He snaps out of his depression when they stop talking behind his back and begin insulting him to his face.
It is a simple, uncreative jeer, nothing even close to the names he has branded on his own tongue, yet something akin to anger thaws the apathy which has so long suffused his insides. He can feel the dripping, the liquid gathering to pool at his feet. Sakumo's gaze follows the spread of the water, eyes clear for the first time in weeks. They pause at a pair of small sandals. He follows the line of taut tendon after tendon all the way up his son's throat, pausing for only a second of eye contact before he turns away.
He realises he is in no position to persuade his son to abandon the mask — hasn't he been blinded by his own mask of self-pity?
He no longer hides, refusing to exile himself with rediscovered dignity. Those who cast him dirty looks receive half-snarl half-smiles in return. He hunts with the pack in the dead of night, driven by a determination to be predator, not prey. The need to seek absolution dissipates with the smoke from Kakashi's first successful summoning.
It is deathly still in the house despite the storm outside. Sakumo doesn't know what woke him, but he submits to the urge to roam, as much a part of the Hatake bloodline as heightened senses and coarse hair. Instinct guides him to Kakashi's room. The door slides open without a sound.
The boy is propped against the wall, knees bent and eyes wide. Lightning reflects off the twin tracks of tears on his face.
He freezes, and, for a moment, thinks Kakashi will bolt like a frightened stray.
(Sakumo bites his lip when he finds that his son weighs less than most of his ninken.)
Kakashi stops wearing his mask around the house. He smiles, now, instead of frowns, when Pakkun licks his face.
There is outcry when he is assigned to take on a genin team. The Sandaime waves away naysayers with typical languor and quietly reminds everyone that it's been years and to get over it already.
Sakumo isn't quite sure how he feels about his kids — though it's a tell that he thinks of them as his. He is even less sure about how Kakashi feels about the trio.
So he invites them to dinner.
At seven, Gai is all bones and energy. Genma's sharpness balances out Ebisu's roundabout manner. Kakashi surveys them with big eyes and shrugs in what will become a characteristic gesture.
He offers to show Genma his room. The others tag along, not having grasped the concept of "shame", bickering all the way.
(Sakumo has never been more proud.)
War breaks out, and Sakumo wants to laugh. He remembers blood. He remembers the smell of burning wood. He remembers desperately hushed speeches, promises of peace for future generations.
He watches as his son ties on the hitai-ate with the economic movements of a soldier.
He does not laugh, though irony tastes like ashes in his mouth.
War rages, and Sakumo wants to cry. He remembers rushed war meetings. He remembers the soft questions in the eyes of his men as they delivered the plan. Kannabi Bridge. He remembers his hands — firm and untrembling — signing the missive with swift strokes. Team Minato. He remembers the wonder in Kakashi's eyes when he received the tanto, testing both its weight and the burden of responsibility.
He watches as Uchiha Obito closes his son's left eye with a pale hand.
He does not cry, because there is an army to command, a war to end.
This time, he puts duty first.
Notes: This one really got away from me, and the ending came as a surprise. There were so many ways this could've gone, but I didn't want to drag it on. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!