Chapter Text
“Girl help. I’m melding with the ground as we speak.”
Tsunade’s lips curl into a faint sneer. “This is genuinely pathetic. How have you survived this long?”
“Upper management likes prolonging my suffering for their own amusement,” Obito explains, then lifts his face from the dirt. “Is that too meta?” He’s certainly been more candid—his outright reference of Kishimoto to the face of a nonexistent character comes to mind—but he feels there has to be a line drawn somewhere.
Maybe not. This is probably one of his better Bits™, all things considered. If this absurd plotline had a cinematic universe of sorts, he wouldn’t be particularly surprised if it was a recurring thing. He just hopes those hypothetical losers aren’t considerably more competent than him. That’d be pretty embarrassing.
“Focus,” Tsunade demands, jamming her foot right between his ribs. She clicks her tongue at Obito’s ensuing wheeze. “You better get to work, brat. If our reckoning comes and you’re not prepared, I’m not sticking around to help your sorry ass.”
“Mean,” Obito whines, but does push himself to his feet. “Is there a better way to do this than having you relentlessly beat me into the ground like you owe me money?”
Tsunade cracks her knuckles, smirking. “No.”
“Awesome,” he says, then frantically dives away from one of Tsunade’s spleen-shattering punches. Doug, he wishes he had some sort of cheat code to quicken this arc. He’s not asking for a montage or anything, but any amount of bodily harm avoided is a plus in his book.
Obito warily glances between the human-made crater and the obscured form marching through the dust. Without being able to rely on kamui, the possibility of being brutally murdered has shot up dramatically. No wonder that snake-faced, haunting-the-narrative-ass-bitch, wants the Sharingan so badly.
Halfway through forming a scowl, he takes pause.
“I have a magic eyeball,” he says. When Tsunade’s expression transforms into something that almost resembles a pout, he lets out an accusatory gasp. “You knew.”
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously, Uchiha.”
“I truly cannot believe we’re 39 memorable incidents, plus filler, into this thing and I’ve never abused this possibility.” Obito has literally thought about this before. Which does, in fact, probably mean that he’s a worse Uchiha than Kakashi Hatake. Damn.
He’s also in the middle of a spar that he should probably pay attention to. He doesn’t think that Tsunade will let the desperate ‘flailing out of the way of any and all attacks’ thing slide for much longer. With that thought, Obito plants himself firmly on the ground, straight across from Tsunade. As she cracks her neck, he allows a familiar, reddish tint to flood his vision.
“Be warned,” he says, smirking. “If this somehow fails to help me, I will cry.”
"You’ll get no comfort from me," Tsunade drawls, unimpressed.
“On an unrelated note,” Obito asks, cocking his head to the side, “How would your patients rate your bedside manner?”
Despite herself, Tsunade doesn’t suppress her snort. “Adequate, if they want to remain whole. Now,” she flashes a vicious grin that he can’t help but mirror, “Try not to die.”