Hi, this is just a quick little oneshot, it contains character death so if you don't really like that don't read it. Also i don't own any of these character for they belong to Masashi Kishimoto. Feel free to leave comments or anything! thanks xx

It was years ago, just ancient history. History that was like the old text books, filled with knowledge yet to be learned, to be stored away inside our ever growing brains, like the books that were filled within our library.

A beautiful place, built around large bay windows that overlooked the crops, stretched for miles with sunlight dancing over the new food and life we grew. When the sun was high in the sky, a blazing but steady heat would beat down upon his small shoulders. I remember. I taught him from a young age how to tend to our crops, to nurture them and to let them flourish.

It scared me really, how much I longed to live in those times.

When peace echoed across the land.

I knew the danger and chaos that the rest of the world was steadily falling into—yet another war, but wars were all we knew. Humans. Just beasts. Filled with greed, wanting more because what we had was never good enough for us—I knew the dangers and I was pretty sure my little scarecrow knew too. His incredible intelligence, he inherited off both me and his mother. When most children his age where just learning to write their names he was writing sentences, moving onto paragraphs. When they finally gripped the idea of reading books, he was already ploughing through our library, finding interest in all our books and scrolls.

But that intelligence would be a killer.

I knew it was impossible and stupid of me, but I would trade the world to be back in those blissful moments.

I thought it would stay like that for a long time, when hours would turn to days and the days would blur and then suddenly you'd realise that your little boy isn't so little anymore, but he would be a fine young man, ready to go out into the world and maybe one day, he'd return to me. But he wouldn't be alone, no, he would come back with his loved one.

We would sit there over out small kitchen table, a faded yellow colour by then, however it would still be by the wall next to the back door that led onto the veranda.

We would chat and I would be proud of my son, I always had been proud of my son. He had such a sharp mind and a will that would never bend over for anyone—this, he inherited from his mother. She was a medic, I was always getting into fights and then I was pushed into battles but her healing hands and kind words would always save me. She was a patient woman and would do anything for her loved ones, she even gave her life for our little Kakashi—

Alas, these were mere memories of mine.

They'd say that a son was destined to walk in his predecessors footsteps. I never believed this trash that people spurted out in an attempt to explain their misfortunes. But now, I couldn't help it. I found sense in those words. My son, my baby boy; my scarecrow did follow in my footsteps. I tried to erase my footsteps, but hints of them lingered around my life. The way I carried myself—like a warrior, careful not to leave too large of a footstep—as well as the information that was stored in books and scrolls; Kakashi found them and he showed great talent.

A born hunter he was.

Teeth bared and ready to sink into the skins of his victims. At the time it was just new information, new ways.

Up all hours, instead of sneaking down the hallway seeking for my warmth, he had memorised which floorboards creaked so he wouldn't wake me up—or maybe so the monsters in his dreams wouldn't hear him—and he would stand, poised at the ready, and he would begin his practice.

He came to me the first time, he knew what I was. An ex-war dog. I had slaughtered many but been held as a hero. The great white fang.

But even with that horrible truth in mind he still came to me.

With small hands clutching the scroll to his chest, he released a steady breath (he had been doing those breathing exercises, he truly dug and rummaged deep in the library to find the information about them), nervousness vanished into warm air akin to his breath and he asked me to teach him katas.

My peaceful days seemed to be melting away under me, at that moment I knew that this would be dangerous. He was learning something I'd wanted him to be protected from. Yet, maybe if I taught it as a way of meditation or maybe even self-defence, nothing more would happen of it.

I had always chided people for being naïve. I know now, that I must have been naïve. Or maybe I was fooling myself, trying to pull a veil over my own head to protect myself from my own damn son.

Time passed and before I knew it he was becoming beautifully deadly, just more extensive training and he would be like a wolf. Quick on their feet, dangerous and calm—damn those breathing exercises! He could bring himself back down to earth and calm himself, never getting frustrated with the moves like he used to when we first started.

He had long stopped reading those adventure books.

He moved onto scrolls; new techniques, new formations and stances to learn.

As he was learning, the war was worsening. I knew it was a matter of time but I was sure nothing would happen. I would protect us both.

xXxXx

My eyes were closed. It was silent. Not even Kakashi was practicing, he was too worn out. I had him picking all the strawberries ready to sell down in the city.

The moon's light gently filtered in through the gaps in the blinds.

Something didn't feel right. There was too much noise and not enough of a wind to ruffle the trees and plants the way they did.

It was too bright; too much heat.

My heart rate doubled, pounding against my ribcage. I'd darted from bed, swiftly getting my tanto. My hands had shaken then, I hadn't held that weapon in years. I thought it was just another dark part of my past. I was wrong. It was becoming a scarier looking part of my future.

It was only Kakashi's muffled call that reminded me of the current danger.

I would save my son. I would protect him.

I ran through the halls only to stop and stare out the cracked window. Our crops, engulfed in vibrant red flames. My panic rising with the flames to the dark sky. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, forcing my feet to move as I desperately ran to Kakashi's room. His door swung open to greet me and he leapt onto me. Even with the intense heat I could feel tears soaking into my pyjama top, the blue steadily becoming darker. A little patch was forming where his head was buried against my stomach. I gripped onto him, holding him to my chest as I ran, sword slung over my back and Kakashi hiccupping and choking back tears into my front.

I ran.

I was going into mission mode then. Steadying my breaths and increasing my speed as our home sank into the fire.

Stones became embedded into my feet as I shot over our burning land.

xXxXx

Rain began, a steady pattering on the leaves of the tree we were huddled under. Kakashi had long since dried his tears.

I worried then. For our home and what would become of us, with the approaching threat and realisation of how close the war was.

I was more worried for my scarecrow. His eyes where cold then, unfeeling. He stared down upon the mass of destruction that was our property. A charred pile of nothingness. The fire was becoming smaller.

He was shaking, hands curling into fists.

A long, slow breath was taken in and blown out just as slowly, wispy clumps of air rose up to the sky.

That had worried me even more. Any person, be it a man, woman or child, would be hyperventilating then. They would be on the verge of a mental break down. But not my son. He folded back in on himself and reigned himself in. A detached façade fell over his features.

He began wearing a mask after that day.

xXxXx

What did Kakashi hear?

The news spread like wild fire through the little town down from where our house was.

People gossiped and new ideas and lies were made for why our home had burned down, from people in the war infiltrating and taking out our food supplies to—some that still made me shift in my seat and my patience and calmness become strained—Sakumo going mad and burning down the house, just because I was a veterinary soldier.

I prayed to Kami that night when I discovered the rumors, wishing that Kakashi would never hear of them.

For days I'd managed to scrape together the funds we had left to afford to stay in a hostel. We stayed in some of the worst rooms, because those were all we could afford.

I wished I could have given my son something better, he deserved more. Not this. I was a failure, and I was sorry.

We would lie together. Me curling around him, in a pitiful attempt to shield him from the harshness that was our wretched society.

I would keep my breathing slow and even, when Kakashi was just a baby and when he was distressed, I found he would sleep better like that. I thought it was the reassurance that something steady was there, supporting him.

A pathetic life we led for a while. I carried you a lot; it hurt because the cobblestones numbed your bare feet. Except after a time you became uneasy in my arms. You would squirm and wriggle out and when I tightened my grip—I didn't want you to fall. I thought I could hold you above this world keeping you out of harm's way—you would turn and your eyes would narrow and even under that scratchy material that you used as a mask (what were you hiding, my scarecrow? Was it a way to mask the memories?), you would form a barely distinguishable pout.

I didn't want to but I let you down from my arms, and later you would slip through my grasp.

You would walk through the streets, shoulders squared and ready for battle.

You weren't alone, a little brown pug followed at your heels and then that number increased.

Like me you found a love in the warmth that our stray dogs offered. They too had no home and their worlds were now a bleak reality that had to be swallowed back like a thick, foul medicine.

I'm glad you found companionship with those dogs, because I wouldn't always be there.

That dull grey background that I watched you walk towards changed, colours mixed and swirled and they formed into shapes of soldiers. They swept you away with the idealistic promises and pleasures that were waiting in the war grounds. You would go and become a hero and earn riches.

You insisted you would go and that you'd become fearsome and strong.

Strong, enough to protect us…

I gave you my tanto, I told you in a quiet tone that you would use it to guard your life.

xXxXx

A new layout formed and those colours became murky again but with splashes of red.

Why did it have to turn into this much of a mess? It was my fault I let you go. Your blood stains my broken hands.

You desperately tried to be strong, strong enough to hold up the weight of the world. There were visible flinches that ripped through you, when more of the people around you were slaughtered and you were left standing in rivers of blood. But if you'd just hold in your breath you wouldn't drown in them.

Son your breath was steady, your stance was loose and yet ready to vault into battle—you became very good at that, when you fought for your life day to day.

That night haunted me to this day, with the chilled air that engulfed our domain that was the theatre of war. Your eyes widened when you saw me.

A scent of sweat drafted around me when you bounded over the bodies to reach me. But with that scent of sweat a hint of blood mixed within, but it was difficult to tell at the time because the land and everything in those parts were tainted with it—myself included.

You had grown, you'd lost what little baby fat you had and had become lean. Your hair was slightly longer but it was hard to determine with all that mud and sweat mixed in.

But your eyes, such ancient eyes.

They had light in them. That light began to dim when my tanto pieced through your flesh.

You looked so fragile and thin, I knew that you must have been malnourished for the rations were scarce.

I remember as blood pooled from your nose and mouth, thick and viscous as it slipped down your ashen skin. Your eyelids began to droop, getting heavier; although I knew you tried with all your might, you couldn't stop them from slipping shut. I stared and caught you from falling into the mud.

I couldn't breathe then, as I looked over your small skeletal shoulder I saw him. Your killer.

Half laying but with a scarred arm, muscles drawn tight reaching to impale you on my blade.

Why did you drop it when you ran to me? I gave it to you to protect your life. After all that time when you tried to get grubby hands on it, tiny little wiggling fingers trying to touch everything with newfound curiosity.

Everything faded then, I couldn't really remember what had happened. Only that when my mind refocused I was looming over a dead man with my hands wrapped around his neck. The bruises I left stood out on his too pale skin. A dark necklace he wore now, my gift to him in death.

I cradled you, you suddenly felt so small in my arms.

I had stripped lungs of their breath and destroyed those in my path. I had brought men to their knees and had been given the name of the white fang. My name was whispered over the countries. I was this idea of a hero, stoic and strong.

But never in my life had I felt so weak.

Your eyes were still staring up to the stormy sky. The desolate battleground was silent with only the faint echoes of calamity.

I didn't think I truly comprehended what happened at the time. I couldn't believe it was true. Did you see that man?

My hands pressed against your wound. I could still feel the hole and the blood that soaked through my fingers even now. I just had to stop the bleeding, but my mind knew it was too late.

xXxXx

The world faded to grey after that, and nothing mattered. My Kakashi, you died protecting me. It was supposed to be the other way around, I should have died protecting you.

Soon sounds lost their voices and the sun lost its shine.

My life went up in flames, even with those breathing exercises I couldn't steady it nor could I calm my heart. There was nothing strong to support you now.

I could feel the sputtering pulses in my chest, so heavy I felt like my ribs would give way and break at any moment because of it. The hollowness that was now my life slowly drove me to the edge, my world yanked from beneath my feet.

My scarecrow was gone.

In his steps, I should follow.

However he died honourably. If that is what we call honour, sending children to the battle fields. Was has it come to that we must send them to their deaths?

I had been seduced by death, with her cold but gentle fingers ready to catch me when I fell into her open arms.

I wished my son, as I stood here in our blackened and burnt family room. I would join these ashes. But I wished now that you were in heaven you could be with your mother. She longed to see you, she held up such a strong fight for you.

I was sorry I couldn't meet you there, but I wished you the best and maybe someday you could forgive me. If only I could protect you better.

I wasn't scared about this. My hands had held this blade and drawn it through people so many times I had lost count. I would be just another life taken by this blade.

It was not bright and sunny. Shadows lurked in this place, filled with burnt memories. My memories would add to this pile now. I would fade into history, maybe I'd be in a textbook in another library at another family's house.

This never ending agony. It would continue for generations. I hoped someday a sun would break through the clouds of people and show them a world of peace. I wished you could see that day.

My time was limited. I could feel it spilling from my stomach, such a strange sensation.

It didn't hurt.

The blade, so smooth with no nicks on it.

I felt at ease, did you feel like this? I hope you felt relaxed; your birth was painful so I hope your death was tranquilising.

The grounds are no longer black. Red is such a vibrant colour, isn't it?