Sagartolen

“Hatake,” Wada crosses his arms, pushing back on his chair so he rolls out from behind his desk, “Are you listening? If you’re tired, we can have this conversation tomorrow.”

He tilts his head to the slide to meet the doctor’s disapproving stare.  

“You want my personal information for a residency application. We were also about to run through my diagnosis and tests results,” Kakashi idly summarises Wada’s last few minuets of lecturing. “I would like to hear what the quirk specialist has to say about my quirk,” he adds, trying to inject a little enthusiasm into his voice so he is not immediately wheeled back to his room for another week of rest.

“Please call me Kakashi,” he throws in as an afterthought.

“Yes. Yes. Kakashi then.” Wada waves the correction away, “I’m going to need more than a name if you want further aid from the City. After your discharge you’ll be left high and dry at this rate. Don’t think I don’t see you trying to avoid the topic.”

Wada’s irritation has Kakashi nodding along for good measure, prompting the doctor to continue talking with a sigh of mild frustration, “This is all quite complicated. At the moment, you’re being treated under Tokyo’s District Collateral Damage Scheme which would usually extend to relocation, occupation support, and asset recovery. However as the investigation into the attack on your person hasn’t linked it to any credible Villain activity, you’ll need to be a resident of Japan to receive further support.”

Wada frowns at him, “That’s a problem seeing as we see can’t find any of your records.”

“Hmm,”

“You have no birth certificate, citizenship information, school records, place of residence, career history or passport,” Wada lists, “Are you absolutely sure Hatake Kakashi is the name we need to be searching under?”

There is another pause where a reply would usually go. Kakashi finally lets his full attention sit squarely on Wada, taking in his mildly irritated expression and how his eyebrows are drawn together in a slight frown. The man is leaning forward, arms crossed, irritate but keen for a response. Kakashi habitably scans for signs of deception.

“Why.” Kakashi finally asks, voice dropping flat as be briefly lets his suspicions seep into this tone.  The medical attention he could understand. Doctor Wada was being paid by the hospital to give him medical care because of its poor patient vetting. This other help wasn’t medical attention. Kakashi wasn’t Wada’s friend, ally, or family member. He doesn’t have ties to the man outside of being his patient and he knows Wada doesn’t pay this much attention to his other patients.

Wada huffs, throwing up his hands, moving from vaguely annoyed to openly exasperated. If Wada hears the underlining threat in Kakashi’s question, he wilfully ignores it.

“You walk out of hospital like this, and you’ll be jobless on the streets by sunset. Rent. Jobs. Bank accounts. They all need identification. Best we get this sorted while you still have access to the hospital’s resources.”

“And you do this for everyone?” Kakashi asks sceptically, because Wada has obviously misunderstood him.

“Humph.” Wada grunts, “Most of my patients have relatives and friends visiting every few days and aren’t missing all their personal records. Helping people isn’t just for the Heroes you know. Us regular people like to give it a go every now and then as well.”

Kakashi stares as the man gives a resolute nod like his had given a valid answer to Kakashi’s question.  What did being a Hero have to do with anything?

“I see.”  He really didn’t but maybe this was a normal doctor thing to do? This world was so strange.

“Unfortunately, I don’t remember anything else of use,” Kakashi repeats. It was probably the most truthful he has been since waking. Kakashi has no further information for Wada revenant to his lack of records.

“Yes, very unfortunate,” Wada sounds ever so slightly disappointed, “unfortunate for you. I’m not a miracle worker. You’re going to have issues with this lack of records.” He rolls back behind his desk, yanking out a stack of paper held together with thick metal clips. As he shifts objects on the desk around to clear space, Wada continues, “I might be able to get you a job interview with a friend of mine and I might be able to get you into some city subsidized housing. But that’s an iffy might…all I can promise.”

Never mind that Kakashi hasn’t asked for anything since his arrival.

Wada slaps the stack of paper down on the desk flipping it in Kakashi’s direction and sliding across towards him. “You can show your appreciation by paying attention. Your medical records are the only thing we do have at the moment.”

Kakashi examines the booklet, raising a questioning eyebrow. On top of it is one of those plastic communication rectangles. Phones. It is black with a black screen.

“This is my old phone, no sim card but you’ll be able to connect to the Hospital’s internet. I’ll see if I can get you a charger tomorrow and set you up with patient access account.”

Wada moves the phone to one side.

“This is you’re recovery plan. I took the liberty of printing it out for you. Though with your quirk it’ll probably be a waste of paper.” Wada follows the sentence up with a quick, “Once you’re cleared to use it. Which you’re currently not. Don’t even think about it.”

Kakashi raises a hand in a loose calming motion.

“…and on the topic of your quirk….” Wada fusses around, patting himself down muttering, “Where is it. I swear if I lose another pen…Ah.” He pulls out a pen, leaning forward to scribble out a line of numbers and letters.

“You’re Registry ID. Won’t be for active for another week at least. But, once it is, if anyone gives you trouble for using your quirk in public you can tell them to go look up your file. I sent all your information off to be assessed and your quirk is probably going to be registered as ‘passive biological’ which is an automatic Licence Waiver if I’m remembering my law correctly.”

“Don’t quote me on that. I’m a doctor, not a legal professional. And just because you can use it, doesn’t mean you should. High Stress quirks need to be carefully managed.”

Wada reaches over and flips the booklet open, tapping the page.

“Your quirk puts a huge strain on your brain. Specifically, it strains your memory and vision processing centres. The expert opinion is that your body’s fast regenerative factor has naturally evolved to offset this physical stress.” Wada hums, pausing in his explanation to check that Kakashi is following. “Unfortunately, even with this mutation your quirk is maladaptive at best actively destructive at worst.”

Kakashi glances at the page Wada is scribbling on. It has a diagram of a brain with serval areas now circled in blue pen ink.

“See this area here. This shows high activity. And see how it how activity increases when your quirk is active.” Wada flips the page, “And then activity in these outer sections of your brain drops to practically zero? None of this is good in the long term.”

Wada clears his throat, “A lot of your body’s resources are being devoted to vision and memory processing and it has led to enlargement and increased activity in these areas. This sort of imbalance in the brain has been connected to depression, paranoia, anxiety, chronic stress and panic disorders. Something you’ll need to keep an eye on it and I have noted on your registry file when it comes time for your annual quirk check-up. I have also taken the liberty of scheduling some initial psychologist appointments with Hosu General.”

All this sounds somewhat familiar. He thinks in he has ben given similar warnings about sharingun and dojutsu users being more prone to severe paranoia episodes by medic-nin.

Honestly, with the rate Uchiha went loopy, he is not surprised to find out that the sharigun messed with the brain in other ways. He had always just chalked it up to the unpleasantness of having to retain perfect memories of comrades dying gruesomely.

Of course, he had never hung around the hospital long enough to get a proper diagnosis and assessment of his sharingun beyond an understanding that he should keep use to a minimum. The Uchiha had had their own medical centres for sharingan related ailments which he’d been unwelcome in before they had all disappeared along with the clan. Not like knowing meant much in the long run. It wouldn’t stop him from using it. The sharingan was the most powerful weapon at his disposal. Better to overuse it and suffer hypothetical future consequences then underuse it and watch his allies die.

“…and there is no cure for this?” he asks to cover his bases because he wasn’t the only shinobi with a dojutsu that messed with brain activity and maybe this strange world had something useful to bring back.

“Unfortunately, research into ocular quirks is still in its infancy. However, these sort of maladaptive characteristics aren’t uncommon in third generation quirks. An unfortunate result of a quirk mutating quicker than the body can handle or an individual inheriting a quirk from their parents but not developing the accompanying physical mutations necessary for that quirk to function properly. For now, your memory loss has been diagnosed as an Externally Triggered Quirk Incompatibility Event resulting in detriment or damage to the quirk user. ETQI Events are quite common in individuals with high stress quirks.”

The way Wada waits again for Kakashi to respond is more evidence towards his growing suspicion that Wada was beginning to doubt that his memory loss was as extensive as he had been implying.

This time Kakashi doesn’t answer because his attention is pulled away to focus on unusual movement above the city.

A large bat-like creature flashes across the now dark sky, diving in between the buildings. Since arriving in this world Kakashi has seen serval types of loud flying vehicle hovering or passing over the city. Enough to have grown use to the sight and sound of them passing overhead. Nothing this large and organic and this creature was definitely organic.

“Kakashi? Are you…. What in the world?”

In amongst the buildings there is a breif flash of orange light, and a trail of smoke can be seen raising upward. Despite it being mostly obscured by the tall structures, Kakashi knows an explosion when he sees one.

Wada stands abruptly, “Oh my…that’s the city centre,” he pushes around his desk so he can stand next to Kakashi.

There is another flash of light and the creature shoots back into the air above the buildings. Wada startles at the sight. So large flying creatures aren’t a normal occurrence for Hosu. Good to know.

“-Announcement; all staff refer to personal devises. Event level 2.-”  can be heard through Wada’s office door, the announcement coming in from the hallway’s intercom. Wada is immediately distracted searching his pockets.  

“A Level 2? In Hosu?” Wada questions, staring at the screened devise – phone, Kakashi mentally corrects- he frees from his pocket, reading through something. Emergency orders from the hospital.

Kakashi notes the alert as he flips up the soft medical eyepatch and pulls off the bandage-tape covering his sharingun so he can better track the creature’s trajectory across the darkened skyline. The fact that Wada isn’t yelling at Kakashi about his sharingun use tells him that a Level 2 is serious business.

The creature’s flight is sporadic, like it has sustained an injury to one of its wings and trying to escape whatever caused it. The creature is also on a collision course with one of those highspeed trains Kakashi had noted earlier.

“-Announcement; all staff refer to personal devises. Event level 2.-”

Kakashi watches, his sharingun catching the moment the creature rams into a train in perfect detail even at the considerable distance. The side-carriage buckles inward and the train is flung partially off its rails, momentum abruptly slowing.

He can’t hear collision at this distance, but Kakashi thinks the hospital building tremors ever so slightly. Whether the tremor is from the train crash or another explosion closer in the city he can’t tell.

At this point Wada has stopped staring at his phone and is following Kakashi’s line of focus. The man inhales sharply in alarm, rushing forward to press against the window.

“That’s the main line!”

‘-Announcement; all staff refer to personal devises. Event level 2.-’

Cautiously, Kakashi stands from his wheelchair to follow, approaching and eyeing the train and then the city. He can pick out four smoke trails wafting up from among the buildings but nothing is close to the hospital. Yet. In a citywide attack a hospital is a logical target.

The flying creature falls away from the smashed-up side-carriage like it has been blown backward by a powerful shockwave. It flounders in the sky for a second, disoriented, raising higher then dropping into uncoordinated wonky dive. Of course, the dive puts it in line with the hospital, his eye allows him to make the calculations automatically, tracking the trajectory.

It is on a collision course with the section of building Kakashi is currently occupying. If the creature didn’t slow or turn, its impact with the building would probably take out a portion of the upper floors, including Wada’s office.

A little chakra enhancement and Kakashi kicks the glass from the window in front of him. It was best not to retreat into the hospital as he doesn’t know if the building’s structure was sound enough to withstand the collision. It was a safer bet to escape outside where he would have more room to manoeuvre.

The window shatters, glassing spraying out and falling onto the pavement that ran the perimeter of the hospital.

“Holly S…. “Wada begins to exclaim and is interrupted when Kakashi snags the doctor by the arm and throws the man over his shoulder, winding him in his haste. He then turns and in one sweeping motion swipes his recovery plan and phone off Wada’s desk, crouching fit through the window frame, and jumps, dropping straight down.

There is the loud crunch and screech of metal and glass twisting up above him as the creature rams the side of the building. Kakashi lands and darts further along the path and away to avoid falling brick and glass.

Around him the civilians, who had been distracted staring at the explosions and smoke rising from further in the city, turn at the noise created by the impact. Then there is a lot of panicked yelling as people scatter in all directions.

“Back away! Move away from the wall! Please stay back from the road!” Two uniformed policemen come jogging towards the crash site, unsuccessfully attempting to re-direct the streams of fleeing people. It’s a lot of uncoordinated chaos as people spill out onto the roads around the hospital and get in the way of oncoming vehicles which subsequently crash into one another.

It is all very chaotic up until a short grey-haired man in a yellow onesie drops to the pavement few meters from where Kakashi had initially landed, right under the flying creature. Yellow-onesie-man turns to order the policemen to keep civilians back before propelling himself up the building in long leaps worthy of any respectable shinobi, kicking out and knocking the creature off the building, manoeuvring around several uncoordinated retaliatory attacks. A ‘pro-Hero,’ Kakashi decides, tracking yellow-onesie-man’s quick decisive strikes and dodges. He had noted that Heroes tended dress bright and flashy to attach as much attention as possible.  

It obviously works as, around him, the civilians who had previously been fleeing in blind adrenalin fuelled fear seam to calm, focusing on yellow-onesie-man and his efforts to redirect the creature away from the hospital.

Kakashi watches the fight long enough to confirm that it was not headed in his direction. Relatively certain he is not about to be suddenly attacked or rammed into by the panicking crowd he loosens his grip on Wada, bending to let the man down. Kakashi slouches, attention split between his immediate surroundings and tracking the fight as it moved out onto the road.

“Offices,” Wada, who had been uncharacteristically silent, exclaims. He stumbles back and plonks down onto the pavement, landing on his ass, “Those are the third and fourth floor are offices,” The man is staring up at the damaged upper floors of the hospital. “It’s afterhours…there won’t have been anyone working…I should have been the only one in this late,” he mutters.

Kakashi habitually scans the structure. The damage isn’t bad all things considered. There is a lot of broken windows and a significant hole on the fourth floor, but it is shallow, only penetrating a few meters into the building, meaning the flying beast had attempted to pull up at the last second, lessoning the impact. Probably hadn’t managed to smash through any of the supporting walls so they wouldn’t have to worry about the building immediately collapsing. The third floor has broken windows and damage to the outer wall which wasn’t dangerous unless you were standing right next to the glass at impact.

“Hmm, probably no casualties…the rooms on the fourth floor are empty. Aside from us,” Kakashi confirms. He had stalked the doctor enough to know when there were and weren’t people in the rooms surrounding his office. The air also lacked that strong stench of blood that so often accompanied a person being crushed by rubble. Even the stink of this people-filled city wouldn’t have been able to block that out.

Wada blinks up at him. “How did you get us down here so fast?”

“I believe I jumped.”

“… how in the world does a memory quirk let you land a four-story drop on a leg that is still injured?”

Kakashi gives a bland smile, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “You know what, I don’t know. Must be an ETQI Event, you did say it affected memory.” He holds up his recovery plan for emphasis.

Wada’s response to that is silent, open-mouthed disbelief.

“I should have retired last year and followed my sons advise. I’m getting too old for this,” the doctor finally mutters, rubbing his eyes, hand shaking ever so slightly. He lets out a long breath.

“You’re not injured, are you?” Kakashi asks, reminding himself that Wada is a civilian without chakra and thus doubly susceptible to injury.

Wada makes a show of checking himself over, “No. I suppose I’m not. Aside from the heart attack.”

“Isn’t that good news.”

“Oh yes, wonderful news,” Wada huffs, “Always good news when my patient who shouldn’t be walking jumps out a window to save my life.”

Kakashi hums, watching the man struggle to stand. All shaky. Adrenaline would do that if you weren’t used to it.

He bends and grabs a hold of the doctor’s shirt to pull him to his feet, holding him still for a second until he was sure Wada could support his own weight. Aside from looking a little windswept the man is no worse for wear.

Once standing, Wada finally takes proper stock of his surroundings, “Well, isn’t this terrible.”

By now the Hero has drawn the flying creature down the road and far enough away from the building that a number of the hospital staff are rushing out to inspect the damage. Several alarms are sounding in the building at varying levels of shrillness, there is the loud crunch of metal hitting metal as the Hero’s fight knocked into hastily abandoned vehicles, and behind it all people are yelling instructions and questions at each other.

“I’m going assist with any evacuating or patient care where I can. You need to follow the directions of hospital staff and get yourself settled somewhere safe. We can discuss all this later,” the doctor orders as his shakiness dies down.

“Hmm.”

Kakashi flicks open his recovery plan, sharingan stamping the information into his brain. He would devote some time to considering it later. Now that the cat’s out of the bag he doesn’t need to worry about maintaining a façade in front of Wada.  Quickly, he flips through the booklet. The whole process takes barely a minuet.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be off,” Kakashi says simply, handing his recovery plan back to Wada, “you were right about the waste of paper.”

Kakashi pulls the eye patch back over his eye, turning away from the hospital. “I’ll keep this though,” he holds up the phone.

As he begins to wonder away, Wada splutters, “Wait. Where are you going?”

“Mah,” he waves a hand lazily without turning, “I’m going to find my memories. I’ve lost them on the road of life and I need to retrace my steps.”

In some ways he is glad to have had this opportunity to save Wada’s life. It meant he could walk away without feeling indebted. It was also the push he needed to finally make a decision on what he wanted to do with three years of prospective down time. Explore this world a little. Gather intel without having to worry about hospital staff and other civilians getting in the way. Watch everything from afar for a while before trying to seriously integrate in with the locals. Find somewhere secure to get a proper night’s sleep and to properly start experimenting with his chakra and other potential ways home. Idly, he scans the road full of stopped cars and scattered civilians, picking a direction that would take him adjacent to the Hero’s fight. This would be a good opportunity to observe Heroes and see quirks used in proper combat.

“You’re not even dressed properly?” Wada calls after him.

“My first stop.” Of course, he would need to acquire a set of cloths that weren’t a hospital gown, pyjama pants, and flimsy slippers.

“Hold on a second,” Wada hurries around to stand in front of him, forcing him to stop. Kakashi arcs a brow at the forwardness.

“Whatever trouble you were in before now doesn’t matter. I don’t care enough about the memories you may or may not have or your quirk. I’m too old to worry about all that stuff these days. You’re young enough to deserve options. Think about it. A sensible job and a place to live. Sure, it’s not exciting, and it all gets a bit dreary every now and then but it’s a far cry better than bleeding out in an ally after being stabbed in the chest.”

Kakashi eyes the man not bothering with a smile. He lets his stare stay bland, face expressionless in that way that would have any sensible person dropping the topic of conversation.

Wada keeps talking, “I’ve seen plenty Villains find their place in society and make honest men of themselves. Not exactly easy but it is doable…with help. Help the hospital can give you.”

Ah…this man was like Naruto in a way… he’s concocted some backstory for Kakashi that likened him to this word’s version of missing-nin and is now attempting to reintegrate him whatever passed for a hidden village here. He is still parcelling out the details on how everything fit together in this world but he thinks he has this analogy somewhat correct.

“That wouldn’t quite work for me,” Kakashi loosens, slipping around Wada fast enough that the man stumbles, hopping up onto the roof of a crashed vehicle so he can jump between them and more easily cross the road.

“Hatake,” Wada crosses his arms, pushing back on his chair so he rolls out from behind his desk, “Are you listening? If you’re tired, we can have this conversation tomorrow.”

“Personal information is needed for a residency application. We are about to run through my diagnosis and tests results,” Kakashi idly summarises. He straightens ever so slightly from his slumped position, staring wistfully out at the city, elbow propped up against the arm of his wheelchair.

“I would like to hear what the quirk specialist has to say,” Kakashi adds, trying to inject a little enthusiasm into his voice so he’s not immediately wheeled back to his room for another weeks rest. “Please call me Kakashi,” he throws in.

“Yes. Yes. Kakashi then.” Wada waves away the correction, “I’m going to need more than a name if you want any further aid from the City. After your discharge you’ll be high and dry on the streets at this rate. Don’t think I don’t see you trying to avoid the topic.”

Wada’s irritation has Kakashi smiling for good measure, turning to away from the window. Wada continues talking with a sigh of mild frustration, “This is complicated. So far, you’re being treated under Hou’s Collateral Damage Scheme which would usually extend to relocation, occupation support, and asset recovery. However… as the investigation into the attack on your person hasn’t been linked it to any credible Villain activity, you’ll need to be a resident of Japan to receive further support.”

 Wada frowns at him, “That’s a problem seeing we see can’t find your records and there’s nothing on the Registry.”

“Hmmm,”

“You have no birth certificate, citizenship information, school records, place of residence, career history or passport,” Wada lists, “You walk out of hospital like this and you’ll be jobless and on the streets in no time. I need to get this sorted now while you still have access to the hospital’s resources.”

There is another pause where a reply would usually go. Kakashi finally lets his full attention sit squarely on Wada, taking in his mildly irritated expression, eyebrows drawn together, slight frown, leaning forward, arms lose. He habitably scans for deception.

“Why.” Kakashi finaly asks, voice dropping flat.  The medical attention he could understand. Doctor Wada was being paid by the hospital to give him medical care because of its poor patient vetting. This help wasn’t medical attention. Kakashi wasn’t Wada’s friend, ally, or family member. He doesn’t have ties to the man outside of being his patient and he knows Wada doesn’t pay this much attention to his other patients.

Wada continues moving from vaguely annoyed to openly exasperated, huffing, “If we don’t do this now, you’ll find it hard to rent, apply for jobs, open bank accounts, and all manner of things.”

“Why all the extra help? I’m sure I would be fine on my own,” Kakashi must clarify because Wada has obviously misunderstood his question.

“Humph.” Wada grunts, “Most of my patients have relatives and friends visiting every few days and aren’t missing all their personal records. Helping people isn’t just for the Heroes you know. Us regular people like to give it a go every now and then as well.”

 Kakashi stares as the man gives a resolute nod like he had given a valid answer Kakashi’s question.  What did being a Hero have to do with anything?

“I see.”  He really didn’t. This world was so strange.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have anything else to share.” Kakashi repeats. It was probably the most truthful he has been since waking. Kakashi has no further information for Wada even if the man’s intentions were benign.

“Yes, very unfortunate,” Wada sounds ever so slightly disappointed, “unfortunate for you. I’m not a miracle worker. You’re going to have issues with this lack of records.” He rolls back behind his desk, yanking out a stack of paper held together with thick metal clips. As he shifts objects on the desk to clear space, Wada continues, “I might be able to get you a job interview with a friend of mine and I might be able to get you into some city subsidized housing. But that’s an iffy might…all I can promise.”

Never mind that Kakashi hasn’t asked for anything let alone help with his records since his arrival.

“…thank you…your efforts are appreciated.” A ‘thank you’ would be all the man would get from Kakashi.

Wada slaps the stack of paper down on the desk flipping it Kakashi’s direction and sliding across towards him. “You can show your appreciation by paying attention. These medical records are the only  thing we do have at the moment.”

Kakashi examines the booklet, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“This is you’re recovery plan. I took the liberty of printing it out for you. Though with your quirk it’ll probably be a waste of paper.” Wada follows the sentence up with a quick, “Once you’re cleared to use it. Which you’re currently not. Don’t even think about it.”

Kakashi raises a hand in a loose calming motion.

“…and on the topic of your quirk….” Wada fusses around, patting himself down muttering, “Where is it. I swear if I lose another pen…Ah.” He pulls out a pen, leaning forward to scribble out a line of numbers and letters.

“You’re Registry ID. Won’t be for active for another week at least. But, once it is, if anyone gives you trouble for using your quirk in public you can tell them to go look up your file. I sent all your information off to be assessed and your quirk is probably going to be registered as ‘passive biological’ which is an automatic Licence Waiver if I’m remembering my law correctly.”

“Don’t quote me on that. I’m a doctor, not a legal professional. And just because you can use it, doesn’t mean you should. High-Stress quirks need to be carefully managed.”

Wada reaches over and flips the booklet open, tapping the page.

“Your quirk puts a huge strain on your brain. Specifically, it strains your memory and vision processing centres. The expert opinion is that your regenerative factor has naturally evolved to offset this physical stress.” Wada hums, pausing in his explanation to check that Kakashi is following. “Unfortunately, even with this mutation your quirk is maladaptive at best and actively destructive at worst.”

Kakashi glances at the page Wada is scribbling on. It has a diagram of a brain with serval areas now circled in blue pen ink.

“See this red area here. This means high activity. And see how it how increases when your quirk is active.” Wada flips the page, “And then activity in these outer sections drops to practically zero? None of this is good in the long term.”

Wada clears his throat, “A lot of your body’s resources are being devoted to vision and memory processing and it has subsequently led to enlargement and increased activity in these areas. This sort of imbalance in brain activity is also linked to a predisposition to depression, paranoia, anxiety, chronic stress and panic disorders. You’ll need to keep an eye on this. I have noted it in your Registry file and recommended yearly quirk assessments. I have also taken the liberty of scheduling some initial appointments with a psychologist at Hosu General,”

All this sounds somewhat familiar. He thinks in he has heard similar warnings about the Sharingan and dōjutsu users being more prone to paranoia and typically having better base reflexes than those without eye-related bloodlines.

Honestly, with the rate Uchiha went insane, is didn't surprise him that the Sharingan messed with the brain in other ways. He always had just chalked it up to the unpleasantness of retaining perfect memories of comrades dying gruesomely.

He can’t drift back to sleep yet.

What right does he have to sleep when his Uncle and Lewis might never wake up? For all he knew his last conversation with Vivi had been a hallucination conjured by his exhausted brain and his Uncle was dead and Lewis possessed.

He shifts his attention to the room, immediately spying Vivi sitting at his bedside. The room is quiet enough that he can hear her finger tapping aggressively across her phone. She is hunched under Lewis’s oversized jacket, reading something on her phone, her brow creased into a scowl. The dirt on her face is gone and her shirt is a lighter shade of blue so enough time has passed for Vivi to leave the hospital, get changed, and come back.

He clears his throat to catch her attention, watching how a faint smile tugs at the corners of Vivi’s mouth when their eyes meet. Like she is happy to see him or something.

“Are Lew…” he immediately breaks into a coughing fit before fumbling for the half-full cup at his bedside, shrugging away Vivi’s attempt at helping and gulping the water down.

He clears his throat again.

“Lewis and Uncle Lance? Are they…” alive?

Vivi’s smile falls away, settling into a more neutral line of worry.

“Lance is still in intensive care, but only because he needs a ventilator. The nurse in his ward says he’ll be moved out today as long as there is no further complications with his injuries. As for Lewis’s situation…” She breaths out, face crumpling ever so briefly, “there’s been no change. He’s still in a coma…”

“Do you think I can see them?” Maybe it’s dumb but Arthur wants to confirm with his own eyes that they are both alive. He attempts to wiggle upright and finds it difficult from his prone position.

“I can’t see why not. They’re in different parts of the hospital so it’s a bit of a walk.” Vivi looks him over, gaze critical.  Pain spikes in his chest and he fumbles for the bed’s remote knocking over the now empty cup, so it tumbles to the ground.

“…we should ask a nurse first,” she amends, catching the remote before he can knock it off the table as well. She offers it to him, and gives a shaky smile. He tries to return the gesture but the expression feels wrong...disconcerting…He lets his eyes drop to focus on the remote, selecting the setting that would raise him into a more upright position.

Vivi’s hand rests against his shoulder, drawing his eyes back to her.

“Just take it easy Arthur. I checked in on Lance not even an hour ago and Nicholas and Maria are with Lewis almost around the clock. They’ll let me know if things change.” She holds up her phone which is lit up with several message notifications, none were from Lewis's parents. 

“Right…” Arthur lets himself relax back onto the bed with a weary exhale. “Okay…”

He doesn’t have the energy to make a fuss or press for more. Not with Vivi looking so upset. Arthur doesn’t think-not even in his own timeline- he has ever seen Vivi look so unhappy. But of course, in his timeline, Vivi had complexly forgotten Lewis and it was hard to be sad about something you couldn’t remember. 

Their conversation fizzles out and Arthur lets himself fall back onto the bed in favour of staring at the ceiling.  

Remembering was better. It had to be better. Right? 

Lewis wasn’t in the clear yet. If Lewis died then…then maybe forgetting was better. The ugly thought twists in his chest. Lewis’s disappearance had been the source of so much going wrong in his life. Would he have been better off completely forgetting as well?  

“….” Vivi clears her throat and he twitches. Awkwardly, he shifts his attention back to her, realising he was still staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.   

“I’ll go ask a nurse and see if we can visit Uncle Lance,” Vivi says, saving him from what would surely have been a clumsy attempt at reassurance.

“Just wait a second… I’ll be right back.”

Not like he could go anywhere. He has nowhere to go.

When Vivi returns she is accompanied by a harried-looking nurse who, despite not appearing pleased, helps Arthur into a wheelchair, impressing upon him the importance of not making an extraneous movement.

Arthur half follows along with the instructions. This isn’t his first time in the hospital with a serious injury. Everything is very familiar including Vivi pulling out her phone to take notes, nodding seriously. Deja vu. He is really starting to hate the feeling.

“…and please stay on hospital grounds.” The nurse finishes after which Vivi asks a few more questions which Arthur doesn’t pay attention to. The energy needed for him to move from his bed into the chair has left him exhausted.

“Arthur. I’m going to push you now. Let me know if anything hurts or if I’m going too fast or something.” Vivi leans over him, filling his field of view.

He takes a long, tired breath. “Sure…”

Vivi bites at her bottom lip, obviously worried. He tries once again to muster up a smile and give her some indication that he appreciates her efforts. Even if said efforts were undeserved.  

All he can manage is a grimace.

…..

Lance is alive.

He had known Lance was alive.  Why would Vivi lie about that? Seeing that his Uncle was alive in person makes it real.

Arthur leans as far forward as he can while confined to the wheelchair, attempting to see as much of the man as possible. From this low angle, he can see the profile of his uncle’s face and not much else. Despite it being eerily pale his chest is rising and falling in slow rhythmic patterns. There is a heart monitor counting out steady beats. The beeping is loud enough that it thankfully drowns out the soft tick-tick of the clock on the wall. This wasn’t the room Lance had almost died in but it looks similar enough that makes his skin itch. He focuses on the beep beep of the monitor and the soft breaths of his Uncle instead. 

Some small, fractured shard in his chest loosens. The demon had failed. Maybe his cursed luck had rubbed off on it while it occupied Arthur’s body. Maybe Arthur’s unique ability to screw everything up had been passed onto the demon. 

Sharing is caring.

He glances away from his Uncle’s chest and up at Vivi who is sitting in the room’s visitor's chair. 

She is still chewing at her bottom lip, watching Lance. When she notices him watching, she turns, looking like she wants to ask a question. An uncomfortable question going by her hesitation. There is no shortage of possible topics. Arthur has barely explained anything. 

She doesn’t ask her question and Arthur turns back to his Uncle. They both sit in unbroken silence. 

…

The hallway between his and his Uncle's rooms has large windows with a view onto a half-paved, half-gravel courtyard. The open-air courtyard separates the hospital’s two main buildings and access to the adjacent research centre. Arthur can't help but let his eyes be drawn to the space. The sun outside is directly overhead, meaning everything is blindingly bright, making the hospital’s interior dim by comparison. Benches and tables are clustered around two sprawling trees at its centre. All were occupied by groups of off-duty doctors, nurses, and researchers. Nobody wanted to sit on the benches placed along the perimeter and under the hash midday sun.

Vivi follows his gaze. “Do you want to go outside?”          

Arthur shrugs.

....

They end up sitting on the bench closest to the building entrance, barely shaded in the lea of the hospital. Well, Vivi sits on the beach. Arthur sits in his wheelchair next to her. It doesn’t take long for the sun to beat some warmth into him.

Deja vu all over again. He and Vivi had spent several afternoons sitting in this courtyard, talking themselves in circles trying to figure out what had happened in the Cave. He remembers accidentally trigging one of Vivi’s more severe blackouts on this exact bench trying to get her to remember Lewis. Months later, when Arthur started working on his prosthetic arm at the research centre, Vivi would visit on her lunch breaks and they would eat out here together. He doesn’t know why the memory makes his throat tight.  

“It’s a bit hot out,” Vivi comments awkwardly, tugging off Lewis’ jacket to rest across her lap. She eyes him, tilting her head to the side. 

“It's nice I guess…the hospital is too cold…” she continues after a beat. 

“This place could do with more trees though.” She eyes the space and squints at the sun critically. “There’s not enough shade out here.”

“Yeah…” he agrees in lieu of anything substantial to say. The statement rings familiar. Vivi had complained about the lack of shade in the courtyard back then as well. 

He lets out a weary breath, “So…”  He might as well do this now while he has some iota of energy. Once he was back in his bed this would be almost impossible.

“So?” Vivi repeats.

“So…do you want to talk about it.”

“It?”

He hesitates, “You want to ask questions, right?” Obviously, she has questions he has barely told her jack, his own mind mocks him. 

“That obvious huh?”

“A little …” he winces which has Vivi looking concerned again, “I know when you’ve got something on your mind.” 

“I’m just worried.” She gestures at the hospital buildings around them. “about you and Lewis and everything else. It’s…it’s a lot to process.”

“In the future…” He starts, “In my timeline, I lost my arm like Lewis.” It feels like a cruel joke explaining it but, if the information helps, then little discomfort was worth it. 

 “It happened just after Lewis…ah…” he swallows, deciding that mentioning Lewis’s death probably wasn’t a great idea if his goal was to make Vivi feel better.

He starts again, “The old mines-the cave where I lost my arm- there was no cell reception out there, not up in mountains. Vivi, my Vivi, had to drive me to the main road so I probably lost just as much if not more blood. It took a few days, but I still woke up abet missing a few key memories. Hopefully, it’ll be the same for Lewis…i mean he’s a lot bigger than me...more blood?”

Shiny blue eyes meet his, unsure, conflicted.

“Lewis should wake up,” he clarifies, “hopefully not missing any important memories. The missing memory thing kind of sucked…a lot…” He tails off lamely, swallowing again to help with his dry throat. Understatement of the century.  What if Lewis ended up with memory problems like Vivi? God, if Lewis forgets anyone let it be him and not Vivi. Please don’t let Lewis forget Vivi. Unease sits about him like a well-worn coat.

Vivi sighs, “I…” She shifts to sit a little straighter like she was physically pushing aside their combined gloom, “yeah…I hope so too.”

Arthur grimaces. He had always been terrible at cheering Vivi up. “You can ask more questions. I…I’ll answer them now.”

“I do have a few,” Vivi agrees, and lets a long, frustrated breath, “Okay…I have more than a few questions.” Another pause. “Actually, I have nothing but questions really.” Her open mouth clicks shut and he finds himself the subject of a scrutinising stare. She is scanning his face for something…he doesn’t know what.

“I promise I will answer?” He tries to inject some enthusiasm into the statement, but his voice sounds just as thin and tired as he feels. Vivi’s stare turns troubled.

“I mean…” Arthur starts again, “I’ll tell the truth. I did promise I would."

“That’s not….” Vivi interrupts and frowns. She takes a breath, “I don’t want people lying to me and that includes lies of omission. But look, just rest, get better, and tell me when you’re ready. I know about time travel and the body snatcher. I have Mystery to answer the more general questions now he's actually telling me stuff. You just focus on recovery.”

She nods to herself and sits back on the bench satisfied.

“I’m fine,” he reassures. “Just ask away…hmm…some of it isn’t very pleasant but I’m fine.” If he repeats it enough times maybe it would come true as if that strategy had ever worked for him.

“...” Vivi raises a brow, giving him one of her ‘do you seriously think I’ll believe that’ looks. 

“I am fine.” He defends.

Vivi huffs, crossing her arms, “I thought you said you’d be telling the truth.”

Arthur grimaces, “That’s not fair. I’m fine enough for this.”

“You’re really not.”

“I mean…aside from the bullet wound I’m fine. Just ask me anything.” And now he just sounds desperate. Great. Why does Vivi pick this to be adamant about?

Vivi just scans him again, silent, scrutinising, like she is trying to decide what question to ask. It is a familiar expression.

“Arthur. Are we friends?”

Arthur blinks. “What?” Not the question he had expected.

“In the future are we friends?”

“Yes. Of course, we are, were, friends. You've always been my best friend,”

 “I’m still your friend, right?”

“Ah…” Arthur hesitates because…because he doesn’t know what to say. Were they friends? Did Vivi still want to be friends? Why, after all his lying and the trouble he caused, would she still want to be friends? His hesitation does him no favours because Vivi is now a mix of indignant and worried.

“Maybe?”  He answers. Vivi’s whole forehead lifts in disbelief.

“I mean…Yes?” He tries again. 

“Then stop acting like we’re not,” Vivi bites, anger colouring her voice before she takes a calming breath and confirms, “We’re friends.”

She uncrosses her arms, turning so she can give the side of this wheelchair a light tap, “and as your friend, I want you to take it easy. If you’re set on telling me everything, then we can do it later. There will be time for explanations and questions. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oh no. He was not waiting for later. If he didn’t say something now he’d never have the courage to say it. It was now or never. 

“The other Arthur, the one original Arthur from this timeline, he wanted to go on the supernatural-themed road trip originally, before I came back and replaced him.” He begins, ignoring Vivi's attempt at interrupting. 

“We painted the van and put on that Mystery Skull logo like you always wanted. It even turned out looking pretty cool. Technically I didn’t lie about being afraid of supernatural stuff. Everything bad in our lives started on that road trip and none of it was normal or explainable.  I didn’t want you and Lewis to get hurt.”

Arthur scrambles to reorder the sorry saga into something that was somewhat chronological, trying to separate the two timelines out in his head so he could cover any major differences. He could skip the majority of the road trip. He barely remembered enough of the good parts to recap them anyway.  

“The road trip ended with Lewis disappearing you see, and I didn’t want a repeat of that. It didn’t work. You both got hurt anyway. Sorry.” He mutters the last bit like saying sorry made any difference.

“Arthur…” Vivi tries to interrupt again but Arthur pushes on.

“We solved mysteries, saw way too many lame roadside attractions, went to every haunted diner between here and California and no one got food poisoning … It was a good road trip. Your…ah…your itinerary was spot on.”

Vivi’s expression is now pinched, pained. He gives a weak  almost-smile which Vivi doesn’t return. He quickly looks away, staring at his lap, mouth dry.

He swallows and chokes out, “Then there was the Demon. The Cave. No more arm. No more Lewis. Haha.” Even to his own ears his laugh sound hollow.  His chest hurts and he takes a shuddering breath. 

 “I didn’t remember Lewis dying. Not at first. Not for a long while. Traumatic amnesia will do that apparently.”

Too much of a coward…locking away the memories of his role in Lewis’s death. If not for the demon, who knows if he would have ever remembered?   

“Everyone tried to tell me Lewis was gone, but I didn’t listen. Guess I just didn’t want to believe it. To me, it was like he had just vanished. Poof. I always knew something was off about it. Something more to the story than Lewis getting lost in a cave and...and succumbing to exposure somewhere where none of the search parties could find him…I was only partially right."

He blinks rapidly to clear incoming tears. With no demon to dull this physical response, it feels like he reliving that moment of realisation all over again. The grief feels like a lead brick sitting in his chest.

“and Vivi got hit with some memory curse. The memory curse was our running theory because it targeted her memories of Lewis specifically. She forget him, everything about him and most things associated with him. It was too specific to be anything normal. It had to be a curse because a curse was better than brain damage or anomalous, medically inexplicable, memory loss triggered by a traumatic event. At least a curse might have been curable. No one believed us.”

And why would they have believed him? Arthur had barely believed it himself.

“It was bad in the beginning when no one knew what was wrong. We would mention Lewis’s name and you would just not register it or check out like a real-life blue screen. You barely recognised his parents. Anything that reminded you of him kind of zonked you out. After we discovered what was triggering it…” he swallows the familiar old sting of helpless frustration ignites, adding to his grief, “At least we knew what to avoid talking about."

“Once I recovered enough from losing my arm we went searching... ” He chokes out and stops talking because he physically can’t continue.

A glance at Vivi shows that she is understandably upset, her face slightly paler despite the sun's heat.

 “I’m guessing convincing me to search for a person I didn’t remember wasn’t easy,” She mumbles and her voice also sounds wobbly like she’s trying to not cry.

He quickly looks away, sniffing back tears and pushing on, “You do like to ask questions and know things. I used to say we were searching for your memories…it was close enough to the truth. I thought that maybe, if we found Lewis, the memories would all come back. I was kind of desperate.”

It had always been a farfetched goal. The kind of goal that sprung from desperate hope. Hope so painful it kept him awake at night on the rare occasions the nightmares didn’t. Hope that he would carefully tuck away in the morning to prevent Vivi from catching on to the fact that something was terribly wrong.

It feels oddly freeing to voice this to Vivi now. He had clung to the belief that finding Lewis would break some mysterious curse and return all Vivi’s missing memories for so long that he had grown afraid that any points to the contrary would cause his motivation to crumble. It had always been a point of tension between him and Vivi.  He wishes he could have explained it back then. Back when it mattered. 

“Was saving Lewis the reason you came back?”

Arthur blinks rapidly to clear his vision and glances to the side,  “No. It wasn’t. Like I said, I didn’t know Lewis was gone gone until I was…” He stops, wincing and swallowing, “I was already here in that past when I found out he was..d..dead.”

 “I don’t know how I came back. We were out on one of our investigations looking for Lewis and we ran into this…Tree creature…looked like a human-shaped tree…. I hit it with the van by accident. It’s kind of hard to remember now...” He slowly sorts through half-truths. His encounter with Lewis directly after hitting the Tree Lady dwarfed everything else in his mind, making the strange attack seem barely important. He hardly remembers events between seeing Lewis at his ghost mansion and crashing into Kingsman Mechanics.  

“I ended up crashing the van...” Arthur stops, stalling. Then Lewis killed him…his brain helpfully supplies. 

All his fault…he had wanted Lewis dead. So weak and pathetic. It was only fair that Lewis return the favour. 

“...and I woke up in my bed. At home. In this body. Two years in the past…” He finishes quickly. 

“The demon…” 

“Body snatcher.” Vivi corrects. “Don’t call it a demon,” she explains, “Calling it a demon makes it sound impressive. That thing was a parasitic asshole.”

“Ri…Right,” The venom in Vivi’s voice has him restarting, “The… body snatcher…” He shakes off his discomfort and the undercurrent of fear. Arthur remembers how annoyed the demon had been when Vivi called it a body snatcher and a small part of him worries...

“It was just as surprised to find out about the time travel and was really interested in how I did it. I...I didn’t know anything useful …It, ah, went through my memories pretty throwaway so I got nothing…not even subconsciously. The…body snatcher…ah…found the memory of me pushing Lewis of a cliff…in the cave…that’s how I, ah, know I killed Lewis. The demon found the memory and showed me.”

There is a sharp movement and rustling next him and Vivi stands up. Then the crunch of gravel. Arthur tilts his head up to see Vivi standing in front of him, leaning over. She reaches out to put one hand on each of Arthur’s shoulder, grip relaxed so as not to aggravate his injury. She holds him at arm’s length, scanning his face, her expression intense.

“Stop that." She commands.

“Stop what?” Arthur responds dumbly.

“Stop saying you killed Lewis.”

“I…”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there. You can’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

“But…” the words stick again, “that’s just it! You don’t know. You don’t know everything…I…I haven’t told you everything yet. When I tell you, you’ll agree with me.” When he looks up the sun is high enough in the sky that it turns Vivi into a darkened outline, stirring up hazy half-forgotten deams.

He squints up at the blurry Vivi-shaped outline but can’t make out her face. The word around him is too blindingly bright to make out anything. 

“It’ll be okay Arthur. Just explain what happened. I’ll understand...We all make mistakes.”

He deliberately averts his eyes, muttering, “Why are you both so stubborn.”

Vivi obviously hears because she pulls back and frowns. Then, slowly, she reaches out with one hand to touch his cheek. Arthur, confused, also reaches up with his uninjured arm to put his hand over hers. Vivi brings her other hand around so she is squeezing both his cheeks together, scanning his face.

“We’re not different people. Me and your 'future Vivi' are the same person. Just like you’re still my Arthur.” 

He doesn't meet her gaze. It is a lot harder to do with her holding his face like this. 

"I’m just as much your best friend as she was…”

“…” he doesn’t know what to say so pulls one of her hands away from his cheek.  

“Any version of me would care if their friend,” She emphasises the word, retracting her other hand without prompting, straightening “went through something awful. I care. We’re the same.”

“But you’re...we're not. I’m not your friend…” Arthur can’t help but protest even when he knows he should give it up and let Vivi believe what she wants. Arthur never won these sorts of arguments. Better to let everything stew and think up an argument with sounder logic later when Vivi was less worked up.

 Frustrated at himself he continues, “I came back to fix things, and everybody was worse off for it. I lied to you. I lied to Lewis. Now Lewis’s arm is gone…That was supposed to be me! I was the one who lost their arm. I hurt Uncle Lance. I killed Darrel! I stabbed him. He was nice. A good guy. He always took my shifts at the workshop when I couldn’t work and I couldn't save him. Just like I couldn't save Lewis. I'm cursed. If I had just not been here, he would be alive.”

“Two years Arthur,” Vivi interrupts, hash now, standing taller, hands on her hips, “You’re two years older. Last I checked, that doesn’t make you a monster so stop acting like I’ll pack up and leave because you aren’t 100%, A-Okay after living through all that horrible stuff. Nothing you say is going to change my mind so you can just quit while your ahead.”

When he opens his mouth to argue Vivi beats him to it, “Don’t you dare try and get rid of me.”

“I’ll confess.” He continues hysterically. If Vivi won’t believe him then maybe he should find a way to remove himself from the equation, “Turn myself in. I’ll tell the police I drove Darrel out into the desert and killed him.”

“No.” Vivi objects. Sharp and abrupt. “You’re not going to tell the police you did anything because it wasn’t you who did it.”

“I can’t just leave him out there. He deserves better.”

Vivi’s face spasms, “Not at your expense…You shouldn’t take the fall for this. Not on top of everything else.”

She glances around but the space around them is clear of people and Arthur realises that their conversation had been growing louder and more intense. The courtyard is now mostly empty with many of the hospital employees returning to work 

Vivi lets out a long breath then kneels down, putting her at eye level, crouched in front of his chair. 

Arthur still can’t hold eye contact.  Vivi’s eyes are too intense.

“When the police come to question you,” she says in a lower voice, “you need to say that you came to the hospital to see your uncle then went off for some alone time to gather yourself. They’ll have you on the security cameras so you can’t deny that you were here. Luckily, they also have that asshole Micky on the cameras. Out of the two of you, he is way more suspicious, and they already have him in custody so it’s not completely unbelievable that he would kill some random employee. Guy was a nut case.” 

“He’s not some random employee.” Arthur interrupts upset, finding his voice again, “Darrel was a friend, and I killed him.”

“No. No you didn’t,” Vivi snaps matching his upset with equal frustration. “Look, I know you think you deserve some punishment for...I don’t know...having a bad case of amnesia and getting possessed, both of which were out of your control. That bastard parasite probably fed you a bunch of bullshit lies as well. It seemed like just the type to gaslight. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Arthur stalls in unhappy silence, not prepared to compromise or give ground.

 “If you confess to the murder then I’m going to say I was a co-conspirator and planned the whole thing.”

Arthur blinks, finally looking up. Vivi’s glare is frosty, intense, and unyielding. 

“What?” 

“You heard me.”

“Why…why would you do that.”

“I told you. I’m going to help you, Arthur. If you’re set on doing this, then I’m not letting you face murder charges alone. What did you think I meant when I said that.”

“Not this,” Arthur cracks, “You can’t.”

“I can and will.” She really meant that.

“But… you’ll be arrested or something…” He is not actually sure what would happen if Vivi randomly confessed to his crime. 

“Just the way it has gotta’ be apparently.”

Arthur gets with another wave of déjà vu because he has had this conversation or a similar one with Vivi before. In another life. In a different future. It leaves him floundering as both versions of Vivi seem to meld into each other, like everything he loved about his own Vivi was seeping through to this new one.

“This isn’t …” He starts then stops. “It’s not supposed to be this way,” he says helplessly. Vivi wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

“Of course not. What’s the point of changing the future if everything stays the same? We’ve both seen the same moves. You know how this works.” 

“Half of those movies end with a lesson on inevitable consequences and fate.”

“And half of them end with everything sorting itself out. Look, we can argue about this until I get kicked out at closing time -remind me to find the paperwork so I can sign myself up as your medical proxy- but I can guarantee that nothing you will say will change my mind.”

Well, he’s not sure about that. Maybe if told her the real truth about Lewis and his role in his murder she would leave. He wasn’t sure. The answer, which moments ago he had been so certain of, was now unclear. 

“I can’t leave Darrel out in the desert,” he repeats, exhausted, “He deserves better…”

Vivi frowns, opening her mouth and then clicking it shut, considering him. Her jaw clenches and she flops back so she is now leaning against his chair instead of crouching, half stretched out across the gravel path.  

“Yeah…okay,” she props up an elbow against a knee, massaging her eyes. “How about this? You give me as good a proximation of the location as possible, or any landmarks you remember, and I’ll go track Darrel down with Mystery. Then I’ll leave an anonymous tip with the police, and they can handle the rest. How does that sound?”

“Like you’re giving me much of a choice.” He mutters, trying to not let his thoughts wander off into dangerous lands filled with crackling fire and unkind whispers that would berate him for giving in and letting Vivi bully him out of justly deserved consequences. 

Vivi glances up at him and she is back to looking sad, anger falling away

“Maybe I’m being too blunt about all this. I’m not good at this sort of stuff,” she says, “but, Arthur, if Darrel was a friend, then he wouldn’t have blamed you. Just like I don’t blame you. Just like Uncle Lance or Lewis wouldn’t blame you.”

He can’t help but shiver. Bright purple flames dance across his vision like ghostly hands pulling his attention. 

Lewis’s angry fire catches in in shirt and a sudden drop awaits on either side of him.

“This is your fault!”

He can almost feel the heat.

Lewis had blamed him. 

He doesn’t know who to believe. Should he believe Vivi, sitting here with him, peering at him with such honest intensity that he can hardly stand to look at her? Or should he believe Lewis, dead by his hand, left in a future that didn’t exist? 

For some strange, unfathomable reason, he thinks he believes Vivi. If she was so willing to share the consequences of his failures, then maybe she wouldn’t care that he was so weak and pathetic. He squashes the sentiment. He can’t think like that. It’s wrong. 

It must be wrong. 

...

 He had fallen asleep towards the end of her recount so is a little hazy on the details and how everyone ended up.

 He clears his throat and realises that he’s once again lying flat on his bed. Vivi, or maybe a nurse must have lowered the bed at some point. His head is heavy, like its been filled will cotton, and there is distant ache in his shoulder.  The sound catches Vivi’s attention and a faint smile tugs as the corners of her mouth when their eyes meet.

 “Can…” he clears his throat again, “do you think I’ll be able to see Uncle Lance …and Lewis?” He wants to confirm with his own eyes that they are both alive.

 “I can’t see why not. They’re in different parts of the hospital so it’s a bit of a walk.” She looks at him over, critical.  Pain spikes when he shifts to sit, and he wonders if she can read it in his expression. He mentally winces when Vivi’s smile falls away, settling into a more neutral worry line.

 “…we should ask a nurse first,” she amends. Her hand extends to rest against his chest, causing him to still

 “Just take it easy Arthur. Lance is still in intensive care, but only because he needs a ventilator. The nurse in his ward said if there are no further complications with his injuries then he should be moved out today. As for Lewis’s situation…” She exhales, “no change.”

 Arthur doesn’t think-not even in his own timeline- that he had ever seen Vivi look so unhappy. Of course, in his timeline Vivi had complexly forgotten Lewis and it was hard to be sad about something you couldn’t remember.

 Arthur lets himself relax back with a tried exhale. “Okay…” He doesn’t have the energy to make a fuss.

 “It was supposed to be me who lost their arm…” he swallows, breathing out a long, worn-out sigh.  “In the future…In my timeline, I lost my arm like Lewis.” It feels like a cruel joke explaining it but, if the information helps Vivi then it is worth a little discomfort. “It happened just after Lewis…ah… died…We were out in the middle of nowhere at the time, so I probably lost just as much if not more blood, but I still woke up… abet missing a few key memories.” Bright blue eyes meet his, unsure.

“Not like I had much to say to anyone here anyhow,” he mutters. Honestly, the worst part of being a child is having little to no intellectual stimulation. He examines, ‘Introduction to Space!” and ‘Mathematics ages 5-7’ trying to decide which one was worse.

Martine slaps a hand over the pile to get his attention, “That’s not the point! This is like if they told me not to touch anyone ever. It’s wrong.”

He sighs, “Jiro, leave it. I will be fine.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal too. Restrictions on passive quirks have to be reasonable. You should be allowed to talk at least,” Martin continues fussing, “I can talk to the therapist they have me seeing, he’ll be coming by on Monday and he’s pretty nice, I’m sure that he’ll be able to…”

“Martin,” he snaps, reverting back to the man’s original name to get his attention, “leave it.”

Martin frowns, glaring, unwilling to back down “I just don’t want people here treating you like a monster because you’re not.”

Jon gives up on the books, frowning at Martin.

“Everyone has quirks here. These abilities don’t make us strange or different or anything like we were,” Martin continues, “We deserve to be treated like a normal people.”

“I know, I know” he glances away, unable to hold the eye contact. Why must Martin be so annoyingly pushy about these things? “However, I do not think that you intervening will help. Suzuki is hiding something. I can feel it. Whatever it is is important enough that my quirk has her scared. Scared people aren’t rational. I don’t want to deal with any unexpected unpleasantness. At least this way her mind is at ease.”

“That’s a stupid reason!” Martin snaps.

“We won’t be children forever. I would rather get through this ordeal with as little conflict as possible. Besides, her guilt will motivate her to treat me better…a net win for me I believe.” Jon wasn’t a pleasant child to deal with and his carers tended reflect this back at him, “So please…leave it.”

Martin flexes his hands, expression conflicted but doesn’t push the issue further. Oh, Jon is sure he has not heard the last of it. Martin had long gotten over his habit of going along with Jon’s suggestions, freely arguing for whatever he believed right.

“How do you know she has a secret if you never asked her a question?” Martin asks instead and Jon exhales. Right, because his quirk couldn’t just be about asking questions it had to have a lie detector component as well.

“I appear to be able to sense when someone is concealing information outside of direct questions…though I am not sure what exactly triggers it. Everyone has secrets after all, but this is the first instance I have had my quirk activate outside of asking a question.”

“Maybe it’s like before…you know, something spooky related.”

God, he hopes not.

Jon clears his throat, “As we have yet to see any evidence of things of that nature here it is more triggered by my conversation. Maybe she told a lie and I was picking up on that.”

“Well, you don’t talk to a lot of people and you have only had it for a week so maybe. Have you noticed me lying at all?”

“No.”

Martin thinks for a second then laughs, “Well, that’s not helpful. I don’t think I have lied or tried to deceive you in the last week. Not much of a starting point is it”

Jon sighs and continues sorting, “Oh, give it time.”

“Now that’s a little rude.”

And the lapse into a comfortable silence. The one positive thing he can say about this reincarnation business is that it’s nice not to have any pressing responsibilities or stresses.  

“Hmm…Today I spent the whole day indoors.”

That pressure at the back of his head returns.

“Which you’re currently not. Don’t even think about it.”

Kakashi raises a hand in a gesture if surrender. He then distracts himself running a finger across the pages. What could possibly require this much planning?

“Speaking of which,” Wada fusses around, patting himself down muttering, “Where is it. I swear if I lose another…Ah.” He pulls out a pen, leaning forward to scribble out a line of numbers and letters.

“Your Registry ID. Won’t be active for another few days at least. But, once it is, if anyone gives you trouble for using your quirk you can tell them to look up your file. I sent all your information off to be assessed and your quirk is probably going to be registered a ‘passive biological’ which is an automatic Licence Waiver if I’m remembering my law correctly.

“Don’t quote me on that. I’m a doctor, not a legal professional. And just because you can use it, doesn’t mean you should. High Stress quirks need to be carefully managed.”

....

Kakashi contemplates world building and government :

He thinks a similar system is also used in the Fire Nation’s capital where there wasn’t an overwhelming shinobi presence to quell conflict, instead being managed by the Daimyo’s personal guard.  Samurai also ran the cities policing were a thing if he remembers correctly. He had had to work with them on a few occasions, though his missions in the capital had been few and far between.

The Fire Daimyo was, naturally, Konoha’s biggest client, providing nearly 60% of the village’s revenue, footing the bill for all of Konoha’s large scale border operations as they worked to keep the country free of foreign meddling.

Kakashi had been on enough produce escort missions to know that most of the revenue provided by the Fire Nation Capital ended up back there anyway because, while Konoha did have several farming operations, it couldn’t support the needs of its whole village long term.

Nothing good ever came when there was conflict between the Daimyo’s Court and its largest shinobi village.

In this world the governing body- he is still working out how exactly it operated-acted as the Daimyo’s Court might and Heroes were more akin samurai. There were also no local lords to spark social unrest or independent shinobi village administrations like Konoha to counterbalance the county’s central seat of power. Just one civilian government to which its giant cities reported to. He assumes the cities have their own governors appointed by the central power.

...

Wada is a nice guy and Kakashi is paranoid (aka Kakashi angsts a bit and encounters different social values):

“What will happen when I’m healthy?” Kakashi asks, voice flat and disinterested. Hard to conjure much interest in his immediate future when it consisted of a whole lot of waiting around and not enough returning to Konoha.

“Well, your situation is complicated. So far, you’re being treated under Hou’s Collateral Damage Scheme which would usually extend to relocation, occupation support, and asset recovery.  Unfortunately, the investigation into the attack on your person hasn’t linked it to any credible Villain activity, meaning you’ll need to be properly registered as a resident to receive any further support.

Easily enough to do once I have your diagnosis sorted out. These sorts or quirk-related accidents aren’t unheard of and your quirk makes you very hireable so partitioning for a review of your resident status based on future employment potential should be relatively simple. With your ability to assimilate pages worth of information in a single glance I wouldn’t be surprised to see you sniped for a clerical or research position fairly quickly.”

Wada shoots Kakashi an encouraging smile.  

None of what he is saying is particularly inspiring. Working as a civilian clerk for three years sounded about as useful as slamming his head into a wall. While his comrades were fighting, dying, hopefully finishing off Madara and rebuilding a devastated Konoha, he would be doing menial paperwork. 

How...underwhelming. 

At least he will have plenty of free time to improve on the Kaumi Sharingun. Hey, he would even have enough time to address all the deep hurts he had pushed to one side in favour of war time planning and prepping because the logistics of organising as effect offensive involving several different shinobi command systems was pretty distracting.

The burry memory of Obito he had rebuilt his life around was just that, a faded memory. Underneath this realisation is that familiar pool of grief. The one he spent a stupid amount of mental energy not falling into.  Lying in bed, fatigued, feeling like shit, surrounded by strangers, made the whole tiresome process of stamping down his internal hurts a whole lot harder. No trips to the memorial stone to bandage the problem. Just him and the hospital bed and a persistent nagging voice warning him off sleeping

“…and I have a few old mobile phones lying around at home. I can easily charge one and bring it in for you. The hospital’s internet connection should be good enough to get you started filling out the forms.”

“Why.” Kakashi asks, finally interrupting Wada, voice flat.

He gets a perplexed frown in response.

“Why all the extra help? I’m sure I would be able to figure everything else out on my own,” Kakashi has to clarify. The medical attention he could understand. Doctor Wada was being paid to give him medical care because of the hospital’s poor patient vetting processes. However, this help wasn’t medical attention. He might not know a whole lot about this word’s technology but he does know that phones are valuable. Kakashi wasn’t Wada’s friend, ally, or family member. He didn’t have any ties to the man aside from being a patient and he knows that Wada didn’t pay this much attention to his other patients.

“Humph. Most of my patients have relatives and friends visiting every few days and aren’t missing half their memories. Helping people isn’t just for the Heroes you know. Us regular people like to give it a go every now and then as well.”

Kakashi stares as the man gives a resolute nod like he had answered Kakashi’s question.  What did being a Hero have to do with anything?