Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The manifestation of his guilt, his regret, and his hopes was now eight years old.

Kakashi Hatake watched with weary eyes as the boy laughed in pure joy, dashing across the streets of Konoha in a bid to escape a handful of irritated Chunin.

There’s seemingly nothing wrong with the picture; it’s just a little boy, running from the consequences of a harmless prank. But the undercurrent of hatred remains. He sees it in the glares shot by bystanders, civilians walking by clutching at their purses more tightly, grabbing their children before one could get close. Kakashi watches it with an old, familiar resentment. He has done this for eight years; watching from the shadows, equal parts yearning and hatred, directed not only outwards but inwards.

For eight years, he has maintained the distance demanded of him by the Hokage. He had been ordered to, with a gentle tone yet firm words, to never interact with the son of his late sensei.

“No connection can be made with Naruto and Minato, Kakashi,” the Hokage had said, looking older and tired. “He’s safer with you unseen, unheard.”

Kakashi swallows, banishing the bitter memory like leaves in the wind. Instead, he shifts in his spot in one of Konoha’s numerous trees and jumps to the roof, dashing quickly to maintain an eye on the boy. For a child, he’s fast, and continues to evade the pursuing ninja with the raw talent that makes Kakashi unreasonably proud.

He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until a moment later, as Naruto is eventually caught by a Chunin. He feels the curve of his mouth, the crinkle of his eyes, and freezes. It’s wiped away quickly, the sensation odd to him, and Kakashi watches as Naruto is led back to the academy by an irate ninja.

It is with no smile that he looks away, his lips pressed in a firm line as he notes the time by the sun. He’s been in Konoha for two hours now, watching Naruto, and is approximately 2 hours late to his meeting with the Hokage. Not quite his usual amount, but he figures it’s been long enough and it would be kind to ease his leader into his tardiness once more.

The thought would have Kakashi smiling amusedly, lips quirked slightly beneath the mask, but he doesn’t. He just sighs, a pain bone-deep and weary, and disappears from the rooftop as he simultaneously pulls out a bright orange book.

::

“Kakashi,” Sarutobi Hiruzen sighs. “This is incredibly inappropriate.”

Kakashi’s eyes curve in a smile that is practiced to perfection, equal parts both fooling and irritating. “The new edition was in Iron Country!” He gushes, standing in his village leader’s office with a slouch, an explicit book in hand, and two hours late to his first meeting after a long mission.

The old man eyes the book with thinly veiled distaste, but lets the matter drop, too familiar with the games of the last Hatake. He picked up his pipe and turned it in his hand, inspecting it. “Shall I endeavor to ask for an oral report, or will you make me wait for the written one, hm?”

The masked ninja made a show of turning his head in thought, humming. “Hm,” he drew out. “Well, long story short, I killed the bad guys and ended their plans to secede. The prince personally thanked me.” Kakashi winked, though with one eye covered it was hard to be sure if he had only blinked awkwardly.

Hiruzen released a deep, slow sigh once more. Konohagakure boasted the strength of their ninjas with pride, but even as the Hokage, he could admit that Konoha tended to breed the weirdest kind of jounin. He narrowed his eyes at Kakashi Hatake. It was probably the trauma.

“Konoha thanks you for your services.” Hiruzen put down his pipe, steepling his hands as he peered over at his subordinate. “However, Kakashi, there seems to be something else on your mind.”

Like a switch, Kakashi’s entire demeanor changed. With all pretenses abandoned, the difference was like night and day. His slouch disappeared for a straightened back, his smile gone, and he stepped away from the desk to look out the window overlooking the village. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, controlled. “How is he?”

He needn’t say the name. Hiruzen was well aware of who he spoke of, but a tired grimace flitted through his face all the same. “Kakashi–” Said man pivoted on his heel, fixing a stare on the Hokage. It wasn’t a glare, nowhere close, but the Hokage felt the weight of the stare bear down on him, and he swallowed. “Alright. Naruto is,” the man coughed. “Well. He’s entered the academy since you’ve left, and he’s,” The leader paused, clearly choosing his words with care. “Trying his best.”

“Give me a straight answer.” Kakashi had just returned from nearly a year of recon and undercover work as he dismantled plans of a coup and secession in a close ally of Konoha. He deserved more than a diplomatic answer that gave no real truth, and thankfully the Hokage recognized that.

For the third time in the past ten minutes, Sarutobi Hiruzen sighed deeply. “He’s not performing quite to the standard of the academy. It’s his first year, but I’ve received several complaints, and–” he shot a sharp look at Kakashi, whose eyes had gained a fiery edge to them– “And yes, Kakashi, I’ve personally seen some complaints to be true, regardless of any bias. Finally…” He dragged out the silence, reaching a wrinkled hand to drag down his face in exhaustion. It was only noon. “Kakashi, I bid you to not say a word of protest about this. It’s out of your hands.”
The Hatake had visibly tensed, body rigid as he awaited the Hokage’s next words.

“I’m afraid Naruto has…” the Hokage looked away. “He’s been removed from the care of the orphanage and has been placed in an apartment.” He paused, closing his eyes in regret. “By himself.”

It was silent for a tense, painful moment. Hiruzen opened his eyes to look at Kakashi, a worry to his furrowed brow. “I implore you to consider that—” he cut himself off, stunned and exasperated. The spot where his subordinate once stood was empty, leaving Hiruzen alone in the large office.

To be fair, Kakashi hadn’t said a word at all.

Hiruzen pursed his lips, reaching once more for the pipe. This time, he lit it, inhaling deep. It was something to be admired, he thought idly, how composed Kakashi had managed to be given the circumstances.

::

At approximately 12:13 pm, no less than seven training grounds were consecutively destroyed.

Kakashi most definitely had nothing to do with it. He was too busy destroying his apartment in a fit of rage.

It was a shabby apartment. He’d been gone on a long mission, and forgotten the apathy and hollow feeling that came with returning to its tiny walls and concrete floors. A layer of dust had settled on much of the room, but it kicked up in the air as he launched cheap porcelain plates at the walls. His neighbors wouldn’t mind; the few insane enough to live in the building had dealt with far worse.

Simply recalling how shabby his apartment was reignited Kakashi’s fury. He wondered with violent desperation if Naruto’s apartment was worse, if the eight year-old boy shook as his neighbors screamed about their marital problems next door, if he replaced the flimsy locks on his windows each time they were broken by delinquents, and if he curled up on a thin futon at night, scared and alone as mold grew in his walls.

He couldn’t abide by it. He couldn’t just stand idly by as Naruto Uzumaki, the son of his mentor, suffered alone without any support. A frustrated hiss left Kakashi’s mouth as he stilled, broken glass and porcelain littered across his floor. He hadn’t lost control like that in ages. His mind too efficient to waste time mourning the state of his plates, Kakashi’s focus had already turned to the matter at hand: how in hell was he supposed to help Naruto Uzumaki?

The old man had forbidden interaction. For years, Kakashi had followed the order like an obedient dog. He had bowed his head and listened, allowing his guilt to fester like an open, rotting wound and the wall of shame suffocated him. Kakashi had dutifully remained in the shadows for eight years; was this truly the moment to step out into the scalding sun?

Kakashi turned to the window, stepping closer to the dirty pane of glass. With one hand, he reached out, grasping the string connected to its blinds. In one swift motion, he yanked it, allowing sunlight to burst through. So used to the darkness that cloaked his apartment, it nearly blinded him–he blinked rapidly to adjust, and when he did, he stared in wonderment at the sky before him.

The future looked bright, if he was willing.

::

Anarchy was growing into a far more feasible option by the minute.

Kakashi had always stood by this, but it only grew more clear as he was turned away from yet another office: The bureaucracy of Konohagakure was far too tedious and extensive for a ninja village. If a majority of their population worked from the shadows, unseen and unheard, why on Earth was there such a long line of paperwork and irritating officials?

Even worse, the one system that should be most fleshed out was disgustingly bare. A village run by the military and its bloodshed created more orphans than you could count. And yet, the protocol was flimsy. Kakashi Hatake was orphaned at an age in which he was already considered an adult—six—he was left to his own devices in his own home. The mark of an adult was not quite age, in Konoha, but instead graduation from the academy allowed for the legal freedom of an adult. For the plenty of unlucky children who are orphaned before such a time, numerous underfunded orphanages were their new home. They would remain there until they were adopted or aged out: for ninja, upon their graduation, and for civilians, at age 17.

Adoption should have been a simple enough business. Have the possible guardian vetted, their home inspected, background checked, meet with the child and fill out the proper paperwork. Kakashi had received the appropriate forms for him to fill out under an innocent guise; all he had done was ask politely and not give a straight answer on who he was considering adopting.

But the government officials of Konoha were bastards, every single one of them.

They act perfectly pleasant at first. Initially, they had smiled and treated him with respect, mindful of his rank. Those sweet smiles soured as it was revealed who he wished to adopt. He had gleaned from the first two meetings that legally, Naruto was up for adoption. Although he lived on his own (Kakashi’s blood felt hot with anger at the mere reminder), he wasn’t legally emancipated. Technically still under the care of the orphanage and state, he was simply relocated. If he were a normal boy, Kakashi would have received guardianship with less than a handshake.

Kakashi sighed, looking down at the stack of papers in his hand. While he often neglected to write detailed reports for missions, these documents were filled out impeccably. The lazy scrawl disappeared in exchange for a neat, factual print. It reminded him of his childhood, the way he wrote each word with care and efficiency, leaning away when Obito would peer at his paper and loudly complain about his own handwriting.

The pit in his stomach grew. To think of Obito like this, to be turned away from the opportunity to help Naruto, it dragged on his poor heart. With a frown, he looked up to the sky. Where only a few hours prior, the blue sky had looked bright and inviting, clouds had begun to roll in.

If he was willing to take that treacherous step, shake the hand of the devil, he could ensure Naruto’s wellbeing. He could. With a definitive, damning step, he walked off down the street, in the direction of those incoming clouds.

::

Kakashi exhaled slowly, his uncovered eye tracking every movement of the elders before him. It was hard to arrange a meeting such as this, and even harder to keep it unknown from certain parties. Sarutobi Hiruzen could never know about this until it was too late for him to intervene; discretion was instrumental to the success of his risky plan.

Shimura Danzo eyed Kakashi in a similar fashion, undoubtedly searching for a single hint of weakness. Beside him, his fellow elders shared a look. “You must understand, Hatake, that this request is…” he gestured to the large stack of papers sitting on the table between them. “Unorthodox. It can’t be taken lightly.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kakashi cast a look to the window beside them. It was raining now, the sky gray and dark. As both a shinobi and a man who constantly covered three quarters of his face, Kakashi was familiar with masks and the sensation of slipping into one. In this case, the situation called for a mask of cool, detached competence. “I’m well aware of that.” He leaned slightly closer. “However, I maintain that I myself have an unorthodox ability that may prove beneficial.”

All three council members glanced quickly to his covered eye. Danzo’s stare, in particular, felt hungry. Kakashi wagered that the Shimura councilman knew the political power he could garner with Kakashi’s ability, and cast the odd feeling aside. It wasn’t uncommon for people to see a near-extinct bloodline ability and see opportunity.

“Are you proposing the use of your Sharingan to control the Jinchuriki?” Councilwoman Koharu asked, exchanging another look with Homura.

Kakashi folded his hands together neutrally. “Control is a strong word,” he drawled. “Let’s say…keep in line.” Guilt wracked his stomach with vengeance, but he could not allow a sliver of weakness to appear before these vultures. He had no intention of following through.

Small, cruel smiles matched each council member's face. “The Hokage can’t know about this.” Homura gruffed, adjusting his glasses. “He’s too fond of that boy.”

Kakashi’s eyes closed in an evident, false smile. No, the Hokage couldn’t know about this. If he knew about the adoption before it went through, he’d surely intervene in some form of well-meaning affection for Naruto. Outside of that, he can’t know of Kakashi’s dealings with the Devil, lest he lose all trust in Kakashi and remove Naruto from his care.

“Naturally.” Kakashi held out a lofty hand. “Now, do we have a deal?”

Danzo didn't even look at his fellow council members, leaning forward with masked eagerness to clasp his hand in Kakashi’s and shake firmly. Kakashi hid his disdain for such a civilian gesture, and he was sure Danzo did the same. Homura and Koharu seemed pleased, though.

Kakashi’s stomach twisted once more in guilt, though it clashed with the new, buoyed feeling of hope.

::

A knock came solidly from the door.

Naruto frowned, warily putting down his kettle. He was just about to pour boiling water into his cup of instant noodles when the sound interrupted. He stared at the door, unmoving, apprehensive.

No knock followed the initial one, but Naruto had the feeling that whoever knocked hadn’t left. He weighed the options in his mind. It could be another angry civilian, there to smash his windows again (he still hadn’t fixed them) or chase him furiously. But they wouldn’t knock, would they?

Slowly, he walked over to the door and pressed his ear against it. He couldn’t hear anything. Maybe the mysterious person really did leave.

As quick as he could, he pulled the door open.

Standing on his doorstep was a tall, masked man with gravity-defying gray hair. His one visible eye looked down at Naruto, who felt impossibly small, with a gaze that held immeasurable sadness.

Naruto got the distinct feeling the man was about to cry.

“Hello.” The man said, his voice determinedly steady. “My name is Kakashi Hatake.”

Chapter Text

Naruto regarded the man before him with no small amount of suspicion. After the man’s introduction, he had fallen silent, lingering rather awkwardly in the doorway. Eventually, he had cleared his throat and asked to enter, if it was alright with Naruto.

Naruto wasn’t entirely sure if it was alright with him, but he stiffly stepped aside to let the man, Kakashi Hatake, quietly enter his apartment, ducking his head under the doorway. Naruto’s never hosted someone in his apartment before—the single person in his life who could possibly have visited, the Hokage, had been oddly avoiding him for the past five months. He had little to no idea what he was supposed to do, and after hovering awkwardly he gestured for the man to sit down at his table.

Hatake did so, lowering himself into the rickety chair with an unreadable expression. For a long moment, he was quiet, slowly taking in the apartment around him. Naruto tracked the man’s observation with a held breath, watching him take in the peeling paint and rotting wood, eyes narrowing at the broken window hastily taped to wrap the sharp edges.

Finally, Hatake exhaled a sharp breath, as if to steel himself, and met Naruto’s eyes. He was an odd looking man, Naruto thought, staring back at his singular visible eye, the other covered by his lopsided hitai-ate. He wondered what the man saw, looking back at him with immeasurable depth in that one eye. “This is entirely up to you,” the man cleared his throat. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to adopt you.”

Naruto stared up at him, his mind uncomprehending. “What?” He straightened in his chair. “What?” He repeated. The man—Kakashi Hatake—just stared back at him. He felt his voice die a little in his throat. “Do you even know who I am?”

Kakashi Hatake seemed to smile, his eye crinkling in evidence. “You’re Naruto Uzumaki.” He said simply, as if that answered every question running through the boy’s addled brain.

“And you’re Kakashi Hatake.” Naruto echoed dumbly. That was all he knew about the man. A name. But even as he thought that, he knew it wasn’t exactly true. He knew Hatake’s soft cadence as he spoke, knew the way he observed the apartment with care. Care for Naruto. Was that enough?

“We can talk,” Hatake said quickly, the seemingly uncharacteristic nervousness somehow easing Naruto’s worry. “I can tell you about myself. You can have time, to think it over. To decide.” The halting words were rushed, and unknown to Naruto, the man thought of the stack of adoption papers awaiting him in his home. Kakashi Hatake could bring the papers here for Naruto to sign, then submit them to the Administration of Families and Children within a span of six seconds, give or take how long it takes for Naruto to sign.

Untrusting of the solidity of his voice, Naruto nodded. After a pause, he swallowed, his throat dry. “We can talk.” He repeated. He felt like a broken record, echoing the phrases handed to him, yet he had never felt so bewildered before. A sense of tentative hope built in his stomach, and he desperately tried to quash it with reality. ‘This could be a joke. Some elaborate prank. A test. Anything.’

Hatake’s eye tracked the way Naruto nervously twisted his hands, causing the boy to desperately wish he had a cup of tea to wrap his hands around instead. He settled for placing his hands on his lap, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in a search for something to do, his leg bouncing restlessly.

The man’s eye curved up in a comforting smile. Then, he spoke. His steady voice narrated the grooves of a life Naruto had been invited to join. He spoke of nindogs, a pug with soft paws. He described a Hatake compound, with a sprawling yard, garden, and rooms to fill. He talked of books, handmade blankets, and a loud best friend that wore green.

Naruto sat in his crooked stool and listened, gripping the wood of his seat tightly as he took in the man’s soft words with clear hope in his eyes, shining as brightly as stars as he listened with rapt attention. He could picture such a life in his mind—a large, safe home with someone to greet. Warm food, a clean bed, a hand to hold.

He wanted it desperately. He wanted it so desperately his heart ached for it, ached for the life Hatake was offering. He felt himself leaning forward so far his seat nearly teetered, threatening to slip on the crooked legs. But he felt a steady force applied to the chair, stopping him from falling and propping up the seat beneath him. He looked up, blinking hard, as Hatake smiled at him, his foot pressed up against the base of the chair to save him from the fall.

Unable to stare back into that open gaze, Naruto forced himself to look away. Instead, his gaze slowly swept across his surroundings, his eye catching on the rusted, leaking sink, the mold creeping out from beneath his empty fridge. The broken window he had taped after a brick had come hurtling through the other day, shattering the glass and slamming against the floor right before his feet. He looked at what Hatake must have seen; a scrap of a boy sitting among scraps.

He turned away from the window to meet Kakashi’s eyes once more. The man had sat patiently, quietly, as Naruto took his time gazing at his shabby apartment and its rot.

Desperately, selfishly, painfully, he wanted more than this.

“What do I have to do?” He murmured, so quiet and hushed, yet the words cut through the silence and Hatake heard him clearly.

Hatake’s eye crinkled in what was an obvious smile, stretching beneath the mask. Tentatively, Naruto returned the smile.

“All you need to do is sign the papers.” Hatake glanced behind him, through the open door into his small bedroom with a small, old futon on the floor, threadbare clothes strewn over it. “And, grab whatever you’d like to keep.” He added, smiling. He stood, looking down at Naruto with that persistent smile in his eyes. “Is it alright if I shunshin to my apartment to grab the paperwork? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Naruto nodded quickly, feeling a bit disoriented as Hatake’s hands came to form a hand sign, disappearing in the next breath.

Quietly, Naruto sat in his seat, simply breathing in and processing what had just occurred. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, a tentative, building excitement filling him. Stubbornly, a smile spread across his face and persisted even as he stood and dashed into his room.

Only a minute later, as Naruto stepped back out clutching a frog wallet and a wad of his favorite clothes, did Kakashi Hatake return.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” Hatake said despite taking no time at all. He held a small stack of papers in one hand and a bag in another. “I had to grab a bit more than just the papers.” (He had stood still in his apartment for 48 seconds before deeming it enough time for Naruto).

Naruto stared back at him silently, his items piled in his arms and clutched close to his chest. The longer he stood there quietly, the more hopelessly awkward Hatake seemed to look, so Naruto broke out of his reverie to walk past the man and dump his stuff on the table.

Hatake watched him, chuffing a small laugh before placing his bag gently on the table as well. As soon as his hands were free, Naruto held out a hand.

It took Hatake a moment to realize what the extended hand was for exactly; upon realizing, he laughed once more, a bit embarrassed and sheepish as he handed over the adoption paperwork, a pen placed on top. Naruto bit back a smile, pulling his chair closer to the table so he could hunch over the files.

Most if not all the words flew right over his head, and he frowned down adorably at the legal jargon. Beside him but maintaining a respectable distance, Hatake bent low to softly explain the gist of each page. “Here, it’s outlining living conditions. Describing how you’d live with me at my house, and stay with me until you’re at least the civilian age of majority.” At Naruto’s questioning glance, he clarified. “17.”

Naruto nodded assuredly as if he had known that all along, and continued down the paper. The pen bounced in his restless hand, a rapid beat to match his heart rate. At each hesitant pause, Hatake met the slight freeze with a low, gentle explanation. He never once made Naruto feel stupid for his uncomprehension—and steadily, they made it to the end of the packet together. Naruto’s grip on the pen stilled and tightened, before he swiftly scrawled a little facsimile of his signature on the dotted line. Hatake beamed at his lack of hesitation, there.

Holding his breath—as if it were to ruin this, if he breathed life into it, Naruto gave the man the papers, staring at them now in Hatake’s hands. Was it truly as simple as that? As signing his name, cramped and awkward handwriting and all?

Hatake looked down at the papers as well, eye unfocused yet startlingly sharp. He seemed lost in thought, and Naruto wasn’t sure if he dared to break the silence that fell upon his apartment. Instead, he looked around once more, inspecting the floor, littered with clutter. The window, broken and boarded. The sink, full of bowls from his instant noodles. He hadn’t been there long; at first, he was ecstatic to leave the orphanage. Loneliness was nothing new, yet its arrow struck him all the same. As reality set in, he felt resigned to the lack of warm water, the lack of protection, the lack of…home. Finally, his gaze returned to Hatake, who he was jolted to realize had already been looking back at him.

Was this man his new home?

“Am I really going with you?” He couldn’t help but ask. It was probably a dumb question, and Naruto’s insides twisted with embarrassment.

Again, the man’s sole visible eye crinkled in a smile. “Yes,” he replied, voice imperceptibly shaky. He took a breath. “Yes, Naruto,” his name was soft on Hatake’s tongue, gentle and treasured. “You’re coming home.”

Naruto sniffed. Then sniffed again. His hand darted to his eyes, wiping something away, before suddenly he was fully crying. It was a quiet, painful sob, tight and coiled as if he had never let it escape before. He shoved his hands, balled into fits, over his eyes, digging it into his skin until he saw black static fill his vision. A frustrated wail followed, as he hiccuped. ‘I don’t want to cry,’ He thought, nauseatingly embarrassed.

Through the tears clouding his sight, he could make out the wobbly form of Hatake, standing before him. There must be some expression on his face, hidden behind the mask, that Naruto couldn’t make out. Disgust, maybe. Panic, probably. But Naruto continued to cry, unable to force his body to comply with his internal screaming wish to stop.

Hatake’s hand twitched. Slowly, as though approaching a skittish animal, it reached toward Naruto. He wouldn’t hit him, would he? But shinobi don’t cry. But his hand was slow, and Naruto had no choice but to await it—his feet rooted to the spot, unable to move, his body tense and still. Finally, the hand met its destination. An impossibly gentle touch rested atop Naruto’s head, cording softly through his blonde locks.

Naruto shuddered, before he threw himself into Kakashi’s chest. The man met his attack with grace, curling inward to lock him in the embrace. His hand remained, stroking Naruto’s hair as he cried harder, the other hand settling around his back.

‘Have I ever been hugged before?’ Naruto thought in wonderment, clinging as hard as he could. ‘Has anyone cared like this before?’

All his life, Naruto had envied the other children. The children from the orphanage, getting adopted into loving homes. Shikamaru Nara, who was dragged out of detention by the ear, scolded by his irate mother. Sakura Haruno, who rode on her father’s shoulders through the market. Sasuke Uchiha, who held his mother’s hand as they walked, a quiet pride in their shared features.

Naruto has never waited for his turn. He had never dared to hope.

‘This,’ He realized, as he felt the drop of a tear land on his head, Kakashi’s grip tightening, ‘is hope.’

::

Kakashi couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, the sensation searing as he shuffled Naruto into his meager apartment. In contrast, Naruto’s eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape as he looked around in wonderment. Kakashi flicked on the lights, and the boy blinked rapidly in surprise.

“I’m sorry about the state of the place, Naruto.” Kakashi said a bit stiffly. He watched the boy jump a little, turning to face him with the lingering look of awe. “This will just be temporary.”

The boy’s head cocked to the side in confusion, a wariness to his eyes that Kakashi hastened to correct. “The apartment. The apartment is temporary.” He looked away, tense. “Once it’s fixed up, we’ll be moving into the Hatake compound.”

“Compound?” Naruto scrunched his nose in disgust—adorable, Kakashi thought—“like what that bastard Sasuke has? With the Uchiwas?”

Kakashi hid a small smile behind his mask. “The Uchihas, Naruto.” He corrected gently, moving towards the kitchen sink. “And yes. Though our’s is only one building. The Uchihas are plentiful, and take up an entire sector of the village.”

Naruto padded up behind him, peering at the dishes with interest, before turning his glittering eyes to Kakashi. Kakashi paused. Ours, he had said, without thinking. He tried not to let his revelation show, only smiling down at Naruto before resuming cleaning.

“How many Hatakes are there?” Naruto inquired with great, undisguised interest.

Kakashi stilled. “Just me.” Like a breeze passing through, his stillness disappeared and he shot another smile at Naruto. “And now, you.”

Naruto didn’t respond, and Kakashi let the silence fill. While he hadn’t been able to interact with the boy until now, he could easily gather that Naruto wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He had expended his vulnerability back in the old apartment, and had henceforth resolved to ignore the bubble of emotions likely building within him.

Kakashi could relate. He wasn’t sure he had smiled this much in years, if ever–nothing this genuine, though as time passed he was sure his smile had grown tighter, more awkward. He’s not used to expressing his inner feelings; these smiles were for Naruto’s benefit. Kakashi didn’t need to smile outwardly to feel the swelling of his heart.

He compartmentalized, of course, like any self-respecting shinobi. He could manage this in practical steps, like a mission. “We’ll get you clothes, first.” In his peripherals, he could see Naruto tugging at his own threadbare shirt with a frown. “Anything you’d like.”

Naruto aims another wary glance his way, and Kakashi tries to exude an aura of trustworthy gentleness without straining another awkward smile. “Orange?” The boy suggests quietly, like he’s waiting to be shot down.

“Sure. Then some furniture for your room. Orange bed sheets, if you’d like.” Kakashi turns off the tap, staring down at the sink as the remaining water runs into the drain like a whirlpool. Kushina had been fond of red everything, no matter that her hair was bright enough to outshine it all.

“I get a room?” Childlike awe has Kakashi gripping the edge of the sink, warring with dueling urges to hug Naruto or hurt those that made such a thing seem like a luxury. He settles for nodding, leaving the kitchen with Naruto belatedly following behind.

The apartment is small. Kakashi has had no use for space, for comfort, and this darkened visage is a direct reflection of it. He twinges once more with something akin to embarrassment as he leads Naruto around, opening the sliding door to the only bedroom. Naruto looks down at the singular futon.

“There’s only one futon, so you’ll—.”

Naruto stiffens, looking up at Kakashi with a sudden wariness he doesn’t understand. Not until—“I won’t. Share.” The boy says haltingly, like the words are stones in his mouth. “I won’t do anything like that.”

Grim, sickening revelation hits Kakashi like a punch to the gut, and he feels his legs tremble like a novice shinobi. For once, he gives in, and lets his knees buckle as he kneels to the ground beside Naruto. Slowly, he reaches for the boy, only to quickly retract. “Naruto,” Kakashi says slowly, biting his tongue so hard he can taste blood. “I will never do anything like that.” Naruto looks away. “I swear to you, on my father, I will not touch you. Do you understand?”

Silence kills. Kakashi waits there with bated breath, urging for Naruto to understand. The boy has never known his parents—an oath on a father might mean nothing to him. Still, he nods jerkily, eyes still refusing to meet Kakashi’s.

Kakashi’s next breath is sharp, escaping him weakly as he looks away as well. For a singular moment, he allows himself to close his eyes. This is what he’s taken Naruto away from. He made the right choice, taking him in. There is no question of that. Kakashi could be the world’s worst guardian—it is better than keeping Naruto in a life that gives into fear like that.

“You’ll take the futon.” His words are measured, slow and careful. He looks ahead, allows Naruto the grace to pretend nothing is wrong, and can see in his peripheral vision the way he forces himself to stand tall once more. “I can sleep on the floor in the other room, it’s quite soft.”

Naruto makes a disbelieving noise, and when Kakashi turns back to him a silly smile is pasted on his face, curving his eyes above his mask. “I’m a strong ninja, you know? I’ve slept like a baby on hard rocks while on missions.”

Naruto looks interested, the way any young boy perks up at the sound of a cool ninja, and the shattering moment from before fades away. “What about in a tree?”

“Even when I’m in Konoha, I nap in trees.”

“What!? No way.”

“Mhm. There’s comfy ways to nestle into the branches. You just need to find the right tree.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

::

Going to class has always felt like the end of the world, but even devastatingly more so since the adoption has gone through.

His very first morning in Kakashi’s home begins early, his usual habit of sleeping in forgotten by the anxious, fitful sleep he’d gotten. He rubs his eyes so hard it hurts, glancing around as if to verify none of this is a dream.

As he rises, Naruto wonders at what he will find outside the door. Would Kakashi be awake at this time? He imagines standing over the man’s sleeping body, resting easily on the hard floor. Another thought dares to creep into his mind. What if Kakashi cooked him breakfast? Naruto feels embarrassed just by the thought of it, the want for it. Kids with home cooked meals by their parents. He has a parent, now, in a way.

He has no idea what to expect at the other end of the door, but Naruto is a future Hokage, and Hokages are brave. He gently pushes the door open to find Kakashi sitting at the kitchen table, book in hand.

He sets down the book, the cover reading ‘Tactical Seal Theory’, and smiles at Naruto. “Morning.”

Naruto takes a hesitant step forward. There’s a bowl on the table, with cereal and milk. The box has a cheesy cartoon of a stylized ninja giving a thumbs up, clearly a mascot for kids. The cartoon’s smile has its eyes curved like lines. Naruto squints at it, darting his eyes from the box to Kakashi. They look similar. Hilariously, Kakashi unintentionally mimics the cartoon by giving Naruto a thumbs up.

“It’s a popular brand for kids, yeah?”

Naruto wouldn’t know. It’s not like he could’ve afforded anything popular, or even a branded box like this. He settles into the chair, and looks down at the colorful orange bowl with store-bought cereal inside. It’s not a home cooked meal, but it’s more than he’s ever gotten before.

Imperceptibly, he sniffs. “It’s really nice.” His voice betrays him, wavering slightly. He snatches the spoon with kid-like determination, and begins to eat quickly.

“Slow down, or you’ll choke.” Kakashi chuffs a laugh, his hand reaching as if to ruffle Naruto’s hair before it falters, the awkward motion abandoned as Kakashi instead moves to straighten the placemat.

Naruto, painfully embarrassed by his sheer want for that familial touch, digs into his cereal even faster. “I nee’ to geth to shool.” He says through a mouthful of cereal.

“I can walk you,” Kakashi offers, clearly amused by Naruto’s efforts to inhale his breakfast. “It’s not far.”

“No!” Naruto coughs and finally manages to swallow the cereal. “I mean—that’s okay. I can go myself. I know my way through all of Konoha.” He puffs his chest out with pride, there, though Kakashi certainly knows this knowledge has come from a need to escape his chunin pursuers after a prank.

“Alright.” Kakashi straightens the cereal box, staring intently at the smiling ninja mascot. He seems to have realized just how similar he looks to it, and squints at the offending image. “If you’re sure.”

Naruto nods vigorously.

Kakashi throws another thumbs up, and Naruto stares dubiously at his mimicry.

::

There’s a reason Naruto didn’t want Kakashi to walk him.

First of all, he’s not a child. He’s a full grown ninja, practically! Eight years old is big, big enough to walk to school by himself. The only kid who still walks to school with a parent is Sasuke Uchiha, and that’s because he’s a total mama’s boy.

Second, bringing Kakashi would invite questions. Naruto’s only been at the academy for a few months now, but it’s been long enough to cement his reputation as the orphan pariah.

It wasn’t awful, at first. Kids gravitated towards him on the first day—drawn in by his boisterous laughter and bright clothing—-but they were quick to learn their lesson, scolded by their parents, easily made aware of the vitriol the rest of the village had towards him.

If he came to school with an adult in tow, his classmates would poke and prod, asking if he got a Dad.

Naruto doesn’t know how to answer a question like that.

Has he?

Is Kakashi his dad now?

It’s not something he could bring himself to ask the man. Yes, he’ll live with him. Yes, Kakashi might have implied he’s considered part of his clan now. But what if fatherhood is crossing a line, and the man rejects it?

Naruto would rather do without that mess, so he’s elected to put it off for as long as possible. Therefore, he trudges into class with no one the wiser of the life-change he’s just undergone.

Shikamaru Nara lolls his head from where it’s resting on the desk to look up at him as he passes by. “You’re early today.” It’s not accusatory, merely a bland statement. The lazy boy squints at him. “You seem different.”

Naruto flashes a grin at him, a mischievous one that pulls at his cheek scars. “Go back to sleep, Nara.”

The boy stares for another second, before seeming to decide he couldn’t be bothered. He goes back to sleep as told.

Eventually, the rest of the class files in. Choji Akimichi settles in the seat beside Shikamaru. Kiba Inuzuka takes the one beside Naruto, too free-spirited to have become wary of his pariah-reputation.

If classes were boring before, it pales in comparison to the utter sludge of today. Naruto spends all of class gazing out of the window, frequently darting looks to the clock as if the end of day couldn’t come sooner. All his life, there was nowhere to go back to. Now, Naruto has someone waiting for him, and it makes sitting here through these useless technical lessons a total pain.

Their new instructor, Iruka Umino, stares daggers at Naruto throughout the lesson. It’s not quite a glare, but it’s working its way up to be, and Naruto slumps further in his chair at the sight of it. The last instructor quit after only a month, and Naruto had hardly done anything to the guy.

Might as well get ahead of things, Naruto thought gleefully. Perhaps the rest of class would pass faster with something to keep his mind occupied, and with that thought Naruto leaned back in his chair, the beginnings of a plan working in his mind.

Chapter Text

It’s been one day with Naruto under Kakashi’s care, and he’s been called into the school.

Internally, he considers the merits of using shunshin to appear inside, grab Naruto, and leave without having to deal with any other adult. It’s hours after school has ended, supposedly, as it took a while for anyone to realize Naruto’s change of guardian and get ahold of Kakashi. To be honest, Kakashi wasn’t exactly sure what time the Academy let out of school anyway, and hadn’t thought to be worried over Naruto’s absence.

He was mistaken.

Naruto’s Academy sensei is a bit young, a scar across his nose distinct from his dark skin. Iruka Umino is only a chunin, but Kakashi bows his head a little in respect for his ward(?)’s teacher as he enters. “Hello.”

“Hatake-san!” Umino honestly looks startled at Kakashi’s entrance, which is almost laughable with his lack of noise suppression on the way here. Any self-respecting ninja would’ve heard his footsteps. The teacher stands up from his front desk, and gestures for the ANBU to sit down.

Naruto is sitting alone at one of the student desks, slouched in his chair with his arms crossed. At Kakashi’s entrance, he flushes, his slouch worsening as he looks away. Kakashi sits in the seat beside him, feeling comical as his large size dwarfs the tiny chair, and looks from the boy to his teacher.

“Do I need to ask what happened?” Kakashi says dryly. A good half of the room is covered in orange glitter. Flakes of it still fall through the air, landing delicately on Iruka Umino’s brown hair.

Umino’s eye twitches, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, right along the scar. “Naruto has had outbursts like these for a while now.” He splays a hand across his desk as if to restrain himself. “Last month, he threw toilet paper over the entire Academy building.”

Kakashi’s eyebrows rise a bit, and he turns to look at Naruto, who stares back, a proud twitch tugging at a corner of his lip. Honestly, a bit impressive for someone his age.

Umino continues after a pause, as if he thought Kakashi would say something. “I hadn’t been informed of the change of Naruto’s situation,” he begins, “but I hope that now there will be greater oversight for his behavior.”

“Sure.”

Umino’s eye twitches imperceptibly again, but Kakashi catches it all the same with a twisted feeling of malicious delight. The chunin seems to struggle to find more to say, twisting his fingers in thought.

“Is that all?” Kakashi lolls his head to the side. He’s not sure what’s making him act like this; yes, he plays a fool around the general public, but the intention behind it isn’t usually so defensive. Next to him, Naruto seems to be relaxing the more Kakashi messes with his teacher.

Umino is silent for long enough that Kakashi shifts as if ready to stand. At the last minute, a quiet sigh leaves his lips. “I’m glad Naruto is in your hands, Hatake-san.” The words are hushed, tentative, as though if Umino thought harder about it he would have left it unsaid.

Kakashi stiffens, just a bit, before relaxing and standing in a fluid motion. He isn’t sure how to parse through that statement. Is the Academy teacher glad that Naruto is in any home, or specifically Kakashi’s? If so, why? There’s nothing about Kakashi that indicates he’s a good caretaker, a good father. While it’s common knowledge that Kakashi’s sensei was Minato Namikaze, Naruto’s parentage is a highly guarded secret. Umino, merely a young chunin, would have no idea; he seems like one of the many who regard Naruto with at the very least suspicion, if not outright bigotry.

Kakashi mumbles out something akin to a reply, he thinks, gesturing for Naruto to follow as he leaves the classroom with his mind muddled with thoughts.

He doesn’t quite realize how out of it he is until halfway down the street, when Naruto suddenly pipes up. “Are you mad at me?” The boy is stubbornly avoiding his gaze, kicking a rock as they walk. “Cuz’ it didn’t seem like you were mad at me at the start, but now,” he huffs, like it’s no big deal, “you won’t say anything.”

“No.” Kakashi says, a bit shortly. He rubs the bridge of his nose, before realizing how similar the motion was to Umino’s, and drops his hand. “No, I’m just lost in my thoughts. Sorry, Naruto.”

Naruto doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t say anything further, and Kakashi doesn’t know what else to say. He’s beginning to feel increasingly out of his depth. As a child, he had never needed a reprimand from his Academy teachers, nor did he have parents around to hear them. Would Minato have known better?

The rest of the walk is quiet, Kakashi absorbed in his thoughts. Multiple times, he tries to begin to speak, but any kind of reassurance he felt he should say dies in his throat. Frustrated, Kakashi remains silent, and guilt eats at him at the sight of Naruto clumsily failing to hide his disappointment.

::

Contrary to the flippant promise to Umino about oversight, Kakashi grows unexpectedly busy in the coming days. As if linked, Naruto’s behavior grows bewilderingly worse. It’s not fun.

There is nothing Kakashi would want more than to spend time with his ward, yet the universe seems intent on denying him.

He’s not slated for missions out of the village, thankfully, but as he’s now returned from his lengthy mission he’s back to active duty. He’s assigned for odd desk jobs, some interrogations, and guard duty for the Hokage.

Konoha’s leader seems to remain unaware of the change in Naruto’s guardianship, quietly sifting through his paperwork. Kakashi knows that adoption paperwork passes through the Hokage—he has stared over the man’s shoulder long enough to know their village leader likes keeping aware of the minute happenings of Konoha. Kakashi also knows that Naruto’s particular paperwork has failed to meet the Hokage’s desk, and he has a suspicion as to why.

Danzo’s keeping up his end of the deal, but it is a grim thought as Kakashi knows the councilman will soon come knocking.

For now, though, Sarutobi hems and haws over his papers, smoke wafting out of the office and through the open window despite the security concerns. Suddenly, a shinobi appears through the window, the ANBU guard stiffening at his abruptness.

“Hokage-sama! I apologize for the intrusion,” the man hastily bows, “but the jin—I mean, the Uzumaki boy.”

Kakashi stays, unmoving, attempting to relax every muscle in his body as the Hokage’s eyes quickly dart to him before returning to the frazzled chunin.

“What now?” Sarutobi doesn’t look annoyed, only weary. Kakashi recalls how the man used to visit Naruto regularly and dote on him like a distant grandchild, recalls how Naruto mentioned offhandedly that it seemed the old man was avoiding him. His guilt reeks.

“He’s gotten into a—“ the chunin swallows. “Altercation. With a civilian merchant. It’s causing quite a scene, and you said—Well.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sarutobi sighs heavily and crooks a finger to gesture for his ANBU guard forward. Kakashi moves, only to be halted with a hand.

“Not you, Hound.”

Unable to say a word, Kakashi merely bows his head slightly with gritted teeth.

“Weasel, take him. Drop him off at his apartment. Do not be seen by the crowd.” Sarutobi cuts a look around the room. “The rest of you may leave.”

The room clears out, as the chunin messenger runs off right after Kakashi’s subordinate guard disappears. Kakashi loosens his shoulders, and silently thanks his foresight for keeping Naruto’s apartment as it was.

“Forgive me, Kakashi.” The leader of Konoha sighs deeply, and with a slightly traitorous vengeance Kakashi thinks he has had this conversation too many times. “You must not engage with the boy, if it can be avoided. Especially in public. You know this.”

“Naruto.”

“Hm?”

“His name. Not boy.” There are very few people in the village who could get away with such a bite to their short words, directed at the Hokage, and thankfully Kakashi Hatake is one of them.

“Yes, of course.” Distractedly, Sarutobi waves Kakashi off. “You’re dismissed. The new shift will be arriving soon anyway.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

::

“What happened?”

“He was looking at me weird.”

Kakashi tries to be a patient person, when it counts. He’s late to every meeting, hardly turns in his paperwork on time, and generally causes a great deal of stress to those around him. He can make up for it with patience for others, usually, but Naruto seems entirely focused on testing that.

“Naruto, I believe you.” He keeps his voice gentle and low, sitting across from his ward at the kitchen table of his apartment. “I just want to get a picture of what happened.”

Naruto looks a bit surprised, shock coloring his bright blue eyes before he stubbornly wipes it away, scrubbing at his dirty cheek. The boy has been pouting since Kakashi picked him up from his old apartment, refusing to say much.

“There’s nothing else.” Naruto then, in a childish yet earnest move, sticks his tongue out.

Kakashi sits back. Naruto has always been a prankster, a troublemaker—taking after his mother, of course—but Kakashi has yet to see it truly in action since he’s adopted the Uzumaki. Not three days ago did he prank his Academy sensei, now he’s getting into altercations with civilians.

“Okay.” Kakashi says simply, taking in the wariness on Naruto’s face. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, and say that you didn’t start the fight. Just eat some dinner before you go to bed, okay?” With that, he stands, absentmindedly patting Naruto’s head before going to the kitchen.

“Do you like eggplant?” He calls over his shoulder, beginning to rifle through the cabinets. “I do, but I don’t mind—Naruto?” He looks over, and finds Naruto’s seat empty. The door leading to the bedroom is closed.

::

It would be a miracle if Sarutobi remained unaware of Naruto’s adoption by sunrise.

It’s one thing to attend a parent-teacher conference in a private, empty classroom after the Academy has cleared out for the day. Kakashi is the official guardian newly listed on the paperwork, after all, and not a soul saw him enter or leave with Naruto. Iruka Umino would hardly see a reason to go running to the Hokage about Kakashi, probably thinking this is all done with the man’s express approval.

It is another thing entirely to face a stone-faced Uchiha heir, gently clutching his snarling brother’s shoulder in a perfect mirror of the way Kakashi clutches Naruto’s.

Itachi Uchiha’s face seems perfectly serene, but Kakashi knows to be wary. The prodigy may only be thirteen, but he is exactly that: a prodigy. A deadly one. ANBU identities are incredibly well-guarded secrets, not to be shared with even their teammates, but Kakashi is allowed to have suspicions.

“All we’re looking for is an apology.” Itachi says quietly, ever polite despite the situation. “The Uchiha clan understands the importance of taijutsu training, but this constitutes as violence outside of the classroom.”

There is a large angry bruise on Sasuke Uchiha’s cheek, blossoming like a bitter flower. Naruto snarls at the boy, and the boy glowers back.

“He hit me too!” Naruto yowls, though there is no evidence to his claim. His own face is perfectly unblemished, though contorted in an angry scowl.

The younger Uchiha thrashes like he’s about to lunge at Naruto, though is stopped by Itachi’s hand on his shoulder. “You hit me first!”

“He’s not usually like this.” Itachi exhales, every sound and movement so perfectly controlled, yet Kakashi is relieved to hear a hidden edge of confusion in the statement. Kakashi doesn’t spend his free time stalking the personalities that populate Naruto’s classroom, but even cursory observations can confirm that while Sasuke has a bit of an inflated ego as the son of a major clan, he’s typically just a happy kid. Not exactly violent.

“Same here.” Kakashi scratches the back of his head, looking down at his ward who glares furiously up at him. He is truly bewildered at the behavior, at this sudden violence from a kid who, a week ago, was so shy and vulnerable with him. He searches the Uzumaki’s eyes, and finds no answer. He looks back at Itachi.

The boy looks plainly back, but Kakashi can practically feel both the skepticism and curiosity coming off him in waves.

Kakashi sighs, gently grabbing Naruto’s head and forcing him to bow shortly alongside him. Naruto goes, growling all the while. “We apologize.” Naruto remains utterly silent, and Kakashi nudges him, gaining a half-hearted mutter of apology.

Itachi seems satisfied, and so does his brother; Sasuke’s back on his high horse seeing Naruto bow before him, grinning wickedly despite the nasty bruise on his face. They don’t say anything further, and Kakashi is almost beginning to think they’re free to go when Itachi waves his younger brother off. “Sasuke, run ahead.”

The boy twists on his heel, defiance already on his tongue. ‘He and Naruto are a match made in hell,’ Kakashi thinks wryly.

“But Aniki—!”

“Now, Sasuke. If you get home before I’m done talking to Hatake-san, I’ll show you a new trick.”

Like a puppy, Sasuke perks up, and runs off to the Uchiha Compound. Not before sending a particularly offensive stink-eye Naruto’s way, of course.

“Cute kid.” Kakashi remarks dryly. Beside him, Naruto makes an obnoxious vomiting sound that thankfully goes ignored.

Itachi hums. “I wasn’t going to comment on it, but I was not aware of your adoption, Hatake-san.” His black eyes are entirely unsettling. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, well.” Kakashi tugs Naruto a bit closer, surprised that the kid lets him. “As he’s my ward now, let’s hope our kids don’t fight too much, huh?”

To his absolute shock, a dust of pink spreads on Itachi’s face, barely noticeable, but still. “He’s not my kid.” Itachi protests softly. He looks away. “I’m his brother. He has our parents.” There is an awful lot of tragedy and inner turmoil hidden in those words, and Kakashi curses his ability to look underneath the underneath as he feels a slight fondness grow for the weird heir.

“I get it.” Kakashi clicks his tongue, shooting another look at Naruto. His blonde head is bowed, his face not visible. “In the same way Naruto’s not my kid.”

Itachi’s lips twitch in a minuscule frown, as if to protest, before understanding dawns on his face. He doesn’t say anything further, and before the silence can get awkward, Kakashi makes an awful excuse to get away and begins walking home with Naruto.

“So,” he begins, interrupting the quiet with a bit of amusement, “Are we gonna talk about why you decked Sasuke Uchiha in the face during lunch?”

Naruto doesn’t say a word.

“Were you hungry? Hangry?” Kakashi hums. “I could start packing you a bento—with little faces drawn in nori.”

Still nothing.

It’s dead silent, and Kakashi doesn’t try to nudge a response out of Naruto again. They walk back to the apartment, the only noise in the air the scuff of their shoes against gravel.

When they get back, Naruto maintains his silence, slipping off his sandals and beelining for the bedroom without a word.

Kakashi’s stumped. He’s—trying. He thought Naruto wouldn’t respond well to scolding, so he kept things light, even when the kid was clearly acting out. Yes, Kakashi is entirely suspicious of the civilians in Naruto’s supposed altercation, but punching Sasuke Uchiha in the face, entirely unprovoked, is something else.

Still, he faced it with brevity. He made jokes, tried to make it clear he wasn’t angry with Naruto, even though truthfully he doesn’t know anything. He’s never taken care of a kid before, much less a complex ball of tragedy like Naruto Uzumaki. He doesn’t know what to do.

Kakashi stares at the closed bedroom door, and sighs deeply, scrubbing a hand through his gray hair.

Naruto won’t be going anywhere. He has some time.

::

Like a smoker’s hand reaching for a packet, Kakashi ends up at the Memorial Stone. Not a habit he’s ever tried particularly hard to break, but it’s been different now that he’s picked up a kid. Where he once made his way here every morning, it’s been a week since he last laid a gentle hand on the carvings in the stone.

Exactly a week since he adopted Naruto.

His feet dig heavily into the earth, and he releases a cool breath in the morning light. “Minato-sensei,” he begins. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” His hand digs harshly into his own eye, rubbing away tears that aren’t there. “I can’t imagine you were this difficult.” Kakashi muses. He picks at a stray grass blade. “Or maybe you were. I wouldn’t really know.”

The clearing is blessedly empty, Kakashi unable to sense anyone close by, allowing him to speak freely. The memorial stone before him looms like an old friend, the carved names as familiar as the callouses on his hand.

It’s not hard to avoid the dead; at least, for anyone who isn’t Kakashi. It’s been long enough that he feels a sting of guilt regardless.

“He’s a lot like Kushina.” Kakashi chuffs a humorless laugh. “It’s easier that way. Looks just like you, though.” He waits, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine Minato’s smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for him before. That I got to him only now. I know you wanted me to be there for him.”

He remembers being thirteen, dubiously resting a hand against Kushina’s pregnant belly. Recoiling at a kicking sensation, and wilting further at Kushina’s uproarious laughter. “He can be your little brother!” She had squealed, pinching his cheek. “Can you imagine? Kaka-nii!”

In another life, they could have been. Minato, Kushina, Kakashi and Naruto. A semblance of a family. It’s exceedingly hard to picture—the image in his mind blurry and undetailed. An impossible life.

There’s no use in trying, anyway. Minato and Kushina are gone, nothing more than vestiges in Kakashi’s grief. All that is left of them is a boy who seems furious at him.

“I’m not you.” Kakashi can’t help but say, a helplessness to his whisper that feels awfully unfamiliar. “You always—“ he looks away. “You always knew what to do. With me.” Minato wouldn’t have struggled like this; Naruto is his son.

Kakashi is cursed. At least, that’s what he called it, this burden he has carried, watching as one by one as his loved ones leave him. Plucked from life carelessly, like a weed in a garden, until all that is left is Kakashi and his wretched heart. For a time, he had Minato. They went through loss together.

At six, his father died. Sakumo Hatake had been a brave man, he had thought. Kakashi had looked up to him, the White Fang of Konoha, a bastion of strength and solidity, only for that pillar to shatter. Sakumo was no brave hero, but rather a terrified man.

At fourteen, Kakashi learned that Minato Namikaze was no immortal legend, but rather, a mortal. A man who could die, and leave behind a son, could leave behind Kakashi.

Minato had stood beside Kakashi through the loss of Sakumo, then Obito and Rin. He took him in, sheltered him, and eventually let him go. When Kakashi strained against Minato’s attempts at comfort, he allowed Kakashi to move out. Tried to keep him close with ANBU. Let Kakashi work through his grief in his own way.

Time gives perspective. Death obscures things, maybe. Makes you think a person is better than they were. But with enough time, enough change in circumstance, maybe Kakashi can look back and see Minato for the man that he was. Mortal, yes. All-knowing? Completely sure of himself? No. Minato wasn’t the perfect father figure Kakashi probably needed. Ten years ago, Kakashi might’ve thought all he wanted was to be alone, and Minato granted that. But it wasn’t always the right decision.

What Kakashi needed deep down was someone, anyone, to stay.

This helplessness he now feels, this confusion that chokes Kakashi’s throat and stills his breath, what are the chances Minato felt the same?

He tries to imagine the man again. The myth, the legendary Yellow Flash. Tries to picture the crookedness of his smile, the way he stumbled to impress Kushina. How scatterbrained he could be, how unfunny his jokes really were. The golden halo in his vision dulls, quiets down, until all that is left is Minato. The real Minato.

He imagines that Minato, soft-hearted and brilliant, fighting a war. He imagines himself from Minato’s perspective. Small. Six, angry at the world that failed him, angry at his father for being cowardly enough to die. Twelve, his teammates dead, the blood of Rin still staining his shaking hands. Minato’s own students, dead. All that is left is a boy; a genius, yes, but merely a boy, who fights to leave. Who stiffens at your touch, who grates against your offered home. What do you do?

Minato let him go.

“I love you.” Kakashi whispers into the air, carrying it into stone. “I love you, Minato, but I can’t do what you did. I can’t do what he did.”

Maybe legacy is meant to be broken. Kakashi has been given a particular legacy of fatherhood; a practice of leaving. Maybe Sakumo was selfish and cowardly. Maybe Minato was well-intentioned and worried. Maybe they’re both dead.

“I can’t leave him. I won’t.”

It’s been hours. The sun begins to peek over the horizon, filling the sky with a hazy blue and illuminating the Memorial Stone. Kakashi exhales, watching his breath form in the cold.

::

When Kakashi quietly steps into the apartment, it’s a mess.

Chairs are knocked over, cabinets open with their contents strewn on the floor. A quick look to the windows confirms there wasn’t a break in—his traps are still intact. Kakashi tries to calm, and interrupts the somber silence of the room. “Naruto?”

A crash comes from the other room, and the bedroom door slams open. In the doorway, Naruto stares, his chest heaving and a wild look in his cerulean eyes. His hair is a mess. Naruto merely stands there, staring, and takes a faltering step forward. Then another.

Kakashi holds his breath, not daring to make a noise, the same way one avoids startling a stray cat. As he nears, it’s clear there’s a watery glaze to Naruto’s eyes.

Finally, as Naruto stumbles to a stop before him, Kakashi finds enough bravery to speak. “I’m so sorry, Naruto.”

The tears welling up rapidly on Naruto’s eyes spill over, streaming down his face. The boy screws his eyes shut, rubbing over them furiously, and when he opens them, through the tears a clear anger shines.

“You—!” Balling up his fist, Naruto aims to hit the man. Kakashi gently catches the first fist, but Naruto is persistent.

His hands are so tiny, Kakashi marvels, watching soundlessly as the boy wails, small fists thumping against Kakashi’s leg.

“You—keep—leaving—me!” Naruto works out between hiccuping sobs, equal parts anger and sadness in his expression. “If you want to leave, leave! Stop, stop coming back,” his wobbly voice wavers even further. “And making me think you care about me. Just go.”

Kakashi’s heart, a broken and battered thing, shatters in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He kneels, cradling Naruto’s fists in his hands. “Naruto—“

“Just leave! Don’t come back or I swear,” Naruto chokes on his sobs, hiccuping devastatingly. “I’ll hate you! I hate you!” Despite his words, he seems to cling to Kakashi, his fists tapering off in effort before he collapses, his head resting on Kakashi’s chest.

Slowly, Kakashi reaches a hand into Naruto’s hair, another wrapped around his body, merely holding him. The boy shudders, and presses impossibly closer.

“I don’t know what you want.” Naruto whispers wetly.

Kakashi clutches Naruto tighter. “I’m sorry, Naruto. I’m so sorry.” The blond doesn’t respond, so he continues. “I love you. I care about you so much, and I haven’t—“ He runs his hand through Naruto’s hair soothingly. “I haven’t shown it very well. I’m sorry I left last night. I went to…I went to go think.”

Naruto sniffles miserably. “Think about getting rid of me?” His voice cracks.

“No. Never.” Kakashi whispers fiercely. He moves back, still holding Naruto but allowing enough space to make determined eye contact. Naruto squirms, but Kakashi holds his gaze. “To think about how much I love you. How much I want to be there for you.”

“But,” Naruto’s voice is disbelieving, and tears still stream down his face with vengeance. “But, you said to Sasuke-teme’s brother that I’m not your kid. You—you call me your ward.” The word is bitter on his tongue.

Kakashi melts. “Oh, Naruto,” he whispers, “I never meant it like that. I never meant to—“ He swallows. “Naruto.”

“Mm.” Naruto whines, attempting to bury his face back in Kakashi’s chest.

Kakashi doesn’t let him. His hands move to Naruto’s shoulders, gently holding him in place, then move to cup the boy’s face. He thumbs away a stray tear.

“Naruto. I love you.” Kakashi chokes a bit on the word. He feels his own eyes begin to sting with tears, but he powers through. “You—“ He stops. “You’re my son.” Kakashi Hatake’s voice breaks. “I should’ve said it sooner.”

Naruto, whose cries had quieted and subsided, bursts into fresh sobs. Each sob wracks his little body, shaking with the force of his tears. Breaking out of Kakashi’s gentle hold, he flings himself at Kakashi, wrapping his little arms around the man’s neck. He’s practically incoherent through his sobs. “Really?” He babbles. “Are you sure? You can’t take it back. You can’t.”

Kakashi hugs Naruto—his son. “I won’t. I’d never.”

The sunlight streams through the kitchen window, bathing Naruto’s blond hair in a golden halo. Kakashi, despite the collective tears, smiles a little crookedly. “Call me Dad.”