Minato Namikaze, Yondaime Hokage, had died thirteen years ago saving Konohagakure from the Kyuubi's rampage. He was the only shinobi to be awarded two times the Fire Chrysanthemum, the highest distinction of Fire Country. The first, Minato Namikaze had received for slaughtering Earth Country's invading force and ending the Third War. The second, he had been awarded posthumously for vanquishing the Kyuubi.
Kakashi cared not for that. Medals meant nothing, especially when the little boy who should have received the pension hadn't, leaving him barely surviving on an orphan stipend. They meant nothing when the villagers only spat on the man's sacrifice. They meant nothing before the unbearable grief of loss.
Minato had been Kakashi's sensei. His second father. Kakashi owed him much, too much to properly settle the debt and Kakashi had failed.
Again.
How he wished his sensei had only one Fire Chrysanthemum. How he wished he was a little less of a hero and a lot more alive. Kakashi immediately mentally chided himself for the thought.
Minato was the embodiment of what it meant to be Hokage and he wouldn't have wanted his student to think like that.
Still, Kakashi wished the man had chosen Naruto and him over this village of despicable hypocrites.
Kakashi wished for a lot of things. He wished his teammates were still alive. He wished he wasn't so broken that getting out of bed in the morning was a victory. He wished his guts didn't twist in terrible, unbearable guilt for being alive when good people, better people, were dead. He wished he hadn't been so afraid to lose that he had lost all the same.
He knew why he hadn't taught his team anything else than teamwork. Nothing was as important as that, and he still held that belief but it wasn't the primary reason. No, the real explanation was that if his genins didn't grow up, if they didn't become strong, they wouldn't be sent outside the village, they wouldn't be put in danger, they wouldn't die all over again and he wouldn't be left alone with a pit of dark nothingness cleaving his soul in half.
Because as much as he pretended that he didn't care, as much as he gave the feeling he didn't want to be anywhere near his team, he very much did.
Naruto should have been his brother in all but blood. Sasuke, he could have taught with Obito. Sakura, he was certain, would have been taken under Rin's wing. They would have made an incredible team.
But it wasn't like that because everyone was dead and gone and the only thing they had left behind was a husk. That was what Kakashi was; a husk too afraid to be filled by any positive feeling for fear of finally breaking when it would inevitably go away.
Kakashi snorted. Who was he kidding? He was already broken. And after failing his duty as a jounin sensei, he was also a broken tool, not even useful for the village.
But who cared about the village? The village took and kept on taking but never gave back. It expected dutiful loyalty yet answered it with contempt. Much more than the Kyuubi, it was a demon, always demanding fresh souls to be sacrificed to its insatiable hunger and for what? What worth was the good of the many if it was built on the sacrifice of the few?
What worth was the good of the many if some could never be a part of the many?
Naruto - or his clone at least - was right. They were slaves, the expandable trash of a system that used them liberally and threw them away when they broke. Why would anyone give so much and suffer for ungrateful and unappreciative people? Even if the boy was trained right - and he was, Kakashi had taken the time to check - he would never be accepted. Because the village didn't care. Because he was a slave, no matter what honeyed words the Hokage used to dress up the situation.
That despicable old man. Kakashi had argued with him to have Naruto reinstated in his team, promising he would do better but the Hokage had denied him. The Uzumaki had finally exploded after years of neglect and hate and Kakashi was made to bear the consequences of the old man's errors.
The jounin knew full well how the Hokage imagined the situation: he had convinced himself that he had never forbidden Kakashi to approach Naruto. Except Kakashi had been busy in ANBU for nearly eleven years, murdering left and right to avoid another war and when he had been discharged, Naruto was already grown up and it felt shallow to try and be a part of his life. That hypocritical old man.
So Kakashi had waited for the opportunity to be his teacher, equally eager and fearful. And when finally, Naruto had landed on team seven, Kakashi had sworn he would do good. But Naruto was a terrible, terrible ninja, worse than even Obito had been. And fear had won the battle within him and Kakashi had seen the blond die again and again in his nightmares because he wasn't strong enough. Because the village and the Hokage had made sure of that. That hateful old man.
For the first time in years, Kakashi didn't feel empty. There was no guilt twisting his insides either. Rather, there was a fire, the hot flames of anger swelling inside him, sweeping and cleaning his feelings.
He wouldn't allow for his brother to be used and discarded like that. He knew Naruto was aware yet refused to admit to it: his clone had been the proof of that. He just had to provide a few more truths to the boy, revelation that would force him to realize the situation.
He was going to save his little brother if it was the last thing he did.
Kakashi felt intense satisfaction at the decision and returned his attention to the stone.
AN: I must confess, I'm not clear where I'm going with that.