Father
Written By: SilentAnonymity
Dedicated to 'Kashi-kun! (Tanjoubi omedeto gozaimasu!)
Chapter 1: Father
September 15th!
Tanjoubi omedeto gozaimasu, 'Kashi-kun!
I don't usually do birthday fics, but I had a fic idea so whatever :D It started as fluff, but if you've been following my work for any period of time, you know that...well, I can't write fluff. It transformed itself into angst as I was writing. So angst-fluff/fluffy-angst it is.
It's got a little bit of fan-made Hatake history in there.
I've been OBSESSED with the Jinchuuriki/Bijuu counting song recently! Anyone else?
BLTYO (Beautiful, Lethal, Ten Years Old) readers: If you're wondering what's been happening, school started -_- the last chapter is coming soon, but I wanted to upload it on the same day, or after the first chapter of its sequel/companion fic STS (Slaves to Substance) comes out...I promise it'll be soon though.
I think that's it. Please enjoy!
Hatake Sakumo had a feeling the day wasn't going to go as smoothly as he thought it would. It wasn't that there was anything particularly concerning, the skirmishes on the Iwa border were becoming less violent, it was a fairly sunny day out- it was warm with a cool breeze, not like the hot, muggy summer days it usually was, and Kakashi had successfully summoned his first puppy. Today was their first day of training together actually.
Sakumo smiled at the thought of his son, his four year old son, summoning a puppy. He was just about to slide open the door to their flat, when there was a crash and a shout. Sakumo was suddenly alert and worried. Kunai out and flashing, he soundlessly opened the door and padded into the room.
However, he needn't be as concerned as he was.
His eyes roved over the flat. Several scrolls were unrolled and scattered around. There was a bucket that had tipped over, spilling water over the tiled floor in the kitchen, black paw prints covered every conceivable surface of the house-how did he get them on the ceiling?!, and in the midst of it all, a small brown puppy, viciously licking the miniature silver-haired boy clutching a wet washcloth.
"No, Pakkun, down!"
The sight was so disarmingly anti-climatic- not to mention adorable, that Sakumo couldn't help but burst into laughter.
"Father!" Came the surprised reaction.
"Hello, 'Kashi. I see you've been playing with Pakkun."
The ink-smudged boy struggled a few moments before detaching the dog from him and gave an irritated frown- not a pout, Kakashi Hatake doesn't pout (or at least, he claims so).
"Training, father. I've been training him."
"Of course, of course. How has that been going?"
Kakashi's not-pout changed to a slight scowl.
"He won't listen to me," he sniffed, "What good is a summon who won't do anything?" still holding the scrabbling dog at arm's length.
"Ahh 'Kashi, these things take patience and a lot of practice," he formed a few hand signs, "Kuchiyose."
A large dog appeared beside the two Hatake. He was reminiscent of a wolf, with menacing fangs and a black eye patch covering his left eye- permanently shut under a rugged, pink scar. A red bandanna was tied around his neck and the kanji for the word endurance/shinobi (忍) was inked in black over his right eye. The top of the dog was a frosty blue, his underside a snowy white, and a brown leather holster ran around the dog, securing a pouch on his back.
"Sakumo," the dog said in greeting, "Kakashi."
"Hello, Ko."
"Father, stop showing off," Kakashi not-pouted again.
"Now, 'Kashi, I'm just saying. You're only four, there's plenty of time for you to practice."
"Not when there's practically a war brewing..." Kakashi said softly, dropping the dog down next to him.
Sakumo's expression softened a little, "Well, you better get practicing," he said, equally quiet, he turned to Ko, "How about you teach Pakkun a little bit of the basics?"
The dog nodded and carried the pup by the scruff of his neck off into the yard.
"Now, while I'd like to clean up before your mother comes back," he gestured around, "I think-"
"I'll clean it. It was my summon that made it and I was going to do it before you came back..."
"I think kids your age are supposed to be running from their chores."
"A shinobi must be responsible for his actions."
"That's too bad," Sakumo said, rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness, "Because I was going to suggest that I tell you a little bit of a story."
"I'm too old for stories, father."
"Too old even for ones about your dad?"
"Well..."
"Come on," Sakumo scooped up the child and sat him down on one of the few ink-free tatami mats on the other side of the room."
In the age of the First Hokage, the Hatake were just a humble group of farmers. They were renowned for their skill and efficiency in the fields and how fitting their name was. Back then, shinobi were scarce, but powerful. Missions were less frequent and the main source of income came from that of trade; a lot of it via crops, which was why the little village of the Leaf, was so prosperous, with the Hatake there.
Many envied the dogs that herded their cattle and sheep so well, the dogs that guarded their fields and families. Fiercely loyal and incredibly intelligent. The farmers that trained them were no less, very talented, polite, hard-working, and well-raised, nothing like the ill-mannered farmers of other countries. Their trademark silver hair piqued the interest of many people, but the answer was always, "It comes with the job." Their crops were fed with the same energy that made them light-haired.
The Leaf, being just a very small, but plentiful village, became a well sought-after target for neighbouring villages. Usually, the shinobi were enough to hold off attacks, but the fight grew too fierce for the few trained in combat. Naturally, volunteers were taken from the village to help with the onslaught of attacks.
The Hatake were among the group that went ahead.
Their bodies were built from endless days toiling in the fields, so their efforts offered much support. Their dogs fought with a ferocity that burned deep into the memories of the survivors. And because of this, at the end of the fight, many villagers returned. Although...
Very few Hatake did.
The few that did however, later became the first generation of Hatake shinobi, they were quite skilled- though not particularly note-worthy next to an Uchiha or a Hyuuga per-say. They were often seen in battle with their, "Feral Dogs," and were also quite feared, however, not as much as the Inuzuka's "Demon Dogs." They were easily distinguishable not just by their silver-hair, or white chakra, or ferocious dogs however, a tradition had begun that every Hatake that became a shinobi would wear a mask while on duty.
Expressions are physical manifestations of emotions. Those with feelings and loved ones had faces. People had faces. Shinobi were killing machines with neither feelings nor loved ones. Hatake who died with masks on, died as shinobi, shinobi whose faces were only seen by their loved ones and their families. Only seen by people they cared for. On duty, the mask was up. They were shinobi, faceless, emotionless, efficient. At home, the mask was down. They were fathers, brothers, lovers, people.
Their appearances weren't the only powerful things about them.
Hatake were fiercely loyal, just like their dogs.
"Father, I know this is important, and it really is interesting, but you're such a liar, you said this was going to be about you!"
"Yes, 'Kashi, I was getting there."
The number of Hatake left over from the attack was already low, coupled with the higher rate of death from the missions, they dwindled even further. Eventually, those who were left from after the attack either branched off and married outside the clan, or they died on missions, until the beginning of the reign of the Third Hokage, when only one family line was left.
This line was the essence of prodigies. Names like the Silver Demon or the Howling Wolf were names that were known far and wide, but none compared to the most recent prodigy.
The White Fang.
He was rumoured to be all the genius Hatake reincarnated into one. His skill was undeniable, but his humanity was untouchable. He killed with an honour very few shinobi could compare to. He was not a sadistic murderer, no, every kill was quick, clean, painless. A quick prayer was uttered on his return from the mission.
A true hero.
The sun had set and Ko had returned with Pakkun and was resting with the Pup in the ink-spattered hallway.
Kakashi gave a yawn and rubbed his eye.
"Tired, 'Kashi? It's just about bedtime."
Another yawn, "Shinobi don't have bedtimes," a not-pout.
"Get cleaned up and sleep, okay?"
"What about the flat? Mother will be home soon."
"I've got it. Go to sleep 'Kashi."
"Okay."
Kakashi slept well that night.
Sometime four years later, Kakashi couldn't sleep.
He stood in the living room. In the darkness, the splotches could have been the ink stains from the day he had first summoned Pakkun. Lightning crashed.
He barely registered the thunder that rumbled deep and low a few seconds after or the open window and the icy rain that was soaking him. He didn't register the bottoms of his feet slowly being dyed red.
The White Fang.
"Kai." A whisper.
A genius.
"Kai." A little louder.
True hero.
"Kai!" A shout.
Elite shinobi.
It wasn't a genjutsu.
A failure.
But it had to be. Because he couldn't be, he wasn't.
A traitor.
He wasn't lying on the neatly woven mats in the centre of the room. Blood wasn't seeping through the fibres and making geometrical patterns on the floor. The chakra blade wasn't sticking out of his stomach. He wasn't dead.
He wasn't wearing his mask.
"Father. You're such a liar."
Human.
See? I can't fluff.
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