Title: Quiescent
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just the idea.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Oneshot.The wind whipped at the lone figure as he made his way down the darkened Konoha streets. Slight AU
This was inspired by a fanart I found at DeviantArt, by and unknown author. Copy and paste this link to view - http:(slashslash)tobi-samavilde.deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)kakashi-as-kid-88349792 (substitute the usuals)
Dude! Shockingly enough, this is my first ever non-ship fic. OMG!
Read the Author's Note at the end for any AU moments you find.
23 Years Ago,
The wind whipped at the lone figure as he made his way down the darkened Konoha streets. At this time of night, not a soul walked the usually packed routes through the village. Expect for the occasional ANBU or guard Shinobi, the streets were barren, and that's how the Jounin liked it. After a mission, he didn't necessarily want to converse with anyone; especially after an assassination mission, which more and more they were becoming these days.
With Sound and Mist-Nin defectees causing havoc among the countries, civilian villages were requesting protection, or militant aid left, right, and centre. The need was so great that Hidden villages were finding it hard to keep up with the demand, and Jounin were now being assigned to help ANBU with the backlog. The missing S-class Nins weren't the only problem either; it was the Feudal Lords offering the missing-nins an appealing amount of power, or money to have his deeds accomplished, that caused more work for the already outmanned squads. It was a vicious circle that began with the dawn of time, and would end with the destruction of man alone.
Turning a corner, the Leaf Ninja trudged his way passed the blackened windows of his fellow Shinobi's dwellings, the occasional screech of warring tomcats breaking the silence of night.
On and on the man traveled, passed the Academy he (and every other Leaf Shinobi) once attended, passed the training grounds, where he was ashamed to see stray kunai lying around; passed the bar he and his comrades frequented after a mission (if it were at a reasonable hour). He passed it all; only one location in mind.
His pack felt heavy as he scuffed across the rough ground, gravel crunching beneath his feet, dust making its way onto his toes through his regulation footwear.
Around yet another corner his feet carried him. He would have gone skyward, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, but exhaustion gripped every muscle. Leaping was faster, but more draining, while walking was easier, but more time consuming. Neither activity was particularly appealing at the moment, but it was the big picture he was looking at.
Running a gloved hand through his unruly hair, the Shinobi detoured around a familiar structure. It was one of his favourite restaurants, and the pride and joy of Takashi Sho. Moving around the back of the eatery to join up with a side street, the man moved to continue his journey, only to hear a deep baritone, and a high giggle somewhere to the left of him.
Turning his head to the sound, the Nin instinctively reached for his kunai pouch at his leg, ready to react if necessary.
It would seem not, as two figures, oblivious to him, came into view.
Against the outer wall of the restaurant stood a dark haired, teenage girl, in a knee length lilac skirt. In front of her, obviously in her personal space, stood a figure, a male, leaning over her, boxing her in against the establishment; a ponytail bobbing as the taller figure spoke to the girl.
The Jounin smirked and shook his head.
He knew that hairstyle.
Discretely (though not all that enthusiastically), the man watched the boy, in his late teens, duck his head and burry it in the girl's neck; the girl forcefully shoving her paramour away, before grabbing his Chuunin vest to pull him back.
"Make up your mind, woman," a lazy drawl voiced, moving his head back into the girl's neck, only to be pushed away again.
"Shikaku, stop it."
The Nin stifled a laugh as he watch the Nara offspring being shot down by his girlfriend, Takashi Yoshino, against the building of her father's restaurant.
The man could clearly see the heir to the Nara Clan bring his hands up to the girl's waist, to which she yet again, shoved him off.
"Nara, if my father finds us, you're a dead man," the girl threatened.
"Kami, lady. Shut up, or he will find us," her partner pointed out, clearly irking the girl more.
"How dare yo-"
The older Nin rolled his eyes as the boy silenced the girl with a kiss (belaying his lazy persona), that she seemed to greedily return.
The man had seen enough.
Turning away, he made his way from the scene, the pair none the wiser.
The man was still laughing to himself as he made his way towards the centre of the village. The man, having grown up in this village his who life, loved the friendly atmosphere, and camaraderie daytime Konoha evoked. The children running around in the streets, the vendors selling homemade goods and wears, the elderly citizens discussing the latest news over a game of Shogi or Go. It was all welcomed, and dearly cherished, but nothing more so than Konoha at night; with the light from the moon as his guide.
He wasn't sure where his fascination with a darkened Konoha began, but it was obvious to see why. The streets, though eerily vacant, were familiar and comforting, bathed in the yellow hue of sporadic streetlamps; the light breezes that filtered through the century old trees, leaves being carried upon the wind; the moon, blanketed by an indigo sky, star scattered above a backdrop of Hokage Mountain, three stony faces carved into the bluff.
Yes, in all of his many travels, there was nothing quite like coming home.
Looking from the faces that seemed to be watching over their village, the Shinobi's eyes fell upon the gold light emanating from the building before him. From his location below, the Jounin eyed the most respected man in the village, hunched over his desk on a never-ending stack of paperwork, small puffs of smoke rising into the air from a pipe.
'Sandaime has another busy night ahead of him' the Leaf Nin mused, thanking his lucky stars that he wasn't appointed the task of looking out for the whole village.
Turning from the glare of florescent light, the man continued, his destination far from sight, but forefront in his mind.
Taking a left at the next crossing he passed some time later, the man whistled to himself as the Hyuuga compound came into view. Even though he had seen the compound numerous times in his 30 odd years, the sheer grandeur of the structure always seemed to leave him in awe; the square feet alone was second, it not equal to, the Uchiha compound, and it's numerous members. A soft melody made its way to his ears as wind blew through metal chimes hanging off the cedar pillars in the compound. If he recalled correctly, the twins had just celebrated a birthday, with one of them being appointed Head of the Clan. Hizashi, or was it Hiashi? He wasn't sure; they looked so much alike.
Passing, the compound, the lone soldier made his way, a light breeze tugging his ponytail in the opposite direction. In the distance, he could hear the faint calls of the Nara herd, and vaguely wondered if they somehow were scolding their young master for his late night escapades with the Takashi child. He shook his head. Kami, was he tired.
A few more blocks and he'd have made it. A hot shower and a warm bed waited. He could almost smell it.
Crossing a bridge that allowed a waterway through the village, the man entered another suburb. Domestic houses stood dormant in the darkness, while their occupants slept, oblivious to the man that passed their way.
Directing his head to the left, the man's pace abruptly slowed down, frown gracing his chiseled features.
A stoop shadowed by trees met his eyes. In front of the door leading to the entrance way, lay baskets and packages of food wrapped in yellow ribbon.
It was a sad sight.
Another great man had fallen for his Hokage, and the safety of his family.
Whenever a village member fell to the spoils of war, neighbours, friends, family, passer-byers, and sometimes no even that, would pay respects to the grieving family. Food was given to save the mother from having to cook while consoling herself and the grieving children, and if the children were young, clothing and toys were offered, as a regular income would now be unavailable, until someone could aid the family.
The man scornfully shook his head. This was becoming a frequent sight. Five had died in the past month alone.
Paying his respects with a prayer, as he had no material possessions on him that would help, the somber Jounin meandered on his way.
A short time later, the Nin sighed with relief as a simple, quaint bungalow met his exhaustive sight.
Home.
Fatigue seemed to ooze from his body as he followed the length of the front porch to the wooden door at the entrance, painted in a neutral mushroom hue.
The steps leading up seemed mountainous with each step his bone-weary feet took. He hadn't realized he made the stoop so steep, all those years ago. Moving a gloved hand, he reached into the deep lining of his pockets, and retrieved a set of keys, hanging haphazardly from a silver key ring. Locating the appropriate, slightly dinted key, he inserted it into the corresponding hole in the lock. Hearing the mechanism click, the man turned the knob, and stepped into the familiar surroundings.
A dull yellow light flittering through trees from an outside lamppost, danced sporadically on the floorboards before being consumed by the darkness of the room. He stood at the door for a few moments, surveying his abode like a desert marooned man to water. It felt like years had passed since he had last been home, but in all actuality, maybe a week or so would had been the more accurate timeline.
Throwing his keys on a small table to the left of the foyer, the Ninja removed his sandals, and placed his personal effects bag, along with a blade, quietly at his feet. He'd go through it in the morning.
Flicking a small lamp on, he padded his way into the open concept living room, looking around for any damage that may have been made in his absence. It seemed there was little, if nothing, disturbed while away. A shallow rice chest lay atop a small rug in the centre of the living room; scrolls of advanced jutsus and tactical training stacked neatly in rows beside a bowl of freshly stocked fruit. The chest was placed between a couch, blanket folded off to the side, and a Miyamoto cabinet, a display of family heirlooms for viewing pleasure.
Turning, he headed toward the kitchen, open from the living room. A western set of table and chairs positioned itself to the right, while cooking areas was to the left. Nothing looked amiss here either; even a dish of rice and vegetables was left at his customary location at the table.
He'd eat that after a run through of his home.
Glancing down, he saw an array of small bowls on the floor, all filled with either water, or the delicacy of the moment. The canines that occasionally called his home, home were quite picky at times; although most would just be thankful with what was given to them.
Moving through the room, the owner headed down a hallway to the bathing and sleeping compartments of the house; a bathroom to the left, his bedroom to the right, and another bedroom further down.
As quietly as his Ninja abilities would allow him, the Leaf Shinobi deftly slid open the panel to the other bedroom.
Dull light from the living room smeared itself onto the floorboards before him. A blue, almost black pair of pants and shirt lay neatly folded on a bedside table, academy and hand seal scrolls, along with action figure Ninjas, on a working desk
But none of this he was particularly looking at. He just knew the routine.
In the centre of the room, lying on the floor was what caught his eye. Ranging from colours orange, to grey, to black, lay eight dogs, or puppies rather; one small, one big, and the others in-between, of various breeds, sleeping soundlessly in a huddle.
The Shinobi studied the eight puppies, unsure as to why they were there. Usually, once their duties were fulfilled, they would de-summon themselves away to wherever it was they went after a completed mission. The Ninken, along with other summonings, were quite private animals. No one was really quite sure where they went or what they did on their downtime.
There was a slight movement in the pile, and the man was somewhat surprised to find that the dogs were not alone. Shifting his eyes to the empty bed, then back, the Nin realized where the other occupant had come from.
Sleeping in the middle of the pack, dressed in faded grey pajamas, one leg bent, was his 6, almost 7, year old son; wrapped protectively by the dogs, short grey-white hair ruffled against a large (even for a puppy) bulldog.
The father smiled.
The moment his son had perfected his first summon, he knew, Kakashi would come to harbour a deep bond with the little, but powerful, creatures.
It didn't really surprise him when Kakashi had asked him over dinner one night about summons, and expressed a desire to learn them. At such a young age, it was rare that a child had the ability to use such an advanced jutsu, never mind swear a blood oath, but he hadn't graduated the academy at age 5 for good looks, though he was certain to get them with age, his father had almost vainly mused.
It took a week and a half of strenuous training, but by 9 days, the Hatake homestead had 8 new puppies running around. The elder Hatake was quite proud for his son to have achieved such a jutsu, and two years younger than he himself had been when he mastered the technique, of the same animal.
For a moment, the father debated in moving the sleeping child from the hard floor, to the comforts of his own bed, where he would get a more restful sleep, but changed his mind as Kakashi shifted in his sleep, accidentally kicking a small dog at his feet, while mumbling incoherently.
Upon getting kicked, the small canine stirred, his head lifting from where it lay nestled on his front paws.
Yawning, the dog spoke to the man.
"Hey, Sakumo,"
"Pakkun," the silver haired Jounin nodded to the pug.
Pakkun picked himself up, and stretched his back legs, only to flop back down, rolling onto his side. "Back so soon?"
"We'll talk more in the morning," Sakumo said, subtly jerking his head toward Kakashi, not wanting to wake him.
Pakkun nodded an affirmation; his eyelids closing, with the sliding of the door.
Returning to the kitchen, Sakumo picked up the plate of rice at the table, and placed it in the refrigerator. He appreciated the offer that was left by the neighbour he had requested check in on Kakashi during his leave, as Kakashi, though academy graduate, was still too young to be left alone, but exhaustion overruled anything else.
Turning the lamp off in the living room, he made his way towards his own bedroom.
Entering, the empty bed, cloaked in moonlight, made a tempting offer. Throwing his Jounin vest in a laundry basket in the corner, he stripped off his jacket and mesh undershirt, dingy black slacks hanging low on his hips.
Making his way to the master bath, he flicked on the switch, eyes adjusting to the onslaught of florescent light. He glanced mournfully at the shower stall, hot water, and white tile beckoning, to no avail. He didn't have the energy. Instead, he turned to the silver faucet, water coating his hands.
Cupping his hands, he splashed the cool liquid across the sharp contours of his face. Soap followed as he scrubbed, and scrubbed. Clear water soon turned a murky red as dirt and sweat and blood was washed down the pipes; small grains of filth making a ring around the drain.
Rising from a stooped over position, he regarded himself in the vanity mirror.
Kami, he must be a sight.
Light grey hair was dyed a sooty colour with dirt, while thick windblown whips escaped his ponytail. Dried up cuts and scrapes scarred the White Fang's features, joining older ones on the visage.
'Not too pretty,' he mused, wiping water off with a towel near the sink. Replacing the towel, he shrugged and exited the bath. A shower would have to wait.
Dragging his feet over the floorboards, he removed his slacks, and threw them in the same pile as the other soiled counterparts. Groaning, he all but launched himself into bed, the mattress sagging under his weight.
Rolling over, Sakumo reached up, and pulled the tie from his hair, silver tresses fanned across white linen. Placing the tie on his bedside table, his obsidian irises met the first and last thing he sees every day.
Moonlight encased the wooden frame; dark eyes staring back at him.
She was beautiful; with a grace no one else would ever come close to matching.
6, almost 7 years she had been gone now, but he always saw her in his everyday.
Their son.
He was her exact replica. He might have been a splitting image of his father from the silver locks, to the elegant toes, but that was where the similarities ended. More and more everyday he was becoming like her, and he didn't even realize it.
He smiled.
The two most important people in his life didn't even get to meet; yet somehow they didn't need to.
It was a comforting thought.
His last, before sleep overtook him.
Author's Note: I don't know Japanese naming conventions. I apologize if I disrespected the nation with improper naming scheme. I also know that Kakashi learned his summons after his dad died, around ANBU, but I changed it for this fic. And yes, I am also aware that it took Naruto a month to learn a summon (according to Narutopedia), but I think Kakashi would have a better work ethic and skills since he was a Chuunin at 6, making him more able to achieve the technique faster. Re: Yoshino, as far as I know, she has no last name, and hardly any back-story; my take only. FYI, incase you didn't notice, Kakashi's mom died in childbirth; my own little plot device.