AN ELDER'S HANDS
Minato was grounded. His mother did not yell at him, which surprised him. However, it was obvious that he lost her trust. He did not realize he got away with so much until his mother started to watch him like a hawk.
"Sorry, Kaasan," Minato said for the hundredth time that night. His mother was silent as she cooked on the stove with Minato on her hip. She did not say anything the whole time they made dinner together, aka Minato sitting there being useless, and only said something after they had eaten together, and she had done their dishes.
"It is alright to be curious, but next time, wake me up. You could have been hurt."
Minato nodded gravely and was pliant as his mother tucked him into that bed that night. He had a restless sleep, but his body was exhausted from exertion and fell asleep.
The next morning, his mother was still upset with him, but was trying not to show it. Maybe his exploring had disturbed and worried her more than he thought.
Despite all this, she fed him with a smile and told him to behave for Baba-san. They both had a quick word when he was out of earshot, and Minato knew that Baba-san was going to give him a lecture.
The elder walked up to him with a judgmental look on her face.
"So, I hear you met my son yesterday," she said, placing her hands on her hips. She was wearing a dark indigo kimono with a red and white symbol on the side.
Baba-san had children?
"Pretty?" Minato giggled when the woman smiled at him at the remark. She rarely did.
"No, the ugly one. Brilliant thing you did there, though. I heard him complaining for hours after that about a baby calling him pretty like a woman."
With that, she swooped him up for his hiragana practice. Minato had memorized what all of them looked like at that point and was repeating how to say them in his head. It was only until later that he realized she had distracted him so well that he almost forgot they were going to have a visitor today.
"Son?" he asked, and Baba-san raised her eyebrows at him. She was once again shining a weapon, but this time it was a long sword he did know the name of, curved towards the end.
"Yes, he is stopping by today," she said with quick humor. She donned a contemplative look on her face and stood up with easy grace. Even though the woman was curved by age, she easily picked him up to put him on the counter after walking into her small, homely kitchen.
"Now, you worried your mother a good bit by running off. I know you are young, but I also know that you listen well, don't you?" she said, poking him in the chest.
"Yes, Baba. No more bad Minato," he said, and she tilted her head. Even though the words were simple and were a direct representation of his limited speech, he meant the words.
"Good child," she said quickly, with a long look.
Minato smiled gummily, and it only hit him when the woman stared at him intently that maybe he was not supposed to react like that. Was he... was he acting too abnormal?
"You are quick, so I expect you to listen to your mother from now on," she said. Then she grabbed his hands into her own.
"We are going to play a game, Minato-kun. Okay?" she smiled.
He nodded and watched her let go of his hands to place her left hand over her right one, which was a fist.
"This is called the dog sign, can you try it?"
Minato nodded his head and slowly tried to get his small fingers to follow.
Minato had been laid down for his afternoon nap when he felt a gentle hand touch his back. For some reason, he felt an odd warmth but was too tired to respond to it. It was probably Baba-san who liked to check on him when he was sleeping on a small futon she had.
"So my suspicion was right." he heard a low voice say quietly.
There was more conversation he could not parse, but he could catch bits and pieces.
"His father is not a shinobi, either?" a man's voice said. Minato was so used to hearing feminine voices that it almost stirred him awake, but a hand gently started to massage his back.
"No, they are both civilians."
"Ah, you think they are going to scout him."
He wondered what they were talking about. Before he could really have a choice in the matter, he started to fall asleep again.
"No, I think that he will not have any choice at all."
It was only months later that he remembered the conversation and wished he had paid attention.
He could not pick up the heavy book, but he could push it forward from where it was on the table from his seat. His mother's eyes caught the movement and quickly picked up the book before he could push it out of her sight. She was reading through a passage before he interrupted her.
"Read," Minato said, eyes wide with wonder. For some reason, his baby brain was fascinated by the pictures he saw on the page. His mother knew what he meant since he always said the one word when he wanted her to read to him.
With his mother's blank face, he added a quick 'please'.
"You will not understand it," she assured him, with a hand to her chin.
But how he wanted to, how he wanted to learn something and be so utterly distracted by it. Besides, if it was boring it would just be normal for him at this point.
Mother looked at him and then sighed. She carefully positioned him on her lap with hands that shook with exhaustion, which made Minato feel a complicated mess of emotions. Softly she explained to him in very simple terms what was on the page. It was a graphic of a human's body.
"This is your heart. Do you know what it does?" she asked and adjusted him so he could see the book. Minato peered, trying to parse through his memories to give an idea of what he did know about the heart. He decided it was safe to shake his head.
"It pumps blood throughout the body," she said as she traced her finger from the heart along the figure's limbs multiple times. "Do you know what blood is?"
He shook his head again, and lulled by her voice he listened to her intently explain the different major organs in the body.
Time passed by like that. The burden of being something different from what he might have been before eased with every passing day. He became more Minato, the child bumbling his way through life.
It directly mirrored how much he also grew to remember. He started to recollect random facts at different intervals. It was in patches, of course. He could remember the names of superheroes from a comic, but not their actions. He remembered the plot of a movie, some insane romcom, but not the name or actors.
The memories of himself were what continued to be blurry. For the life of him, he could not remember what his name used to be. It was as if he was just Minato, with vague impressions of life before and the maturity of someone a couple twice his age.
It made the time pass by fast.
He listened to his mom read him the textbooks, in which she indulged him because it made his mind light up like he was taking recreational drugs. Baba-san kept playing games with him. She showed him all sorts of hand signs and then the games turned into how fast he could remember them and make them. The older he got the easier it was.
She also taught him a chopstick-throwing game, which was his favorite. His third birthday passed with little fanfare, with his mother making him some sticky rice he shared with Baba-san, who hated it but indulged him with a frown.
It was only a week later, and after multiple headaches, that he realized he was remembering more. Memories came to him in confusing waves. The ones he remembered first were the near-factual ones. Such as that he used to live in a specific town that was more flashes than structures.
Then oh, oh. He was so stupid.
Minato pressed his small hands to his forehead. Oh, oh. All of the clues and symbols mixed in his head. Baba-san's weapons and demeanor. The hand-seal game. Shinobi. How hard his mother worked and his parents whispering about war. The name Uchiha echoed in his head like war drums.
Baba-san's name was Uchiha. The man who had saved him was an Uchiha.
He was in fucking Naruto.
That realization was less impactful than realizing the connection between himself and the name Namikaze Minato, and what that meant. Oh, some god had to be laughing at him right now.