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I wrote this last night at like midnight. It’s been a while since I was around a 4 year-old, but let me tell you they are cutthroat. Kids don’t hold back. Also sorry for typos. I didn’t feel like going through it a 3rd time.
Words: 2.702
Rating/Warning: General / Mentions of death, grief, mourning
Pairings: None (could be SakumoxReader if you squint)
Inspo: This series of headcanons by imaginesensei
Also on AO3
The hustle and bustle of the house was both appealing and overwhelming. A dozen or more wild-haired, loudmouthed adults crowded into the kitchen, clanging pans over a hot stove and stirring pots of bubbling liquids and throwing caution to the wind as they played with fire and knives in a startling array of talent and haphazardness. The cooking skills of ninja never ceased to amaze you. But this particular evening was different - there was a more familial sense about it all. This was no ordinary dinner, this was Thanksgiving dinner. With Sakumo’s deceased wife’s family. Her side of the family was much different than Sakumo - they were boisterous and invasive and never stopped talking. Six people were in the kitchen trying to cook over each other while five sat around the dining room table, and another half dozen or so lounged about in the living room trading stories everyone had already heard ten times before.
Sakumo had explained that they nearly always had Thanksgiving dinner with his wife’s family, since he had no real connections with his side of the family, and it was nice to spend time with the people who also loved his dearly departed as much as he did. This year he had invited you to the celebration since you had no one to spend Thanksgiving with this time around. He must’ve said something to his wife’s family because they never asked you what your situation was - whether you had no family, or they were busy, or you didn’t want to see them. Sakumo never pressed these issues (it’s why you had befriended him in the first place), but his idea of “Everyone is entitled to their own secrets” must have been a topic of discussion before you arrived because there were very little questions about your personal life. Which you were grateful for, although you did suspect some of the people guessed you and Sakumo were an item, which you weren’t.
The man in question was sitting at the table with his wife’s father, talking about something shinobi related, you were sure. Nothing you were interested in at the moment. Your attention was on the 4 year-old standing at Sakumo’s side, one hand clutching at Sakumo’s pants, eyes narrowed in dislike at the adults clamoring in the kitchen like a flock of gulls at an abandoned picnic on the beach. He did not look pleased. In fact he looked the complete opposite of pleased. He did not want to be there.
You had witnessed this annoyance grow firsthand; when the three of you first arrived, you had been introduced as Sakumo’s friend who was joining their Thanksgiving dinner (received with lots of hugs and nudges and comments about your clothes and your “smart-looking face” and your excellent choice of friends), and then the attention was turned to the 4 year-old Sakumo held.
Poor Kakashi. He hated the attention he received. All the hugs and kisses and cheek-pinching and “oohing” and “ahhing” from aunts and uncle he didn’t care for, and grandparents he only spend holidays around, and cousins he despised for their antics because they were “too old to be acting that way”, even though they had few years more than himself. He’d shown up with his little mask on but it had been quickly discarded by an aunt who was hellbent on giving him a kiss on his unclothed cheek, squeezing his face and gasping, “You look so much like her.” When he tried to pull it back up, Sakumo told him to leave it off since they’d be eating soon anyway - and that they were around family, so he didn’t need to wear it.
It had been nearly an hour since you three arrived and Kakashi’s mood had tanked dramatically in that short span of time. Mostly, he was grumpy that the food wasn’t ready yet and he had to wait to eat. Sakumo kept handing him snacks - pieces of fruit or crackers from the appetizer tray on the table - but it did little to fill Kakashi’s little stomach. He pulled and pulled on Sakumo’s pants, grabbing the tablecloth with his other hand. He tried to tug the cloth down, bringing the snack tray closer to him but Sakumo stopped him, prying the cloth out of Kakashi’s balled up fist.
Sakumo was beginning to look exhausted - more exhausted than normal for a single father who worked full time as a soldier of his village - and you decided it was time for you to take action. Making your way from the living room, gratefully excusing yourself from a rousing conversation about ninja tools with one of Kakashi’s second cousins (who looked older than Sakumo and his father-in-law combined), you walked over to the kitchen table and knelt down beside Kakashi. He gave you a side look that said he did not want you there.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, reaching up to bring the snack tray closer to the edge of the table. “Do you want something off of this?”
Kakashi said nothing, eying you with suspicion and extreme dislike. Clearly you were doing something wrong.
“I know you want dinner,” you said, picking up a small stack of buttery crackers and some cheese slices, “but we’ve got to wait a little bit longer. Why don’t you eat these?”
Kakashi turned away and pawed at Sakumo’s leg again, trying to climb into his lap.
“He’s tired,” Sakumo explained, ruffling Kakashi’s head of silver hair. “He got up early this morning and hasn’t had a nap at all.”
“Oh, I see.” You smiled gently at Kakashi but he continued to give you the stink eye. “I can take him to go lay down for a nap.”
“Thank you, that’d be wonderful. Kakashi, you need to go lie down, okay? And take a nap. When you wake up, the food will be ready and we can eat, okay?”
Kakashi huffed and tried again to climb into his dad’s lap. Sakumo gently pried him away and you picked Kakashi up in your arms. He pressed his fists against your chest, pushing away from you and leaning back to get to Sakumo.
“Don’t be fussy,” Sakumo said calmly, looking directly at Kakashi. “You need to go lie down, okay? And I promise that when you wake up, food will be ready.”
Sighing heavily, Kakashi sat back up and grasped at your shirt collar, reminding you that he was in charge and he didn’t like this but his dad said he needed to do it, and he couldn’t go against his dad. You walked him to one of the guest bedrooms at the back of the house, the noise fading but the smell of rich food still thick on the air. You laid Kakashi down on the bed but when you tried to stand up, you were pulled back down. He clung to your shirt, his dark eyes glaring into yours. Confused, you tried to peel his fingers off of your clothes but he had a vise grip - far too strong for such a young boy.
“Kakashi, you need to let go of me, okay? Let go and then you can go to sleep. Then dinner will be ready and -”
“Don’t want you,” he said.
“Huh?”
His hands gripped tighter and you swore there was malice in his eyes.
“Don’t want you,” he repeated, his dark eyes turning darker. “Not Papa. Not Mama.”
“I - I know I’m not your dad or your mom,” you said, hesitating on the last word. “I’m not trying to be.”
“Mama will come back,” he said angrily, pushing you away and releasing your shirt. “You are not Mama.”
“I know I’m not,” you said, rubbing your throat with one hand. Were all ninja babies this strong? You bit your tongue as you thought of what to say. Of course Kakashi was angry. This would be another holiday without his mother, and here you were - joining his family dynamic without his permission. Kakashi had been dismissive of you before, but once he found out you were attending their Thanksgiving as well, he hadn’t spoken a word to you in over two weeks. Now it made sense. He feared you were trying to replace his mother.
You knelt beside the bed and Kakashi turned on his side, his back facing you. “I’m not trying to be your mom,” you said gently, trying to carefully word your spinning thoughts. “I’m not trying to take her place. Your dad and I are friends only. You know what friends are.”
“Mama will come back,” Kakashi said again, this time his voice cracking softly. “Mama always comes back for me.”
Swallowing hard, you sat on your heels and folded your hands on the bed. “I’m sure she will,” you said, not quite sure what to say in this situation. “I think she’ll … she’ll come to you when you need her the most. She’ll know when that is. All mothers know that.”
Kakashi’s tiny body began to shake and you heard a soft sob rise out of his throat. “Papa said Mama will come back for me in my dreams.”
“He’s right,” you murmured. “Your mom will take care of you from where she is. You can always talk to her in your dreams.”
“But I - I want Mama here.”
“I know you do.”
Kakashi sat up suddenly and wheeled on you, his small face beet red and coated with hot tears. “You don’t know!” he screamed, his lips sticky with tears and spit. “You don’t know Mama! You aren’t her! I want Mama here! Not you!”
You sat back, staring in surprise at the young boy. He glared at you through the tears, not bothering to hide his sobs. “Kakashi, if I could give you your mother back, I would -”
“Good! Go where she is! Bring her back!”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek and looked away, ashamed. “I can’t. No one can. But … you can keep her alive in your heart, Kakashi. Didn’t - Didn’t your dad tell you that? No one can really die if you keep them alive in your memories and in the love you give to other people.”
Kakashi sniffled and wiped his eyes with his wrists. “I c-can’t,” he cried, his voice thick with sorrow. I f-forget things … and I o-only love Papa.”
“That’s good enough,” you said, reaching out to wipe a few tears from his cheeks. “You don’t have to have to love a lot of people, and you don’t have to remember everything. You just have to remember who it is that’s important to you. I doubt you’ll forget your mom. She seemed pretty special.”
“She was.”
“And if you ever forget some things about you, you have your dad to talk to. And you have all of those people out there who know about her too. I bet Ojiisan could tell you some pretty good stories about your mom.”
Kakashi buried his face into his hands and sighed heavily. “I don’t like Ojiisan.”
“I guess you don’t have to like him,” you mused. “But you could listen to him. I’m sure he’d be more than glad to tell you some stories.”
Kakashi finally looked up at you, eyes watery and red, some combination of tears and snot bubbling down his face, his hair even more wild than usual. “You aren’t Mama,” he said. Before you could respond, he cut you off by saying, “But you … You knew Mama?”
“Kind of,” you admitted. “I only knew her for a little bit.”
Kakashi nodded and wiped his nose with his arm. “Will you … remember Mama, too?”
“Of course I will.”
“Do you … love people?”
You nodded. “Yes, there are some people I love and care about. You and your dad are two of those people.”
“So she … she’ll live in you too?”
You gave a soft, sad smile and nodded. “Yes, I believe she will.”
Kakashi reached out and grabbed your face, pushing your cheeks with his wet palms. “Help me … keep her ‘live. Please.”
You fought back your own choked sob and nodded. “I-I’ll do my best.”
Kakashi’s large, misty eyes searched yours to see if you were telling the truth. Satisfied with your answer, he let go of you.
“You’d better lay down and take a nap,” you said, turning away to wipe your eyes. “You’ve got to be rested before dinner.”
“You have to wake me up when it’s time to eat,” Kakashi said seriously, laying back down. “Okay?”
“Okay, I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll wake you up in time for dinner.”
Kakashi relaxed into the bed and closed his eyes. “Tell Papa I did what he said.”
“You took a nap?”
He shook his head and rolled onto his side, once again turning away from you. “Talked to you.”
“Talked to me? He told you to talk to me?”
He shook his head again. “Papa said to talk to someone … about Mama. To ask about her.” Kakashi sighed again and curled up, wiping his nose once more. “Talked to you … Maybe … Maybe … talk to Ojiisan. Later.”
You patted the bed. “Good. I’m glad … I hope you do talk to him. I’m sure he has a lot of good things to tell you.” AS you stood to go, Kakashi rolled over and his arm shot out, grabbing your wrist and holding you in place.
“Please …” He paused and looked up at you. “Please remember … Please remember Mama. And Papa. And me. I want to … I want to live on, too. In memories.”
You smiled down at him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Kakashi, you don’t have to worry about that. I can tell now - you’re very special. And so is your dad. People will remember both of you for a very long time. There’ll be lots of stories about both of you. And I’ll be sure to keep you, and your dad, and your mom in my memories, okay?”
Kakashi squeezed your wrist before letting go. “I’ll remember you too.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
Kakashi turned away from you for the final time and let out a dramatic huff. “You can go now.”
“Oh. Okay.” Standing, you gave a final look at the small boy lying on the bed. “I’ll come back in a little while to wake you up for dinner. I hope you have good dreams.”
The boy scoffed. “Mama’s there. Of course they’re good.”
“Right.” You quietly left the room, shutting the door behind you. You joined the lively crowd in the dining room again, sitting down next to Sakumo. He looked over at you, weary but happy.
“Did he go down okay? He can be really troublesome when he’s cranky.”
“He was fine,” you said, giving a smile just as weak but filled with the same happiness. “He wants you to know that he did what you said. And he … He has good dreams.”
A momentary glimmer of sadness passed through Sakumo’s eyes but it was replaced with joy and he reached out, patting your hand. “Good,” he breathed. “That’s very good.”
You both sat in the midst of the chaos, saying nothing for quite a while. Finally Sakumo removed his hand from yours and cleared his throat.
“We can’t be the only ones not helping with dinner,” he said, standing. “That just makes us look lazy. Why don’t we pitch in so we can eat sooner? I’m sure Kakashi would appreciate it.”
“Maybe we should just let him sleep, he seemed pretty tired. I know I promised to wake him up, but …”
Sakumo laughed and moved towards the kitchen. “You don’t know my son. He may have warmed up to you a bit, but he would never forgive you if you let him sleep through Thanksgiving dinner. No, I think we should help and then we’ll get him up. Besides, it’s important for him to be with us for today. Maybe he’ll …” Sakumo glanced down the hallway before he stepped into the kitchen. “Maybe he’ll even listen to a few stories from his grandfather.”
“Yeah,” you said, taking the wooden spoon you were handed and tapping it on the edge of the stove, musing over your conversation with Kakashi. “I think he might.”
Is there or will there be an equivalent to "Thanksgiving" in "Israel?" A holiday celebrating an imaginary hangout where the occupier and the occupied shared food and company? Will this be the origin story for all the food and recipes they stole? Will it also overlook the campaigns of coordinated food destruction that were part of the genocide?
Can the US (& white folks generally) kick its genocide habit? It's looking like no and in the back of my mind I'm waiting for us to die so it can stop.
If you're hosting a US Thanksgiving or any manner of anti-colonial feast on the same day, this weekend is a great time to pull out all your containers and lids.
How many pairs still match?
How many are broken?
How many are you comfortable sending home with your guests and never seeing again?
Shout out to anyone who is more grief than gratitude today, to those of you who are literally at a loss, to all y’all letting it just fall apart, to whomever can’t “get it together.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ For what it’s worth — and I think it’s worth a lot — the words grief and gratitude come from the same place, from the Proto-Indo-European root *gwere- which means heavy, weighty, venerable, but also: to favor. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This is the way that grief equals praise. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This is the way that fungi remediate oil spills. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This is the way that death isn’t the opposite of life, but is necessary for life itself. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Martin Prechtel says: ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “To begin remembering our Indigenous belonging on the Earth back to life we must metabolize as individuals the grief of recognition of our lost directions, digest it into a valuable spiritual compost that allows us to learn to stay put without outrunning our strange past, and get small, unarmed, brave, and beautiful.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This is how composting what needs to die can bring the hope of new growth. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ He goes on: ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “By trying to feed the Holy in Nature the fruit of beauty from the tree of memory of our Indigenous Souls, grown in the composted failures of our past need to conquer, watered by the tears of cultural grief, we might become ancestors worth descending from and possibly grow a place of hope for a time beyond our own.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ So ruin Thanksgiving. Or run into the woods and become a mushroom. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Whatever you’re grieving, you can praise it here: toss it into this hot compost heap. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I am listening… #Thanksgrieving ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ --- Spore print from a recent forest bath, inspired into being by @marybethbonfiglio
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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