The Brightfield of the Scarecrow (Sakumo Hatake x Naruto)

Chapter One: White Tanto

Here it is. The shame. A friend made me write this, and ship it, so I'll slap her for it eventually. 

The rareness alone makes me scream. Little note, the ending of the chap is a bit sloppy because I was just trying to get this finished up and forced myself to rush. A 1st person really isn't my normal playground so I may switch to a 3rd person after this.  Or just try out Sakumo's POV -I doubt this- just a warning.

Time-travel fic with dates, so I did the math for everyone while writing it -and for my own sake. 

Kakashi (prologue): 30 - X81 = Kakashi (When Naruto Arrives): 3 - X48

Sakumo: 28 - X48

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Having stolen myself from mind, I now wandered aimlessly through the streets, backways, forest even. Nothing registering short of a direct greeting calling away the numbness.

However, as consciousness came back, and reality began to settle unpleasantly, my own recognition of the village in non-meaning revery put me at the graveyard unexpectedly. I could only take this as morbid self-torture, circumstances circling around in my head brutally as I looked down to my own feet and felt a well of anger at their cruel ironic humour.

The moon shone high, I couldn't find surprise, even if I hadn't left Tsunade's office at sundown, time was absent to my own clock of awhile while stuck in myself. Glancing around with a choking throat, I spotted a dull silver glimmer from a figure by a shining grave -recently polished by the looks of it. It doesn't take much thought to recognize the covered and masked sensei dressed in all black. Clearly, he was mourning someone, body not moving. Should myself and Kakashi be anywhere but Konoha I would have assumed he was planning on ambushing someone for an assassination. A strange contrast of vulnerability and shinobi deadly silence.

Instinct told me, loudly, to leave out of respect, however, my own mood nailed at the back of my mind, something crushing in my chest. Empathy I assumed, and maybe even want for familiarity. So, instead of removing myself, I walked up, naturally as were the copy-nin's senses I couldn't remain unnoticed and a single grey-black eye met mine peered around a black-clad shoulder. Unreadable as always, maintaining mysterious air. I almost considered smiling, before it was blocked by memory of everything blandly said, and I felt spite crawl upwards. Any muscle that contributed to smiling suddenly left me, feeling so familiar to the loneliness of childhood that it was discomforting. Still, I could not force anything this time, as opposed to then. I had only a numb, dulling sense of uselessness.

My teacher gave me no greeting, and normally it would have annoyed me, but any feeling I had remained behind the blockade of no. Giving I'd known him at least five years now, it was strangely kind to be left in one of his odd silences. Even so, my consciousness wanted to pin everything that welled up in misery on those who'd known. Serving no purpose, of course, I knew that Kakashi-sensei remained wholly innocent to Tsunade's decision. Maybe it was because he'd walked me to the room, that why my grudge built. Making no sense.

He was still, as he'd been when I'd first spotted him, if he hadn't looked to me I would've thought nothing had changed. There was a frown on his face, I recognized from having memorized the contorting of his mask as a kid. Revealed eye cautiously unravelling as normal, though slanted slightly more then usual. And I declared it was sad compassion, already resigned to this person's death. I had to look, maybe a sparkle of my own curiosity had returned.

The grave read:

Hatake, Sakumo

X20 - X51

Devout Father

Underneath the sordid plain stated words was another line less warn. Scraped into the stone at least a few years after the previous line. Perhaps a late honour.