Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.
Summary: We break, we pull ourselves together, we move on. [Kakashi centric
Author's Note: This was done in two sittings. Hopefully it's unnoticeable. Sigh. When do I get to write as good as the many authors I admire?
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Moving
on
By
YukiAoi
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His first visit to the memorial stone was at age one.
Hands holding his to keep him up on wobbly knees, his father patted his feathery hair and explained to him the meaning of the names engraved. His mother told her husband he was too young for this kind of knowledge. He stared at the large plate of stone before him, his mind focused groggily on the wisdom pouring in without the thought of remembering. He blinked his round eyes at his father and listened without understanding.
Moments later, the family left for home.
His second visit to the memorial stone was at age three.
A large hand held to his though he no longer needed any help protecting himself, let alone staying upright. They kneeled in front of the stone; his father stretched his hand from his son's to feel the carvings of what were the remains of his wife. Neither of them cried because shinobi's are tools devoid of emotions, though the younger one's eyes watered with unshed tears and one failed to avoid the fall. He frantically wiped it away but more formed and slid and fell and wiped and fell and fell and fell.
For once the White Fang of Konoha chose not to start on shinobi codes on his son.
Moments later, the father and son left for training.
His third to thirteenth visits to the memorial stone was between age four to eight.
During which most of the times he went with his father and talked to his deceased mother and a number of former comrades. He started by speaking out loud, then words faded away into whispers from heart with the passage of time.
Hours later, the two left for mission.
His fourteenth visit to the memorial stone was at age eight.
He stood alone, eyes dried from the lack of sleep the previous night the funeral took place.
He touched the stone, feeling the chill on its slippery surface and the one throbbing inside with his heart. He found no trace of his father.
His vision misted, not from sadness but from anger. And shame. And he was angry at himself for such emotions. For his father was his hero, and should still was, but he could not firmly grasp on this belief anymore, yet he refused to let go as if his life depended on it. Which it might have been.
Confused and unsettled, he rushed to his next mission in hope of covering his dilemma with duties-tending. If alcohol was not an option, let missions do the job instead to occupy his mind and body and the bitter tightness in his throat.
Before his next stop at that same place, he though he could only climb skyward.
Before him laid the goggles of his best friend, adversary, opponent, not on who was the better shinobi but the livelier human being, even after death.
Kakashi was beyond tears, so he could no longer cry. And the damn shinobi codes dug even deeper inside, to call it a dagger piercing through his heart was an understatement.
His legs rooted, day and night. His sensei, despite heavy duties, came to fetch him once. He did not move. The Yellow Flash could do nothing besides giving his broken student an empty schedule for a week. After second thought, two Konoha shinobi's were duty free on that week.
Kakashi moved and did not move for that week. He spent the entire week back and forth, empty home and dead monument. He couldn't bear the sight of the cold stone but neither could he leave his eyes off for long.
If he couldn't cry, Obito decided, ignoring Kakashi's last plead of blind obedience to the codes, I'll do that for him.
Kakashi cursed silently every time the left side of his mask became soaked, but thanked just as quietly.
He was able to move on again, if not forcefully. Life had to move on but he knew he was not alone. People came and passed away, but this was a cycle which never cease. Kakashi had increasing reasons to visit the cruel, still slate.
Years later, he had long lost count of the times he had been here.
He stood tall; hands in pockets, thoughts instead of words were sent to the departed. Images of ebony eyes turning red and a blur of yellow and blue resembling the previous Hokage formed in his mind. He smiled faintly as he passed the message onward.
Then he turned and walked away, left hand already fetching his favorite book. The monument was rooted, unmovable, but he could go wherever he desired, where there was laughter and unbearable grunts and warmth.
Before he knew, he was lured forward; the memories lingered but the heavy weight in his chest gone.
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A/N: I'm often torn between which is Kakashi's true side: The carefree teacher pushing through life with burdens from the past, or a man dwelling on the guilt and can never let go.
Maybe a bit of both?
I need to have more insight.
Feedbacks of any kind are welcomed. Thanks in advance.