Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Winter
Kakashi’s gaze lingered on the back of his father’s head. The man was humming softly as he stirred dinner, seated in his wheelchair. He could only walk a few minutes at a time these days, but he never let it stop him from being active. Kakashi’s throat tightened, a mix of guilt and frustration clawing at his chest. Quietly, still dressed in his ANBU gear but without his mask, Kakashi slipped out of the house.
The mission he’d just returned from had been a disaster. Another comrade lost. Another name carved into his mind. He’d lasted seven years in ANBU—seven years of death, blood, and guilt—far beyond the six-month average life expectancy of most ANBU operatives. Even as Minato protested his continued service, as Kushina recoiled in horror at the stories, and as his father begged him to leave, Kakashi stayed. Why? Because hate was easier to hold onto than healing, and guilt was a constant companion he didn’t know how to part with.
His boots crunched against the snow, the sound oddly soothing in the winter silence. He arrived at the black KIA stones, the memorial for shinobi who had fallen in service. His fingers brushed the icy surface, tracing the names etched there: his mother’s, Rin’s, Obito’s. Each name was a wound, a scar he’d tried to bury but could never forget.
Kakashi stared at their names, his breath clouding in the cold air.
Everyone who gets close to me dies. The thought clung to him like a vice. His chest felt hollow, his body heavy with exhaustion. His hand slipped to his kunai pouch, pulling out the familiar weight of a blade. The sharp chill of the metal bit into his fingers as he turned it over, the reflection catching his haunted eyes.
Before he could process the weight of his own thoughts, a sharp punch snapped his head back.
“Hey!”
He staggered, the blow catching him off guard, and fell into the snow. His ANBU armor clattered as he hit the ground. His one exposed eye blinked up at the small figure towering over him.
It was a child—pink-haired, green-eyed, and dressed in a medical ninja uniform. She smelled strongly of antiseptic, the sharp, clean scent cutting through the winter air.
“Hatake-san, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t,” she said sternly, crossing her arms.
He blinked again, recognition settling in. Sakura Haruno. He’d seen her often at the hospital, tirelessly tending to shinobi patients despite being only an academy student. A civilian girl with no clan techniques to fall back on, she was remarkably talented and unnervingly perceptive.
Before he could respond, her small, gloved hand reached for his face. Her palm brushed against his bruised cheek, her chakra pulsing faintly.
“Think about your father,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the haze in his mind. “Think about the people you’ll leave behind. Your father, Sakumo—he might be able to walk again soon. If you end yourself, how will he go on?!”
Her words hit him harder than her punch. Kakashi stiffened, his breathing uneven. Tears stung his eye, spilling over before he could stop them. It was humiliating. He was an elite ninja, an ANBU operative, and here he was, crying in the snow like a child.
Sakura didn’t seem fazed. She handed him a tissue, her expression calm but determined.
“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked hoarsely. “How can I keep the strength to go on?”
She tilted her head, her green eyes piercing his. “You need healthy coping mechanisms. Do you know how many patients die in the hospital? Civilian and shinobi alike? Do you know how it feels to fail to save them?”
Kakashi swallowed hard, unable to look away.
“I found ways to cope,” she continued. “I have friends. I have hobbies—non-self-destructive ones. And if that doesn’t work...” She hesitated, but her voice steadied. “...Then maybe you should leave ANBU. You look like garbage every time I see you. You need a break.”
Her blunt honesty was like a slap, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Kakashi’s shoulders slumped as he let out a shaky breath.
“And do what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Become a teacher. A jonin teacher,” Sakura said simply. She stood straight, brushing snow off her uniform. “And maybe, Hatake-san, you could try adopting the orphaned of your new assigned team.”
Her words hung in the air, sharp and clear against the backdrop of winter.
Kakashi blinked, taken aback. The thought of teaching—of being responsible for children—seemed absurd. But something about her suggestion lingered, her green eyes burning with quiet conviction.
“They say taking care of others is like taking care of yourself,” Sakura added softly, turning to leave.
Kakashi watched her go, her small figure disappearing into the snowy landscape. Slowly, he got to his feet, the kunai forgotten in the snow.
He returned home to find his father placing a bowl of steaming food on the table, humming a soft tune. For the first time in years, Kakashi allowed himself to entertain the possibility of change.
A week later, to the relief of Minato, Kushina, and his father, Kakashi left ANBU. He was demoted to jonin and applied to be an instructor.
Sakura’s words remained with him, like footprints in the snow.