If Promises Could Be Kept

Two

"False face must hide what the false heart doth know." --Macbeth, William Shakespeare

Sunlight streamed through the slats in the blinds and Kakashi groaned, shielding his eyes. It's too damn early to be waking up, he thought groggily, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow. The material was soft and comforting, his head sinking into the memory foam like it was cradling him. That, unfortunately, was the first thing off. The second thing off was the hand on his shoulder, slightly shaking him.

Panicking, Kakashi grabbed the offender's wrist and twisted, eliciting a pained hiss before he sat up abruptly, head-butting the mystery person and then sending a foot to their neck. Shaking his head and blinking to bring his vision into focus, awareness suddenly filled Kakashi's mind and his eyes locked onto the intruder: Sakumo Hatake, also known as his father.

"D-Dad?" Kakashi whispered, his eyes drinking in his father's appearance like he'd been off a life-saving drug and had just been given another dose. Unbidden and unwanted, tears began to leak out of his eyes, flowing down his cheeks and wetting the sheets he was lying back on. His breath hitched and, for the life of him, he couldn't get his heart rate under control or his breathing. The reaction on his father's face was one of absolute shock and confusion.

"Kakashi, what's wrong?" Sakumo asked, concern lacing his voice. Kakashi swore his heart stopped at the sound of his father after twenty-five years. It just caused the tears to flow freer.

"Dad!" And then he was clinging to his father as if letting go would cause the man to blow away, dissolve in the wind. All of the emotions he'd bottled up since he was five years old spilled over and he couldn't hold himself together any longer, nor did he want to.

Sakumo wasn't sure what to think. This was his son, his closed-lipped son, and here he was bawling into Sakumo's shoulder like the five year old he was. For most parents, their five year old crying into their shirt was probably common occurrence, but for the White Fang of the Leaf, he couldn't ever remember his son showing any emotion, let alone the pure... what? Grief? How could his son be grieving? He must've read that wrong.

For Kakashi's part, he couldn't process anything but what was in front of him. My father. My dad. I... He's here. He's alive. I really traveled back in time. This time, I can save him. This time, I can save all of them. It was overwhelming, but he knew that his dad was freaking out and that if he didn't reign it in soon, Sakumo would probably interrogate him or something equally as crazy. His dad was pretty great, but the man was more suspicious than Hiruzen Sarutobi, and that was saying something.

Pulling his emotions back in and shoving them away to the deepest part of his mind, Kakashi schooled his expression and glanced up at his dad. Sakumo Hatake was a broad shouldered man with facial features similar but wider than his own and, of course, the silver hair known only to the Hatake clan. His father's eyes were usually alert and always slightly suspicious, but now they were wide with shock and Kakashi knew they'd be narrowed in thought soon enough. "Dad, what did you want?" he asked calmly, ignoring the lingering tear tracks he knew were on his cheeks.

"Uh... how about we get some breakfast first?" Sakumo suggested, standing up straight and brushing non-existent dust off his pants. "I could make eggs and toast." And ask you some questions.

"That sounds great. I'll be out in a few minutes," Kakashi said. He kept his voice light and his tone unassuming, but he knew he wasn't fooling his father for a second.

As Sakumo left, Kakashi scanned his room. It was almost completely bare and perfectly tidy, as per his usual. There was the twin bed he was sitting on with its plain white bedding, a small maple nightstand with a clear crystal lamp, a chest of drawers, a dresser, and a small closet. His clothing was sparse and he wasn't surprised to find an entire drawer of his nightstand dedicated to masks only. He was already wearing one, as he slept in them, but decided to exchange it for a fresh one. He ended up pulling on a pair of black shorts and a white T-shirt. It wasn't what he really wanted to wear, as he felt he didn't have any pockets, but for God's sake, he was five. Retailers really didn't make cargo pants for kindergartners (unfortunately).