A Tribute to the People Who Made Kakashi, Kakashi.
He had suffered far more than anyone should be allowed to.
And yet, he still fought for the people he cherished.
Many people with only half the heart he had would have fallen into despair, to spiral endlessly in a pitching darkness. His hardships gave him reason to stand.
It started with his father.
His father was one of his greatest heroes. There was no one else he wanted to be. How could he ever be beaten? He was the White Fang of Konoha, the feared man from land to land. He was invincible, immortal, and Kakashi was proud to walk down the street with him, watching villager's faces light up with recognition at the sight of his father. He was proud to be his son. He can still remember his father's smile lighting up his face as he graduated from the Academy at the shocking age of five.
After that mission, everything changed.
Villagers looked at him with anger, hatred, disdain. Behind their hands, Kakashi could hear their whispers of 'horrible', 'demon', 'monster', 'devil'. The name 'The White Fang' was never spoken reverently; only held in contempt. His father simply held his head higher, refusing to look at them in the eyes. The only sign he ever showed of weakness was the tightness increasing on his grip on Kakashi's hand as he led him through the streets.
He still smiled, but Kakashi could see the cracks, ever widening. But that image of the invincible man pressed into his mind, destroying thoughts of doubt. Everything was fine, he had convinced himself.
But even so, it was the little things that gave away the signs. The forgetting of his headband, etched with the leaf, before a mission. The heavy sighs that echoed from his lips at night, when he believed no one to be listening. The fading of light and laughter in his eyes whenever he spoke to Kakashi.
No one paid attention to these movements. No one but the one closest to him. Kakashi saw. He noticed it all.
And he still berates himself for what he didn't do.
The memory is branded into his mind.
He had just passed the chunin exam, destroying opponents as only a six-year old should. Kakashi had shocked judges and spectators, but as he stared calmly at the cheering stadium, his gaze had swept the crowds five times, and not seen him. Even as he stood in front of the Hokage to receive his new rank, he still had not shown. His father was nowhere to be found. Kakashi barely heard Hokage-sama's words of congratulations as he raced out the door.
Kakashi remembered ignoring people's stares, yells of 'good job', and the occasional sneer of 'White Fang's Brat', his mind only focused on the road ahead, and what lay at the end.
By the time he reached the house, the sun was barely visible over the horizon, throwing the world into deep blues and purples of twilight. The color of red created streaked across the sky, red as rivers of blood streaming in an ocean of the darkest water. He would never forget the ominous tone of the last birds swimming in this sea.
When he threw open the door, a chill shot through his spine, freezing him to the bone. No lights could be seen anywhere in the room, or in the adjacent hallway. Kakashi had left his shoes on, left the door open, left any thoughts of the achievements he had accomplished where he had stood, and walked into the next room. He barely heard the sound of his own voice as he called out his father's name.
The body lying in the pool of ruby blood could not have been his father. His father was not a beaten man. His father was not this desperate for relief. His father was not looking for a way out. His father was not lying on the red-stained carpet. It couldn't be him.
But even as Kakashi knelt down next to him, his eyes wide with horror and pain, he took it all in. The silver hair, the half-closed eyes, the white-light blade skewered into his abdomen, it was all there.
Kakashi, with trembling fingers, shook his shoulder, only receiving a silent, limp rolling of the body. He stuttered the name again, his other hand coming to rest in his father's.
A slight pressure encased his fingers, barely imperceptible, noticed, or felt. Kakashi started at his father's bloodied lips, softly whispering words, hardly heard. The grip on Kakashi's hand fell dead.
The lips never moved again.
That's how the ANBU found the Hatake household an hour later. A body, bloodied almost beyond recognition. A boy, standing in a puddle of blood, his hands dyed in its ink, head down. His eyes had turned from shock and disbelief. They spoke of a betrayal, a plea, a hatred. His father's last words had been shoved to the back of his mind, ever to be forgotten. The house of deadly silence grew even stiller, as still as the steel-grey hardness that now ruled the young boy's eyes.
Twenty-three years later, Kakashi stands at the memorial stone, eyes shut. Hands in pockets, he opens them only to stare at the three names engraved in the granite, to remember the people who's names are steeled in his memories.
He also remembers one other name, one deemed unworthy to be on the stone. He remembers the fool he became after that incident, so many years ago. As he lays the wolf's canine tooth on the stone, he remembers the bloodied lips, speaking their final message. He closes his eyes.
I'm sorry, Kakashi. I love you.
Thank you, if you read this. There will be three more chapters, as I write this. Reviews are appreciated.
-Fang