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Kakashi was sure he was doomed from the beginning. Being called a child prodigy was a blessing in itself: it meant you were bred stronger than most, someone whose name is bound to have it chiseled into stone. For young Kakashi, it meant being chained to a responsibility that was never supposed to be his. Losing five people in the span of two years left him apathetic, and perhaps, it was a great curse, to be alone, to atone for the sins he never had meant to do. Children who died young were sent to heaven, were they not? Maybe not “Friend-Killer”, “Sharingan-Wielder”, “Cold-Blooded” Kakashi. He was already grown, just stuck in a small body.
Besides, what’s the purpose of a broken wielder when the weapon is still intact? Konoha needed weapons; easy to dispose of and easier to leave behind. It’s simpler to accept the inevitable of being tossed away like a chewed up dog toy when you’ve served your purpose than visualizing a life lived to the fullest—that was for civilians and heretics whose philosophy didn’t align with fate’s already drawn strings. He watched, quietly, curiously, but never softly: never letting the corner of his eyes form the lines reminiscent of a smile. Watching those soft strands of rich chocolate hair, the perpetual softness in his eyes, the incessant warmth in his laughter. That is not a weapon, Kakashi learned, duller than kunai, but a dull blade is a blade nonetheless, he supposed.
Kakashi found structure, the days endless with watching behind a mask for any sign of the nine tailed beast to emerge; every twitch of an eyebrow, every teary eyed pout, every angry burst of noise drawing from his loud mouth, every flair of chakra that surged forward from within. Naruto, his name. Not an it, but a he—something he picked up from the brown haired chuunin. Though the village seemed to learn differently, he supposed tragedy changes people, but he who strikes their own neighbors will strike himself.
Kakashi learned that Iruka wasn’t dull, just an unpolished, unfinished weapon. Useful in its own right, but futile without a wielder. He was great with seals; tan hands gliding steadily like a still pond, the patience to sit in a circle of kanji for hours, to persist in unsealing and sealing various objects over the course of what little time he challenges himself. Everyone has their strengths and devotions, the sharingan-wielder supposed, he knelt to the Hokage, no order left unfinished, like how Iruka learned to label the will of fire as a euphemism of love.
Naruto was 12 when it happened, a meek and fledgling little thing. Iruka was quick to be claimed by the residential ANBU team of the Hokage to untie the knots of a complex sealing jutsu that encased Orochimaru with the third Hokage. Kakashi wasn’t there, too busy fighting off Otogakure nins while cowardly bastards fled like a flock of birds. He hoped that their moment of relief would descend to their downfall. He was, however, at the site of destruction when the earth caved in. The stadium tower was a mosaic of rubble, grey stones, cream white walls shattered, dismantled steel bars and red tiles of the roof digging deep into the earth’s tender flesh, broken glass protruding like thorns.
Iruka was pale, panting and bleeding like the rest of them. Iruka did not bleed, at least not blood. Kakashi rushed, faster than any transportation jutsu, and stopped just before clearing the distance between them. “Ka…kashi?” Iruka whispered: lips stained like pomegranate seeds, eyes half lidded and dark like spilled ink, hair undone like the rest of his bandages. “Is that you?” he asks, shuffling uncomfortably as he clutched his left abdomen, dark wine seeped into the green of his flank jacket. Kakashi stares for a moment, maybe too long, his chest stuttering for a moment. Grey, white and yellow blurring in his vision before closing the distance. Iruka falls. He catches him.
“Where.. A-ah, where’s Naruto?” Iruka asks, pulling himself together like kintsugi with broken porcelain. Of course he’d say that, he’s still soft. “He went to search for Sasuke.” Kakashi replies, nothing to hide. Iruka smiles, but it falters a second too early, hissing in pain, a shallow gasp. “Stay still.” Kakashi offers, gently lowering the brunet. Iruka frowns, blinking slowly ‘Kakashi…” he winches, “I–” Kakashi doesn’t listen, his gloved hands tug tan ones out of the way. He stops when he sees it: tender flesh, splintered glass, rivers of wine dark wine soaked by the vest’s dark green fabric. “Mhm, it’s bad.. Isn’t it?” Iruka coughs wetly, a weak attempt of a chuckle. He would survive this, Kakashi thought, if Iruka had taken a shuriken the size of a child to save Naruto, he would survive this.
Kakashi starts the signs; light green chakra concentrated and flowing, he could deal with the exhaustion later. Iruka breathes in short bursts, It must be from the glass, Kakashi thinks, he could debrief a medi-nin about it later. The sizzle of chakra murmured between them but Iruka’s breathing didn’t change, he pushes more chakra, thinking it must’ve been the issue. It isn’t. Kakashi never really healed anyone, much less stayed in a hospital for a day longer.
“ ‘kashi…” Iruka gasps, pulling the last of his strength to gently hold—not grab—Kakashi’s hand. “It hurts” he smiles as if it was a gentle reassurance. It’s too early, Kakashi thinks, not yet. Chakra flowed, his body didn’t. “Naruto… He’s still–” a sharp gasp comes, then goes a beat later “He’s still out there…”
“I can find Naruto later, I just need you to stay still” Kakashi replies, his brows knit as he pushes more chakra. Iruka heaves blood with a gargled gasp, Rejected. Again. Kakashi feels his head throbbing, he weaves the signs again, this time Iruka fully stops him. “ ‘Kashi…” he says, pleads maybe, dark wine slipping past his lips and onto the dirt floor, Not yet, Sukunabikona-sama, not yet. “I’m alright” he smiles, it’s not soft this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes, they don’t shine the same light. It’s wrong like this.
Kakashi denies it. “I– Naruto…” the chuunin continues, “Take…Take care of Naruto, I- I know he's a handful.. But a good kid, hm… Be p-patient. Okay?”
Kakashi stares for a moment, maybe too long, maybe not enough. He hears things; a heartbeat, chakra fading, quick bursts of breath, someone’s boots thumping onto the Earth. He feels things: warm and sticky blood dripping down his knuckles, the wet feeling of his fingerless gloves soaking it, how itchy the fabric on his legs feel, his mask clinging onto his skin too tightly. He sees things: Iruka, faint shadows somewhere in the peripheral, red. Kami, everything is red.
“Okay.” he whispers, he can’t tell if Iruka heard, he hopes he did. Iruka smiles, reaching with the tip of his thumb to brush the rough fabric of his mask. It fell limp a second later.
When Iruka’s body was lowered onto the ground, Kakashi thought the ribbons the third Hokage gave to him weren't enough. What’s the use of ribbons when the man is dead? There were three: Red for sacrifice, Yellow for diligence, and Blue for education. Pinned onto him like plastic decoration, paper weights. After the funeral, Naruto asked if they could go to Ichiraku’s. Kakashi said yes, and they walked to the stand. Teuchi didn’t ask where Iruka was, and served them a heaping bowl of his famous ramen, extra seaweed.
Kakashi figures taking Naruto to the jonin barracks wasn’t an idea Iruka would approve of, instead they circled around the block before going to Iruka’s apartment. It continued, like always, like everything does. Kakashi takes care of Naruto; walk with him to the academy, go to Ichiraku’s when Kakashi couldn’t cook for the both of them, give Naruto to Kurenai or Gai when he goes on week long missions. He continued being a jonin, sometimes a mission leader. He visited the memorial stones ever so often, with the occasional flowers to leave. He still became team 7’s sensei. He still continued.
It was when Naruto left with Jiraiya did Kakashi receive a knock on his door. It was Tuesday, he had escaped from the hospital after a grueling mission that left him chakra exhausted. He opened the door and saw Anko standing, flushed, biting her lower lip, and putting more weight on one leg. “Kakashi, uhm, I- I have something to give to you.” she stated, looking at a particularly looking flower pot beside the door. “Maa, new mission? I just got out of the hospital yesterday.” he drawled, leaning on the doorway.
Anko stepped back, “No, this was something I was supposed to give long ago, but… I never got the chance” she says, her eyes averting. Kakashi raised a single brow, Anko shuffled, reaching into her coat before handing a sealed scroll. “It’s in there, I’m sorry if… If I brought this late, but I thought it was best if I waited for an opportunity instead of, you know, just giving it after the thing.” Kakashi tilted his head and looked at the innocent scroll, “My birthday isn’t in a few months, Anko-chan,” he teases, the purple haired jonin scowls. “Just take it, I’m already overstaying. Still sorry about it.” Anko replies before turning around and jumping down the railings of the apartment’s hall.
“Hmm, let’s see what this is about.” Kakashi mumbled, closing the door.
Dear Kakashi,
I need to be honest and clear. I think I’m going to die.
I’m not sure when, I’m not sure how, or why or who to give this to when it does happen, but I do know I don’t have much time left, especially since taking Naruto with me and with Mizuki out there somewhere. I love Naruto with all my heart. He’s just a kid, and it would be nice to spend the rest of my life with the both of you.
I hoped that, one day, Konoha would learn to love like I did. It might have been a stupid dream, but seeing the soft faces and loud giggles of children, I really hoped that they wouldn't grow up too fast, or like us. Remember that talk we had? The one where I told you I’d be an academy teacher and the day I decided to retire from field work. There’s one thing I never got to tell. I hoped that Konoha continued to have shinobi like me. I hoped that every kid I taught at the academy would, at least to some degree, carry the Will of Fire in the way I thought of it as.
Did it work? I hope it did.
I hope you have faith in Naruto and to every kid in Konoha, because I had faith in you, even if you were an ass, even if you refused to use the front door even when I told you were welcome, even if you bleed in my living room at two in the morning and I had to haul you to the couch. If you lose faith in me for leaving, then that’s on me, but please keep your faith in people.
Love, now and always,
Iruka.