Every ninja has a security blanket of some sort.
Some of them, like Ibiki's bandanna and Genma's senbon, are practical. It doesn't take much thought to figure out why Ibiki covers his head or why Genma chooses to keep a weapon on his person at all times. Even in the hospital, the medics have long given up trying to confiscate his tooth-marked needles.
Some of them, like Anko's trench coat and Kotetsu's nose-bandage, serve no known purpose and are instead accepted as part of the owner's personality; just another quirk. Why wear extra material that just gets in the way? It doesn't make much sense logically, but that's just Anko, you know?
For Namiashi Raidou, it's his hitai-ate.
It's normal to be attached to your hitai-ate. It's the symbol of your HiddenVillage and of everything you live, fight, and die for as a ninja of that Village.
Raidou's hitai-ate is so much more than a symbol.
When Raidou graduated from the Academy, his father stood beside him as he accepted his hitai-ate from Sensei. Raidou ran his fingers over the brand new cloth, felt the reassuring heaviness of the metal plate in his hands. A thrill of excitement passed through him. His father gently took the headband from his hands and tied the cloth strips in a tight knot at the back of Raidou's head. "Congratulations, my son." Raidou felt the metal plate fit neatly against his forehead and a proud smile spread across his face. No more academy classes for him, no more games. Now he was a real ninja.
Less than a year later, Raidou knelt and placed a single white blossom by the picture of his father. When the final notes of the funeral song slipped away, Raidou, the last surviving member of the Namiashi clan, stood tall. In one swift motion he reached up and gave the tails of his already faded hitai-ate a firm tug. He was a ninja, and he would not let his father down.
Time passed. Chaos happened, and suddenly Raidou was standing at attention in the Hokage's office, trying to keep his expression neutral as Sandaime-sama spoke of the privileges and responsibilities that are a chuunin's lot. The Hokage spoke of hardships, of reliability, even of paperwork, but all Raidou could think of was the look on his sensei's face as the man's gut disappeared in a roiling mass of blood and bile. In his mind, he heard the screams as his genin squad-mates were slaughtered, one after another. He had been last in line to be exterminated. When the rescue team arrived, his captors were just about to finish the job. The mission was dubbed a success, because Raidou didn't give the enemy what they wanted. But even so, as the Hokage held out a brand-new hitai-ate as a reward for his promotion, Raidou couldn't bring himself to accept the gift. It just wasn't right, somehow.
Genma took several deep breaths, steadying his chakra and easing his face into a relaxed smile. When the last traces of frustration and worry had been smoothed away, he reached forward and turned the knob of the hospital ward door.
"Hey Rai..." Genma swallowed hard and tried not to look at the still figure swathed in bandages. Words didn't come easy to the veteran even at the best of times, and this was definitely not one of the "best times". Genma looked around, and, unable to find a chair, settled for kneeling awkwardly on the floor beside the bed. He remained in that position long after his legs had stopped tingling and had begun to resemble frozen logs more than life-filled limbs. When at last the nurse came to shoo him out so that she could "tend" to the unconscious Raidou, Genma hesitated, pulling what appeared to be tattered rag out of his pocket. Carefully, almost reverently, he laid it beside his friend and hurried unsteadily out of the room.
When the day of Raidou's discharge from the hospital arrived, he rose from the lumpy hospital mattress with an air of determination. He squinted into the tiny mirror in the bathroom, bending over stiffly to try and tug his short, unruly hair into falling over his face. His face, which had once been the talk of all the kunochi, was handsome no longer. Raidou was disfigured; puckered, scarred tissue stretching across a once-smooth cheek. He sighed deeply, wishing he could curse but afraid to trust his voice at the moment. Bitter anger welled up in his chest, coiling around him and whispering hateful words into his ear until he could stand it no more and brought both fists down on the stained porcelain sink with a crash. A metallic clank caught his attention, and momentarily distracted from his feelings, Raidou bent down, hissing as his still-sore body protested against the motion. There on the floor was his hitai-ate. It was battered and crudely-mended; the fabric had been ripped so many times that it was a wonder the metal plate was still attached, but it was his. Automatically, Raidou brought the headband up to his face and carefully set it into place, knotting the worn ties behind his head.
Perhaps it was foolish thing to believe, Raidou thought as he stepped out of the hospital and into the fresh air, but he knew somehow that even though he was shattered, everything was going to be fine.