Warnings: More or less a fix-it, ANTI-ENDING, bad decisions, angst, referenced child neglect, Jiraiya's canon creepiness, etc.

Rating: T

Word Count: ~4400

Pairings: Past Naruto/Hinata, past Sasuke/Sakura, future Sasuke/Naruto, some Kakashi/Yamato

Disclaimer: Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

Notes: I don't think I can make my anti-ending tag any bigger or more obvious, so if you disagree with that part of the plot and are reading anyway, I'm just…confused. But please don't rant at me about it—that's just not cool. There are plenty of other stories to suit you better. This is based on my personal opinion, that's all. :)

Drag the Mountain Down

Chapter 4

Yamato isn't quite insubordinate enough with his Hokage to question him in front of his shinobi, but that doesn't mean he waits long after the office doors fall closed behind Sasuke to turn and ask, "Don't you think you're being a little cruel?"

Kakashi hums like he's very, very interested in the trade agreement in front of him, which Yamato knows full well is a lie. "How am I being cruel, exactly, Tenzō?"

"It's Yamato," he protests, entirely exasperated after so many years of beating the same thing into his commander's thick skull. Folding his arms over his chest, he levels a rebuking look at Kakashi's bowed head. "And surely there are more useful things for Sasuke to be doing than chasing four steps behind Naruto. You could at least give him current information."

Kakashi peers at him over the top of the document, grey eyes crinkled around the edges. "Ah, but Tenzō," he says, and continues, cheerfully heedless of the ANBU commander's aggravated 'It's Yamato!', "I'm reinforcing his strength of character. That's my duty as his former sensei and his current Hokage."

Yamato stares at him for a long moment, then sighs wearily and rubs his forehead. "You're being petty," he concludes, and doesn't need to be a Yamanaka to be sure he's absolutely right. The further crinkling of Kakashi's eyes gives him away, and besides that, at this point Yamato has the most finely-tuned bullshit meter in the Elemental Countries. "Making Sasuke chase after Naruto with bad information is all revenge for Sasuke making you chase him."

"In my defense," Kakashi says cheerfully, ignoring the fact that he is, on the whole, entirely indefensible, "I probably won't stretch it out for three whole years." He drops the trade agreement to the side in favor of making grabby hands at Yamato, who ignores him pointedly. After several seconds of stalemate, Kakashi droops back into his chair and pouts at him. "Tenzō."

"It's Yamato," Yamato repeats, frowning at him. "Do I have to go back to calling you Kakashi-senpai to make a point?"

He knows the moment he says it that it's entirely the wrong choice of words, and doesn't need Kakashi's suddenly far more cheerful smile to tell him that. "You know I'm always up for a bit of roleplay, my cute little kouhai. If you can grow your hair out again it will be really convincing."

"Not in the office, Hokage-sama," Yamato hisses, trying not to flush. Sometimes he swears that the portraits of the past Hokage are judging him. Tsunade certainly does it often enough when she's here in person.

"Maa, maa, I was just going along with your suggestion—"

It's probably a bad sign that Yamato sometimes assigns himself grueling twelve-hour patrols around Konoha's borders just to get some peace and quiet away from his long-term lover. Unfortunately, Yamato is very good at making bad decisions, and Kakashi is most of them.

Of course, the way Kakashi is pouting at him is the culprit more often than not. Not overt, not despondent, just—just a 'why won't you do this for me' sad kind of look Yamato is certain he's seen on at least one of Kakashi's ninken before. He strangles a sigh, all but able to see his willpower crumbling, and slides sideways as subtly as he's able. There's no point letting his capitulation go to Kakashi's head, after all.

Because he's an opportunist above all, Kakashi doesn't wait for an invitation. He snags Yamato around the waist and drags him down onto his lap, ignoring the fact that there's barely an inch in height difference between them, and that Yamato is still in his bulky armor. With a low sigh, he leans forward, burying his face in the curve of Yamato's neck.

Vaguely, Yamato hopes that whoever needs to see the Hokage next is the type to knock, but he doesn't move, and he certainly doesn't protest. Threading his fingers through wiry silver hair, he smooths it back, and wonders how much grey Kakashi would be sporting if his hair was another color. Too much, he thinks, and curves his fingers around the back of Kakashi's skull as if by doing so he can protect him from the wear and stress of his position.

Kakashi's nose presses against the skin beneath his ear, and another sigh warms his skin. There's a momentary pause, just enjoying the closeness, and then—

"I think I've figured out why you don't like it when I call you Tenzō," Kakashi says, and that tone is perfectly innocent, even if the sideways look he slants at Yamato is anything but.

"Have you," Yamato says, already sliding back towards aggrieved, but still willing to humor his old commander. "I don't suppose you've come to the conclusion that it's because that isn't my name?"

"Tenzō is a good name," Kakashi tells him solemnly. "You just don't like when I call you that in public, since it's the one I use in bed."

Not even years of experience with Kakashi's innuendo and teasing is enough to prevent the hot flush that rises in Yamato's cheeks. "Kakashi," he hisses. "That is not—that's not why!"

"Makes you want to get me right back into bed," Kakashi continues cheerfully, watching him blush with obvious amusement. "Not that I blame you—ow. Tenzō, you really shouldn't hit your Hokage."

Yamato doesn't deign to grace that with a response, peeling Kakashi's arms from around his waist and rising to his feet. "Work," he says instead, because pouty Kakashi is easier to handle than flirty Kakashi. Mostly because Yamato has no willpower or resistance where the latter is concerned. "Don't you have a meeting with the Clan Heads to prepare for?"

Thoughtfulness slides over the playfulness, and Kakashi looks away, out the wide windows and over Konoha proper. "They're going to want a decision," he says, to himself more than Yamato.

Yamato has all the sympathy in the world for what Kakashi is facing right now, and it leeches softness into his tone when he asks, "Can you blame them? It's an important matter."

Surprisingly, Kakashi's eyes crinkle into another smile—smaller, quieter, still amused but with an undercurrent of clear fondness. "I suddenly have a lot more sympathy for the Sandaime. We're in the same situation right now, and I don't quite know how I got here."

They are, aren't they? Yamato hadn't really thought of it before, but…retirement looming, age pressing, the most promising replacement still finding his feet in the wide world. Naruto's decision to leave had come as a shock, and Yamato still halfway expects to walk around the corner and see him sitting in the midst of vast stacks of paperwork, complaining about Kakashi's work ethic and filling out forms until darkness crept in through the windows.

And how sad, he realizes with a little start, that that's the image of Naruto he defaults to now, when for so many years it was a burning-bright smile and a will that could make the world spin backward.

The previously light mood is weighted now, Kakashi lost in his own thoughts, and Yamato takes one look at him and opens his mouth. Any Kakashi is better than broody Kakashi. "I prefer Kiba, myself," he says, and when grey eyes blink sharply and glance up, one brow arching, Yamato schools his face to straightness and adds, as if mistaking incredulity for a request to elaborate, "As Hokage candidate, I mean."

Complete silence. Kakashi stares at him as if he's trying to pick out a tell, and Yamato stares back without letting his inner laughter show. Really, people always forget that he has a sense of humor, too—doubly entertaining because Kakashi is pretty much the one he got it from.

"…I see," Kakashi says, although he clearly doesn't. "Kiba."

Yamato gives him his best innocent smile, shamelessly appropriated from Sai. "Of course. I've always wanted a dog."

Polite confusion gives way to realization and then amusement, and Kakashi snorts. "Mine aren't enough for you?" he asks, rising to his feet and gathering another stack of files, though his eyes are on his ANBU commander. "Even though Bull definitely likes you more than he likes me, Tenzō?"

"Now you're just fishing for sympathy," Yamato retorts, helpfully picking up the ones Kakashi missed—probably deliberately—and dumping them on top of the pile. One of the remaining scrolls catches his eye, and he scoops it up, not needing the familiar messy writing to tell him who it's from. "Do you want me to file Naruto's report?" Technically, the man can be considered ANBU right now, given his long-term, deep-cover mission. Spymasters generally have the rank of at the very least an ANBU captain, even if they rarely have to use it. Besides, if Yamato is the one to file it, there's very little chance of Sasuke finding it, if he ever thinks to look at Naruto's mission log.

It's maybe slightly possible that Yamato learned his pettiness from Kakashi too. And chasing after Sasuke—listening to Naruto pine as they chased after Sasuke—was aggravating enough that Yamato isn't entirely opposed to a bit of harmless payback.

A hand grips the collar of his flak jacket, and Kakashi pulls him in, getting an arm around his waist and herding him back against the desk. The kiss is deep and hot and entirely unexpected, making Yamato's head spin with a sudden wave of desire. He leans into Kakashi without thinking, answers that hungry mouth with every bit of passion he has for this beautiful, maddening man who has encompassed every bit of goodness in his world since he was a child—

Kakashi breaks off, moves away, leaves Yamato caught off guard and reeling as he takes an aborted half-step after him. "Meeting!" Kakashi reminds him, impishly cheerful again, and takes his stack of paperwork with him as he heads for the door. "You'll take care of that report, right, Tenzō?"

The door is already swinging shut, but Yamato is entirely certain that Kakashi hears him—and is laughing at him—when he cries, frustrated and exasperated and just done, "It's Yamato!"

Bad decisions. Kakashi is most of them. Yamato closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and reminds himself that killing the Hokage is a crime. Even if no one in Konoha would ever blame him.

Ame is wet, Suna is hot, and Iwa is cold. There are a slew of villages between the three, all similar but never the same, and a scattered group of people who are just a little more observant than is average, and mercenary enough or loyal enough to sell what they know. They are retired shinobi, prostitutes, travelers, merchants, housewives, farmers—anyone and everyone who can provide the information Konoha depends on like blood. It's scattered, fragmented, and apart it means nothing at all. Naruto's job is to piece it together into a coherent picture that his village can use.

He remembers, from traveling with Jiraiya the first time, just how it needs to be done. Whispers of a bad harvest in southern Iwa and a heavy one in southern Konoha, plus talk of bandits in Ame's passes that the village headman has no resources to deal with, plus a growing dissatisfaction with those in charge along the Iwa-Ame border—he collects them, string them together, and sends Kakashi a report advising an increase in merchant escort mission prices.

Talk of one of the Daimyō's favored nobles grabbing up land that's not truly available, plus rumors of a growing ambition—those he gathers, unconfirmed, and passes on. He remembers enough of his Hokage training to know that Konoha prospers the most when the Daimyō doesn't put full faith in anyone in his court—shinobi are a blade to be wielded, a poisoned dagger in the dark, and the daimyō is the hand around the hilt. Tax money serves as a large portion of Konoha's budget, because there's simply not enough demand for missions in the quantity that would be required to pay for everything, and even in times of peace it serves the Hokage well to sow rumors of dissent. The daimyō might think they're serving him faithfully, providing protection before he even knows he needs it, but Naruto has learned exactly how many minor threats Konoha inflates and exaggerates to make the village look indispensable.

(He thinks, as he writes the report by firelight, little Jiraiya asleep with his head on Naruto's thigh, of just how many lies the shinobi world is built on. Madara and Obito were right about that, at least, even if they weren't about anything else. The reality of a ninja's life is unflinching truth and deep shadows in equal parts, and growing up comes with learning how to balance them. Not Naruto's strong suit, and he wonders just a little how his Jiraiya managed, long ago.

But then, for all his optimism, Jiraiya was pragmatic too. Naruto just hopes he can find the same equilibrium, given enough practice.)

"Where do we go next?" Jiraiya asks cheerfully, about eighty percent of his attention on the two pretty civilian girls giggling next to the corner store as he flips a kunai through his fingers. Naruto gives it about ten more seconds before he fumbles and almost takes off his thumb. Again.

"I don't know," he says, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. Almost as long as he wore it as genin, now, and it feels a little like a rebellion, no matter how silly that sounds. Like going backwards, but without any of the negative connotations to the phrase. "Which direction do you want to go?"

The kunai fumbles, slips. Jiraiya yelps, jerking his hand back, but not quite fast enough to keep the blade from scoring a deep line of red down the pad of his thumb.

Naruto, who was a hell of a lot more sympathetic the first three times this happened, swallows down a snicker and turns away to hide his grin.

"Hey!" Jiraiya squawks, bouncing after him. "I'm hurt! You're my mentor! Shouldn't you be making sure I don't bleed to death, jerk? And—hey! I thought I got to pick our direction."

"Then pick one!" Naruto retorts, rapping his knuckles against wild white hair.

The little boy yelps, wriggling out of his grasp with all the desperation of a child attempting to preserve his coolness factor. Naruto knows the feeling with; traveling with his Jiraiya never seemed to do much for his dignity, even when he wasn't henged into a girl for the old pervert's amusement.

…Sometimes Naruto looks back on his travels with Jiraiya and can't help but be absolutely astonished that Tsunade never actually beat his old mentor to death, given the amount of creepy stuff he pulled.

There's a moment of silence as Jiraiya squints into the distance, probably attempting to look contemplative but mostly coming off as constipated. Then, with an air of sudden enlightenment, he raises a finger and declares grandly, "East!" then bounces left.

With a roll of his eyes, Naruto catches the back of his shirt and drags him around so that they're actually going east. Jiraiya sticks his tongue out at him, pulling his eyelid down with one finger, but doesn't dwell; he bolts forward, sandals clattering on the hard-packed earth of the road, and leaves Naruto to bring up the rear. Chuckling, Naruto follows, offering a wave to the pretty potter at the end of the street. She waves back, flashing him a hand-sign he's learned means good luck, and then vanishes into her shop.

(Her mother was the one Jiraiya knew, during his time as spymaster. The older woman had cried when she learned he was years dead, and Naruto felt it like the pang of loss in his own chest all over again. He wonders, a little regretfully, if Jiraiya ever knew the potter's mother loved him, because there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. But then, Jiraiya never quite managed to comprehend his own worth to the people around him, gaze set firmly on the future as he forged ahead, and Naruto resents it, a little. Resents the toads' prophecy, and how it changed Jiraiya's life into a never-ending quest, always looking, weighing, planning. Planning for a student who could save the world or destroy it, and Naruto hates that those are two sides of the same coin.)

"Come on, old man!" Jiraiya shouts from up ahead, turning back to wave impatiently at him. "Let's find someplace cool to stop tonight!"

Naruto has always been of the firm opinion that his Jiraiya deserved every bit of hell Naruto gave him while they were traveling, for being such an unrepentant pervert if nothing else. The last few months haven't changed his mind, especially the first time little Jiraiya tried to sneak into a women's bathhouse and got forcefully ejected, but he does wonder how much of this is how own karma coming back to him.

"I'm not old," he retorts, even as he quickens his pace. "You're just a brat."

Jiraiya turns to stick his tongue out at him again, fails to lift his sandals high enough, and trips. With a squawk of mixed surprise and indignation, he windmills his arms, staggers, and falls squarely on his ass.

"Come on," Naruto says cheerfully, sailing past him. "You're holding us up, brat. I want to get to the Waterfall Country border by sunset."

There's a fit of outrage from behind him, and Naruto smothers his laughter, turning his face up towards the morning sky. It's blue and endless, seen from the top of a plateau, and Naruto feels his breath catch a little when he comes to the curve where the land begins to slope away. Iwa is laid out before him, the jagged, rocky pillars of the border a faint haze on the horizon, with deep green pine forests in between, and there's an itch in Naruto's chest, a restlessness in his feet.

"Last one to the trees has to buy the winner lunch!" Jiraiya crows, bolting past him with his pack bumping wilding against his back, and Naruto can't help but laugh, even as he commits the sight before him to memory. He'll try to recreate it on paper in his next letter to Boruto, he thinks, watching with amusement as Jiraiya hurtles headlong down the slope. He waits, timing it perfectly to let the kid think he's going to win, and then calls up his chakra and moves.

He's waiting, lounging casually against the very first pine, when Jiraiya staggers around an outcropping of boulders. The look of outrage on the boy's face is absolutely priceless, and Naruto laughs until he actually cries.

Suna

Score: 9/10

Notes: HOT. At least the company makes up for it. Gaara's just as cool as always, and his people are happy. He probably knew why I was poking around in the lower districts—Gaara's smart like that, and even if he wasn't, Kankuro would definitely notice—but he didn't say anything, so I think that means it's okay. Good ramen here, at least—this guy could be Teuchi's brother or something. And there's a weaver near the market who knows more about Suna's shinobi deployments than even Gaara does, I'll bet. You'd think shinobi would realize they shouldn't underestimate someone just because she's blind. Good for Konoha, though!

Iwa

Score: 7/10

Notes: Did I miss the part where winter hit, or is it just here? I think it's just here. Also, the border is ridiculous. I kept having flashbacks to very big things trying to eat me. Had to be careful making connections, too—there's still a lot of people who are pretty rabidly anti-Konoha. Especially anti-Minato. Still, some of the people were cool, and didn't mind going back to gathering rumors. If I have to set foot in even one more brothel, though, I'm going to find a way to kick Ero-Sennin's ass in the afterlife. Or maybe I'll start making connections in all-male brothels, just to spite him.

…If you're sharing these with your mother, Boruto, please cross that out before you show her. Please. I like my head where it is.

Taki

Score: 2/10

Notes: These people are crazy. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at a gourd without flinching again. Sorry, Gaara.

The newest Gama told me that you got over a hundred on your unit in school. Good job! I sometimes can't believe how smart you are, Boruto, especially with an idiot like me as a father. Your grandparents would be so proud.

Boruto rubs the edge of the parchment between his fingers, frowning down at the most recent message. There's a pile of them in his desk now, carefully hidden, and…

He wants to write back. It's startling, realizing that, but he already has the beginning of his response in his head, ready to put down on paper. Ready to send, and maybe it's not forgiveness, but…it doesn't have to be, does it? Can't it be enough, just this? Because his dad has never remembered his schoolwork before, no matter the score, but this time he must have asked his summons to check. Must have wanted to know, and that's more interest in his life than Naruto has shown in years, even if he's a hundred miles away right now.

My head's all messy, Boruto. No one else should have to deal with that, he had said. Maybe this is what he meant.

When he was talking about the shinobi rules, Shino-sensei told them that emotional distance brings clarity—it's one of the reasons civilians hire shinobi for spying, or for assassinations, beyond the fact that they have more skills. Not being directly involved in a situation makes it easier to see all the angles, all the flaws and secrets and snags. Sometimes people aren't even aware of a bias until they're removed from a situation entirely. And—it was probably the same for his dad.

Clarity is strange. Understanding is even stranger. Boruto stares at the messy slant of ink on paper and kind of wishes he could go back to resentment, to anger. That was easier than this reluctant knowing. It doesn't make him any more likely to forgive, not yet—maybe not ever—but…

He's not quite so angry anymore, and maybe that's a start.

His bedroom door creaks as it's pushed open, and Boruto freezes, caught with no opportunity to hide the letter in his hands. He jerks his head up, ready to spit out excuses, and—

"What are you reading, big brother?" Himawari asks cheerfully, clambering onto his bed and flopping out on her stomach beside him. She squints at the drawing on the page, and asks dubiously, "Is that a tongue? Did you try an' draw a monster?"

Boruto snickers before he can help it, because their father is a lot things, but definitely not an artist. "It's a secret," he tells Himawari on a whim, and lowers the scroll so she can see it more easily. "You can't tell Mom, all right?"

"Okay!" Himawari agrees, always happy to share a secret with him, and Boruto can't help but smile at her.

"I think this is supposed to be Taki's tree and waterfall," he explains as she cranes her head to study the inked scribbles. "It's, uh. A letter. From Dad. He sent me a bunch of them, if you want to see. This one is from when he was in Taki."

Himawari's face scrunches up as she tries to remember something. "That place with the Hero Water that Uncle Kakashi told us about? Where Dad and Sasuke helped them save the village?"

Boruto remembers that story, too. "Yeah," he agrees, and gathers up the other scrolls he's received, laying them out between himself and Himawari. "He went to Iwa, too, and Ame, and Suna. See? He sent pictures of all of them."

"Are you going to send a picture back?" Himawari wants to know, her pale eyes lighting up. "I can help you draw it! I've got lots of crayons!"

Boruto looks at her bright face for a moment, hesitating. But…he does want to write something back, and maybe if he and Himawari do it together it will be easier. "Sure," he agrees, and smiles back at her. "Thanks, Himawari. What kind of picture do you want to send?"

It's not forgiveness. Boruto doesn't know if he can ever fully manage that. But it's a start, it's a step forward, and for now that's more than enough.