Fade to Black
Summary: Torn between two lives, broken by the choices he has to make. Will Hatake Kakashi live to see the next day or will he fade into obscurity:: A story of love, loss, pain, and happiness; the childhood of the great Copy Nin Kakashi.
Genre: Drama/Angst
Rating: T
Disclaimer: We all know I don't own Naruto.
Author's Notes: I'm purposely writing this story in fragmented sentences because I believe that most kids, no matter how smart they are, process thoughts in fragmented sentences. But that's just my opinion.
This is seriously probably the most angst-ridden chapter I have ever written for any of my stories. It's actually the first chapter I've ever wrote that I actually cried while writing. I'm not sure if it's actually because this chapter is really emotional and angsty or if it's just the fact that I'm in a really emotional state with my family and everything at the moment. /\shrugs/\ So if I make you cry I'm sorry… but be comforted by the fact that I also cried.
Oh… and child abuse is again prevalent in this chapter… sorry!
I am not an expert in medicine or diseases or anything like that. So please excuse any medical mistakes.
HUGE AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please, please, PLEASE, be aware that this story contains child abuse. You have been warned.
Please R&R…Thanks!
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Something in my chest hurts.
I know they're probably looking for me – concerned I might do something silly like run away or hurt myself. I don't think I will but you never really know with me.
And I really want the pain in my chest to go away.
I stayed in Sensei's office all day and all night… I couldn't bring myself to leave. He tried to stay with me but he had other things to do – being Hokage and all.
I hope someone dealt with daddy's body. God, I hope I don't have to go back home; I hope I don't have to go back there. It hurts too much; it's too much for me to bear.
I'm so tired. I couldn't sleep; the pain's still too fresh, the memories too vivid. I see him still – his broken, bloody, and lifeless body – even in daylight I see him. How could I dare to sleep? If the nightmares come with such force while I'm awake what power will they hold when I'm sleeping?
I can still smell the blood.
Somewhere along the way I've determined that this is my fault. I don't think that's right. Actually, in all truth, I've been told over and over again since it happened that it isn't my fault.
But I know it is. He would've stayed if he loved me, he would've stayed if I was worth it, he would've stayed if I was strong enough.
He would've stayed if only… if only… if only… if only something. I don't know, but something. There has to be something.
There's always a reason. A logical explanation. A course of action. A plan. There's always a reason.
There's always a reason.
And daddy's reason was my failure. Or something of that nature. It has to be. It's the only logical explanation.
It's my fault.
The light from the rising sun breaks through the branches of the surrounding forest and lands lightly on my face; shaking me from my thoughts. My kunai traces lines across the ground as my back rests lightly against the rough bark of the tree.
"Hey."
I look up to see that girl – Nozomi – standing in front of me. I didn't notice she was here before. I should probably be paying more attention to my surroundings. I have to now, daddy's not here to protect me anymore.
"Hey," I softly reply.
She sits down beside me; the tree's trunk is just big enough for us both to sit comfortably beside each other.
"I heard about your father."
"Hm."
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't kill him." I can't suppress the anger in my voice. "You have nothing to be sorry about."
She sighs. "You know…"
"Save your pity for someone else," I interrupt her. "I don't need it."
She looks taken back; a little angry even. I guess she's probably pissed that she went through all that effort to find me to only have her words be rejected. A part of me regrets this, a part of me wishes I didn't have to be so bitter towards her. She's done nothing to deserve this from me.
But I know that it's easier to hurt her and push her away now then it would be to do it later when she becomes to close.
Something about friendship scares me.
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I don't cry.
I watch as the casket is slowly lowered into the ground but I don't cry. I wonder how much of father is actually in the white casket. Somehow I think there isn't much. Most shinobi's are burned once dead; burned to hide their secrets.
Sensei's here, along with Sandaime… Jiraiya too – though he looks like a tired mess. He must've just gotten back from a mission not that long ago.
That's probably why it's taken so long to have the funeral. They must've wanted to wait for Jiraiya to get back. I wonder if he knows how daddy died? I guess he does, someone must've told him.
I don't cry. The tears wouldn't be able to match the pain that engulfs my heart so why bother? I wonder if it's normal to not cry at one's father's funeral. I doubt it is.
There's a couple other people here too… people I don't recognize. Friends of daddy's? I don't know… I don't think so. Maybe just teammates, maybe just people who thought good of him before this whole mess started.
I don't cry.
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The kunai traces lines across my wrist. The thin streams of blood drip onto the tile floor.
They sent me to live with my brother. They sent me to live with Senji and his wife – Leia. They sent me away because they can't stand to see me… because they know that this is all my fault. This terrible mess that's become our lives is all my fault. They sent me away with nothing more than father's Chakra Blade – the very thing that he killed himself with.
Somehow I don't think that's right.
And the tears don't help anymore… somehow the blood seems to though. Just a little at least, and that's all I can ask for. A little relief from this tormenting pain, a little relief from the ache that the hole in my soul, where father used to be, created.
I wonder if this terrible pain will ever go away. I'm in a daze now, a trance. Sensei looks at me worriedly when he thinks I can't see him.
It's been a month and I haven't had a day off. Shinobis are dieing every day and there's not enough left to replace them. Sensei keeps saying his sorry but he has no choice; I'm capable so they have to use me.
I understand. And I don't mind. I really don't. It's okay… I'd rather be on missions then here in this house.
I never knew how screwed-up my brother really was. Nearly every night I come home to the same scene.
He's an alcoholic and a drug addict. And the pain he holds in his eyes is from the pain I've caused him. He hates me for driving mother away… he hates me for being who he was suppose to be. I can't blame him; I'd probably hate me too if I was him.
Actually… I hate me and I am myself right now. I don't wonder how people can hate me – I wonder how they can't hate me.
I like to believe that somehow I'm rebuilding the reputation my father lost. Somehow I'm making up for daddy's mistake. I like to believe that killing others is making up for everything else I've screwed up in.
But I know that's probably nothing more than a lie. Sometimes it's easier to live in a lie than to live in reality.
It can't be right to live like this.
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He yells at me. He screams and says it's all my fault. He swears and throws stuff. He hits me.
I could run away but I don't. His glare freezes me to the spot. I deserve it anyways. It is all my fault and this is the least I can do to try and make up for it. So I let him treat me how it wants. It hurts me but at least it sort of helps him.
I hope it does anyways.
And I can see it in his eyes. The pain lessons a little more each time he gets angry at me. He tells me, all the time, that our places should have been switched. He says that he would've done so much better with the talents I have. He says that I wasted what I was given and that I did nothing but fuck everything up.
My brother hates me. I don't hate him for it – I understand. I simply try to lessen his pain.
Sometimes I wonder if it's the alcohol or drugs that's talking and not actually him. It could be, but I don't think so.
I don't know how it started but somewhere along the way his wife became a female version of Uncle Moro.
I hate her for it.
And I know it's probably the drugs, she's just as fucked up as Senji, but it doesn't make the pain any more bearable. It doesn't make the tears any less salty or the blood any less red. The drugs allow them to escape the pain they feel.
But I have nothing. Nothing but the blue-brown veins that are visible on the underneath of my wrist – the blue-brown veins that bleed the red-brown blood that gives me life.
It releases Endorphins – Senji told me that when he caught me. He didn't seem surprised at the torture I give myself, and he doesn't seem to care.
And I wonder if the others will ever notice. Do they know? Do they care? Does it really even matter? I'm nothing but a speck in this world – nothing but a child who happens to be good at killing others. I'm no more than a tool that the village can use for the greater good; or what they say is the greater good.
And sometimes I wonder if this is all just me going insane.
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They hate me. Not the adults this time – though I'm sure they still hate me too – but the children; the others my age.
I've seen them, talked to them, Sensei always has me spar with them. I beat them all, every time. It's not my fault that I'm more skilled than them… but they seem to hate me for it.
They hate my father too. They don't even know him but they hate him for what he did. The fact that he's dead doesn't change the words they say about him, or the tone of their voices. And they hate me because I'm his son; and that's really not my fault.
They gang up on me. At night when I'm making my way home – returning from a mission. Sometimes I fight back but most of the time I'm too exhausted and my nerves are too fried for me to defend myself. And I let them hit me, and I let them beat me, and I let them call me names and hurt me.
Because it lessens the pain in their eyes. They wish they were as strong as me and they hate me because they're jealous. They wonder what it would be like if only they were as strong as me. They wonder if less people would die if they were capable of carrying out missions. They wonder if they will ever be able to be like me.
They're jealous when they see me coming home from mission reports; blood-stained and droopy-eyed. They hurt me because it makes them hurt just a little less.
And what's a little more pain to add to the piles I already have?
And I hope they will never manage to become as strong as me… because if they do then they will finally learn the pain that comes with the murders I commit each day.
I'd rather take that pain myself then give it to them.
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I guess at my age I shouldn't quite be like this. I guess at my age I shouldn't quite act like this. It's hard you know, to forget. That image is still burned into my mind – father's broken and bloody body. It returns every night.
Just to remind me of my failure.
And the blood that I draw from my wrists – it's there to remind me of all those I've killed. Of the children and the adults who's lives I took for no other reason than words on a scroll.
They, the adults, all look at my with concern and ask me how I am. I say the only things that I know will calm their minds and ease their hearts.
But we all know that it's all just one big lie.
The days all mush together into one. One long drawn out day that began with father's death and hasn't quite ended yet. Even though it's been months, almost a year, I still feel as if that fateful day hasn't ended.
There's no more tears left to cry. No more blood left to spill. Nothing to ease the pain that won't heal. It's suppose to go away with time. It's suppose to ease as the days pass on by.
But it hasn't.
And somehow the killing keeps my mind blank. It's hard to think when your days are consumed by blood-shed and killing. It's hard to think when you come home at night shaking and your nerves are fried and the only thing you have to look forward to is getting up in the morning to start the whole thing all over again.
It doesn't matter that my voice hasn't broken yet, or that I haven't even reached the double digits in age. None of that matters because the only thing that matters is the safety of the civilians and the protection of this village.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't born.
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It's my birthday, and I'm nine.
And I don't even remember how long it's been. Years? Months? I don't know. I can't even remember what day it was. I don't remember the date that father killed himself on.
Not that it matters – it's all been a massive blur of missions and murders. People whisper now; words of amazement and wonder. I've built up a little reputation for myself – one that's almost started to rebuild the one that father lost.
I only wish I could fill the hole that's left in my heart.
And Senji still yells. And Leia still rapes. And they both do drugs and drink and leave me to my seclusion in my room. And the blood still drips onto the bathroom tiles. And the mask still hides my face from myself. And the tears still won't come. And the pain won't lessen. And I can't forget and I can't pretend and it's all becoming so much harder to hide.
I've been lying for so long that I don't know what the truth is anymore. The pain is so hidden that it feels as if my heart's been shredded to dust.
The missions are so much more disturbing now. I've proven myself and they trust me. And everyone thinks that I'm so much better than I actually am. And it hurts because I know that one day I will fail and one day I will hurt them all.
And the only beacon of light is Nozomi. She still comes, every now and then. I let her in my house and she sits and talks. Talks of nothing really. But that's okay because just her presence is enough. And for awhile I can pretend that Senji doesn't yell at me and Leia doesn't rape me and the children don't beat me and the adults don't hate me.
But when she leaves it all comes flooding back to me. So I return to the bathroom and let the blood coat the floor and the memories cloud my vision. And I become numb and exhausted and maybe I'll eat and maybe I won't. And somehow I'll end up in bed, and if I'm lucky I'll sleep a couple hours without a nightmare.
Then I'll wake up and start it all over again.
Somehow I don't think this is how a nine year old should be living his life.
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Sensei worries about me. He tells me I need to eat more; that I'm too thin. Jiraiya says the same things when he sees me – which isn't very often since he's usually gone on missions. And Sarutobi carries the same concern in his eyes but he doesn't often speak to me. And Tsunade used to tell me to eat else my heart will fail sooner than it should. But she doesn't talk to me anymore because I don't see her. She's left – ran away from her own pain. Not that I can blame her.
I wish I could run away too. But I can't because too many people depend on me. And that can't be right since I'm only nine. It all seems like it's all too much to put on my shoulder's but the adults believe I can do it. And it worries me because I know I will eventually fail and it will all come crumbling done.
But they don't listen to me when I tell them that. Sensei says I have no self-confidence and that I should believe more in myself. It's hard too though… especially since I know that their image of me is false. They don't know the real me… the one that I hide.
They've never seen the blood on the bathroom tiles. They've never heard the words that come from Senji's mouth. And they've never heard the screams that Leia rips from my throat. Those are the real parts of me but they've never seen them.
Because I hide it all far too well. I wonder what will happen when I finally can't take it all; when the blood isn't enough to dull the pain and let me sleep.
Is it wrong that I steal Senji's alcohol? It probably is but I can't help it. The blood that comes from my wrist still numbs it all but some nights it just isn't quite enough. Sometimes the missions are still too fresh in my mind and I can't sleep. On those night I find myself drinking Senji's alcohol and hating myself for every second.
And at nine years old I know this all so much more fucked up than it should be.
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This time it was so much worse. So, so much worse. A week long mission so terrible that I can't even close my eyes without remembering.
I really don't want to remember.
And I think I cut a little too deep this time. And it hurts a little too much. And the blood coats the bathroom tiles but I still feel. And I shouldn't feel. But I can't get numb and I can't forget. And their faces all blur into one. And their screams won't stop haunting me. And I can't seem to get clean. And I can still smell the blood. It was all too much and there was so much gore. And my heart is racing because I can't forget.
Senji won't shut-up and Leia just wants my body. And I hate myself for what I did. I killed too many, and the mission was too gross. And now I can't forget. And I don't think I can do it all over again.
And Senji won't just fucking shut-up. And Leia breaks down the bathroom door. And she's high and she's horny and she wants what she wants and she wants it all now. And she doesn't notice the blood on the floor and she doesn't notice how pale my skin is. And she rips off my mask and slams me against the wall. And she tries to kiss me but I just can't do this any longer.
It all happened so fast. So fucking fast. And I don't know… maybe I just snapped but I probably shouldn't have had my kunai holster still strapped to my thigh.
But I did and that was a mistake. Because I don't know why it happened but it did, and it was just too fast. When it was over she was dead – a kunai through her throat. And her blood poured out onto the tile floor – the brightness of it contrasts with the dullness of my own blood. It all mingles together and I can't block the smell and I hate myself and it all happened far too fast – it was just too fast.
And Senji screams and yells and cries. I can tell he's high. He gets pissed and he hits me and I don't fight back. His wheelchair can't find grip on the bloody tile floor and it slips and he falls. And I just can't take it anymore.
When it was all over he died in the same way as his wife. And his limp body lays in the pool of blood. I find it odd that all three of us have blood that coats the bathroom floor but only two of us are dead.
And my heart shatters even more than I thought it could. It all hurts too much and it breaks me apart. And the blood soaks my clothes and my wrists won't stop bleeding because I cut them too deep.
I just want to sleep and never wake up. But I can't because I'm needed and everyone's too dependant on me. And I've failed but I tried to tell them I would. I hope they don't mind but I know they will.
And I can't stop hearing the screams from the one's that I've killed. And the tears come. I fall to my knees and the blood soaks my clothes even more. And it all hurts too much. And I pull up my mask because I'm a weakling and a wimp and I can't stand to see my own face. And my shoulder's shake and the sobs won't stop and I just want it all to go away.
And I know I'll never forget.
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Sensei finds me a few hours later; bloody and cold and crying and frightened. He tries to touch me but I jerk away. His touch is cold and shocking and I don't deserve it because I killed two more people. And the blood is sticky and dry and so very, very thick.
He kneels down beside me and tells me it's okay. He whispers words of comfort and somehow just his presence is enough. And the sobs start to subdue and the tears start to dry and maybe, just maybe, Sensei will be able to take the pain away.
He asks what happen and I shake my head. He presses me for answers but I don't give them. He knows that I killed them – only an idiot wouldn't be able to figure that out.
He takes me to his office and I sleep on the couch there. And he comes in the morning with Sarutobi and Jiraiya. They look at me with worry and concern and he tells me I should clean up. But I'm too tired to get up and too drained to face another day. And I don't need their concern or their pity or their worried looks.
And Jiraiya kneels down in front of the couch and I look into his eyes. He asks me what's wrong, why I did what I did. He asks me if Senji hurt me and I shake my head but it's all so hard to hide.
And I know they know… and they know that I know that they know. But no one wants to speak yet everyone knows that something has to be said. And they know I've hid the truth but they don't know what the truth is. And it's all just too tiring for me to explain and I just want to sleep and pretend and lie to them all.
It's so much easier to lie.
But Jiraiya and Sensei won't let me fly under the radar anymore. And they keep asking me why and I keep refusing to answer. And it seems so very odd that Sarutobi doesn't speak to me. I think maybe I remind him too much of my father – but I can't be sure.
And they keep trying to pry an answer out of me and it's becoming so much harder to not speak. And they don't need to know that I failed to protect myself again. They don't need to know that I let Senji and Leia and all those children hurt me. And they don't need to know how much of a failure I am. And it hurts to lie to them but to tell the truth would hurt them more.
But they won't leave me alone and I snap at them. I get up and I yell and I scream. I tell them how much it all hurts and the nightmares and the pain. Before I know it I just can't stop and I'm spilling it all; Senji's yelling, Leia's raping, the children's beatings, the nightmares, the cutting, the blood on the bathroom tiles, the alcohol, the inability to eat, the fear, and the memories.
Oh God, those fucking memories.
And I'm sobbing, and I'm crying, and I just want it all to go away. And my heart is shattering even more and I can't believe I'm telling them all this. The lies were so much easier to live with and the truth hurts too much. And this is all more than I can bear.
And I tell them I'm sorry and this is all my fault and if I had only been better and stronger than father wouldn't have died and none of this would've happened. And I'm so very, very sorry. And I'm sorry I disappointed them and I'm sorry I failed. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to handle this all. And I'm sorry I'm not as dependable as they thought. And I'm just so fucking sorry that I've failed again.
I collapse back onto the couch and bury my head in my hands. The tears won't stop and sobs shake my shoulders and I'm ashamed of everything I am.
Sensei sits down beside me and wraps his arm around me. I bury my head in his chest and cry, clutching onto his shirt as if it's a lifeline. My tears soak his shirt but I can still smell the blood that dried on my clothes. And I can't forget because I can never forget. I'm a fucking Genius and got cursed with perfect memory and I hate it – just like I hate everything I am.
I'm just a murderer; a failure of a Shinobi. I haven't made my father proud. All I've done is hide and lie and pretend and failed to protect myself. And the tears soak my mask and I curse myself for being so weak. I wish I could stop, I wish I could get myself under control. But I can't. And it's all too unbearable and it all hurts too much. And I'm sorry and I wish I could take it all back. But I can't.
And my heart feels like it's been ripped out of my chest. It's all too painful to take, and it will never go away. Time's suppose to heal everything but it all hurts even more than it did the day daddy died.
And I wish so very much that I could turn back time and stop all this from happening but I can't. And this whole mess has always been my fault. And no one understands and no one will ever believe me because they don't know what I've done.
It all makes me hate myself so much more than I thought I could.
And I can't move and I can't detach myself from Sensei's warm embrace because somehow he makes all the pain go away. And maybe if I had just listened to him more than perhaps I wouldn't have ended up like this.
And at nine years old I know I shouldn't be in such despair and grief. And at nine years old I'm suppose to be so much stronger and better and mentally capable but I'm not and I can't be and it's all to confusing and emotional and destructive and draining.
All I want is to see the blood on the bathroom tiles because the blood holds my memories. And I'd rather have the memories on the white tiles than in my mind. But I can't because I'm in Sensei's office and now he knows because I was stupid enough to tell him. Now they all know and they'll all worry and I won't be able to do anything and I won't be able to numb myself. Now I'll have to face myself and everything I am. I can't hide anymore because they won't let me.
And it all terrifies me so, so very much.