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Description
Kakashi walked into through the darkened living room and into the kitchen where he flipped on a light. “I’m just a little thirsty Dad. I just want some milk and then I’ll go to bed,” the little boy said as he swung open the refrigerator door. He took out the carton of milk and poured some into a cup. He grabbed a straw and a cookie from the cookie jar and switched the light back off. He strolled casually back through the living room and back to his bedroom at the end of the hall.

His lamp glowed brightly as he turned it on and set his cookie and milk on the desk beside his bed before picking up his sketchpad to continue drawing his portrait of his father. He smiled, revealing his shiny white teeth, as he thought about how happy his father would be when he saw the picture he had drawn for him. He would ruffle his gray hair and grin as he pinned it to the wall, next to the other pictures Kakashi had drawn for him.

He furrowed his brow as he thought about his father. He hadn’t said anything when he went into the kitchen for a snack. Kakashi wasn’t supposed to have midnight snacks, but his father usually let him slide since he was very lenient, but usually though, his father would give a brief lecture about how he shouldn’t always eat snacks in the middle of the night. About ten minutes later, his father would walk in quietly and tell Kakashi to go to sleep. He would tuck him in, mess up his already messy hair and kiss his forehead. He’d tell him that he loved him so much and would never let anything happen to him as long as he lived and then would turn out the lights and close the door.

He shrugged since his father always waited ten minutes before coming in. He sipped his milk through his straw and munched away at his cookie. He picked up a green pencil from the floor and began shading in the Jounin vest his father always wore, even when he wasn’t on a mission.

After fifteen minutes, Kakashi glanced at the door, and his lips turned down into a frown. ‘Dad should’ve come in by now,’ he thought. He stood up, carrying his finished drawing, and headed back into the living room. It was still dark, so Kakashi went into the kitchen and found a tack in a drawer. He carefully tacked it up next to the other pictures and smiled, satisfied with it. He looked back out to the living room sighed. ‘Dad must be really tired.’ He stomped all the way back to his room. He wasn’t allowed to stomp in the house because his father said it was very annoying and stomping was only what Stone Ninjas did, and unless he became a Stone Ninja, there was no stomping through the house.

Kakashi frowned and stomped back out to the living room. His little hands clasped his waist tightly and he stuck his tongue out at his father’s shape on the floor. He wasn’t allowed to do that either, unless he wanted a light slap across his pale cheek. He sighed loudly and glanced at his father’s still form. His chest wasn’t rising and falling like it always did. Kakashi’s eyes widened as a thought entered his five-year-old mind.

The little boy stared in disbelief at his father’s body. “Daddy?” he asked softly. He couldn’t see well in the darkness, so he edged up to his father’s side and touched his chest. It was wet, and cold. Kakashi gasped as he rolled his father onto his back. He knew immediately what was wrong; his father… was dead. Kakashi fell to his knees and couldn’t breathe. “Daddy!” he screamed, throwing his small form onto his father’s corpse. “Daddy…” he sobbed into his father’s Jounin vest. “Daddy, no. No, no, no, no, no… Daddy.”

Kakashi let his tears flow freely from his eyes, drenching his pale skin, highlighted by the silvery moonlight. He lifted his small fingers to the moonlight and confirmed his suspicions; they were red, stained by his father’s blood. He grasped his father’s prized possession, his white chakra blade, and hurled it across the room until it collided with a mirror and shattering it into millions of reflecting shards of crystal. Some glass splinters flew and scratched his perfect face, drawing blood instantly. But Kakashi didn’t care. His daddy was dead, and that was all that mattered.

Kakashi sobbed uncontrollably for hours, choking out ‘Daddy’ every once in awhile. His deep violet eyes, the unique trait of the Hatake Clan, were swollen and watery with his salty tears flooding from them constantly. He couldn’t believe his eyes, his hands, his brain, yet there was the proof.

Kakashi suddenly sat up, his back rigid. He looked at his father and pulled off the mask that covered his father’s face. It was cold and the little boy could see the blood dripping out of the corner of his father’s mouth. He stood up and walked to the wall where the broken mirror had once hung. He slipped the mask over his mouth and nose and took his bloodstained thumb and ran it across his bleeding cheek. He carefully took his thumb and scribbled across the wall ‘Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake’. He then drew a thick, solid line across the names.

“My dad is dead, and I’m alone now. I am the sole survivor of the Hatake Clan. The father and son family of Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake died along with my dad.” He took the forehead protector from his father’s limp hands and strapped it across his forehead. Carefully, he painted a line of blood across the center of the metal plate, straight through the Leaf Village symbol. “I swear by the blood on this forehead protector that I will always follow the rules of the shinobi. In the shinobi world, a ninja who does not follow the rules or take orders is trash. That is the motto I will live by when I become a ninja. I will never break the rules, I will never back down, I will never give up.” His head drooped. “Goodbye Kakashi Hatake, the little son of Sakumo Hatake, the greatest ninja in the whole Leaf Village. Hello Kakashi Hatake, the greatest ninja in the whole world.”

~~~~~~~~~~
Hope life's been good to you
since you've been gone
I'm doin' fine now--I've finally moved on
It's not so bad--I'm not that sad
~~~~~~~~~~

Jiraiya stepped onto the porch outside the Hatake house and knocked on the door. He glanced up and down the street as he waited for Sakumo Hatake, the owner of the house, to answer.

Every morning, Jiraiya, Sakumo, and Sakumo’s little son, Kakashi, would go to the Ichiraku Noodle Shop, the most popular ramen restaurant in all of Konoha, for breakfast and to talk. Well, the two adults would talk. Kakashi would sometimes sit and draw in his little sketchpad, or sometimes he would play outside the little shop in the street with the shop owner’s daughter, Ayame, or sometimes the owner would let him go behind the counter and help him and Ayame make ramen.

Jiraiya didn’t mind the kid. He was cute and pretty well behaved for a five-year-old. He knew that when that boy grew up, he would be pretty good-looking and the girls would be falling all over him. Not that they weren’t already. According to Sakumo, every little girl in the village had a huge crush on the Hatake boy. Even some of the older girls that were ten and eleven couldn’t help swoon when he walked past.

The older man smiled as he thought about the Hatakes. They were good people, and good ninjas. Not that he really cared. He was a celebrated novelist, so it didn’t really matter to him anymore that he was one of the Three Legendary Sannin.

He was brought back down to Earth when no one answered the door. He knocked again, but there was no sound from within the house. ‘Strange,’ he thought. ‘Usually Sakumo answers the door the first time I knock.’ He looked up and down the street again before reaching his big hand behind a little statue of dog and pulled a little silver key engraved with the word ‘Hatake’ from behind the dog’s ear. He inserted it into the keyhole and turned it until the lock tumblers clicked and he swung open the door. He stepped into the dining room and gently closed the door. “Hello? Sakumo? Kakashi? Hello?” He slowly delved deeper into the empty room and was greeted by the little boy. “Hey kiddo,” he said, and smiled. “How’re you doing? Where’s your old man?” It was then that he noticed the boy’s appearance. His fingers, clothes, and hair were splattered with red. His clothes were torn in dozens of places. His pale skin was covered in scratches, including his face. His dark purple eyes-which set him apart from the other children, along with his hair-were dull and somber instead of lively and bright. What really startled Jiraiya though, was the mask and forehead protector strapped across Kakashi’s forehead. The mask was the one Sakumo always wore on missions to hide his identity, and the metal plate on the headband was cracked in several places and streaked with blood. “Whoa kiddo, what happened to you? You get in a fight at school or something?” He knelt down and caressed the child’s cheek. His large fingers came away red and wet.

“My father is in the living room. He’s dead.” Kakashi turned away and went into the kitchen.

Jiraiya gasped and ran through a doorway and into the living room. It was shadowy and suspiciously quiet. He didn’t need to be able to see in the dark to spy Sakumo’s body on the floor. He walked to the younger man’s form and touched his chest. Once again, his fingers were bloody. He looked at his friend, Konoha’s White Fang, and shook his head. ‘So all those people got to you, huh? You were really selfish when you did this Sakumo. You left your poor son, only five years old, all alone. It would have been different if he had a mother, but now the kid’s an orphan thanks to you.’ He looked up and noticed that the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the doorway had disappeared. Instead, there were words written across the wall. “’Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake’” he read out loud. ‘So what’s with the line?’ Indeed, there was a solid line was straight through the names, as if crossing them out. He touched the writing and it smeared, for it was still wet. Jiraiya looked toward the kitchen before standing up and walking into the small room. He spied the little boy by the refrigerator, tearing papers off the wall. He strolled toward him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and stood behind him. He watched Kakashi pull the pictures he had drawn over the years off the wall and shred them with his tiny hands. There were pictures of him (Jiraiya), Ayame, self-portraits, his ninja dogs he had learned to summon, the village, Ichiraku, his mother, his friends, his toads (Jiraiya’s), weapons, his backyard, his house, general landscapes, and anything else the boy had wished to draw. The object he had chose to draw the most however, was his father. There were dozens of pictures of his father doing all kinds of things and dressed in all sorts of ways. There was Sakumo as an ANBU captain, in his Jounin uniform, in civilian clothing, in pajamas, in costumes, in anything Kakashi had ever seen him wear.

Jiraiya observed Kakashi reach for a picture that Jiraiya had never seen before, but once a sliver of sunlight shone it, he realized it was the picture Kakashi had been working on all week.

It started last Monday, when Ayame told him she wouldn’t be able to play with him much that week. The Chunin exam finals were coming up, and there was always a big festival the day before. Ayame had to help her father make extra ramen because many people chose to eat at their little shop, and they had run out of ramen a couple of times, which resulted in lost business. Kakashi had been a little down at first, but he had decided to draw a picture. He had told Jiraiya that it was for his father and it was going to be the best picture he had ever drawn. He had even taken out his colored pencils, a rarity because the five-year-old only colored his best sketches so as not to waste the pencils.

Kakashi pulled down the picture, but Jiraiya could see that he wasn’t able to bring himself to ripping it. Splashes of water landed on the paper, and Kakashi threw it at the tiled floor. He then continued with his previous job.

Jiraiya bent down and lifted the paper from the floor. He gazed at it, and noted how realistic it was, well, for a five-year-old. He absently flipped the paper and spotted some scrawled writing in the corner:

I spent all week on this Dad. I tried to make it look just like you. I hope you like it.

Your son,

Kakashi Hatake

Jiraiya glanced at Sakumo’s small son. “Okay kiddo,” he whispered, placing his large hands around the boy’s waist and lifting him up onto the counter. “I want you tell me what happened, okay?”

Kakashi wiped his violet eyes before he began speaking. “Last night, I went to get some milk and a cookie. It was around midnight, and I walked through the living room. I couldn’t see anything, and my dad didn’t answer me when I told I was getting a drink. I went back to my room and finished coloring my picture, which took about fifteen minutes. I started to wonder what was wrong, and I stomped back and forth through the living room, but still no answer. I decided that I would see what was wrong with my dad, so I looked for his body in the darkness.” Jiraiya knew the little boy was being very brave. He could see tears welling up in his dark eyes, but despite the fact that he was on the verge of tears, his voice was extremely steady. “I touched his chest and he was bleeding and he wasn’t breathing and I realized... he was dead. I cried for hours, almost till dawn, and then I couldn’t cry anymore. I threw his chakra blade at the wall and it broke a mirror, and some glass pieces flew back and cut my face. I put on his mask and his headband, and I wrote our names in my blood on the wall, but then crossed them out because there is no longer Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake. It’s just me. Then, I went into the kitchen, and then you came in. That’s about it.”

“Think it was suicide or murder?”

“I think it was suicide. I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“Well, some ninjas...”

“No! I have excellent hearing! I can hear as well as a dog! No one came in! It was suicide!”

“Okay okay, I believe you. Calm down Kakashi. Now, do you know why your dad committed suicide?” He shook his head. “Well, your dad went on a mission pretty recently. You remember that ‘cause you had to stay with me, right?” He nodded. “Well, your dad had a choice. His teammates were captured and he was on a very important mission. He could either continue the mission and leave his friends behind, or he could save his friends and abandon the mission. He chose to save his friends. When he returned to the village, he was regarded as a failure. Even the people he had saved called him a failure. Your dad was depressed, but he probably hid that from you so you wouldn’t be worried. I guess the pressure finally got to him and he decided to take the easy way out.” Kakashi looked down, but Jiraiya grabbed his chin and raised his head so that he could see into the boy’s eyes. “But Kakashi, I want you to know that I think your dad was a true hero. In the ninja world, the ones that break the rules are called trash and failures. It’s true, sad but very true. But you know kiddo... those who aren’t willing to put their lives on the line for the safety and well being of their friends and teammates are even worse than trash. I don’t want you to ever end up like your dad, because you’re a good kid with a lot of potential. I don’t want you to run away from your problems, or try to find a shortcut or a way out, like suicide. If you do that, you leave someone who really needs you, like a child, or a wife, or a friend. Don’t you ever do that, you hear me Kakashi? Don’t end up like your dad. Prove you’re better, and stronger, than your dad. Prove to the whole world that you’re not like him. If you do that, I swear your old man will be proud.” Kakashi sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Ya hungry kid? Want some breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Ichiraku all right?”

“Yeah.”

“After breakfast, let’s move you over to my house, okay kiddo? I don’t want you here by yourself, especially since this place is such a mess.”

Kakashi glanced at the paper in the older man’s hands. “Can I have that please?”

Jiraiya looked at the drawing and smiled. “Of course you can kid.” He placed the paper in Kakashi’s outstretched hands.

The little boy held it and let his tears splash across the page, wrinkling the paper and absorbing some of the color. Jiraiya rubbed his shoulder. “I know kid. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~
I'm not surprised just how well I survived
I'm over the worst, and I feel so alive
I can't complain--I'm free again
~~~~~~~~~~

Kakashi stood in front of the gravestone with Jiraiya. Both people were dressed in all black, except for the mask Kakashi had grown accustomed to wearing.

It was the day of Sakumo Hatake’s funeral. Actually, the funeral had been several hours ago. Kakashi and Jiraiya were the last ones there. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon.

All of the shinobi in the village had attended the ceremony. Even the Third Hokage had come and spoken about Kakashi’s late father. Ayame and her father had even come, and the little girl held the little boy’s hand the entire time.

Jiraiya had expected the five-year-old boy to sob to his heart’s content, but he hadn’t even shed one tear. The entire funeral, he seemed to be lost in his own world, not even noticing Ayame’s hand clasping his own.

Everyone had paid their respects to the little boy who had lost his father several weeks earlier. The Third Hokage had given him a hug and told him that Sakumo was a real hero, despite what anyone else says. Most of the ninja bowed to the boy and told them they were sorry about his loss and that they would miss his father. Ayame had given him flowers from the little garden she kept and said that she had once heard that they were his father’s favorite. Her father gave him a pot of ramen and told him not to burn his mouth when he ate it.

He said ‘thank you’ very quietly, his voice just as steady as the day Sakumo died. Jiraiya nodded his thank you and urged the guests on. Kakashi hadn’t slept well in weeks. He claimed he was fine, but late at night; Jiraiya would wake up and hear Kakashi sobbing his broken heart out. He’d tried to comfort him, but the little boy would push him away. Jiraiya eventually had to give up because it was a battle he couldn’t win.

Kakashi had moved in front of the grave and had been standing there for a couple hours. Jiraiya had decided to stay with him. He wouldn’t have been comfortable leaving him here all by himself.

He knelt down and put his long arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I think it’s time to go home, don’t you think kiddo?”

“Jiraiya?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think my dad misses me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, do you think that wherever he is, he misses me, and you, and everyone here? Or do you think he forgot about us?”

“I think he misses all of us. I think he misses you the most though, because he loved you so much.”

“So why did he leave me?”

“Well, I don’t know. You’d have to ask him yourself.”

“Do you think he’s with my mom, Hitomi?”

“Well yeah, ‘course he is. I bet she misses you too.”

“I know. I miss them both a lot.”

“You know kid, I think we better head home. You start at the academy tomorrow. You want to get some sleep. And aren’t you hungry? I kind of want to eat that ramen we got from Ayame and her dad, don’t you?”

“Okay.” He laid the flowers gently on the wet soil in front of the granite stone. “Bye Dad.” Jiraiya smiled and offered the Hatake boy his hand. He accepted it and let himself be dragged away.

~~~~~~~~~~
Don't think I'm lyin' 'round cryin' at night
There's no need to worry, I'm really all right
I've never looked back--as a matter of fact
~~~~~~~~~~

Kakashi Hatake, a full-grown man now, still stops by at his father’s grave before and after every mission. He always lays a bouquet of white flowers, soft and fragrant, on the stone. Sometimes, even Ayame joins him there, and they hold hands as the tears well up in the man’s eyes as he remembers that awful night. “Don’t blame yourself Kashi, it’s not your fault,” she always whispers before kissing his cheek and heading back to the ramen shop to help her father set up for the morning rush.

And if you went into his apartment, and went into his bedroom, you actually wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But if you looked carefully, and happened to glance at the bulletin board above his desk, you will find a yellowed sheet of paper with a faded drawing of a man with silvery hair, violet eyes, and a white katana. And no, this is not Kakashi. It is the picture he drew so long ago for his father, the man he loved so much, the man he lost so tragically, the man who was a hero of his village.

~~~~~~~~~~
And it only hurts when I'm breathing
My heart only breaks when it's beating
My dreams only die when I'm dreaming
So, I hold my breath--to forget
~~~~~~~~~~

by koori-sama

Description
Kakashi walked into through the darkened living room and into the kitchen where he flipped on a light. “I’m just a little thirsty Dad. I just want some milk and then I’ll go to bed,” the little boy said as he swung open the refrigerator door. He took out the carton of milk and poured some into a cup. He grabbed a straw and a cookie from the cookie jar and switched the light back off. He strolled casually back through the living room and back to his bedroom at the end of the hall.

His lamp glowed brightly as he turned it on and set his cookie and milk on the desk beside his bed before picking up his sketchpad to continue drawing his portrait of his father. He smiled, revealing his shiny white teeth, as he thought about how happy his father would be when he saw the picture he had drawn for him. He would ruffle his gray hair and grin as he pinned it to the wall, next to the other pictures Kakashi had drawn for him.

He furrowed his brow as he thought about his father. He hadn’t said anything when he went into the kitchen for a snack. Kakashi wasn’t supposed to have midnight snacks, but his father usually let him slide since he was very lenient, but usually though, his father would give a brief lecture about how he shouldn’t always eat snacks in the middle of the night. About ten minutes later, his father would walk in quietly and tell Kakashi to go to sleep. He would tuck him in, mess up his already messy hair and kiss his forehead. He’d tell him that he loved him so much and would never let anything happen to him as long as he lived and then would turn out the lights and close the door.

He shrugged since his father always waited ten minutes before coming in. He sipped his milk through his straw and munched away at his cookie. He picked up a green pencil from the floor and began shading in the Jounin vest his father always wore, even when he wasn’t on a mission.

After fifteen minutes, Kakashi glanced at the door, and his lips turned down into a frown. ‘Dad should’ve come in by now,’ he thought. He stood up, carrying his finished drawing, and headed back into the living room. It was still dark, so Kakashi went into the kitchen and found a tack in a drawer. He carefully tacked it up next to the other pictures and smiled, satisfied with it. He looked back out to the living room sighed. ‘Dad must be really tired.’ He stomped all the way back to his room. He wasn’t allowed to stomp in the house because his father said it was very annoying and stomping was only what Stone Ninjas did, and unless he became a Stone Ninja, there was no stomping through the house.

Kakashi frowned and stomped back out to the living room. His little hands clasped his waist tightly and he stuck his tongue out at his father’s shape on the floor. He wasn’t allowed to do that either, unless he wanted a light slap across his pale cheek. He sighed loudly and glanced at his father’s still form. His chest wasn’t rising and falling like it always did. Kakashi’s eyes widened as a thought entered his five-year-old mind.

The little boy stared in disbelief at his father’s body. “Daddy?” he asked softly. He couldn’t see well in the darkness, so he edged up to his father’s side and touched his chest. It was wet, and cold. Kakashi gasped as he rolled his father onto his back. He knew immediately what was wrong; his father… was dead. Kakashi fell to his knees and couldn’t breathe. “Daddy!” he screamed, throwing his small form onto his father’s corpse. “Daddy…” he sobbed into his father’s Jounin vest. “Daddy, no. No, no, no, no, no… Daddy.”

Kakashi let his tears flow freely from his eyes, drenching his pale skin, highlighted by the silvery moonlight. He lifted his small fingers to the moonlight and confirmed his suspicions; they were red, stained by his father’s blood. He grasped his father’s prized possession, his white chakra blade, and hurled it across the room until it collided with a mirror and shattering it into millions of reflecting shards of crystal. Some glass splinters flew and scratched his perfect face, drawing blood instantly. But Kakashi didn’t care. His daddy was dead, and that was all that mattered.

Kakashi sobbed uncontrollably for hours, choking out ‘Daddy’ every once in awhile. His deep violet eyes, the unique trait of the Hatake Clan, were swollen and watery with his salty tears flooding from them constantly. He couldn’t believe his eyes, his hands, his brain, yet there was the proof.

Kakashi suddenly sat up, his back rigid. He looked at his father and pulled off the mask that covered his father’s face. It was cold and the little boy could see the blood dripping out of the corner of his father’s mouth. He stood up and walked to the wall where the broken mirror had once hung. He slipped the mask over his mouth and nose and took his bloodstained thumb and ran it across his bleeding cheek. He carefully took his thumb and scribbled across the wall ‘Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake’. He then drew a thick, solid line across the names.

“My dad is dead, and I’m alone now. I am the sole survivor of the Hatake Clan. The father and son family of Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake died along with my dad.” He took the forehead protector from his father’s limp hands and strapped it across his forehead. Carefully, he painted a line of blood across the center of the metal plate, straight through the Leaf Village symbol. “I swear by the blood on this forehead protector that I will always follow the rules of the shinobi. In the shinobi world, a ninja who does not follow the rules or take orders is trash. That is the motto I will live by when I become a ninja. I will never break the rules, I will never back down, I will never give up.” His head drooped. “Goodbye Kakashi Hatake, the little son of Sakumo Hatake, the greatest ninja in the whole Leaf Village. Hello Kakashi Hatake, the greatest ninja in the whole world.”

~~~~~~~~~~
Hope life's been good to you
since you've been gone
I'm doin' fine now--I've finally moved on
It's not so bad--I'm not that sad
~~~~~~~~~~

Jiraiya stepped onto the porch outside the Hatake house and knocked on the door. He glanced up and down the street as he waited for Sakumo Hatake, the owner of the house, to answer.

Every morning, Jiraiya, Sakumo, and Sakumo’s little son, Kakashi, would go to the Ichiraku Noodle Shop, the most popular ramen restaurant in all of Konoha, for breakfast and to talk. Well, the two adults would talk. Kakashi would sometimes sit and draw in his little sketchpad, or sometimes he would play outside the little shop in the street with the shop owner’s daughter, Ayame, or sometimes the owner would let him go behind the counter and help him and Ayame make ramen.

Jiraiya didn’t mind the kid. He was cute and pretty well behaved for a five-year-old. He knew that when that boy grew up, he would be pretty good-looking and the girls would be falling all over him. Not that they weren’t already. According to Sakumo, every little girl in the village had a huge crush on the Hatake boy. Even some of the older girls that were ten and eleven couldn’t help swoon when he walked past.

The older man smiled as he thought about the Hatakes. They were good people, and good ninjas. Not that he really cared. He was a celebrated novelist, so it didn’t really matter to him anymore that he was one of the Three Legendary Sannin.

He was brought back down to Earth when no one answered the door. He knocked again, but there was no sound from within the house. ‘Strange,’ he thought. ‘Usually Sakumo answers the door the first time I knock.’ He looked up and down the street again before reaching his big hand behind a little statue of dog and pulled a little silver key engraved with the word ‘Hatake’ from behind the dog’s ear. He inserted it into the keyhole and turned it until the lock tumblers clicked and he swung open the door. He stepped into the dining room and gently closed the door. “Hello? Sakumo? Kakashi? Hello?” He slowly delved deeper into the empty room and was greeted by the little boy. “Hey kiddo,” he said, and smiled. “How’re you doing? Where’s your old man?” It was then that he noticed the boy’s appearance. His fingers, clothes, and hair were splattered with red. His clothes were torn in dozens of places. His pale skin was covered in scratches, including his face. His dark purple eyes-which set him apart from the other children, along with his hair-were dull and somber instead of lively and bright. What really startled Jiraiya though, was the mask and forehead protector strapped across Kakashi’s forehead. The mask was the one Sakumo always wore on missions to hide his identity, and the metal plate on the headband was cracked in several places and streaked with blood. “Whoa kiddo, what happened to you? You get in a fight at school or something?” He knelt down and caressed the child’s cheek. His large fingers came away red and wet.

“My father is in the living room. He’s dead.” Kakashi turned away and went into the kitchen.

Jiraiya gasped and ran through a doorway and into the living room. It was shadowy and suspiciously quiet. He didn’t need to be able to see in the dark to spy Sakumo’s body on the floor. He walked to the younger man’s form and touched his chest. Once again, his fingers were bloody. He looked at his friend, Konoha’s White Fang, and shook his head. ‘So all those people got to you, huh? You were really selfish when you did this Sakumo. You left your poor son, only five years old, all alone. It would have been different if he had a mother, but now the kid’s an orphan thanks to you.’ He looked up and noticed that the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the doorway had disappeared. Instead, there were words written across the wall. “’Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake’” he read out loud. ‘So what’s with the line?’ Indeed, there was a solid line was straight through the names, as if crossing them out. He touched the writing and it smeared, for it was still wet. Jiraiya looked toward the kitchen before standing up and walking into the small room. He spied the little boy by the refrigerator, tearing papers off the wall. He strolled toward him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and stood behind him. He watched Kakashi pull the pictures he had drawn over the years off the wall and shred them with his tiny hands. There were pictures of him (Jiraiya), Ayame, self-portraits, his ninja dogs he had learned to summon, the village, Ichiraku, his mother, his friends, his toads (Jiraiya’s), weapons, his backyard, his house, general landscapes, and anything else the boy had wished to draw. The object he had chose to draw the most however, was his father. There were dozens of pictures of his father doing all kinds of things and dressed in all sorts of ways. There was Sakumo as an ANBU captain, in his Jounin uniform, in civilian clothing, in pajamas, in costumes, in anything Kakashi had ever seen him wear.

Jiraiya observed Kakashi reach for a picture that Jiraiya had never seen before, but once a sliver of sunlight shone it, he realized it was the picture Kakashi had been working on all week.

It started last Monday, when Ayame told him she wouldn’t be able to play with him much that week. The Chunin exam finals were coming up, and there was always a big festival the day before. Ayame had to help her father make extra ramen because many people chose to eat at their little shop, and they had run out of ramen a couple of times, which resulted in lost business. Kakashi had been a little down at first, but he had decided to draw a picture. He had told Jiraiya that it was for his father and it was going to be the best picture he had ever drawn. He had even taken out his colored pencils, a rarity because the five-year-old only colored his best sketches so as not to waste the pencils.

Kakashi pulled down the picture, but Jiraiya could see that he wasn’t able to bring himself to ripping it. Splashes of water landed on the paper, and Kakashi threw it at the tiled floor. He then continued with his previous job.

Jiraiya bent down and lifted the paper from the floor. He gazed at it, and noted how realistic it was, well, for a five-year-old. He absently flipped the paper and spotted some scrawled writing in the corner:

I spent all week on this Dad. I tried to make it look just like you. I hope you like it.

Your son,

Kakashi Hatake

Jiraiya glanced at Sakumo’s small son. “Okay kiddo,” he whispered, placing his large hands around the boy’s waist and lifting him up onto the counter. “I want you tell me what happened, okay?”

Kakashi wiped his violet eyes before he began speaking. “Last night, I went to get some milk and a cookie. It was around midnight, and I walked through the living room. I couldn’t see anything, and my dad didn’t answer me when I told I was getting a drink. I went back to my room and finished coloring my picture, which took about fifteen minutes. I started to wonder what was wrong, and I stomped back and forth through the living room, but still no answer. I decided that I would see what was wrong with my dad, so I looked for his body in the darkness.” Jiraiya knew the little boy was being very brave. He could see tears welling up in his dark eyes, but despite the fact that he was on the verge of tears, his voice was extremely steady. “I touched his chest and he was bleeding and he wasn’t breathing and I realized... he was dead. I cried for hours, almost till dawn, and then I couldn’t cry anymore. I threw his chakra blade at the wall and it broke a mirror, and some glass pieces flew back and cut my face. I put on his mask and his headband, and I wrote our names in my blood on the wall, but then crossed them out because there is no longer Sakumo and Kakashi Hatake. It’s just me. Then, I went into the kitchen, and then you came in. That’s about it.”

“Think it was suicide or murder?”

“I think it was suicide. I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“Well, some ninjas...”

“No! I have excellent hearing! I can hear as well as a dog! No one came in! It was suicide!”

“Okay okay, I believe you. Calm down Kakashi. Now, do you know why your dad committed suicide?” He shook his head. “Well, your dad went on a mission pretty recently. You remember that ‘cause you had to stay with me, right?” He nodded. “Well, your dad had a choice. His teammates were captured and he was on a very important mission. He could either continue the mission and leave his friends behind, or he could save his friends and abandon the mission. He chose to save his friends. When he returned to the village, he was regarded as a failure. Even the people he had saved called him a failure. Your dad was depressed, but he probably hid that from you so you wouldn’t be worried. I guess the pressure finally got to him and he decided to take the easy way out.” Kakashi looked down, but Jiraiya grabbed his chin and raised his head so that he could see into the boy’s eyes. “But Kakashi, I want you to know that I think your dad was a true hero. In the ninja world, the ones that break the rules are called trash and failures. It’s true, sad but very true. But you know kiddo... those who aren’t willing to put their lives on the line for the safety and well being of their friends and teammates are even worse than trash. I don’t want you to ever end up like your dad, because you’re a good kid with a lot of potential. I don’t want you to run away from your problems, or try to find a shortcut or a way out, like suicide. If you do that, you leave someone who really needs you, like a child, or a wife, or a friend. Don’t you ever do that, you hear me Kakashi? Don’t end up like your dad. Prove you’re better, and stronger, than your dad. Prove to the whole world that you’re not like him. If you do that, I swear your old man will be proud.” Kakashi sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Ya hungry kid? Want some breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Ichiraku all right?”

“Yeah.”

“After breakfast, let’s move you over to my house, okay kiddo? I don’t want you here by yourself, especially since this place is such a mess.”

Kakashi glanced at the paper in the older man’s hands. “Can I have that please?”

Jiraiya looked at the drawing and smiled. “Of course you can kid.” He placed the paper in Kakashi’s outstretched hands.

The little boy held it and let his tears splash across the page, wrinkling the paper and absorbing some of the color. Jiraiya rubbed his shoulder. “I know kid. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~
I'm not surprised just how well I survived
I'm over the worst, and I feel so alive
I can't complain--I'm free again
~~~~~~~~~~

Kakashi stood in front of the gravestone with Jiraiya. Both people were dressed in all black, except for the mask Kakashi had grown accustomed to wearing.

It was the day of Sakumo Hatake’s funeral. Actually, the funeral had been several hours ago. Kakashi and Jiraiya were the last ones there. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon.

All of the shinobi in the village had attended the ceremony. Even the Third Hokage had come and spoken about Kakashi’s late father. Ayame and her father had even come, and the little girl held the little boy’s hand the entire time.

Jiraiya had expected the five-year-old boy to sob to his heart’s content, but he hadn’t even shed one tear. The entire funeral, he seemed to be lost in his own world, not even noticing Ayame’s hand clasping his own.

Everyone had paid their respects to the little boy who had lost his father several weeks earlier. The Third Hokage had given him a hug and told him that Sakumo was a real hero, despite what anyone else says. Most of the ninja bowed to the boy and told them they were sorry about his loss and that they would miss his father. Ayame had given him flowers from the little garden she kept and said that she had once heard that they were his father’s favorite. Her father gave him a pot of ramen and told him not to burn his mouth when he ate it.

He said ‘thank you’ very quietly, his voice just as steady as the day Sakumo died. Jiraiya nodded his thank you and urged the guests on. Kakashi hadn’t slept well in weeks. He claimed he was fine, but late at night; Jiraiya would wake up and hear Kakashi sobbing his broken heart out. He’d tried to comfort him, but the little boy would push him away. Jiraiya eventually had to give up because it was a battle he couldn’t win.

Kakashi had moved in front of the grave and had been standing there for a couple hours. Jiraiya had decided to stay with him. He wouldn’t have been comfortable leaving him here all by himself.

He knelt down and put his long arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I think it’s time to go home, don’t you think kiddo?”

“Jiraiya?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think my dad misses me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, do you think that wherever he is, he misses me, and you, and everyone here? Or do you think he forgot about us?”

“I think he misses all of us. I think he misses you the most though, because he loved you so much.”

“So why did he leave me?”

“Well, I don’t know. You’d have to ask him yourself.”

“Do you think he’s with my mom, Hitomi?”

“Well yeah, ‘course he is. I bet she misses you too.”

“I know. I miss them both a lot.”

“You know kid, I think we better head home. You start at the academy tomorrow. You want to get some sleep. And aren’t you hungry? I kind of want to eat that ramen we got from Ayame and her dad, don’t you?”

“Okay.” He laid the flowers gently on the wet soil in front of the granite stone. “Bye Dad.” Jiraiya smiled and offered the Hatake boy his hand. He accepted it and let himself be dragged away.

~~~~~~~~~~
Don't think I'm lyin' 'round cryin' at night
There's no need to worry, I'm really all right
I've never looked back--as a matter of fact
~~~~~~~~~~

Kakashi Hatake, a full-grown man now, still stops by at his father’s grave before and after every mission. He always lays a bouquet of white flowers, soft and fragrant, on the stone. Sometimes, even Ayame joins him there, and they hold hands as the tears well up in the man’s eyes as he remembers that awful night. “Don’t blame yourself Kashi, it’s not your fault,” she always whispers before kissing his cheek and heading back to the ramen shop to help her father set up for the morning rush.

And if you went into his apartment, and went into his bedroom, you actually wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But if you looked carefully, and happened to glance at the bulletin board above his desk, you will find a yellowed sheet of paper with a faded drawing of a man with silvery hair, violet eyes, and a white katana. And no, this is not Kakashi. It is the picture he drew so long ago for his father, the man he loved so much, the man he lost so tragically, the man who was a hero of his village.

~~~~~~~~~~
And it only hurts when I'm breathing
My heart only breaks when it's beating
My dreams only die when I'm dreaming
So, I hold my breath--to forget
~~~~~~~~~~

by koori-sama