She was a slut and a whore and she didn’t even know my dad’s name, and she left me behind...

No.

Maybe some of that was true. Maybe all of it. But that was Granddad speaking, not Ryouma’s own memories. And if Kakashi could push past the bloody memory of his father’s corpse on the living room floor to remember being teased about teething on the furniture, Ryouma ought to be able to do the same.

“She had dark hair. Long, silky, not coarse like mine. Her hands were always warm. An’ the whole world went bright when she laughed...”

How had he forgotten that?

“I looked her up, once, in the Shinobi Registry. Had the old lady working there look her up, at any rate. Years ago, I must’ve been sixteen or so... They had a picture. I don’t know if it was right or not; I don’t remember her face. She was beautiful, though. Looked like the kind of girl who’d kiss you and then laugh when you asked for more.” The kind of woman who’d probably had hungry men swarming her everywhere she turned. Was she to blame if she’d accepted them? He’d never been any better.

“She was a chuunin, Fire chakra, good with kunai. Better at taijutsu than ninjutsu, though. I must have the Water chakra and the ninjutsu from my dad.”

“And your height, probably.” Kakashi looked up, eye narrowing thoughtfully as he studied Ryouma’s face. Beneath the mask his mouth quirked a smile. “I think your eyes are probably your mom’s. Too pretty to be your dad’s.”

Ryouma batted his lashes. Kakashi snorted.

“I was tall even as a kid,” he said, remembering. “Hit six feet by the time I was fifteen. I used to wonder, whenever I ran into a tall man around the right age—Was it you? Kids have a lot of stupid dreams.” He sighed, and wriggled down a little lower on the pillows, enough to tuck his chin against Kakashi’s shoulder. “When I was really small I used to imagine he had a family, and they’d come find me. Couple of years later I still hoped they would, so I could tell ‘em to piss off.”

Kakashi gave a little bark of surprised laughter. “Good for you.” He tugged his hand free and smoothed it lightly over Ryouma’s ruffled hair, as comfortable and familiar as if he were petting one of his dogs. His fingers never jostled Ryouma’s head. "I met your sensei, once. What about your genin team? I don't think you've ever mentioned them."

Ryouma grimaced. “We weren’t exactly one of the shining examples of genin team success stories. Kenichi died early—fire jutsu to the face, before we ever even hit the front lines. He was twelve. Shouri made it to chuunin with me and got pregnant when she was fourteen. It got her out of the war. I haven’t spoken to her in years.”

Kakashi let out a soft, slow breath. “Pregnant by choice?”

“She was screwing jounin when she was thirteen.” Ryouma closed his eyes and remembered those bitter fights in the crowded bunker, Shouri’s thin, dirt-smudged face and desperate-defiant eyes, his own words sharpened to cut: See if I care the hell what you do... “One of the adult kunoichi in our unit got pulled back to Konoha when the commanders heard she was pregnant. I think Shouri saw it as her only way out. Things were pretty bad, then.”

She’d asked him to help her, and he’d refused.

“Hitomi-sensei had been re-assigned after we made chuunin. They stuck her back with me a couple months later, but by then Shouri’d already got what she wanted. And the village needed babies.”

Maybe Kakashi was right. This village was broken. The whole world was. Who among them had ever had a chance?