Hatake Kakashi was a simple farmer's boy in the outskirts of Konoha. For him, the life of a shinobi was a fantasy. But when missing-nin claim his father's life and put his mother in danger, Kakashi is forced to make an oath—to protect everyone he loves by becoming the strongest person possible. Shinobi were the strongest people around. If he became one, he could protect. [semi-AU]

Yes, I know. I get a break from school and I'm posting this fic, which I may or may not update depending on how much everyone hates me. Gomen ne! I'm still waiting for that Writing Groove so I can write the next chapter of GW. I can write, sure, but it'll turn out sucky. Please forgive my impudence QAQ

As compensation, here's a story that's been plaguing me for a while. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Image isn't mine. Naruto ain't mine. He's a good kid, but I wouldn't adopt him. *is shot*

Scarecrow In The Farmland
'... I would only be back for a second...'

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I plopped on the wild grass that grew in the paddock, hands behind head and one leg crossed over the other. I watched the clouds sailing in the sky, ignoring the grasshopper that slipped inside my boot. I tilted my head to look at the scarecrow behind me. It looked ugly and its sewn face didn't look like me at all, but it gave me shade from the sun. I reached my hand to grab the book tucked into its overalls.

It was an encyclopedia of the world. I opened it up to a page I bookmarked, Yukigakure. The pictures showed me the snow-capped mountains and the shinobi that lived there. I took everything in with amazement—it was so different compared to Konoha.

I'd like to visit Yukigakure one time.

As time passed by, I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I dreamed of the snow village and how cold it was, when suddenly a yell woke me up.

"Kakashi!"

I groaned. Groggily, I sat up and found my father a few yards away. My father, Hatake Sakumo, was at the wagon loading crates, and from the looks of it, he wanted me to help him.

"Kakashi!"

"I'm coming!" I yelled back, springing onto my feet. I would rather stay, but if my old man was loading crates then it meant he was going into the village. I didn't want to miss that opportunity, so I tucked my encyclopedia back into Kakashi #2 and ran under the blistering heat, distracting myself with Yukigakure's snowstorms.

By the time I got there, Father had two crates already loaded. "Took you long enough," he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Here, help me lift the rest."

"Only if I get to go with you," I smirked.

Father gave a halfhearted laugh. "Sorry, but no. Stay and help your mother cook lunch. I hear we're having stew."

"But father, I didn't get to go last time!"

"You can help next time."

I scowled. I really wanted to go into the village. It'd been a long time since I left these plains and it was getting boring.

Hi no Kuni was home to Kohonagakure, a prospering village surrounded by forests and a large monumental mountain. You'd think we lived in the village, but actually we live in the outskirts of Konoha. The outskirts were vast plains inhabited by a few farmers, who made use of the land by growing crops and selling them to the village. It was a simple but rewarding life, and nobody knew that more than my father.

Once every fortnight, Father would visit the village and trade with store owners. I had gone with him enough times to know their demands. The butcher only wanted meat. The Silent Lady hated leeks but loved berries. Whenever Father set up a stall, I would always try to attract customers. There was one time where I sold two oranges by juggling them.

I liked helping out as much as I could. But now, lifting heavy crates wasn't something I wanted to do. If it would get me into the village, then I'd be glad to help.

"Father—"

"Don't make me repeat it," he warned. "You stay here."

My thoughts of carrying heavy crates vanished upon hearing those three words. I wasn't a tantrum thrower. Over the years, my parents taught me to bottle up my anger like a lantern did to a flame. Without a word, I turned away and walked to the house.

"Where are you going?" Father called out.

"To help with lunch," I answered stiffly. "I heard we're having stew."

I squashed the grasshopper in my boot.

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If Father was the breadwinner of the family, then my mother, Hatake Karitoru, was the heart. She balanced my father's gruffness with her gentleness, his strength with her spirit, and his justice with her mercy. I loved both of my parents, but if I had to choose a favorite, I'd choose my mother.

Like Father said, she was making stew. A pot boiled on the stove top, the bubbling noise filling the kitchen. Carrots were being chopped. I flitted towards the pot before picking up one of the carrots.

"Mother, look out!" And then I imitated the flight of a kunai in slow motion, sound effects included. Mother was startled when the 'kunai' hit her arm. She dropped the knife and laughed before taking the carrot from me.

"Don't play with food," she said, placing the carrot back on the counter. She pinched my cheek, cooing, "Aren't you going to the village today?"

"Father said I had to help you."

"That seems unfair," she said, yet that didn't stop her from handing me a small knife. "Here, you can peel the potatoes."

I did as I was told. I dragged a stool over and propped myself atop it, so my torso was level with the counter. I hated how small I was—why couldn't I be taller like most nine-year old kids? I began peeling slowly, the potato's skin curling over the blade. Beside me, the sounds of blade hitting wood could be heard. Peel peel peel. Chop chop chop.

The kitchen used to be full of chatter. Now it was filled with unwanted silence.

I glanced at my mother. There were bags under her eyes. Her face was pale. Her black bangs, which used to sway like the wild grass in windy days, just drooped. Even her laughs were an octave lower.

This wasn't the first time I noticed these things. It seemed like Mother was tired everyday. I didn't know when it started—I'd only noticed last week—but for all I knew, it could've started weeks, even months ago. My mother was good at pretending. I wasn't even sure if Father knew.

"Mother," I started, but a warm sensation stopped me. I looked at my finger and saw blood trickle. I gasped. I had accidentally tried to peel the skin of my hand rather than the potato's.

"Kakashi!" Mother cried, and it didn't take long before she dragged me to the sink to wash the blood off. She grabbed a clean rag and deftly wrapped it around my hand, using it as a shabby tourniquet. I winced at the pain, but didn't make a noise. Instead I sat there feeling guilty for the crimson dots I spilled on that half-peeled potato.

"Kakashi," Mother said. "Kakashi, are you all right?" I faced her immediately.

"I'm fine," I insisted.

"What happened?" came Father's voice as he bolted inside. He didn't need an answer when he saw the tourniquet, and I saw something fierce glinting in his eyes. I was worried I'd get yelled at, even though I knew my father wasn't angry. Father could be scary at times, but only because he saw himself as a lion needing to protect his cub. Needing to protect me.

Mother sighed. "Kakashi just cut himself, but he'll need to go to the Noharas."

The Noharas. I had been there a lot, but not due to simple illnesses. I went there because I had a 'special' condition that required me to have checkups every month. My parents and Nohara-san had been extremely vague about it, and asking them was pointless after spending almost all my life doing so without even a solid answer.

"He'll have to go with you. A quick detour wouldn't hurt," continued Mother.

I widened my eyes as sparks of excitement ran throughout my body. It was such a subtle move! There was no way Father could deny that offer; he'd have bring me along. I mouthed thank you as Mother and I shared a secret wink.

"I don't see why not," Sakumo grunted, turning to me. "Since you'll be tagging along, I'll take you with me for work."

"Okay!"

"You promise you didn't cut your hand so this could happen?"

"I didn't!"

"All right. Just help me lift the rest of the crates, will you?"

I was confused. He knew I hurt my hand, didn't he? But suddenly, I felt guilty. I'd been used to Father's firm tone that I forgot that even he could crack jokes.

I laughed.

Nohara Iyasu was a renowned doctor who ran his own clinic in his family's household. My parents turned to him for help after finding that Konoha's hospital was too expensive. Nohara-san was a former medical-nin along with his wife, Nohara Kokoro, but unlike him, she didn't take up practice.

"So," Nohara-san began, rubbing something that stung on my wound, "you were peeling potatoes?"

"Yeah," I said, wincing at the salmon hue of my skin. The doctor nodded and didn't say another word. He used to ask me casual questions to pass the time, but over time he learned that I liked to keep to myself. I respected him for that. It certainly made things comfortable.

I distracted myself with the posters and equipment scattered in the room. Nothing stayed in the same position every time I visited. I briefly wondered where that autographed picture of Senju Tsunade went, when my eyes flitted onto the door. It was closed before, but now it was ajar. I could see brown eyes staring from behind.

They belonged to Nohara Rin.

I never actually met Rin. I'd only spot her a once or twice during my checkups, but only because she was peeking from behind the door. It was strange. The Hatakes were good friends of the Noharas yet their children weren't. A play-date had been in order, but Peeking Rin (as I had dubbed her) refused to introduce herself.

I chose to stare back. As Nohara-san bandaged my hand, I kept my eyes planted on the ones from behind the door. It was like a staring competition, only there was no competition to begin with. Neither of us blinked, too lost in each others' gazes. Those brown eyes reminded me of squirrel's—curious, yet afraid to confront.

And then suddenly the eye contact broke when Nohara-san blocked the door. It broke me from my trance like a snap of one's fingers.

"All done," the doctor said, smiling. "Be careful next time, Kakashi. I'm already running out of gauze!"

I nodded, hopping off the clinic bed. "I will," I grinned. I then remembered Peeking Rin, so I looked at the door only to find no trace of those brown eyes.

"Are you looking for Rin?" Nohara-san asked.

I flushed, embarrassed that I had been caught. "She watches me every time I come here."

"Rin wants to be your friend, but she's too shy for her own good."

"I don't bite."

He laughed. "I'll tell her that."

He led me out of the door and into the living room where Father was waiting. His eyes lit up upon seeing me. "How is it?" he asked.

I clenched and unclenched my hand, feeling the cottony gauze. "A bit tight, but it's okay."

"That's to prevent any more bleeding," Nohara-san said. "I strongly advise that Kakashi doesn't use his left hand until the wound heals. If it does bleed again, come to me immediately."

"Of course," Father nodded.

As Father and I headed outside the clinic, I looked back over my shoulder. I always did this, and Nohara Rin would always stare back.

The old lady took the punnets of assorted berries with an appreciative nod, before handing Father a wooden box. From behind him, I watched as he opened it and saw a knife delicately strapped inside. I noted the intricate swirls on the handle. Every fortnight, the Silent Lady would trade us cutlery or silverware, the kind with a story behind them. I wondered if a chef had used the knife sometime in the Edo Period.

Father thanked her, tucking the knife case carefully into a bag. The Silent Lady nodded before disappearing behind the door. Her lack of speech had scared me when I first met her. I thought she was a ghost! Nowadays, I could translate her actions for words.

Father couldn't help but smile as we headed back to the wagon. "Your mother will be glad to have a fine knife."

I agreed—Mother was a fan of the Silent Lady's items. "It looks strange though," I added. "The blade is black, not silver like the normal knives we've got."

"That one's special," Father said as we mounted the wagon, before he tugged the reins. The horses trotted away, leading us to the marketplace. As always, it was busy there. There were people spruiking and negotiating and jostling around one another that it made me glad I was on a wagon. It was like being on a boat in an overpopulated lake of fish!

"Looks like we're selling on the wagon again," Father airily said, and I thought that was a given. We always sold on the wagon ever since the marketplace became overcrowded.

The horses led us towards an empty space—a blessing, if we ever saw one—and we settled the wagon comfortably to its side. Father disembarked the wagon and tended to the horses, feeding the pair of them a carrot. "Kakashi," he said, voice raised to drown out other noises, but Father didn't need to say anymore because I was already prying the lids off the crates.

"I know," was my reply. After removing the lid from a crate full of apples, I made sure that everything was secure. There were a lot of robbers in the dingy places of Konoha, including this marketplace. Afterwards, I hung a wooden sign from the wagon's side. I made a mental note to repaint the faded ryo prices before they washed away.

Father was spruiking. His deep voice rang in the air, yet it was like a bell amidst drums. I comfortably sat back in the wagon and kept watch. But really, I was staring into the distance. I could see the Sandaime's carved face on the Hokage Rock, and for a moment, I wondered what it would be like to be a ninja.

Perhaps I was strong enough since I was a farmer's son, but I didn't have the appropriate reserves of chakra ninja needed. I had heard that Father would've made a great ninja had he not chosen the paddock over the battlefield. He was a farmer, so I was a farmer's son. What would being a ninja's son be like?

When I was young, I imagined adventures in between forests and other vast lands, like seas or snow or sand. I had never stepped outside Konoha's borders. The only adventure I was ever allowed was freedom on the plains. Seas and snow and sand only existed in the encyclopedia I owned, and sometimes, I would visit them in my dreams. If I became a ninja, would I be able to visit them for real?

A lot of kids at my school want to become shinobi, yet they would always end up failing. It was simple, really. Civilian kids weren't meant to fight in wars or kill missing-nin. If civilian kids struggled, then how could a farmer's son fare any better?

For me, the life of a shinobi was a fantasy. I was better off in the paddocks like my father, doing what my ancestors did before me.

There was a blur of red. I blinked, snapping out of my reverie, and realized that an apple was gone.

Someone had stolen it!

I frantically looked around me. Faraway, I saw a cloaked figure disappear into an alley. That had to be the robber!

Should I go after him? It was only one apple; we had plenty left. But then I thought of how precious that apple was, how Father worked hard to nurture the orchard to make sure we had the ripest fruit. Now he would never get any gratitude for that apple.

Glancing at Father, I crawled to the back of the wagon and hopped onto the ground. I would only be back for a second. With that in mind, I ran after the thief.

It was hard maneuvering through the crowd, but once I reached the alley, I went into full sprint. Soon, the chatter of the marketplace died away as I ran deeper and deeper into the alleyway. I came before two junctions, the robber nowhere in sight. I scowled. Neither option seemed inviting, and for a moment I thought of going back to the wagon, when I heard the distinct sound of crunch from the right.

They must be there!

I swerved to the right junction in an instant. Darkness waited for me, but I kept running until I saw a figure slouched to the wall. Quickly, I hid behind a dustbin and tried hard to ignore the awful stench around it. I peered at the thief—he was a man, I noted—and watched as his jaw clamped onto the apple with a juicy crunch.

I grimaced. It was too late. I couldn't get that apple back. No, even if I had the chance, I don't think I would've succeeded. And this was a thief I had pursued—someone who was probably armed, someone who could kill. Still, I felt some pity for the thief. Even poverty existed in a great village such as Konoha. My family and I were lucky to have food at our doorstep.

Father must be worried now—I'd no doubt get yelled at later. Sighing, I slowly crawled away from the dustbin when a yelp caught my attention.

I glanced back.

Two men in ninja attire, one pinning the thief to the wall, the other standing by, froze me to the spot. The former had a kunai (a real kunai!) angled towards the thief's throat. I panicked and thought of making a run for it, but upon closer look, I noticed that the ninjas had headbands with an unfamiliar symbol on it; a music note. That meant that they were foreign shinobi.

Running away from two trained killers meant the possibility of death.

Slowly, I crawled back to the dustbin and calmed myself down. I had plenty of practice when I had to hold in my temper, but this time it was fear I was suppressing. I crouched down, ready to run if needed, and I almost did when a voice echoed.

"Where is he?"

I felt curious all of a sudden. Bravely, I peered from behind the bin and watched the three men. It's funny—I was worried that the thief would be dangerous. But there he was, trembling as the ninja glared at him. At the moment, I really pitied the man.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the robber exclaimed.

The other ninja bent down to pick up the half-bitten apple that had rolled onto the floor, probably after being dropped by the thief. "I think you know," he spat. "You stole this apple from his wagon. We saw you running away. Now tell us, where is he?"

"Isn't he still at the wagon?!"

No. My heart pounded like a million beating drums. They weren't talking about Father, were they?

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

"When we checked it, he was gone."

Father must've gone looking for me.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

"I don't know where he went! I just stole an apple and never looked back!" The thief yelped when the kunai pressed harder to his throat, and he automatically continued, "I can tell you his name! Just let me go, please!"

"We already know his name," snarled the ninja pinning him down. "It's Hatake Kakashi."

Hatake Kakashi.

They wanted me.

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.

"If you don't know where he is, what use are you to us?"

"Wait—!"

The sound of blade drawing blood filled the air.

Th-thumpth-thumpth-thumpth-thump.

They killed him.

"I sense a chakra signature... it's faint, but it's there."

I wanted to get out of here.

Running away from two trained killers meant the possibility of death.

My chest felt heavy. It felt like lava was flooding me from the inside, waiting to flow out of me. I felt sickeningly hot. I tried standing up. My vision blurred, and when I closed my eyes, I saw stars. I fell down to my knees. I heard shouts. Then I felt something tug on my arms, pulling me up, and I thought it was Father helping me up to my feet—he had found me, I thought, he had found me—but I met the grinning faces of the foreign shinobi instead.

What did they want with me?

"Shit!"

I succumbed to the darkness.

Th-thump.