Chapter Text
I didn’t understand I wanted to live until Hatake Sakumo saved my life.
Stupid cunt, I thought.
“Stupid… cunt…” I wheezed. Blood ran down my face. Some of it from my mouth, up my throat, from my ears– eyes– other orifices, probably, but at that point I was beyond shame.
My body worked on instinct, trying to repair the damage and purge the toxin– get it out with the blood– but I’m a mid-tier medic, not Tsunade. Fucking poisons. Fucking Suna.
Fucking will to survive, holy shit. Since when had that mattered?
Hatake didn’t say a damn thing. Just shifted me over one of his shoulders, our third comrade (an uppity special jōnin named Tabata) hanging limply from the other, and kept running, running, running. I heard dogs howling in the distance. His summons? Probably.
…Probably…?
“Hatake,” I said– tried to say, it came out more of a mumble. H’tke. “I–” can’t speak liquid in my throat getitoutgetitoutgetitout– “Don’t wanna–” Dun w’nna–
Die. I don’t wanna–
“It’ll be okay, kid,” Hatake said.
…I was out before I could correct him.
==
What a bastard, honestly. What a fucking tool.
Nobody wanted to owe a debt to a dead man walking.
==
If I was awake at any point during the flight back to Konoha I don’t remember it.
It took them almost two weeks to un-liquify my organs enough to risk waking me up from an induced coma– that Chiyo bitch knew her fucking poisons, ha ha ha– and another week after that (groggily dragging myself back to some semblance of coherence) for somebody to bother telling me my teams shit-idiot stunts– especially Hatake’s shit-idiot stunts, aparently Tabata had been very specific about whose fault it was he was still breathing– had probably lit the fuse on another war.
I laughed in his face until he left the room and kept laughing.
I’d already known this– known this for seventeen fucking years, how the hell had that happened– but I had the worst luck. Just… dogshit. Incomprehensibly terrible. Motherfucker.
Motherfucker.
I hated him. I hated him more than I’d ever hated anyone else, in this life, maybe even the one before it. I hated him and I hated that I was glad he’d done it and I hated that I was happy I was alive and I hated…
Nobody wanted to owe a debt to a man who was going to die. Nobody wanted to cause the death of the man you owe a debt to, either, but that was my lot in life: inconsequential background garnish to a tragedy that had come prepackaged, or whatever-the-fuck.
Hah.
I was so caught up in self pity I didn’t notice the small vase of flowers placed neatly near my hospital bed. Or maybe it was just that I hadn’t expected them, and wound up selectively blind. I wasn’t the kind of person you sent flowers to, hospitalized or not.
That goddamned son of a bitch– that motherfucker, that shit-idiot– had flouted enough rules by that point I probably should have expected it, though. Maybe it would have been enough of a warning.
==
I lived by myself in a third floor 1R apartment in chūnin housing, one of many similar complexes in the heart of the village– there were very (very) few perks to being a clanless kunoichi, but a lot of the housing blocks set aside for anyone who didn’t conveniently have a room or a house or a whatever in a compound were centrally located.
Shit! But centrally located.
“Tadaima,” I said to the empty room. It always took a few seconds to jiggle the door open– the lock stuck, but I was in no hurry to fix such an obvious tell that somebody was trying to get in. I didn’t have too many things, so the main space was pretty much empty… just my rolled up futon and blankets, and my equipment tucked in the corners.
The nook that held the little kitchen on the way in was equally barren– I hadn’t been such a bad cook before, I was pretty sure, but now... The hot plate was enough to reheat leftovers. I survived.
I shivered while I toed off my sandals. Fiddling with the thermostat did nothing. I probably had to get the heat reconnected… It'd been over a month since I’d been back. Thinking of making the trek all the way back down to the office made me cringe, though, and I unrolled the futon instead, flopping onto it and pulling the pile of musty blankets over my head.
What a mess, I thought. Shit-idiot mess for shit-idiots.
At this point the rumor mill had better people to talk about then a lowly chūnin (the White Fang, disgraced, ha- ha ha) but I could feel their eyes following my back all the way from the hospital— not that they’d get a damn thing from me. I’d given that report once from the sickbed. Once was enough. The situation was tits-up before we even got there, but of course that mattered less than Hatake Sakumo letting himself get spotted in a village he shouldn’t have been fucking assigned too in the first place…
I didn’t say that. I liked my head where it was.
Fuck, but it was stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
One of the Fire Daimyo’s idiot sons got himself snatched by Wind near the border– and of course the first thing the Daimyo demanded was for us to infiltrate Suna and break the idiot son out, as if that was easy. I was a medical specialist with low rank but a track record of successful “infiltration” missions (…unimportant) and Tabata may-or-may-not moonlight in ANBU (strictly speaking I was not allowed to know that, but, well… unimportant) and we were both nobodies who wouldn’t automatically start a goddamned war if we got caught. That part made sense. My medical training made me useful in any situation with a hostage, and Tabata was a prick but he got shit done– but Hatake Goddamned Sakumo…?!
Hatake was good. Maybe even Sannin good– I had my doubts– but good like most people weren’t. But he’d murdered the puppet mistress's son, last war, and that Chiyo bitch’s grudges were Suna’s grudges.
Fucking miracle I came out of whatever she dosed me with in mostly one, sore, piece… apparently I’d manually purged most of the poison from my system on the spot, and it had still managed to make half my internal organs soup. I was lucky there were available transplants. I was lucky they’d integrated. I was lucky Konoha didn’t make ninjas injured in the line of duty pay for their own medical care.
“Bitch,” I said, to no one.
The hell of it was, we might have actually done it– gotten in and out in one piece, that is– except somebody had tipped Suna off ahead of time. Had to be. The idiot son must have been dead in his cell before we stepped one foot in the village, and I was positive they’d been expecting us, a three man team, the White Fang leading it. I wasn’t sure if the Yamanaka receiving my report actually believed we hadn’t just fucked up somewhere else, which was… but…
The three of us bolted. Hatake in one direction with the body scroll, and me and Tabata in another, leading the bulk of the Suna-nin after us. We were nobodies: if anyone was going to get caught that day, the fallback plan was for it to be us, two corpses taking the fall with slashed headbands and the paper-thin ‘not me’! from Konoha.
But Hatake…
That son of a bitch. That moron. That shit-idiot and his shit-idiot stunts.
Hatake saved our lives– and he got caught doing it, and here we all were, after the fact.
…somebody was knocking on my door.
“I’M NOT INTERESTED!” I yelled, not bothering to move from my cozy, musty mountain of blankets. It could be– “IF THAT’S YOU, SUZUKI,” I added, “FUCK OFF! I’LL GO DOWN TOMORROW!”
I wasn’t in the mood to deal with my landlord today. Just thinking about it gave me a headache.
Whoever was at the door was silent for a moment. “...I’m not… Suzuki…?” said a quiet, rough voice, familiar but not–
Oh, fuck.
“SHUT UP, BITCH,” yelled my neighbor What's-His-Name (Mamoru Keiji, desk chūnin), throwing something heavy and suspiciously kunai-ish at the wall that bordered our apartments. Landlord wouldn’t like that. “FUCK! I’M READING!”
Somebody else started yelling further down the hall. I didn’t have anything within reach so I settled for shoving my hand out from the mass of blankets and flipping him off– he couldn’t see but I knew– before I groaned, and threw them off entirely.
God-damned shit-idiot nonsense. Fuck.
I stumbled to my feet and pushed myself to the door, cursing under my breath. Everything hurt and I just wanted to take a fucking nap, but no, I had to deal with– I threw the door open. Standing in my doorway was…
I blinked.
That’s a fruit basket with legs.
I blinked again.
…still a fruit basket with legs. What the hell. “What the hell.” I said. “Hey, idiot, can that even– fuck, nevermind. Get in!”
“Um,” said the White Fang, Hatake Sakumo.
I reached around the fruit basket and grabbed his arm– he let me do it, and let me pull him awkwardly through the entrance of the apartment. The fruit basket barely fit, it was so big. I grabbed the idiot thing out of his hands when the door finally slammed shut behind him, shuffling backwards out of the entrance and into the main space. There wasn’t a table to set it on so I just put it in the only corner not occupied with storage scrolls and boxes, or my futon when it wasn’t laid out.
Satisfied with it for now, I turned around and glared at the man, who wilted further at the expression. I… almost regretted it immediately, the White Fang looked… as pitiful as I’d ever seen him. His usually fluffy hair hung limp in the hair-tie, like he wasn’t actually washing it, and he hadn’t been shaving either. Dark circles were tattooed below his droopy eyes. He hadn’t exactly looked great during the mission, either, but he’d stood tall back then.
Now…
“Who kicked you?” I blurted out, before I coughed, and continued glaring. Shit-idiot kicked puppy moron. Old man. I already knew the answer to that. “Nevermind. What’s with the–?” I thumbed behind me, pointing at the oversized monstrosity of a fruit basket.
“Ah…” Hatake rubbed the back of his neck, reminding me violently of his maybe-future-older son, and the man’s own impending doom. I cringed. He didn’t mention it. “I’m… glad your recovery went smoothly, Yamada-san.” He bowed low, lower than anyone had ever bowed for me– I’d think he was mocking me if he was anyone else. “I came here to say… I sincerely apologize, for my… failures as your commanding officer.”
“Wait,” I said, but he just kept going.
“You never should have been put in that position,” he said, voice rough. “And because of… that, my actions, you will… likely face the consequences. In your career. But I cannot say–” he paused even more awkwardly. “I… cannot say that I regret your survival.”
I wondered how Tabata had reacted to that. No, I didn’t need to wonder. I knew how Tabata had reacted to that. “Holy shit,” I said. “Get the fuck up, Hatake. What, am I–” and maybe my voice caught but none of that was Hatake’s goddamned business so, “--supposed to be mad you saved my life?!”
That bastard. That fucking tool. That shit-idiot. I rubbed my eyes and glared furiously at the floor, so I didn’t have to look at Hatake, who belonged here– bowing down to something like me.
“The mission was tits-up before we got there, sir,” I added, because I could. “Am I supposed to be mad you didn’t know Suna got fucking tipped off!? We all should have died, anyway. I’m glad I’m not dead. You saved my life. I didn’t–” want to die, fuck.
There was a hand on my head, petting my hair awkwardly. Like a dog.
“It’s alright, Kid,” Hatake rasped, not that he sounded like he meant it. “...we don’t know Suna got tipped off,” he added, and the worst fucking part was that hadn’t even sounded like lip service.
“I’m not a kid,” I snapped. “And you’re not stupid. Or incompetent. And I’m not as good as you, but I’m not incompetent. And neither is Tabata, even if he’s a cunt–”
Hatake cough-wheezed but didn’t defend the other man.
“--so yeah, Suna got tipped off. They didn’t even know we were there until we took the bait! And don’t touch me.”
The hand retracted. I straightened my spine and squinted at him, trying to gauge his mood. He looked slightly less pathetic then he had five minutes ago– he wasn’t standing tall, still, but the impression he gave off wasn’t as much like I was personally beating him with a shoe… or something. Whatever.
“You weren’t this… colorful, during the mission,” he said, head tilted like a– no, I wasn’t going there. There had been enough metaphors.
“I can be professional.”
“Apparently,” he hummed. Hatake rocked back on his heels and seemed to actually take in my apartment for the first time since he’d stepped past the threshold. He didn’t seem impressed. Cunt. “...do you… have any food in here?” he said with– oh god– genuine concern.
I looked pointedly at the corner. “I have a fruit basket.”
“Ah.”
The silence that followed was just… awkward.
“Yamada-san,” he said, slowly, “would you like to have– I mean,” he sagged a bit further, “I’ll understand if you’d not have your career… further tainted, by association with me, but I’m, uh–”
The implication caught up to me, and I choked. “Are you asking me out to dinner, Ojisan?!”
“NO,” he yelped, eyes wide like saucers, “I mean–! Ah, yes, but with my son,” he stressed, “he’s four and I’m making his favorites and–” oh my god “–we make extra portions– I would never make any advances towards–”
“Oh my god, shut up,” I said.
“--not that you don’t seem like a lovely young woman, you’re just, what, fifteen–”
“Seventeen!” I snapped. “Shut up, shut up, oh my god, shut up.”
He snapped his fucking mouth shut, finally.
“I–” was never going to talk to Hatake Sakumo again, probably. Not even probably. Obviously. Dead man walking, shit-idiot brainless son of a bitch, and I hated him, even if he– but that was even more of a reason to stay out of it. I knew what I was, and what I wasn’t. God damn. “I would– I. Okay. Free food.”
His smile was fragile.
Dinner was, apparently, at six.
==
The only clothes I owned were uniforms, so that’s what I wore, ambling awkwardly down the street with my hands in the pockets of my (standard issue) pants. I knew where the compound was without having to ask around… though only because I’d sought it out myself more then once when I was younger and stupider than I am now. The Hatake clan had never been important or wealthy in anything except the quality of the ninja it tended to produce.
Just the White Fang now.
…and his son. Kakashi. Whoever he was going to be, I thought, he’s just a brat now, so get over yourself, as I had been thinking for the past couple of hours. It didn’t help.
Why the hell am I here.
Good goddamned question. It sure as fuck wasn’t– entirely– about the free food.
Hatake had been right to warn me off visiting his house, for all the shit-idiot had decided to extend the invitation anyway. The closer I got to the compound, the more eyes followed me. I still wasn’t the biggest target in this fiasco– but I was the shit-idiot that shit-idiot Hatake abandoned his duty to save, and… my face was probably spreading around in earnest, now. The burns that crawled up the right of it were pretty distinct.
I understood where Tabata was coming from, throwing Hatake so bodily under the bus– fuck him, that cunt, but I got it.
Throwing myself under the bus with Hatake wasn’t going to achieve anything other than… but I was already there.
If the Hatake compound had any security wards, they let me pass the gate without killing me. It seemed sort of small, to my (vague) knowledge of how compounds like this usually worked. I wasn’t sure if there were any other houses on the land besides the main building, at the front which… looked like it might be wrapped around a courtyard?
It was very…
…traditional.
I pounded on the front door before the clan symbol could give me hives or something. If Hatake heard me, I couldn’t tell– soundproofing…? I sure as fuck couldn’t afford that kind of sealwork, and neither could any of my neighbors, but a small clan is still a clan.
“Yo,” said a bored, high-pitched voice. I didn’t yell. Totally.
The toddler hanging upside down from the eaves above my head didn’t seem very impressed, though I could only see about half his face… he was wearing a little mask, for babies. Why the fuck did Hatake teach him how to treewalk?! I glared up at him.
And how the hell did he get that close–?!
I wasn’t about to claim the title of most perceptive kunoichi in the village-hidden-in-the-leaves, but a four year old getting the drop on me was a bit…
Tch. Maybe it was like the sound-proofing in the house. Seals I wasn't aware of scrambling my perception or… something less pathetic than getting caught off guard by a pre-genin.
“You suck,” Kakashi helpfully informed me.
I spat water at his face. It was one of the few jutsus I could do one-handed with my eyes closed.
The brat wasn’t expecting it and detached, flailing, from the roof. I caught him by the ankle and dodged a precocious foot to the nose, tossing him back into the air and letting him use the momentum to flip right-side-up and land on his feet. He spit his wet bangs out of his mouth and pushed his now-flattened hair out of his eyes, flyaway silver strands sticking out in every direction.
Baby faces were not built to make expressions like that. Oh, fuck, I couldn’t help it– I burst out laughing, dodging the increasingly less coordinated blows of the four year old between wheezes. He was good, for a toddler, but… academy-fresh genin good. I am not a genin.
“HEY!” he yelled– growled? “Argh! You suck!”
Hatake chose that moment to open the door, snatching the boy by the scruff of the neck and staring wide-eyed at the two of us. I smiled with all of my teeth. Kakashi struggled for a minute before giving up, going limp in his dad’s grip.
“Tou-san!” Kakashi pointed at me. “You can’t let her have the eggplant miso!”
“…Why are you wet…?”
“That was me,” I informed him. “Hey, do I still get free food?”
He stared at me, and then at Kakashi, and then at me again, before gently setting Kakashi down and nudging him towards the inside of the house with his foot. “Dry off,” he told his son, before holding the door open and moving aside.
“Cute kid!”
Hatake sighed.
I stepped inside the house and tried not to cringe at the formality. The entrance was probably bigger than my entire apartment, what the hell… which was fucking fine, it was just a place to crash and I didn’t own much anyway–
Clans. Tch. Not like I cared.
I shucked off my sandals and slipped on a pair of the house-slippers left by the door. There were lots, but not many that seemed well used. Kakashi had already kicked his sandals off and stormed off to wherever the washroom was… I couldn’t see him but the droplets left behind were enough of a hint.
Hatake went down the opposite hallway, so I followed him, squinting at the man while we walked. The few hours since the conversation at my apartment had been enough for the man to decide to clean up— apparently. He was wearing a light gray yukata, not a uniform. His hair was recently washed. He’d shaved.
“Yamada-san,” Hatake said.
“Hm?”
He’d paused before a sliding-door at the end of the hall, which I assumed led to the dining room… kitchen… eating-area. “Please,” he sighed, “be… careful what you say around my son. He’s…”
“A jack–” ah, hah, I was in the guy’s house, I could cut him a little break. Maybe. I raised my hands and let my teeth click together with the force of shutting my goddamned mouth. Still, “you think I’d teach him anything new?” Five minutes in Kakashi’s proximity and I knew he’d heard worse from people more creative than me. Team seven would be karmic justice, give or take twenty years. And everything else.
“...Mmm.”
He let me through, and we entered the room. It was an open concept, and the actual kitchen half of it was more “modern” than anything else I’d seen in the house so far. Appliances, a few containers of dry ingredients, empty bottles of liquor… and tonight’s dinner, probably, bubbling and simmering on the stove. The living area took a sharp swerve back to the rest of the house's theme, but there was a big, bulky television in the corner. I tried not to stare. Konohagakure no Sato didn’t get external TV broadcasts, but tapes had started to catch on for those that could afford it. Also,
“A kotatsu…?”
Hatake smiled, brittley. That was as good as anyone was going to get out of him for the rest of his short, miserable life, I figured. “It’s, ah,” he waved his arms, “cold.”
“Right,” I said. I had never used a kotatsu in my life. “I’ll, just. Uh. Sit. At the kotatsu.”
Why the fuck was I here.
I sat at the kotatsu. It was cozy. Kakashi (now dry, hair puffed up) entered the room at a barely-controlled pace somewhere between walking and running, but if I described it as “skipping” he would probably try to take my eyes out, so I didn’t. Hatake swept out of the kitchen with three portions of plates and bowls balanced on his arms. He served dinner with the same grace he used to slit mens throats– eggplant miso soup, and grilled fish.
“It looks good,” I admitted. Shit-idiots like Hatake shouldn’t be excellent home-cooks as well as rich, talented shinobi… if the world had any sense of justice, which it didn’t.
“Tou-san’s the best.” Kakashi didn’t like me, but he couldn’t seem to help bragging about his dad. “Tch. You can have some… and then you’ll leave.”
“Kakashi!” Hatake admonished. “We don’t talk to guests like that!” He glanced at me, apologetic, apoplectic, whichever. “Apologize to Yamada-san.”
The kid stared at me, and I stared at the kid. “Hatake,” I said, “I don’t f— I don’t care. Uh—“ I cleared my throat. “Itadakimasu.”
“…Itadakimasu,” said Hatake.
“Itadakimasu,” said Kakashi. He pulled his mask below his chin— I choked on the first bite of perfectly grilled fish. I guess I actually hadn’t been presented with any evidence that Hatake Kakashi, age four, wore the mask as religiously as… well, whatever.
I side-eyed the kid for a half-second after I was done wheezing and had brushed off Hatake’s concern. The White Fang’s canines were more pronounced than the average Shinobi (dog summoner, go figure) but Kakashi had real, actual fangs, just a little too large for his mouth. He’d pass for an Inuzaka if it wasn’t for the hair… was his mom…?
It wasn’t like a protagonist needed to have a full set of parents, but reality had filled in every other blank.
“Is it acceptable?” Hatake fidgeted. Pathetic. What did he have to prove to a chūnin? “…it’s been a bit… since I last cooked.”
“It is,” I begrudged.
“S’ perfect,” corrected Kakashi past a mouthful of food. He’d scarfed down the soup already, and was halfway through the fish.
“Mm…” Hatake hesitantly picked at his own portion. Pathetic! “Better than a fruit basket, at least.”
“Okay.”
“Oh.“ Kakashi stared at me with sharp intent, plate picked clean and mask pulled back over his mouth. Holy shit, he must have swallowed some of that without chewing. “You’re the Kunoichi from the hospital?”
“I spent a few days shitting blood on your Tou-san while my body tried to patch my organs faster than they could turn into soup,” I replied, at the same time Hatake said, “Yes, she is,” and then stared at me with actual— thank fuck— agitation.
“Gross.” Kakashi tilted his head, his eyes flat. “…so,” he said carefully, “you were hurt on Tou-san’s last mission?”
“He saved my life—” like an idiot, like a moron, like a fool and a hero and a bunch of other stupid things. “—but I’ve been grounded for like… two weeks. Don’t ask me what he’s been doing.”
“It was that mission,” Hatake said stiffly. “…Yamada-san is a good comrade… and a talented Kunoichi.”
“I thought you said you weren’t trying to pick me up, Ojiisan.”
Hatake flushed bright red. Ah, there it was again— agitation. “I’m—“ he exhaled “—don’t joke about that. Please.”
“Don’t exaggerate, then.”
Kakashi stayed quiet while we bitched… bundled under the kotatsu, he looked small, and– for just half a second– almost uncertain. “You… people are saying…” he paused. “People are saying,” he repeated, with more conviction, “that Tou-san should have let you die.”
The White Fang paled corpse-white, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He didn’t seem to know what to say– Kakashi’s eyes narrowed, and I wondered if underneath the mask his own fangs were bared.
I looked at him. “You think I should be dead… kid?”
Kakashi crossed his arms. The blanket slipped off with the motion. “I dunno,” he snapped, “was it your fault?”
Hatake abruptly stood up, and a wave of pure intent filled the room. Kakashi flinched, his shoulders at his ears. Fuck, is this what does it? I thought— I’d hit his buttons the whole time, but this? This sets him off? “Kakashi, you—” Hatake bit off whatever he was going to say. “Yamada-san performed her role admirably. I was the superior officer. She should not be dead. You cannot say that.” He quivered with emotion. “To— begin with, I shouldn’t have put her in that p–”
“Shut the fuck up, Hatake.” What an idiot. And— who the hell was he, to defend me over his own son? His own son who loved him!? “Don’t give your kid weird ideas.” I stood up too. Hatake towered over me still, there was a foot between us at least, but I didn’t have to give him more than he already had. “We already talked about this. That mission was tits up before any of us had a chance to do shit-all!”
“...That’s your perspective.”
“We got ratted out, asshole,” I insisted, not that any official report would agree, fuck, “and anyway, that’s not even the issue! The issue is—“ you’re a shit-idiot about to make even stupider choices “—what you did after it was tits up, and I like being alive, and your nindo is your nindo— so, whatever.”
Kakashi’s eyes darted between us.
“…My nindo…” The anger melted off of Hatake’s face. He just looked tired. “I…”
“How many times are we gonna have this fucking conversation, Ojiisan?”
Fuck, I couldn’t imagine repeating this again. Exhausting.
I swiveled toward Kakashi, riding that wave of— whatever I was feeling. “Look,” I said. “Me and the other guy tried to draw the nin away from your tou-san— after it went to hell, which wasn’t anyone’s fault except whoever ratted us out— because the White Fang getting caught in goddamned Suna looks bad. He went back for us, because he decided our lives were important. That’s what happened. You wish I was dead or you don’t.”
==
So I, uh. Left, after that. Stormed off and everything.
Great dinner.