The Hatake were not always as they are. In fact, they used to be a branch of another clan, trusted as strong, dutiful protectors of their family. But one day, when fate wove Kakashiâs life into the tapestry of time, everyoneâs hair turned white. No one knew why, but soon rumors of a godâs curse spread and suspicion was turned towards the branch members. After a string of unsuccessful births in the main family, they were banished from clan grounds and cast into the wilderness as no names.
With nothing and no one, the branch members rallied together and claimed a territory far off from the main familyâs as their own. They grew green things from the rich soil and named themselves after their life sustaining grounds: Hatake, or âfarmland.â
But for all their name implied inaction and serenity, they were protectors at heart with steel in their spines and restlessness in their blood. So after their grounds were claimed and settled, the Hatake went out to explore the forests in small groups. In packs some joked.
Lurking in shadows and behind ancient trees, the wolves watched their trek warily for it was never good when men ventured beyond their grounds. They always stripped the land of its life and trampled over new growth, eliminating any chance of healing. They forced the wolves away into new lands and pushed them further and further away from their ancestors place of origin. It would not happen again. The wolves wouldnât allow it.
But as they watched, the wolves realized something was different about these humans. Their feet were silent and their presence a whisper. No creature was killed for fun then left behind. Only out of necessity. They were like them, the wolves thought. Another displaced pack hunting for food and making a safe den for their young.
The wolves grew fond of this odd two legged pack and their wildness. Grew fond of the little white haired pups that explored the forests with wonder and respect.
Thus, it did not take long for the wolves to show themselves and offer to share the lands knowingly. It was not a surprise when the pack, or the Hatake as they called themselves, accepted. The pups that ran forward to burry tiny hands in course fur, however, was. But as the wolves watched the human pups grow into sharp fanged predators, they realize perhaps it should not have been.
With each generation the Hatake pack-clan grow closer to the wolves and to the wildness around them. Their teeth grow longer and sharper, their hearing able to pick up the smallest whispers, and their noses able to track prey miles away. In turn, the wolves grow smarter, more canny and intelligent.
But the Hatake begin to feel something inside of them, something sharp and crackling like a storm. They, raised amid the wild, do not bother to keep a part of themselves locked inside and let it release in a shock of storm born lightning.
Itâs chakra the wolves tell them. The energy of the wild made manifest in their cores. Itâs a blessing the Hatake know as they use their gift to hunt and devour the ones who dare try and take their forests.
The men they cull carry weapons that the Hatake have not had new for generation. Weapons that react to their lighting in beautiful beautiful ways.
It does not take long for some Hatake to decide to go to the source of the weapons and gather more. But by doing so, men begin know of them again and gradually they are pulled into war. Long bloody war that wears at their numbers until they are but a scant few.
When a place in a village is offered they are wary but accept. The man who offers smells of forest and growth, a memory of what their forests used to be while they still had the numbers to protect it. They could not refuse, not truly.
They ask for a compound on the edge of the village with the forests behind them. They are not asked why, so they do not tell of the wolves (summons now, for they left the mortal plain when too many of their kind passed on in the war and resources grew too few) that followed them.
But in this village they were not safe for war touched this place too. Their numbers grew fewer yet and loyalty that was once wholly devoted to the pack was now divided between clan and village.
But their traditions kept strong, and one day when a man with wolf summons went on a mission for his village, he returned with two teammates alive instead of dead.
Good his summons growled. The team first as it should be. But the village did not agree and the man was soon dead and his son soon alone.
The child grew the best a lonely pup could. Raised more by his own summons than anyone else, with the contract given as a final gift from his father (the only thing a wolf shunned by his pack had left to give).
The child found connection with his human team too, but did not realize they were pack until they were all dead and gone. It was with broken heart and severed bonds that the boy disappeared into the ranks of tamed men behind the mask of a hound. Behind the mask of a domesticated creature used for the sake of another.
But the Hatake, wild as they were, could not be kept forever. Fangs could not be dulled nor senses diminished, even as they were hidden behind one mask after another. The Hatake were deep forests, crackling storms, live steel, bared teeth, and pack. Not leashes, collars, and commands.
But the boy had lost his pack young, and his clan even younger. He felt the thrum of the wild in his blood and the crackle in his veins, yet he knew not what it meant. Never understood why his body urged him to be still and crouch low to the ground before a pounce. Why his lip drew back in a snarl before he could stop it or why his hands curled into claws before ever reaching for a kunai.
Itâs probably just his ninken, he thought. Their habits rubbing off on him after so long around them. He ignores how the instincts never felt foreign to him. How they were always there, ingrained to the bone, even before his father died. He ignores that and trains himself to respond normally, like a ninja not a dog.
He trains himself until itâs all he knows.
At least thatâs how it is until heâs in a fight with three kids to protect. Three kids that managed to burrow themselves into his heart and make him feel something he hasnât in a long time. So itâs against clawed hands and barred teeth that the enemies fall with blood pooling beneath them.
Kakashi turns to his team, his pack, expecting horror at the massacre they witnessed. But instead of fear, he sees awe. He smells their feelings of relief and safety saturate the air, quickly overpowering the familiar scent of blood.
With three pups crowded around him, one yipping questions as he bounces on his feet and the other two asking for training, Kakashi feels contentment curl deep in his chest. They were his now and clearly they thought much the same about him.
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