Chapter Text
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Despite what people think, Kakashi isn’t loyal to Konoha. He knows the village is corrupt. He always has. When his father killed himself, all they could do was glare at him. A part of him died that day.
If it weren’t for Team 7’s return, he would have lost himself completely. Then Obito took a boulder for him and gave him his goddamned eye. Rin died by his hands. Rin, whom he promised to protect.
Logically, he knows Minato and Kushina’s deaths weren’t his fault. He knows that. But it doesn’t stop him from blaming himself. It doesn’t stop the endless what-ifs.
What if he were faster? Stronger? Smarter? More alert? Even though he knows nothing, he could have done would have changed a thing.
They whisper behind his back, trade gossip as if it’s truth. So no, he isn’t loyal to the village. He’s loyal to the people in it.
He’s loyal to Itachi, who was forced to shoulder a burden too heavy for someone so young. He’s loyal to Tenzo, the kid who’s seen too much.
He’s loyal to Teuchi and Ayame, who are kind to anyone who walks into their stall. He’s loyal to Gai, who kept him afloat when he was drowning.
He’s loyal to Naruto, whose heart is too big, whose smile is too wide, who deserves more than the constant disrespect he accepts with a grin.
He’s loyal to them, and to so many more, because they’re the ones who kept him from being swallowed by the darkness.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, as he scrubs at dried blood that won’t come off, he wonders what they would say. What would his sensei think? How would they react to how their only child is treated? Would they be disgusted, terrified, or both?
If Obito were to see him now, would he despise him? Pity him?
If Rin were to see him, hunched over the sink, scrubbing invisible stains until he bled, would she cry silently, or scream? Perhaps, just perhaps, this was why his father chose death all those years ago. And sometimes he wishes he had taken him with.
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Sakura’s parents love her. She knows this. Everything they do is for her; she knows that, too. But sometimes she wishes they would spend more time with her and less with the merchants.
She’s grateful for them, of course, she is, but she wishes they were home more often. She doesn’t like being left alone.
The walk back home is short, as always. She wishes it were longer so she could pretend her house wasn’t empty.
She makes herself dinner, ignoring the missing piece inside her. Sometimes, when it’s dark and her parents are gone, she lies in her mother’s untouchable garden, staring at the stars, and prays to Kami that she were someone else.
Maybe someone like Ino. Or Shikamaru. Or even the smiling blond boy on the swings, who’s always alone but never seems sad.
She likes that blond kid, Naruto. He’s loud, but he’s nice. Her parents tell her to stay away from him, but she still likes him.
A stuffy, suffocating feeling clogs her throat as she looks at the two empty chairs at the dinner table, forever collecting dust.
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Nii-san is the best. That’s not an opinion, it’s a fact. Nii-san graduated from the academy at seven, became a genin at eight, and a chunin at ten.
Otosan always praises Nii-san. Says he’s the clan’s future, the one who will lead them to glory. I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.
Nii-san doesn’t like hearing it, though. And for some reason, Otosan doesn’t praise me nearly as much as he does Nii-san.
That’s okay. I’m still little. When I grow big and strong, Otosan, Okasan, and Nii-san will praise me too.
It’s why I work so hard in training. One day, I’ll be a great shinobi, just like Nii-san says I will. And Nii-san is almost always right.
Everyone says he’s the best of the best, but sometimes, in the dead of night, when I can’t sleep and I’m too scared to move, I wish he were home more often.
I understand, though. I really do. I know he’s a shinobi of Konoha first, a clan member second. I know a lot of things, even if others don’t realize it. After all, you can’t be a shinobi if you don’t know things.
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Despite what people think, Naruto isn’t dumb. Sure, big words trip him up. Reading is hard. History’s boring. Chakra control is frustrating. But that doesn’t make him dumb.
He’s not dumb.
He knows people don’t want to like him, no matter what Jiji says. He hears the insults from older kids. He hears the whispers when adults think he’s not listening. He sees the glares thrown his way on the street.
He knows parents tell their kids to stay away. He knows because he’s learned to run. Run from the drunk old man with a bottle in his hand. Run when the adults start yelling and throwing things. Hide on his birthday, but never at home, because that’s the first place they’ll look.
He’s gotten used to it, but he still wants to know why. Why do they hate him? Why do they despise him so much? They don’t even know him.
It’s part of why he wants to be Hokage. People respect the Hokage. They listen to the Hokage. Maybe, if he were Hokage, they wouldn’t hate him anymore.
Realistically, he knows it won’t change anything. But he still clings to hope. Even knowing it’ll hurt him, he clings to it.
He clings because of people like Teuchi and Ayame, who welcome him with warm smiles and steaming bowls of ramen. Because of Iruka-sensei, who treats him to food even when he’s disruptive.
Because of Misaki, Tsukiko, Hikari, and Homura from the red-light district, people who don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves. So neither does he.
It’s because of them that he’s persevered this long.