A/N: Hello, all. This is my first attempt at a lengthy, serious KakaIru fic. It was written in the same style as "Bitter Sweet Cigarette" and the other drama drabbles I have posted. This specific fic focuses on Iruka. It is about how he comes of age and how his upbringing shapes his relationship with Kakashi as well as the rest of the world. Some of Iruka's growing pains will make you want to smack him until he grows up. Also, Iruka is an "unreliable narrator." He lies to himself about his reasoning for his own actions and beliefs. Hopefully you will be able to figure him out before he figures himself out. At least that is what I was trying to do with this story. This same tale, as seen from Kakashi's point of view, can be read in "The Only Guide You Will Ever Need." These were both ambitious projects for me and a lot of work went into crafting them. I hope you enjoy. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Part I.

When Iruka was small, barely after he had started to learn what made sense in the world and what did not, he did not know why his parents woke him in the middle of the night or why they fled in the freezing cold through the creek that ran behind their home. He did not know why adults whispered with hopeful, fearful voices about a place called The Border. He did not know what his his grandparents' house burning to the ground had to do with it. He couldn't figure out how the scar spanning the length of his face could be anything other than the mark of an injury that happened before he could remember. He could not understand why it made people look at him like he was dirty or why that made it so his mother and father wanted to abandon everything they knew.

What he did know was that when he looked at the dingy walls of their new home, with it's mold-spotted ceilings and chipping paint, he thought that he would never stop hating them for bringing him to such a horrible place. The city was cramped and filthy and loud. He didn't think he could forgive them if they did not take him to see the sun rise where the mouth of the river let out into the sea one last time. Even if his mother did try to make it up to him by taking him up to the roof of the the tall building they lived in now to watch the awe inspiring skyline of their new village stretch out before them.

"Trust me, Iruka. It's better this way. You'll learn to love this place as well. Now, please give me a smile."

At that dizzying height, clinging to the edge and to her hand, he was not sure he believed her. Even though it was beautiful - way up there peering at the twinkling lights and the tiny people going about their tiny lives many stories below - he felt very small and thought perhaps the Earth was about to give way beneath his feet.

As Iruka grew he began to understand the meaning of words like 'war' and 'genocide', and 'equality' and 'asylum'. So, he did what he needed to help his family. Sometimes, while his parents were struggling to pay for his schooling, there were days that the hours he counted since his last meal seemed to stretch on forever. Tomorrow, his father always said, he would be promoted tomorrow and then it wouldn't be like this anymore. But, he never did rise in the ranks. Still, Iruka considered himself lucky. And he endured without complaint because he wanted to become the sort of man who could protect the ones he loved from having the homes they were born in devastated the way his had been.

But, there were the days he was hungry to his very bones. When these days came, he pinched food from the corner store so he did not have to see the shame in his mother's eyes when she was forced to tell him there was nothing to spare. He became exceptionally skilled at pilfering cup ramen. He was never caught except once, by a masked child with silver hair and black, unreadable eyes.

The older boy grasped his wrist just as he was about to drop a package of noodles into his bag. Iruka could see the shock on his face reflected in his captor's dark irises. He snarled.

"Don't touch me. Let go."

"No," the other replied flatly. "I won't."

They stared at one another for a tense moment which seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Iruka thought that perhaps the boy was going to strike him. He didn't break eye contact though he very badly wanted to. But, he almost jumped out of his skin when another child came ambling around the corner, studying the shelves and carelessly adjusting a pair of bright orange goggles. The second boy's eyes were just as black as the first. Yet, they were somehow softer.

"What did sensei say he...?" This boy mumbled before trailing off as he surveyed the scene. "Leave him alone," he concluded. "He's probably a refugee."

They scrapped over him like a pair feral dogs. Iruka tried his best to pull away only to feel the grip on his wrist tighten to the point where he feared his bones might break to pieces. The one holding him did not so much as bat an eyelash in his direction.

"So what?" he whispered loudly, impatiently.

The boy with the goggles sounded for all the world like he was trying to explain color to a blind man. "So he looks hungry."

"He's stealing them," the masked boy replied, as though that settled the matter completely.

The other gritted his teeth. "I see that. Leave him be."

Iruka's heart pounded in his ears. He searched for a way out. But, suddenly, their attention was turned on him again. The silver haired boy offered a note of a denomination Iruka wasn't sure he had ever held before.

"Here, take it. You can buy them."

Iruka was awestruck. His mind raced with the possibilities. However, something about the thought of reaching out and pulling the note from his hand made a bitter taste rise in his mouth.

"I don't want your money," he snapped with such cold ferocity that he startled even himself.

"It's useless to me where I'm going." The silver haired boy's eyes were blank. Iruka was not sure what he meant by that. Though, he knew he didn't like it. "Have it."

"I said I don't need your charity," he repeated, less strongly this time. He tried to ignore the way it sounded pleading.

"Kakashi." The boy's companion cut in nervously, glancing back and forth between them. "Let go of him already."

He didn't. He just stood there, impassive and immovable. Iruka wanted to tear his smug face to ribbons. Instead, he spit at it. In the moment of the masked boy's surprise Iruka pulled him close and landed a knee to his stomach. The grip loosened. Iruka ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Their voices followed him from the store.

"Serves you right. You really don't get it do you, genius?"

"Shut up, Obito."

"Lord Almighty, Kakashi. You are hopeless."

Iruka later found that he had not made as clean a getaway as he had at first thought. When he arrived home his mother's fingers ran across something stiff and triangular in his hair. She pulled it loose and, to his great surprise, Iruka saw that the boy in the grocery had managed to fold the note and slip it under the cord he used to pull his hair back. When she asked where he had found it he told her. She rested her hands on his narrow shoulders. They felt warm and heavy.

"He probably wanted to be your friend, Iruka."

Iruka frowned. It didn't make sense. He wasn't sure he believed her.

"Two pots, one earthenware and one brass, were carried away down a river in a flood. The brazen pot urged his companion to keep close by his side, and he would protect him. The other thanked him, but begged him not to come near him on any account. 'For that,' he said, 'is just what I am most afraid of. One touch from you and I would be broken in pieces. Do you understand?"

He shook his head. "No."

She smiled kindly, but something about her eyes made Iruka think he had done something to make her sad. "Find him and give it back. But, not until you learn the meaning of what I just told you."

He reached out and put her arms around her neck. "Yes, mother."