Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I blearily remember the first time an earthquake happened. The room was draped in orange because of the afternoon sun, the air was stale, and for some reason I was laying down on my bed demurely as if I was sick.

Just like that, from one moment to the next, the window I was staring at started to shake, the rest of the room following right after.

From one second to the other I was absolutely terrified.

I couldn’t—wouldn’t move, my hands frozen between the sheets in mid-grip with the looming fear of whatever the hell was happening intensifying if I so much as breathed. Mamá was taking a nap right beside me and there was nothing more in the world that I would’ve wanted than curl up next to her, clutch her hand, and cry.

As much as I regret it now, I didn’t do any of those things. I didn’t get the chance to. My first earthquake was also my last.

‘Mom, I’m scared, mom…’

I died with rubble down my sockets, my hand gripping air and my last words lodged between the ceiling fan blade and my throat.

‘Te quiero mucho…’

 Even now I can’t remember much of my childhood, or well, what little there is besides my current standing. What I do know however, is that I was a terrible baby until I regained some semblance of non-alarmed consciousness. I was a wailing duck with a megaphone attached and the lungs of an orchestra saxophone player, so needless to say, if my Father had the same sensitive ears as I did, I’m pretty sure I was killing them.

I cried for hours on end whether I needed a change of diapers or no, or if I needed food, or felt lonely or sad or… You get the idea. I blame it on the last moments of my life (last life?), coupled with my (perhaps overly) emotional attachment towards my not-so tiny, dysfunctional family of six. That and the general discomfort of being unable to do anything but feel how you’re manhandled through your first months of life.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience as far as sensorial memory can account for, everything was murky and either too warm for comfort or too cold for my liking. The colors were all muddled up when I finally saw them, my nose was overly sensitive to everything and anything within a mile radius, and my tiny virgin ears were attentive to every single noise going around— hence how I found out it wasn’t only me who was crying.

Later I was grateful for the wake-up call, as I wasn’t too sure when I would have reacted otherwise, but at the time suddenly noticing double the crying was horrendous. As if a switch was flipped and my cries going to stereo instead of mono, it was doubly annoying.  Other than that, the only difference in the routine was registering a second set of trombone lungs, and thus getting angry and frustrated at the second source of the sound.

Once I gained self-awareness, I couldn’t stay conscious more than brief lapses at a time, as I suppose my infant brain was unable to handle the strain of a much older mentality. I only managed to wake up a couple of hours at a time, hearing my sibling babble excitedly and a low voice tossing foreign words arbitrarily.

At some point trying to stay awake, I realized the language Father spoke in was Japanese. Sadly this only enabled me to pin point my new nationality among a handful of words I knew, I had not studied this particular language in my life time; on the bright side, I’d be trilingual! In a continent with the grand total of one language…

It took some time for me to be awake for longer, but I finally got to the point where I could recognize father’s voice. His was a soothing tenor—neither nasally or too deep, either which would probably grate on my sensitive baby ears. His rumbling laughter and delighted cooing when baby nonsense spewed forward echoed in my ears.

Sometimes I could even recognize some words! It helped he was so repetitive about them, like ‘Food’ and ‘bath’.

“Are you hungry, Komugi-chan?”

That was my new name, Komugi. It had a nice ring to it, though I wondered what it meant; either way I liked my name.

What I wasn’t quite sure I liked though, was—

“What about you, Kakashi-kun?”

Yeah, that.

I’m not sure yet, and this could either be delirious or wistful thinking, but I might have been reincarnated in a series -One of the few series I did not finish....- In a time period I had no recollection about.

Well… I guess I can get rid of the guilt-complex thing at least, right? I never saw Shippuden after all.

Funny thing about rebirth? You have no perception of time the first few months of your life, self-aware or not. This wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I wasn’t a worry wart, this isn’t the case. I was a very nervous person.

What if I messed up on the timing to crawl? Or walk? Talk? Start demanding attention? What then, would Father think I’m defective? Send me to a physiotherapist? Abandon me at the orphanage? Who the hell was my Father? It was all driving me crazy, not knowing who I was dealing with here. I had no idea who raised Hatake Kakashi, and by extension, me currently.  What kind of person our parent would be.

(And where was our mom? I didn't want a replacement, never, but...  But I want a hand I can hold. Would Father give me that?)

So instead of doing the stupid thing and messing up only months after regaining consciousness, I decided to wait for Kakashi and let him set the pace. He was the actual baby of the two; therefore he would know how to act.

Big. Mistake.

Apparently my baby brother had no such reservations; hence he started trying to walk little after we started teething. Who cares about crawling, right? Right.

As long as I'm not alone, I suppose we can just... Pass as smart cookies together? Yeah, that's all there is to it. Kakashi is a smart cookie, and that's all there is to it.

Chapter Text

There were many reasons why I accepted having a second family so easily after my months-long tantrum.

Among them was my inability to hold a grudge, rage at people, or harbor much of negativity at all— I’m an absolute sucker for physical attention.  Dad’s favorite activity so far has been cuddling, I never had a chance.

My brother, though? (And wasn’t that a novelty. Would he grow to hate me, or ignore me altogether?)  Not so much. Kakashi wriggled and protested with all his might, he was beginning to get the inkling of what dignity meant before shedding dippers.

Second to such was the fact I’ve never had a Dad. Sure I had a father-figure, but...

…

Anyways, Hatake?

Dad got his title by how hard the man was trying to make things work. Hard enough for me not to harbor any animosity about getting juggled from room to room and seat to seat like a rag doll. He may not have been the most gentle person at the beginning, his rough hands rubbing harshly against my baby soft skin whenever I needed a diaper or a clothes change; but even so I could tell he was doing his best to figure things out.

Oh, his voice was always cheerful and kid-friendly alright, but every action he did at the beginning was undeniably skittish.

He didn’t know how to hold a baby and it showed; from his unsure stride when he carried either of us, to the half minute he spent pondering where to pick us from. By the time he did pick us up, I recognized his hold as more of something you would use with dogs. Thus he was immediately corrected the minute he set foot in the hospital (for what I guess were routine checkups) by a quietly flummoxed nurse. He isn’t as clumsy or hesitant anymore, but he still slips sometimes back to dog-carry.

On top of that, Dad hesitated picking up Kakashi and I at the same time for a while. It made the chore of calming either of us down a lot more difficult whenever we felt like screaming our lungs out. Instead he deposited me somewhere I wouldn’t fall off with at least three pillows in my every direction, and then tried to find out whatever made Kakashi cry. Only after he finished with Kakashi, he turned to me switched us over to figure out what I needed, holding me just a hair too tight to his chest.

All these gestures stuck me as endearing. I’m beginning to really like my dad; he seems like a very patient man. Hardworking.

(My chest aches when I think about Mamá. Where is our mom?)

Dad made me feel like he was treating us as something fragile, something precious enough to treat delicately, even if those were the same hands that committed an endless mystery of unsightly things I had little interest to discover.

Shinobi or no, Hatake was a single Dad bumping his way through rising two newborn babies with almost no outside help. If I wasn’t one of the babies in question, I’d be smitten to make his life easier and help him where I could. As it stood, all I could do was help Kakashi calm down from time to time, and try not to be too much of a menace myself.

There was no way to deny how much he loved us, even if he wasn’t home half the time.

Eight months, second week.

Babysitters made me uncomfortable.

The girls kept trying to pick me up and coddle me like a kangaroo baby, and from them to Dad, I’d prefer being carried like a dog. At least Dad’s hands don’t wind up getting my stomach wriggled. It makes me want to skip the burps and go to outright vomit on the floor. Eugh.

On the Brightside, they were more or less my new motivation for walking just as well as Kakashi. I had mastered the art of toddler-waddle! It’s like walking, but slower and swaying from side to side instead of going forward. At least there were no (… Normal people?) civilians freaking out.

Contrary to what I had assumed, babysitting was exclusively a ninja job—that or Kakashi and I had the privilege of getting classed as a D-rank already. I personally didn’t think we were that much of a riot, or at the very least, I wasn’t the misbehaving baby this time. Kakashi was.

Which brings us to our current problem, Kakashi is a restless baby.

You’d think after accomplishing walking and the penguin march before crawling, dragging himself through the ground wouldn’t be that much entertaining anymore. Kakashi clearly doesn’t think so; he’s a bit quirky that way? Watching him pat his way through the floor is kind of cute, err, ignoring the nervous breakdown-inducing flips he keeps doing head forward.

Kakashi keeps tripping so much it looks like he does it on purpose, hah. Silly Kakashi, why would you want to trip, doesn’t it hurt?

Pushing aside baby shenanigans, he has gotten into the habit of walking to one side of the room, latching his sticky, grubby hands to a wall, and proceeding to heave himself up to Stand There until his undeveloped muscles won’t support him any longer. Baby Kakashi had no patience for plebeian things such as Taking His Time. Baby Kakashi doesn’t care when he can Force It To Work just as well. Baby Kakashi is a little impatient… Chile!

Dad wasn’t much help at all either! He encourages the little speedhog to stand up and cheers him on. While I can admit his child rearing skills were probably on the right track, I am awfully sure babies who just finished teething don’t have the motor capabilities of standing up and walking on their own. 

(By the by? Teething was an exhausting experience. Dad had assured us through it, in his frantic attempts from trying to bite our way out of the cradle, that our family had a faster time with it, if a bit more painful than most.

Kakashi hung to his every word like gospel after Dad spun some desperate attempt at ‘if you want to be a strong Shinobi like me you must endure the pain’ something or other. I on the other hand, caught a more interesting bit—something about us, Hatake, having  fangs . Who were we, Inuzuka the second? Geez)

Honestly I thought there would be some leeway time with the fact I already knew how to function like an older human being, but alas, had I assumed wrong. Rest and limitations were nonexistent in the Hatake dictionary, or if they did Kakashi hadn’t learnt them. Dad wasn’t too interested in letting us know about them either.

And of course, if Kakashi did something, I would follow. I won’t be left alone so early in life by my own sibling.

Day and night, come frost or rain fire I was on an all-time race with the silver-head hare. Starring me as the lazy turtle who tied themselves to his ankle in an attempt to weight him down. Right now for the love of my life I couldn’t see the laid back, negligent twenty-something year old man he would become.  Did I have to deal with this Kakashi until puberty?!

But that’s not the point right now, the point right now was that Kakashi had found out those babysitting us were genin. Okay so he didn’t know the classifications of ninja yet, and I’m pleasantly surprised I remember that much, but I swear I could pinpoint the instant his bright, round eyes spotted their headband and narrowed with the single-minded focus to mess them up.

I have no idea what went through his mind, and really, what could’ve gone through the mind of an eight month old baby?

(Dad has been repeating our age nonstop. I'm guessing he’s eager we start with math already).

Apparently he had enough up in his little hamster wheel to recognize their headbands matched Dad’s headband and thus concluded they had something to do with his dearest Tou-tan leaving every once in a while.

So yeah, Kakashi was on a mission, and while Dad told us to behave— there was only so much a yet-to-be year old could hold onto a promise when the ones driving your Dad away were right in front of you.

As such, he was refusing to eat the horrible mush of baby food he was offered, and driving the genin trio crazy.

Me? Oh I was trying very hard not to laugh.

“No!” the toddler huffed, craning his neck as far away from the spoon as he could. He was sitting on a high chair like it was his throne, and vehemently refusing to eat the baby goop as if it was a federal offence.

The poor unfortunate soul who offered to feed my brother made a little noise of distress, brows furrowing and looking far too nervous to be feeding a baby. Wow he must really care about completing this mission, maybe it was their first?

“But Hatake-kun,” he hurried, trying to speak some semblance of reason to an eight month old. Then again, we were a bit big… Maybe? I call being up-to-twelve year olds knees a tall height, considering our age “Your father—“

“Is going to murder us. Oh kami.” breathed the paling maybe-Yamanaka (Her hair was blonde, but her eyes were bright purple) holding me. “Just look at this mess…” Her pupiless eyes darted across the dirtied kitchen, physically recoiling when some of the goop from the ceiling fell directly in front of us.

“—explicitly instructed our squad to—“

“Dude, smaller words!” growled the haggard Inuzuka from my right. He was looking out of place too, tugging at his hair with a pinched expression on his face. So far he was the only one making the (futile) effort of scooping mashed fruit off the floor “You’re talking to a gaki—” cue getting thwacked by the kunoichi “I mean! Baby. Yeah…”

Seeing as the only genin with no distinguishing clan features kept spewing complicated jargon at Kakashi, I decided to put my own two cents in. “Kunoichi-chan,” I poked her arm, not bothering to butcher her name when I knew I couldn’t remember it.

“Kashi-kun, um…” I pointed at my brother, who was getting angrier up with the maybe-clanless genin by the second. “He! Um,” cue more aggressive pointing. Why were words so hard?! “Se está enjando!” I blurted out and inwardly flinched when I was rewarded by with confused Yamanaka. Shame settled deep into my stomach at not remembering a simple, easy word. How was I going to survive here if I couldn’t even say ‘angry’?

‘I don’t have the patience for this’ My eyes watered, feeling uncomfortably tight in the arms holding me ‘Or the smarts for this. Why is learning so hard…?’

“—Hatake-chan don’t do this to me nononono, Hatake-chan!”

“WHAAAAAAAA"

“Hatake-kun, what are you-?!”

“Bad! No do Mugi cry!” Thump.

“AhhHH!”

 “Dude what-?!  DUMBASS! Don’t just let him grab— THAT’S A KUNAI.“

“Get him away from the kunai!”

“aaAAAAHH"

By the end of the day, the genin and I were exhausted while Kakashi was still fuming; he and I were sitting by the foot of the stairs watching Dad talk to the genin team and their teacher (who I hadn’t seen all day). Their reactions when talking with that were a bit curious; the kids were both sweating bullets and looking very eager— happy.

Plenty of words were said, an amount next to none that I understood. I tried to memorize them though, so I’d ask Dad later whatever they meant. Kakashi being the smart cookie he is, understood exactly what I was doing and joined me on muttering the words we caught.  Between the two of us we caught a decent string of new words—turns out one of them was Dad’s name!

Sakumo. His name is Hatake Sakumo, and we were the peanut gallery—well almost.

I got curious and asked what all of our names meant. All our family was named after farming. Dad’s name meant crops, mine meant wheat and Kakashi’s--- Kakashi’s meant scarecrow. I won’t deny I burst into giggles right away after he said that, Kakashi was not impressed, in fact, Kakashi was so unimpressed he threw a word block at me.

So far I was enjoying my time here, even if I had no idea where I was. All I really knew about the anime (not even the manga, oh lord) was through the first series-ish. All team seven with their teacher trying to get Sasuke’s as—pirin inducing psyche back home, Sakura struggling to not be a fangirl, and Naruto being the shinning beacon of a protagonist that beat the crap out of bad guys and converts them to the shiny side.

I didn’t even know what age was Kakashi at the time Naruto was a little kid. Maybe twenty something? Let’s say twenty… Five. So if Kakashi was twenty five when Naruto was thirteen… That… Still gets me nowhere. Were we twelve years before canon?

I…

Oh god, I didn’t know anything. I… I’m honestly screwed aren’t I? My first impression was ‘change the plot a little bit’ since my brother seemed so lonely when looking back. He had Gai as a rival, but placing aside the comedy moments and plot-driven shounen, there really was no one I could remember being connected to Kakashi.

Where did Dad go, now that I know he wasn’t an orphan? What happened to his teammates? Who was his teacher?  Did Kakashi even have a sibling? I didn’t know anything about my brother, but, the most likely answer was…

 I just don’t want to die again.

What should I do? What can I do?

Mom... I miss you so much.

Chapter Text

It took me a while to notice, how I could only feel a fraction of what I usually did.

As if I suspended on a sentimental limbo, I dealt with emotions on extremes, and when I didn’t, all there was to feel was only mild contentment and increasing curiosity of the world around me. This couldn’t be normal, I thought, Kakashi threw tantrums more often than me.

Not to say I didn’t cry, I cried when Dad went away, hiccupped when he didn’t tuck me in at night, trashed when Kakashi pulled my hair— small things like that. Never something so complex like things I now recognize I should’ve been feeling.

Embarrassment, melancholy, anxiety, maybe even fear; I didn’t notice I lacked things that made me who I was, not until they came back months afterward. By then, I wished I could’ve stayed that way. The body of a child isn’t meant to carry heavy emotions, not for long.

(Couldn’t I have stayed that way? The more I thought about this world as a whole, the less I wished to be part of it.)

It was difficult to notice, even more so when you’re used to observing the world turn around you instead involving yourself in it, I was an introvert like that. In my place, I left the spotlight for Kakashi. He was meant to be here in the first place even if I wasn’t sure if my stay here was, I couldn’t quite figure out where I was supposed to fit in yet.

Let me tell you, my brother did a fantastic job at drawing attention to him, or rather, thriving under Dad’s praises.

Kakashi took most of Dad’s time when he was around, he was a speedhog on whatever he got his greedy little hands on; word puzzles, memory games, picture books, Sudoku. Can you believe that? This little year old baby can solve Sudoku puzzles. That was a hard thing to wrap my head around.

Life went on, and as more time passed I began to notice how I could process the world around me better now; it was easier to actually experience things and remember them. I had an abysmal memory before, got diagnosed with some memory problems and then to therapy for them even, but Komugi? Komugi didn’t appear to have problems right now with either/or. She didn’t have photographic memory, no, but her mind was clearer, easier to think in.

August passed without much incidence, and so did September until our birthday neared. Days beforehand Dad asked us what we wanted to do in our birthday. I told him I wanted to go outside, thinking he’d take us to a park or something similar.

Kakashi on the other hand, asked what a birthday was and Dad…

From my spot I could see his shoulders droop and halt, tensing—and for a moment his eyes widened, skid past us and blurred with something (colddarkbutsointenseitburnt) I couldn’t name but it hurt to see and it made my heart ache because it was so familiar and—before his entire posture wilted into a slouch.

Somewhere between him crouching and us huddling forward, I had stepped behind Kakashi; my cold hands fidgeting on the skin of his wrist. He didn’t move to grab my hand, but he made no effort to distance himself either.

My brother remained static and I wondered whether I had imagined that painful flash. Dad’s eyes were focused on us as if nothing happened; they didn’t shine bright like earlier in the day, but neither did they cloud over. All that remained were a pair of warm, dark eyes that made me want to cling to him.

Turns out I didn’t have to, Dad did it instead. He pulled us close to his chest in a way we couldn’t see his face “It’s the day I held you for the first time,” he breathed, voice heavy and thick with that same something I couldn’t place. I could feel his arms cradling us closer, something heavy setting atop our heads.

“The day your mother and I met you, and the first and last day we spent together as a family.”

 It made me guilty, how I didn’t think about Dad’s feelings at the time—he was, is still, grieving the same way I’ve been missing my mom. Not only I lost my family that day, but Sakumo did too, he lost his wife, and Kakashi never got to know his mother. Suffice to say we spent the day together, regardless of our upcoming birthday.

I should have expected Kakashi not to ask questions, brother has always been perceptive, little kids have always been able to take intuitive leaps where even some adults don’t bother. So I was left somewhat shocked at his (Confused? Thoughtful? Bewildered? He has taken the habit of ducking his head onto his clothes’ neck more and more often) solemn expression afterward. He probably had some questions, but neither of us had seen Dad so mellow before.

At the end we did go outside, we had a picnic on a small clearing with trees at a side of the Hokage Mountain. Dad told us it was mother’s favorite spot to come after missions. We even had a little Lion King Moment when the sun set, where Dad told us that all of this, the village, was our home, something worth fighting for. 

(It didn’t make me less scared, but, less nervous, maybe; it’s always been easier to feel safe when you have family right behind you.)

For the first time ever, I learnt how to pray. I felt no lingering guilt or inadequacy from the action, and... I didn't hate it.

We talked to mom with the moon watching above.

Time passed, and it continued to boggle me how Kakashi was getting naturally better and better despite his lack of foreknowledge, its sort of awe inspiring? Inspired by a little kid, is that pathetic, or sad? Hopefully neither, it doesn’t feel like it. There was yet to be a difference margin between us two, but merely because I kept copying both failure and successes Kakashi accomplished little afterward. Sometimes I felt guilty, because these are not my achievements, but it was way too early to delve into self-deprecating thoughts when I was only a year old; perhaps later, Anxiety, my old friend.

He hasn’t noticed me following right behind him (if a bit slower), and I suppose he wouldn’t have—it’s always been like this and he’s a year old, but Dad keeps giving me these funny looks. A crooked grin here, raised eyebrows there, a combination of the two with a chuckle, makes one wonder if this is expected child behavior or not.

Either way I was enjoying myself, though only somewhat, since a little thing called training was added into the mix.

Remember when I said Kakashi tripped a lot? Yeah that wasn’t tripping, I found out months afterward he did it on purpose. It was sort of a difficult topic to avoid when your little brother escalated from rolling head forward to outright awkwardly attempting to frog-leap and dodge roll like some sort of videogame protagonist.

It took an eternity of half warbled words, hand gestures, and live-demonstrations of what he did to finally get the point across.

 His face lit up , breathing a small ‘oh’ in recognition.

“Practice!” he beamed right after, giving me his best rendition of Dad’s smile all proud and optimistic. It was kind of funny how he tried to do the eye wrinkle but couldn’t get it right.

His response was a bit short for my tastes. I let him know that by squinting, with what I felt was enough incredulity.

Kakashi huffed and pretended he didn’t want to explain, lasting a whooping full ten seconds. He leaned close to me after, looking sideways as if the walls would sprout ears, and whispered in that squeaky voice of his. “Tou-san practiceseses—“

“Practices”

He tried the word again, nodding slowly in a way you could get a clear image of the cogs turning in that fascinating child-brain of his. “Shinobi stuff on morning.” He finished with a frown, face wrinkled at the thought of calling (what probably was) Dad’s routine of ninja-acrobatics something as simple as ‘stuff’.

Curiosity piqued, I leaned forward in the same manner he had, my whisper coming along with only different intonation. There wasn’t much difference between our voices as of now; I hope it stays that way in the future. “Really?”

As if doubting him was a ridiculous notion (and might as well be, since this was about Dad. Kakashi was already Dad’s number one fan) he did the most accurate version of a child-scoff I’ve ever seen, crossed arms and all.

“You never up to see, Mugi.” Ah, there came the high-pitched mock. How come I was already getting scolded by oversleeping? I woke up a lot earlier than before! I could actually see the sun before midday. Not that he’d have any frame of comparison, but—

“That’s right!” Dad's voice cheered from behind us. His footfalls registering one and half moments too late as he appeared behind us.

Curiosity gone, I could feel more than see how my cheeks caught fire. Shooting my brother a mortified look, I saw what must have been a reflection of my expression on his face. The only difference being his face was pale-white while mine felt like burning coal. 

We tried scrambling away from Dad; sadly this wasn’t a feasible option. Dad swept us off the floor and held us by the neck of our sweaters, pointedly ignoring our increasing struggles “You should wake up earlier, Komugi-chan.” he honest-to-god sang while turning to open the yard’s sliding door.

I tried not to spontaneously combust in embarrassment as Dad set us down a meter or so in front of the pond built inside our yard (It looked like a koi pond, but, it had no fish, so). Kakashi wasn’t fairing too well either, looking two shades more pale than he should be. Whatever Dad was planning probably wouldn’t end too well; nothing ended well when he sang. Like the time he caught us trying to stea… Look at. Look at his weapon pouch.

 And so Kakashi and I learnt there was no place Dad’s ears couldn’t reach.

That scene caused a bit of a domino effect, such as the fact Kakashi and I were starting to learn stretches as precursor to... I suppose physical training? Whatever the punch-and-kick only ninja skill was.

I thought it’d be something like katas, from all of those martial arts courses I dropped out of, but so far all they’ve been were stretching exercises even I knew; nothing too difficult or strenuous for either of us. Everything was easy, going through motions and being repetitive, but surprisingly helpful improving our motor capabilities. Kakashi and I could safely run without much risk of etching the contours of our faces onto the grass.

At first I had been unsure how Kakashi would take it, my mind still stuck both on his future-self fixated laziness and my brother’s horrorstruck face the day Dad caught us. ‘Nervous’ didn’t quite cut it when I tittered on the edge of crying each time I saw my brother’s face. Three entire days I skittered around Kakashi, wondering if he would be angry at me, or embarrassed at our situation, or outright scared (and oh god oh god what if I forced him into something he hadn’t wanted?) when Dad first picked us up by the scurf and rallied us into early conditioning. The result of this little silly display was Kakashi claiming the title of ‘older sibling' because of how I was being a scaredy cat, and, it was kind of reassuring. If I seem a little more eager when coming at Kakashi to ask questions, or copy him a little bit more now, well I am the little sibling. 

Bottom-line is; Kakashi was ecstatic to begin training, lack of awesome frog-leaps or no. Dad ended up giving pointers for the whole drop-and-roll thing to him, and tried to encourage me to do the same—which I refused and attempted to do cartwheels as a replacement.

My brother did an admirable attempt at goading me into them (he had sass a one year old shouldn’t have, and I’ve a relatively short fuse), which wasn’t nearly as unsuccessful as I’d imagined. Kakashi is trying really hard to get me off my fear for frog-leaps; the least I could do was show some effort.

Dad gave me a pout when I started doing those, but didn’t say much otherwise. He bopped my nose though! and laughed. I think he was a tiny bit offended(?) when Kakashi got me to do those when he tried the same thing. Sorry Sakumo, sir, but sound logic won’t ever be on the same level as endless persuasion. That’s more or less Naruto’s rule number one, as a series. Even if the pre-stage training wasn’t difficult, it still stands with me the fact I really didn’t like exercise.

Looking at Kakashi now makes me realize how different our worlds were, from lifestyles to traditions to society. What was expected even on the title of genius.

He’s barely a year old and he’s learned so much. How to speak, add numbers, he’s learning how to read and write—I don’t know whether it is the Hatake genes, or maybe mother had some kind of bloodline growth or something, but Kakashi was… Honestly amazing, and somehow all what he’s done, was still the norm.

(Or perhaps it’s all Dad’s work there. Sakumo seems like an accepting, easy-going person.)

Even doing basic movements diligently with all the might a tunnel-vision kid can have, I could tell he was doing his best, he looked happy. He liked this. He liked learning, he liked doing things, he liked practicing and growing and talking with family and…

It was with startling discomfort that I realized, my brother was a happy child. What I’d think someone like Sakumo would come out of. Hatake Kakashi was not someone who embodied this.

Kakashi, what happened to you? What’s going to happen to us?

(There’s a weak voice inside of my mind that whispers ‘I don't want to let it happen’, and with it an echo, a hope, acid burning in my core –because I’d rather watch the world burn than help it for the better— all rolled into one.

But it is so very far away and pathetically weak and disgustingly useless. Thinking like that never got me far, and it'd better if I didn't at all- it's easier that way .)

Dad started to spend less time at home, and instead of hiring babysitting teams, gave us more to do on our afternoons in vain hopes he wouldn’t be missed. Stretches became katas, we had laps to trot, we learnt how to play strategy games like go (and shogi, which, funny thing? we sucked at it), there were lined notebooks for writing practice and kid books with a downgraded version of Kanji for us to read.

Kakashi and I struggled, we basically had a day schedule to follow when Dad was away, but it was easy to tell the stimulation did him good (I was getting a bit tired, but…).

Each success made him happy and he boasted about it at every turn, to me or Dad. Sakumo made a point not to praise him for every action, my brother’s learning curve was a bit too progressive to do that, and would rather give him pointers to make him think outside the box; meanwhile when he turned to me, I… Made an embarrassment of myself, more of less, not  knowing what to do, how to react.

My – lack thereof—social skills crept back now that Kakashi and I could hold a conversation in somewhat awkward Japanese. Sometimes instead of going to Dad, he came over to me with a piece of paper and proceeded to show me his newest solved word puzzle (which were bordering on those easy word-number cryptograms to fill spaces) so I kept asking how, and why, until Kakashi decided we should play ninja because for all he'd be (arguably bad) teaching in twenty plus years, he barely has the coherency to string sentences complex enough for me to understand.

Thankfully this brother of mine, in regards of being an actual year-and-something old, held no social skills himself and was ecstatic to show his little sibling how to be like their big brother; turns out filling the role of little sibling was easier than I thought it would be. It’s nice being the smaller one for a change.

Playing ninja was a mix of all the childhood games I barely remembered; hide and seek, it, make believe, rough housing and dodge ball all in one. I was better than Kakashi at throwing the word blocks (and branches which I found heavy enough to throw, I wasn’t picky), since I was used at gauging distances, but Kakashi was ridiculously good at hiding and trying to soccer-tackle me to the floor.

For a summary? Playing Ninja was awesome! You got to sneak around, throw stuff and show a decent amount of aggression that’s actually expected. It’s mind blowing. Something about rolling around and trying to bite, head butt, and body slam your sibling into submission was fun in comparison to scripted exercise.

The fact most of our games ended with:

a) Me crying because Kakashi pummeled me with a hiragana block too many times.
b) Kakashi tearing up because I was grinding his face on some spiky rocks. Or
c) Dad restraining us from skinning each other through fangs (we actually have those! Sweet) and nails.

Was more or less inconsequential by grounds of we cornered Dad to teach us how to use Kunai.

Kakashi and I went up to Dad and tried to compromise on less playing time and more training, versus more playing and getting accidentally roughed up enough to merit the first aid kit. We won, of course, hence playing time was reduced with some discussed, executed, and at times improvised, play pretend games of ninja were we showcased to Dad how bad of an idea was to leave us both with more playtime than training time.

We had our schedule training days, plus Kunai practice (which at this point is getting to hold the no-edge, wooden kunai, the right way before actually throwing them or use them for defense slash offence) when Dad came home, plus quickly improving plans of messing with the genin that were assigned to us, plus going outside on weekends Dad was home to pick up groceries.

On retrospect, it was no wonder things went south little thereafter, maybe there was such a thing as being too complacent about life. To spare you derailing monologue, let me lay it down simple; one late night after a week of Dad disappearing, he arrived home...

And without prompting collapsed on our doorstep soaked to the bone in blood.

Chapter Text

It was adamantly clear Kakashi and I weren’t ready for these kinds of situations—or rather, anything beyond theory. Practice was a far cry from us in my humble opinion as a year old, even if Kakashi would like to pretend otherwise; that day served to prove my point, drive it home, and keep it there for approximately five to eight minutes until an ANBU agent arrived.

It’s not as if I’d rather forget what happened that night, because it was more or less the reality I’d live in daily in the future; but I’d rather forget what happened that night.

There was no miraculous time freeze, no speed forward or merciful anxiety that would had made me faint, instead it was a nauseating mix of all options. A horrible match up of the three tweaked enough for me to stay perfectly conscious, and in charge of my higher mental capabilities to act on it. Though I sincerely wished it had been otherwise, regardless of having a sibling or not.

(He had, in some other time, handled this without me, right? He… He can do it again. I don’t want this. I’m scared.)

However there’s a silly, silly concept I still held in my heart regardless of my new world; a silly concept revolving ethics and called having a moral code. Said moral code had one value that stood out above the others on the list, a little thing called solidarity, which was a generally force of nature on its own. In this tiny mind of mine it would wage war, rampage and make chaos of my emotions, guilt trip me with anything and everything I held dear until I tried to do something about Dad and Kakashi.

(It shouldn’t have been a decision to make in the first place, he’s my brother; shouldn’t that be enough? Idealistic as I am, it should have been enough. Sadly I’ve never been selfless, but—now it could be different, right?)

Despite preserving the cognitive abilities to function properly, I—we were utterly useless. Regardless of all our heads and arms and limbs combined.

The blood was all around the entrance; from the floor tiles to the wallpaper and the cold, stone slab floor where Kakashi and I had left our shoes at. Everything was smeared with wet strips of red that kept dripping and pooling down Sakumo’s body. He had crumpled on the half-step a few feet away from the entrance door, unable to walk further.

It took under a minute to process he was still breathing, and even less to realize death by blood loss was still a real possibility in the next few minutes if (I—he? We? No no no. I can’t I can’t—) nothing was done about it.

Bile rose up my throat as my body quivered, wanting nothing more than drop and give and never wake up. Even if this wasn’t the first time I had seen decently copious amounts of blood, it was still the first time someone close to me dropped like a drunken cockroach with its remains still spilling on the floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noticed I wasn’t breathing. I tried to suck in some air, but, the moment I breathed I—

(Blood Fear Danger HE’S DYING go help move snap breathe I’M SCARED reassure comfort DO SOMETHING)

The metallic scent left a bitter taste on the back of my throat that made my whole world twist into a vertigo. From one moment to the next my mind was burning and crashing down with a terrible headache. Not a room away from the scene and I was acutely aware of how thick the scent of copper clouded the air, so much it was hard to breathe in, hard not to bolt away and shove my nose under twenty pillows put together. This was why Dad never came home directly from work, this was why all our scrapes and cuts were immediately dealt with, this was why we weren’t allowed to handle anything sharp enough to slice through skin or pierce without supervision, this...

(My body wobbled and I dropped to the floor, vaguely noticing how my breaths came shallow and cut short, continuous like rapid fire of a weapon that wouldn’t exist here. My hands were—they… I think they were the only thing keeping me from joining Sakumo on the floor.)

Komugi’s body felt heavy, her (her? No, that’s me)head lightweight and dizzy.  I could feel the blood running through my veins in the form of my pulse thumping loudly in my ears (They were filling with fuzzy white noise, distracting, confusing, painful—

Why was Kakashi next to Dad?—DAD!)

With a jolt of energy I was on my feet again, sweat like ice cold water coating every inch of my body and I hyperaware of every crease under my heel. There was no way to count the seconds that had passed, Kakashi was unresponsive despite the fact he had at some point walked forward close to Sakumo, all muscles tense as a rock to my left, while Dad’s body jerked in small, sudden movements as if to press further into the wall.

Alive, he was alive and breathing...That’s… That’s good.

It was a deep and forced thing that reverberated through the walls like a haunting echo, an unnerving sound that I was endlessly grateful for. It was the dead of the night, midnight, and Dad was gulping down air faster than a drowning man.

An instant later it struck me how Kakashi hadn’t uttered a word since Sakumo had barged in. He stood paralyzed steps away from me, eyes impossibly wide in a way I had never seen before (not here, not Back, his eyes were so, so big. Why are they so big? Stop that’s not healthy they’re going to Pop Out please stop I can see your veins), terrified and confused beyond understanding.

(In that moment there was a decision to make, because for all that my everything screamed sick, I wasn’t in shock—or at least not anymore. My limbs were not locked; there were few options to take, either I moved, helped, or… I could wait, wait and do nothing.

No one would blame me, I was a child, my Dad was on the floor and Kakashi was completely silent, no one would know.

This shouldn’t have been a choice either; They wouldn’t have moved a muscle until it was over, they were weak and lazy and useless and any redeemable qualities were gone the moment they accepted those, but they were and now they were gone . Komugi is a clean slate; Komugi loves Dad and maybe even Kakashi. Komugi doesn’t want Dad to go or Kakashi to be traumatized and hung by guilt.)

It took me less than I thought it would, but it still amounted to more than a minute (and somewhere less than five, infinitively faster than my initial expectations) for all of these actions to process. It took me about the same amount of time to decide what to do, too, and by the end of it, I caught the tail end of an enormously messy burst of something that made my body stagger again. It was like a shockwave, but with a frizzy undercurrent, something which made every hair in my body raise and leave goose bumps in its wake.

The energy snapped every and all traces of hesitation I had left me— I grabbed my brother’s hand and dragged us forwards to Dad.

What happened after that blissfully escaped my mind, my body’s memory finally responding as it should, and blocking out bits of the (arguably) traumatic experience a little kid shouldn’t have burned in their minds. I am fairly certain that nightmares will come soon enough, but for now I relish on the fact my brain seems to have a mild case of selective memory.

I remember telling my brother to get the first aid kit, (which took him three tries accompanied by loud knocking over cabinets, desperate noises, and a vague description of ‘big white box with a red Konoha-leaf on the center’ for him to understand what that even was). An array of expressions flashed through Sakumo’s face the whole time Kakashi went to fetch the medkit,  most of them being one half distressed and one half amused, all while forcing words of reassurance for me and Kakashi, once he had regained enough composure to sit up.

There was no need to feel offended or insulted or even anything else than raw relief when ANBU (funny how I remember that name was in all caps but the acronym escapes me. It’s almost as funny as linking said word with the animal-masked people, but not knowing what they did or why they were special from other shinobi at all. It was an oddly specific detail to remember) appeared, we couldn’t have possibly done anything than poke at Dad’s wounds.

When he came to long enough to talk to us, Dad apologized for rushing home and giving us a scare. We made Dad promise not to do that again; if he gets injured he should go to the hospital, not home. Dad cringed and whined (possibly for dramatics, or lightening up the mood. It worked, kind of), but Kakashi was unaffected by it and remained on that same note of passive-aggressive silence with that judging, evil-eye kiddie stare.

“Come now, I just wanted to see my cute little cubs after a long day of work....“

Kakashi’s glare tried to pass of as stern, but it was a difficult thing to achieve when you were tiny as a puppy “Don’t care,” he quipped crossly, injecting as much venom as possible in his words while pointedly crossing his arms.

He turned away, nose poised high. “If you want to come home, then don’t get hurt.” Little Kakashi scowled further and buried his face onto the scarf he wore, muttering words among the lines of ‘stupid tou-san’.

Dad was baffled into silence with the silliest startled deer look on his face, lasting full five seconds before laughing hard enough I had to go find a nurse just in case he’d rip something. His reaction summoned forth a pinched expression on my brother’s face, radiating complete and utter disbelief in waves. I bet Dad lost plenty of brownie points right there.

Later that day Dad started filling a report in the old-fashioned ways of pen and paper, occasionally cluing us on tips of how to make a mission debrief.  For me it was mind numbingly boring, enough to make me fall asleep on my spot curled next to him. School lectures were okay (what little I remember them being, though not particularly useful sometimes), lectures made by your parent while writing the equivalent of an essay, and a chronology and summary of events all in one? Not for me.

When I woke up, it was because of my brother dearests insistent probing and hissing to pay attention. Dad was explaining chakra, starting from a practical definition and ending on what exactly we had felt that night. It was chakra, of course.

The shockwave I felt was a spike, a sharp jab of chakra released into the air with the objective to act as a flare; nothing short of a distress beacon which called available shinobi to the scene, and in this case, patrolling ANBU. After that, chakra theory was made a must right after his weeklong stay in the hospital, wherein we all but nearly camped on the empty spot besides his bed. Nearly, because Dad dissuaded us with saying he ‘didn’t trust anyone but us to watch our home’, underhanded manipulation or not, it gave us the initiative to visit Dad a few hours every two days. We would have gone visit Dad more often, but the distance to Konoha’s general hospital was extremely tiring.

In that week life was far more hectic than all those short months I’ve been aware of packed together. Kakashi was constantly alert (taking Dad’s words to heart, like usual) of the shinobi that came by to check on us, snapping back the best he could whenever anyone got too close; it would had been funny if it didn’t make fending for ourselves more difficult. The one time I let Kakashi open the door to give the genin a list of the food of what we needed (in clumsy hiragana and wobbly drawings), he refused to let them to their job and almost shut the door in their faces. Yeah, needless to say, I didn’t let him answer afterwards.

If there were people watching us (which, it’s an odd thing to consider but, if they were monitoring the house and didn’t let us do our grocery shopping it wasn’t so far-fetched. We were… Somewhere around a year and half? Three quarters? Something old after all) when we walked all the way to the hospital, I didn’t notice. Neither did Kakashi, or else he would have probably sulked. Maybe. I’m still not sure about his behavioral patterns yet.

More like he still doesn’t have enough of a consistent personality to have behavioral patterns, one moment he was faux-angry slash disappointed at Dad, the next he was silently listening to his every word like he truly believed Sakumo had all the answers to life. Little kids were difficult to pin down.

The nights were long and just a little bit chilly, even if we were already on spring. I made a habit of curling in my futon, just as I used to do on my comfy bed from Back then; though sometimes that wasn’t enough either, sometimes I couldn’t sleep on my own. The nights became unnervingly eerie in their ambiance of silence, my mind hyperaware of how controlled my breathing was, how the empty space around me evoked shivers down my spine. On particularly bad nights the shadows would swirl and loom over me until my breaths became stutters and I’d find my body unable, unwilling to move.

(…And in a world were shadows could be controlled to do exactly that, there was no way to reassure yourself it wouldn’t happen. If I asked my father back then, I didn’t know what he’d answer with. He’s always been an honest man, so he wouldn’t have rejected the idea of moving shadows.)

Instead, I turned to Kakashi. I dragged my blanket and draped it over his, snuggling with him and curling my body to hold his arm captive— he never understood why I did that, with how many questions he asked, and I. I wasn’t inclined to tell him my fears; there was a possibility he’d mock me. I still don’t trust my new big brother to do that, not yet, and knowing how he’d turn out in the future didn’t give me any comfort either.

At night we slept together, and by the day I struggled to pay attention in my exercises and Kakashi’s progress at the image of Dad in a hospital bed. Kakashi kept diligently studying and practicing while I wasted time worrying, and I wondered if my brother had that much confidence in the nurses (or Dad. Yeah, that makes more sense) or maybe his attention span just didn’t last as long to worry for someone that wasn’t there.

The last day we visited before Dad came home I wrote him a letter, a ‘get well soon’ (p.s. be nice to iryo-nin-san) kind of card just as Kakashi turned to leave. I didn’t stay to hear if he liked it or not, but… From his laughter moments after leaving, well. I’m just glad only Kakashi was there to see me turn beet red.

Clearly, I was wrong to ever think Kakashi didn’t care about Dad’s wellbeing, because now? Now he would not. Leave. Him. Alone.

Thankfully Sakumo realized arriving home injured was not the way to do… Literally whatever was going through his head by the time? I’d rather not sustain any theories of his reasoning about that night. The less I knew, the better I’d be. Or at least for the meanwhile, since, that is not how this world in particular works out.

(Later, much much later I found out he hadn’t done it on purpose—or at least, not in the way that I thought of; Dad was threatened, the enemy had gotten ahold of sensitive information, us, and though their mindgames didn’t work, he… He still slipped up.

That doesn’t explain why he came out of a bloodbath, but, I suppose he just wanted to see us safe, prove the mindgames were just that and nothing more.)

Whenever Dad went out for a mission, I would remind him to take care and Kakashi jumped on the train. Once I told him to be careful on his way out, and my brother dearest latched onto it, now he does it before I do, prematurely scolding Sakumo about any future injuries he might have. It was pretty hilarious at first, considering we were incredibly tiny in comparison to him, not even up to his knees yet, but later it became somewhat annoying when he’d do the same to me.

He’s been getting better at Japanese than I am, so I had been going to him with any questions I had—little sibling and all… But in turn Kakashi filled the role of big brother a tad too intensely. He’d launch an entire session to teach me by himself, coupled with all the stutters and trips he still made and the phrases he didn’t quite know how to use. That habit kids had to speak in more complicated sentences and words when they didn’t know the extent of.

Usually my patience was greater than this, but I had never been good with kids, they’d grate on my gears. Either way, Kakashi upped the big brother act, and as such extended the words of relative concern (though I doubt it, he’s probably just saying so because Dad told him to.) on my way.

Though really, all of those borderline passive-aggressive thoughts were just attempts of my rapidly flustered brain to cope. I don’t dislike the attention, but it’s nevertheless different than what I was used to. It’s sad to notice how genuine concern was shown less and less the older you grew, and I guess here won’t be any different.

With that thought I set out to thank my brother with a hug every time he told me to be careful.

… He got used to it pretty fast. And by that, I mean he grew used to dodging out of the way pretty fast. Cheeky little chamaco.

Between that same month and the next Dad received less missions. When I asked why (and got my arm pinched, courtesy of my brother) we got the first display of Sakumo’s sheepish smile, even his cheeks were a bit rosy! Truth to be told, his answer did merit one, at least he had the decency to appear chastised.

“Time away from active duty is a punishment set to me by the Hokage.” Why would a vacation be synonym to punishment was beyond me, but Kakashi as always, managed to project an aura of stern-baby disappointment. He has been doing that a lot more lately, I still don’t know why, but I remember it started around the time our last official baby-sitting team took care of us. That was more than half year ago. It’s incredible how time flies by.

From there to our second year nothing remarkable happened. Dad took us out to shop for a pair of stuffed animals; Kakashi snatched a small black-and-white pug with amber eyes, I picked up an adorable husky with blue eyes because there were no reptiles available other than Orochimaru + Snake plushie combos, meaing there were no lizards. Boo.

Kakashi would deny it to his dying breath by tickles, but he takes care of my little buddy more than I do. He even cleans them on his turn to do laundry—but nevertheless used them far less. It’s like he’d be fine with sticking the stuffed animals with glue to the small table we have on our room. He just… Stares at them sometimes, proceeds to pet his dog, shuffle both his and mine a bit closer to a symmetrical position, and leave without so much as a second glance. Weird kid.

A week before our second birthday we got our pretty little rumps handed to us. One would think that, as a father introducing his children to the naturally violent ways of the world they live in, he’d go with a gentler approach, but instead, what we got was a solid ass-whooping; it probably had to do with Kakashi’s cheeky attitude at some point, he was sassing Dad a bit much as of lately.

It hadn’t come out of the blue of course, through the weeks Dad had been dedicating more time into training us personally—nearly everything in our little schedule doubled when Dad over saw our training. He’d turn to Kakashi and teach him how to plant his feet on the ground correctly, how to block strikes with or without a kunai, been more demanding on the timeframe and number of exercises and laps he could make out. Jogs turned into short sprints, dodge and roll turned into avoiding whatever was in the nearby vicinity to throw at us, even throwing kunai was upped a level—he wanted us to make figures.

Had I been any older, a curse would had spilled in there somewhere, however I was not and therefor all I was able to do was let the gloom clouds hover over me for a while.

Overall each time Kakashi got marginally better at something, Sakumo would pile more stuff for him to do; it was easy to tell he, like every other parent in the world, was taking advantage of a child’s learning curve, this topples with the fact Kakashi himself was a little genius all on his own. Eager student, meet demanding teacher.

Me? I wasn’t pushed as much, or rather; Sakumo had tried to push me. Very hard. Hard enough to try and make me match Kakashi on his transitions from ‘knowing nothing’ to ‘working on perfecting it’ and expecting me to keep it up. I would have liked to say I kept up, that I stayed behind to maintain the big brother-little sibling learning ratio that had already begun to develop since months ago… But in good conscience I can’t say so without lying.

Picking up a language is hard, but manageable out of sheer necessity. It’s doable, and once you crack the language, things like mathematics and semantics flow easily afterwards. I had no problem with reading and comprehending and studying, because that’s what I did before coming Here. Learning how to handle a knife, where the major arteries are located, memorize an emergency sign language, preparing myself to parade into a kill or be killed world? This was not something that came easy to me, this was against my morals, this was something I’d rather not deal with because it meant fighting. Fighting that would inevitably lead to death, I’m not naïve enough to believe I’ll die of old age, in a place like this.

So I lagged behind, soon enough there was a noticeable gap between us in the matter of weeks. Where Kakashi already learnt how to strike with shuriken, I was still refining how to hold a kunai without poising awkwardly; where he was well on his way to memorizing the rules the first pages of the Shinobi guidelines, I was still struggling on filling basic Kanji work sheets. Dad didn’t seem to mind, didn’t frown or ask why wasn’t I doing better, didn’t send disapproving looks my way or reprimanded me—and it made me feel both incredibly lucky for having such a lenient father, and horribly inadequate for not measuring up to expectations.

(Something small but incredibly ugly churns at my stomach, tasting of old, burnt out anger and resignation. It’s not Komugi’s, but I still hate how familiar it feels.

‘Jealousy and envy won’t get you anywhere’, I’d tell myself, watching Kakashi soak up all of Dad’s time without so much as a glance in my direction, much less an errant thought.

‘Be glad he’s happy’ a quieter voice whispered, amiable, shy  and soothing  all at once until it spoke for a second time, where it’s sweet tone would turn bitter—‘because he won’t be that way forever’.

Cold comfort has never been so disgusting.)

It took me a while to figure it out, why Dad would spend more time with my brother, who despite the early struggles, took this type of cramming teaching method like he was born for it, instead of spending more time with me and helping the younger, slower child that took longer to explain things to. My first thought was somewhat dark, how Sakumo probably wouldn’t be teaching me anymore because I wasn’t proving worth his time; he wouldn’t enroll me to be a shinobi because of Kakashi.

( It's odd, how I truly didn't want to adhere to this world's rules, where mass murder can be justified by 'it was to prove myself' and be done with it, but regardless I don't want to be left behind. Months ago, days ago I would have still thuoght of civilian life.

Now… I don’t think that’s possible, not if I want to stay by Dad’s side.)

I kept thinking that way for some time. Suddenly we were in spring again—fall and winter had gone over my head.

(All of those happy memories of sharing the same blanket on the sofa and drinking hot chocolate, I kept replaying them over and over. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to be left behind, please.)

Later another alternative crossed my mind, later when Dad instructed Kakashi less to have some time with me. Why he didn’t gruel me as harshly, nor push me harder than gentle encouragements and nudges to go forward. The realization came, not in the shape of a small point in time, but rather picking up one hint after another.

Dad gave Kakashi a weapons pouch; I received a bundle of books.

Kakashi got trained on speed and agility; I was focused on defensive maneuvers and stealth.

When I got upgraded to more complex katas; Dad was already talking idly about buying Kakashi a practice tantō.

It should have been stupidly obvious, but somehow it wasn’t, not until that particular detail with the sword came out. Dad was lining Kakashi up to become his heir.

(But where does that leave me?)