#copycaat

"When are you going to make an honest man out of Zabuza?" point blank, no chaser. "You haven't forged a dagger or stabbed him even once. You have to do SOMETHING. People will think he's loose."

He can't quite stop himself from fussing with it, though he knows a Shinobi must not fidget or fuss, must be placid and flat-calm. Kakashi's father is like that, a mirror's surface on a cold lake, hazards hidden below, no wasted movement. Kakashi still wants to be just like him.

He's haggling prices with one of the vendors, driving a hard bargain for duck feet and organ meat, and Kakashi has heard it enough times that he doesn't have any interest in it. His father will be frightened, perhaps, when he discovers that Kakashi has wandered off; though perhaps he still knows where he is, can hear his little footsteps and the rabbit-quick breaths as he ducks around the market, hiding from no one and everyone. Perhaps he can smell him over the rich spice scents, the half-rotted vegetables, the stink of bodies washed and unwashed.

Kakashi will take his scolding without complaint. Sakumo worries about him. He won't do much more than sigh, and perhaps hold his hand a little tighter the next time they go to the market.

Pakkun trots along at his heels, sniffing garbage and nipping meaningfully at Kakashi's heels when he gets in the way of the busy adults. They can't see him well, carrying their loads. He's very small.

There is another small boy at the end of the alley he comes upon. Kakashi stops. He watches the boy, who is making no small amount of noise, waving his arms about and grinning. He has a stick of barbecued chicken. Kakashi's stomach growls.

He turns back to look at his father on the other side of the market. He really will be upset with him, frightened, if Kakashi leaves the market square. But it's just one alley. He won't go much further than that. He turns back to the boy. He takes a step forward, and then another. Pakkun trots along next to him, sniffing at the air and letting out an excited 'yip' at the smell of meat. Kakashi finds himself in agreement.

He lifts his hand as he approaches, he calls out: "Excuse me," his father tells him he should be polite when he's asking for something. His father always gives him a bite of his food, even when Kakashi doesn't ask so politely. "Excuse me. Can I try some of that?"

He's pointing at the barbecue stick. He stops his approach a few feet away. It's rude to crowd strangers, that he knows well.

Mama has Saturdays off. It’s why Papa says they’re going to the market today, though Gai isn’t quite so certain how many days it is between one Saturday and the next. They come here often enough that his parents are content to let him wander – “No further than Aunty Kei’s stall, okay?”

Minato listens.

He does not interrupt.

He does, however, go completely, profoundly still in a way that suggests several internal systems have quietly shut down and are refusing to reboot.

Kakashi finishes.

There is a pause.

Minato straightens - slow, precise, every movement deliberate - hands folding neatly atop his paperwork like he is reassembling himself piece by piece.

“…I see,” he says.

A beat.

Then, very gently. Very firmly. Like a man drawing a line in the sand and choosing peace over knowledge:

“Thank you, Kakashi. That was…informative. I will now be choosing, for the sake of everyone involved, to proceed with a more…contained interpretation of events.”

He is going to pretend this knowledge does not exist. Although now one of the paragraphs in Jiraiya sensei's manuscripts makes an...extraordinary amount of sense.

zabuza steps forward into the thicket of mist with ease. he and kai have been trailing it for hours, water collecting against their skin with every step. they've never been this far out before, near the seas housing the essence of kiri, because while the mist lives beneath kai's skin, it shrouds a playful wolf instead of a demon. it lends its power to the moon and the wind and the leaves. but the mist calls to him now, and zabuza lets him find his way into it.

it's impossible to see the sun setting, but night falls over the area and kai complains about being hungry. they stumble across a small cabin deep in the woods, barely visible through the fog. it's dilapidated but still standing, emptied of anything useful but good enough for shelter. zabuza starts a fire and they share a rabbit kai had chased down several miles back, and tells him stories about getting lost in the mountains and following the mist back out.

"how could you find anything? it's impossible to see," kai says, doubt coloring his tone but leaving him no less intrigued by his father's words.

"the same way you found this place."

"by luck?"

zabuza snorts quietly, that sort of laughter so genuine you try to stifle it, only to sound like you're choking in the end. kai scowls at him, tells him not to laugh, and zabuza shakes his head. "you could say luck, if that's what you believe. i've been to this cabin before."

kai pauses at that, head tipping to one side, so reminiscent of the ninken he's grown up with that it almost makes zabuza laugh again. disgustingly fond, hopelessly endeared. he never gave much thought to how much pride he'd find in the small things. "i've walked through here my entire life. it's different every time, the roads and paths, but the destinations are always the same. like this cabin," zabuza's arm swings out, gesturing to the space that probably only has a few good years left in it.

"you must have led me here," kai says, with the pinch in his brow he gets when he can't explain something.

"or maybe you got lucky," zabuza says, lips ticking up in a smile.

kai groans and swats at him, pushing himself up from the rickety chair he'd been sitting in. "alright, i'm going to bed. i can barely see anything during the day, traveling at night would be dumb."

zabuza hums in agreement, following suit and ruffling kai's hair as he passes him by. he's only met with minimum grumbling for his efforts, because kai only tries to play cool when kitiara is around. she's in a phase of thinking neither he or kakashi are interesting. zabuza thinks it's giving kai psychic damage.

sleep comes quickly to zabuza once he's settled on one of the bedmats they'd packed with them. the air is cold and humid, comfortable in an almost nostalgic way. kai doesn't complain about it, and zabuza wonders if it's the momochi blood in him that barely even registers the chill.

zabuza rouses a few hours later to the sound of his son's voice, a delicate whisper that raises no alarm. still, he comes to quickly, protective for all of a second until he makes out kai's shape in the low light through the broken window. the moon cuts through the mist and casts a glow along the slope of his nose, so much like kakashi that zabuza feels a pang behind his ribcage.

"dad," kai calls for him, "come here. there's something out there."

zabuza wouldn't be surprised. there are all sorts of things that lurk in shadowy depths, seeking shelter where they can't be found. the air hasn't tried to choke them any more than they can handle, so zabuza doesn't think they've angered anyone tonight.

kai is already at the door when zabuza gathers his bearings enough to meet him outside, following him through the wet grass. near the ashes of the fire they had put out earlier are an array of strange items. a dark stone with a crackling burst of white up the side, the coins of a currency zabuza's never seen before, and stuck in soft dirt: two taiji swords, with two protruding blades at the top and bottom. something sings beneath his skin. kai kneels next to the items with a contemplative look on his face. "do you think someone is here?"

zabuza knows no one is here. no one can breathe in this mist the way the momochi can. "they're offerings," he says, and kai looks at him incredulously.

"offerings? like— what? to who?" he pauses for a moment, and zabuza knows he's thinking about the stories. myths of sea gods and a kiri that used to exist beneath the waters. a clan erased and forgotten and kept alive only through whispers of memories. a cleaver blade gifted to a boy with nothing but rage filling his soul. zabuza's walked this mist for years in search of something. history seems doomed to repeat itself. "... to us?" kai asks, hesitant, rising to his feet and stepping over to zabuza.

"to you, i'd say," zabuza responds. he's been playing a broken game of telephone with these trees for decades, but he knows one thing for certain: the blades will always choose. the same blades he'd buried in the earth in these very thickets years ago. zabuza gestures towards the swords. "kiba. the lightning blades," he says by way of explanation.

kai's eyes widen, head snapping between the offerings and zabuza in disbelief. "one of the seven swordsman blades? how?" despite his confusion, there is a fire building in his eyes that zabuza recognizes all too well, and with the moon still high in the sky, blanketed in the mist, he seems more alive than ever. "the, what— how did they just appear like that? is the mist alive or something?"

"don't you think so?" zabuza asks in turn, patient and gentle, something he never thought he'd be capable of. "isn't that why we're out here tonight? tell me, what do you feel?"

kai breathes in deeply, chest expanding with it, and he tips his head back to look into a sky he can barely see. he squints, nostrils flaring as he breathes in again. "there's a storm coming," he says after a moment.

he's been chasing it. seeking it out. letting it lead him where smoke had led zabuza ages ago. the mist has been a lot more peaceful about it this time around, but the outcome is the same. "they see all that you are. the mist, the sea, the moon and the lightning. they guide you where you need to be, and give you what you're worthy of."

kai meets his eyes, a million things flashing in his gaze, before he trails it back to the waiting swords. his lips curl up, sharp teeth and fangs glittering in the low light. he makes his way over, pulling the blades from the ground, testing their weight in his hands. the energy around them picks up, wind whistling quietly, the storm edging closer and closer. "what am i supposed to do now, then?"

zabuza considers the question for a moment, closing the gap between them so he's standing at his son's side, placing a firm but tender hand on the curve of his elbow. "that's for you to decide. you don't have to have the answers now. it took me..." zabuza pauses for a moment, huffing out an amused noise, "a long time, to get it right. close your eyes, focus your energy."

kai's eyes close, shoulders squaring. the wind picks up, the mist feeling like rain against their skin. zabuza feels it before he sees it, the surge of electricity transferring from kai's skin to his own, flowing from his nerves into his arms and through the blades clutched in his hands. it burns, but zabuza doesn't let go, not just yet. not when kai's face breaks out into a grin, a barked laugh of awe tearing from his throat. for a moment, zabuza thinks about love, and the feeling is so fierce that he can't help but laugh, too.

eventually, he has to let go of kai's arm, feeling momentarily lost in his hand with the currents of lightning abusing his nerves. the mist will heal him.

"dad, this is so freaking cool," he says, practically bouncing where he stands, even after he's cut the lightning. the storm overhead is still brewing, but it seems to be waiting now. "i'm like you, now!"

and that. zabuza doesn't know what to do with that. with the feeling that seizes his entire being and leaves him stranded at sea. kai's excitement is so pure, his feelings genuine and true, zabuza sometimes doesn't know how he's been allowed this. "you'll be better, though," he says, and something in his tone must be off, because kai stops what he's doing. sets the swords back down on the ground and turns to face zabuza fully. takes him in, in that unsettling way both he and his sister have the habit of.

kai's smile this time is small, more in his eyes, like his father every time. zabuza loves him so much he could choke on it. "yeah, dad. i'll be better," he says, pressing forward into the width of zabuza's chest, wrapping his arms tight around him.

zabuza's hand settles between kai's shoulderblades, and he exhales a soft, calm breath. "c'mon, kid. let's get this stuff inside and get some rest. that storm should be ready for you to run in by tomorrow."

@copycaat chose mischief!

A day's march there and a day's march back again, Gai had told them. Of course, they would spend a day at their destination to rest and restock their supplies before starting their return journey back the following day.