Yondaime-sensei told the ANBU to protect him. Told him that no matter what happened, he would have to care for this child, he would have to care for this village in his stead. That this was his very own flesh and blood and he needed to have the reassurance that he would be protected. Kakashi’d nodded slowly after all; it was all he could do. How could he, no older than a child himself, take care of this child who was no more than hours old? Yondaime-sensei gave him too much to take care of. He couldn’t do this, he was a child, he was alone, and he had no family to help him. How could he take care of a child?
There were tears in his eyes and he wished it wasn’t so. His mismatched eyes were closed as he listened to the crying Umino Iruka holding the newborn infant, the infant that held the fate of the village in his body. He couldn’t raise a child, he’d barely been cared for himself as a child; how could he raise one? Couldn’t one of the women in the village do it?
Uzumaki Naruto. Those were the last words of his sensei. And it hurt him to think that the last words were the name of this child, that because of this child, his sensei was no longer around. He wanted to throw the child off of the bridge and be done with him.
“Kakashi?” Iruka whimpers softly. The only person in this village outside of his team allowed to address him as such. He really should snap out of his funk soon. It would do nothing to help the village he was assigned to protect. He would have to find Sarutobi-sensei and hope that he would know just what to do. He was the Sandaime Hokage. He would probably resume his duties as the hokage now that Yondaime-sensei was gone.
“Kakashi,” Iruka whispers softly, moving to stand closer to the mourning ANBU boy. “What are we going to do?”
“Give me the child and I’ll take him to Sarutobi-sensei,” Kakashi answers just as softly as Iruka’s timidly whispered question.
“A-are you okay?” Iruka asks, his voice cracking with the effort of being strong and powerful, the perfect shinobi the village would need.
“I’m not the one injured,” Kakashi answers. He takes the sleeping child (blond hair and whiskered cheeks) and steps closer to Iruka. There is blood, flowing freely in places over his handsome face and Kakashi hates himself for not protecting the young man. Once again he failed those who were important to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, a warm hand caressing an equally warm cheek.
And it hurts. It really, truly hurts to know that this boy, this man-child is the only thing holding him to this village anymore and he couldn’t protect him. It was too much responsibility: to be powerful and all knowing and quick thinking and a genius. It was too much for him to handle and he couldn’t do it. Perhaps he would better serve the village as a teacher of young hopeful boys and girls seeking to become shinobi…
“Don’t apologize.”
“It’s my fault. He’s beating himself up again and he regrets ever wearing the mantle of ANBU when he couldn’t protect the beautiful blond-headed man who had smiled down on him like sunshine. He couldn’t protect the wonderfully timid, perfectly average being he’d somehow become deeply ingrained with. He hated that he could do nothing about any and all of that and that he wanted to turn back time and make things right again.
“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t always be there. Trust me, okay?” Iruka whispers, even as his strength is slowly failing him. “Trust me to protect myself. I’ll be strong enough for you,” he murmurs as his eyes of chocolate slide closed and he’s falling.
Holding the sleeping infant in his arms, Kakashi smoothly catches the unconscious male and saves him a nasty bump on his handsome head. At least, he can do this much.
Lovers. That’s what they would be. Sometime in the future, when both completely understood the word, the connotations of the word; that’s what they would be. Until then, they were destined to be the best of friends, destined to have their lives entangled with one another’s. And Kakashi will be damned thrice over before he ever sees harm come to the brunet.
He can’t carry the child and Iruka at the same time, so he does what he must, and lies Iruka carefully on the ground. He holds the child close to his protected chest and moves quickly through the devastated village as he runs, moving ever closer to the man he needed, Sarutobi-sensei. Like Yondaime-sensei, he always knew what needed to be done, what needed to be taken care of. He didn’t want to protect this child, he wanted to make this child hurt like he’d been hurt tonight. Because of this child, Yondaime-sensei had moved on. Yondaime-sensei had sacrificed himself to protect his village, to make this child more than what he would have been.
Kakashi hated the tears on his cheeks, the tears in his mismatched eyes, and the pain in his heart. Hated the weakness that was being dealt him today, tonight. This child was the cause of it all. He hated this child, already.
This child would be hated. He would be hated for the pain that he caused tonight, for the death of Yondaime-sensei. For the destruction of this village.
Yondaime-sensei said that he was to be celebrated. He was to be loved and honored for being a hero. He was to be loved for being the container of the evil bastard demon. He was a child who needed to be cared for more than others in the village.
However, he was also the reason that Yondaime-sensei was dead.
Regardless of Yondaime-sensei’s dying wishes, he would be hated.
Kakashi quickly found Sarutobi-sensei and murmurs softly, in a voice that is on the verge of breaking, “His name is Uzumaki Naruto. Yondaime-sensei wants him to be honored. He is the container of the Kyuubi no Kitsune. He is a hero.”
“Where is Yondaime-sama?” Sarutobi asks delicately.
“He died sealing the kitsune within the child,” Kakashi answers.
Sarutobi-sensei’s face crumples slowly. But he was shinobi. And shinobi were never emotional people. He quickly composes himself and gestures toward his home. “Please, come with me. I’ll make you some tea and you can rest. I’m sure you’re tired after all the fighting you’ve done.”
“I can’t,” Kakashi murmurs. “I have to go get Iruka.”
“Of course. Bring Iruka with you when you retrieve him. Is he wounded?”
“I’m going to take him to my home. He lost his parents tonight,” Kakashi answers shortly.
“Of course. Take care of him then, okay?”
“What are you going to do with the child?” Kakashi asks. He would not allow himself to call the infant by his name or by something just a little more personable. He would not: doing so would prove to make him like the infant just a little bit more human.
“You will help me care for Naruto, won’t you?” Sarutobi growls softly, in a voice that leaves nothing open for him to disagree.
“I’ll help watch out for him. But I will not care for this child. He’s… Yondaime-sensei,” Kakashi murmurs helplessly. He couldn’t think of the perfect words to explain it. He knew the child wasn’t the reason for the vivacious blond Hokage’s death, but he was all there was. If there hadn’t been a child, then there would have been a fight. And if they had fought just a little longer, it could have ended positively.
They wouldn’t have lost the perfect Hokage.
Kakashi didn’t wait for Sarutobi-sensei to say anything else before he left. He is exhausted. He is worn out and he needs to have some peace. He needs to cry, he needs to be alone and he needs Iruka.
He left Naruto at Sarutobi-sensei’s and took off. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t watch this man who’d helped to raise him take care of this hours old child. He can’t handle the pain, the thought that he wouldn’t see Yondaime-sensei when he woke up in the morning, waiting impatiently to throw him around. Yondaime-sensei was the only one who’d thought to ever treat him like an orphaned child of a disgraced shinobi.
When he finds Iruka, lying where he left him, Kakashi knows that things are going to change. There is something about beautifully tender Iruka that will never stop being the caregiver to others. He can’t stop himself from caring for others. It’s in his nature; it’s what his parents gave him.
Lifting the unconscious form, Kakashi hurries off to his own home. He told Sarutobi-sensei that he would return, but he can not bring himself to do so. He can not bring himself to see that child again. He wants privacy and peace with the fallen Iruka. He wants Iruka to bring him the peace that he needs.
He needs to be Iruka. Like a man must eat or a man must breath, he needs Iruka.
At his home, Kakashi lays Iruka on his bed. He will have Iruka with him at all times until he able to sleep in peace again, which may never happen. At least before, he had been able to fool himself into believing that he could protect that which he cared the most about. He will never leave Iruka alone again. He would never risk the man who loved him, the man who protected him, and the man who supported him.
Sighing, Kakashi moves through the motions of taking care of the unconscious man. He won’t let him suffer anymore than he already has suffered. And in the morning, he’ll take Iruka to Sarutobi-sensei’s because he knows- he knows- Iruka will want to care for the child. He will want to care for the child, he will want to know everything about the child, he will want to help raise the child and make him happy.
And Kakashi will have nothing to do but allow it to happen because whatever Iruka wants, Iruka gets. Especially when it comes to Kakashi; Kakashi can deny Iruka’s handsome self nothing.
With the bleeding wound cleaned and bandaged, Kakashi removes Iruka’s clothing, leaving only his boxers for modesty’s sake and quickly follows suit. He doesn’t want to lay beside Iruka in his ANBU uniform. He lies beside the unconscious man and wraps his arms around the cool body before closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
“I’m sorry Iruka. We’re going to change after this; I know we will… please, forgive me,” Kakashi whispers before falling into silence, letting the mistress of sleep overpower him.
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Chapter notes: Okay, I hope you enjoy this. There’s going to be three more chapters (it’s a four-part story.) This is Kakashi, next will be Iruka. The last two will deal with the ominous statement of Kakashi at the end. Let me know what you think (if you think I should even finish at all!) in a review or an email. I appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed it. (by the way, if it reads awkwardly, let me know, I’m playing around with present tense… )