Salvation

She always came in the night.

During the day her slow, uneven footsteps could be heard from above, the wooden floorboards moaning and threatening to break with each step, but never following through; nothing was willing to help them in this place, not even the rotten wood above them. There was no light down where they were, in the hidden crawlspace underneath the house where they were kept, surrounded by the cement walls of the hollow foundation and sitting in gritty, cold dirt, but Iruka didn’t need light. He could tell, with or without it, what time of day it was. The woman slept late into the afternoon, would get up and carry on her farce of being a normal human being, as her muffled conversations with the neighbors and delivery folks just barely made it to his ears, but as the hours dragged on, as Iruka tracked her every movement, he knew when the light left the sky.

Because she always came in the night.

It felt like an eternity had passed since he’d been in his bedroom, at home, listening to music in one ear while he had worked on his homework and daydreamed about getting into high school next year. But then the crashing sounds had come, followed by strained, loud voices, and when Iruka had stumbled into the living room in a panic, not knowing what was going on but knew it wasn’t good, he’d come in on an image that would become his personal specter while he was stuck in that dark, awful crawlspace. His father lying on the floor, Ikkaku's motionless hands over his sluggishly bleeding throat, and his mother struggling while preventing herself from succumbing to the same fate. A deranged woman with long, matted black hair had been doing her damnedest to push a large butcher’s knife into his mother’s jugular, but Umino Kohari had been in the police force and had the arm strength to hold the woman and her weight back, if only just. 

However, Kohari’s leg had been bent at the wrong angle, snapped and bleeding, and, despite the fear he had felt, Iruka had jumped into action with a desperate scream, tackling the woman off of his mother. He didn’t really remember what had happened after that, or how the woman had gotten the upper hand, wrapped her arm around his neck in a choke hold that had ripped his consciousness away from him, but the last thing he had heard was his mother shouting his name while the world faded to gray. The echoes of her voice were all he could hear whenever he dared to try to sleep, the sound overlaying the still image his father had made. Iruka didn’t know if his father had survived, if his mother was alright, if anyone was looking for him...but it didn’t matter. That is, he couldn't let himself allow it to matter when there was no way for him to find out the answers to every question—every 'what-if' he had going through his brain. There was only one thing more important, and it was beside him, always.

The day Iruka had woken up for the first time, tied to something protruding from the cement foundation wall with wrists rubbed raw from the coarse rope, it hadn’t taken long for him to realize he wasn’t alone. Right next to him had been another boy, so much younger than him and staring up at him like he was the only real thing in the world, who told him in a trembling, small voice that he’d been taken last night too. His parents had been out on a rare date night, and the same fate that Iruka's parents had suffered had befallen the poor, innocent babysitter that had been watching Naruto; the boy said his sitter had gone out for snacks, but the person who came back was the woman, and everything was fuzzy after that. The sick feeling that entered Iruka's stomach at that moment would never leave him, so long as he was bound to a rusting water pipe underneath a monstrous woman's home.

They’d talked and talked and talked until it hurt that first night, throats sore and mouths dry, and then talked some more, but when silence had finally fallen between them Iruka had felt something settle within him. Something he couldn't quite name, but it was something that felt akin to his own salvation despite the words that slipped out, without finesse or tact, between his chapped lips. 

"I'll protect you," Iruka had said, those words filling the minuscule space between them with a tension so thick it had chased the chill of the crawlspace away, if only for a moment. "I know this is really scary—I'm scared too," he had carried on, doing his best to swallow the fear that had congealed in his throat. "But I'll be here with you all the way, and I'll protect you. Okay?"

Perhaps it had been a foolish promise to make, but Iruka had looked into the small boy’s wide, misty blue eyes, had seen the lifeline he’d quickly become to Naruto in a situation where they had nothing else, only each other, and knew he'd do everything in his power to keep that promise. Even if it killed him.

And considering their situation...it very well might.

Weeks, months, maybe even years later, while Iruka had lost count of the days, he never lost sight of his promise. He'd protected Naruto from the woman and her unsettling touches, usually by being as much of a pain in her ass as he could be to get her to focus solely on him, and for what felt like forever he'd been sawing away at the rusty pipe he was tied to. A week into their 'tenure' at the woman's home Iruka had been trying to pick up sounds from outside, had been trying to get any details he could about where they were and what environment they'd encounter when (if) they escaped, but all he could hear was the sound of water dripping from right above him. 

He'd been annoyed at first, frustrated that it was distracting him, but then he'd felt the water splash against his hands and down the rope, the gears in his mind frantically beginning to turn. Naruto had been sleeping against his side, so he hadn't moved too much, but Iruka had tested the water pipe's integrity, yanking on his wrists and listening to how the pipe jangled, felt the path of the water from where it fell to where it continued its path downward, and smelled the rusty scent that littered the air whenever that same water dropped from someplace above him.

The pipe was weakening, slowly but surely, from water damage, and it was so subtle that even Iruka had needed a week to actually notice. The woman only clawed her way to them at night for a few hours—long enough to feed them mazegohan or okayu made sour with supplements (and the occasional antibiotic) to keep them from wasting away and dying, make them choke down large glasses of tepid water, and then try to play with them—so Iruka doubted she noticed nor cared. He doubted she was remotely in her right mind to do either of those things, ever. And so that night had marked the start of an excruciatingly slow process. Iruka's time became marked in the smell of rust, the burn of the rope tearing the skin at his wrists, and the sound of off-kilter steps thudding away from above. Iruka hardly slept, adapted to the feeling of a few hours of restless sleep in his system every day, and worked on making his promise a reality.

Now, after all of that, Iruka could feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest, and could feel his blood singing as it coursed through his veins. The night before, after the woman had crawled into their domain for what felt like the thousandth time, she had once again tried to be particularly hands-y with Naruto—she never gave up trying, but thankfully neither did Iruka in stopping her—but Iruka had thrashed and grunted past the gag in his mouth, kicking wildly at her until she had no choice but to "discipline" him as usual. During which, while she slapped and hit and scratched, her admonishing words somehow both shrill and hushed, Iruka heard the pipe above him crack; there was the sound he had been praying so long for, and it was the woman's own machinations that finally ripped the sound from his fantasies and thrust them into reality. He didn't give a damn what she did to him after that, hadn't dared move his wrists and give away what had changed. 

He was too drunk on hope to even feel the pain.

Which led him to that very moment, staring intently at the spot where the woman would unnervingly slide out from every night, like Iruka and Naruto's own personal Sadako. Her footsteps had begun to get heavier, slower, which meant the time of her arrival was approaching. If he was honest with himself Iruka had no real plan, had no idea what he'd do once he was free enough to fight back, but one look at Naruto, who seemed to know something was different by the wide, trusting look in his eyes and the subtle nod he gave him, and it didn't matter. Naruto was what mattered—their escape was what mattered—and he'd be damned if he didn't use the opportunity he'd been working towards for so long to keep his promise. The resolve he'd built from the moment he'd opened his eyes and realized he wasn't alone in this hell wouldn't crumble now. He refused to let it.

Night had come.

When the woman dragged herself to the hatch that led into the crawlspace it always sounded like sandpaper scuffing a wooden surface, grating and intrusive, much like she herself was. Iruka had noticed months ago that the woman suffered some kind of injury in her left leg, something that made her steps sound off, and by the time she'd reached this point in her daily routine he could only imagine that she dragged her limb along the floor, useless, too tired to try to make it work after a long day of deception. He'd never seen her walk, merely crawl towards them, so he didn't know for sure, but he was willing to bet his life on it being true. While she spent her days pretending to be anything but a monster in the world above, Iruka only had Naruto's well-being and tracking her throughout the day to occupy his time. He was always listening, thinking, and hoarded whatever information he could derive from anything and everything with the hopes that it'd pay off someday.

Iruka hoped that day was today. 

His entire body felt taut with tension as the entrance to the crawlspace creaked open, banging on the floor above them as the woman carelessly tossed it aside and her upper-body started to appear. No matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being disturbing to Iruka how she'd slither in like a snake, albeit a clumsy one with the way her lower-body would erroneously descend the rest of the way, falling limp against the dirt floor. And then her relatively short journey over to them always felt excruciatingly slow, her fingers digging into the dirt as she wrenched her body forward, her breaths heavy and fast with whatever excitement she derived from the anticipation of reaching them. Iruka felt his own breath caught in his chest and had to remind himself to breathe, letting it out slowly through his nostrils, shifting as much as he could to try to get Naruto behind him. 

The first few nights they hadn't been gagged, which was how Iruka and Naruto had been able to talk—apparently the crawlspace was soundproofed, or the sound merely didn't carry no matter how loud they had been—but the woman had gotten more paranoid as time went on, gagging them after one particularly obnoxious neighborhood kid had interrupted their 'play time' by ringing the doorbell as a prank. Even gagged, Iruka and Naruto had managed to figure out how to communicate, finding that they could have full conversations with their eyes alone, and as the woman neared the end of her path to get to them, they quickly held one of those very conversations. Iruka looked down at the boy, who looked back up at him, and conveyed with as much feeling as he possibly could that this was the end. Something was going to happen, whether good or bad, and Naruto had to be ready for whatever it was. 

That same subtle nod from earlier made another appearance, but more sure and steady, and Iruka nodded back. He took a deep breath and faced their living nightmare.

She was here.

Her voice never failed to send a sick, slimy feeling down Iruka's spine as she spoke. Every conjunction hit an unnaturally deep bass that craned up to a soft, high-pitched, strained alto during the rest of her speech, her consonants hissed out between pinched lips that carved upwards into an unnatural smile. The only time she ever frowned was when she was disciplining Iruka, so needless to say Iruka saw her frown at him more than smile, and if he managed to do what he was planning, he dared hope he'd never see any part of her ever again after tonight. He tested his grip on the ropes tied around his wrists, felt the looseness of the pipe, and willed his heartbeat to slow down, and for his body to stop shaking from adrenaline and fear. With the feeling of Naruto's forehead digging into his side, hiding from the approaching woman, Iruka barely managed to do all those things with willpower alone by the time the woman was before them.

She began to reach out.

"Always so naughty," she whined, her voice settling over Iruka's skin as if it were the mucus trail left behind by a slug. Her long, knobby fingers brushed against his ankle closest to her, beginning a slow trail up his leg. "You always hide him from me, from Mama, when all I've ever wanted to do is—" her fingertips dug into the meat of his upper-thigh, causing Iruka to wince, "—cherish my two boys."

With a gag in his mouth, Iruka couldn't say anything in response to that, not that he wasn’t aching with the number of vicious things that came to mind. Which mostly boiled down to that he'd rather die than ever let any child near this woman, considering what ‘cherish’ probably meant to her. That he very much wanted to say, with as much vitriol as he could muster. Instead, he huffed loudly out his nose, turning his wince into a glare that hopefully conveyed even an ounce of the hate he felt for her. All she did was smile her smile at his attempt at defiance, dragging her fingers upwards to brush over the jut of his hip, slip under his filthy shirt, and stop around the contour of his ribs opposite of the side of him that Naruto was hiding his face against. Iruka wanted nothing more than to lash out and hurt her, maim her if he could, but he couldn't botch this—he had to find the right moment and this wasn't it.

That didn't mean his stomach didn't roll in revulsion, however, with every inch of skin of his she touched. Her fingers were cold, calloused in a way that showed she picked at them, tried and failed to smooth out her skin, leaving behind a jagged texture that had Iruka's hair standing on end. The woman leaned in, again neglecting his side that Naruto was trying to disappear into, and her hot breath against his neck sent tremors of disgust throughout his entire body. Then she did something she'd never done before and licked a wet strip up his neck to the side of his face, stalling his ability to conceive a single coherent thought for a terrifying second.

"You've grown up so nicely," she whispered into his ear, causing Iruka to screw his eyes shut and grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. "And you protect our little one so well. I've realized why you won't let Mama into your heart, why you fight me so hard...it's because you want something else, isn't it? Something a Mama can't give."

At first, it didn't register what the woman was talking about—Iruka didn't want a damn thing from her—but as she slowly shifted to stare him straight in the face, her eyes endless pits of inkiness that encompassed every nightmare he'd ever had, he understood. This hadn't been something he'd considered, hadn't been an idea he'd dare entertain; he had always been more concerned with how she looked at, and tried to interact physically with, Naruto. But now that the reality of what she was suggesting was crashing over him, Iruka wanted to be sick, violently sick, and then light the woman, the house, himself, everything but Naruto on fire in some frantic attempt to purify the horrific concept the woman was stitching into his mind. He jerked away from her as much as he could, barely keeping his wrists and the broken pipe above him in place, and looked down at Naruto with wide eyes.

It was as if their roles were reversed from the norm. Iruka stared at the boy terrified out of his mind, and Naruto stared back with a look of determination and reassurance burrowing itself into Iruka's very center, grounding him. He had to keep it together, had to stay strong, because this boy, this precious boy Iruka would die for, needed him to be. So Iruka let out a shuddering breath and looked away, back into the face of the woman whose eyes narrowed at him, her smile thinning. Before she got too distant or angry, Iruka tilted his head to the right towards Naruto, exposing the nape of his neck on the left side invitingly, and spread his legs just enough for the gesture to be noticed, regardless of his feet being tied together. If the moment he needed wasn't going to come naturally, Iruka just needed to urge it along on his own, and honestly he was tired of waiting.

It was time to put this nightmare to rest.

The woman's eyes sharpened in a predatory way, her teeth too-white in the dark as her smile stretched across her unnaturally pale face. "So naughty, indeed," she said, and a part of Iruka shrivelled up and died, but he held firm. 

He could do this.

He had to.

And then the woman's hands were on him again, those cracked calluses snagging the fabric of his torn and wretched sweatpants as she rubbed up and down his legs, licking her lips while she untied the rope around his feet and forced his legs further apart. Iruka thanked every deity in existence that Naruto had his face buried against his side, that he wasn't watching this (that he hopefully didn't fully understand, or understand at all, what was happening), but more than that he was thankful she was so eager. It seemed the idea had been floating through her mind for a while, that she'd entertained the fantasy more than once if her precise and excited movements were anything to go by, and this...this is what Iruka needed.

A moment where the woman was so utterly focused on something below, that she didn't notice what was going on above.

Iruka waited until she'd untied the string of his sweatpants, shimmied the waistband past his hips, and was working on getting to the parts of him that she wanted to most. He waited until she dipped her head downward, her greasy hair becoming a curtain in front of her face, and he waited still until her hot, awful breath could be felt against the skin of his pelvis. Right as her mouth was about to make contact with that skin, Iruka had decided he'd waited enough—he wasn't going to get a better moment than this—and sprung into action.

The pipe he was tied to had been hanging on by a mere thread and it was child's play to rip it off the wall, wrap his fingers around it, and bring it down as hard as he could against the woman's cranium. She let out a piercing shriek and Iruka tried to not think about the bone he heard cracking in sync with his attack, slamming the pipe into the side of her face as she wildly flailed up from the ground between Iruka's legs. The force of the hit flung her off to the side away from them, knocking her seemingly unconscious, and all Iruka could do for almost a minute straight was crouch there, his chest heaving, and stare at the immobile body as if a single step would wake her up and ruin everything. It was the warbly groan from behind him that jump-started his whole body, reminding him what he was supposed to be doing, and he turned towards Naruto in a flurry of movement. 

Dropping the pipe at Naruto's feet, Iruka shook the rope off his own wrists, thankful the woman had been too wrapped up in her desire to see why untying his ankles was a bad idea, and got to work freeing the boy after spitting out the gag in his mouth. His hands shook with adrenaline but it didn't matter, Iruka used his teeth to tear at the rope where his fingers failed him, and soon enough Naruto was also free for the first time in far too long. Picking the pipe back up, Iruka took Naruto's hand, helped him get into a crouch with legs weakened from lack of proper use, and the two of them stumbled and crawled their way to the crawlspace exit. Iruka had gotten the two of them into the habit of stretching their legs as much as they could, and picking up something of a squat routine, so they wouldn't atrophy as badly as they would have otherwise, meaning their legs weren't completely useless, but it didn't make moving for the first time in forever any easier.

Once at the entrance, Iruka tugged Naruto closer and smiled tremulously down at him. "We're almost out of here, Naruto, so be strong for me, okay? I'm right here with you every step of the way. Don't worry," he said, gathering his own wits by trying to gather Naruto's as well. 

Naruto nodded at him in several overzealous jerks of his head, having not spoken a real word quite yet, but that was all Iruka needed as he cupped his hands together and gestured his chin at the hatch opening above them. Quickly understanding, Naruto put one of his feet in Iruka's cupped hands and was hefted up, where he grabbed the edge of the hatch opening and struggled, but with a nudge or two from Iruka, managed to get free. Iruka dropped the pipe at his feet and reached upward, grasped the same edge, bending his knees to make the jump, and hopped upwards on unsteady legs so that his upper-body was sticking out into an inconspicuous sitting room that Iruka had never seen before. Naruto was immediately on him, tugging at his shoulders to try to help him, but while Iruka was wiggling his body to get himself up and over, frustrated at how weak he felt, he was able to see the change in Naruto's expression. The way the boy's eyes widened to the point there was more white than color; the way his fair skin paled to a cadaverous shade; and the way the hands tugging at his shoulders halted their assistance, and instead began to quiver so much Iruka thought Naruto would shake apart. 

Something was terribly wrong, and it didn't take half a brain cell to figure out what it was.

He felt her right behind him, so close that her breath brushed the back of his neck threateningly, reminding Iruka of the butcher's knife hovering dangerously over his mother's throat with all the promise of violence. Iruka hardly had the time to glance behind him, stuck in the position he was, before he saw the light from above glint off a sharp edge that so viciously buried itself into the space between his shoulder blades. Thankfully it wasn't a butcher's knife as he'd feared, something smaller and shorter (easier to hide in her clothes—easier to pretend she hadn't always been equipped to end their lives on a whim), but it didn't take much to rip a scream out of him, made all the more horrendous when she dragged it down the length of his back.

Burning—every inch of him felt like it was burning. His lungs, his eyes, his skin; everything had been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. And in that quick moment of brutality, Iruka was dragged back down into the pit he hadn't even been able to entirely crawl out of, blood seeping into the back of his shirt, and was laid out at the foot of a vengeful devil. The woman began speaking to him, hunched over on her knees in front of him within the crawlspace, the tarnished knife still wrapped tightly in her white-knuckled grasp, but Iruka didn't hear a damn bit of it. Not with the sound of his own harsh breathing in his ears. 

Until he heard her hiss out Naruto's name that is and, like a shot of adrenaline injected straight into his veins, Iruka felt himself settle so quickly it left him almost shockingly numb. Iruka realized that if he let her punish him one last time, to the point of death, Naruto would be left alone with her and completely at her disposal.

Iruka could be carved into and beaten blue, but Naruto...Iruka would willingly wither away into a pile of ash before he left Naruto alone with her.

Where he had fallen was, blessedly, right on top of the pipe that had been his jailer for so long, and yet now would prove to be his savior. Waiting for the woman to get closer, her awful voice still muttering some nonsense monologue, Iruka wrapped his hands around the pipe as discreetly as possible and took a fortifying breath through bloodied lips. She shifted forward, hovering over him like some wizened old crone would their cauldron, and as she began to lift the knife to bring it down, again and again if Iruka could make sense of her murmuring, he attacked. Kicking both of his legs out at her, Iruka got her right in the stomach, throwing her back and away from him, out of sight from the crawlspace entrance. He shouted out for Naruto to close his eyes and cover his ears, praying the boy would do as he said, and then scrambled forward into the darkened pit to meet the woman's violence with his own.

Iruka would learn later that Naruto had done as he asked, but only after staring into the still blackness of the entrance, listening and staring with the kind of terror a child should never even have to fathom. He'd learn that, the moment Naruto heard the first sounds of carnage, his eyes had slammed shut, and it wasn't until he heard an awful gurgling noise, followed by what sounded like a blunt object hitting something hard enough to shatter bone, that he'd finally remembered he had to cover his ears as well. What went on in that crawlspace would be a stain on Iruka's soul for the rest of his life, but when he hoisted himself up and out of there, bolstered by the heady adrenaline coursing through him, Iruka gladly accepted it. Slamming that hatch door shut, the pipe and the woman's beaten corpse left inside to rot, Iruka only saw Naruto and their freedom finally in their grasp.

They had to act carefully.

Their survival relied on not being foolish. All because they were out, and the woman was no longer a concern, that didn't mean they were truly free just yet. Their clothes were downright disgusting, having never been cleaned or given new clothes, and worse still was they'd never been allowed to use the bathroom like actual human beings, which had meant some degrading improvisation on both of their parts. So, needless to say, they needed to get clean. Quick they needed to be, but that didn’t mean carelessly rushing things. Iruka carefully grasped either of Naruto's hands and pulled them away from the boy's ears slowly, his voice hoarse but calm as he said the boy's name. Once Naruto opened his eyes and looked up at him, then at the hatch door, Iruka couldn't help but smile a bit wearily.

"It's over, Naruto," he said, allowing himself to let out a shaking breath. "We get to go home."

The way Naruto stared up at him, still as a statue and not blinking, didn't last more than one tense second before all the boy's walls came slamming down. His small, thin body swayed and Iruka guided him to fall against his chest, where Naruto grabbed onto the front of his filthy shirt so tightly he nearly tore the fabric. A gulping sob escaped Naruto and Iruka stood there, rooted to the spot, unwilling to move while the poor boy absorbed the fact that the nightmare was finally over. He rubbed soothing circles into Naruto's back, moving one hand to brush back his unruly hair, and as he felt the adrenaline begin to bleed out of him, slowly but surely, Iruka realized that they needed to get moving. Gently pushing Naruto away enough to look him in his flushed and tear-streaked face, Iruka brushed his thumbs along Naruto's cheeks and smeared the dirt there, smiling sadly.

"We have to work just a little longer before we can go home though, okay? Can you do that?" Iruka asked, earning a hesitant nod from the boy. 

Looking around the house, Iruka took Naruto's hand and began to lead him out of the sitting room and into the hallway, peering left and right to get an idea of where things were. First, they had to get clean, get new clothes, and Iruka had to find some kind of first aid kit before he bled to death in this hell-hole. Iruka brought Naruto to what wound up being the master bedroom, which thankfully had a master bath attached, and then turned towards the boy and placed his hands on either of Naruto's shoulders.

"First thing's first...we're going to get out of these nasty clothes and clean up. How does that sound?"

The look on Naruto's face was a little confused, as if he hadn't even thought to consider anything in between getting out of the crawlspace and getting home, which Iruka certainly couldn't blame him for, but Naruto adopted a determined visage and nodded; it was starting to get worrisome that Naruto wouldn't speak, but they didn't have the time to figure it out right now. 

For now, that boy's eyes communicated all that needed to be said. 

They stripped and tossed the clothes into a corner of the bedroom, completely unconcerned with being nude after the horrors they had gone through, and Iruka dug into the woman's dresser to find an oddly extensive amount of male clothing that he raided for something Naruto and himself could change into. He set the clothes on the bed and then took Naruto's hand once more, walking the two of them into the bathroom and turning on the shower for the water to warm up. So concentrated on his tasks Iruka almost forgot his injury, almost, but the way Naruto tugged on his hand and looked both uncertain and worriedly at his back didn't let him entirely forget.

Letting Naruto go and telling him to get into the shower, to start washing up, Iruka dug under the sink for the large first aid kit he knew the woman owned. It was thankfully where he'd suspected it'd be, and he pulled it out, staring at it for a moment. He couldn't help but remember the time the woman had brought the butcher's knife down with her, still new to whatever sick game she was playing with them, and had been gesticulating much too aggressively while holding the damn thing and monologuing. She was seconds away from cutting Naruto clear across the stomach but Iruka had gotten in the way instead, dipping his head as far as it would go at the angle he was at, and earned himself the scar he could now see for the first time in the mirror right in front of him. The woman had balked at the unexpected injury she'd caused, crawled away with the butcher's knife, and had returned with this very same first aid kit in her hands.

Iruka only hoped she'd kept it stocked.

Setting it on the marble sink top, Iruka joined Naruto in the shower and couldn't suppress the pained moan that escaped him when the warm water ran over his wound. Naruto cautiously took Iruka's hand, looking up at him in a way that asked if he was alright, and Iruka summoned a smile and nodded, not trusting himself to speak; they didn't really need words between the two of them, not anymore, so it was fine (it really, really wasn't). Lathering a generous amount of the generic brand shampoo into Naruto's hair, then his own, they greedily used everything at their disposal to get as clean as possible, doing their damnedest to ignore the vile color the water turned by the time it made it to the drain. They only got out once the water sliding off of them was as clean as it was when it fell from the shower head, and then they dried off with the towels on the shelves by the sink.

The next bit was a challenge. After popping open the first aid kit Iruka was pleased to note the horrid woman had indeed kept it stocked, but it was a bit of a struggle between the two of them to not only clean his wound, that didn't really stop bleeding all the way, but to then wrap basically his entire torso in bandages and tape them off. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but Iruka bit the inside of his cheek and bore the pain until they had completed the awkward task. Then they got dressed in the clothes they had taken, Naruto's needing to be cuffed with how baggy they were on his tiny frame, and even stole some spare toothbrushes the woman had stored in her medicine cabinet to wash the grime from their teeth. 

For the first time in...however long it'd been, they felt human. They felt alive, instead of two slowly decaying corpses hidden away from the world, as if the crawlspace had been their shared coffin.

Iruka got socks on their feet, stole a pair of shoes that were a size too big for him, and had found a pair that were Naruto's size, perturbing him greatly at what that could have been implying about the woman's intentions. In response, he felt a childish satisfaction when they put their shoes on and walked through the rest of the house that way, the rudeness of the gesture not even a fraction of the vengeance they deserved to seek. But Iruka would take it. There were no landline phones, or even a cell phone lying around; that frustratingly took calling for help out of the equation. Raiding the kitchen, they ate a couple of apple slices and a granola bar each, unable to handle much else with how their stomachs had shrunk, Iruka took some pain medication, and then they were finally faced with their next move.

It was time to leave.

It was hard to quantify the type of dread Iruka was feeling at the idea of stepping outside the front door, his grip on Naruto's tiny hand perhaps a bit tighter than it should have been. He remembered hearing the woman speaking with people from their prison through the floorboards, muffled and indistinct though it was, and remembered how cordial it had all sounded; the people she'd spoken to throughout the day cared for her enough to be polite, kind, even laugh pleasantly at whatever humorous things she'd say. That begged the question whether or not the neighbors had any idea. Did they know and simply let her get away with it, not believing it their place to speak up? Or were they truly that oblivious to what went on underneath their very feet every night? Either way, it filled Iruka with a pervasive uneasiness as they stared at the front door before them, a nervous lump forming in his throat and refusing to be swallowed away. 

The stretch of the genkan between them and the door might as well have been a mile long with how daunting it felt.

Right when it appeared that Naruto would begin to question him by the way the boy bit his lip and started glancing between the door and him, Iruka turned them around, impulsively grabbing a piece of mail abandoned atop the shoe cubby and shoving it in his back pocket (to tell someone the address later, he supposed), then walked them to the back door.

"I'm sorry," he said with an exhausted sigh, "I don't really trust this place, any part of it, and when we make a break for it, I don't want anyone to try to stop us."

Iruka peered down at Naruto and asked, "Do you trust me?" He'd hardly gotten the entire question out before Naruto was frantically jerking his head up and down, his freehand shooting up to also grab at Iruka's hand and shake it somewhat insistently, and Iruka couldn't have stopped the chuckle that escaped him even if he'd wanted to. "Alright," he said, "then the moment we go out this door we make a break for it, run as far away from this place as we can, and then ask for help at the first place that looks safe. You ready?"

The minimal space between them filled with a tension Iruka couldn't entirely parse, but he stared down at the boy and awaited his reply patiently, knowing it was important to not push. They'd been through so much, and escape was finally within their grasp; if Naruto needed a moment to absorb that, he'd give him as much time as they could spare to do so. Expecting another nod, Iruka was jarred into stillness when Naruto's lips parted, but no sound came from the boy for the longest time. Not until Naruto's face twisted in a mishmash of emotions that seemed to be overwhelming the poor boy all at once.

In a soft voice that sounded strangled, almost a whine rather than a whisper, Naruto said, "Ready...Iru."

Iruka felt his own expression contort indescribably at that, overcome with, well, everything. Relief to finally hear Naruto speak after so long; hearing the shortened version of his name that only Naruto had ever called him; the hope filling his painfully pounding heart; everything. It was a goddamn miracle that Iruka didn't break down into tears right then and there. But he couldn't lose it now, not after how far they'd come and how far they yet had to go.

It was time to run.

Sparing a moment to nod at Naruto to show that he’d heard him, and brush his still-damp hair back from his forehead, Iruka then grabbed the doorknob of the back door and threw it open. They were met with a small, dilapidated backyard, not nearly as well-kept as the rest of the house, and a fence that was broken in several areas. 

Perfect. 

Squeezing Naruto's hand reassuringly, Iruka took off at a pace that Naruto could match, wiggled the two of them through a spot big enough in the broken fence they could fit, and then bolted down the road. They were in a residential area, the roads surrounding the homes hardly big enough for a single car, and there was an odd mix of houses that looked brand-new while others gradually got more and more run down; some kind of gentrification project, Iruka’s hyper focused mind concluded, the roads neglected entirely as every painted "止まれ" that passed under their feet was faded and hardly legible.

It was a maze of tall, broken fences, sharp corners, and houses that stood like large, silent golems in the dark. The sound of their shoes pounding on the asphalt was uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the night, spurring Iruka to push them a little faster, get them a little farther, until finally they broke free from the labyrinth through an alleyway reeking of wet garbage. They were met with a dark and empty road, much wider for more car traffic, and lined with a plethora of small businesses that all had their lights off and were obviously closed. Iruka's breathing was harsh, his back was in agony even through the haze of the pain medication he'd taken, but none of that mattered when they hurried down the sidewalk and saw the first glare of lights they'd seen all night.

A Konbini sat at the end of the sidewalk, its neon sign for "Open" flickering in one window. Iruka stopped them right at the precipice between shadow and light, so they could catch their breath for a second. He thanked whatever deity would listen for 24/7 convenience stores, filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly, then started walking to the store entrance with Naruto glued to his side now that they were moving much more slowly. Following the hiss of the automated doors was the bored voice of a boy around Iruka's age, welcoming them, though the boy never once looked up from the magazine he was reading, his feet carelessly up on the counter behind the register. Another boy, who had been strategically stacking some canned products, peeked out from a display he'd been working on to greet them more properly, but his greeting got cut off when he took in Iruka and Naruto's appearance.

Iruka was frozen to the spot just inside the store, as was Naruto, fear crawling up and down his spine as if beetles had burrowed under his skin. He had no rational reason to believe these two people wouldn't help them, that they somehow were friends of the woman, but his brain wasn't exactly operating at its most optimal, and he was afraid. So terribly afraid. Would they turn them away? Would they ignore them? Were they about to force them back into that house, that crawlspace, and lock the hatch door behind them? He was being ridiculous, probably hysterical, a part of Iruka knew that, but the fear seeping into his very being was doing so against his will. That is, until the boy who had been stacking cans stepped towards them, moving cautiously, and had the most concerned look on his face.

"Are you two alright?" the boy asked, and all that illogical fear Iruka had been feeling melted away, leaving him swaying where he stood.

"We need...help," Iruka said, his trembling, terrified voice dusting the skin of his cheeks and nose in a flush of shame. "Please..."

The boy's eyes widened, alarm and worry etched in the lines of his face, and he took a few steps closer, slowly reaching out to place a hand on Iruka's shoulder. Even though he saw it coming, could recognize that the boy was being gentle and moving slowly for his sake, Iruka couldn't help but flinch. This only added a type of sadness that spoke of empathy to the boy's expression, and he very carefully led them forward towards the counter. The boy that had first greeted them was now sitting up properly, his magazine abandoned, and looking between Iruka, Naruto, and his co-worker in a mix of anxiety, and what Iruka hoped was the desire to help.

"Kotetsu, I'm going to open the back room and take them inside. I need you to call—" the boy speaking glanced at the two of them, his eyes roaming over something behind Iruka particularly, "—an ambulance. The police too."

Kotetsu didn't hesitate to nod, snatching the phone on the counter out of its cradle and holding it up to his ear, quickly dialing. As the other boy led Iruka and Naruto towards this 'back room' he'd mentioned, Kotetsu shouted out, "Give them a couple bottles of water while you're at it, Izumo! I'll cover it!"

The boy they now knew as Izumo smiled in a soft way Iruka had forgotten people could smile, which fully settled something fragile within him, and he let him lead the two of them into the back, no longer wary about Izumo's intentions. He was more concerned about Naruto, keeping the boy pressed up against his side, which he could tell was the only thing keeping the poor boy standing at all. They were sat down in a couple of chairs situated out of the way, Iruka slumping a bit against the pony wall that separated the break area from a small desk where they must've done their paperwork at. Naruto followed the movement, leaning against Iruka's side, and despite the pain throbbing all along his back, Iruka simply reached a little upwards and brushed his fingers through Naruto's hair, sighing deeply.

They were safe. They were finally fucking safe.

Izumo did as had been suggested and got the both of them a bottle of water, even being so kind as to crack open their lids for them so all the work they had to do was bring it up to their mouths, and Iruka had just enough energy left to remember to tell Naruto to drink slowly. He didn't want the boy to make himself sick. Something about that made Izumo's already gentle smile become softer as he leaned against the wall by the door frame, and Iruka couldn't bring himself to look up at him. A minute later Kotetsu stumbled into the back room holding two pieces of paper, looking anxious but kind of excited at the same time. 

"Izu—you won't believe—this is nuts—they're actually—" Kotetsu rambled out. Izumo had to put both his hands on Kotetsu's shoulders to stop him, the look in his eyes communicating something that made Kotetsu take a deep breath and start over. "Look," he said, lifting the papers he was holding.

Iruka may have been gradually succumbing to his injury and the effects of captivity, but even he could tell what they were looking at. It was a couple of Missing Person reports, the kind that people would get printed themselves and ask local businesses if they'd be kind enough to display them. Naruto's looked brand new and very professional, the picture of the boy displayed in full color, information sparse but concise; Iruka's, on the other hand, looked older, wrinkled and dog-eared, his photo in black and white, but all the information he could make out was detailed, precise, like a police report. He was struck with the thought that his mother had to have made it, since she'd always written reports like that back when she was in the police force, and that in and of itself brought tears unexpectedly to his eyes. If that were true, if his mother had made it, then that meant she was alive. He felt like he was missing something obvious, but he didn't care—surely this meant she was alive.

Iruka could see her again.

It was only when a tiny hand came up into his blurred view and clumsily tried to wipe away his tears did he realize they had fallen, and Iruka laughed very softly as he took that hand into his own, bringing it down to rest against his heart. "I'm okay," he nearly whispered, sluggishly tilting his head downward to look at Naruto. "I'm okay."

Naruto, to his credit, didn't bother to hide how unconvinced he was that that was actually true, which made Iruka laugh quietly again. He parted his lips to argue his case for being fine, regardless of very much not being fine, but was interrupted by the sounds of sirens suddenly flooding the entire Konbini. Startling a bit, Iruka held onto Naruto a little tighter and looked past the pony wall he was still slumped against, watching as police and ambulance lights flashed chaotically through the entire space. Then he saw a single man hurry into the store, frantically looking left and right, and gradually came to the realization that this man could only be one person with that blond hair and those sharp, blue eyes.

"Naruto!" the man shouted, and the reaction of the boy against him was nearly instantaneous. 

Back becoming ramrod straight, his eyes widening to an almost comical degree, Naruto didn't completely pull away from Iruka until the man shouted his name one more time. And then he was a whirlwind of forward momentum. Naruto threw himself out of his chair, landing harshly on the linoleum floor when his unsteady legs couldn't keep up, but he carelessly scrambled back up and stumbled his way out into the main store area, sobbing out 'papa' on repeat before he'd even actually seen the man for himself. 

The hand that had been holding Naruto's against his chest slipped down and across, grasping his side in a poor effort to try to will away the pain in his back, and Iruka placed the arm that had been wrapped around the boy against the top of the pony wall, using it as a pillow to rest his head and watch the reunion happen.

Naruto's father fell to his knees before his son, wrapping the boy in his arms in what looked like a crushing embrace, and yet not once did Naruto himself look uncomfortable. One of his hands buried itself in his son's hair, followed by his tear-streaked face, and Iruka didn't mind that he couldn't make out a single word of what the man was muttering to Naruto when it was obvious that, whatever it was, it was filled with love and relief and the kind of overwhelming happiness that reduced a person to a weeping mess. 

He smiled a bit to himself, his last drop of endurance bleeding out of him at the sight. Iruka had fulfilled his promise: he'd been with Naruto every step of the way, and now the fruits of his labor were right before him.

Iruka had protected him, and now Naruto got to go home.

The lids of his eyes felt so very heavy, and each time Iruka blinked it felt harder and harder to open them again, though he did his best, wanting to see Naruto in the safety of his father's arms for as long as he could. But sounds began to feel like he was hearing them through a layer of cotton, and the next time he blinked he remained in the dark, making Iruka painfully aware that his back felt sticky and wet, and he was probably bleeding everywhere. He hoped Kotetsu and Izumo didn't get in trouble for the biohazard he was leaving behind.

Just when he started to feel himself drift off to sleep, or something more definite—he had no idea which—Iruka was jarred back to the real world by a pair of large, cold hands against his face. He snapped his eyes open, unable to focus for a few terrifying seconds, but when he did, he saw a man with spiky white-grey hair, a large portion of it pulled behind him in an equally spiky ponytail, and a pair of highly concerned black eyes staring back at him.

"Umino-san?" the man holding his face asked. "Can you hear me?"

Iruka would've nodded his head but it was being held in place, so he managed to murmur a weak 'yeah' that seemed to bring the man a modicum of relief. Regaining some of his wits, though he still felt sluggish and dizzy, Iruka noticed the patches on the man’s black vest that showed the flag for Japan on one side, and a few on the other for EMS and the fire department. The man had a pair of vinyl gloves sticking out of one pocket of the white uniform shirt he wore underneath the vest, a stethoscope around his neck, and a number of other bits and bobs which all looked like they probably did something important. Ah, so he was here to help. Iruka felt himself relax and lean into the man's hands against his face.

The man kept holding him but turned to face someone behind him, saying, "Shizune, tell Dai we're going to need the stretcher, and he better be prepared to drive like a maniac—this one's in critical condition." 

He didn't see her respond, or at all for that matter, as looking away from the man felt like too difficult a task, but Iruka heard this 'Shizune' scurry out of the room and through the store, presumably to do as she'd been asked. Then the man turned back towards him, his eyebrows furrowed worriedly even as he tried to smile at him.

"Umino-san, my name is Hatake Sakumo, and I'm not letting you die tonight." 

The words needed a moment to be properly translated through the fog enveloping his brain, but once they did all Iruka could do was blink, his own well-being having been the farthest thing from his mind all night. Or really since he'd been kidnapped, if he was honest with himself, but nevertheless it seemed that this Hatake Sakumo at least was looking out for him where he himself had failed to do so. That was nice of him. It wasn't as if he wanted to die, but it merely hadn't been a real concern of his in the grand scheme of things. As long as he'd made it this far, and Naruto would be okay, that was what really mattered.

Quite a bit happened after that, all of which was more like a distant memory to him than his present, but he knew he'd been laid down on his stomach at some point, probably on that stretcher by the way it felt as if he were moving despite being completely stationary. Someone small had taken his hand that hung over the edge of the stretcher, someone who was crying and Iruka thought perhaps was calling for him, and that was about all he pieced together before the darkness that had teased him before finally came up and consumed him.

It was daytime.

For the first time in a depressingly long time, Iruka knew this not by the sound of uneven footsteps above him, or the way his wrists got increasingly torn apart from rope irritation each passing day. No, it was a lot simpler than that. Iruka was watching how the sun highlighted scattered particles in the light coming in from behind the swaying curtains, and felt the comfortable warmth of the day spread throughout the stark white room he was laying in. He must've made it to the hospital, he realized, slowly taking in the details of everything around him.

The bed he was occupying was lifted at an angle, making the way Iruka was laid down on his side more comfortable, and with a very careful, experimental twist of his upper-body Iruka realized why. His back ached in a distant sort of way, no longer the surface-level agony he'd been experiencing back in that Konbini, and he felt kind of loopy; he must've been given some decent pain medication, he thought. Resuming his sideways position, not wanting to test the boundaries of his injury and what had been done to patch it up, Iruka took a deep, fortifying breath. He grasped the button for getting the attention of the nursing staff, and hesitated only for a second before he pressed it.

To his surprise he heard someone, actually several someones, begin to hurry down the hall towards him, and he couldn't stop the full-body start that wracked his frame when the door slammed open behind him. With his position being what it was, his back was facing the door, and he felt almost sickeningly vulnerable at that moment with no way to see who it was without hurting himself further. Iruka grabbed his bedsheet tightly and tried not to hunch his shoulders, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady, so he wouldn't devolve into a blind panic.

The only thing that killed the panic before it could take hold was a soft, warbly voice saying, "Iru?"

Logically he knew that whoever came in response to him pushing that button was there to help him, truly he understood that, but trauma was a wicked beast that made even the safest of places feel riddled with malice and sharp teeth. If not for that one familiar voice, speaking that one familiar nickname, Iruka wasn't entirely sure he could've faced anyone without completely losing his composure. Just another thing to be thankful for with regard to the existence of one little boy.

"Naruto?" he inquired back, feeling his face heat up in shame at how tight and afraid his voice sounded to his own ears.

Short but quick footsteps made it around the perimeter of his bed until a head of washed, trimmed, fluffy blond hair came into view, and the moment Iruka looked into Naruto's eyes all the tension bled out of his body. He lifted a hand with the intention of ruffling the boy's hair, wanting to reassure Naruto and banish that horribly worried mien from his young face, but his hand shook too much, and his arm was too weak to lift more than a few inches before it fell back against the bed. Naruto, always the one to compensate for the strength that he himself lacked, grabbed Iruka's hand himself and held it up with both of his, pressing it against his cheek.

Smiling tremulously, Iruka managed to whisper, "Told you...I'm okay."

Whether that was the right thing to say or not was hard to tell, considering Naruto's reaction was immediate and twisted Iruka's heart into one big Gordian knot. The boy's face crumpled into a medley of different emotions, none of which conveyed anything Iruka could properly read, and his eyes hastily welled up with thick tears that spilled over without any reservation. The cheek his hand was held against felt hot to the touch, almost feverish, and was deeply flushed by whatever it was that was overwhelming him so much. Naruto's hands gripped him tighter, shaking like a leaf. 

Iruka watched it all happen in the span of a couple seconds, alarm coursing through his system and giving him the strength to brush his fingertips against Naruto's cheek, the only movement he could manage to provide any form of comfort. "H-Hey," he said, his voice a little stronger, if not hoarser, than it had been before. "I'm—really, I'll be...fine. You don't need to—please don't cry."

Naruto only shook his head in reply, hiccuping into the tense silence Iruka was only starting to notice had filled the room. He was thankfully saved from making another (failed) attempt at consoling the boy when a blonde woman rounded the bed, coming into view with a serious look on her face. She wore a white coat and had to be a doctor, which meant she was either going to confirm or deny that what he'd been saying—that he was okay—was true or not.

What she said next was a balm to his twisted up heart.

"You're going to be fine, kid," she said flatly, her lips twitching up in a smirk. "But only because Sakumo kept you together long enough to get to me, where I then worked my ass off to keep you alive. Had the wound been even a centimeter to the right you'd be paralyzed, so you got lucky in that respect, but you lost a lot of blood, and running around town with it did you no favors. It's going to be a laborious recovery, but I think you'll manage alright considering what you've already been through and survived." Something must've shown on his face to give away how lost he currently felt because the woman let out a sigh that was almost a laugh, and her face softened. "I'm Doctor Senju, by the way, but most of the degenerates around here call me Tsunade. I'm the one that sewed you back together after you came here looking like a back-scratching incident gone horribly wrong."

Okay, so she could work on her bedside manner, but Iruka somehow found himself appreciating her bluntness. It got through the murky waters he felt like his brain was swimming through without any issue, so he nodded to show he understood, relaxing into his hospital bed as much as he could. Looking at Naruto helped, even as the young boy continued to make a mess of himself with sobs and a runny nose, all of which Iruka weakly attempted to wipe away with the sleeve of his hospital clothes without much luck; Naruto still had quite the grip on one of his hands, held against the boy’s face, and the other could hardly fathom moving unaided. So, to improve the situation, Iruka said Naruto’s name a few times until the boy looked at him, and then smiled as he asked, “Do you know what would make me feel better?”

Naruto’s big, round eyes slowly blinked at Iruka, his mind drawing a blank in such an obvious way that Iruka would’ve laughed if he’d had the strength. “Having a cuddle-buddy,” Iruka answered, feeling a little silly for the request, but more so finding that he didn’t care as much as he would have in the past. It must’ve been the drugs talking. “It would help keep my mind off the reason why I can’t lay flat on my back,” he further explained, in case Naruto wound up feeling silly in his stead.

Iruka needn’t have worried, however, because the explanation was barely out of his mouth before Naruto’s brain caught up with the words he was saying, and he sprung into action. The boy lifted Iruka’s arm, utilizing all the care a ten-year-old was capable of, and situated himself so that he was gently pressed against Iruka’s chest, hugging him like Iruka was a teenager-sized teddy bear. It was ridiculous how comforted Iruka was by that, made further ridiculous by the fact that it summoned tears to his eyes.

Here he was, having suggested this to ease Naruto’s emotional stress, and now Iruka was the one feeling the urge to get all weepy. Truly ridiculous.

Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, Iruka glanced up at Tsunade and earned something of an exasperated expression in return. “I told them to stay back until I had a chance to talk to you first, but this brat—” she waved a hand in annoyance at Naruto, “—hasn’t ever listened to a word I've said, so I don’t know why I expected anything different this time.” Tsunade pinched the bridge of her nose, looking for all the world to be very irritated, but, despite his state, Iruka could tell it was more an act than anything else. The corner of her mouth was twitching too much to be anything but her repressing the impulse to smile.

“There’s a few people who would like to meet the guy that saved the brat, and since you’ve been unconscious for the past week they’ve gotten a little antsy waiting for you to wake up,” Tsunade said, her words making Iruka balk.

“A...week?” he repeated, his voice hushed but incredulous.

Tsunade rested her weight on one leg, her hip cocked, and crossed her arms over her chest as she nodded. “Yeah, a week. Physically, Naruto is bouncing back fairly fast, a trait he gets from his practically immortal, almost zombie-like parents, so he’s already up and about—he only slept through a day before he started annoying my nursing staff with all his squirming and whining to see you,” she said, finally giving in to the smile she had been fighting back. It slipped to a more somber expression almost immediately, however, as she said, “You, on the other hand, have a lot more going on that your body needs plenty of rest to heal from.”

She adopted a mock-stern countenance as she stated, “A whole week unconscious is a bit much, though, don’t you think? I was beginning to fear that you wouldn’t wake up.”

Iruka understood that she meant it in a light-hearted way, but he felt Naruto grip his hospital clothes tighter and whimper against him. Tsunade must have noticed as well because she changed gears, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. “Anyway, there’s some other people here that want to meet you. But that’s only if you are feeling up to it. I won’t have you pass out from stress after finally having you conscious.”

Honestly, Iruka wasn’t feeling up to meeting anyone, or really interacting any more than he already had with another human being that wasn’t Naruto; fatigue was beginning to set in, and Iruka hated it since he hadn’t hardly done anything, and felt he could fall asleep again if given the chance. So, it was with an irrational sense of spite towards that weariness that Iruka said, “I’ll be fine. They can come in.”

Not appearing wholly convinced, Tsunade still nodded her chin at a group of people out of sight behind Iruka, and he heard several pairs of shoes begin knocking against the linoleum floor. Tsunade walked off to the side, taking Iruka’s chart to stand out of the way in a corner of the room, and as quickly as she left Iruka’s line of sight, a few new bodies gathered to occupy the space she had vacated. He recognized the man he’d assumed was Naruto’s father, and Hatake Sakumo standing in the back of the small group, but the guy next to Sakumo, who couldn’t be much older than Iruka, and the woman with the long, red hair were both certainly new to him. Iruka waited for a second, wondering why there wasn’t another set of footsteps, another familiar face amongst the crowd, but decided not to dwell on it.

At least not yet.

Forcing down the disappointment trying to cloud his heart, Iruka swallowed a bit to soothe his nerves, and offered a weak but sincere smile. “Well, uh...hello?” he said, and instantly felt like a dumbass for how ineloquent that sounded.

None of them seemed to mind, thankfully, and the woman with the bright, red hair spoke up first.

“Hello sweetheart,” she said ever so softly, “I’m delighted to finally get to meet you properly.”

Placing a hand over her heart, she said, “I'm Uzumaki Kushina, Naruto's mother." A few strands of her incredible hair fell over her right shoulder as she moved her hand to indicate each person she introduced. "This is Minato, my husband,"—and Naruto's father, just as he'd suspected—“He works as a Private Investigator and has been looking for you two for the past year."

Iruka's brain stuttered to a halt, taking that bit of information in. A year—they'd been that woman's prisoners for a whole damn year. He had to choke down the bile that rushed up the back of his throat upon hearing that, internally shaking himself hard so as not to devolve into a dreadful mess; Iruka zeroed in on Kushina's gesticulating hand and her voice, latching onto them (and Naruto in his grasp) to keep himself from falling apart.

Blissfully unaware of the war Iruka was waging within himself, Kushina went on, pointing at Sakumo. "That's Hatake Sakumo, Naruto's Godfather, and next to him is his son Hatake Kakashi, who's basically Naruto's older brother, no matter how much he tries to deny it," she said, chuckling a bit when Kakashi shoved his hands in his pockets and clicked his tongue from behind the black surgical mask he wore. Kushina let her hand fall back to her side gracelessly, and her eyes grew sharper in a way that had Iruka trying harder to hide the fact that the words ‘a year’ were still wrapping around his brain like a boa constrictor.

Her green eyes were watery as she looked down at him, but Iruka could tell that Kushina was holding herself in check, pushing through whatever she herself was feeling in order to address him. "Umino-kun..." Kushina's voice trailed off, the last syllable of his name coming out shakily. He watched her bite her lip, take a deep breath, and start over. "Umino-kun, I can't begin to—because of you—oh hell, Minato..." She sounded so desperate, her voice so tight and emotional, that when she turned to look at him, her husband was right beside her in a flash.

Watching her fall apart this way had the opposite effect on Iruka, calming the maelstrom churning away within him. In the face of her reaction, the fact that a year had passed left Iruka feeling more numb than anything else, and listening to what these people had to say became suddenly much more important. The world around him faded into an unfocused blur, and he could only concentrate on the few people in front of him.

Sliding an arm across her shoulders and standing with his side pressed against hers, Minato kissed Kushina's forehead, which caused her to huff with what looked like gratitude, but he zeroed back in on Iruka at almost the exact same moment Kushina did. It would’ve wigged Iruka out, that level of synchronicity, if he'd had more of his wits about him, but as it was all he could do was slowly blink up at them. Minato’s face was achingly kind as he looked down at Iruka, though there was something melancholic about his eyes that Iruka couldn't put his finger on; it made his heart clench painfully to see it, but he also couldn't bring himself to look away.

"Naruto told us everything that happened, or as much as he knew of what happened anyway," Minato began, sounding solemn but gentle. 

In Iruka’s arms, Naruto shifted carefully until his back rested along the shape of Iruka’s chest, enabling him to face his parents, and he maneuvered Iruka’s arms so that they wrapped around his small frame. The gesture made it easier to listen to Naruto’s parents speak, made Iruka feel less numb and more engaged, and the relieved breath Iruka let out expressed that shift in himself more than he wished it had. No one appeared to judge him for that though, for which he was thankful.

"He told us a lot of things...like what you both have had to endure, what you did daily to make it less awful for our son, and what you did to save him. But most importantly, that from day one…you…” Now it was Minato's turn for his expression to get all twisted up in emotion, though he certainly showed much more restraint than Naruto or Kushina. It was suddenly so clear who Naruto took after, and Iruka felt himself smile subtly despite how serious the current moment they were having was.

“You had promised to be by his side, to protect him, despite the fact you're still just a kid yourself and should never have been put in that position," he finished saying, his voice remorseful.

“Maybe not,” Iruka heard himself saying, feeling detached from his body as his hushed voice passed through his dry lips, “but I’m glad I was.” His eyes slid shut, and he leaned forward to press his face against the top of Naruto’s head weakly, the reprieve from looking into the heartfelt expressions on Minato and Kushina’s faces making it so utterly simple to say, “If Naruto had to go through that—if God or the universe or whatever would’ve made it happen no matter what anyone did—then the least I could do is be there to help him get through it. To help get him home.”

Iruka didn’t move as he heard muffled noises nearby, as if someone were trying to stifle the urge to sob, but he did slowly open his eyes when he felt the bed dip, and squinted until he was able to focus on the image of Kushina sitting beside him and Naruto. Minato stood next to her, holding her hand, and despite his calm appearance he had tears collecting in the corner of his eyes while Kushina let her own tears fall unabashedly. Her smile, in shocking contrast to the tears streaking her freckled face, was wide and jarringly bright.

Her movements were careful and unhurried for Iruka’s benefit, as Kushina reached over to brush a hand through Iruka’s long, dark hair, which must’ve been cared for while he was asleep because not once were her fingers interrupted by a knot or oily tangle. She let out a gust of air from her lungs, and the way she leaned against the headboard, not once taking her eyes off Iruka, had him thinking that what he said might’ve meant more to her than he could’ve ever imagined.

“This should have never happened,” she said. “Neither of you should have ever had to know that monsters like that...person...exist in this world.” Kushina’s head rolled against the surface of the headboard as she glanced away, seeming to collect herself, but not once did her fingers stop combing through Iruka’s hair. When she looked back at him her brow furrowed, but her smile remained radiant.

“But we got so fucking lucky that you were there for our son,” she said, “So fucking lucky.”

Perhaps it was the pain medication being fed into his bloodstream finally starting to get to him, or teenage awkwardness when faced with something as emotionally heavy as all of this, but Iruka weakly flopped a hand carelessly over Naruto’s face, aiming for the kid’s ear and missing by a mile, and tried to look reprimanding. “Language please, there’s a child present,” he said, and knew he’d failed to be at all reproachful when everyone in the room laughed.

Naruto squawked when a hand clumsily slapped against his face, and did so again when he heard why, making everyone helplessly chuckle again, Iruka included. Thankfully, the moment of foolishness broke the tension that had nearly gotten to be too much to stand, which gave Iruka the chance to relax and Naruto the chance to get the wet-noodle-of-a-hand off his face.

Sinking into the bed with a sigh, closing his eyes again, Iruka said softly, “I was the lucky one.” Kushina’s laugh turned into what Iruka knew was a sob, but chose to ignore it, keeping his eyes closed and simply allowing the warmth of Naruto’s body, the thick hospital duvet draped over both of them, and the air blanketing him from the vent above sink in. Remind him he was safe and far, far away from the hell he’d been living for the past year.

Iruka got so relaxed he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes again, and felt his consciousness begin to slip as the surrounding sounds got less distinct, muffled by nothing but exhaustion. Naruto’s voice, which was closest, spoke of a refusal to leave Iruka’s side, which he was more than fine with even if he couldn’t show it, but every other voice Iruka heard had no meaning to him. One that he assumed was Tsunade, as it just had that commanding tone she projected so well, spoke loudly and caused the room to feel more empty, so Iruka figured she told the others to leave. 

What surprised him enough to have him open his eyes, despite a lack of focus, was when an unfamiliar hand touched his forehead gently, followed by a deep voice he didn’t recognize at all.

“Thank you,” it said, cutting through the fog of Iruka’s drug-muddled brain. 

Before Iruka could even think to reply, with anything more than the weak, little smile that he felt form on his face, the hand was gone, along with the blurry mass it had been attached to that Iruka hadn’t been able to make out. A series of tapping noises—footsteps, he realized belatedly—grew gradually distant, and the Tsunade-like voice spoke, but all he heard was the word ‘sleep’. His body was more than happy to comply, Naruto thankfully still in his arms providing a comfort he couldn’t begin to quantify, and let his eyes slide shut.

The last thing that went through his mind before the world melted away was that voice that had thanked him...it had been really nice.

He wanted to hear it again.

The next time Iruka awoke it was dark. The lights in the sterile, white hospital room were dimmed to where they were barely on at all, and what little he could see of the sky past the window curtains in his line of sight was an inky black so saturated by city lights that he could make out no stars. He couldn’t help but stare into that sliver of darkness, however, as it was such a stark contrast to what he had last woken up to.

Night had come.

But for once, it didn’t bring the horror of a deranged woman crawling through that insufferable dark at him and Naruto with it.

Instead, something else occupied the dark, and again Iruka found himself struck by the stark contrast between the past and the present. Looking a bit to the side of where he had been staring into nothing, he saw a person doing much the same as he had. This person was young, held himself with a sense of tranquility and content, and the modicum of light coming from the window he was staring out of enveloped his silver hair in a soft, entrancing glow. The difference between this person, and that person, was like night and day itself, and it was that alone that kept Iruka from feeling perturbed by the fact that he wasn’t alone.

In fact, it was nice, in a way that Iruka had nearly forgotten anything could be nice. He was loath to disturb the peace, basking in it as much as he could, but as the night carried onward and the young man still didn’t notice Iruka was awake, Iruka shifted his arm he was laying atop of to wake it up from the numbing sleep it had fallen into.

The sound of him moving, however slightly, caused the man to jolt a bit in surprise and look over at him. Iruka felt his face flush, feeling sorry and a bit embarrassed for some reason, and put on an apologetic smile as he softly said, “Good evening...or maybe morning, I can’t be sure.”

It took a moment of simply being silently stared at for Iruka to realize the young man in question was Hatake Kakashi, Sakumo’s son, but as he shook out the pins and needles from his arm as much as he could (he was still damnably weak, but better than before where he could hardly move at all) he felt doubt spring up in his mind. The man still hadn’t said anything, and the silence was starting to get uncomfortable for Iruka.

So he tried again. “You’re Hatake-san...right? I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he said, though his voice was barely above a whisper, almost a croak. He really wished he had a glass of water right now.

And like magic, Iruka saying the young man’s name pulled him into motion. Kakashi approached Iruka’s bedside with light, quiet steps, his expression unreadable as he used the pitcher on the nightstand to fill a little plastic cup full of water. It looked like Kakashi meant to hand him the cup, but he paused, the furrow in his brow showing the first signs of emotion besides his initial surprise.

“Do you feel up to drinking this on your own, or would you like a bit of help?” Kakashi asked, and there was something about the deep timbre of his voice that was oddly comforting.

It was familiar, somehow, and while Iruka’s gut reaction was to merely take the cup and make do on his own—a stubbornness to take care of himself in what little ways he could, he supposed—it was that strange familiarity that had him flex either of his hands and sigh in resignation. He could be stubborn all he wanted mentally, but that didn’t mean his body would follow suit, unfortunately.

“If you wouldn’t mind helping me, I’d appreciate it,” he said, the scratchiness in his throat even more apparent than last time.

Kakashi simply nodded, using the hospital bed controls to lift the back end of the bed a bit more than it had already been set at, and then very carefully reached out for Iruka. His callused fingers slid over the contour of Iruka’s nape, combing through a few strands of Iruka’s hair, and Iruka prayed to whomever was listening that Kakashi couldn’t feel the heat traveling over his skin as Kakashi lifted his head up and brought the plastic cup to his lips.

Whether he was embarrassed by the need for help, or flustered from being touched in such a gentle way by someone who was a stranger (when the last stranger to really touch him had been malicious and violent), Iruka couldn’t say. What he could say was that, regardless of how lukewarm and overly-filtered the water tasted, it felt like a godsend to his poor throat, and he instinctually felt a little greedy for it as his clumsy, trembling left hand found its way to Kakashi’s wrist. His eyes slid shut as he weakly urged Kakashi to let him finish the cup, rather than slowly take his time with it, and it was only when he heard a soft chuckle and felt the cup pulled away that he opened his eyes and realized how ridiculous he’d just been.

The heat that had blanketed the back of his neck at Kakashi’s touch decided to spread up to the tips of his ears and over his cheeks, and Iruka’s mind screamed in mortification at how childishly needy his actions were. Thankfully, before his mental state could devolve into a puddle of useless mush that would leave him a stuttering, chagrined mess, Kakashi gently set Iruka’s head back onto his pillow, passed the cup to his now-free hand to put it back on the nightstand, and used the hand Iruka was unwittingly still holding the wrist of to curl over Iruka’s chin and tilt his face upwards ever so slightly.

The gentle touch, and kind look in Kakashi’s eyes, set Iruka’s hammering heart at ease, realizing he wasn’t being judged for his behavior, or rebuked for the fact that he’d grabbed at Kakashi without permission and still hadn’t let go. If anything, Kakashi seemed a little amused, and it was fascinating to see how different he looked when he openly expressed his emotions on his face, versus the blank mien he’d adopted before; Kakashi’s eyes expressed so much when he let them, and the mask covering his mouth did nothing to hinder that. All of this had Iruka feeling relaxed, and really, he ought to have known better than to let his guard down.

Because then Kakashi’s thumb slid up Iruka’s chin and slowly swiped over his bottom lip, brushing away the water that hadn’t quite made it into Iruka’s mouth.

Iruka could feel his face turning that dark shade of scarlet it achieved when he was overwhelmingly flustered, and he wanted nothing more than his hospital bed to grow a monstrous, gaping mouth and swallow him whole. The last time he’d felt like this was when his friend in junior high, Hayato, had shown him a picture in a dirty magazine and asked him, with that ridiculously blank face of his, if the two people shown were performing some kind of Judo move he’d never seen before. The innocence of the question, and the fact that Hayato had really been that oblivious to the ways of the world at times, meant that Iruka couldn’t even get mad at having his eyeballs violated like that.

But now...now, all Iruka could do was get frustrated at himself for reacting in such a way, and let the hand that had been holding onto Kakashi’s wrist flop lifelessly down and over his red face.

He groaned, feeling humiliated by how honest his body was. Was Iruka so starved for a kind and caring touch that, the moment he gets it, he becomes a stupid, blushing mess?

Obviously, the answer was yes.

It didn’t help that Iruka was far from blind, and found Kakashi, even with the lower half of his face covered by that black surgical mask of his, unfairly handsome. Really, who had the right to look that good when their hair was as silver as an elderly person’s, and a decent portion of their face was hidden away? And, although he very adamantly told himself it wasn’t—there was no way it could be when Umino Iruka would be the last guy on any sane person’s radar right now—having his lips touched like that felt very much like flirting. 

It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. Not when it was so obvious Kakashi had only meant to wipe away some stray water, and this was merely the second time Kakashi had even seen Iruka conscious; lord knows what he’d looked like when he’d been unconscious, especially when he’d first been brought to the hospital. So, despite Iruka’s own misguided thoughts and feelings (he was very adamantly blaming those pesky teenage hormones his father always warned him about), he knew it wasn’t anything.

Stuff him under a house for a year and he completely forgot how to interact with other another human being, unless he was high on drug medication.

Great.

Kakashi must have picked up on some of what Iruka was going through, because he took pity on him and gently peeled Iruka’s limp hand off his face, his eyes smiling down at Iruka where his concealed mouth could not.

“You might want to be careful about touching your face so carelessly,” Kakashi said, gingerly setting Iruka’s hand back on the bed, but, curiously, not letting it go. Instead, he wrapped his own fingers around it, and Iruka tried very hard to hear what Kakashi was saying rather than zeroing in on the fact that they were now, essentially, holding hands. It only got worse (better) when Kakashi put his free hand under the other two, completely encapsulating Iruka’s hand in both of his.

Christ, with how he was reacting to every little innocuous thing, perhaps Kakashi preferred it when Iruka was unconscious. Iruka knew he would certainly prefer right at that moment.

“Why?” Iruka finally asked, mentally punching himself in the face as hard as possible to get his shit together.

Some of the humor that had been in Kakashi’s expression faded away, replaced by something somber, even a bit contrite for some reason. He tilted his head to the side a little, nodding his chin at Iruka’s face in lieu of using his (occupied) hands, and said, “I don’t know how long ago you got it, or how for that matter, but the scar across your face…”

His voice trailed off, and Iruka was stricken by the sadness he saw in Kakashi’s eyes, unable to finish what he was saying. He almost forgot he even had a scar across his face, marring whatever possible good looks he may have had in the past, and it took Iruka a moment to gather himself enough to smile, however slightly, and weakly squeeze Kakashi’s hand.

“It’s alright,” he said, his smile only wavering for a second. “It’s actually pretty old now. I got it sometime in the first couple of weeks of...well, you know.”

The laugh that fell from his lips was pathetic, and the sound of it did more to make Iruka wish to never hear himself laugh ever again than anything else. Kakashi, however, seemed to turn contemplative as he looked down at their hands, the tilt of his head making it obvious that he was carefully considering what to say in response to that.

The silence stretched on until Iruka wondered if Kakashi wouldn’t find his voice again, and they’d stay like that until he either got fed up and left, or Iruka fell asleep with them like that, but then he spoke, and it was in the softest tone Iruka had ever heard.

“Can I ask how you got it?”

Now that...was a loaded question. One Iruka wasn’t at all sure he was ready to answer.

But if there was anything Iruka had proven to himself in the past year it was, when it came to the horrors he and Naruto had faced, Iruka could be surprisingly brave. And he knew that he’d have to talk about it at some point, all of it, so he tried to think of this as a warm-up to that. At least it was only Kakashi asking, and not a whole room of people like when he’d first woken up, so Iruka took as subtle of a fortifying breath as he could and looked at a spot just past Kakashi’s shoulder, his eyes going a little unfocused.

“If I remember right,” he began, swallowing back the anxiety trying to claw its way up his throat, because he did remembered right, of course he did, “Naruto and I had only been there for a few weeks, and I guess that...that woman didn’t really know what she was doing with us yet, so things were…they were…”

Iruka felt his brow furrow as he tried to think of the right words to describe it. Things were chaotic? Well, sure, but that was the entire past year in general, really. They were unorganized? They had no sense of order to them yet? To describe it with any choice of word he came up with, and the whole thing would just sound ridiculous—like a joke, rather than a nightmare he and Naruto had lived. And Iruka hardly wanted to make light of it all, even if the idea of going into terrible detail didn’t really appeal to him either.

“If I may,” Kakashi said, thankfully interrupting Iruka’s internal struggle, “I think I understand what you mean.” The kind look in Kakashi’s eyes only seemed to get softer, settling the turmoil that had begun to build within Iruka, and he gently patted the top of Iruka’s hand with his own in a seemingly unconscious gesture of comfort.

With that, Iruka let out a minute sigh and continued in a small, but clear voice. “Well, she…she always tried to reach out to Naruto, to touch him, and I didn’t bother to wait to find out if she ever meant it in some mockery of parental affection, or something…else,” he said, grimacing at the very thought. Kakashi’s hands tightened slightly around his, and Iruka knew that, once again, he thankfully didn’t have to elaborate on what he meant.

“Which is to say, I got in her way. A lot.” Iruka laughed softly, but there was very little humor in the sound. “During those early days, she sometimes had a…a butcher knife she carried with her, and would wave it around like a lunatic as she went on one of her nonsensical rants. And once, when she started swinging it way too close to Naruto, I pushed my way in front of him, as best as I could while tied up the way we were, and took the hit. The knife went clear across my face, instead of into his stomach, and really…that was the best of two evils, if you ask me.”

Iruka sighed deeply after he was done speaking, relieved beyond measure that he managed to talk about any part of the last year without falling apart. His eyes slipped shut for a moment, as he gathered himself, but they snapped back open in surprise when the hands covering his own moved away and, suddenly, were holding the sides of his face.

Kakashi was leaning in, far closer than he had been before, his hands cupping Iruka’s (steadily warming) cheeks, and before Iruka could even think of anything to say to that, his brain was wiped blank when he watched a tear escape one of Kakashi’s eyes. He watched the droplet leave a wet little trail as it fell, eventually disappearing into the edge of Kakashi’s mask, and felt his heart clench at the sight. 

Somehow, the sight of Kakashi crying hurt him far more than his own memories of the past year, and Iruka had no idea what to do with that.

Rather than give Iruka that time to figure it out, however, Kakashi let out a tremulous breath that made his facemask flutter a bit, and dropped his chin until it was nearly touching his chest. He looked like a man trying his damnedest to keep himself together, like a man bowing to something far greater than himself, and all Iruka could do in response was to lift both his weak arms until his fingers gently wrapped around Kakashi’s wrists. He wanted to comfort him, but he had no idea how, or if it’d be welcomed, so he offered a small press of his fingers against pale skin in solace, and remained silent until Kakashi gathered himself.

“Thank you,” Kakashi whispered, and Iruka only heard him at all because he was so close. “I’m so sorry you were hurt, I’m sorry I made you tell me…but thank you.”

Oh.

Suddenly, it made sense why Kakashi’s voice came with a strange sense of familiarity.

The voice he’d heard before he’d fallen asleep—that deep, smooth utterance Iruka had liked before even knowing who it belonged to—was Kakashi’s voice.

Well, that knowledge certainly did nothing to cool the heat coursing through Iruka’s cheeks, but all he could do was, once again, pray that Kakashi didn’t notice, or simply had the tact not to mention it. As it was, Kakashi appeared to be letting his words (rather than the voice that spoke them) sink in for Iruka, and it was good that he did since it took a moment before it registered what exactly had been said other than ‘thank you’.

“You don’t…you don’t have to be sorry,” Iruka finally replied, glancing away when Kakashi’s eyes darted up to his own. “You weren’t the one waving a knife around, and, well, while I don’t exactly…like talking about it, I know I’ll have to eventually so…”

Iruka’s voice trailed off as he considered his words carefully, stopping himself before he babbled out anything that sounded like far too much. When he was nervous or scared, Iruka had a habit of saying the first things that came to his mind without any filter to stop them, so for a moment he chewed on his own words until he sighed, giving up, and decided to simply be honest. He’d walked on the razor’s edge with his words and actions for the past year, and Iruka was just so damn tired.

If it was too much, then so be it.

“So…if I had to talk about some part of it, then I’m relieved it was with you, Hatake-san,” he said quietly, still not quite able to muster the courage to look the other man in the eye.

Even without focusing on Kakashi, however, Iruka could see in his peripheral view that he had Kakashi’s full attention. The thumbs of either of the Kakashi’s hands brushed against Iruka’s cheeks in something of a soothing motion, back and forth, and it took Iruka far too long in the silence that ensued to realize Kakashi was tracing the ends of the scar across his face.

“Well,” Kakashi began, and Iruka was struck by how fond he sounded, so much so that his slightly wide eyes snapped to Kakashi’s in surprise, “It’s not every day that someone thinks of me as their go-to person to confide in, especially when it’s about something...unpleasant. But for you, Umino-kun, I’m more than happy to be exactly that person for you.”

Perhaps it was the affectionate tone of his voice, or how unexpectedly pleased he was to hear what Kakashi said, but either way, Iruka didn’t expect the way his lips curled up into an unabashedly happy smile. And neither did Kakashi, if the way his thumbs stilled their movement, and the way his eyes widened were any indication.

“Thank you,” Iruka said, turning his face a bit to nuzzle into Kakashi’s hand that was closest to his hospital bed pillow. “Thank you.”

He couldn’t help but return the very words that had left such an impression on him, when said with Kakashi’s voice. Something about knowing that Kakashi saw his scars, emotional and physical, and didn’t cringe away from him for them, just made him so ridiculously happy within that moment. So much so that his body felt light, like he would float away any second without Kakashi’s hands against his face anchoring him to Earth, and Iruka felt his eyelids begin to droop.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t only happiness—and It made him dizzy to realize how long had it really been since he’d felt real happiness—making him feel relaxed enough to start drifting.

Perhaps he still had a good dose of that pain medication going through his system.

Yeah, that would explain it. And it would explain how he got the nerve to ask, “Would you stay with me?”

When he felt Kakashi’s hands flinch, like he meant to pull away, Iruka’s fingers squeezed Kakashi’s wrists again in an entreaty, although it was such a weak gesture that he couldn’t even be sure it had been felt. But it must have, because Kakashi’s hands remained where they were, and Iruka heard him release a small, possibly nervous breath.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered, that voice convincing Iruka’s eyes to finally shut. “Until you fall asleep.”

And that was the last thing Iruka heard before he fell away from the waking world. Though he couldn’t help but think, but hope, that it wouldn’t be the last time he fell asleep to that voice.

Two times was hardly enough…and Iruka’s abused heart, in a moment of exhaustion and vulnerability, felt it could beat to the sound of it for the rest of his life if given the chance.

He hoped to god he got the opportunity to earn that chance some day.

The next couple of weeks passed in a bit of a pleasant, if not vaguely ominous, blur.

Naruto and his parents dropped by daily around lunchtime to visit, offering him calm and peaceful company while they ate together (though Iruka’s diet was far less delectable, let alone solid, than the Uzumaki’s for the first week and a half), the exception being Naruto’s excitable ramblings about his day that his parents chimed in on occasionally. Kakashi, despite only being a year older than Iruka, had already graduated from high school and college (that had been the surprise of Iruka’s life when he found out), and worked as a teacher’s assistant, so he was only around during the day on Sundays, his day off; Sakumo, however, dragged him into having dinner in the evenings with him and Iruka at the hospital whenever he could, which Iruka found awfully enjoyable even as he pretended to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

The nights though…the nights were where Iruka found himself alone with Kakashi.

He had no illusions that Kakashi thought of their nightly rendezvous—if you could even call it that—as romantic, but Iruka had always been in touch with his emotions fairly well, and knew he felt things deeply, and perhaps more quickly than he should. Which is to say that he definitely felt that, whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, a gasp caught in his throat and the phantom touch of that woman crawling all over his skin, it was romantic as hell to blindly reach out and Kakashi would simply be there to reach back.

When Kakashi found the time to sleep himself, especially when he had work in the morning most days, Iruka didn’t know, but he was ridiculously thankful for Kakashi being there all the same. He wasn’t sure he would have made it through each night, or ever have found the strength to close his eyes and dare to sleep again, if not for the feeling of Kakashi’s fingers wrapped around one of his hands.

Or the sound of that low, melodic voice whispering for him to rest.

Whispering that he was safe.

How strange, Iruka thought, that his nights went from nightmarish scenes he dreaded with every fiber of his being, to something so much softer, and kinder, that he found himself looking forward to it. Despite it being at the expense of his rest, when having to jolt awake from memories he’d rather not relive. Still, as nice as all of this was, and as much as Iruka treasured the people who were now an integral part of his life, there was still something missing.

Someone missing.

And the nagging thought of where that someone was, why they weren’t there, was eating away at Iruka more and more viciously as the days went by. So after two weeks he had had enough, and sought to find answers, even as a terrible, malicious part of him was telling him that he didn’t truly want to hear them. Iruka was so wound up with tension of his own making that as he sat in his hospital bed, propped up against the softest pillows (finally able to rest on his back, as long as he was upright), that he dug his fingers harshly into the bedsheets resting over his legs in hopes of relieving even a fraction of it. 

It didn’t work.

Instead, it caused him to blurt out, “Where is my mother?”

Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the room became thickened and gelid, making it hard to breathe, and causing the hairs on Iruka’s arms to stand on end in alarm. Iruka tried to remain calm, but his teeth were set on edge as no one said anything for the longest time—they hardly moved—and not a single one of them looked Iruka in the eye as his gaze panned over each of them. They were all precariously hovering over the precipice of something, and Iruka hated that the wicked part of him had been right, as he dreaded what this reaction meant for him. What it meant for his mom.

After far too long of nothing but silence, Kushina blessedly broke it by letting out a hesitant, nervous laugh, running her fingers through Naruto’s hair as the boy slept peacefully within her arms, his head rested on her right shoulder. Iruka recognized the gesture for what it was, knew she was trying to make herself feel better rather than provide comfort for Naruto, but he said nothing.

“I’m going to get this little gremlin put down for a proper nap,” she said, standing from her chair to walk over to the door. Before she went through it, she offered Iruka a small, sad smile that, while beautiful, did nothing to relax Iruka’s nerves. And as the door shut behind her, the sound of it latching echoed terribly throughout the quiet room, emphasizing that awful quiet as if it were a thunderclap. Left alone with only Minato and Kakashi, neither of which appeared all that eager to speak, Iruka might as well have been the single, solitary person in the room for how silent it was.

Iruka stared at that door for what felt like a very long time, and, in actuality, must’ve been quite awhile as his neck was stiff when he turned to look back at Minato as finally the man spoke.

“Why are you…asking about your mother?” Minato asked carefully, so obviously tiptoeing around the subject that Iruka wanted to snap in response.

But instead he frowned, his brow dipped in displeasure for being forced to elaborate when he thought it obvious as to why he would ask. “My mom,” he said, “I want to know where she is.”

Something about Minato’s expression shifted, ever so slightly, but enough that Iruka caught it and felt a cold sweat build over his lower back and his palms, making his hands feel clammy and gross as they clenched tighter over his bedsheets. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly the shift entailed, what emotion it was trying to portray, but he watched as Minato clamped down on whatever it was, and his face became a blank slate. From behind Minato, leaning deceptively casually against the windowsill, Kakashi’s mien was similarly vacant, and that, more than anything, had Iruka’s nerves pulled so taut that, when he dared to breathe, he choked on it.

Iruka coughed to dislodge it, and the sound was so horrendously loud in the deathly silent room, but it shook loose Iruka’s trapped voice and he helplessly began to ramble. “I saw the posters,” he bit out, “When we got help at the Konbini—I saw the posters of us there.”

“The Missing Person fliers?” Minato asked, and Iruka watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Yes!” Iruka shouted, the bedsheets twisting up into an awful mess with how ruthlessly he gripped them. “I saw them! The one for me looked like Mom’s old police reports, which means mom made them—that she survived…” The word strangled him as it left his mouth, and he could feel the rest of his words wanting to turn to ash on his tongue, but he spewed them out, like sick that needed to be expelled, and shuddered at their bitter aftertaste.

“Mom survived the attack,” Iruka ptyalized, “and was looking for me. So where is she? Does she know that I’m alive? That I’m here?”

Minato’s countenance became that of a lost child, who was floundering for something to say—something other than what needed to be said. Something other than the truth. Kakashi had turned away, his whole body facing the window that had its curtains drawn against the evening sun, but Iruka had caught the strangely furious gleam in his eyes before he couldn’t see him properly anymore. 

A stone settled in Iruka’s stomach, colossal and unbearably heavy, and with how this was going he almost wished it would get it over with and simply crush him entirely.

“She…” Minato’s voice trailed off into nothing, but, with each wordless second, his visage became more steady, and more sure of itself. Iruka watched the gears in Minato’s brain turn as his expression melted into something taxidermal in its stillness, and the man sat up straighter in his chair. Minato crossed his legs, entwined his fingers to set them gently upon his knees, and looked into Iruka’s awaiting gaze as if about to conduct an interrogation. Not understanding this fluctuation in how Minato carried himself, Iruka said nothing, and did his best to respond to Minato’s change by presenting himself with a staunchness that he did not truly feel.

“Do you know why we had such a hard time finding you two?” Minato asked, and Iruka balked at the unexpected direction this conversation was suddenly going. He shook his head after a moment, and Minato nodded his own expectantly. “Right…we haven’t really talked about it, and you haven’t spoken with police yet about your whole ordeal.” As he watched Minato take a small breath, obviously steeling himself for whatever he was about to elaborate with, Iruka unconsciously mirrored him as much as he could.

“We had such a hard time because we were looking for a woman,” he stated, and Iruka blinked slowly at that, confounded. “The CCTV footage we managed to get of her grabbing Naruto from our home, and of her carrying your prone body outside and into an unmarked vehicle she had stashed down the street…both of these clearly showed a person of slim stature, long black hair, wearing heavy make-up, and in a dark red dress with matching pumps. Naturally, we began searching for any woman that matched the best still shots we got of her face.

Umino Kohari was essential in gathering evidence, like the CCTV footage, and getting the police to use whatever resources they had at their disposal to search every database for this woman in red.”

A quivering breath burst out of Iruka’s pale lips, his wide eyes relaxing ever so slightly, and he cursorily used his sleeve to wipe an errant tear from his cheek. “She’s a retired cop,” he nearly whispered, a sense of pride woven through each word. Although she always had a harsh criticism for the job, and for her fellow officers, Kohari had worked her ass off to do right by the people she had sworn to protect. That is, until a Yakuza bastard had failed to end her life, but succeeded in ending her career. Kohari had been forced to retire when both of her knees had been smashed by a metal pipe, and would never fully heal, but even then she had found a way to keep working, by consulting on cases with her old precinct. Iruka could imagine she had cashed in every favor she’d ever earned from her colleagues in order to find him.

Minato smiled kindly for a brief moment, before returning to his professional demeanor. “Thanks to her, I had a mountain of information at my disposal to use for my investigation,” he said, and Iruka saw him clench the hands resting on his knees tightly, showing the first crack in the stony veneer he’d taken on. 

“But it wasn’t enough.”

Sighing so heavily it seemed to drag him downward, Minato uncrossed his legs, leaned forward until his elbows were on his knees, and ran his fingers through his hair before he just stopped, holding his head in his hands. “It wasn’t enough,” he repeated, his voice so much smaller than before.

He sounded so defeated that Iruka’s fingers had released their death grip on his sheets, and a single hand had reached out to rest on the man’s closest arm comfortingly before he’d even registered moving. Minato lifted his head enough to send Iruka a slightly incredulous look, obviously not knowing how to react to being consoled by the one who really needed it, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a thankful, yet bittersweet grin nevertheless. The microexpression made Iruka’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest, and the compression only became stronger when Minato moved one of his hands to pat Iruka’s on his arm, letting the other fall limp against his leg.

“We searched and we searched, but nothing worked. The only hit we got after rifling through numerous databases was of a woman that gave us all hope, as her appearance was exactly what we were looking for, but it wasn’t any good in the end because…” Minato sighed heavily again, and Iruka pressed his hand a bit harder against Minato’s arm, trying to support him when he seemed to lose all strength.

“Because she was already dead,” he said, his blue eyes glassy from unshed tears of frustration as he looked at Iruka, his expression contrite. “Yamata Kushi had died two years ago in a car crash, all while pregnant with her first child.

Our only lead, and she had died so tragically.”

This time, when the room fell into silence, it was punctuated every so often with the sound of someone’s uneven breathing, or the slight breeze coming from the window rustling the curtains. It was somehow both more and less suffocating than the last bought of silence they’d fallen into. The biggest difference was that Iruka didn’t feel personally suppressed by it this time, and after gathering his courage, offering Minato one last comforting squeeze to his arm before pulling away to rest both his hands laxly in his lap, Iruka spoke.

“I had no idea it had been so difficult on your end…but I still don’t understand. Why was it detrimental that you were looking for a woman? And what does my mother’s whereabouts have anything to do with it?” he asked softly, his gaze never leaving the older man.

As he pulled himself together, piece by piece, Minato slowly sat up straight and leaned back against his chair. He intersected his arms idly over his stomach, and focused his eyes somewhere just over one of Iruka’s shoulders. His expression was carefully blank once again, but Iruka now knew how much that mask of his hid behind it.

“You see,” Minato explained, “it was a little over two months ago when we discovered Yamata Kushi, and we were so ready to place our bets on her—so certain she was the one we were looking for. And this was after far too many dead ends and false leads…” His voice trailed off in a melancholic, reminiscing sort of way, and Iruka used that lull to process the fact that, a mere two months ago, his mother was still looking for him. So where was Minato going with this?

Where was his mother now?

“I think, when we discovered that woman was deceased, crushing our first avenue of hope after so long, Kohari-san just…broke,” he said, and as Minato uttered that last word it came out strained and tremulous, like he was tearing off the scab of a painfully deep, festering wound. Minato’s mask was breaking again, but so too was Iruka’s courage, as the stone in Iruka’s stomach became swollen and so dense he thought he was going to vomit.

Though his eyes remained glassy with those frustrated tears from before, Minato never once let them fall, and perhaps that was easier for him—perhaps having his vision marred by whatever severe emotion he was feeling made it easier to say what needed to be said. If Minato couldn’t see Iruka properly, let alone the world around him, Iruka guessed that facing either of those things was much more simple through a distorted lens.

Iruka could relate. He certainly wished he could curl up under his bedsheets and block out everything right then, rather than continue to listen to what was becoming so terribly damning for his mother. And for Iruka’s future.

Minato’s arms hugged his stomach, the gesture so subtle Iruka nearly missed it, and whatever comfort that provided allowed him to say, “Your father’s funeral was held shortly after…all that, as Kohari-san had put it off in the hopes that we would find you boys first so that you could be there as well; she refused to include you in the funeral in any way that wasn’t you there and mourning for your father along with her. Now, I can only speculate, as she became standoffish and isolated herself after the service, so I don’t know for certain, but…

I heard the way your relatives berated her for waiting to have the funeral, and I heard them whispering about her being in denial over you being dead, that she should face reality already, or some such nonsense. And if I heard all of that, well, it wasn’t as if those relatives were really trying to hide their opinions, so Kohari-san more than likely heard all of it too.” 

Minato shifted his gaze a little bit over, at last making proper eye contact with Iruka as he said, “I think the funeral was a coup de grâce for her.”

For the first time in awhile Kakashi unintentionally reminded them he was still there, the sound of him clicking his tongue so loud it felt like a slap to the face, or the sharp edge of a knife cutting into Iruka’s ears. He was still facing away from the two of them, but when Iruka dared look at him, Kakashi’s shoulders were hunched up towards his ears, and he could see Kakashi’s fingers digging angrily into his sleeve. He hoped Kakashi hadn’t scratched himself with how tightly his hands were clenched, but he didn’t have time to think about it as Minato continued his explanation, his voice becoming more woeful and wrecked with each passing second.

“While the police started distancing themselves from the whole thing, with Kohari-san no longer playing an active role and it being nearly a year since you both disappeared, I carried on with my private investigation for weeks all on my own. Unfortunately, I got absolutely nowhere, so I frantically sought out Kohari-san for help, praying she might be pulled out of the fugue she’d fallen into since the funeral if I could inspire her to work with me again. But when I got to her apartment…”

It was as if Minato’s brain had ground to a halt, and although he was still looking into Iruka’s eyes, Iruka could see them lose focus, their attention being drawn inward to watch a memory play out that Iruka could not share in. And a large, hollering, contemptible part of him wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever Minato was seeing.

It didn’t matter what Iruka wanted, in the end, for Minato somehow managed to get himself to recount the memory aloud.

“The door wasn’t locked,” he said, his voice so soft that Iruka had to lean forward to hear him, “so I opened it enough to call out to her, and waited for her to respond. When all I got back was silence, I invited myself in, beginning to worry that she wasn’t home. But she was home, and she was…Kohari-san was…”

Suddenly, Minato leaned forward and reached out for Iruka’s hands, wrapping them in his own and bringing them up to press his forehead against them as he bowed his head. Iruka could feel the way Minato trembled all over, no matter how much the older man tried to suppress it, and he bit his bottom lip to fight back the bile that rushed up the back of his throat from the onslaught of horrid feelings churning in his stone-ladened gut. 

This couldn’t be going where he feared it was going…it couldn’t be. 

‘Please, God,’ Iruka thought, ‘Please no…’

But God was not listening, nor was anything divine or otherwise that could stop Minato from confirming Iruka’s worst fears.

“S-She…” Minato began in a sursurration, “Kohari-san…she had tied a belt around her throat and hung herself on the banister in the living room.” Iruka heard Minato’s breath stutter, and perhaps the man was crying now, for his voice sounded wet with grief, but Iruka could hardly concentrate on it enough to be sure, not with the way it felt like his blood had completely drained from his body, leaving him freezing and hardly able to breathe.

“By the time I got there, she was beyond saving,” Minato said through a sob, hesitantly tilting his head upwards to look at Iruka, pressing the boy’s hands against his chest. He looked as if he were pleading with Iruka, and it was no wonder, as the next words that came out of his mouth were practically him begging for forgiveness. “I-I’m so sorry, Iruka-kun,” he said, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save her…that I didn’t get to her sooner, and stop her from…from doing it.”

Well…that certainly explained a lot.

Why no one had ever dared to allude to either of Iruka’s parents in any way. Why Minato and Kushina acted particularly parental with him, as if trying to fill someone else’s role. Why the wide, gaping hole left in any room without Umino Kohari in it was blatantly, inexhaustibly ignored.

Why his mother never came.

Iruka felt like he was going to scream. 

He needed to be alone, right now, or he was going to fall apart in front of Minato and Kakashi, and that was the last thing he wanted. And so he jerked his hands out of Minato’s grasp, more harshly than he had intended, and flexed his fingers as he did his utmost to stop them from shaking. It didn’t work, and, alarmingly enough, he felt another wave of cold sweat breaking out all over his body. Iruka shook his head, switching gears, and, purely by way of having done it for two weeks (rather than being at all cognizant of what his body was doing at that moment), he rearranged his pillows so that he could lay down on his side, adjusted his bed to be less upright, and faced away from the two other men in the room.

“I’m tired,” Iruka said, his voice shockingly clear and steady. “Could you both please leave?”

For an agonizingly long stretch of time, no one moved or said anything, but Iruka pulled the blanket up over his chin when he heard Minato stand from his chair. The sound of shuffling feet against the linoleum floor circled his bed until Iruka could see Minato and Kakashi approaching the hospital room door, but he then turned onto his other side so he would not have to look at them, ignoring the way the fast movement pulled on the stitches sewn into the injury on his back. It hurt, but nothing hurt more than knowing that Umino Kohari was no longer a part of this world. 

A part of his world.

Pulling his blanket up and over until it covered half of his face, Iruka heard the two men behind him talking to each other far too softly for him to make out what was being said, then he heard the door open and shut, though whoever did it was so gentle that it hardly made any noise. Although the buzz of silence followed, Iruka was far too conscious of every centimeter of the space that orbited him to be ignorant of the fact that he still wasn’t alone.

He was proven right when Kakashi quietly asked, “Would you still like company tonight?”

Damn it all…Iruka wanted to say yes, to feel confident that the utterly horrendous tsunami of feelings crashing down on him would clear before the day’s end, but he was drowning and the thought of Kakashi watching him suffocate, of trying to help him pull himself out of it, made him want to shrivel up and die. 

So he gritted his teeth, clenched his eyes shut, and threw his blanket completely over his head as his trilling voice cried out, “No, thank you!”

Iruka listened as Kakashi sighed heavily behind him, and when he thought Kakashi would just open the door and leave after that, he was terribly surprised when, alternatively, he heard the sound of Kakashi coming closer, stopping right next to his bed. Iruka held himself so still it was physically painful, locking his joints to the point of feeling bone grate against bone, and couldn’t help but flinch when a large, strikingly warm hand pressed against his shoulder over his blanket. The mattress dipped as pressure was applied a bit further down the bed, near the small of Iruka’s back, presumably Kakashi’s other hand, and the thumb touching him rubbed an assuaging path back and forth against his shoulder as Kakashi leaned forward and spoke near Iruka’s concealed ear.

“I’ll come if you call for me, Iruka,” he whispered, stopping his thumb to instead press all his fingers into the meat of Iruka’s shoulder, as if to stamp his promise into Iruka’s flesh.

And with that, Kakashi pulled away and left, hardly making a sound as he shut the door in his wake. Left behind was a phantom warming the entirety of Iruka’s back, stooped over him the same as Kakashi had been, but it was a poor mimicry of the real thing as the heat slowly but surely faded into nothing. The chill of the room permeated the top of Iruka’s bed, descending into the blanket and eventually sinking its sharp, biting claws into every inch of him.

The trembling Iruka had been trying to oppress until now (and mostly failing) completely took him over, and while he felt frozen down to his very core, at the same time his face and chest felt unbearably hot. It hurt to breathe, and the air from his lungs came in short, painful pants, causing him to grab his shirt with both hands tightly, in the place over his rapidly pounding heart. Anguish, anger, the feeling of unfairness, and a million other unidentifiable things swelled up within him, and he felt as they all cannibalized each other, twisting into a dreadful, vicious thing that he had to rip out of him before it ate him alive.

Iruka turned his head until his face was pressed into his pillow, sliding one of his hands underneath it as the other grabbed another pillow, pushing it atop the back of his head until he was well and truly sandwiched between them. For awhile he merely suspired, relishing in the suffocating feeling that was far more easy to understand than whatever writhing monster was crawling around inside him—a monster that he was barely keeping at bay—but then the errant thought of is this what my mom felt when the belt tightened around her neck struck him like the back of a hand, like his captor’s blade across his back, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

Iruka screamed.

The days that followed were a tongueless hell.

Iruka had shrieked and wept and hollered and roared, all within the confides of his two pillows, thankful that they muffled the horrible sounds he had made enough to not alert anyone that anything was wrong. His own voice had felt unguiculated as it tore its way out of his throat, scrambling up the walls of his esophagus like a starving beast, until it broke free of his pharynx and was spit from his mouth as if it were shards of broken, bloodied glass. Every inch of him ached when he was done, his voice completely ruined by the time dinner rolled around and he could no longer scream, and Iruka was more than happy to play the part of a corpse when a nurse came by to try and get him to eat.

He ignored her, and the food that she brought, and simply laid there in the darkness he hid himself away in, under pillows and blankets that irritated his clammy skin whenever he shifted and they moved along with him. Every nerve-ending felt like it was on fire, and Iruka simply laid there and let his body burn. When he eventually managed to sit himself up, his head pounding but otherwise feeling numb, he merely glanced at the cold platter of food set on his nightstand, not daring to touch it, but even that was far too much for him to take as it made his stomach roil terribly. Stumbling out of bed, Iruka moved with an unsteady haste to the bathroom, clumsily shutting the door behind him and throwing himself at the toilet bowl before he was sick on himself.

Hugging the porcelain rim, Iruka emptied his stomach, desperately wishing he could purge his grief along with everything else. The sour taste of bile and acid sat on his tongue hours later, and it took him a long time to gather the strength to stand up, thoroughly wash out his mouth and brush his teeth, then shuffle back over to his bed. He fell face-first against it above his blanket, curled up into a shivering ball, and fell asleep that way.

Tsunade found him in that same fetal position the next morning when she came to check up on him. She shook him awake as gently as she could, took one look at his overall state, and determined that it was time for Iruka to start doing more extensive rehab exercises. Perhaps it was her way of supporting him through the sorrow Iruka was certain was writ large on his face; perhaps Minato had explained to her what Iruka now knew. By giving him something else to concentrate on, something to distract him, he’d surely be too busy to be swallowed up by his despair. But even after a few weeks of light exercises and recovery, Iruka’s body was still underweight, his muscles underdeveloped and weak, and everyday he came back from physical therapy trembling like a leaf, sweaty, unable to stand, and (humiliatingly enough) needing a nurse to sponge bathe him when he couldn’t even lift his arms.

It was all downhill from there.

As he promised, Kakashi did not appear before Iruka at night anymore, and Iruka didn’t call for him to do so, so Iruka spent the nights either blissfully knocked out by his pain medication, or huddled under his bedsheets and trying his damnedest to not fall apart at the seams. The Uzumaki family still came by for lunch during the days, but their visits were reduced enough that Iruka noticed their absence like a self-inflicted, festering lesion; Iruka never spoke, his tongue feeling bloated and heavy in his mouth whenever he wasn’t alone, but especially around them. Similarly, Minato also remained mostly silent while they had lunch together, leaving the conversation to Kushina and Naruto, but he was polite enough to offer a kind smile every once in awhile, despite the fact that it didn’t reach his eyes.

Iruka had done this to them. He had ripped away the easy and comfortable ambiance that had hung about Minato whenever he’d come to see him, and he had pushed Kakashi away to the point where Iruka wasn’t quite sure he really would have come if Iruka called out for him. Kushina and Naruto were also affected, though they tried their best to hide it; it left Kushina more reserved than before, her every word and action dripping with hesitation as she seemed afraid to upset him in any way, while Naruto would bear this look of nervous confusion once in awhile, as he surely had no idea what had transpired but could tell something had all the same.

Ironically enough, it was with Sakumo that Iruka found the most comfort with, when the older man continued to stop by to share dinner with him on the days he wasn’t busy. Kakashi was no longer dragged with him, so it was just the two of them, but Iruka thought that it was perhaps for the best. Sakumo, after all, was a calm and comforting presence who never walked on eggshells around him, merely talking about how work was going or some other topic he felt compelled to share with Iruka, and Iruka didn’t have to do more than eat his dinner and listen. It was the only time Iruka felt relaxed ever since learning about what happened to his mother, and without Hatake Sakumo’s presence sprinkled throughout Iruka’s days, he wasn’t sure what would have happened to him as he slowly but surely came to terms with the fact that his mother was dead.

That she had killed herself while Iruka had fought so hard to survive.

In the blink of an eye, three months had passed since Iruka and Naruto had found their salvation in an everyday convenience store, and Iruka felt himself reaching his limits.

Currently, he was in the physical therapy room late after hours, somehow having been able to convince a nurse to let him in under the pretense that he had improved a lot, and felt the need to get some extra exercises in before he could sleep that night. The nurse hadn’t looked like she was paying much attention to his words, but she apparently knew who was speaking well enough to trust him with the room keys, simply telling him to not ‘over-do it’ and lock up before he returned the keys when he was finished.

He’d done nothing but nodded in response before heading off, leaving the door to the room cracked open just a smidgen in case anything happened and he could call out for help. Not that he had any plans to let it get that far, but Iruka felt everything that he had dealt with over the past few weeks start to churn within his stomach, trying to once again take the shape of that awful stone he had felt when Minato’s words had changed his life, and he wanted to pound it into dust before it could. Iruka wanted to light his whole body on fire rather than feel that again, and so he figured that working himself into an exhausted, burning mess would be far more preferable.

But Iruka had forgotten how ridiculously stubborn he could be, and wound up pushing himself beyond his limits.

He’d been doing squats, holding onto hefty weights that had only recently been added to his routine, when he went to push himself back upright and lost the support of his legs completely. They buckled underneath him, sending him crashing onto his sore knees, and Iruka hurriedly flung the weights off to the side before his hands slapped against the thin mat beneath him. 

Iruka stayed there on all fours for a moment, panting in a rasping, wheezing sort of way he hadn’t realized he was doing until it was the only sound that he could hear. Then, all of a sudden, his butt met the back of his calves as whatever strength he’d had left abandoned him entirely, and Iruka hugged his arms around his stomach as he curled forward, so overcome with hopelessness that he felt it could become a physical thing and rise up to swallow him whole. His naked torso was drenched in sweat, his tied-up hair had come loose at the bangs and stuck to his forehead in a way that left him feeling chafed, and his heart refused to calm down. He felt disgusting, worthless, weak, and, at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to not exist at all.

‘I’d rather be dead than whatever the hell I am right now,’ he thought, and Iruka bit his lip so harshly that his canine pierced the skin of his lower lip. As blood tricked down his chin, dripping onto the mat below, Iruka was doing everything in his power not to lose himself to the thriving, wicked, incorporeal being that was whispering in his ear, trying to compel him to claw his essence out of his skin, to tear himself apart and leave whatever would be left to someone else. Anyone else but him.

Little did Iruka know that there was someone who wanted the opposite. Someone who wanted to hold him tight, hold him together, and keep every ounce of what made him Umino Iruka within the body that Iruka himself wanted nothing to do with anymore.

Yet, as if possessed, that person’s name fell from his bleeding lips in a desperate, quivering whisper.

And that person was standing right behind him.

Reconciliation

Hatake Kakashi hadn’t ever considered himself as someone that needed others. 

Loving his father was a given, as Sakumo had been the first person to ever care about him in any significant way; his mother had died giving birth to him, so he’d never had the chance to know her. He couldn’t miss someone he didn’t even know. As he grew older, he formed a bit of an attachment to Uzumaki Kushina, and her husband Minato, as they were close friends with Sakumo (they’d known each other since college, and stayed in touch when Sakumo graduated before them), and thus acquaintances of his by osmosis; he eventually admitted he loved them as well, but only after a few years, and once he was absolutely sure it was love. It wasn’t that he felt he needed these people in his life in order to function, or more importantly to be ultimately happy, but rather that his life was enriched by having them a part of it all the same.

Then Naruto came into the picture almost a month after Kakashi turned 11.

He’d been growing up mentally at a shockingly fast rate, and was well on his way down the path of a bona fide genius who would graduate high school soon, then start working on some college degrees while he figured out what the hell he wanted to do when his body finally matched the same maturity as his mind. But the nebulous, monotonous path he’d been travelling down took an abrupt turn into uncharted territory when Naruto came.

Naruto had been placed in Kakashi’s runty, nervously shaking arms, shortly after Kushina and Minato had their first moments with the babe, and Kakashi had truly felt like a child for the first time in his life. What if he used too much strength to hold him and hurt him? What if he didn’t use enough strength and dropped him? What if Naruto opened his tightly shut eyes, looked up at Kakashi, and started to scream? What if Naruto grew up and decided he hated him?

What if Kakashi grew up into someone who deserved to be hated?

Kakashi had never been so lost and out of his depth as he was that first time he held Naruto, but something else unfamiliar sprung to life within him that very same day. Something that would plant itself inside his heart, nestle its roots deeply, and refuse to rot away. He would grow up into someone worthy of Naruto’s love and admiration, and he would do everything in his power to protect him.

To keep him safe.

However, a mere six years later, and Kakashi learned in the harshest of ways that vowing to protect someone, and actually doing it, were two very different things.

The day he’d learned that Naruto had been kidnapped, and by a psychopathic murderer who had brutally killed Naruto’s babysitter no less, had been the most vile day of Kakashi’s life. 

He’d felt sick, and maimed, as if a limb had been violently torn off his body and he was left sluggishly bleeding out, but nothing compared to what he could see Naruto’s parents so blatantly feeling whenever he looked at them. Kakashi had never seen Kushina look so unkempt and become so emotionally unstable, while Minato, in contrast, seemed utterly nonextant in a way that was a distressful amalgamation of dead-like silence and harsh, jarring discordance. Minato might as well have been a corpse, one whose disembodied spirit was screaming unheard into the void, and that morbid comparison in and of itself made Kushina’s failing eudaimonia only fade even further.

The months that followed weren’t that much better…

But Kushina pulled herself together to the best of her ability, and remembered that she was a tech company CEO in just enough time to prevent the board of directors from pushing her out of her position; the fact that they tried to do so while she was dealing with the loss of her son, all while she was the reason there was a company to begin with, gave her a sense of fleeting clarity in the form of her fury. She was especially venomous in her counterattack, going so far as to scare several of the board members into early retirement, and while the satisfaction she felt over it was short-lived, it acted as an infirm foundation that managed to keep her going, regardless of how feeble it was. Her improvement, no matter how slight, in turn pulled Minato out of his impersonation of a neurotic cadaver, and kicked him into action. 

After a month of the police not doing enough for anyone to be content, Minato officially began his own independent inquiry, using any and all resources he had as a licensed private investigator.

Kakashi had stood on the sidelines and watched them both, wondering at the resilience of humans to adapt to some of the worst conditions anybody could ever be thrust into. He was only a TA for a third-year Japanese Literature class at Konoha Academy, and although he was technically a genius, there was literally nothing he could do to help except check in on Kushina and Minato every chance he got. He only ever felt useful when he was there to provide some small ounce of comfort for Minato when the suicide of Umino Kohari came to light, though he had no idea of her connection to any of this until much later, but even that was hardly anything at all. That wretched impuissance he felt each day for a year acted as the chisel that chipped away at his frozen heart every moment Naruto wasn’t there to warm it, to make it palpitate with happiness, to remind it of the memory of holding the baby that gave it a reason to feel truly alive for the first time.

Without Naruto there, Kakashi felt like the blood in his veins had curdled, spoiled, and every breath he took caused invisible fingers to slowly squeeze tighter around his throat. He was falling apart, forgetting what it felt to be human, and he wondered if this is what it felt like to slowly die.

So when he got a phone call from Kushina late one night, shouting at him to come to his father’s hospital immediately, it was a miracle Kakashi had enough of himself left to do as she commanded. And he was terribly thankful that he did, because the first thing—or rather, person—he saw when he burst into the hospital room he’d been told to go to was Naruto.

Naruto.

The small boy, who had tears streaking his fever-flushed and sunken cheeks, was alive and was seated in Kushina’s lap. She was sitting on the bed, refusing to be even a centimeter apart from her baby boy, but Kakashi could instantly tell that Kushina acting as Naruto’s booster seat was a compromise she’d made with the poor doctor that was trying to do her job. Kakashi stood silently in the doorway as he watched an old friend of the Uzumaki family, Sarutobi Biwako—a woman in her later years of life but still very much a capable doctor—work around the clingy mother and emotional child to properly examine Naruto. He only made to properly move inside when he saw Biwako take a step back, make some notations on a clipboard with Naruto’s information on it, and smile kindly at everyone in the room, including him.

Biwako had explained in a calm tone of voice that Naruto was malnourished and his muscles atrophied, as well as suffering from a mild case of dehydration, but, remarkably, he was otherwise doing fairly well. Because of his youth, Biwako expected the child to make a relatively fast recovery, especially when she considered who Naruto’s parents were, and how quickly Kushina and Minato both recovered from injuries and illnesses, but even so, Naruto would have to stay in the hospital while his body recovered. His mental health, especially, would have to be much more carefully examined, and that alone meant Naruto would be staying for quite awhile.

No one complained about that, all of them having feared Naruto suffering from torturous pain, if not having been killed, but the boy surprised them all by having a complaint of his own.

That was when Kakashi heard the first mention of Umino Iruka.

Naruto had loudly declared that he wasn’t going anywhere, or doing anything, unless he knew that someone he called ‘Iru’ was alright. Minato had explained, once Kushina managed to calm Naruto down enough for the man to speak without being shouted over, that, when he found Naruto, he had been with another boy. Someone who was older, someone Naruto had proudly declared as the one who saved him, and someone who had been dreadfully injured.

And that someone, who had been rolled into a surgical suite the moment the ambulance had brought him in, might not make it through the night.

Naruto and Minato had ridden in the ambulance with this ‘Iru’, and had seen Sakumo do his damnedest to keep the teenager from bleeding out and dying, so the little boy knew just how much danger his savior was in. Naruto wanted to see ‘Iru’, now, and refused to have an IV he desperately needed to have injected into his arm if he couldn’t; the boy was overall the pain in the ass that Kakashi had always fondly remembered him as, and that, more than anything else, reassured him that Naruto was going to overcome the horrors he’d faced. It was only by Kakashi impulsively promising that he would wait outside the room ‘Iru’ was having his surgery in, and he’d come back and tell Naruto how it went immediately after finding anything out, that the boy finally calmed down enough to be properly taken care of, and let Kushina settle him under his sheets to rest.

A man of his word, Kakashi did as he said he would and, after giving Naruto’s hair a quick ruffle that was far more a comfort to him than it was to the kid, left to find the room in question. Minato joined him about ten minutes later, when Kakashi failed to locate anyone named ‘Iru’, and it was then that he learned that ‘Iru’ was short for Umino Iruka. Suddenly, several things made sense at once.

One, that this other boy had been kidnapped as well, and that’s why he had been with Naruto in the first place. Two, he had most likely been so grievously injured while fighting to get himself and Naruto free of their kidnapper. And three, Umino Kohari’s importance to the investigation had finally clicked, and Kakashi understood why her suicide hit Minato so hard. In fact, as he sat on a bench with Minato beside him, staring at the red light above the surgery room door, the death of a woman he didn’t even know began to hit him in ways he had never thought a stranger’s death could.

It was hours later when they got the news that Iruka survived the procedure and, although he would have a long convalescence period, would make a full recovery. 

Kakashi could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he would be able to bring good news back to Naruto, but he was left stricken when he looked over at Minato and found the man in tears, a trembling hand clasped over his mouth. Obviously, the death of Umino Kohari had affected Minato far more than Kakashi had even known, and so, knowing the young man that had saved his son wouldn’t then join his mother after fighting so hard to make it to freedom, was an easement for Minato that no words could ever hope to describe.

Hell, Kakashi was an outsider when it came to either Umino, but after taking one look at Minato, and having his brain connect all the dots, even he wanted to cry in relief. This boy named Iruka didn’t deserve to die, not after everything he’d been through to get free and to save Naruto, so knowing he would pull through had Kakashi’s eyes getting misty. They stood there for awhile, staring at the light above the door that no longer shone with a bright, ominous red, and Kakashi patted Minato’s lower back until the man managed to pull himself together.

The next day was when Kakashi actually saw Iruka for the first time. Iruka was connected to several machines, the heart rate monitor being the most prevalent one, as it chirped away with a steady beat that reminded everyone that, despite his looks, the boy was very much still alive. He was laid on his side, bracketed in by a few sturdy, padded bed wedges to keep him in position and prevent him from laying his full weight on his injured back, and had an IV tube injected into his arm, supplying the medication he needed for the pain, and an intravenous piggyback to help with his dehydration and his desperate need of nutrients he’d been so cruelly denied for the past year.

For all that Naruto had declared that ‘Iru’ was this superhero-like being, without going into detail as to how Iruka was such a thing, the person laying prone in the hospital bed before Kakashi looked so terribly fragile and human.

However, all things considered, the Umino Iruka that Kakashi’s eyes mapped out and unconsciously memorized looked…good.

Handsome even, as strange as it probably was for him to consider.

He felt wrong for thinking so—Iruka had only just endured the worst thing imaginable, and was an absolute wreck that had barely survived the night before—but Kakashi couldn’t help it. He looked at Iruka’s long, dark brown hair that fanned out over his pillow, and imagined what it must look like when it was clean, how soft it would feel between his fingers if he combed his hands through it. Kakashi imagined what that lax and emotionless face looked like when it smiled, or what he must sound like when he laughed. And he imagined what it would be like to have Iruka looking up at him, gently calling out his name.

Kakashi couldn’t explain it, but the moment he saw Iruka, his heart clenched painfully in his chest, and a part of him so suddenly, and so desperately, wanted to be known by Iruka. It was a peculiar desire that he’d never felt with anyone else before. The only similar instance was when he first held Naruto as a baby and how what he felt had snuck up on him—how quickly and how strongly he felt it—and yet this was so significantly different. Unlike with Naruto, this wasn’t a familial sort of sensation stirring in his chest…

Kakashi wondered, sickened, if he had some twisted desires that he hadn’t known about until that moment. Did his tastes so specifically lean towards those who survived odious trauma? Or worse, was he a Somnophiliac? Was he defiling his admiration for the one who saved someone who was, essentially, Kakashi’s little brother? 

Or was he just wrong?

Those outside his small circle of family and friends usually looked at Kakashi and saw someone who was a bit broken, a bit inhuman, and stayed as far away as they could. He never expected those outsiders to be proven right in such a way.

Kakashi almost walked out of the room without ever turning back that first day, but then Naruto abruptly started speaking as he sat in Kushina’s lap, unintentionally startling Kakashi out of his disturbed daze with the reminder that he wasn’t the only one occupying that space. 

Naruto reached out and held both of Iruka’s hands that lay limply on the side of the bed facing the boy, and then, without looking away from Iruka’s face and without prompt, told everyone in the room everything that had happened.

It was so jarring to hear what the past year had been like from the eyes of a child, and no one moved, or hardly dared to breathe until Naruto was finished. They learned of the promise that Iruka had made to Naruto, when the two of them hadn’t known each other for more than a fleeting moment; they learned about all the little things that Iruka did to try and help them not waste away, or keep track of what time of day it was, or to keep the nebulous hope in Naruto’s heart, the one where they’d make it out of there some day, from fading; and they learned all of the bigger things Iruka did to protect Naruto from the woman, and what Iruka did in order to get them free, leading them, with an unbelievable levelheadedness for a 16-year-old boy, to safety, even as he was bleeding out with each step towards salvation.

As Naruto spoke, Kakashi’s hurting heart relaxed with every word, and the tremulous emotions stirring within him when he looked at Iruka settled into something that were no longer disturbing and far more rapturous. When Kakashi looked at Iruka he saw someone inherently good, someone who deserved all the happiness and peace the world had to offer, and he saw someone he wanted to know as much as he wanted to be known by. He wished he could touch even a speck of that goodness and understand it for himself—covet it, if he could, or cherish it, if he was allowed. 

That feeling grew to nearly unbearable heights when he heard everything that Naruto had to say, and it was a challenge for Kakashi to keep the maelstrom of emotion off of his face.

Hatake Kakashi no longer thought his feelings were some twisted perversion, or some inflated sense of admiration. Rather, he thought he might really, genuinely…like Umino Iruka.

And he hadn’t even seen what Iruka was like conscious yet.

What the hell?

The week that followed felt more like a year, because although Naruto was making the kind of steady recovery that would have medical researchers—who didn’t know how resilient his parents were—baffled, Iruka stayed asleep. Tsunade seemed nonchalant about the whole thing, constantly telling the Uzumakis and Hatakes, who hovered around the young man like anxious old biddies (or so she called them), that it was completely normal that Iruka rested so much. 

As reassuring as those words were supposed to be, it didn’t stop them from continuing to worry, and it didn’t make them frequent Iruka’s room any less. And then exactly a week afterwards, while Minato, Kushina, Sakumo and Biwako were all chatting in Naruto’s room, and Kakashi was reading a book while Naruto dozed against him as they sat in a chair off to the side, they all looked up like prey animals on alert when Tsunade rushed by the door and down the hall. Immediately, everyone but Biwako scurried out of the room and, intuitively, knew to go straight to where Iruka was staying.

They found Tsunade standing right outside the door, straightening her mussed doctor’s coat, and when she saw the lot of them shuffling up to her before she’d even had the chance to open the door, she sighed heavily. But she couldn’t help the little smile that ticked up the corner of her painted lips, and she held up a single finger, telling them to remain silent and still while she handled her patient.

Before anyone could do anything, however, Naruto wriggled past all of them and slammed open the door, but rather than bulldozing into the room he simply stood there, breathing, until he eventually called out the nickname he referred to Iruka as. His voice shook, and it sounded wet, but Kakashi hardly noticed when all his focused zeroed in on Iruka’s own voice as it questioningly called back to Naruto. 

Iruka sounded scared, uncertain, and Kakashi’s heart gave a discomfited, sympathetic lurch when he realized they were all just standing by the door, staring at Iruka’s vulnerable back that faced a group of people Iruka hardly (if at all) knew. The fact that Iruka wasn’t devolving into a panicked state, like a rabbit caught in sights of a pack of hungry wolves, was a testament to a personal strength that he possessed that had Kakashi’s heart skipping an admiring beat.

Really, Iruka hardly did anything, and already Kakashi’s heart was at his whims.

The sound of Iruka responding had Naruto throwing all caution to the wind and barreling inside. Some quiet words were shared between the two, which mostly sounded like Iruka trying to reassure the sobbing Naruto, and then Tsunade finally walked in and interrupted. As she spoke, Kakashi felt his heart begin climbing up his throat in nervous anticipation, and he had to clench his hands tightly at his sides to keep himself still until he knew for certain that he was welcome to take a single step inside.

And then it came—the permission to enter—and Kakashi counted each movement of his feet as he walked into the room, matched each breath to them, and plastered on the most neutral expression he could shape his face into. He hovered in the back of the small group next to his father, allowing Kushina and Minato (mostly Kushina, who was barely keeping herself from becoming an emotional mess) to take the lead with interacting with Iruka, and only quietly observed the young man.

He watched as Iruka heard how long he and Naruto had been gone, and inwardly lamented at how no one else seemed to notice the way Iruka’s mien froze in shock; Kushina just kept talking, and Kakashi felt another sympathetic lurch of his heart when Iruka’s face Ironed out his internal panic as well as it could, obviously trying to hide how disturbed he was by being gone for a year.

Kakashi played it as cool as possible when he was introduced, hemming and hawing playfully at having been dubbed as practically being Naruto’s older brother, but he was unable to meet Iruka’s eyes for more than a couple seconds when they landed on him. He prayed to whatever deity would listen that the heat he could feel rising to his face wasn’t as obviously seen as it was felt.

But when Kushina fell apart, and Minato had to take over, Kakashi couldn’t tear his eyes away, watching this kid comfort the adults around him as if that kind of thing came as naturally to him as breathing. Iruka was giving Naruto all this credit for their survival, for his half of their survival anyway, as if he wasn’t the one laying in the hospital bed, unable to turn onto his back for how injured he was. 

For how close to death he’d come just a week prior.

The hands Kakashi had slipped into his pockets were clenched tightly, and a feeling of being overwhelmed by everything that was Umino Iruka momentarily consumed him. From Iruka’s unbelievable kindness, to the gentle way he held Naruto in his arms and pressed his face tiredly against the top of Naruto’s head, to the charming and yet sad way it was obvious to everyone who looked at him that he was starting to fall asleep, even as he tried to finish what he was saying. Kakashi’s hands relaxed, following along with Iruka’s expression as it began to smooth out in exhaustion, but tightened into fists again when Tsunade announced that it was time for her patient to rest.

He had to do something. Say something. But he had no idea what.

Kakashi remembered walking into the room that first day after Iruka’s surgery…he remembered wanting those eyes to open and look at him, for that voice to acknowledge him. He remembered wanting to be known by Iruka so viscerally that it felt like an old wound, something he’d always carried with him, and only having that desire come to fruition would allow the wound to begin to heal. Well, Iruka now knew his face and his name, but it wasn’t the same thing as being truly known.

It wasn’t enough.

There wasn’t much time left. Everyone was beginning to make their way out of the room, Naruto being allowed to stay behind, so long as he rested and didn’t leave the room without telling anyone, and Kakashi’s own feet had to start moving or else he was going to draw attention to himself. He took a step forward, then another, but rather than towards the door he headed towards the bed, acting under the guise of saying goodbye to Naruto to instead get close to Iruka.

He ruffled the kid’s hair, smiling with his eyes when Naruto simply grunted in reply and turned his face into the pillow to pretend he was going to rest as he’d promised, and then took a second to trace Iruka’s features with his gaze, snatching the opportunity to do so when it was being offered to him on a silver platter. Impulsively, his heart hammering in his rib cage, Kakashi reached for Iruka’s forehead, gently brushing his fingers over it and pushing some loose hair away from Iruka’s face, and then leaned forward when no one was looking to say the only thing he could possibly say right into Iruka’s ear.

“Thank you.”

Whether he was thankful for what Iruka had done to save Naruto, or that Iruka fought to survive and had won, or that he existed at all…Kakashi didn’t know. All three of those things, definitely, and so much more he couldn’t possibly begin to articulate.

Kakashi sucked in a quiet breath and held it when this had Iruka opening his eyes to look up at him, but from such a close distance, Kakashi could tell Iruka’s vision was hardly what one would call focused, considering how he was barely even conscious at that point. Still, to see Iruka’s eyes this close, to see their rich, earthy color looking up at him, and better yet, to see the way Iruka’s mouth twitched into a little, tired smile, right before he finally fell into a deep sleep, was…

Well.

It was an image that Kakashi would have a hard time forgetting, as it imprinted itself onto his mind like it belonged there, and wouldn’t ever truly go away.

That very same night, right after dinner with his father and the Uzumaki’s at a restaurant nearby (sans Naruto, who had thoroughly passed out once 7 o’clock rolled around), he’d gone back to Iruka’s room alone. Minato and Kushina had decided to go back home to clean up and get some rest, and Sakumo had an overnight EMT shift, so it wasn’t the strangest thing for Kakashi to be alone at that point, but perhaps the place he chose to go was a little strange. Not that he cared, not when it gave him all the time in the world to rest his weight upon the window, bathe in the moonlight pouring down on him from beyond the curtains his hip pressed against, and quietly and peacefully watch Iruka sleep.

Kakashi eventually looked away to stare out the window instead, feeling a bit abashed that he’d merely been standing there motionless, watching someone sleep for far longer than any person really should without any sort of permission. But right as his thoughts were about to drift inward, hours passing in silence and his eyes no longer focusing on what he could see past the curtains, he heard the only other body in the room shift; he felt abashed, once again, when that little sound startled him. But all consideration for his own feelings flew right out the window behind him as he jerked his gaze over to Iruka, finding the other staring right back at him.

Iruka’s face was somewhat flushed, displaying how thrown off kilter he must’ve been by Kakashi’s singular presence in the room at such a ridiculous hour. And when Iruka spoke, his lips ticking up into such a charming, albeit nervous little smile, Kakashi was affected by how two of the handful of things he’d imagined, when he’d first seen Iruka, were happening at that very moment. 

Iruka was looking up at him from across the room, and he was even treating him to a smile…It was the juxtaposition of two profound mental images he had of Iruka—the image of what was right in front of him overlapping with that very first of Iruka within Kakashi’s photographic memory, like two phantoms passing through one another—that held Kakashi in pure stillness, not outwardly reacting to whatever it was Iruka had said. All the while, inwardly, his heart was hammering against his rib cage, and if it wasn’t for the facemask he always wore, Iruka would have surely noticed how his mouth twisted up in undefinable emotion.

Unfortunately, his lack of reaction must’ve made Iruka uncomfortable because he spoke again, this time appearing far more anxious, but another box was ticked on the checklist of desires within Kakashi’s mind as his name passed between Iruka’s pale, chapped lips. Hearing his name, and the hoarse way it was said, prompted Kakashi to finally move, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to pour Iruka a plastic cup of water, offering what little help he could in whatever way he could. And because he was surrounded by headstrong, stubborn people, he was surprised that Iruka didn’t bother to deny his help. Though, by the helpless expression that Iruka let slip, the subtle way he flexed one of his hands, and the way he sighed, Kakashi was sure that he had certainly wanted to.

Iruka knew his limits, and didn’t fight them nearly as much as, say, Naruto or Kushina did; which is to say, with every fiber of his being. Instead, he accepted help with the kind of grace someone much older than him would have. Kakashi was thankful for his facemask in that moment, as it hid the way he grinned in pride down at Iruka—he himself didn’t particularly like strangers looking at him with satisfaction, simply for acting a little mature for his age, so he could imagine Iruka wouldn’t appreciate it all that much either. Still, he couldn’t help it, and was more than happy to move Iruka’s bed into a more upright position, and then slide a hand over the back of Iruka’s neck to comfortably hold his head as he brought the cup of water to Iruka’s lips.

Kakashi delighted in the feel of his fingers through Iruka’s hair, biting his lower lip with one of his sharp canines to stop himself from making a stupidly happy, embarrassing noise as it turned out that, just as he’d imagined, those dark strands felt soft and silky smooth; another box ticked, and it’d barely been ten minutes since Iruka had woken up. It took all of his willpower to keep his hand still, to stop his fingers from fiddling with Iruka’s hair and taking advantage of the moment, and reminded himself that Iruka only wanted help drinking some water, not to have his hair played with by some weird guy he hardly knew.

But then Iruka’s quivering, weary hand reached up and did its best to hold onto his wrist, beckoning him to let him drink more than the small, safe sips of water Kakashi was allowing him; Iruka’s eyes slipped shut in bliss when Kakashi did as he was asked. The touch, the way Iruka’s long eyelashes fanned over his cheekbones, the adorable greediness…Kakashi’s thread of restraint nearly snapped, fraying just enough that a chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, gently pulling the cup of water away from Iruka’s mouth to stop any chance of him choking from drinking too quickly.

Kakashi felt a little sorry for his laughter when Iruka’s neck, face, and even the tips of his ears flushed a deep red, but it was so endearing that he didn’t feel bad about it for very long. 

He carefully removed his hand from the back of Iruka’s head as he set him back against his pillow, and then put the cup back on the nightstand where he’d gotten it. Kakashi’s other hand, which still had Iruka’s weak fingers wrapped around its wrist, almost moved with a mind of its own as it slid under Iruka’s chin and tilted his head upwards a bit, so they could properly look at one another.

He offered Iruka a benign look, feeling the way his eyes curled in kindness and understanding, hoping that would help Iruka relax, and it seemed to do the trick almost immediately. But Kakashi completely disregarded his effort to ease the poor boy’s abashment when his eyes caught the glimmer of moisture settling over Iruka’s bottom lip, and, unthinkingly, slid his thumb up and over Iruka’s chin to swipe it over that glistening lip, wiping the water away.

Again, Kakashi felt a little contrite over his unconscious actions, especially when Iruka groaned helplessly in response, the fingers over Kakashi’s wrist loosening their grip until the entire hand flopped lifelessly over Iruka’s burning face. He mostly felt sorry to have lost Iruka’s touch against his wrist, and that he had to pull his hand back and could no longer touch Iruka’s face, but Kakashi thought he hid it well when he plastered on another expression that was meant to soothe Iruka, showing some good-natured humor. Kakashi then carefully lifted the boy’s hand off his face so they could look at each other once more, making some excuse about Iruka needing to be careful, setting the hand comfortably back on the bed and, as casually as he could, went ahead and indulged in the want to touch by sliding his other hand under Iruka’s, so that both his hands could encapsulate Iruka’s. The embrace was only complete (as far as Kakashi was concerned) when all ten of his fingers were gently pressed against what small bits of Iruka’s skin that they could. He hoped it seemed like a nonchalant gesture, and not something so strange that Iruka would pull away if he had the strength to do so.

Kakashi had casually used Iruka’s scar as an excuse to move his hand, but he hadn’t realized that Iruka’s flushing skin would make the minor disfigurement across his nose stick out in stark relief to the rest of his face, blatantly putting what Iruka had suffered on display, as if to mock and reprimand Kakashi for what his feelings for Iruka were steadily growing to be; when Iruka asked why, as if to be concerned about that scar was something ridiculous, Kakashi only felt worse. He felt a suffocating tightness in his chest, saddened at the sight of a wound that somehow looked both old and new, and Kakashi felt a sudden fear that it might’ve still been hurting Iruka and Iruka simply hadn’t bothered to tell him, or anyone for that matter. 

To his surprise, however, the scar itself didn’t seem to bring Iruka any pain, but rather it was the memories behind it that pulled a heart-wrenching, quiet little laugh out of Iruka as he said when he’d gotten it; the fact that Iruka gave the hand holding his a comforting squeeze, consoling him when it was Iruka who should have needed comfort, only punctuated the gutted feeling that buried itself deep within Kakashi.

He had no idea how he summoned the spirit to ask how Iruka had gotten it, or what foolishness possessed him to actually voice the question, but Iruka met him head-on and did his best to try and answer. So when Iruka floundered, unable to articulate exactly how the beginning of his nightmare was to someone who hadn’t lived it himself, Kakashi tried to make up for putting him in that position to begin with by softly interrupting, letting him know he understood (as much as an outside perspective could understand) and projecting as kind a countenance as possible. Kakashi hadn’t even realized he’d patted Iruka’s hand in comfort, but he did notice that, whatever he did, helped Iruka gather his courage to speak.

And speak he did.

What he told Kakashi, about how his abductor had carelessly waved a butcher’s knife around, nearly cutting Naruto’s stomach if Iruka hadn't dived in between the two first, had Kakashi feeling as if he were the one who had taken a knife right into his gut. Iruka finished his explanation by going a bit limp as he released all the air in his lungs and sunk into the cushions keeping him propped onto his side, and when Iruka’s eyes slid shut Kakashi felt an irrational wave of fear. Fear that he’d needlessly brought Iruka pain by having him relive some of the horror he’d faced in the past year; fear that Iruka would grow to hate the almost-stranger who made him talk about it; and fear that if Iruka didn’t open his eyes, didn’t look at him, and didn’t understand even a modicum of what Kakashi felt about him right that second, that Iruka would never truly know him.

That he’d never get the chance to truly know Iruka either.

So, before he could register he was moving, his hands let go of Iruka’s and moved to the young man’s face, cupping his cheeks. When Iruka’s eyes shot open in what was probably surprise, spread a bit wide and looking right up at him as the skin under Kakashi’s fingers began to warm, began to blush again—and wasn’t it just so damn enamoring that Iruka blushed so easily? That he was so honest with expressing himself?—Kakashi felt such profound relief that he too had suddenly become so honest in his emotions, in his expression, that a tear suddenly slipped over the edge of his left eye and disappeared into the edge of his facemask.

It was overwhelming how much he felt in that moment, and so all Kakashi could do was let his own eyes slip shut for a moment, breathe out as he tried his damnedest to get himself under control, and dipped his chin downward until it was nearly pressed against his chest. He felt humbled before Iruka, blessed to have been given this chance to start forging a place for himself within Iruka’s life, and at the same time he felt so damn ashamed by how avarice gripped his heart when Iruka gave him an inch, and Kakashi wanted to take a mile. 

Like when Iruka’s frail hands found their way around Kakashi’s wrists, so obviously trying to offer what little comfort they could in the only way they knew how, and Kakashi’s first thought was that he never wanted Iruka to let go.

He wanted to get down on his knees and prostrate himself before Iruka. At the same time, he wanted to look up from his desired place at Iruka’s feet and see what he felt for him reflected right back at Kakashi. He wanted to share in this greed, this want, and for them both to revel in it. 

He wanted…

Gods, he just wanted.

And so, once again, he found himself saying the only thing he could possibly say, hoping beyond hope that it would make up for even the most infinitesimal amount of the rapacity he felt when it came to Umino Iruka.

Kakashi thanked him.

He also apologized, for only a fraction of what he had to be sorry for, but he thanked Iruka with every ounce of gratitude that had propagated within him ever since the moment he’d first laid his eyes upon Iruka, and was now overflowing and falling from his lips in two small, simple words that meant so very, very much.

The fact that those very same words were said in a powerful echo back at him only moments later, miraculously being shown appreciation for getting Iruka to speak about the moment he got his scar, punctuated by Iruka’s beautiful face nuzzling the palm of his hand, nearly undid Kakashi. And then Iruka asked if he would stay, and Kakashi almost jerked his hands back, scared he’d overstep what little boundaries they still had between them right then, but Iruka’s fingers pressed into Kakashi’s skin in a gentle plea and Kakashi was helpless against it. He could barely manage a soft whisper of assent, saying he’d stay only until Iruka fell asleep.

But Kakashi made a liar out of himself as he sat there, holding Iruka’s face, and watched him peacefully sleep, marvelling at how, only hours ago, he’d been doing this very same thing while standing on the other side of the room, and now there was no distance between them. When Kakashi eventually looked away and took in the space around him, he noticed the sun had begun to rise outside the hospital room window. As reluctant as he was to move, to leave Iruka’s side, he gently let Iruka’s face go so that it properly rested against the pillow, and slowly stood up from his chair, lifting his arms into the air to stretch out his back.

He had class that day, like he did most days, but Kakashi had quickly taught himself over the past week to survive with hardly any sleep. If it meant keeping as much of a vigil over Iruka as possible, and still make it to work on time, then micro-naps scattered throughout the day, and all his time not spent at school instead spent in the hospital, they were small prices to pay.

Before Kakashi eventually left the room to head home and clean up before work, he allowed himself one last act of selfishness and pressed a masked kiss onto the back of one of Iruka’s hands, whispering his promise to return after school.

He only hoped Iruka would be awake when he did, smiling at him, and happy that Kakashi kept his unheard promise.

In the weeks that followed, Kakashi spent his time working during the day, and kept Iruka company during the night. His Sundays were special, as he reserved the entirety of them for Iruka, but even on the days he hardly had more than a couple of hours to spare, he used every chance he got to get to know Iruka more, to get closer to him. There were nights where Iruka was already asleep when he arrived at night, but even then, Kakashi knew nothing but bliss that he was there, a calming presence, and always ready to take Iruka’s beckoning hand when the young man woke from a terrible nightmare. 

Kakashi tried his best not to seem too eager, pretending to be ‘dragged’ to have dinner with his father and Iruka on those days he had so little time to give, but inwardly he was far too enthusiastic to drop everything and let his feet take him right to Iruka’s hospital room. It was where he could see Iruka smile oh so sweetly, witness him laugh in that way that said he was rusty and had almost forgotten how, and the only place in the world where he heard his name called out with that lovely, kind voice that was quickly becoming one of his most favorite.

But his enthusiasm became rose-tinted glasses, blinding him to something that he never should have lost sight of. Kakashi failed to notice the tiny shifts in Iruka’s expression at times, the way Iruka’s eyes would flash with disappointment when no one else followed behind the regular guests that came into his room, or the quiet way he’d wait for something else to be said when he asked if anything new had happened. Kakashi failed to see what was so goddamn obvious, and when Iruka finally asked about it, tearing the wool from Kakashi’s eyes, it felt as if a semi-truck had crashed through the wall and slammed right into him.

“Where is my mother?”

Such a seemingly innocuous question…

But to answer it would undo everything that each compassionate gesture given, each tender word said, and each metaphorical step taken closer towards sharing a common ground with Iruka had achieved over the past two weeks. Right as Kakashi had begun to think that their lives were finally starting to settle into a sense of normality, that Iruka was getting better and would never know the kind of pain and terror he’d experienced ever again, and that he and Iruka were starting a new chapter in both of their lives (chapters he dearly hoped would intertwine and become a part of the same story), the question of where Umino Kohari came up.

And, despite the destruction he knew it would cause, Minato waited just long enough for Kushina to take Naruto out of the room before he answered it.

He had no choice, really, and Kakashi understood that. They couldn’t keep what had happened to Iruka’s mother from the poor guy forever. But by god did Kakashi wish they could, watching the way Iruka composure splintered more and more with each word that passed through Minato’s lips. Kakashi had to turn away, face the window, in order to keep himself from acting rashly, one way or another. To keep himself from foolishly and selfishly trying to comfort Iruka from the inconsolable; to keep from letting Iruka see how livid he was that Kohari-san did this to them. To Iruka most of all. That she died—committed suicide—instead of holding on for just a little bit longer so she could’ve been here to answer Iruka herself. So that the answer itself would have been a joyful one, and not this wretched thing that was so obviously tearing Iruka apart right in front of him.

It was unfair of Kakashi to be angry, logically he knew that, but he just…he couldn’t stop the way his shoulders hunched towards his ears, or how he could feel his nails digging angrily into his arms as he held them, trying his damnedest to keep that fury within himself. And he sure as hell couldn’t stop the way he clicked his tongue, the sound so startling loud in the quiet of the room, when the words ‘coup de grâce’ made their way out of Minato’s mouth.

When Minato eventually finished speaking, the whole, vile truth out there in the world at last, Kakashi was hardly surprised to hear Iruka telling them to leave; in fact, the only surprising part of it was that Iruka somehow managed to still be polite, despite everything. Minato stood up, and Kakashi followed after him, keeping an eye on Iruka as he walked the path around the young man’s bed and towards the door, his heart squeezing painfully in sympathy, and so much selfish and desperate want to stay as he saw Iruka turn his back to them.

The contrast between seeing Iruka now, curled up underneath his bedsheets with half his face covered, hiding, and when he’d first woken up, with his back so vulnerable and exposed, but still so open and inviting…it killed a part of Kakashi to see him this way. It killed him to know that he’d played a part in making Iruka like this. He knew he couldn’t just leave without doing something, and before Minato stepped out of the door Kakashi leaned in close to the man, placing a hand gently against his arm.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he whispered, only nodding his head in reply when Minato asked if that was such a good idea.

Minato’s eyes scanned Kakashi’s face, looking for something, and whatever he found must’ve been good enough because he too nodded his head in acceptance, opening the door and shutting it behind him so quietly it was hard to believe it had happened at all. Kakashi stood there, simply staring at Iruka from across the room, until he gathered the nerve to ask something he was scared to know the answer to.

And wasn’t that just the theme of that day? Questions that had the shittiest of answers.

“Would you still like company tonight?”

Kakashi felt a sharp, throbbing pain jolt through his entire being when all he got was a shout in response, telling him no, and Iruka hid himself completely away by throwing his blanket up and over his head. He’d made it worse, made Iruka utterly disappear, and the only way Kakashi kept himself stable in the face of it was to sigh deeply, taking a moment to steady his resolve to make this right.

Somehow.

He crossed the room in light, sure steps, coming to the edge of Iruka’s bed and staring down at him. Iruka was holding himself so still, was so silent, that Kakashi felt his hands twitch in anxiety as an irrational part of his brain wondered if Iruka was still alive under there. That awful thought prompted him to reach out, to touch and affirm Iruka was still warm, still alive, even as the other tried so desperately to bury himself and vanish from the world. He settled one of his hands over Iruka’s concealed shoulder, while the other pressed into the cushion of the bed’s mattress as he leaned over the young man, and he brought his lips as close to where he assumed Iruka’s ear was as possible.

“I’ll come if you call for me, Iruka,” he whispered, and accentuated his promise with a gentle squeeze of Iruka’s shoulder. Very quickly, in an imitation of the first promise he’d ever made to Iruka, Kakashi kissed the back of his own hand that held Iruka’s shoulder, in lieu of being doing so to Iruka directly. He didn’t have the right to kiss any part of Iruka at that moment, so that would simply have to do.

Unable to linger any further, Kakashi slipped out of the room and made his way down the hall, pausing in front of Naruto’s room door only long enough to confirm Minato was alright. The older man was wrapped in his wife’s embrace, sitting on the edge of their son’s bed as Naruto blissfully slept, and Kakashi could only take looking at the image they made for a couple seconds before he passed the room by and wandered aimlessly.

He eventually found himself an empty stairwell, one that he knew was hardly ever used, and Kakashi was thankful for whatever force led him there. Be it the pitying divine, or merely some kind of reclusive muscle memory that knew he needed to be utterly alone right then, it was a relief that no one would find him there. He sat down at the bottom of all those steps, hugged his knees to his chest, and buried his face atop them. Kakashi stayed there for so long that when he came back to himself, lifting his stiff neck to look up and see how he was plunged into absolute darkness, the stairwell lights having been shut off hours ago, he couldn’t help the incredulous, wispy chuckle that escaped him.

Kakashi reached up, pulled his facemask off with the knowledge that no one would see him, not even himself, and shoved it into his pant pocket, then took several deep, painful breaths. With each inhale, his mind replayed every word—every wretched truth—that led to Iruka’s world falling apart, and with each exhale, those moments were overlaid by each wonderful memory Kakashi had made with Iruka over the past few weeks. Every smile overlapped with every stricken expression; every laugh was marred by every dreadful hitch in Iruka’s voice; and every welcoming gesture, every instance of Iruka reaching out for him, was torn asunder by the image of Iruka turning his back to him, and telling him to go.

When tears started falling from his eyes, staining his cheeks, Kakashi did nothing to stop them. He was hurting for Iruka, he was hurting for himself, and he wanted to, just once, let himself act his age and simply let himself feel whatever he needed to feel. 

So he spent the rest of the night there, in that empty stairwell, and tore his pain from deep within him by simply letting it escape all on its own. It slipped away into the darkness, unheard by anyone else and unacknowledged, and when Kakashi eventually cleaned his face with his handkerchief, pulled his facemask back on, and climbed the stairs to go back home…he wanted to believe that pain would stay behind, as if it had never existed at all.

Whether or not that was true…well, Kakashi was no fool, but perhaps, for this, he could be.

It had been three months. 

Kakashi had held himself to his promise and had kept his distance from Iruka, giving Iruka the space he needed to grieve and wrap his head around everything, but that didn’t stop him from keeping tabs on him, or checking in with Tsunade or the nursing staff to see if Iruka had, however improbable, asked for Kakashi. He wanted to make sure Iruka was okay, that he was healing like he should, and was ready to come when he was called the very second he heard Iruka wanted him around again.

But the call never came.

Tsunade tried to hide her pity for him, each time he approached her and all she had for him was a shake of her head, but the nurses had no such reservations. After a month and a half, he stopped asking them, unable to withstand their commiserating eyes, or the sad downturn of their lips, and a little over two months was what it took for him to stop asking Tsunade as well. Nearly three months, and Kakashi ceased routinely passing in front of Iruka’s room door, no longer hoping to hear his name uttered in askance from within.

Three months…and he was convinced Iruka would never call him. Would never want him back in his life—that he’d always be a reminder of the moment Iruka truly lost all hope his mother was still alive. And that…that hurt Kakashi more than he could quantify, which in itself was rather disturbing for how much of his life he had lived without Iruka in it, but now that he knew what life was like with him…To have that taken away, to think Iruka might truly want to simply erase any part of the past several months with Kakashi in it from his mind, eviscerated him.

Which made it downright serendipitous, or perhaps a pitying act of fate, that Kakashi was wandering the halls of the hospitals late one night, having decided that it would be the last time he did so with Umino Iruka on his mind…and was led right to the young man in question. He rarely visited the rehab wing of the hospital, as he’d had no reason to do so before that moment, and even then he was only there because it was the quietest wing.

But a part of him, a part that had nearly been snuffed out, sprung to life when he found the door to the room for physical rehabilitation cracked open, and when he peeked inside he found Iruka. Kakashi was frozen to his spot, his eyes glued to the exposed back muscles as they worked to lift and lower the weights Iruka had in each hand, and Kakashi was struck by how much Iruka had improved since he’d last seen him. There was a healthy layer of meat on his bones, which had Kakashi feeling relief as it showed that, if nothing else, Iruka had taken his physical health seriously and eaten well; better yet, he’d bulked up, and the metaphorical strength that Kakashi had seen in that open, vulnerable back the day he’d witnessed Iruka awake for the first time, had finally been cultivated into a blatant, corporeal representation of itself that even the most oblivious fool could see and attest to.

Iruka was so god-damn strong, and seeing him like this was making Kakashi’s throat ache as he swallowed down the rush of emotion that tried to overwhelm him in that moment. Then Iruka switched to doing squats, and Kakashi’s throat went from aching to dry, and his thoughts went from Iruka’s strength to Iruka’s…assets.

But he didn’t have long to scold himself over such thoughts as the sound of weights being thrown and crashing against the floor, as well as the image of Iruka’s legs giving out, wiped his mind clean of everything. All Kakashi’s brain had room for was the for startled, inward shout of Iruka’s name as he hurriedly stepped into the room, coming to a halt about a foot away from the figure on all fours, sensing he could come no closer.

And, for the time being, his instincts had been right as he watched as the young man’s form crumpled. Iruka’s butt hit the back of his legs in a boneless sitting position, his upper body slumped forward as he wrapped his arms around his stomach, and his shoulders shook as sounds equivalent to a suffering, dying animal clawed their way out of Iruka and beat against Kakashi’s eardrums with no mercy nor care for the way it tore Kakashi’s heart to pieces.

He had no idea what he should do. 

As far as Kakashi was concerned, he had no right to offer comfort, nor even be there seeing Iruka like this. But his shredded heart was thundering within him, beating against the confines of his chest in an utterly frantic attempt to burst out, and offer itself to Iruka to do with as he pleased; anything, so long as it made Iruka feel better, and put a stop to those broken and grievous sounds clawing their way out of him. If Iruka crushed it in his hands, or sacrificed it to the gods to take away the pain…it didn’t matter.

All he cared about was Iruka.

Kakashi was more than willing to let his heart have its way, to let it beat its way out of his body and do as it liked, but then every muscle in his body tensed and he forgot to breathe.

Iruka called out his name.

And Kakashi wasted no time.

He closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, kneeled behind Iruka, and then wrapped his arms around him to pull him upwards slightly, pressing Iruka’s back to his chest. For what felt like an eternity, and yet for what felt like not long enough, they sat there, both of them on their knees, back-to-chest, and breathed. Kakashi counted every frenetic beat of Iruka’s heart that he could feel drumming underneath his hands, and in turn he could feel Iruka matching every inhale and exhale, slowly but surely being drawn out of the terrible state he’d fallen into, and calming himself down.

When Kakashi felt it safe to do so, he moved them so that they were sitting against the wall, Iruka a boneless, exhausted heap in his lap. Kakashi’s lips parted and shut several times, hundreds of things he wanted to say fluttering in his mind, but not one of them could find their way out of his mouth. Iruka, however, knew exactly what to say, and it was a wonder the young man had the energy to say anything at all.

Truly, Umino Iruka was the strongest person Kakashi had ever known.

“I missed you…Kakashi,” Iruka muttered, and Kakashi gladly held him closer when all of Iruka’s weight leaned back against him. It was as if he used the last of his strength to say that, and that thought brought thick, hot, and terribly relieved tears to Kakashi’s eyes.

He was embarrassingly pleased when he was allowed to brush his fingers through Iruka’s hair, much more elated by this than when he helped Iruka drink some water, regardless of how the strands were somewhat matted from dried sweat. Kakashi gently untangled it in slow, soothing motions that, before he knew it, had coaxed Iruka into the kind of sleep that only the dead could relate to. Kakashi smiled to himself, listening to the slow and steady way Iruka suspired, then wrapped his gangly limbs a bit more around Iruka’s entire body as he pressed his forehead against Iruka’s shoulder, softly breathing in Iruka’s familiar, calming scent.

“I missed you too, Iru,” Kakashi whispered.

“So damn much.”

Asservation

When Iruka awoke the next day with no idea as to how he got back to his room, let alone how he managed to tuck himself neatly into bed. However, the answer came rather quickly when he stopped anxiously rummaging through his spotty memory as he stared blankly at the ceiling, and turned his head to his right, where he saw Kakashi slumped over in the seat beside his bed, most of his upper body laying against the bed itself as he slept peacefully. 

Kakashi must have carried him back to his room.

And tucked him in.

Well…he tried not to let that get to him too terribly, or his skin would burn so hotly in embarrassment that it’d melt right off his bones.

Instead, Iruka simply laid there, watching Kakashi sleep. The ever-present facemask was missing for once, and it made Iruka’s heart flutter around wildly within his chest like a bird trapped in a cage. He’d figured it would be the case back when he was first alone with Kakashi, and thought him attractive even with half of his face covered, but dear lord…

Kakashi was beautiful.

His chin was narrow, but strong, and his lips were the work of a master painter with how perfectly they were shaped as if by a paint brush—with how utterly picturesque their soft shade of pink was. The artist, whose mind Kakashi sprung to life from, must have agonized over that shade of pink for years, until it was just right. The most damning detail, the one that seemed so minor but Iruka simply couldn’t look away from, was the little beauty mark to the left of his mouth. It was such a small thing, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it (and would’ve been more easily missed if it wasn’t for how pale Kakashi was), but the longer Iruka’s gaze remained stuck on it…the more it did things to Iruka’s bird-like heart.

And so, it was without any conscious thought that Iruka carefully shifted onto his side, lifted a hand, and gently set it along the contour of Kakashi’s smooth, and pleasantly cool cheek. He trailed his fingers lightly over that porcelain skin, tracing a path downwards until almost all of his fingers curled over the edge of Kakashi’s jaw, while his thumb hovered over the space that laid betwixt the man’s chin and his lower lip.

As if compelled to do so—as if he had no choice but to do it—Iruka’s thumb brushed over that beauty mark, feeling the incredibly slight protrusion of it from the rest of Kakashi’s otherwise flawless skin. It was this unique mark that belonged to no one but Kakashi, this perfect imperfection, and Iruka found he loved it so deeply that it was almost frightening to acknowledge. Almost, save for the way that acknowledging it made Iruka’s chest alight with an intense, indescribable, and painful emotion in the most wonderful way, and that feeling made it impossible to disregard in any capacity.

Then Kakashi stirred, and his eyes slid open slowly, focusing all their attention on Iruka who was frozen in place, helplessly staring back. But rather than any awkwardness, or confusion, or the many other things Kakashi could have reacted with, he instead decided to smile so sweetly up at Iruka, revealing incredibly charming, sharp canine teeth, and nuzzled his face tiredly into Iruka’s hand.

Iruka would forever credit that moment, above all others, as the exact point in time that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt how he felt.

That he was in love with Hatake Kakashi.

It was a life-defining sort of revelation Iruka hadn’t expected to ever have, considering he thought he might die at any time in the past year. The kind of revelation that would be the only thing keeping him steady, keeping him going strong, in the difficult days to come, while at the same time bring him an indefinable anguish for how futile such a love would feel, in the midst of those future difficult days. But for now, within the bubble of that precious memory in the making, all Iruka could do was let out a sound that wanted to be a sob, but came out more like a warbling laugh.

Kakashi’s eyes simply stared up at him through long, silver lashes for awhile, slowly but surely losing their drowsiness as he shook off the sleep from his countenance without moving an inch, but then he turned his head just enough to plant a quick, warm kiss against Iruka’s palm, not once looking away from their shared gaze. He followed it up with a wide, handsome grin that showed off those delightfully sharp teeth once again, and covered the back of Iruka’s hand with one of his own, grasping it in a possessive way that had Iruka’s pulse jumping in pleasure.

“I hope you know you’re giving me rather high standards for how I want to be woken up for the rest of my life,” Kakashi said, and a shiver crawled up Iruka’s spine, his heart palpitating with the greediness it felt over such a statement. 

He wanted that—he wanted to have this, Kakashi by his side as he faced the beginning of each day, so badly and so irrefutably, that his entire body ached for it. But whether or not he’d ever get the chance to make such a thing a reality…Iruka knew, instinctively, that he would have to fight for it. Before he could have the things he wanted, he’d have to give parts of himself up. Before he could truly start moving forward, he’d have to stop getting tripped up on the things that he’d been forced to leave behind.

Before he could answer that wishful look in Kakashi’s eyes, that asked him can I be yours, with a proud and definite you’re mine.

Thankfully though, Iruka was a stubborn bastard, and knew how to fight for what he wanted. Knew how to endure the worst in order to carve out the better from it.

So for that defining moment in time for Iruka, he merely smiled in response, rubbing his thumb back and forth against Kakashi’s skin as if to imprint his claim into it. And perhaps Kakashi understood the subtle gesture for what it was, or could see something in Iruka’s eyes that told him everything he needed to know, because the fingers wrapped around the back of Iruka’s hand squeezed slightly, and Kakashi’s own thumb brushed against Iruka’s skin in a mirror of what Iruka was doing to him.

And they smiled and laughed and quietly loved.

The days that followed were a different kind of madness than the many days before. 

Iruka offered apologizes for his behavior to Minato and Kushina, even going as far as standing up from his bed, to not only show them his hard-earned, regained strength, but to also bend his body in half to bow his head to them. However, the moroseness of the days that came after the discovery of Umino Kohari’s fate melted away so fast it made Iruka feel dizzy, and Kushina and Minato both didn’t let him bow for more than a second before they straightened him back out, and both of them wrapped Iruka in a hug. He hadn’t known being sandwiched between two adults could feel so nice, so loving, and all he could do is lean into their embrace and sigh in content.

When they pulled away from the three-way hug, Minato and Kushina returned to exactly as they had been before everything had happened, though perhaps they felt closer than before because whatever boundaries Iruka had still kept between himself and them in the ‘before times’ crumbled to dust. He easily accepted physical contact he had been wary about before from anyone but Naruto, and he opened up to them about all sorts of things he had been hiding deep within himself for fear of scaring them away. Iruka felt so comfortable with Minato and Kushina after making up that, unbelievably, they felt like family, and while a part of him wondered if feeling that way was some sort of betrayal to his dead parents…a bigger part of him was just happy.

Happy to have them in his life when he needed family the most.

Biwako, Naruto’s doctor, also joined the strange but lovely group of people Iruka had plucked from the void and added to his orbit. As it turned out, she was the wife of the chairman of Konoha Academy, the high school in which he had been scheduled to enter had things not gone so horribly wrong, and she was more than happy to introduce him to her husband. That was how he met Sarutobi Hiruzen, who had been followed by his eldest son Asuma, and Iruka’s mind was challenged extensively for the first time in almost two years. Hiruzen thoroughly evaluated Iruka’s level of intelligence, verbally testing him on a whole slew of subjects, and Asuma himself quizzed Iruka on his Japanese Literature specifically, as it turned out he was the third-year teacher on the subject at the academy. 

When they took a break for a late lunch, that was when Iruka learned Kakashi was basically Asuma’s pupil, as it was his class that Kakashi was a TA for, and he heard enough amusing (read: embarrassing) stories about Kakashi from Asuma to blackmail the guy for many years to come if he so chose. Lucky for Kakashi, he liked him too much to do him dirty like that.

During the next several meetings they had in person, Hiruzen moved on from verbal examinations to written tests, and a couple of weeks of filling out question after question later, Hiruzen determined that Iruka was incredibly bright for his age, and said so unabashedly with an almost proud, paternal-like look on his face. Iruka had to look down at his lap when he heard that, knowing his face was beet red for how ridiculously pleased he was to be acknowledged, and only looked up when Hiruzen patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. It turned out that all the tests Iruka had taken were the same yearly exams that the students from the first and second years at the academy were required to take, and Hiruzen was more than happy to announce that, with him having passed them with flying colors, Iruka would be all set to start school once the first semester of his third year began in several months.

It was another moment of startling recognition for Iruka, hearing how much time had passed, and he tried not to let the surge of disquiet he felt over missing nearly two years of his life to kidnapping and being hospitalized show. But he knew he hadn’t been all that successful as Minato, Kushina, Naruto, Kakashi, and even Sakumo had upped their efforts in showing him affection, and making him happy, after everything with Hiruzen was all said and done. It definitely helped, and he was thankful towards them being in his life all over again, though it was the day Hiruzen brought Iruka his school uniforms (summer and winter set both, with some spares—paid for by him, as a gift), Biwako trailing after him, a celebratory cake in her hands for Iruka’s accomplishment with getting into the academy, that saved him more than anything else. 

It was a celebration of his hard work within the present, overwriting all his failures of the past, that truly let Iruka know contentment and pride in a life that had been so wrought with vicious pandemonium as of late.

After all that, Iruka finally spoke to the police and gave his full statement on what had happened, once he felt safe, felt right with himself enough to tell his side of the story. The two officers quietly listened as he spoke, their expressions kind and encouraging, and they only interrupted him when Iruka faltered, as he had a hard time confessing to exactly what he’d done to ‘the woman’ once he got Naruto out of the crawlspace and had to fight her all on his own. The Uzumakis, thankfully sans Naruto, and the Hatakes were all there with him for support, but their presence became a burden to Iruka upon reaching that part in his tale, fearing what they would think of him if they knew he’d brutally beat someone to death with a metal pipe. It was already jarring having his perspective put out there in the world, for all those he cared about to hear, but this part…this part was the worst of it, in Iruka’s mind. Because to him, what he’d done, despite it being for survival and him having no choice…it felt like, somehow, getting him to kill her was what she’d wanted all along.

That it turned Iruka into her, if only for a single, atrocious instance of violence. 

Regardless of how Iruka felt about telling them that part, however, Iruka shook his head when the officers gently asked him if he wanted them to leave. If these people were going to be a part of this new life Iruka had worked so hard to be deserving of, and if they really cared about him as much as he hoped they did, then they needed to know everything. They needed to know what Iruka was capable of if he was desperate enough. And so he parted his trembling lips, and out of them spilled his worst sins.

What Iruka didn’t expect, even in his wildest dreams, was to find himself held tightly by Kakashi when he finished explaining what he’d done. Nor that Kakashi would rub his back with one hand, hold the back of his head with the other, and tell him over and over that what Iruka did was a good thing. It’s what he had to do for them to survive, it got them out of that house and to safety, and rid the world of an evil that hadn’t deserved to live to begin with.

That last point, shockingly, no one tried to argue; not even the officers who, instead, seemed unrepentant as they nodded their heads in agreement. Iruka couldn’t help it then, with a supportive and caring reaction like that, when his story-telling had to come to a halt for awhile as he clung onto Kakashi in turn, and cried unabashedly into his shoulder.

Eventually Iruka got a hold of himself, and told the rest of the story without any other bouts of weeping, but Kakashi didn’t step away, didn’t distance himself when Iruka no longer absolutely needed the physical comfort, and Iruka knew it was Kakashi’s warmth pressed against his side that got him through it. When the officers left, thanking him for his time and for his patience—a strange inflection in their voices when they said that second word, one that sounded like ‘thanks for never giving up’ rather than simply patience—Kakashi still didn’t move, instead wrapping his arm around Iruka’s shoulder and drawing him closer.

Iruka was about to question it, about to whisper that there were other people there and maybe they shouldn’t be so obvious they were closer than what was normal for friends, but no one said a damn thing about it, didn’t even look at them oddly for it, and Iruka relaxed against Kakashi before he’d even realized he felt comforted by their nonchalance about the whole thing. A comfort that didn’t entirely last when Minato spoke up, and decided that, now that Iruka had spoken to the police, it was time for Minato to reveal something he hadn’t yet.

To answer the quandary as to why, when they’d been looking for a woman to find the kidnapper, all their trails had gone cold.

As it turned out, ‘the woman’…hadn’t been a woman at all. She’d actually been a man.

That information had set off a strange ringing in Iruka’s ears, and for his mind to blank out for a distressingly long moment that had the others in the room begin to panic when he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even blink for too long to be considered healthy. Iruka did pull himself out of it after awhile, when Kakashi’s voice slipped through the cracks in his mind and led him back to reality, sounding far too worried, and honestly scared, for Iruka to ignore it for very long. He shook himself harshly, taking a few deep breaths in and out to center himself, and focused back in on the people around him.

If nothing else, knowing that the kidnapper was a man made the clothes Iruka had found in the dresser drawers suddenly make sense. A small comfort, solving that piece of the puzzle.

Minato didn’t dare elaborate until Iruka gave him the okay, and even then he didn’t actually speak until he saw Kakashi slip his hand into Iruka’s, and that in itself was so strangely grounding that Iruka knew he’d be okay. And so he was, but what he learned was so twisted he was boggled by the fact that such things could happen in this world.

As it turned out, his kidnapper’s name was Yamata Orochimaru, and he’d suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder all his life, but had suffered a psychotic break exactly 9 months before he’d kidnapped Naruto and Iruka. Minato had sifted through all the documentation that existed about the man, once his body had been dragged out from the crawlspace and properly identified, and found that Orochimaru’s symptoms had always been fairly mild, kept under wraps by medication and doctor’s visits, until he’d been met with tragedy. The stressor to his psychotic break: losing his pregnant twin sister in a car accident. Orochimaru had been driving the car, taking them out to dinner to celebrate his sister’s success in having her artificial insemination stick, and her tests come back positive, when a drunk driver had rammed right into them from the passenger side of the car.

His sister had died instantly upon impact, but while Orochimaru survived, his legs and hips had been pinned at all the wrong angles by deformed metal. He only spent a couple of months in the hospital, with enough pain medication to knock out an elephant, and once he returned to his home he quickly devolved from there. 

Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place for Iruka, feeling a brief flash of satisfaction that he’d been right. That his kidnapper had some kind of injury, and that’s why she…he had walked with uneven, uncoordinated steps throughout the day. The sound of it was something he doubted he’d ever forget. Hard to…when it’d been a sound he’d focused on so intently for each wretched day he’d been in captivity.

Minato brought Iruka out of his reverie as he explained the mountain of journals they’d found hidden in multiple shoeboxes under the man’s bed, and how, inside them, everything had been written about in excruciating detail. Apparently, writing about his day in his journals had been an exercise suggested to him by his doctor years ago, to keep Orochimaru’s mind firmly planted in the here and now, rather than the delusions his Dissociative Identity Disorder tried to drag him into. It obviously hadn’t worked, because instead Minato found Orochimaru’s mind quickly becoming unhinged, shattering his reality and replacing it with the idea that it was Orochimaru’s responsibility to live out his sister’s life, the one that had been taken from her by a cruel world, and become the mother that she hadn’t had the chance to be.

That idea had ripped out any sense of what was real and replaced it with a fantasy, one that had taken over Orochimaru’s mind the moment his sister had died.

And within the nine months following her death, Orochimaru’s mind splint into him and into her. He prepared the crawlspace, what he referred to as the womb of the home, for his sister’s future children; he had formulated the necessary hunting strategies to bring his sister's children home; and he gathered materials to keep the children alive and—he had the audacity to use the word in his writings—content. He hid soundproofing material in the walls, he created the perfect cocktail of supplements to keep young bodies from entirely wasting away, and he kept up appearances to his neighbors that he was a kind, unassuming, crippled man that could do no harm…all to avoid suspicion.

When he heard that last part, Iruka couldn’t stop a disturbed chill from creeping all over his skin, giving him goosebumps. Iruka remembered the fear, the paranoia he felt when he and Naruto had been about to step outside and make their escape; he remembered wondering if the neighbors might’ve been in on it, or so oblivious that, if two kids had come to their door, and claimed someone who lived nearby was a kidnapper (and so much more—so much worse), they would’ve been ignored, or set right back to that house. Out of the puzzle pieces he’d gathered that day, that was hardly one he wanted…he was so thankful he’d insisted they run.

Iruka was so thankful he’d been cautious, and smart, just like his mother had always taught him to be.

Minato went on to explain that, in contrast, she had dressed up and prowled the streets, looking for her children. Orochimaru had been Kushi’s identical twin, so he didn’t look out of place dressed in her clothes, or wearing her make-up. And when she left the house through the back door, slipping through some loose boards Orochimaru had prepared in the wooden fence for her convenience, she was so high on pain medication that she walked with confidence, no limp to be seen, and never drew more than a cursory glance from other people.

For a few months she hunted, never finding whatever it was she was looking for, until one day…

Minato paused in his explanation then, his expression twisting so much that Iruka thought he was in actual, physical pain, but a few minutes later and he gathered his composure enough to carry on. And when he did, it immediately became apparent as to why Minato had needed a moment to collect himself.

It was a miracle Iruka didn’t need such a moment himself.

“…Until one day,” Minato said, his voice pained as if each word were shards of broken glass he had to force out of his throat, “she found Naruto.”

Apparently she’d spotted Naruto by accident, as the boy had been wandering down the sidewalk on the other side of the street from her, bawling his eyes out as he had wandered away from Kushina, lost and alone and drawing her attention that had been on the kid’s park in the opposite direction. Something had clicked then—Kushi’s sperm donor had had blond hair and blue eyes, and she had been so excited by the idea of her child having the same coloring. That’s when she had made her choice. Only, something got in between her and Naruto right then, stopping her from taking action.

Minato held Iruka’s gaze as he fell into silence, and there was—what Iruka could only describe as—an intense gratitude in shining within the older man’s eyes. When he found out as to why he was being looked at like that, it startled him far more than he hoped he let show on his paling face.

As Minato explained, saying how she had watched an older boy approach Naruto and offer him help, it only clicked that the boy Minato was talking about was supposed to be him when he described the boy the same way Orochimaru had in his journals. Long brown hair held in a high ponytail, a dark complexion that spoke of a lack of shyness with sunlight, and kind brown eyes that Naruto had looked into and trusted immediately. She had watched Naruto latch onto that boy’s hand, walk away with him to go find Naruto’s misplaced mother, and had decided that it would be good for her child to have an older brother…

Iruka had felt sick when he heard that, and when he searched his memories for a day when he’d met Naruto before he’d met Naruto, he realized it must have been the day he could recall having been feverish to the point of being sent home from school. His parents had both been busy with work, and couldn’t come pick him up, so Iruka had made the decision to walk home himself…and the time between leaving school and getting home (much later than he should have—he did remember his mother yelling at him for that) was a big, fat blur. To think he had helped Naruto in that time…

To think Naruto could’ve been taken on that day, and Iruka, or anyone for that matter, would have been none the wiser.

Such a revelation left a bitter, sour taste in his mouth. Iruka struggled to decide whether he was glad he’d caught Orochimaru’s attention that day, and thus became the linchpin in that psycho’s plans by his own unintentional design, or if he agreed with the wretched, selfish part of him that wished he’d never left school on his own, thus saving him from a year of fear and torture. Some of what he felt must’ve shown on his face because Kakashi held him closer, pressing his body’s warmth into Iruka for comfort, and Minato reached out and took one of his hands, giving it a little squeeze as his expression showed nothing but kindness and understanding.

Kushina had a similar look on her face when Iruka’s gaze found hers, and she tried to lighten the mood somewhat by mentioning that she’d been so distraught back then, at having lost her son, that she didn’t remember Iruka’s face when he’d found her, returning Naruto to her waiting, trembling arms. And knowing that she hadn’t remembered him mad her so mad at herself. She punctuated her statement with an exaggerated, despondent sigh, and leaned to the side from her seat until she was practically in Minato’s lap, who was seated right beside her. Minato’s expression became comically blank, and he simply patted her shoulder as if exasperated by her.

The ridiculous drama of it all did manage to pull a chuckle out of Iruka, and did indeed make the atmosphere in the room much more painless to breathe in, so it was easier to digest when Minato explained one final, albeit awful thing. The reason Orochimaru chose the date of their kidnapping to be exactly 9 months after Kushi had died, was because that was when Kushi would have given birth to her baby, and so, in a perverted mimicry of that, he ‘birthed’, as he’d put it in his writings, Kushi’s children from their homes and nestled them back into her ‘womb’. 

The crawlspace.

Orochimaru had made their kidnappings so bloody because ‘giving birth was bloody, messy’, and the whole thing was just a sick, demented ritual he’d concocted to justify to himself the atrocities he’d committed.

Iruka shuddered. Orochimaru could justify all he liked, but it didn’t make any of what he’d done okay. Not in any universe, no matter how twisted it could be.

With that, the puzzle was complete, and the image it produced was one Iruka would sooner light on fire than ever look at again. But, with Minato’s hand still holding one of his, and Kakashi’s arm around him and his warmth blanketing Iruka’s side, Iruka was able to accept everything he’d been told without it destroying all the hard work he’d done in order to get himself back to some semblance of normal.

The only mystery left was one Iruka didn’t want an answer to: why Orochimaru’s focus had shifted from his distorted sense of being a mother, to…whatever it was he’d switched to craving there at the end. Whether it was merely the psycho devolving into something somehow worse than what he’d already become, or Iruka in some way…seducing him, it didn’t matter. That was one answer that Orochimaru could gladly take with him to his grave.

Iruka wanted to know nothing more about that monster. He’d take what Minato had given him to find some sense of closure…and that was enough.

Days passed peacefully after that, and before Iruka knew it, Tsunade was proudly telling him that he’d be discharged soon. Not only had Iruka recovered wonderfully, she said, but, apparently, Social Services had been acting behind the scenes of his convalescence to find the closest relative and put the pieces in place to have them take Iruka in once he was out of the hospital. That was how Iruka discovered that his aunt, his mother’s younger sister, would become his foster parent until Iruka graduated from school and could support himself as an adult.

It was bittersweet news, knowing that he’d be leaving the Uzumakis and Hatakes behind to live with someone he’d never even known existed until then. But…as much as he looked at Minato, Kushina, and Naruto, and dreamed of himself being a part of the family picture that they so wonderfully made, he knew he couldn’t impose on them like that. He’d burdened them enough already, he couldn’t possibly ask for anything more.

In a not-entirely-similar-way, Iruka’s heart trembled at the idea of asking Sakumo to take him in. And that had everything to do with the idea of Kakashi being put in a position where he would seem more like an adopted older brother to Iruka than…well, what Iruka actually wanted him to be.

And so, on a cold and dreary day that reflected the mood of everyone huddled near a taxi outside the hospital, Iruka was wrapped up tightly in a thick, winter coat Kushina had gotten for him, and trying his best to keep his expression relaxed and smiling. He was holding the strap of the duffle bag thrown over his shoulders (filled with more of Kushina-bought clothing, and Minato-bought supplies) with both his gloved, stiff hands, and while it was hard to keep a smile on his face, to say goodbye, Iruka still did his damnedest, making sure to promise that he’d contact them once he was settled in his new home. Kushina gave him no excuse to not keep such a promise as she handed over a phone she’d programmed herself, using her company’s newest tech, and had the Uzumaki family’s landline set as speed dial #1; her and Minato’s cellphones were slots 2 & 3, and Sakumo’s was slot 4. 

When Iruka shot Kakashi a curious glance, raising an eyebrow in question, he admitted that he didn’t have a cellphone, having never thought he needed one, and looked rather embarrassed that such a time had come that proved him woefully wrong. Iruka chuckled helplessly at him, finding the oversight oddly adorable, of all things, and made Kakashi promise to have someone text him his number when he fixed that particular mistake. The light-hearted moment made everyone laugh softly, but then they all settled into silence, and Iruka knew he’d stalled long enough.

It was time for him to go.

Naruto, who had postponed his own departure from the hospital to match Iruka’s, was crying, some snot dripping from his nose, but trying so hard for someone so small to be a ‘big boy’ and not beg Iruka not to leave. When Iruka kneeled down so that they were at eye-level with each other, however, Naruto seemed to be unable to hold himself back from stepping right into Iruka’s personal space, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s chest, and burying his face against the nape of Iruka’s neck as tightly as he could.

“D-Do…you really h-have to go?” Naruto sobbed against him, and the sound of those words, being asked in that distraught voice, were like knives being plunged straight into Iruka’s heart.

Iruka put his arms around Naruto, one hand burying its fingers into Naruto’s soft hair, while the other gently rubbed the boy’s back, and sighed deeply as he tipped his head a little to the side and rested it against Naruto’s. “I do,” he answered in what was practically a whisper. 

Naruto seemed to hear him just fine, however, as his hands dug into the thick material of Iruka’s jacket, holding onto it as tightly as his small hands could. It took a lot of comforting words said only for Naruto to hear, telling him he was only a phone call away and would visit the moment he could do so, and even more gentle coaxing for Naruto to let him go so Iruka could stand up, but eventually the time had come for him to finally get into the taxi that had been patiently waiting for long enough.

After tossing in his duffle bag onto the far side of the backseat first, Iruka slid into the car right afterwards with obvious reluctance, and before the taxi driver remotely closed the car door he smiled at the people gathered there, hoping he looked as grateful as he truly felt. “Thank you,” he said, gripping his knees tightly to stop his hands from shaking—from reaching out to beg them to make him stay.

“For everything.”

And before anyone could say anything in response to that, or point out how much that sounded an awful lot like a real ‘goodbye’ rather than a ‘see you later’, Iruka’s face was met with the tinted window of the car door as it automatically shut. He had to turn away, had to stop himself from watching them all continue to stand there, looking so forlorn at his imminent departure that Iruka wanted to forsake his aunt entirely and simply stay with all of these wonderful people. Instead, Iruka glued his eyes on the back of the driver’s headrest as he told the old man his aunt’s address. Once they were far enough from the hospital that Iruka wouldn’t see any part of it if he looked out the window, he moved his gaze to stare at the passing scenery, though he hardly focused on anything that he was looking at. 

Iruka’s hands pulled out the Prepaid PASMO card Kushina had given him (to pay for the expensive taxi ride) from his jacket’s inner pocket and fiddled with it, trying his best not to let his mind wander back to hospital. Or, more accurately, the people left behind standing in front of it. He tried not to think of Minato’s kind expression, the slight furrow in his brow the only thing giving his sadness away; or Kushina’s glassy, beautiful green eyes that wordlessly tried to convince him he didn’t have to go anywhere he didn’t want to; or Sakumo’s inability to look him in the eye as he got into the car, while he tapped a finger against his thigh—the only tell he had when he was trying to suppress a bigger emotion than he was ready to deal with.

He especially tried not to think about Naruto or Kakashi.

The sound of Naruto’s unabashed weeping, punctuated by weak little hiccups that contained Iruka’s shortened nickname, wouldn’t leave his head for a long time, Iruka knew. But worse was the lonely way Kakashi had held himself, even while his eyes curved into deceptively pleasant half-moons that Iruka knew were supposed to put him at ease, absolve Iruka of the guilt his departure might have had twisting up his guts. 

And twisting up his guts guilt certainly was.

Kakashi had been standing somewhat separated from everyone else, his hands casually in his pockets, his feet comfortably set shoulder-width apart…he looked comfortable, but Iruka knew him well enough by now to see a lie in the lines of Kakashi’s body when there was one. And all Iruka could envisage when he looked at him—all his entire being screamed at him to do when he saw Kakashi that way—was to get out of that taxi immediately and occupy the empty spaces all around that lonely person. Fill them up with himself so that Kakashi never felt lonely ever again. But that was too dangerous a thought, so Iruka had looked away, and he knew that Kakashi had benignly let him.

There were promises of visits and phone calls he wanted to keep, and his heart coveted the prospect of seeing Kakashi at Konoha Academy when Iruka’s third year began in only a couple of months from now, but Iruka had learned that nothing in his life was easily earned…so he couldn’t be sure, didn’t dare have hope, that anything he so desperately wanted would actually become his. Any number of things could happen now that those precious people were no longer in his sights, now that he was on his way to live with a stranger in a part of the city he’d never been, thus Iruka pushed his maddening desires down and slipped his hands into his jacket pockets in a pathetic attempt to ground himself. To pull himself from his musings and stay planted in his new, terribly foreign reality.

Iruka leaned back in his seat, his head resting against the frame of the car door as his unfocused eyes kept their vigil of the blurred world beyond the window. All the air in his lungs left him in a soul-leeching sigh, and while one hand kept fiddling with the PASMO card in one pocket, the other held onto the cellphone Kushina had given him in the other pocket. Two things given to him, and only one he was certain he would have the heart to use.

The car slowed down as it fell into a thick line of traffic and Iruka shut his eyes, letting his breathing even out. He couldn’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep, but he let himself drift into a state that was close to it, and he allowed himself only two quandaries to ponder.

What kind of person was his aunt?

And why had he never heard of her before?

It quickly became apparent to Iruka why this woman had never been a part of his life until he had no choice in the matter.

On the day they first met he’d shown up rather late in the evening, used the PASMO card to pay the taxi driver, and listened to the vehicle drive away as he stared up at a rather…decrepit apartment building. And that was putting it kindly. The whole neighborhood seemed seedy, when Iruka gave it a cursory look-over in either direction as he delayed the inevitable, but he really did his damnedest to give it the benefit of the doubt as he approached the rickety staircase that was attached to the side of the building with rusted bolts. 

His aunt’s apartment was on the second floor of the two-story apartment complex, but when he put his weight on the first step, and the whole structure seemed to shake and groan, Iruka wondered at the sturdiness of the rain gutter he had seen snaking its way down the other side, and if he could scale it instead. That sounded safer than whatever the hell this was. But, swallowing his trepidation and praying for his continued survival—he didn’t survive a kidnapping and attempted murder to die on some flimsy staircase, after all—Iruka held his breath and took quick, but careful steps until he reached the second floor.

Breathing deeply once he felt solid ground under his feet, he approached the door right by the stairs, double-checked the notes on his phone to be sure he had the right apartment number, and then knocked on the door.

He’d barely tapped his knuckles against the grimy surface once before the door was harshly yanked open, and a man a head taller, and much wider than Iruka stumbled out, nearly knocking Iruka off his feet. The man said nothing, merely grunting as if him running into Iruka was an inconvenience to him, and quickly made his way down the stairs and out of sight. Iruka blinked, watching the man leave, before a musty, moldy smell slithered past his nostrils, entwining with a thick tobacco scent as he turned his head and came face to face with a woman that looked shockingly like his mother…but wrong.

It felt as if his feet were dipped and encased in cement, weighing him to his spot as he simply stared at the woman, utterly bewildered and, honestly, disturbed. The caricature of Umino Kohari silently stared back, leaning against the door frame as she sucked the life out of the cigarette perched between two thin, dry-knuckled fingers. She waited until she’d finished her smoke, flicking the cigarette butt past Iruka’s shoulder and off the second story balcony, before she gave Iruka a smile that was all sharp edges and yellowed teeth.

“You gonna just stand there, or you comin’ in?” she asked, holding her elbow with one hand while the other pointed a thumb inside the dark and dingy apartment.

“But...you had company—” Iruka tried to say, not really knowing what his point was supposed to be, but the woman scoffed to cut him off.

“A girl’s gotta make a livin’, alright? Once a client leaves they stay gone, until they get the cash to afford to come back, but that bastard’s broke ass won’t be coming back at all.” The woman sneered, her dark eyes taking on the same dangerous glint his mother’s used to when she was verbally ripping someone to shreds, and she glanced in the direction the man had scurried off in as she said, “He tried to weasel out an extra hour, for free, like I’m running some kind of charity here…Kicked him right where it hurts and told him to fuck off.”

Pushing herself off the door frame, she levelled Iruka with an inscrutable look, seemingly looking for a certain reaction to her words on his face but, after a rather long, uncomfortable moment, apparently didn’t find it as she sighed and stepped aside. Taking that as his cue to finally come inside, Iruka hugged his duffle bag to his chest and carefully stepped past the woman. He tried very hard not to let his face contort in any way when the heavy smell of sex assaulted his nose, making it violently clear just what kind of ‘client’ that man had been, and silently removed his shoes and took a few steps inside. 

Well...he had no judgement for people who did what they had to do to survive, but considering she was obviously the type of person who would unabashedly ‘accept a client’ on the same night her nephew was scheduled to arrive, and flat-out tell him, before even giving him her name first, what she did and what he’d have to live with from now on…it made it painfully clear why his mother hadn’t ever let them meet before, or even mentioned she’d had a sister at all. This type of woman was exactly the kind that Umino Kohari had hated, and Iruka could only wonder what their childhood must’ve been like for Kohari to become a cop and her sister a prostitute.

The woman secured the door with multiple chain locks and a deadbolt before she wandered into the living room where Iruka awkwardly stood, not knowing what to do next. She crossed her arms and cocked out a hip, tilting her head and looked Iruka up and down, appearing to assess him before saying, “Your mama was my twin sister, ya know?”

No, Iruka didn’t know, but he remained silent, merely looking back at her and hoping this non sequitur wasn’t about to swerve into some awful territory Iruka would have to suffer through. The woman smiled at his lack of response, but this time it was softer, which Iruka failed to realize was only to pull him into a false sense of security as her next words hit him like a sledgehammer.

“Kohari-chan despised me from the get-go—said I’d never make it past thirty—but look at us now!” The sharpened edge took shape within that smile once again and the woman spread her arms wide, happily declaring, “She’s gone and killed herself and I’m still standin’!”

Iruka felt his heart pounding frantically in his chest, and felt the blood drain from his face and leave him feeling cold and clammy all over. He knew the expression on his face had to be one of horror as he looked at his aunt, unable to reconcile that this woman was his blood and yet she had impenitently spit out their family tragedy at him like it was some kind of accomplishment for her…

Like she wanted him to know, before anything else—again, even before her own goddamn name—that she didn’t care for Kohari or the fact that she’d taken her own life.

That she didn’t care about Iruka, or what he’d been through, either.

Hugging his duffle bag tighter, feeling an echo of his erratic palpitations galloping through his arms and down his legs, Iruka jerked his gaze to the floor and began to count his breaths. In and out, shallow then deep—he just stood there, staring at the stained carpet under his feet, and tried to regain what small sense of control over himself he had in the wake of all this. 

She didn’t care about him? Alright, that was fine…It wasn’t as if he cared about her either. They’d only met for the first time that night, after all, and she’d made it painfully clear that getting to know each other wouldn’t do a damn thing to change how she felt. But then why take him in? Why make him her problem at all if his mother was a source of contention for her? When her bare feet came into view, Iruka lifted his head and met her harsh eyes, getting his answer in the same cruel bluntness his aunt had been speaking to him with from the start.

“Keep in mind one thing: you’re only here so I get paid. I’ll give you an allowance each week, enough that you can take care of your own crap like food and clothes, but otherwise I want you to live here as if you were dead. I don’t wanna hear you, I don’t wanna see you, and if I have a client over then it’s up to you to either pretend nothin’s happening and stay hidden, or to find somewhere else to be. As far as anyone knows I’m a masseuse, licensed and everything, so Social Services couldn’t bitch and moan about my occupation when I played the part of ‘responsible adult’ during their visits. That is to say, if anyone asks, you tell ‘em I’m a—”

“Masseuse,” Iruka interjected, earning a light pat on his left cheek and satisfied nod from the woman.

“Good. Glad we understand each other.”

She poked a finger into the meat of one of his arms, and Iruka couldn’t help but notice that all her nails were painted red, but the paint was chipped and faded, showing she cared for them about as well as everything else in the apartment that Iruka had seen thus far. Including himself. When she poked him again, harder this time, he looked her in the eye once more and pleaded with his mind to not see his mother in that uncaring face looking back at him.

“My name’s Ikari Kogashira,” she said, pushing her finger into his arm hard enough to bruise, “but I don’t ever wanna to hear my name come outta your mouth.”

Ikari. Iruka couldn’t remember ever having heard his mother’s maiden name before, but now that he had…it seemed awfully apt when it belonged to his aunt. While Iruka was certain that the intended meaning was actually supposed to be “anchor/grapple” (which worked so well for his mother—who had always moored him and his father when they’d felt lost at sea, and had been a relentless cop that dug her hooks in and dragged the truth into the light to bring justice) he looked at this woman, at Kogashira, and saw nothing but anger.

Nothing but hate.

Ikari.

She only proved his point when she stepped back, nodded for him to follow her down a hall out of the living room, and showed him a storage room that was piled with boxes on either side, all filled with of all sorts of miscellaneous items. It looked like a hoarder’s dream, the only exception being the futon-sized strip down the middle that had been cleared for him to fit, and the single, small window high up that gave the room a rather dungeon-like feel to it. It was cramped—claustrophobic in a way the crawlspace had been, but in a vertical direction instead of horizontal—but at least some moonlight came through…Iruka had very literally lived in worse, he could live in this.

As if he had any choice.

Kogashira tapped his shoulder with the back of her hand to get his attention, pointed out the secondary bathroom that was right across the hall from him and for his use only, as she had her own in the master bedroom, and then motioned back to Iruka’s room. “I was told what’d happened to you,” she said, once again throwing Iruka off with how easily she jumped to whatever subject she wanted to talk about without any warning. “They said you’d been hidden underneath that crazy bitch’s—’scuse me, bastard’s—house, like his dirty little secret…guess you were, though.” Her smile somehow managed to get sharper, and Iruka felt it cutting more jaggedly and deeply into him with each second he looked at it.

“And now you’re mine,” she said, and stalked off back to her room on the other side of the apartment, leaving Iruka standing there, feeling brittle all the way down to the marrow in his bones.

Slowly and quietly stepping into the room and sliding the door behind him, Iruka kneeled down and crawled forward until he could stretch out within the narrow, vacant space, using his duffle bag as a pillow. He wiggled out of his jacket, placing it over him as a makeshift blanket, and stared at the ceiling for hours as everything that had led up to that point circled through his head. A dirty little secret, she called him, and how true it felt when he’d been reduced down to something shameful and foul with only four words. Live here as if you were dead, she’d demanded, and as Iruka laid there, arms crossed over his chest with only a jacket covering him, and boxed in on almost all sides by worthless crap, it certainly felt like he was a corpse thrown into a dumpster, left to rot, unseen and uncared for.

Closing his eyes and begging for sleep to take him, to remove him from this situation even if only for a little while, Iruka remembered the empty spaces around Kakashi he had wished to fill, and how he himself now had no empty spaces left for anyone else to occupy. The lonely images they both made—Kakashi then, Iruka now—chased Iruka into his shallow sleep, and would follow him for the isolated, dreary days to come.

Since arriving at his aunt’s place, there were a little over two months left until Iruka started his third year of high school, and Iruka worked valiantly to build himself something of a routine that chewed his days up and spat them back out at him every night. Such a routine ended with him spending his nights curled up in his sepulcher of garbage, reflecting on how well he managed to pretend to be something dead that day, with his hands wrapped around the phone Kushina had gifted him and holding it to his chest like it was the only thing keeping his heart beating. Keeping him from becoming that which he had to pretend to be. 

Dead. 

Iruka never called any of them like he’d promised, he never texted, and he never visited the people he desperately missed even once within that first month of his new life, too terrified that if he saw them, if he heard their voices, or if he read the many texts he’d received, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Iruka knew he was weak when it came to them, and the mere idea of any one of them hearing how he lived now that he was with his aunt, or, god forbid, see how he lived, had him wanting to shrivel up into a dried, empty husk, and wither away. Dying would be easier than that—than Kushina, Minato, Sakumo, Naruto, or, fuck, Kakashi seeing the ‘dirty little secret’ he’d become—but he couldn’t lie to himself and not say he still didn’t miss them terribly.

Iruka missed them so damn much.

Which was why, a week into month two of his role as the unwanted and burdensome thing that haunted his aunt’s home, Iruka acted very foolishly when he returned to the apartment one day after buying a convenience store bento for dinner, and heard the tell-tale signs of his aunt with a client as he carefully cracked open the door. The sound of her heavy breathing, and some unknown man grunting out a moan, and the obvious sound of their bodies thumping against the wall of the living room, had frozen Iruka to his spot. Anxiety, fear, disgust…so many sensations coursed viciously through him in the span of a second, and the next thing Iruka knew he had quietly shut the door, dropped the bag with his bento in it carelessly onto the ground, and bolted for the stairs.

His worn down sneakers slapped loudly against the sidewalk cement as he hurled himself down the street, then down the block, then several blocks until Iruka stopped registering the distance he was travelling entirely and could only see the world blur around him, hearing the harsh rasp of his labored breathing. He ran and he ran, the sun overhead beginning to dip into the horizon when Iruka finally came to a stop in an abandoned park, his legs trembling and his chest heaving as he brought himself slowly out of whatever fugue he’d fallen into and tried to get a handle on where the hell he was.

The park wasn’t a familiar one to him, but something about it nagged at his subconscious…until he nearly fell to his knees when he remembered Orochimaru had been looking at a park much like this one that day. There had been children playing in that park, and had Naruto not drawn that person’s attention, had Iruka not then followed suit as he’d sought to help Naruto even as his body burned with a fever, then another child…maybe two children, maybe three…anyone that wasn’t him or Naruto would have…

Iruka shook his head violently, ripping those thoughts from his mind, but in doing so he threw himself off-balance and had to wobble his exhausted body over to a large slide shaped like an elephant, leaning against the side of the structure for support. Iruka brushed a hand over the baby blue paint that colored the slide, resting his palm over one of the many white polka dots scattered over the elephant, and just stood there for a long, silent moment, telling himself to breathe. The sky turned a vibrant red that bled into a softer pink and pale orange, and deciding that he would not be returning to that apartment, not tonight, perhaps not even tomorrow, Iruka shuffled over to the one of the four holes carved out between each of the elephant’s legs, and crawled into the little cave that made up the ‘belly’ of the elephant.

Pressing his back against the cold inner wall of the elephant’s belly, Iruka bent his legs until he could wrap his arms around them, hugging them close, and rested his cheek atop one of his knees as he stared at the gradually dimming light that poured into the empty space of the entrance beside him. His eyes unfocused the longer he stared—the fainter the light became—and thought about the phone that, for the first time, he’d left behind in his room. Stupidly, he’d thought it wouldn’t be a problem, that he’d only be making a short trip to the store to get some food, before crawling back like the cockroach he was, but it just had to be the day he left his phone behind that Iruka wouldn’t be returning to reclaim it.

And the absence of it…it left him feeling naked, vulnerable, and so sickeningly alone. For the first time in over a month Iruka wanted to dial each of those numbers stored on his phone, he wanted to hear those voices and be reminded that he wasn’t alone, and there were people in the world who cared about him. People who wouldn’t make him feel like a disgusting parasite, like a corpse waiting in storage to be cremated and forgotten about…

Iruka imagined Kushina’s righteous fury if she were to know Kogashira brought strange, potentially dangerous men home to have sex, careless of whether Iruka was forced to suffer the trauma of it or not, and how she would probably slap the shit out of Kogashira before sicking her expensive hoard of lawyers on her. He imagined Minato’s eyes taking on that dangerous glint that they got when he realized something criminal was afoot, and would gladly slice Kogashira apart, using the law as his sword, for using Iruka as a means to make money, rather than actually doing anything to care for her nephew. He imagined Sakumo taking one look at the room Iruka had been crammed in, and the fact that he ate bento boxes for the two meals he could afford each day, and simply taking Iruka’s hand to drag him out of that awful place.

Iruka imagined Naruto’s flushed face, soaked in tears, as he put the pieces together and realized Iruka had been having a pretty bad time since he’d left them at the hospital, and hugged Iruka so tight that it hurt, refusing to let go until he came home with him. Until they were really family and no one could take Iruka away from him ever again.

Real tears began falling down Iruka’s own face, both comforted and distressed by what his imagination had conjured, but he didn’t bother to stop it, nor his tears. He let them trickle down and over his cheek, he let them wet his pants over the knee his cheek was pressed against, and he let his mind continue to build a world where Iruka didn’t have to suffer anymore…

He was so tired of having to suffer the cruelty of others.

And yet, it was a different kind of suffering when he imagined what Kakashi would do, if he appeared on his aunt’s doorstep one day, and saw for himself what Iruka’s life had become. Iruka realized it wasn’t nearly as easy to come up with a mental image of what Kakashi’s reaction would be, as it had been everyone else, and wondered why that was. Kakashi was a complex individual, and their relationship wasn’t as clear-cut as Iruka’s was with the others, but Iruka would hope that Kakashi would unerringly act, reach out, save him when Iruka no longer had the strength to save himself anymore.

But he couldn’t be certain. Iruka could not, for the life of him, come up with a single, wonderfully simple scenario that merely had Kakashi’s hand enveloping his own, and all the world’s troubles melting away with his warmth. Every time he tried, his mind scattered into chaos, imagining a whole array of things happening all at the same time, to which none of them had a clear conclusion like the rest of them had. It hurt Iruka’s heart, not being able to envision Kakashi saving him, the person he unfairly wanted to save him the most, and couldn’t help it when a sob bubbled out of his throat.

When the next wretched sob wracked his body, Iruka remembered being back in the hospital and Kakashi whispering in his ear, even as Iruka had been trying his hardest to make Kakashi go away at the time. He remembered the way Kakashi’s voice carried through the blanket Iruka had thrown over his head, attempting to hide, and how the deep cadence of it caressed his inner ear, almost tickling him. He remembered what he’d been told to do, and what Kakashi promised to do in response. Really, maybe it was so hard to make some imaginary Kakashi up in his mind because, back then, Kakashi had already told him exactly what Iruka needed to do if he wanted to be saved. If he wanted help to stop himself from hurting anymore.

And Iruka had to want it, to ask for it…he couldn’t selfishly expect it to just happen. For others to simply know something was wrong if he didn’t tell anyone. The first step to healing was admitting you had a problem, after all, and Iruka was so damn done convincing himself to suck it up, to not burden others, and to push through the pain.

Therefore, with the memory of Kakashi’s words once again tickling his inner ear, Iruka choked out the name that he had been swallowing down all this time, ripping it from his clogged throat and finally feeling as if he could truly breathe for the first time in over a month. 

“Kakashi…” he whimpered, and hugged his legs tighter, clenching his eyes shut.

No more than a couple of minutes later Iruka heard a peculiar sound to his right, coming from the entrance to his little hiding spot. Cracking his sore eyes open, shaking the tears loose from his lashes so he could see clearly, Iruka noticed a rather large, oddly shaped shadow swallowing up the evening light that stretched inward from the entrance. He tried to make heads or tails of what he was looking at, and the strange snorting-like sounds he was hearing, but it was only when a large head peered in at him that Iruka was able to figure it out.

A bulldog, that looked bigger than an English Mastiff, twitched its nose as it turned its head to look at Iruka; it looked like it had picked up Iruka’s scent and had hunted him down. But, rather than being scared of the large canine like any rational person would be, Iruka simply stared at the dog that silently stared right back, and felt no urge to flee or even cower despite being at a severe disadvantage if the dog wound up being feral and hungry. He noticed a studded collar around the dog’s neck, which negated the feral theory, and the almost bored look in the dog’s eyes didn’t necessarily scream starving beast to Iruka either. What cemented Iruka’s sense of calm and safety was when a much smaller dog, a pug by the looks of it, trotted into the cave from between the bulldog’s legs, and looked at Iruka with such an unimpressed expression that Iruka couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, wiping rather ineffectively at the teary-mess he’d made of his face with his shirt sleeves.

“Hello there,” Iruka muttered, watching the pug plop its little butt down as it faced him, making the blue bandana wrapped around its neck in lieu of a collar flutter a bit and catch his eye. There was a design drawn on the bandana, a ‘henohenomoheji’ if Iruka was seeing it right, and something about the look in the pug’s eye made Iruka feel as if it were daring him to comment on it, which only forced another weak, raspy chuckle out of him. “Interesting taste you got there,” he said, deciding to take up the dog’s (imagined) dare.

“I hope that’s ‘interesting’, as in ‘the kind of taste only the most handsome man in the world would dare to have’, and not the kind of ‘interesting’ you’d call someone wearing crocs and a tracksuit to a black-tie event,” a voice responded flippantly from outside the belly of the elephant slide, and every muscle in Iruka’s body seized up for an excruciating, and yet thrilling second.

No.

No, he had to be hallucinating.

He must’ve cried so much his brain lacked oxygen, so now he was loopy and imagining things…

There was absolutely no way…things like this didn’t happen to him…

When a young man with a familiar flop of beautiful, silver hair leaned over the large mass of his bulldog, peering inside Iruka’s hiding spot, Iruka’s string of internal denials fell into blissful silence, and all he could do was gaze into the man’s eyes in absolute wonder. It was him, it was Hatake Kakashi. Not some hallucination or person who merely looked like him, but the real, undeniable deal.

Iruka had called for Kakashi, and Kakashi had come.

Before he could get any tangible words out of his mouth—perhaps say some witty reply to what Kakashi had said, or a polite greeting, or really anything at all, even if he sounded like a complete moron saying whatever it was—another one of those wretched sobs from earlier clawed its way free. It sounded so loud, so horrible, in the quiet atmosphere surrounding them, but before it could make him retreat into himself and stew in humiliation, Iruka remembered…

He was beyond caring.

So far beyond caring that, all he could do in response to his own distress, was reach his arms out towards the one person that could possibly do anything to help him. And reach out he did, his arms trembling as they stretched out towards Kakashi in supplication, and he didn’t bother to try and suppress what every molecule in his being was hollering out for. With his tear-marred eyes beseeching the young man before him just as much as his body was, Iruka’s voice was a gut-wrenching plea as he puled, “Kakashi…please…”

And, within his next tremulous breath, Iruka’s arms were filled with a large, sturdy body that held onto him with the kind of strength Iruka imagined someone would have when they were holding something together, keeping it from falling apart. It was exactly the kind of embrace that Iruka needed, given to him by exactly who he needed it from.

“Iruka…” Kakashi whispered, the sound of it tickling the side of Iruka’s neck and punctuated by a fleeting kiss that left goosebumps on his skin. “Iruka, what happened to you? None of us have heard from you—we’ve been worried sick…”

All Iruka could do in response was tiredly shake his head, turning his face to press it into Kakashi’s soft hair, and let his wet, aching eyes slip shut. He wanted to tell Kakashi he was sorry for not calling or texting, that he was sorry he had to find him this way, that he was so thankful Kakashi kept his word no matter how impossible it should have been. He wanted to break down and tell Kakashi everything that had happened, and what his life had become.

But, instead, all Iruka found the strength to say was, “I want to go home…”

He didn’t know where that was, although he certainly had fantasies about what the word ‘home’ truly meant to him, but it didn’t seem to matter when Iruka felt Kakashi’s arms tighten further around him, and one of his hands slide up his back until his fingers rested on the back of Iruka’s neck, lightly brushing the hairs that fell loose of his ponytail there. It reminded him of the first night the two of them had been alone, and Kakashi had helped him drink some water; it reminded him of that first real gentleness he’d experienced from another human being since escaping his captor; it reminded him of the way his heart had beat back then, desirous and safe and alive…Within the circle of those strong, pale arms, Iruka was reminded him that ‘home’ wasn’t always a place, but people as well, and he hoped so desperately in that moment that such a thought wasn’t a part of his fantasies too. 

That Iruka felt as much as a home to Kakashi, as Kakashi felt to him.

“Alright, Iruka,” Kakashi said quietly, his voice steady and determined despite its minute volume. “If that’s what you want—”

Iruka cut Kakashi off by jerking his head in a few fast, definite nods, earning himself a low, deep chuckle that made him shiver, that sound burrowing under his skin and sinking deep into his bones like a balm to all he’d suffered.

“Alright,” Kakashi repeated, and, ever a man of his word, did just that.

Needless to say, Iruka never went back to his aunt’s apartment ever again.

Kakashi had been so kind and caring when he coaxed Iruka out of the belly of the elephant slide, that the juxtaposition of that, compared to how Iruka had been treated for the past month, put his exhausted heart and mind into a bit of a trance. He was so out of it that he hardly noticed anything outside the warmth of Kakashi’s hand wrapped around his as he was led out of that abandoned park, down the block, until quite a few blocks had passed under Iruka’s feet and they found themselves standing in front of the most luxurious building Iruka had ever seen in person. According to Kakashi, it was where he and his father lived, so Iruka had been under the impression he was about to be taken to Kakashi’s home.

Despite his zombie-like state, Iruka still felt his face get warmer at the idea of going to Kakashi’s place, perhaps even going to his room and seeing the bed he slept on…Well, anywhere was better than his aunt’s apartment, but Kakashi’s home was certainly the best place he could’ve imagined going when he had made his vague request.

However, it quickly became apparent that was not, in fact, where they were headed when they entered the building, got into the elevator, and Kakashi had to insert a fancy looking card into a slot by the floor buttons on the elevator’s panel. The card was black with gold leaf lettering over the back of it, that spelled out the name of Kushina’s company, and Kakashi airily explained by saying Kushina, while in the midst of her grief, had this building erected under her exact specifications, and had just wrapped up construction and had their grand opening a mere week before Iruka and Naruto had escaped.

The Uzumakis lived on the entire top floor of the building, Kakashi said, and the whole building (but especially the top floor) was more secure than Area 51. Kushina refused to let anything take her child from her ever again, he elaborated further, and while Iruka and Naruto were in the hospital she had gotten the top floor furnished and shaped into a new home for her and her family. Kakashi stopped speaking after that, but the look he had pinned Iruka with once he fell silent felt pointed and significant. Though, with the state Iruka had been in, he couldn’t have deciphered what it was supposed to meant even if he had really wanted to.

It was only when they got to the top, and the elevator doors opened to show an elegantly dressed Kushina standing there, a large, triumphant grin on her face and her hands on her hips, that Iruka’s mind started to put the pieces together. But he needn’t have worried about having to figure anything out on his own, because It became abundantly clear what was happening when Kushina wrapped him in a hug so tight, Iruka felt his ribs creak, and simply said welcome home.

And that was the exact moment when Iruka’s wildest dreams about what home actually meant to him began to come true.

One month out of the hospital was spent in abject misery, but the month following that was the best of Iruka’s life. When he showed up with Kushina, right in time for a rather large and elaborate dinner that Minato had cooked, Iruka couldn’t stop himself from shooting Kakashi his own kind of pointed and significant look when Naruto launched himself at Iruka, clinging to him like a koala, and shouted, “Finally!” 

The whole thing looked so planned for him, a welcoming home party that he hadn’t even known he was invited to, and all he got in return was Kakashi’s eyes curving into amused little half-moons and a single statement of, “Unlike you, I know how to text people on my shiny new phone and let them know what’s going on.”

And to say Iruka wound up laughing until he cried would be putting it lightly, but Kushina, and his ‘new limb’ Naruto, hardly seemed to mind holding him tightly until the tears eventually dried up and he had nothing more to give. It was a miracle he got through dinner that night, or had the strength to get cleaned up and dressed in a pair of incredibly soft pajamas that matched Naruto’s, but he somehow managed to get that far before falling into a bed that could easily fit three of him (and a good thing too, as Naruto hadn’t stopped clinging to him all night, and demanded they shower and sleep together—of course he got his way) and fell into the deepest sleep he’d had in a long while.

When he awoke the next day to Naruto half on top of him, alternating from quiet, breathy snores, to loud snorts, and Minato gently ruffling his hair and telling him it was morning with a gentle smile on his face, Iruka almost cried again. But, instead, he swallowed down the urge to cry and showed his teeth in a tired little grin, his heart swelling with hope that this could be his life from that moment forward.

It was Minato and Kushina’s personal efforts that rewarded Iruka’s hope beautifully.

Apparently, they had seriously begun to consider adopting Iruka after that first meeting between all of them, something within them taking one look at Iruka and declaring him theirs. But, they’d also caught wind of Social Services working in the background during Iruka’s recovery, and had heard talk of relatives that could take Iruka in; "real family", as it had so harshly been put by one particular social worker that had caught Minato and Kushina listening in. They’d taken a step back then, and considered that it might be better for an actual blood relative to take Iruka, to reassure him that he still had family left. But still, that didn’t stop the two of them from thinking about it, or doing things here and there that just so happened to align with the idea of Iruka becoming their son.

Like the extra bedroom in their new home, for instance. The one Iruka had fallen asleep in.

While Kushina had planned it to be a spare bedroom, used only for guests on the rare occasion they had anyone stay the night, she’d already had Iruka on the brain by the time she had been actually furnishing their new home, and had outfitted the room with him in mind. She’d imagined him sleeping, safe and content, in the king-sized bed, with the most comfortable mattress she could buy so that he’d never have to worry about his back aching in his sleep; she made sure a walk-in closet was installed, so that, if given the chance, she could spoil Iruka rotten with all the clothes and accessories a teenage boy could ever want; she’d insisted the room had its own bathroom attached, to give Iruka privacy and convenience, and that everything had the latest technology so having a warm bath ready was only a few button presses on the control panel away; and while she left the walls of the bedroom a neutral, light gray color, and bare of any decoration, she had a reading nook installed along the wall facing the beautiful cityscape beyond the large bay windows that complimented the nook, offering a grand view of the world and allowing plenty of natural light into the room. When she looked at the room she had happily imagined Iruka putting up posters and framed photos, filling the shelves with knick-knacks and books, and whatever else he wanted in order to express himself in a space made solely for him.

Kushina sculpted a place so far removed from a dark, dingy crawlspace as she could, all for Iruka.

Minato, similarly, had done his own due diligence by poking his head into any information he could find about Iruka’s family history, and who it might be that was taking him in, all to ensure that Iruka would be going somewhere he’d be safe. He hadn’t found much, as both the Umino and Ikari families were extremely private people, and without a proper warrant or reason—beyond his own curiosity—he couldn’t legally dig up anything they hadn’t made public record. However, Minato did eventually find out that the specific relative taking Iruka in was his aunt, and had looked her up, finding her to be a lower middle-class masseuse with no criminal history, and while it didn’t sit right with him to let it go…he did. Thinking it wasn’t his or his wife’s right to pry at that point. But not before Minato marked down the woman’s address. Kushina got the new cellphone she bought for Iruka all set up with emergency numbers for him to call if he needed help, and, should the opportunity present itself, they both made sure to have any and all paperwork on standby to make an adoption of Umino Iruka into their family official. Kushina even had her line-up of lawyers informed, prepared, and ready to strike if given the chance.

They had felt a little bad about their almost…possessive behavior towards Iruka, wondering if they were overstepping their boundaries, or if they were being unnecessarily paranoid about having Iruka out of their sight once they watched him leave the hospital in a taxi, putting on a brave face even as his eyes looked sad and wanting at them. But then they’d been about to prepare dinner one night, and Kushina’s phone had sounded off Kakashi’s personalized text notification sound.

It hadn’t said more than ‘I have Iruka with me, and I’m taking him home’, but Kushina had looked at Minato from across the room, and they both simply knew.

Thus, once Kushina had watched the elevator doors open and had seen Iruka’s tired expression, his eyes puffy from crying and his complexion sallow, it had been the beginning of the end for Ikari Kogashira having anything to do with their Iruka. 

Time flew by after that day, to which Iruka wasn’t sure what was going on in the background through most of it, but what he did know was that he was home, he was safe, and by god he was finally happy. Although he kept his surname of Umino (he couldn’t bear to lose that single piece of his parents he had left), despite the adoption into the Uzumaki family becoming official somewhere between waking up one day and falling asleep the next, slipping into the role as Naruto’s older brother, and Kushina and Minato’s eldest son, felt as natural as breathing. He walked Naruto to and from school, as he had weeks left before starting his last year of school himself; he helped cook dinner some nights, while washing the dishes after eating on others, and was more than happy to do chores around the incredibly large home he now lived in; he kept up his studies in his room he was slowly, but surely, making into his own place, and smiled and thanked Kushina when she brought him snacks; and he felt comfortable answering the door, being assertive, and welcoming Sakumo and Kakashi in when they came over for a visit. 

Being a part of their family reminded him of what he’d been missing for far too long—what family was supposed to be when compared to the deranged facsimile Orochimaru had concocted, or the outright disregard of it that made up his time with Kogashira. It was more than he could have ever hoped for, and some days, he believed, more than he deserved…but Iruka was determined to be worthy of them, of their family and their friends, so he kept his head held high and took each step towards a brighter future carefully, but with no lack of joy.

Before he knew it Iruka was finally wearing the school uniform Hiruzen had gifted him, walking on a school campus for the first time in actual years, and getting his classroom number before standing in an auditorium to listen to the chairman welcome them all to his academy. Then he blinked and he was introducing himself to a class that, blessedly, didn’t look twice at him or his name. Kushina had kept him out of the press like she’d promised, then. Thank god. The only person that gave him any attention was the TA for his last class of the day, a young man with a very distinct mop of silver hair, but Iruka knew it had nothing to do with him being a victim of kidnapping.

No, this person kept shooting him looks across the room that, to anyone else, seemed dispassionate and almost rude, but Iruka knew otherwise. He could see the fire there, the glint within those eyes that promised so much, and he had to, very consciously, not look back. Thank goodness the first day at Konoha Academy for third years was nothing more than an introductory day, or Iruka would have missed an entire lesson by Asuma.

When the bell rang, however, Iruka’s gaze immediately snapped over to Kakashi’s, and something clicked, locking him in place and making it impossible to look away. Kakashi’s eyes never left Iruka’s, but peripherally Iruka noticed his hand subtly moving, and when the cellphone in Iruka’s pant pocket vibrated he instantly knew who it was from. He reached back to grab it, but saw one of Kakashi’s eyebrows lift which gave him pause, and got the message when Kakashi tilted his head a bit to the side and gestured with his chin towards the door.

‘He wants me to leave first,’ Iruka thought, and huffed out a quiet laugh as he barely managed to look away, down at his desk, and gathered his books and supplies into his backpack before casually swinging it over his shoulder and walking out the door. Once at the end of the hallway, right at the top of the stairs leading down, he finally pulled his cellphone out and opened the text from Kakashi, having to bite his lip to keep a dopey smile off his face.

The text told him to meet him somewhere, somewhere private Kakashi emphasized, and then he provided Iruka with an almost GPS step-by-step list of direction on how to get to this ‘private spot’, starting from exactly where Iruka was currently standing. Iruka did smile then, laughing to himself, as he wondered if this is what it was going to be like having a genius occupying a very important role in his life. It was interesting, that was for damn sure, and Iruka wouldn’t have Kakashi any other way.

Following the directions, Iruka found himself in an alleyway-like space between two structures. The brick wall to his right sloped upwards as it was attached to an outdoor staircase that (according to Kakashi) was rarely used, and was too thick for anyone to comfortably lean over and see past, while to his left was just a bland, white wall of an older, unused storage building. Iruka had to admit, it certainly looked like a nice, private spot for two people to meet without being seen, especially since it was on a side of the school away from high-traffic areas, and the only people that walked by were on their way off school property and not looking in the direction of the spot at all. The whole thing was darkened by a comfortable blanket of shade, as the evening sun was making its way into the horizon on the other end of the school, and Iruka tossed his backpack off to the side—out of the way—before stepping into that darkness and taking a breath to try and calm his suddenly nervous, rapidly beating heart.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you all day,” a delightfully familiar voice said. Iruka tried not to jump out of his skin in surprise at how close that voice was to his ear, or to melt too quickly into the arms that wrapped around him from behind, but both of those things he was pretty sure Kakashi noticed right away, if the amusement in his tone when he spoke next was any indicator.

“How does it feel, committing a taboo by sneaking off into a dark corner with a teacher, away from prying eyes?” Kakashi asked, his long legs gently coaxing Iruka forward until they were very well hidden. Very much alone.

Iruka grinned, ignoring the way his heart was galloping away in his chest, and said, “It’s not much of a taboo when it’s a TA I’m sneaking off with, and one who’s only a year older than me.”

Almost too quickly for Iruka to follow, Kakashi redirected them towards the brick wall and pressed Iruka against it, where they could finally look at each other face-to-face, and had Iruka well and fully boxed in between his arms as he placed his hands against the wall on either side of Iruka’s head. Kakashi must’ve taken off his facemask before approaching Iruka from behind, doing God knows what with it, because Iruka could see the charming way Kakashi’s lips curled up in a little smirk as clear as day.

“How about this?” Kakashi asked. “Does it feel a bit more ‘forbidden romance’ now?”

With how close they were Iruka unintentionally noticed how that smirk of his trembled, ever so slightly, and watched as a pale blush began to creep up and over Kakashi’s cheeks, indicating he was feeling worked up—that he was nervous. Iruka pulled strength from that, his heart calming within him at the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one affected so deeply by the other, and couldn’t help the lopsided smile that found its way onto his face. He was polite enough not to point it out, make Kakashi more anxious and possibly embarrassed, but that didn’t stop him from being utterly endeared by the whole thing.

He snaked his arms upwards in the small space between them, placing his hands on either side of Kakashi’s face, and couldn’t help brushing a thumb over that lovely little beauty mark that Iruka was quite certain he’d never be able to resist touching whenever it graced him with its presence. 

“You tell me,” Iruka began in a near whisper, feeling emboldened and brave by how close they were, how intimate it all felt, and leaned forward to place the gentlest, briefest of kisses against that tiny, special mark, so close to those tempting lips and yet so far. When he pulled back, he didn’t distance himself much, locking his gaze with Kakashi’s as he finished, “Does anything about this feel ‘forbidden’ to you?”

The atmosphere felt charged, like a pin balancing on its tip and waiting for gravity to pull it down, make it fall, but neither of them dared move and break the tension. For a long, silent moment the two of them just stared at one another, breathing the same air and reading everything and nothing in each other’s eyes, until the pin finally seemed to drop and Kakashi looked away, taking a step back pulling his arms away to no longer box Iruka in. Iruka didn’t let him get far, however, and snatched up Kakashi’s hands with his own, allowing them a bit of space between them when compared to before—allowing the tension to relent until it felt more comfortable—but refusing to have Kakashi further from him than he could stand after being forced to be distant, as if they were strangers, all day.

Kakashi appeared to find that compromise more than acceptable, judging by the minute but obviously happy smile that ticked up the corners of his mouth, and brought both of Iruka’s hands upwards until they rested against his chest. Iruka could feel the strength of Kakashi’s heartbeat even through his clothes, its pace shockingly fast, but again Iruka didn’t mention, although he was certainly impressed by how none of what he could feel showed in Kakashi’s expression. He looked calm, composed, contradicting what Iruka knew, and the effort Kakashi was apparently putting into the act had Iruka’s own heart flittering in anticipation. 

For what, he didn’t know, but apparently Kakashi wasn’t one to make him wait for answers as his gaze took on a determined glint and he quietly said, “I have a gift for you.”

That took Iruka by surprise but he didn’t mind, holding himself still as Kakashi placed Iruka’s right hand over his heart, letting it rest there as if to say I know you can feel how madly it beats for you and I want you to know, and held onto Iruka’s left tightly, his own hand trembling around Iruka’s so subtly Iruka wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying such careful attention to every inch of Kakashi in that moment. With a hand now free, Kakashi dug something out of the shirt pocket to the right of his chest, and very gently slid whatever it was over Iruka’s left middle finger. When Iruka dragged his eyes from Kakashi’s face and looked down to see what it was, he sucked in a breath between his teeth, and held it in his lungs until they burned as much as he could feel his face burning.

It was a ring.

Darting his gaze back up to Kakashi’s he didn’t dare voice the thousands of questions coursing through his brain, but Kakashi, as always, knew how to read him, and smiled unabashedly wide, showing off those charmingly sharp canines. He couldn’t return Iruka’s stare for long, however, the flush on his face getting darker with each second that passed between them in silence, but the smile never left his face as he looked down at the ring encircling Iruka’s finger, the thumb of the hand holding Iruka’s brushing over the back of the ring, bringing Iruka’s own attention down to it. Underneath Iruka’s palm on Kakashi’s chest, Iruka could feel the way that Kakashi’s pulse had jumped to new heights, and he slowly released the breath he’d been holding in, trying his best to keep himself calm and patiently wait for Kakashi to explain.

And explain he did.

“It’s one of a pair,” Kakashi said, his free hand coming up to gently wrap around Iruka’s wrist, guiding the hand that had been over Kakashi’s heart to rest in the middle of his chest. It was there Iruka could feel a small, circular object under Kakashi’s shirt, and he felt it hanging on a thin, silver chain that Iruka could see peeking out from under Kakashi’s collar. Kakashi was wearing the other ring on a chain, had been all day—had the ring Iruka now wore in his shirt pocket all day—and something about that knowledge made Iruka’s whole body feel warm. 

He felt so unbelievably happy in that moment he worried his chest would split at the seams and all that joy would spill out.

“It’s engraved sterling silver,” Kakashi carried on, and Iruka did notice the simple yet beautiful wave pattern carved into the black band, his lips twitching into a smile at the allusion to his name; the way the ring felt against his finger, though…Iruka wondered if something was engraved inside the band as well. “The coating is a black, Rhodium plating, which I had done because—” and it was here that Kakashi’s voice faltered a little, barely anything at all, but Iruka heard the small warble in it nonetheless, “—well…because it makes me think of you.”

“Black Rhodium plating makes you think of me?” Iruka asked in good humor, and he could hear the amusement in his own voice so he knew Kakashi could too, even if they both still couldn’t quite look at each other again just yet. Thankfully Kakashi took it well, not as some attempt to make fun of his choices, and the deep chuckle that left him curled right under Iruka’s skin, making him shiver in delight.

“It’s…Rhodium, that is, it’s a rare precious metal, you see, and it can endure a hell of a lot. It’s the best at protecting other metals; as an alloy it can harden other metals, protect them from corrosion…” It was entirely too adorable that Kakashi was babbling nervously, but Iruka remained quiet, let him speak—let him apparently compare Iruka to a precious metal, of all things. And wasn’t that so terribly sweet in such a Kakashi way? “That reminds me of you,” Kakashi said, and his grip over Iruka’s wrist tightened ever so slightly, just enough that his fingertips pressed almost possessively into Iruka’s skin. Iruka felt his skin alight with heat from that touch, and he welcomed it wholeheartedly.

“The way you protected Naruto, the way you make the people around you stronger simply by knowing you, the way you’re a one-in-a-million kind of person and so precious to everyone…so precious to me…” Kakashi let Iruka’s wrist go, slowly and so obviously reluctant to stop touching him in any way, and reached up to fish the ring he wore around his neck out from under his shirt. Iruka pulled his hand away from Kakashi’s chest just enough to turn his palm upwards, letting Kakashi place the ring against it. Kakashi’s hand slid under his, holding the back of it, and Iruka tilted his hand slightly as the smidgen of light in their hidden spot caught on something, his earlier suspicion was proven right—there was something engraved on the inside of the ring, and he read the line with his eyes as Kakashi said it out loud almost in perfect synch.

“いつだって君には私がイルから.”

I’m here for you whenever you need me.

The part where ‘iru’ would have normally been written in hiragana (いる) was swapped out for the katakana (イル) instead, exactly what Iruka used to write his name, and it was taking every ounce of control he had in him to not give into the urge to cry. These rings were all about Iruka, from the wave patterns to the alloy to the inscription inside…Kakashi must’ve thought about it for days, perhaps even weeks, and Iruka was so utterly touched that he wondered if anything given to him would ever live up to this level of care, of love, ever again.

“I told you I would come if you called, Iru,” Kakashi said softly, the nickname falling from his tongue so sweetly that Iruka’s whole body quivered from it. “And I wanted to give you something with that promise carved into it, so it could never be forgotten.”

A promise written in a way that reminded Iruka of the very same one he’d given Naruto, saying he’d always be there for the boy while they lived out their worst nightmares. A promise given by Iruka was being returned to him by Kakashi, and realizing that, realizing how significant a thing this was, Iruka couldn’t have stopped the few tears that slipped from his eyes even if he’d wanted to. Kakashi was there for him, however, and reached up to carefully wipe the tears away, letting his hand rest there on Iruka’s cheek as he tenderly swiped his thumb back and forth over Iruka’s cheekbone.

“I’d also like it to serve as another promise, if you’ll allow it,” Kakashi said, and the nervousness was back in his expression in the slight crease in his brown. Iruka leaned into the hand against his face, and looked straight into Kakashi’s eyes to silently encourage him to speak. “We can’t openly be together anywhere but at home until you graduate, even if I am only a TA and only a year older than you,” he said, laughing a little as he used Iruka’s own words, “But, once you’ve graduated, I’d like to take you out on an official date, hold your hand in public, not have to hide…”

Kakashi’s face was beet red, and Iruka watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed down his nerves to say, “I’d like to be yours and for you to be mine.”

Iruka didn’t hesitate. 

The hand that was carefully holding Kakashi’s ring placed it against Kakashi’s chest, curling his fingers around it, digging them into the fabric of Kakashi’s shirt all at the same time, and pulled Kakashi forward without any warning. Their lips met in an uncoordinated kiss that remained messy and showed off Iruka’s inexperience for all of a second, until Kakashi seemed to understand what was happening and he tilted his head just right, his free hand coming up to hold the back of Iruka’s head and coax them into something that felt good and warm and perfect. Iruka’s tongue swiped over Kakashi’s lower lip, causing Kakashi to jolt his mouth open in surprise, but instead of delving deeper, pressing Kakashi for more in a situation that was already pretty intense, Iruka instead nipped gently at that same lower lip, tugging it with his teeth as he drew back, and smiled up at Kakashi like the cat that got the canary.

“I was already yours from the beginning, Kakashi,” Iruka said through a contented sigh, “and I’ll gladly be yours until the end.”

Letting Kakashi’s shirt go to wrap his arm around Kakashi’s neck, Iruka entwined the fingers of his ringed hand with Kakashi’s and drew them back the mere inches it took for his back to hit the brick wall, his smile taking on a mischievous edge as he slid his knee in between Kakashi’s legs. 

“It’s no ring, but I hope that made it clear that I’m promising you the same thing…That I’ll always be there for you whenever you need me,” Iruka said, and his smile only got wider when that made Kakashi laugh. 

A laugh that got choked off when Iruka pulled Kakashi even closer, until their chests were touching, his knee was pressing rather poignantly against Kakashi, and their faces only centimeters apart. “I need you, Kakashi,” he said, his eyes boring into Kakashi’s. 

“Right now would be good.”

Kakashi’s pupils expanded, bleeding a desirous black into his already dark irises, and his smile became sharp before he closed the gap between them, kissing Iruka for all that he was worth. Kissing him for all the days that they’d have to hide what they were to each other from the rest of the world; kissing him for every awful day they hadn’t known each other existed; kissing him for all the days since they’d met that they hadn’t let their hearts be honest with one another, hadn’t closed that distance between them sooner.

Truly, Kakashi was a man of his word, and Iruka wouldn’t want him any other way.