Work Text:
The first time Iruka met him, he had just turned seven and his dad had abandoned him.
Okay, no. Maybe ‘abandoned’ was an exaggeration and even seven year old Iruka’s more than silly head knew that, but to say that it hadn’t crossed his mind at least a dozen times would be a giant lie.
Logically, Iruka knew that his dad was just running late—it happened more often than both him and his mom liked, but they couldn’t get that mad at his dad for it because missions never went as planned and his mom sometimes got caught up in them, too—but the sun had already begun to set and Iruka was still stuck with his stupid teacher at the Academy! Everybody else had filed out ages ago, and even Iruka could tell that his teacher was just itching to leave.
She didn’t even like him that much! She was only there because of some kind of rule every teacher had to follow (every child must be super… super-something even out of school hours or whatever, he wasn’t too sure since Iruka had zoned out during her lecture earlier but it was something like that) and she made sure he knew it with the way she glared at him from the classroom window.
If that wasn’t enough to prove that she hated him, then the fact that she ordered him to stay outside made up the rest! Scowling, Iruka stuck his tongue out and blew a wet raspberry at her. It wasn’t his fault he got scared when she yelled in his ear during shuriken practice! Why did she blame him for accidentally slicing her bangs off?
Iruka gazed up at the orange tinted sky and glowered. He hoped his dad never came so his teacher had to stay and watch him!
He glanced back at his teacher’s hunched form and looked away again with a shudder.
Okay, maybe he wouldn’t go that far.
Iruka scuffed the grass beneath his shoes in irritation. His ears still rang from when she’d scolded at him in front of everybody the moment her head was relieved of a couple pounds of dark hair. Whatever, he had huffed then, your hair was ugly anyways!
In hindsight, that was probably not the best thing to say at the time.
At least he was making up for it now. Iruka tossed another shuriken and watched dejectedly as it veered off course, just barely skimming the target.
He sighed. Make that trying to make up for it.
As he went to collect his wayward shuriken, he threw a glance at his teacher. He was unsurprised when all he saw was the back of her head.
This would go a lot better if she would just help me, Iruka thought petulantly for the umpteenth time as he made his way back to his starting point, shuriken in hand. He had already asked before, but after the third scathing remark that he hadn’t exactly needed any help when he had given his teacher a free haircut, he had resigned to practising by himself.
With a sigh, Iruka sent another shuriken flying into a bush.
Then another.
And another.
He hung his head in defeat and went to go bush diving again.
“Stupid Sensei, if you don’t want another accident you should actually come and teach me,” he muttered under his breath as he dug through the spiky leaves, wincing slightly as a few branches caught at his skin.
Gathering all of his shuriken in his arms, he continued cursing his teacher as he sauntered back to his place, watching his shadow bob ahead of him with every step. Then he paused and tilted his head with a puzzled frown. Wow. The grass was really orange now. He didn’t even know it could be that colour. What time was it?
Iruka stole a glance over his shoulder at the clock in the classroom and gasped. It was 6:45. School had ended nearly four hours ago! His dad was never this late, even after a mission.
Iruka looked around worriedly, chewing on his lip. Where was he? Had something happened to him on his way to pick him up? An ambush? Tigers? Did the village even have tigers? Or maybe he got lost! The village was pretty confusing and even if his dad was super cool, he could still get lost and—
“Yo.”
Iruka tripped over his own feet and went down with a high-pitched yelp. He clumsily launched a shuriken at the source of the voice before crashing hard on his butt with a groan, the rest of his hard-earned pile scattering around him.
The voice made a noise of disdain. “What’s wrong with you?”
Iruka looked up and glared at the offending figure. A boy wearing a mask was perched on top of the training ground fence, lazily spinning Iruka’s shuriken on his finger. His dark eyes watched him dully through his impossible mess of silver hair, even with his hitai-ate tied securely around his head. Although, with the fading sun his hair looked a lot more orange than anything. His everything, really.
Even with his undeserved orange halo Iruka thought he looked strangely familiar, but he was more mean looking than familiar. And that meant that he was a stranger. A dangerous (maybe) unidentified (for now) person (probably).
The stranger tilted his head. “You’re terrible at throwing shuriken.”
He almost sounded bored, as if it was Iruka’s fault his skills weren’t entertaining enough. The judgment in his eyes was plain as day, too! He didn’t even look that much older than Iruka even if he had old man hair! Seriously, who had grey hair at this age? Not even his dad had that much and he was old and stressed!
Bristling, Iruka grabbed a stray shuriken and pushed himself back onto his feet. Who did this guy think he was?
Just as Iruka opened his mouth to give the stranger a piece of his mind, to his surprise the other held his hands up placatingly, Iruka’s shuriken slowing down to a halt at the base of his gloved finger. Iruka felt his glare waver slightly and his angry words die in his mouth. Was he judging the other too quickly? What if he really meant no harm? Maybe he wasn’t a total—
“I’m just stating the obvious. There’s no need to get so riled up.”
Iruka’s eye twitched. Scratch that. This guy was a total douche.
“I didn’t ask you!” Iruka snapped childishly, his hand clenching around the shuriken in his hands. “‘S’not like you can do better!”
Wind rushed past his ear before he could even finish his sentence and he could just barely track the flash of steel whizzing past with wide eyes. Distantly, he could hear the sharp crack of wood splitting behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know that this stranger, no matter how annoyingly rude he was, had just hit a bullseye.
Iruka hadn’t even seen him move.
“Well,” the boy drawled, “do you still think I can’t throw a shuriken properly?”
Iruka peered up at him, awestruck. Suddenly, the orange halo didn’t seem so bad.
“How did you do that?” Iruka demanded, bounding up right in front of him, his previous anger fading into the back of his mind. It could wait until later, after he learned how to do that super awesome throw!
The masked stranger leaned back slightly with a wary twitch of an eye. “Practice.”
Or maybe not.
Iruka huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. That was such a bad answer! Did people lose brain cells after they graduated? Stupid shinobi.
“I know that, idiot!” Iruka said irritably, narrowing his eyes at him. “But what did you practice, ‘cause I’ve been here for hours practising and I can’t even hit my target.”
If the other was getting annoyed with him, he didn’t show it. Instead he did that dumb head tilt thing again. Maybe one half of his brain was a lot smaller than the other half and it made him a little wobbly. Wait, that was actually kind of—
“Why don’t you ask your teacher?”
Iruka was going to pull out his hair and scream. Okay, now his theory had to be right. He bet it was the thinking half! What was with this guy? Stop dodging my question, dang it!
“My teacher doesn’t even like me!” Iruka turned around and gestured pointedly at the classroom window. “Look, she’s not even paying attention to—Huh?”
The room was empty. The chair previously occupied by his sensei was decidedly not occupied. Iruka squawked indignantly. “Where’d she go?”
“Ah.” The other scratched his head absently. “She left when I got here.”
Iruka glared. “Then why’d you tell me to ask her if she’s gone?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I meant tomorrow.”
Alright, now he looked positively annoyed. Good, Iruka grumbled in his mind, now you know what it’s like dealing with your thick head!
“Why can’t you just teach me now?” he demanded. “‘S’not like she’s gonna help me tomorrow, anyways.”
Iruka waved an arm at the obviously very empty classroom and looked up at him pointedly as if to say “See?”
The boy looked away and scoffed under his breath. Iruka could see his muscles bunch underneath him and he felt a faint wave of panic wash through him. “Listen, kid, I don’t—”
“I’m not a kid! I’m seven!”
Something flickered through his eyes, but it was gone before Iruka could even begin to guess what it was. Annoyance seeped back into his gaze as if it never left. “Listen, I don’t have time for this,” he muttered as he stood up.
“Then why bother coming to talk with me?” Iruka blurted out and now that got his attention.
The stranger’s eyes darted back to his, slightly wider than before. Iruka didn’t even care that he had just cut the other off even though his parents would throw a fit if they ever found out, but he had to know how to throw a shuriken like that!
Besides, if he could be rude to Iruka, he could be rude back! It was only fair, and his parents said that he should always try to be fair.
When he didn’t get a response, Iruka repeated himself. “Why’d you come talk to me?”
Even through the mask covering the other’s face, Iruka could still see his jaw clench in thought, the orange shifting in the dying light. He seemed unnaturally subdued compared to the steady stream of annoyance he’d been radiating throughout their conversation. Not that he actually looked all that different, but something was off. Or something. Iruka was never all that great with words. Still, he looked up at the boy perched on the fence with an almost pleading expression. Come on, come on…
Finally, the other sighed, eyes shifting at something behind Iruka. “… Maybe because you looked so pathetic.”
Iruka put his hands on his hips and stared at him crossly. “Help me look unpathetic then, unless you want to watch me fail every day, you weirdo! Seriously, if you don’t help me then I’m really gonna—”
The other mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I’m going to regret this’ under his breath before he fixed his gaze on Iruka’s still raving form. If he rolled his eyes, Iruka didn’t catch it, too caught up in his slew of insults that’d have him with a bar of soap in between his teeth if his dad ever heard him.
“Fine,” the stranger bit out, “Go pick up your shuriken. I’ll show you.”
“You’re such a—!” Iruka’s mouth froze through the middle of his rant and he blinked up at him owlishly as the information caught up to him. He lit up and gasped excitedly. “Wait, really?”
“Go before I change my mind!”
Iruka threw a clumsy salute as he stumbled over his own feet in his haste to pick his shuriken off the ground. He grinned. “Yes, Sensei!”
“I’m not your sensei,” the other said flatly. Silently, he landed on the grass just aways from Iruka, crossing his arms.
Iruka looked up from collecting his shuriken and snickered slightly. The guy looked an awful lot like his teacher with how he stood, minus the fact that they looked nothing alike and that Iruka felt a lot nicer with him than his actual teacher. Surely that meant that he could replace her with him?
“Well,” Iruka puffed out his chest, “you’re something!” He deflated immediately after with a sheepish smile, rubbing awkwardly at his scar. “And I’m tired of calling you ‘the stranger’ in my head.”
For some reason, the other’s eyebrows drew together in bemusement. Iruka was confident that if he wasn’t wearing that weird mask, his lips would be pursed together like his mom’s always were when Iruka said something too abstract for the adult brain to comprehend. Maybe this guy really was an old man.
“You… don’t know who I am?” he said it so slowly that Iruka wondered if he’d ever said those words in his life.
Iruka scrunched his face up in thought. Sure, maybe he’d gotten some passing glances at him in the markets and caught a couple murmurs of his name (Kaka-something? Or was it Hata-something? Hata Kaka? Kakahata? … Kahakata? No, that sounded dumb even for some douche like him.) but that wasn’t enough to count as knowing him. Was he missing something? Or was this guy just missing something up there?
“I mean, I think I’ve seen you before and I’m pretty sure someone’s told me before but I don’t remember.” Iruka scratched at his scar again with his free hand. “Should I?”
He shook his head stiffly. “No. That’s fine.”
“Does that mean I can keep calling you Sensei?”
“No.”
“Then what do I call you?”
Iruka was pretty sure his eye just twitched. A gloved hand hauled him up by the shoulder and not-so-subtly shoved him towards the scuffed grass where Iruka was standing earlier. “You do not need to know my name in order to learn how to throw a shuriken.”
Iruka was undeterred, but he plucked a shuriken off the pile just in case. He may have been used to being manhandled, but something told him not to push it.
He settled into the throwing stance easily before grinning. He looked over his shoulder at the other boy, still standing with his arms crossed. Well, maybe he’d push it a little. “If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours? I’m Iruka.”
The stranger looked entirely unimpressed. “Throw the shuriken.”
“Huh?” That wasn’t fair! He was supposed to answer! “But you—”
“Throw. Now.”
“That’s not fair!” He protested with a pout, lowering his shuriken. Fine, if he didn’t want to tell him then he wasn’t going to listen to him!
The stranger caught the slight movement and narrowed his eyes at Iruka. He took an intimidating step forward, a promise of harm radiating from him.
“You throw it, or I leave,” he said.
Iruka jolted and nearly dropped the rest of his shuriken. “Okay, okay!”
Talk about impatient, Iruka grumbled to himself as he brought a shuriken above his head. With a snap, it went careening off to the side like all of his other attempts. It landed with a faint rustle as it buried into a bush again.
Behind him, just off to the side, he could feel the other’s eyes bore into him. A long beat went by without a word, and Iruka huffed as he turned to face him. “Are you gonna help me or are you just gonna stare? What kind of help are you?” he demanded. “You suck!”
The stranger (because Iruka still hadn’t gotten a name) let out a long breath, pressing his eyes shut for a short second before they fell back onto Iruka.
“Your stance is unbalanced.” He stepped closer and nudged Iruka’s back foot outwards with his own. “And while the flick was… fine, if a bit weak, your hands were all wrong. Hold the centre with your thumb and middle finger, not the ring finger. Your index finger also moved to the side as you released, which sent it over there. Here.”
Cold fingers pressed another shuriken into his hand, carefully wrapping Iruka’s own in the right places around the sharp points. He tapped Iruka’s index finger. “When you let go, keep this one straight and pointed directly at your target. Don’t let it move from that point.”
Iruka nodded. “Uh-huh. Okay.”
The hand released him, and he stepped back. “Try throwing it now,” he prompted.
Testing his new stance, Iruka wiggled in his place. He didn’t tumble down, his feet still firmly planted in the grass. Good balance. Nodding determinedly to himself, he made sure to freeze his finger to the target before bringing it over his head once more. With a flick, he launched the shuriken before squeezing his eyes shut. Please, please, please!
Thunk!
Iruka’s eyes shot open and he sucked in a shocked breath. “No way!” he gasped.
There, embedded in the hard wooden stump, was his shuriken! His! That he threw! He didn’t even care that it was closer to the outside than it was to the centre because it actually hit!
Warmth bubbled inside of him and he let out an ear-splitting shout of delight as he whirled to face the other boy.
“Did you see that?” He flailed his arms around half-dizzy with excitement, sending shuriken flying everywhere. It totally undid all of his work to collect them but Iruka didn’t care because he just did it! “I hit the target,” he crowed, “I hit it!”
The other narrowly dodged a flying projectile and sent a glare in his direction. “Watch it!”
Iruka deflated slightly and shot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sorry!” It didn’t last long, though. He perked up again with a hopeful expression. “You did see that, though, right?”
Another unimpressed stare.
Iruka grinned. He knew that look! This guy thought that he was a total idiot! “D’ya think I can do it again?”
Before the other could even open his mouth, a loud slam tore through the bubbly atmosphere. A ragged voice bellowed out his name as a dark figure burst out the Academy doors. “Iruka!”
Iruka didn’t even have time to blink before he was shoved roughly behind the stranger’s taller frame. He gaped at the sight of the glistening kunai brandished in the other’s hand, held in the same way Iruka would hold a hand up to wave hello.
The figure froze in his steps before slowly raising his arms above his head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you kids,” he said, laughing quietly to himself.
Iruka peeked out from behind the other and his eyes widened.
He tugged on the back of the older boy’s shirt, eyeing the kunai warily. “It’s fine,” he said reassuringly, “that’s just my dad.”
For a moment, Iruka was afraid that the other was going to ignore what he just said and decide to attack his dad, but after a bated breath, he slowly lowered the kunai and stepped away. The relief that the Academy’s training ground wasn’t going to be tarnished with bloodshed was quickly overruled by confusion when the older boy bowed to his dad, arms ramrod straight by his side and ouch, surely folding in half like that wasn’t good for your back!
“I apologize for drawing a weapon on you, shinobi-san,” Iruka’s self-appointed shuriken sensei said formally, “I didn’t realize you were this boy’s father.”
Iruka’s dad must have not really registered the fact that someone other than Iruka was in fact there because his gaze snapped towards him and widened, a strange look crossing his face before disappearing. He didn’t quite manage to hide the way his eyes lingered on Iruka’s stranger like something he’d lost years ago, though, even as he waved a hand dismissively. “It’s okay, son. At ease.”
Iruka frowned, but didn’t say anything when the older boy straightened up with a nod.
Iruka’s dad was still for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh. “It was my fault for coming to pick Iruka up so late, anyway.” His dad scratched at his moustache with a scowl, although it looked like he was angrier at himself than at them. Thank goodness.
“Yeah!” Iruka bobbed his head fervently at the other to make sure he knew he was totally forgiven, before turning to send a mild glare at his dad. “Why were you so late, anyways?”
“Aha… that would be my fault, Iruka-kun!”
Iruka startled when a new figure dropped in front of them. His fingers itched for one of the scattered shuriken on the ground, but he settled for the stranger beside him tightening his hold on his kunai once more.
Iruka’s dad blinked in surprise. “Minato-sama?”
A bright, cheery laugh tinkered through the air as the newcomer waved his dad off. “Ikkaku-san, I said you could drop the sama!”
Then he turned to face them, a lopsided smile adorning his face, blue eyes shining clear even through the orange haze painting the world. He brushed some dirt off of his vest.
“Sorry, I hope you’re not too upset with your father! I had to take him for a bit,” Minato chuckled.
Iruka’s jaw dropped and suddenly all of his dad’s strange behaviour flew away from his head.
Namikaze Minato? The Yellow Flash? Here? With us? Dad never said he knew The Yellow Flash! Iruka knew he probably looked like an idiot goldfish and that he should probably stop staring but—Oh my gosh, he looks so much cooler in person and—ack, what is wrong with me! I haven’t even greeted him yet! Iruka flushed red and he had never been so glad that the sun was setting but he should really say something now!
“No!” Iruka blurted out, and it sounded so out of place in the quiet of the evening that he just wanted to melt into a yucky puddle and never wake up again, but the words spewed out of him before his hands could clamp over his mouth. “I mean– it’s okay,” he stammered, “If you needed him then you could take him but maybe next time you’d at least tell me first—wait, no! I didn’t mean that you had to…”
He trailed off awkwardly and he’d never thought it’d be possible to die of shame until that very moment. I just made him think he had to ask to take my dad! Iruka flailed around frantically in his mind. Ack, Iruka, you dummy! You’re seven and not even a Genin and he’s like more than ten years older than you and a Jonin and The Yellow Flash! You can’t order The Yellow Flash around like that–!
A hearty laugh interrupted his racing dilemma and Iruka froze as footsteps approached him.
“Ikkaku-san,” Minato called over his shoulder in mock accusation, “you never said your son was so cute!”
Warm fingers ruffled his ponytail, pulling a few strands loose, and he flushed even harder. Iruka couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad because The Yellow Flash just called him cute. His head tingled from where his hand had made contact with Iruka’s hair. Did a piece of his soul just escape from his mouth? He was pretty sure it did.
This is it, Iruka thought in a daze, I can die happy now.
Distantly, he could hear his dad claim that it never came up.
“You could’ve brought it up, Ikkaku-san,” Minato said with a carefree smile, completely oblivious to the mess of Iruka’s state, “He’s so cute! It certainly would’ve helped pass the time on the mission.”
His dad sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Suddenly, the masked stranger beside him spoke up. “Minato-sensei,” he said flatly, “Stop teasing. Look at him.”
Iruka startled out of his stupor to stare at him. Huh? Minato-sensei? Wait… him? And him?
He gasped.
“You!” He pointed at the other accusingly, and he was so affronted that he didn’t care how he must’ve looked. He could die from the image of tiny pre-Genin him yelling at a full-fledged shinobi who also happened to be a full head taller than him and his dad could give him crap about manners later. “You never said that you were—and him—what?”
The boy shrugged. “It never came up.”
“So!?”
Over their heads, Ikkaku and Minato shared an amused look with each other. Kids, they thought.
With a shake of his head, Ikkaku approached Iruka and yanked him back by his ponytail before his son could launch himself at Minato’s bored charge.
“Iruka,” his dad said warningly, “Behave. I don’t want to explain how you got hurt to your mother at dinner.”
Iruka winced and brought a hand up to rub the back of his head.
“Yes, Dad,” he mumbled. He shot a glare at the masked boy only to be met with a nonchalant stare. It was totally his fault, Iruka grumbled in his head.
His dad must’ve had some sort of Iruka-misbehaving-detection jutsu because he immediately cuffed the back of his head lightly. “Iruka!” he scolded.
“Okay, okay! Sorry.”
Ikkaku let out a long-suffering sigh as he turned to face Minato. “I apologize for my son,” he said, looking down at Iruka with an exasperation. “He has a bit of a temper.”
Minato merely smiled. “Takes after you, hm?” he teased.
“Perhaps a little more than we’d like,” Iruka’s dad admitted. He rested his hand on his son’s head. “Anyways, I should get this one home before his mother yells at the both of us for missing dinner.”
Iruka mentally translated that to ‘before his mom yells at me’, but he dutifully kept his mouth shut. He’d let his dad split the blame just this once since he got to see his hero in the flesh.
Minato nodded in understanding. “Of course. I should take Kakashi home as well.” He clasped a hand on the boy’s shoulder who visibly grimaced behind his mask.
Realization dawned on Iruka and he laughed in delight at the other. “That’s your name! Kakashi!”
Iruka laughed even harder when Kakashi shot his teacher a dirty look out of the corner of his eyes only for the man to look away and whistle innocently under his breath. With the object of Kakashi’s chagrin now decidedly not paying attention (or was he paying too much attention?) Kakashi had no choice but to turn his glare to Iruka.
“Yes, that’s my name,” Kakashi gritted out through clenched teeth, eyes darting towards the fence of his salvation.
Iruka grinned brazenly. “Then I can call you Kakashi-sensei, right?”
“No.”
“But you taught me how to—”
“No.”
Iruka pouted. “You’re no fun, Kakashi!”
A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder and tugged him backwards.
“Alright. Break it up,” Iruka’s dad sighed. He crouched down to Iruka’s level and looked him straight in the eye. Iruka nearly made a face at how dull they looked compared to his dad’s usually lively gaze and frowned. “Iruka,” he murmured, “Minato-sama and Kakashi-kun need to go home, too. Let’s not keep them, okay? Say goodbye.”
Iruka glanced down at his dad’s hands and noticed that they were already forming the Tiger hand seal. His dad must be really, really tired if he wanted to flicker home instead of their usual ten minute walk.
“Okay,” he nodded and held onto his dad’s arm obediently.
Iruka turned and waved to the other two with his free hand, a cheeky smile on his face. “Bye, Yellow Flash-sama! Bye, Kakashi-sensei!”
He barely caught the man’s wave and good-natured “Goodbye, Iruka-kun!” and Kakashi’s growl before he was whisked away into the familiarly disorientating whirl of teleporting.
He stumbled slightly when they abruptly landed in the middle of their living room, just managing to right himself before he ended up kissing the floor.
The smell of food wafted through the air from the kitchen, and Iruka perked up when he heard his mom call out to them. He bounded into the kitchen and immediately took his place closest to the window at the table, his dad following soon after with a tired smile.
A warm bubbly feeling exploded throughout him as he began recounting his day to his parents with huge waves of his arms with each sound effect and exaggeration. He had nearly choked on his food at certain parts (ahem, Mina-sensei) and even with their matching frowns his parents had forced him to slow down, but he determinedly barrelled through it.
And so maybe he got another bop on the head for insulting Kakashi by—truthfully, mind you—calling him a douche with a stupid mask and saying that he had a stick somewhere that he couldn’t say but could gesture with his hands (that earned him a tiny lecture from both of his parents and the third look over his head of the week), but they’d beamed and ruffled his hair with a congratulations when he got to the part where he actually managed to hit the target so at least that was something!
It was the most he’d ever talked in a while and he had to guzzle down a glass of water every three minutes just to make sure he wouldn’t regret opening his big mouth tomorrow in class, but oh how he laughed.
Iruka laughed and laughed that dinner, and it wasn’t until he was tucked into bed that he belatedly realized that he’d left all of his shuriken at school.
He had laughed then, too, until his sides ached and his cheeks were sore.
Iruka let out a content sigh as he burrowed further under his covers, gazing softly at the moon’s reflection on the water outside. He closed his eyes and smiled.
It was good to be home.
Kakashi, he mused, I think we’re gonna be good friends.