Deracinate: to uproot (someone) from their natural geographical, social, or cultural environment.
When Hatake Kakashi died, there were no campfires, no Pure Lands, nothing he expected.
There is only nothingness — a nothingness that stretches on and on and on, a nothingness that is nothing and everything all at once. It is nowhere and everywhere, a paradox unto itself, its presence entwined with all beings. He understands, at once, that this is the very essence of the universe.
There is peace.
Everything is interconnected, soft as clouds and warming to his every core. He can live like this, he thinks, relaxing into the embrace of nothing and everything, secure in the knowledge that he is safe and it is finally over.
But he soon hears voices, soft and murmured. There's a tugging in his navel, one that he doesn't like — it seems too real, feels too much. He doesn't want to go back. If this is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up. But he's insignificant — his opinion is inconsequential — in the weaving of fates and destinies of universes.
A deal, a voice whispers. Another chance. Live well, my child.
He wants to ask why, why is this happening to him, what are they expecting, what is going—
But then it fades off into a feathery sigh, and he is lulled into nothingness again. He doesn't remember anything more. He won't remember anything else.
The blank slate of unconsciousness remains for two years.
He doesn't come into consciousness immediately. It is a slow process, like an unadjusted microscope with its knob slowly turning.
Sometimes, he gains a moment of clarity, as if the lens are finally focused. In his first memory, he sees two chubby hands in front of him — his hands, plump and pudgy, waving around. What? He wonders. A moment later, he fades into unconsciousness again.
A baby's brain can only process so much.
At two and a half, the memories begin to trickle in again.
He remembers.
He doesn't want to remember. He wishes he doesn't remember. He hopes they're all dreams that will fade in time, the lucid dreaming of an unnaturally developed mind of an imaginative baby.
But he remembers.
His name was Hatake Kakashi, and he had lived a mad life.
His death wasn't a good one.
After passing on his mantle to Naruto, he occasionally served as an advisor or took light missions, but mostly he stayed in the village. They had peace and he had a family: his students' children.
However, peace never could last. Most enemies they could manage; some were barely a challenge, but there were always the elite, high-skilled ones that rained hell and fire from above them and split the earth beneath their feet.
Kawaki was more than they had expected — more dangerous than they had seen for decades. More powerful, so much more than they could deal alone.
Kakashi was old, but the village was under attack, so General Kakashi dusted off his armour and went back into the field.
His platoon was decimated. He failed them as a General, he couldn't protect his people. It was unexpected, and they were softer with peace and old and tired. The villagers needed him, needed them; his comrades were dying and he needed to save them, but he's too, too late—
They didn't make it. The last thing he saw was the blackened fingers of Yamato's corpse as Kawaki turned away dismissively. The enemy marched on, and he knew no more.
The grief lingers.
Perhaps this is penitence. This is his punishment, his debts to pay, the red in his ledger to scrub clean.
Hasn't he paid enough?
It is not his place to say. This is his suffering, and living is his repentance.
He wonders what he had done to warrant such hate from the universe.
It is only when he is old enough to learn his name that he learns his birth parents' name. His (birth) mother is Nakano Kasumi and his (birth) father is Nakano Ayumu.
Nakano Kasumi has short, wavy snowy-white hair, pale eyes like a Yamanaka that slanted upwards, and pink thin lips ready to smile. She's nearing her thirties and extremely busy with her job, but she makes it a point to wake him up with a kiss to his forehead every morning, and kiss him goodnight when she reaches home.
Nakano Ayumu is long and lanky, taller than Kasumi by a full head and exceedingly clumsy. Strands of his choppy umber hair often fall over his soft black eyes. When he smiles, it is with slightly crooked teeth and a dimple only on his left cheek. Ayumu is a gentle soul, quiet and reserved but smothering with his love, and also equally busy with his work. Kakashi doesn't like his father to carry him. He's too bony.
It is hard to refer to them emotionlessly as "birth parents", for they take such good care of him. Fondness blossoms in his heart for the unconditional love they shower him, this faulty child of theirs. He finds himself slipping into calling them "Dad" and "Mum", much to their delight. His father even cried.
Kakashi himself has white hair, much like his birth mother, but straight and thick like his father's. He inherits his father's button nose and narrow face shape, but those thin lips and eyes that slant upwards are indubitably from his mother. The colour of his pupils, however, are a shade of brown so dark they could have been black. Facing the mirror, he tugs and pulls at his various features with pudgy hands, then determines them acceptable. Luck is for once on his side, to have given him features that were similar to his previous life's self.
"Ah? Darling, what are you doing?" His paternal grandmother stops behind him and hefts him up, resting him comfortably on the nook of her hip. She smiled down at him with those brown, aged eyes wrinkled at the corners and lined with laughter lines.
Nakano Sayuri has short, grey curly hair interspersed with white and more prominent steaks of black. Her back is hunched and she shuffles her feet when she walks, yet she never hesitates to offer to carry Kakashi around. She has copper irises and slitted pupils. Her tattoos, a bold and dark mark that stretches upwards from the edge of each eye like a smear of eyeliner, are kept carefully disguised under foundation and makeup. Kakashi can tell anyway.
He calls her Granny, and spends the most time with her. She feeds him home-made salty snacks, cooks his favourite salt-broiled saury and eggplant miso soup, wraps him up in scarves, and tucks him into bed every night.
He didn't have a granny before. It is a novel feeling.
His birth name is Nakano Hiroshi. He doesn't respond to it.
Granny occasionally calls him "Shiro-chan" instead. He knows it is only a nickname for his white hair, so he responds to it. His parents are taken to it and start to use 'Shiro' too.
Kakashi can't feel his chakra. It's as if his chakra pathway systems are non-existent to begin with.
He hopes that's not the case, and prays that it is only because he is young. He'll give himself two more years, he tells himself, but internally, he knows that age is not the case. At three, Hatake Kakashi had already felt his chakra pathways. At three, Nakano Hiroshi is hollow inside. There's nothing to grasp, no familiar feel and thrum in his nerves.
He has no chakra. You can't develop something you lack.
There will be no Summoning no Jutsu, no more Pakkun and Pack and family. No more Lightning Release running through his veins to his fingertips, sparking and crackling in a way that's oddly comforting, volatile and dangerous and caustic just like him. It was second nature to him. He can't use them anymore, won't feel the familiar rush of chakra ever again — the various jutsus taught by Minato-sensei and Jiraiya, the jutsus stolen from the hands of the enemies using the eye Obito had gifted him (red, spinning, nightmare; blessing, curse; gone). He had lived and breathed chakra, ate using chakra, and now it's all gone. Gone.
The loss hits him harder than he'll ever admit.
What is a ninjutsu master with no chakra?
It took him quite some time before he realises that it is this world that is wrong. It is this world that doesn't have chakra at all. Instead, they have something called quirks. Quirks come in all forms and sizes and varieties and it's so — so weird, like a kekkei genkai but not really , and he really s houldn't be using old chakra terms in this world when there's no chakra to begin with and-it-hurts —
He doesn't have chakra, but he hopes he would at least have a quirk. At least have a quirk related to chakra. He's a defective soul misplaced in a baby's body in a world that's unfamiliar and wrong, and he doesn't belong.
He doesn't belong.
(What is a ninjutsu master without chakra?)
He is nothing.
Whywhywhywhywhy is this happening to hi—
it doesn't matter. This is his life now.
Granny's quirk transforms her into a cat. An old, brown tabby cat with short limbs and shorter fur, contrasted with long whiskers and sharp, intelligent copper eyes. She has a penchant for lying down and snoozing in the sun. Even in her cat form, she feels the ache in her bones.
His mother has a quirk that allows her to create snowflakes, like a Yuki-Onna. It is oddly fitting, for all that snow is often perceived to be icy and reserved. Kasumi is warm and fun, like soft, innocent snowflakes drifting down on a peaceful snowy morning. It doesn't snow in Konoha, and Kakashi hates the ice and the cold and the snow, but snowflakes, he admits, have an ephemeral beauty that is oddly peaceful. He doesn't mind it much.
His father's quirk turns objects he invisible (and visible again) with a touch, whenever he desires it. It is a tad troublesome when Ayumu accidentally turns his work papers invisible and misplace them, then goes on a touch-hunt for hours. It is also funny when he turns Kasumi's spectacles invisible on purpose, much to her chagrin.
He makes Kakashi sit on the sofa and then turn it invisible so it seems like Kakashi is floating in midair. They play practical jokes on Granny and his mother, scaring them half to them and inciting exasperated sighs, and Kakashi laughs harder than he should and has more fun than he will admit.
They smother him with love and it soothes the terrible ache in his heart. He may not have Pakkun and his pack and Gai and his students (family) anymore, but he's not quite alone either. He treasures this family and thinks that maybe, just maybe, the universe doesn't hate him after all.
Later, they tell him that he had been an odd baby. Cried too much in the first six months, then cried too little from then on. Too silent, too still; they thought he was mute, then sick, then mentally impaired. He was neither.
They tell him that his eyes are too old and his movements too heavy. This is a baby who has not yet adjusted to living. This is a baby who's haunted by his past life, who can't move on and won't let go, the superstitious would say. This is a baby who has seen too much and grieved too little, and he will never be normal, because he remembers and he knows and he is trapped.
Granny would bring him to the temple to pray, and his parents would laugh dismissively. Old wives' tales, they say.
Kakashi knows otherwise. Granny is wise beyond her years. She is perceptive, with eyes that see beyond the thin veil of reality. Cat eyes, she says, are attuned to otherworldliness and the workings of the universe. She sees, and she acknowledges.
Granny is there for him when he awakes from a horrific nightmare, shaking and shivering and fighting back tears. Shinobi Rules mean nothing to young children with a broken soul and an extremely fragile emotional state of being. It is okay to mourn and cry, he has learnt a few decades ago, but knowing is different from doing. Ingrained habits are difficult to break.
Granny found him like that one night, sitting on the balcony, shivering and staring at the cold, desolate stars. His fingernails were digging into his palms until they left harsh, red marks.
She had gathered him up in her arms. "No matter what, I'm here for you. You can talk whenever you want to. I love you, my child," she said soothingly, rocking him gently and humming a lullaby.
On days that are very bad, she shifts into a cat and purrs to him until he falls into an uneasy slumber, made better by the warmth of a furry presence snuggled next to him.
She doesn't call him by his name; the few times she has to, she uses "Shiro-chan" instead. But even that is not often.
Nor does she address him as "baby" or "child"; no, it is "kit" or "my darling", among other endearments that avoids those which might be strongly associated with children. She doesn't baby him either. He doesn't really mind, because he is currently a child and honestly, whatever she calls him doesn't bother him one bit. He appreciates the sentiment though, and he lets her know his appreciation with a crinkle of his eyes and a quick touch whenever she calls out to him carefully.
(His parents call him "sweet little baby", and it grates on his nerves a little, but he accepts it as well.)
It is clear that Granny loves him unconditionally, for all that he is an old soul trapped in a baby's body and so, very, tired. He loves Granny for that.
At three, Granny asks him: "Darling, what is your name?"
It is the first time someone asks him that, and he is stunned. He doesn't know what to reply.
He shakes his head mutely. It is not right to turn away the name he has been given; it would be a great insult and mark of disrespect to his now-parents. His now-parents are good parents; it is not their fault he is a baby with a faulty soul and a name already sewn into his heart.
Yet, to claim another name would be to forsake the one bestowed by his past-father, Hatake Sakumo. He doesn't want to let that part of him be erased. He does not want to concede, to admit defeat. Hatake Kakashi cannot give up his name. It is too much a part of him, like the blood in his veins and the will of fire in his core. It is cruel enough to take chakra away from him; it is too much to give up his name.
She is patient, this granny of his. "It's okay, my child. You can take your time to answer."
He deliberates, then says, "Kakashi." Pausing, he repeated, "Nakano Kakashi."
His old name to remember his past; their surname to honour this life. It doesn't feel like betrayal. It is a compromise.
Granny recognises this. She beams widely, tears gathered at the edges of her eyes. "Alright, Nakano Kakashi. Kakashi-kun."
He gives her a hug, and pretends not to hear her muffled, fervent cries of "thank yous" and "I love yous" as she presses kisses into his white hair. He's still bad at outright declarations of love, but that is okay, because Granny understands.
Granny convinces his parents to change his name to Kakashi after that. He responds every time.
Every night, he checks the colour of the moon before he sleeps. He acknowledges that he is either really reborn in another dimension, or in a genjutsu so elaborate and complex that there are no indications or loopholes or means to escape. If it is the latter, he wonders why no one has tried to save him yet. He wonders and frets, then realises it doesn't matter. If it is a genjutsu, it is the best one he has ever seen and he admits defeat. He has accepted it as his reality. Either way, genjutsu or not, this is his life now.
He still checks the moon every night. It doesn't turn red. It never did.
The technology is far more advanced than anything he has ever known. It's not weird and he gets used to it quickly enough. Phones are a commodity, and he even has a "tablet" for entertainment.
He doesn't really like it. At age four, he would rather spend time with Granny or go to the playground. Granny doesn't understand his desire to exercise, so he goes to the playground to jump and leap and run, using the games he's forced to play as training sessions.
At the playground, he has some acquaintances (prey), but he's never close to anyone.
"Kakashi-kun," Granny starts, then stops.
He looks up from where he is skipping a rope, never once stopping. It is good exercise.
"I know they might be too, ah, different, but won't you consider making a friend?" Her hands are clasped together as her eyes flickered anxiously towards the other children. Her hopeful smile does not hide the concerned furrow of her brows.
Kakashi stops, purses his lips and considers.
He doesn't wear a mask because there is no need for one in this world. His olfactory isn't sensitive to the extent of necessitating one, and his reflection doesn't haunt him. Also, his parents will never understand.
He does wear a scarf whenever he can, and buries half his face into its softness all the time. It becomes common to see him with half his face hidden, but not odd to the extent of inciting more than a passing glance.
He misses a mask to hide his expressions, but you can't always have what you want.
It bothers him that, at five, they're still being mollycoddled.
At five, he was already a genin, taught to kill and trained to obey. He grew up with a kunai in hand and songs about blood and war and honour and duty. At five, in this world, he was still a child, woefully unaware and blissfully ignorant. This body grew up with songs about peace and animals and toys and dreams. This world has games about war and soldiers, but it is all fun and games, not the disguised training sessions of the shinobi world.
Naruto's generation had it better, but they still grew up in the shadows and blood. This — this is jarring.
To have a quirk (not 'kekkei genkai', he reminds himself), and yet still be so protected, is a privilege they didn't even know they have. The adults watch their every movement, cocoon them in layers and bundles of cautionary measures, and restrict their every action.
He feels so stifled. How would he, or the children, experiment and grow if everything is so carefully constrained?
Granny notices (when does she not?) when he gets restless and impatient, when he pushes her away and tries to slip away for a bit more freedom. She lets him go to the park and temple for longer periods than other children, even let him wander around selective areas alone, and he counts that as a win.
At age four and a half, he decides that enough is enough, and starts to train.
He does sit-ups, pull-ups (horribly easy with his light body), and squats. He goes through the basic stances to let this young body get used to the motion. It is boring and tiring and his muscles protest, but he pushes on. The pain feels good, familiar.
His family exclaims when they see him exercising, telling him he is too young and that he would strain himself, hamper his own development. Nonsense, he thinks, and continues.
Kakashi is finishing his daily splits when his granny calls him over, as per routine. She pats the empty spot on the floral sofa next to her. He curls up next to her body, leaning into her soft side and curling a fist around the corner of her shirt. They sit in silence for a while, her hand slowly tugging the tangles out of his hair.
The television is switched on, but the volume is low, a buzz of background noise. It is an animal documentary, and today's episode is about arctic animals. They watch this documentary together every day, because Kakashi is fascinated by the different animals and calming voice of the narrator, and Granny loves spotting the big cats. This is familiar, but Kakashi can sense that Granny has something on her mind.
Finally, as an arctic rabbit leaps across the screen, she asks, "In the past, Kakashi-chan, did you used to exercise a lot?"
Kakashi tenses, then relaxes. He watches as the scene switches to a stalking lynx. "I trained every day."
Granny's hand shakes as she goes through the motion of combing his hair. She rests her palm on his head. "What were you?"
Silence.
"A shinobi," Kakashi says quietly.
He hears a sharp intake of breath, and dare not remove his eyes from the television. He is inexplicably afraid of her reaction. Her hand stills for a moment.
Granny continues grooming him, and they say nothing else for the rest of the documentary. She is shaken, he can tell, but he doesn't know how to ask. He doesn't know if he wants to ask.
"Come here, give Granny a hug," she croaks.
Obediently, he clambers into her embrace. She clutched him tightly, as if afraid he would disappear if she let go. He buries his head into her shoulder and resists the urge to squirm against her tight grasp. It feels right to let her have this, even though the edges of her wiry hair are ticking his face uncomfortably. She seems to be trying to infuse warmth and love into his very being through physical contact.
"My poor darling," she whispers, "I am so sorry. You shouldn't have had to suffer so much."
He cocks his head to one side. "Suffer?" He asks.
He doesn't understand why she is so upset. It is not a glorious job, but it is an important one. Suffering? He never thought of it that way. His role as a shinobi and what it entails is his duty and responsibility. Questions of whether he liked it or whether he had suffered were irrelevant. It was his job and it simply had to be done.
He feels a drop of water on his cheek, and when he looks up, she is dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. He quickly looks away and pretends not to notice.
When the show ends, Granny excuses herself politely, locks herself in her room for an hour and sobs.
He doesn't understand why.
Granny seems more upset after his revelation. She coddles him more often, pampering him with sweets and treats. When she sees him exercising, she turns away occasionally to wipe away a tear or two. She thinks he does not notice. He does.
Kakashi dislikes this morose side of Granny. He doesn't understand what is the matter with her, and he's frustrated, and he wants to make Granny feel better. But how?
"Make some friends, alright?" Granny asks in concern, her eyebrows pinched together.
He tilts his head. "Friends?"
Those eyes water again. "Did you used to have friends?"
"Yes." This was answered unhesitatingly, quickly. "I had a family. Friends."
"Then please, for Granny's sake." She pulled him into a tight hug. "Make some more new friends, alright?"
He would try, if it would make Granny smile again.
At the playground, he scours the targets around him. Finally, his gaze settles on a boy with an orange cap. He is loud and brash and bouncing with energy. Literally bouncing. Kakashi sees him a few times around the playground, but never did bother to observe the children before.
Interesting, Kakashi thinks, and settles down to watch him.
This boy organises the few children around him into a game of tag, the leader of today's group of children. His laughter comes quickly, bright and loud and reminiscent of—
A misstep causes him to trip over his own feet, sending him tumbling down. Clumsy, it seems. His orange cap, oversized as it is, flies off and lands a few meters away from Kakashi's spot under the tree.
The boy quickly hauls himself up, dusts his pants, and declares (to no one in particular) that he was fine and nothing happened, thanks. A show of bravado for an audience of none. Despite his best efforts, Kakashi's mouth curls upwards.
The boy, upon realising that his cap is missing, begins looking around. His sweeping gaze lands on his cap. He arrows in on it, not even sparing a second glance to the other children still playing tag or to the lone, white-haired boy standing under the tree just a few steps away from his cap. He jogs up to it, but Kakashi beats him to it.
"Here," Kakashi said, picking it up and offering him the cap. "This yours?"
"Oh! Thank you!" Gushes the boy, surprised. He takes the cap from Kakashi and adjusts the cap on his head. Finally, he looks up and smiles. The boy's eyes, Kakashi notes, are a warm brown like the hot chocolate Granny makes on cold winter days.
The boy sticks out his hand. "I'm Takeo! What's your name?"
He'll do, Kakashi thinks. An image of an orange-goggled boy overlaps for a moment before dissipating. "I'm Kakashi," he says, his eyes curving upwards. "Let's be friends."
Granny is ecstatic.
Takeo isn't too bad either, and Kakashi begins to have something else to look forward to at the playground. He's a bit clumsy during the ninja games Kakashi teaches him, but that's alright. He'll eventually get better.
Anyway, Granny smiles again, bright and brilliant and sincere, so it is all worth it.
Sometimes, he feels the effects of being trapped in a younger body. His thoughts are more direct, less clear, and everything is in black and white. It is instinctive to equate all the deeds the society disproves as bad". It takes him a moment to remember that some things are morally grey, and circumstances are always to be considered.
Killing is bad; what about killing for his country? Stealing is bad; what if someone steals medicine for a loved one's survival? It is so easy to condone "bad" deeds based on the rules and values of this society, deeds that would have been more accepted — even justified — back in Konoha.
Kakashi is also more emotional, and he hates it. He sometimes cries over Konoha. A lost family, his past life - he grieves, and grieves, and grieves. It comes and goes, and he never knows when the mood will strike. When the memories flood in again, leaving him glassy-eyed and motionless for a few minutes, sometimes hours. One moment he could be finger-painting with Granny; the next, tears could be pooling in his eyes despite his best efforts to keep them in.
Not to mention the emotional fragility of young childhood. Oh, what a hassle it is. He blames the hormones and brain development of his current body that is restricting his capacity.
One day, on a day no more different than the other days, he feels a shift in the air.
Something has changed, but he doesn't know what.
He reaches for his cup across the table, but before he even touches it, the cup wobbles, then topples. The water spills out into a puddle on the table. His hand stills.
What was that? Is that his quirk? Is it some form of telekinesis?
He tries to emulate the action towards the cup, and this time, he feels the ripple of something moving from his fingers to the air, as if he is pushing against particles in the air. The surface of the water ripples.
He blinks. "Granny?" He says, voice tentative and soft. "I think my quirk manifested."
A crash, followed by a yowl, resounds from the living room. Granny appears by the door, the sides of her eyes crinkling upwards even as her eyes fills with unshed tears.
"That's brilliant, Kakashi-chan!" He is suddenly engulfed in cloth and warmth and the sweet musky scent of Granny, the air in his lungs being squeezed out by her tight grip, but he doesn't mind.
They go to the clinic after and find out that his quirk is energy manipulation. A small tendril of hope curls within him. Perhaps — perhaps he might use that to emulate ninjutsu? It will never be the same, nothing will ever be the same with chakra, but maybe he can just make it work.
Perhaps the world is not so cruel after all, if she is giving him skills that mimic his past life's. These are comforts in a foreign world, and he holds them tightly to his heart. Perhaps this is not a punishment, but a second chance.
At seven, Takeo hasn't manifested his quirk.
"Maybe it'll manifest later," he said just so his friend would stop looking so downtrodden and gloom.
He pauses from kicking the sand angrily and looks up with wide, hopeful eyes. "You think so?"
Kakashi shrugs. He doesn't know. He doesn't see the whole obsession with quirks anyway. Granny is just Granny, and Takeo is just Takeo. A quirk doesn't change anything.
You don't need a quirk to be strong anyway, he thinks. Look at Rock Lee; a phenomenal, feared ninja even without any chakra. No, you don't need quirks or chakra to excel.
But he can't tell Takeo this, so he just pats Takeo's shoulder comfortingly. "Takeo is Takeo," he finally says. "It doesn't matter whether you have a quirk or not, you're still the same to me. True strength comes from within, not from the power you have."
Takeo gapes.
Kakashi stares back.
"That's the most you've ever said at one go," he finally says.
Kakashi flushes and shoves him. He shoves back, laughing, and in the midst of their friendly scuffle, the topic is forgotten.
A/N: Title is inspired by the lyrics in "Silhouette" (Kana-Boon).
Ok I'm a master at starting new things and not finishing them. This was actually written before my other Kakashi/BHNA crossover, "A Shift in Time and Place" (ASITAS). It's just been sitting in my files for very long, so ehh, decided to post it for fun. It's meant to be an epic long fic but I face immense inertia trying to squeeze out words in this writing style, so,,, I'm just going to post bits and pieces whenever. Feel free to adopt and stuff, just credit me and let me know! :)
Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Thank you! :)