always run warm, and after several minutes by his side Obito could feel Kakashi’s body temperature start to rise.

“It’s going to be okay,” Obito murmured against Kakashi’s ear, Kakashi’s hair tickling his nose. “This won’t last forever, I promise you. One day, your friends will come back, all of them. Your family too. Believe me, Kakashi: you’re going to be at peace again. Believe me tonight, even if you forget tomorrow.”

Slowly, the shaking stilled. The tension along Kakashi’s spine began to ease. And, eventually, Kakashi slept.

Obito stayed by his side, making sure that there were no nightmares tonight.