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There is a lot to be said about Hatake Kakashi. Foremost, he is recognized as a killer first and a human being second; he’s the copy-ninja, one of the few remaining shinobi with a Sharingan, and therefore, invaluable to the village—he is an asset. This he knows well.
But sometimes—sometimes, it’s easy to forget the expectation on his shoulders when he glimpses whisker scars carved along the apple of his cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Bluebell eyes that glisten when they tear up—vibrant blond hair that falls in spikes, framing a round face. Even this young, Naruto is the spitting image of his father—Kakashi’s sensei.
A part of Kakashi—the one locked away, burrowed deep within the cavity of his chest, aches in a phantom pain way that only grief can be when he catches sight of the toddler sprinting down the street. He’s young, legs more stumbling than running, but he’s got a wicked grin stretched across his features as he takes chase after a stray cat. It’s charming and more often than not, when Kakashi finds he has downtime in-between his seemingly endless burden of missions, he watches, silently. Like a statue; he keeps guard. He had foolishly hoped that the village would take to the Fourth Hokage’s son like bread to butter—that they would recognize him as Kakashi does—something to be protected; cherished, that he is just a boy in a world far too large for him. They never do. Their eyes are clouded, distant when they leer at him—they do not see the toddler but the nine tails within him, chained to the boy’s shadow as the beast is.
Like the establishment of a settlement—or the sprouting of a flower, it takes time. Slow but steady, Kakashi’s growing unrest sits in his stomach and churns like he had consumed spoiled meat—he’s more antsy, he finds, away from the village—away from Naruto. And he no longer feels content to sit, shrouded in darkness and watch on as an onlooker—the orders that surround Naruto no longer seem logical—only another means to keep the boy isolated.
Perhaps it is when that thought strikes that betrayal begins to fester in Kakashi’s heart.
It’s a process that spans over years, really—Kakashi, young, also, and ingrained with the devotion to his village, doesn’t know how to question orders—then Obito comes and he learns that rules, and by extension, orders are not absolute. They are guidelines. It’s a lesson but ultimately a costly one; another scar to add to a growing collection. He buries it with the unease, the fear—the grief, and pushes forward, for the sake of his village and now, his team.
The regulations surrounding the infant are as follows; do not voice the monster that Naruto houses and never reveal Naruto’s birth parents. The hush order is absolute and Kakashi understands it—at first. It’s for his safety, a grieving teenage Kakashi thinks—no, chooses to believe. The alternative is a grim thought. If he listens to the creeping voice that he suspects is his conscious telling him that this isn’t right—that this isn’t what Minato and Kushina wanted. It’s shoved down with all the rest of his grief and Kakashi throws himself into Anbu missions—in hopes of pretending he isn’t human, beneath that mask. That he cannot feel—that he cannot think for himself. It’s better that way.
Then, he stumbles across a Naruto with dirt smeared along his face, arms and hands—grime glued to his hair, soiling the pristine blonde and something in Kakashi cracks. When no one is looking, he swipes the boy away and gives him a proper bath—bubbles and all, and distantly, he wonders if he ever had a bubble bath. No, he was never as young as this—he couldn’t have been.
Another time—Naruto is being shoved and pulled; his cries reverberate and a permanent chip has formed in Kakashi’s heart as he sprints to the scene to pull a squabbling toddler from a brawl with ten-year-olds. He shoos them away, if only to ensure Naruto’s not hurt; he finds various scratches and a sobbing, broken boy. His ensuing tantrum is loud, and it blasts Kakashi’s ears, but he takes it like he is the one to blame for Naruto’s wounds—and in a way, he decides, he is. Kakashi makes a choice, then, as Naruto wails occupy the alley and his eardrums. It’s a decision he makes with haste as he lifts the trembling—too light—boy in his arms and curls him protectively against his chest, darting toward the Hatake estate.
As he stumbles past wards with Naruto in his arms, Kakashi’s resolve is as firm and unbending as the blade of a kunai. He hushes Naruto and, in the same breath, promises him this; “You’ll stay with me.” A hiccup, something like a sob and a hitch of breath, then Naruto clutches onto his flak jacket with a grip that tells he is used to being put down—being abandoned.
Naruto doesn’t say anything—Kakashi glumly suspects he does not know how to—that no one took the time to teach the boy how to speak properly. It’s a horrifying thought, one that spurs his legs to move faster and his hands to seek a first aid kit with admirable speed.
Kakashi takes two weeks off on accepting missions and takes permanent leave from Anbu, basking in the fortune of it no longer being times of war and vacation days being a thing. With Naruto a perpetual resident in the Hatake estate, it’s easier to ensure his continued safety—when Kakashi is not around, he is continuously guarded by his ninken, and taught to speak. It’s a slow going effort, one which Kakashi isn’t entirely familiar with. He doesn’t remember learning to talk, just the same as he doesn’t remember learning to throw a kunai. It’s a disquieting thought that he buries alongside memories. Still, if Naruto is his charge, then he is going to be capable, this, Kakashi swears. He’s walking and running in no time—babbling to talking in a brief window and he’s even learned Kakashi’s name. Which he loves to say. With a smile—a gummy smile, one that pulls at Kakashi’s heartstrings and easily convinces him to give him whatever he wants.
Pakkun says he’s leashed, but he likes to think that any child should be spoiled occasionally. How can he not, when Naruto looks at him like he is his entire world?
“Kaka-shi!” Naruto says with childish glee, his short arms wrapped snuggly around Kakashi’s calf. “Kaka-shi!” A ruffle to the blonde locks and it sends the boy into a fit of giggles, the sound of it heavenly in the typically empty and dreary home. The Hatake estate has never seen such life before.
Unfortunately, with every sunny day and cloudless sky—there is a night to accompany it, with stretching shadows and beasts that lurk.
Kakashi runs out of hands to count how many assassinations plots there are on Naruto’s life, but it’s enough to make him want to wrap the toddler in bubble wrap. It’s also enough attempts on Naruto’s life that Kakashi opts for homeschooling for the first couple of years of Naruto’s development—over much internal debate, he decides to reach out to a friend of a friend (read: Guy’s chuunin friend), Umino Iruka, who works at the Academy. To Kakashi’s surprise, he agrees to tutor the toddler and takes to it like a fish in water; there’s hesitance in his interactions with Naruto, a fear that sits beneath the skin like live ants, but he never harms the blonde and even manages to teach him manners. Kakashi decides to let it be, and it seems to be the correct judgment as Naruto latches onto the brunette with renewed excitement.
With a bellowing voice, Naruto yells in the estate of how much he loves Kakashi and Iruka-Sensei. Iruka thinks it’s adorable. Kakashi is fighting a migraine.
Eventually, Iruka insists that Naruto interact with children his own age, rather than socialize with ninken, much to Kakashi’s chagrin. He doesn’t recall needing social interaction at this age, but at Iruka’s harsh glare, Kakashi gives in and sets up a play date, of all things, with Shikaku’s kid—Shikamaru? It goes well; Naruto is an almost perfect match for the laid back Nara heir, and with Shikamaru comes Ino and Chouji, who take to Naruto with surprising eagerness. They’re fast friends and when Kakashi informs Iruka of this, he breathes a sigh of relief.
All in all, Naruto’s days are better and for once, Kakashi has stopped pushing for more and more missions—he’s content, for the first time in his life. And sometimes, when he watches Iruka with Naruto—he thinks he has it all. That maybe he’s flown too close to the sun but has miraculously not been burnt. If he reaches out and touches what should not be touched, holds what should not be held—he could achieve something he has denied himself for years—and give Naruto a family.
But his being is deeply woven with feelings of betrayal, and unaware and blissful, he feigns ignorance to the restlessness that weighs heavily in his chest.
The Third Hokage, while gentle and reserved, is no pushover; he does not take well to Kakashi’s initiatives taken to protect Naruto—he argues it puts the boy in more danger. And for the first time in Kakashi’s existence, he does not feel the instinctive need to kneel and concede to the Hokage’s demands; he feels defiance in the face of his king. Defiance is bad. It leads to a messy path that only ends in tragedy—with Kakashi executed. That is the nature of being a traitor—so Kakashi bites his tongue, thinking of Naruto, of Iruka—and stays quiet. Betrayal runs deeper than the marrow of his bones. He knows now that he is nothing but a ticking time bomb. He thinks the Hokage knows this too, and yet, he leaves the office with no incident.
That night, he comes home and thanks Iruka for his services in a terse manner, that has Iruka raising his eyebrows.
“Kakashi,” he says in that way that is impossibly soft that Kakashi wants to lean into, fall into the embrace that is Iruka’s voice—if only, for a moment, if time could stop and Kakashi could allow him the escape of sinking into Iruka’s arms to block out the gruesome reality that has reared its ugly mug to Kakashi. He knows what must be done, but the overwhelming truth of it sits like acid on his tongue.
Iruka does not get the chance to say more.
“I have to leave,” for the first time in his lifetime, it is no longer an order that he makes a decision on—it is not coldhearted logic like the kind his child self was predisposed to—it is merely the vomit of his heart. “I have to take Naruto and leave.” Panic, deeply rooted panic born of years on the sidelines, watching a little boy beaten into the floor until he is nothing but a punching bag—until he is nothing but dirt on the ground. This village is no home to Naruto and so it will never be home to Kakashi.
Iruka’s eyes widen and there is something like grief, but acceptance in those eyes that breaks something in Kakashi—something he knows will never be recovered. He does not argue; he does not disagree, and it is then that Kakashi realizes that yes, this is right—the village may be all that he has known, but it does not have to be that way for Naruto. Iruka understands this too. “I’ll help you.” That same night, they are a coordinated mess of limbs as they pack in a flurry; when everything is strapped to Kakashi’s back and his ninken, it is only then that Iruka offers in the most tender voice he can muster in the quietude of the Hatake estate. “Let me come.”
“You’ll be branded a traitor,” Kakashi says instead of what lies in his heart—it implores him to scream, to beg, yes. His hands reach out and as he touches soft, tawny beige skin, he thinks this is the gentlest he’ll ever be; here, with Iruka, this is all he was meant for.
Iruka smiles, something sad but hopeful. Like the breaking of dawn. “Better a traitor than to live without you both.” He doesn’t know when—somewhere between Kakashi's plummet into betrayal for all that’s he known and the days of merely existing for Naruto, Iruka had weaseled his way into Kakashi’s home and heart and carved out a space for himself, deep within that gaping cavity. It is his, and Kakashi finds that his whole being is Iruka’s as well.
“Death is unavoidable.” Kakashi tries to reason, even if his eye says differently; follow me to the ends of the earth, jump with me if need be; I am selfish in my love. I want you and only you, for however many days I steal.
A hand, touching his mask, pulling it down—lips against his, chaste like a butterfly’s touch, gone the next second. Kakashi, during the worst night of his life, has never been happier. “Death comes for everyone, Kakashi. If I die with you, that’s the best outcome.” Kakashi’s eye closes, acceptance, or as close to it as he can be, in knowing he is dooming his lover to a life on the run.
“Okay.” Ultimately, Hatake Kakashi is weak.
As a unit, they wake Naruto up and shepherd him away in the dead of the night—slipping between the patrol circulating the village; they fall into the embrace of shadows and the village labels them as traitors. Yet, it is the freest Kakashi has ever felt, with Naruto in his arms, drousy, and Iruka at his heels, keeping watch. Freedom comes in various shapes and sizes, but it can be defined as a feeling that floods Kakashi’s entire being in that instant; light, like walking on clouds. He is free and so is Naruto.