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Chapter Text

Iruka's POV - 1 week after Naruto left with Jiraiya (for the time skip)

Ichiraku was too quiet without Naruto.

A week ago, he would’ve been here by now—slamming the curtain aside like it had personally offended him, shouting for “old man Teuchi” before he’d even sat down, arguing with his own stomach about how many bowls he needed.

Tonight, the only sound was rain against the awning and the soft clink of chopsticks as I pretended I still had an appetite.

Steam rose from my ramen, curling in front of my face like it was trying to hide me. I stared at it, willing the familiar smell of broth and miso to reach the part of me that usually relaxed here.

It didn’t.

Naruto had been gone for seven days. Long enough that the village had settled into a new rhythm. Long enough that the kids at the Academy had stopped asking when they’d see him. Long enough that I should have adjusted.

I hadn’t.

“Rough day?” Teuchi asked gently.

I blinked and looked up. He stood across from me, towel over one shoulder, watching me in that quiet way he always had. The stand felt the same as it did when I was a kid—wood, warmth, the hum of simmering broth—but everything else in my life had been scraped raw and rearranged.

“You could say that,” I answered, fingers tightening around my chopsticks. “We’re still patching the Academy roof. Every time we think we’ve fixed one leak, three more show up.”

Teuchi chuckled, lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “That’s Konoha for you. Fix one thing, three more break. You’ll have it sorted soon enough.”

I hummed, noncommittal, and forced myself to take a bite. The ramen was good. Of course it was good. It just sat in my stomach like it didn’t know what to do there.

“Naruto came by before he left,” Teuchi said, turning to stir one of the pots. “Tried to pay for every bowl he ever ate.” He snorted. “Nearly broke his brain when I said no.”

A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “That sounds like him.”

“He mentioned he’d say goodbye to you last,” Teuchi added casually. “Said he wanted that one to matter the most.”

The words landed like a kunai between my ribs—not deep enough to kill, just enough to hurt.

I could still see him standing at the gate. Bright grin, eyes a little too wet, pretending he wasn’t scared. He’d shouted his dream again, like he always did, as if volume alone could make it true. Then he’d hugged me so hard it knocked the air out of my lungs.

'Iruka-sensei… watch the village while I’m gone.'

As if I was enough. As if I was someone who could keep anything safe.

My throat closed. I set the chopsticks down, hands suddenly unsteady.

“Sorry,” I said quietly. “I’m just… not very hungry tonight.”

Teuchi studied me for a moment. “Naruto will be back,” he said simply. “And when he is, he’ll eat enough for both of you.”

I managed a weak laugh. “You might regret saying that.”

The curtain rustled.

I didn’t have to turn to know who it was. My whole body went rigid before my mind caught up.

Kakashi walked in, rain still clinging to his hair. He moved like he always did—lazy, controlled, like nothing could touch him unless he let it. A week ago, he’d stood in front of the Hokage’s office talking to Jiraiya. Before that, he’d come back from the retrieval mission carrying Naruto in his arms, soaked and white-knuckled.

My stomach tightened.

“Welcome,” Teuchi called.

Kakashi gave a casual wave and took a seat three stools down from me, like this was any other night. Like the world hadn’t been tilted sideways and left like that.

“Iruka,” he said, nodding.

I glanced at him, just enough to be polite. “Kakashi-sensei.”

My voice came out more formal than I intended. Too tight. I knew it; so did he. He tilted his head slightly, like he’d noticed a puzzle and wasn’t sure whether to pick it up.

“What can I get you?” Teuchi asked.

“Spicy tonkotsu,” Kakashi replied. “Extra spice, if you don’t mind.”

Teuchi snorted. “Ayame was right. You are trying to burn a hole through your stomach.” But he was already reaching for the ingredients.

I stared down at my ramen again, the steam blurring my vision. I should have stayed. I should have said something normal. Asked how he was doing. Thanked him for—

For what?

For bringing Naruto back half-dead? For not being able to keep Sasuke from leaving? For surviving when so many others hadn’t?

Heat crawled up my neck, a familiar, ugly mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle.

I wasn’t angry at him. Not really. That first night, when he’d come back from the Valley of the End, when they’d rushed Naruto past me on a stretcher—that had been anger. Sharp, white-hot, easy to grab.

This… was different.

This was heavier. Messier. It sat in my chest and refused to move.

If I looked at him too long, I saw Naruto limp in his arms again. His steel gaze, every movement precise in a way that scared me more than panic ever could. If I looked away, I still felt him there, a quiet weight at my back, like gravity itself was sitting three stools down.

I didn’t know what to do with any of it.

Teuchi turned to the back, muttering about needing more bowls. The small space suddenly felt too close, like the air had thickened.

My chopsticks clinked against the counter as I set them down. Half the noodles were untouched.

I pulled some coins from my pocket and placed them beside the bowl.

As I stood, I felt Kakashi’s gaze slide toward me. Not sharp. Not accusing. Just… noticing. It made my skin prickle.

“Have a good evening,” I said, bowing my head slightly.

It sounded almost normal.

“You too,” he replied, warm and mild, like there was nothing strange about any of this.

I didn’t trust myself to look at him. I stepped out into the rain before I could change my mind.

The cold worked its way into my bones, and the quiet gathered itself around me.

Konoha at night in late autumn wasn’t exactly peaceful, just subdued. Lanterns glowed behind closed doors. Water dripped from the eaves and gathered in shallow puddles on the street. Somewhere distant, I could hear ANBU moving across the rooftops, their passage marked only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft thud of feet on tile.

My feet carried me toward my apartment on instinct. The village had grown used to the new Hokage, to the repairs, to the rhythm of missions under Tsunade’s orders. People laughed again. The kids argued in the hallways. Life pushed forward.

I still felt stuck.

By the time I reached my building, the drizzle had soaked through my hair and the collar of my uniform. I toed my sandals off at the door, shrugged out of my vest, and headed straight for the shower.

Hot water beat down on my shoulders, washing away the chill. I braced my hands against the wall and let my head hang forward, eyes closed.

This year has taken so much.

More children in my classroom were orphans now. Faces too young; carrying grief I knew too well. Watching them lose their parents felt like losing mine all over again.

Mizuki had smiled like a friend right up until he wasn’t. He’d twisted what I gave him into something sharp, and I’d been the last to see it coming.

Now the Third Hokage was gone. Hayate was gone. Naruto was gone—for now, I reminded myself, for now. Sasuke was somewhere I couldn’t reach, walking a path I couldn’t drag him back from. The Akatsuki wanted the boy I’d once held while he cried over a stolen scroll and a lifetime of neglect.

And Kakashi… Kakashi kept standing in the middle of it all. Quiet. Steady. Carrying things I didn’t know how to name.

I didn’t have room to care about him. I barely had room to breathe.

I shut off the water and dried off, trying to leave the thoughts in the steam-soaked air. It didn’t work. They followed me into my bedroom, where I pulled on a worn shirt and comfortable pants and lay down on the futon.

The ceiling stared back.

I counted cracks in the plaster, marks from years of small leaks that had been patched over and over. I tried to think about lesson plans, about the stack of ungraded tests on my desk, about how I was going to explain basic medical ninjutsu to a bunch of first-years without terrifying them.

My mind circled back to the same place every time.

Naruto’s grin. Sasuke’s scowl. The Third’s kind eyes. Mizuki’s false ones. Kakashi’s single, tired gaze as he’d looked at me across the ramen counter.

The tightness in my chest didn’t ease. If anything, it grew.

I exhaled sharply and sat up.

If I stayed here, I’d just keep sinking. I knew the feeling too well: the slow erosion that came when I did nothing but think. When I was a kid, the Academy had saved me by giving me something to throw myself into. Later, teaching had done the same.

Tonight, grading papers wasn’t going to cut it.

I grabbed my flak vest, shrugged it on, and took my kunai pouch from where it hung by the door.

The streets were almost empty now. Most shops had closed; only a few lanterns still burned. The rain had softened to a fine mist that made everything shine. It carried the smell of wet stone and damp earth, clean and faintly metallic.

My feet found their way to the small training field near the Academy. It was one of the first places I’d learned to throw a kunai. I’d watched students come through here for years, all awkward elbows and too-wide stances, trying so hard to look like real shinobi.

The field was empty now, save for the dark shapes of the posts and targets.

I stepped out into the grass. It squelched quietly under my sandals.

For a moment, I just stood there, listening. The distant rush of the river. The whisper of rain through the leaves. Somewhere, an owl called softly.

I pulled a kunai from my pouch.

“I can’t follow you,” I said under my breath, not sure if I was talking to Naruto, Sasuke, or some younger version of myself. Maybe all three. “But I can at least stop being useless.”

I drew in a breath and let my body fall into familiar patterns.

Throw. Turn. Step. Pivot. Strike.

My muscles remembered the movements even if I hadn’t practiced like this in weeks. Teaching meant I used my voice more than my body. The kids saw me as a stable presence, someone who scolded them into line and handed out tests and patched scraped knees.

It was easy, sometimes, to forget that I was still a shinobi.

I didn’t want to forget tonight.

Rain plastered my hair to my forehead, dripping into my eyes. My shirt clung to my back. The kunai bit into my palms just enough to remind me I was here, that this was now, that I still had a body that could move and a mind that could learn.

I threw at difficult angles—ones I’d struggled with as a teenager. Let the kunai sail, listened for the dull thunk, adjusted for the wind, the slickness of my grip, the slight shift in weight from one foot to the other.

Each impact into the target eased the pressure in my chest by a fraction of a degree.

I thought of Naruto, stubborn and bright, running headfirst into danger. Of Sasuke, eyes full of a hurt so young, then it had started to look like anger and nothing else. Of the Third, smoking his pipe and speaking gently even when delivering the worst news. Of Mizuki’s smile twisting when he dropped the mask.

And of Kakashi, standing at the edge of the hospital bed after the retrieval mission.

My chest gave a painful little twist at the memory. I threw harder, pushing the thoughts away.

By the time my last kunai hit dead center, my arms shook with effort. Breath came harsh, fogging in the cold air. Sweat mixed with rain on my skin.

It didn’t fix anything. Naruto was still gone. Sasuke was still gone. The dead were still dead. My heart still felt like someone had hollowed it out and forgotten to fill it back in.

But the ache had shifted. Less like drowning, more like treading water.

It was something.

I retrieved the kunai, sliding them back into the pouch one by one. My fingers fumbled on the last one, numb with cold and fatigue.

The village was even quieter on the walk back.

At my apartment, I peeled off my soaked clothes, dropped them in a heap near the door to deal with in the morning, and collapsed onto the futon without bothering with the blanket.

The last thing I thought of before sleep dragged me under was Naruto’s grin and Kakashi’s tired eye, layered over each other in ways I didn’t want to untangle.

Sleep wasn’t gentle.

But at least it came.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:
Sleep did come, but it wasn’t kind.

I was small again, barely more than a child, running through smoke and screams as the Nine-Tails tore through the village. I could see my parents ahead of me, just a few steps away, their faces determined but kind as always. I reached for them—

But no matter how fast I ran, the distance only grew. My lungs burned, my legs ached, and still I couldn’t catch them.

The streets twisted, and suddenly I was older, chasing Mizuki through the trees. His laughter echoed, cruel and sharp, as he clutched the forbidden scroll. I pushed harder, kunai in hand, certain this time I’d catch him—

Until he blurred into someone else. Pale skin, snake-like eyes. Orochimaru. He loomed ahead, holding Naruto in one hand, Sasuke in the other, like dolls he could crush whenever he pleased.

“Stop!” I screamed, voice raw. I ran harder, feet tearing at the ground, but the distance stretched on and on. Naruto reached out toward me, mouth open in a soundless cry, while Sasuke’s gaze burned with that same stubborn defiance that used to be so familiar.

No matter how I reached, I couldn’t close the gap. They slipped farther away, swallowed by shadows.

I jolted awake, chest heaving, tears hot on my cheeks. Sweat clung to my skin, my hair damp against my forehead. The clock on my desk glowed back at me — not even four hours. That was all I could manage. That was all I’d managed most nights since the village was attacked

I wiped my face with both hands, forcing myself to steady my breathing. I had work still waiting for me and sleep wasn’t much of an option anymore.

With a sigh, I pushed myself up. A splash of cold water from the sink helped, though it didn’t chase the heaviness from my chest. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognized the man staring back. I was a far cry from the man Naruto called the sun. Now I was red eyed and weary.

I shook my head and wiped the remaining sleep from my eyes. No point lingering. I tied my hair back, pulled on a fresh uniform, and left for the Academy. At least if I buried myself in work then I’d be useful.

On the walk toward the Academy, I caught sight of someone sneaking off a balcony. Two ANBU flickered across the rooftops in the distance, heading in from a mission. Life in the village moved on, even if I still felt stuck.

I nearly jumped when a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“It’s a bit early for you to be out and about, isn’t it?” Asuma fell into step beside me, cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily in the morning air. “The Academy doesn’t open for another few hours.”

“I couldn’t really sleep,” I admitted.

He gave me a once-over, his frown deepening. “Judging by those bags under your eyes, I’d say you haven’t been sleeping well for a while.” He flicked his lighter, took another drag.

“Ehh… yeah. Not since the attack.” There wasn’t much point trying to hide it from Asuma. He’d just drag it out of me anyway.

He hummed low in his throat, not pressing, just walking beside me. It was nice, having someone there.

“Iruka,” he said finally, voice quieter now.

I glanced at him.

“You’re the best of us.”

The words felt like too much. My cheeks heated. “Asuma-sensei, I can’t imagine how. I’m just a chūnin at the Academy.”

“That’s exactly why,” he said, no hesitation.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

He let the silence stretch for a beat before smirking around his cigarette. “Tell you what — why don’t you come by and play shogi with Shikamaru and me sometime? The kid keeps beating me. Maybe you can even the game.”

He winked. Despite myself, I smiled. Asuma had mentioned before that Shikamaru was one of my brightest students, just too lazy to bother with the work. The memory tugged at something warm in my chest, even as my thoughts drifted back to the nine rookies who had all passed the first two rounds of the Chūnin Exams. When word spread, I’d been swamped with questions about my teaching methods. As if I had some secret formula. I shook my head at the thought.

“I’ll come by,” I said before I could second-guess it. “But I should warn you, I’m not very good at shogi.”

Asuma barked a laugh, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

I blinked at him, caught.

“Don’t think I forgot the first time we played,” he said, grinning now. “You stayed up all night studying openings just so you wouldn’t lose. And then you beat me. On your first game.”

My ears went hot, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That was years ago.”

“That’s you all over, Iruka. You can’t stand to see anyone left out or hurting… but when it comes to yourself, you never let up. Always pushing, always competing with your own damn shadow.”

We walked a little farther, laughter chasing away the heavy quiet that had followed me since last night. For a moment, it almost felt normal again.

But then, as we turned toward the Academy gates, a figure stepped from the shadows. Kakashi, carrying a scroll under one arm.

“What happened to meeting at the gate?” he asked mildly, handing the scroll to Asuma.

“Just chatting on my way there.” Asuma took it, slipping back into his serious tone as easily as exhaling smoke. “Did you get any more details from Lady Tsunade?”

“Yes. I’ll brief everyone on the way.” Kakashi’s single eye flicked toward me, unreadable, before he vanished into thin air.

I felt suddenly out of place, like I’d intruded on something.

Asuma sighed, taking the last drag of his cigarette before grinding it out. “We’ve got an S-rank mission. Might be gone a few days.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll let you know when we play shogi again.”

And just like that, he was gone too.

The street felt quieter than before, and I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the empty space where they’d been. Then I turned toward the Academy.

By the time the sun had fully risen, I’d finished grading the last of the test papers. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, but the walk with Asuma still lingered with me, lightening the weight I carried. With the stack cleared, I turned to the week’s curriculum, making adjustments here and there.

The quiet broke as my fellow teachers trickled in. Someone snorted when they saw me already at work.

“Iruka, you’re going to make the rest of us look bad if you keep showing up this early,” one of them teased.

I laughed it off, though my cheeks warmed. “Just trying to stay ahead.”

Truth was, it felt good to be useful.

Today’s lesson would be on basic medical ninjutsu. General first aid wasn’t glamorous, but it was critical. I planned to spend the rest of the week reinforcing it so that even the slowest students could manage under pressure. You never knew when a simple wrap or splint might mean the difference between life and death.

I waved to my colleagues and headed toward my classroom. Even before I stepped inside, I could hear the chaos. Sure enough, Konohamaru was standing on his desk, shouting back and forth with another boy who had dared to challenge him.

I sighed. First day back under a roof, and already they were trying to destroy it.

“Take your seats,” I called out, stepping to the front of the room. “We have a very important lesson today, and we’ll be spending the rest of the week mastering these skills.”

That caught their attention. The room quieted, curious eyes fixed on me.

“What are we learning, Iruka-sensei?” one of them asked eagerly.

“Medical ninjutsu and first aid,” I answered.

The room grew unusually still. For a moment, their faces reflected the same unease I’d seen in the adults since the attack. Even children felt the shift in the air.

“You don’t need me to tell you how important this is,” I went on gently. “One day, you won’t be sitting behind the stone faces anymore. You’ll be out there, defending our village. And when that time comes, knowing how to treat an injured comrade might be the most valuable skill you have.”

To my surprise, Konohamaru’s hand shot into the air first. “I want to volunteer to go first, Iruka-sensei!”

One by one, the other hands followed, eager now, not to outshine each other but to learn.

I couldn’t help but smile. Asuma’s words from earlier echoed in my mind: “You’re the best of us.”

Maybe I was starting to understand what he meant. If the children carried the Will of Fire, the village would endure.

With that thought, I began the lesson, demonstrating different wraps and explaining how to stabilize various wounds. The students practiced on one another’s arms, fumbling and laughing at first, but gradually getting the hang of it. By the time I dismissed them with homework, they were flushed with excitement instead of fear.

I cleaned up the supplies, gathered my things, and made my way toward the mission office.

Kakashi’s POV:
The trees thinned as we got further from the village. We changed into Anbu gear just before entering the Land of Rivers. I stowed my extra gear in a scroll, then tugged my mask a little higher. Beside me, Asuma exhaled smoke like he had all the time in the world. Tenzo and Genma kept pace, quiet and steady.

The mission sounded simple when Tsunade handed it down: eliminate a smuggling ring, recover intel, and burn the rest. But missions that sound simple never were. Especially when the words possible Akatsuki connection are attached.

I’d volunteered. I had already lost Sasuke. I wasn’t about to let them have Naruto. Tsunade hadn’t asked why. She’d just added Asuma to the roster. He was a babysitter in all but name. Though I couldn’t blame her. I used to be famous for treating myself like I was expendable. These days… maybe I was worse.

Once we hit the border, I sent out the ninken to give us a trail. We stopped to make camp and rest. I had passed on the Intel to the team earlier.

“Twenty fighters,” Asuma said around his cigarette. “If they are Chūnin level, it shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

I hummed noncommittally. We both knew the intel was almost always wrong on missions this high.

The next morning, we followed Pakkun. They found the camp easily enough. When we reached the ridge, the camp stretched out below us. There were easily twice as many fighters as promised and enough weapons to start a small war.

Genma gave a low whistle, senbon bobbing. “That’s not twenty.”

“I’ve counted fifty,” Tenzo added, eyes narrowing.

Asuma’s frown deepened. “Kakashi, we should report back. This is bigger than what we were told.”

I crouched, taking in the scene below me. Hanabi bridge came to mind, and my blood felt like ice. “If we leave now, they scatter. And those crates end up in the wrong hands.”

Asuma gave me a long look while snapping his lighter. “You don’t change, do you?”

I didn’t bother answering.

It took some convincing, but we agreed to at least monitor them and gather what Intel we could. An extermination was unlikely with these numbers.

We waited until nightfall to move in. Careful. Silent. For a while, it almost worked.

Then I felt the give under my boot.

Something snapped.

“Landmine,” I muttered, but it was too late. The blast went off, shaking the trees. Shouts rose below.

I exhaled, taking stock of myself. I managed a substitution but the heat still got my left leg. “Well… there goes subtle.”

Steel rasped as I drew a kunai. Asuma was immediately beside me with his knives ready.

“Knew following you would end bloody,” he sighed.

“Typical Kakashi mission,” Genma added with a smirk, kunai already in hand.

“You all complain too much.” I opened my left eye and focused on the new information from the Sharingan. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

We took down 15 smugglers easily. They charged at us, but it didn’t take long to realize the smugglers weren’t the real threat. We learned that the moment the ground blew apart under our feet again.

The first mine went off in a plume of earth and fire, hurling Genma back against a tree. He was up again quickly, but the shockwave still rang in my ears.

These weren’t standard traps. It was too refined for a Chūnin.

Then I heard the voice mocking us from above.

“Art really is the only way to make an entrance.”

My gut tightened. He wore the same robes I’d seen on Itachi.

He stepped out onto a boulder overlooking the camp, pale hair glinting in the fading light, a bird of clay perched on his shoulder. He looked more like a performer than a shinobi, but the landmines scattered under the soil told another story.

“Akatsuki,” Asuma muttered, pulling his knife from a nearby tree. “Figures.”

Tenzo’s wood style spread across the ground, probing for more traps, but nothing was set off. His explosives were well hidden and not set off by motion alone. Even ANBU-trained eyes struggled to pick them out.

The blond Akatsuki grinned down at us, eyes sharp. “You Leaf shinobi always underestimate art. But these beauties? They’re a masterpiece. One wrong step and… kaboom!”

Another detonation lit up the treeline as if to punctuate his words.

“You wanna report back now?” Asuma asked sarcastically.

“Quit joking,” I said, assessing the enemy’s movements. The Sharingan was using too much chakra for a drawn-out battle, but I didn’t see another option with an opponent this skilled. “If he escapes, the next target could be the village or Naruto.”

Asuma exhaled. “Knew you’d say that.”

Genma spat blood and drew his blade. “Told you, Kakashi missions always end in blood.”

“Mm.” I drew a kunai, eyes locking on the clay bird in his hand. “Try not to step on anything that explodes,” I said as we jumped back.

I lobbed the paper-bomb kunai toward the stacked crates, the little tags burning bright as they hit. If there were clay charges buried beneath the soil, a timed paper explosion might be enough to set them off early.

The first blast did what I hoped; a low boom ripped through the camp, and a scatter of dirt and bark flew up where the crates were stacked. The enemy laughed — a happy, high-pitched sound like someone enjoying a private joke.

“Not bad,” he called, voice carrying. “But predictable.”

From the tree, my Sharingan painted the field in slow motion. His hands moved like a conductor, shaping clay into birds and small, lumpy things that looked harmless until the chakra flowed through them. One bird exploded midflight, a bloom of fire and earth that tore Tenzo’s wood barrier apart. Another dove toward us and detonated in a ring that threw Asuma off his feet; he hit the ground and rolled, dirt spitting up around him as he scrambled back into formation.

“Watch the birds!” Genma barked as he skewered one of the smaller clay figures to a tree before it reached him. He laughed at the taste of dirt and adrenaline on his tongue. “Artsy little bastard!”

Asuma moved like a coil, backhanding a charging fighter with his knife that sent him into the trees. He was the kind of presence that steadied others, the breath between blows. He reached me in two long strides. “We need to get up close or get out of here,” he said. “Those clay creatures are too unpredictable at this range.”

I considered arguing and ran through our options. Grab someone for Intel, pull back, call in reinforcements? I watched the Akatsuki release another bird, giggling like a child with a toy. The thing flexed, lifted, and dove. There was no time for better options.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s just destroy what we can and get to a safer position.”

We cut down the slope, trees whipping the air around us. The world narrowed to shouts, chakra, and the scent of hot metal. My Sharingan keyed to the enemy’s wristwork. He wasn’t fast by standard metrics, but he was clever — every motion wove a new wave of bombs. I threw a clone between a detonating petal and Genma, catching the shockwave. Another exploded next to me. Pain flared, a hot bloom, and then it was gone; we kept going. Tenzo pushed forward, his wood-style arms snaking up to catch a falling crate before it crushed us. The wood groaned and split as the load shifted, but he held it long enough for Genma and Asuma to clear it.

The enemy’s grin widened. “You never disappoint.” He thrust a hand toward the ground. The earth tore up. A string of clay charges erupted, like a swarm of bees. I cursed and spun, throwing a paper bomb that took out half of them. Sparks skittered uselessly over the dirt.

Asuma ran a blade along his forearm, signaling a formation. He ran, and I followed, and with us came Tenzo and Genma in a tight, practiced wedge. Asuma’s knives flashed; he struck two more clay figures, knocking them away. He barreled through a cluster of smugglers, then pivoted and met my eye, breath loud in the small space between us.

“You and your bright ideas,” he said, a half-laugh that carried no mirth.

“Can we place blame after we get out of here?” I replied. With the clones and the Sharingan, I was approaching my chakra limit.

After we took cover behind some rocks, I was able to see a pattern. He never sent bombs into the central tent. I pointed it out, and Tenzo nodded.

“You think whatever the Akatsuki wants is in there?” Tenzo said, understanding without my need for additional explanation. I nodded, and we decided to just go for it. He reached the tent’s support pole and slammed hardened wood into the walls, forcing a seam. The ground shuddered; a hidden cavity collapsed in on itself, taking with it a string of tiny clay figures. A few detonated, but we still got a view inside. It was a crate in the middle surrounded by barriers and bombs.

The enemy’s eyes narrowed. “Clever. But someone really should have taught you not to touch other people's things.”

He clapped, and the sky answered: a massive clay bird unfurled, and he jumped onto it. It dove for Tenzo first. I moved without thinking, putting myself between the threat and Tenzo. The bird hit me full in the chest. The impact sent a white bloom of clay across my chest and shoulder and then exploded.

I was somehow still alive, slowly realizing Tenzo used his wood as a shield to save me from the worst of the blast. Genma took a grazing wound along his cheek; Tenzo’s arm was singed where the bird had scraped him. One of the few smugglers left was down with a terrible slice across his throat. The battlefield was honest and savage, and it smelled like blood and dirt.

The enemy laughed again, delighted. He clicked his fingers, and a dozen smaller figurines launched like a flock. I planted my feet and decided to use the last of my strength to use Chidori. A precise torrent of lightning pushed out from my body and sent the clay birds falling harmlessly around us. They were weak to lightning attacks, but I didn’t have any more chakra to keep this up.

“Run!” Asuma shouted. He’d placed bombs on the main crate stack and was now running toward us.

He grabbed me as he ran. Genma and Tenzo followed. They were covered in blood, and I was slowly realizing I couldn’t move my legs anymore.

“Get back to the village,” I told Asuma, choking in the smoke. “We have done enough.”

Asuma hesitated, looking over me, then shoved some papers into his coat. “Shut up, I already know.”

Two things happened at once. The enemy’s expression hardened. He launched a concentrated barrage of tiny clay bombs that detonated around us. Genma and I moved at the same time; he blew up one cluster, and I struck the next with what little lightning I could muster. The burst bloomed in front of Tenzo and washed him with a hot gust that pushed him backward. The ground beneath us gave way, swallowing us. Asuma lit his lighter, and we were surrounded by my Ninken. Biscuit and Shiba were bloody but still moving.

“We need to get you all back to the village.” Pakkun said, leaving little room in his tone to argue.

Asuma was still holding me up; my vision was starting to blur.

“Can you send for aid?” Asuma asked, laying me against a wall and pulling something from his vest.

“Get this back to the Hokage for me and let her know we will be delayed getting back.” Asuma said, rolling up the papers and writing a quick message for Pakkun, before sealing it and handing it over.

“We will do what we can,” Pakkun said, looking at Bull and then me with worried eyes. Then he was gone.

“We will move as far as we can away from here and then reassess our situation.” Asuma said, his tone irritated me. I was leading this mission.

“No,” I said, the single word snapped out of me. “We can’t let them go after Naruto.” My voice sounded thinner than I liked, but the facts didn’t change.

Asuma’s eyes found mine. “Kakashi….”

I tried and then failed to stand. Asuma cursed and hauled me onto his shoulder. Genma half-carried Tenzo. The ninken forced a path through the collapsing earth, clay charges still cracking overhead.

The tunnel behind us gave way with a roar. I felt wood beams come up around us. It held long enough to keep us from being buried. The blast shoved us forward, choking us in smoke.

“Art!” The blond's voice carried faintly on the wind. Then silence.

We staggered into a pocket of broken rock, alive by luck and stubbornness. Genma spat blood again. Tenzo’s barrier smoked where the clay had lit it on fire.

“Damn it,” Asuma muttered. I didn’t need to look to feel the weight of his glare.

“Asuma…” My Sharingan pulsed, pain driving into my skull. My chest felt sticky. Every part of me ached.

“Don’t talk,” he snapped.

He was right, but I still pressed my palm to the ruin of my vest, still tried to look at them. Tenzo. Genma. Asuma. My stupid eyes wouldn’t focus. The apology caught in my throat.

Asuma lit a cigarette, smoke drifting in the dark. “You’re an idiot,” he said, tired. Then, after a drag: “But I guess this counts as a success.”

I tried to answer. Maybe it came out. Maybe it didn’t.

Pain flared as he shifted me higher onto his shoulder. “Let’s get our tails home before Tsunade has a fit or Kakashi bleeds out.”

Voices blurred together. Ninken padding. Rock shifting overhead. The last thing I knew was the sound of Asuma’s breath, steady even under the weight of me, and then the dark pulled me under.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:

There was about 15 minutes left at the mission desk and I felt my mind drifting back to today’s class. Konohamaru’s wrap job had looked more like a birthday present than a field dressing, but he’d been proud of it, and the others had followed his lead. Watching their eagerness stirred something I hadn’t felt in weeks… hope. Or maybe just the reminder that the village still had a future worth protecting.

Still, exhaustion weighed on me. The nightmare from the night before clung like smoke, and I knew tonight wouldn’t be any better. My body ached for rest, but my mind wasn’t about to grant it.

I was the last to leave. I closed the door behind me and stepped into the hall. A few other instructors were gathered near the stairwell, voices low. I caught my name in passing, but their words weren’t sharp, only concerned.

“He’s going to work himself sick.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I smiled stiffly and kept walking. Attention never sat well with me.

Outside, the air was cool, touched with the scent of rain. I lingered a moment on the steps, watching the villagers hurry home, children darting past with marbles as if the attack had never happened. The illusion of normalcy.

But in the distance, high above the rooftops, I thought I saw smoke. Not from chimneys. Something darker, heavier. My chest tightened before I could reason with myself. My mind snapped back to the night my parents died.

I forced myself to take a breath. Missions were always happening. Teams were always deployed. Not every plume of smoke meant loss.

Even so, I found myself muttering under my breath. “Be careful, Asuma.”

I was almost to my apartment when a massive hound skidded to a halt in front of me, dirt and soot spraying from its paws.

“Do you know medical ninjutsu?” he demanded, chest heaving.

It took me a moment to process. “Y-yeah. Only the basics.”

Up close, I could see the state of him: singed fur, scratches across his flank, reeking of smoke.

He weighed my answer for half a breath, then clamped his teeth gently around my sleeve and tugged. “Come with me. Pakkun already went to the Hokage.”

My stomach dropped. If Pakkun was involved, if they were calling on me… something had happened to Kakashi. To Asuma.

“Wait,” I blurted, yanking free and bolting up the stairs. My hands moved without thought — grabbing the pack I kept by the door, the one with first aid supplies, bandages, rations. Always ready, just in case.

Then I was out the window, landing in a crouch. “Lead the way.”

“You’re one of Kakashi’s hounds, right?” I asked once we were moving, my voice ragged.

“Yes. Now hurry.” His pace quickened, and I forced my legs to match, even as my chest burned.

We ran for hours, past the gates, into the Land of Rivers. The night air was heavy with damp earth, each step hammering the question deeper into my skull: How bad is it?

By the time we reached the cave, my legs felt like stone. At first, I saw only darkness, then the flare of a lighter.

Asuma.

The tiny flame flickered, painting his face in sharp lines. He sat propped against the cave wall, arms cradling Kakashi’s limp body.

My breath caught. Kakashi was a wreck of blood and burns. The pool beneath them was dark and spreading. Two more ANBU slumped nearby, both masked, and both clearly wrecked. Dogs ringed the cave mouth with their hackles up.

“Iruka?” Asuma rasped. His voice was rough, like smoke had scoured it raw.

“I’m here,” I said quickly, already shrugging off my pack. My hands shook as I knelt, but muscle memory took over. I turned to the hounds. “Wood. Please.”

They scattered and returned moments later with branches, dropping them in a pile. I signed a quick fire jutsu and coaxed the sparks to life. Flames licked upward, filling the cave with light.

I shifted Kakashi carefully, cutting back his vest and shirt with the kunai. The damage made my stomach clench. Burns ran along one arm and across his chest. Bruises blooming dark and ugly. His ribs were broken on the left side; I could feel them shift beneath my palm. There was entirely too much blood. I ran my hands over him, looking for the source. There was a gash hidden in the burnt flesh. I focused chakra into my hands. I needed to stop the bleeding. Bleeding always came first. Then burns and splints. I felt for the tissue, trying to weave it closed. If I did this right, it might be just enough to keep him breathing. Please hold on.

Minutes blurred past. Then, voices at the cave mouth. I recognized Pakkun. Relief cracked through the haze of stress when two figures stepped in: one in a crisp white hospital uniform, the other unmistakable.

“Shizune,” I breathed. My chakra faltered, almost giving out entirely.

She knelt at my side in an instant, her hands already glowing. “You did well, Iruka.” Her tone was brisk but kind. “I’ll take Kakashi. Can you bandage Genma for me?”

“Yes.” My voice was rough, but I obeyed.

Genma was slumped against the wall, his senbon now in his mouth, his mask hiding half his face. I tugged it down and found a trail of blood staining his chin.

Genma winced as I wiped the blood from his mouth. His breath was shallow, his eyes unfocused, but he forced a grin when I pressed bandages to the split along his jaw.

“Don’t ruin my looks too much, Sensei,” he rasped.

I huffed, trying for a smile, but it fell flat. “Just hold still.”

By the time I tied off the wrap, his breathing had evened out. I glanced back at Shizune. Her hands glowed steady and bright over Kakashi’s chest, her expression sharp with focus. The pool of blood had slowed. Relief hit me so hard my hands trembled.

I turned to Asuma. He hadn’t said a word, just watched me with those heavy, assessing eyes. Up close, I saw the truth: a long gash tore along his right arm, burns licked across his shoulder, and his uniform was stiff with soot and blood.

“Your turn,” I said.

He gave me a tired smirk and held out his arm. “Didn’t think you’d boss me around one day.”

“Didn’t think you would give me a reason to,” I muttered, pulling fresh bandages from my pack. I had enough chakra to stop the bleeding and start mending some of the burns. His arm trembled under my hands, but he stayed steady, watching Kakashi more than me.

On the other side of the cave, the other medic-ninja bent over the last team member, coaxing his burned arm into splints of wood he shaped himself between ragged breaths. Genma leaned back against the wall, already dozing.

The dogs weren’t spared either. Two of them lay in the shadows, sides heaving, their summoning contracts burned out by the wounds they’d carried. They wouldn’t make it back. My throat tightened, but I kept working, hands steady even as my chest ached.

Finally, Shizune sat back with a long exhale. Kakashi’s breathing was still shallow, but the bleeding in his chest had stopped. She pressed one last seal against his side, then covered him with a cloak.

Her eyes moved to Asuma. “We have no choice but to make it back tonight. He won’t last another day like this.”

Asuma’s mouth tightened around the cigarette he hadn’t lit. “How do we move him? We’re all half-dead ourselves.”

“And if we wait, he dies here,” Shizune snapped, the edge in her tone cutting through the smoke and damp.

The cave went quiet.

I swallowed hard, my hands frozen on the bandage I’d been tying. The truth pressed in on me from every side. Kakashi’s skin was ashen, his breath shallow, his body limp in Shizune’s arms.

Something cracked open in my chest. I wanted to scream at him for being reckless, for throwing himself into danger like he didn’t matter. I wanted to cry because he mattered to me more than I wanted to admit.

Naruto’s face flashed in my mind, all the times he’d come running to me, desperate for approval, desperate for someone to care. Kakashi had been there too, in his own way, holding Naruto to impossible standards, but never letting him fall.

I realized then that my feelings weren't just grief. It was fear. Fear of losing him the way I’d lost everyone else. Fear of seeing Naruto come home to a village missing another piece of his world.

I tightened the bandage on Asuma’s arm with more force than necessary. He didn’t flinch, just raised a brow.

“You okay, Iruka?” Asuma asked quietly.

I shook my head, unable to answer. My throat was too thick, my chest too heavy.

Shizune’s voice cut through, brisk and firm. “Everyone, get up.”

I bent to lift Kakashi. “Iruka, keep pressure on his side. Asuma, you’ll help Genma.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Asuma muttered, groaning as he rose.

I cradled Kakashi against my chest, feeding the last of my chakra into his side to keep the wound closed. “I’m going ahead,” I told Shizune. “It’ll be faster if I don’t wait for the others.” Then I bent close to his ear, my words barely a whisper. “Don’t you dare leave me, Kakashi.”

Shizune extinguished the fire and nodded once. “Go.”

Two hounds ran ahead, leading us into the night. With each step, the truth gnawed deeper: I wasn’t ready to lose him.

At some point, I tightened my grip and stopped feeling tired. Adrenaline, desperation—whatever it was, it carried me. By the time Konoha’s gates came into view, the first light of dawn was breaking.

I stumbled into the hospital, Kakashi still in my arms. “Get Lady Tsunade!” I barked.

The attendants scattered. In moments, nurses swarmed me, lifting Kakashi onto a bed. The room spun with motion and voices, but I heard none of it. My eyes stayed locked on his face, willing him to breathe.

It took me too long to notice I was still holding his hand.

When Tsunade arrived, her presence filled the room. Orders snapped out, sharp and precise. I should’ve been at the Academy by now, teaching, but I couldn’t make myself move. No one tried to make me.

Time blurred. Shizune’s voice drifted in from the hall. The others had made it back. Kakashi was bandaged now, breathing easier in a clean bed. I looked down—my flak vest was stiff with blood, my hands stained red.

A touch on my shoulder startled me.

“He’s going to make it,” Tsunade said softly. I realized then I’d been holding my breath.

“You can sit with him again,” she continued, “but first—clean up, finish your report, and get some rest.”

I nodded, numb.

Shizune led me to another room, where I showered and changed into a fresh underlayer. The vest, she promised, would be replaced. The routine passed in a haze—water, bandages, paperwork. My hands moved, but my mind stayed in that room.

Kakashi was still asleep when I returned, pale but alive. I sank into the chair beside him and curled my fingers back around his hand.

For the first time in days, exhaustion pulled me under without a fight. I drifted off, still holding him, unwilling to let go.

When I blinked awake, the light through the window had shifted. My neck ached from leaning against the edge of the bed. For a disoriented second, I thought Kakashi might have stirred but no, he was still, his breathing even under the bandages.

Movement at my side made me turn. Asuma sat in the chair next to me, elbows on his knees, cigarette tucked unlit between his fingers.

He gave me a long look, then reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I had no idea you cared about him this much, Iruka.”

My throat felt tight again. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to wake up properly. “I didn’t either,” I admitted quietly.

Down the hall, a familiar booming voice carried. Guy. He was talking with Shizune about when Kakashi could start rehab, which was code for pestering her about push-ups and training schedules Kakashi wasn’t even awake to argue about.

Asuma stood, shaking his head, then hauled me to my feet by the arm. “Come on. You look like you’ll fall over if I leave you here. Hey, Guy!” he called down the hall. “We’re going for food. Let’s go.”

Guy beamed and jogged after us. Kurenai had been leaning against the wall nearby; she straightened, brushing hair from her eyes. I suddenly noticed she hadn’t stopped touching Asuma’s arm since he pulled me along. Somehow, I felt silly for never realizing they were together.

Asuma flagged Shizune over and steered us out of the hospital. Before long, we were tucked into a table at the dumpling shop. I wasn’t hungry, but with Asuma ordering for the whole table and with Shizune watching me like a hawk for using too much Chakra the day before. There was no point in arguing.

Guy was still pestering Shizune, this time about rehabilitation techniques. She kept her professional tone, but her patience was thinning by the minute. Across the table, Kurenai hid a smile, and Asuma poured sake into the little cups with a practiced hand.

I picked at the first dumpling. Then another. By the fourth plate, I realized I’d been hungrier than I thought.

That was when the door slammed open.

“Iruka-sensei!” Konohamaru barreled in with Moegi and Udon at his heels. His voice was as bright as ever. “Why’d you miss class today? The sub was mean! They didn’t let us practice our wraps, and they gave us homework on chakra natures—”

His complaints tumbled over each other, his friends chiming in until the whole shop seemed to echo. I stood and crouched down, pulling them all into a quick hug.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be back tomorrow,” I promised. “We’ll keep working on first aid then, all right?”

That seemed to satisfy them. They grabbed the last three dumplings from my plate before running off, giggling.

I sighed and slumped back into my seat. “Another glass won’t hurt,” I muttered.

Asuma poured, his eyes narrowing with amusement.

“So this is what it takes to get you to drink,” I heard Guy say as he suddenly wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His laugh was booming, his energy unrelenting.

“Let’s have another for our dear rival, Kakashi!” he shouted, thrusting another glass of sake into my hand. “To youth!”

I groaned, but lifted the glass anyway.

By the time I stumbled back into the hospital, I knew I should’ve stopped when Guy shoved that second cup of sake into my hand. Still, I found my way to Kakashi’s room. I didn’t know why I kept coming back — only that I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. Even with Asuma nearby, a tightness sat in my chest that didn’t ease until I was sitting beside Kakashi again.

Maybe it was the alcohol or the last twenty-four hours finally catching up, but I couldn’t stop myself from running my fingers through his hair. He looked peaceful; if not for the bandages you wouldn’t know how badly he’d been hurt. I don’t know how long I sat like that — holding his hand, smoothing his hair the way my mother used to when I was sick. At some point, I dozed.

I woke to Tsunade checking his wounds. “How is he?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and feeling the headache the sake had promised.

“He should wake in a day or so,” she said, then made a few notes. “I can release him to you, if you want.”

It took me a second to understand. “Me? Are you sure? I hardly know him. Wouldn’t—” I cursed my voice for sounding absurd. “Wouldn’t Asuma or Guy be better?”

Tsunade set the chart down and regarded me like she could see straight through my skin.
“Asuma has other orders. Guy’s tied up with his team. You’re stable, you know enough medical ninjutsu, and you won’t be pushed around just because he’s a jōnin.” She smirked, then shrugged. “Plus… you care about him.”

Care about him. The words landed like a stone.

I pulled my hand back and tried to invent reasons I’d stayed. Duty. Naruto. Habit. None of them fit. The truth had been there all along, quiet and stubborn: since the day Kakashi helped me reach Naruto. Since every time he’d shown up where it mattered.

I drew a breath. The question rose sharp and inescapable. Do I really love him?

Tsunade’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Look, you’re the best option, and we’re short-staffed. Once he’s stable enough to leave, he stays with you for a few days. Don’t worry about classes, I’ve already reassigned them while you recover your chakra.”

She headed for the door, pausing only when a nurse pressed a scroll into her hands. She glanced back once. “And Iruka… if you feel anything worth saying, say it. Don’t be an idiot about it.”

The door shut behind her, leaving me alone with Kakashi and with the weight of her words.

Chapter Text

Iruka’s POV

The next morning, I forced myself to leave the hospital. Tsunade’s words still echoed in my head the whole walk home. If Kakashi was coming to stay with me, my apartment needed to look less like I lived alone and worked too much.

I cleaned. Pulled out an extra futon. Stocked the cupboards with tea and staples. The kind of things you did for a guest but it didn’t feel like that. My chest was tight the whole time. I was inviting Kakashi’s into my home, my life, and in this condition it felt too personal.

Once I was satisfied with the house, I went by the Academy. The substitute was already in the staff room. I handed over my lesson plans and answered his questions before heading back toward the entrance. This felt like abandoning them. The new instructor waved me off politely, but I still lingered until Konohamaru came charging down the hall, shouting about Kakashi-sensei this and Naruto that. His energy made me dizzy and I was starting to see why the Hokage was having me rest. I needed to be a better patient.

On the way back, I spotted Guy training with his team. His voice carried across the field. I hesitated, then called out.

He bounded over, sweat pouring, grinning like he’d just won a war. “Iruka! How splendid to see you!”

“Guy,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Can I… ask you something? About Kakashi.”

At once, his expression softened. He leaned in, hands on his hips. “Ah. I did hear that you might be taking care of him.”

I nodded. “Y-yah, he’s going to be recovering at my place, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for him.”

Guy’s grin widened. “Simple! Give him a book.”

I blinked. “A… book?”

“That’s all he ever needs. Something to keep his mind steady, his heart occupied.” Guy clapped my shoulder, almost knocking me sideways. “But Iruka… don’t forget. Kakashi values the quiet. Don’t try to fill the silence. Just be there.”

I hardly had time to thank him before he jogged back to his team, leaving me standing in the dust, still reeling that he actually gave me a straight answer. A book. Be there. Could it really be that simple?

By the time I returned to the hospital, the halls were quiet. I slipped into Kakashi’s room, the book Guy suggested was still tucked in my pack, though I didn’t take it out.

Instead, I sat beside him again. Watching him breathe. Wondering why my heart ached in my chest.

I thought about the few women I’d dated over the years. Kind, beautiful women. Smiles shared over tea, polite conversations that never lingered, but I’d never stayed up all night for them. Never risked every ounce of chakra in my body just to get them home alive.

I brushed my thumb over Kakashi’s bandaged hand, the contact small but steady. My stomach turned with shame and something sharper, something that pulled me closer instead of pushing me away.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “It’s just because he’s Naruto’s teacher too. That’s all.”

But the excuse dissolved as soon as I said it. If this were only about Naruto, I would have walked away the second Tsunade took over. I wouldn’t still be here, holding his hand like a lifeline.

I tried again. “It’s just the mission. I will feel different when he wakes up.”

But that didn’t explain why, even in the quiet, I thought about him smiling. Why every memory of Kakashi, infuriating, evasive Kakashi, felt tied to the moments that mattered most. He was there when I saved Naruto. He was there, steady as ever, when no one else was.

My throat tightened. “Why you, Kakashi?”

No answer, of course. Just the rhythm of his shallow breath.

I leaned back in the chair, covering my eyes with my free hand. Maybe I was broken. Maybe I’d been too blind to see what this meant before now. I’d gone through years thinking I just wasn’t cut out for love. Too focused on work, too scarred by loss. Maybe that wasn’t the truth at all.

Because here I was, realizing I’d cared more for this man. This stubborn, reckless, impossible jerk.

And no excuse I made could explain it away.

I lowered my hand and looked at him again, still and silent under the bandages. My arms and legs throbbed from the hours of running with him, but when I remembered the feeling that I might lose him, my chest clenched so tight it hurt.

“Maybe,” I admitted under my breath, “I’ve cared about you longer than I realized.”

The words lingered in the quiet room, heavy and undeniable.

The silence pressed in too tight. My whispered confession still echoed in my head, louder than I wanted it to be. I needed something…anything, to break it.

Guy’s advice came back to me. Give him a book.

I sighed, pulling the orange spine from my pack. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered, thumbing it open. The first few lines had me blinking, then flushing hot. “Good grief, Kakashi. This is what you read?”

But I kept going. Page after page, rolling my eyes, shaking my head, wincing at descriptions I had no business imagining. And yet… beneath the ridiculousness, I found something else. The clumsy confessions, the awkward longing, the way the characters circled each other but couldn’t say what mattered. It all felt strangely familiar.

I huffed a laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible,” I said under my breath, flipping another page.

That’s when I felt a faint tug against my hand.

I froze, eyes snapping to the bed. Kakashi’s fingers twitched against mine. His lone eye cracked open, hazy and half-lidded, but there was no mistaking the faintest curve of a smirk under the mask.

“…didn’t think,” his voice rasped, low and broken, “you were into that kind of literature.”

Heat rushed to my face. The book slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud. “I—I wasn’t! I was just—! Guy said—!”

His eye closed again, but the smirk turned into a smile. “Mm. Sure.”

Relief crashed through me so hard my knees went weak. He was awake. Teasing me. I bent forward, pressing my forehead against his hand, trying not to let the sting in my eyes spill over.

“Welcome back,” I whispered.

Kakashi’s POV:

Coming to, I felt two things. First, everything hurt. Second, my hand was warm and somehow that made the pain tolerable.

I tried a deeper breath and immediately regretted it. Pain spiked in my ribs. Then I heard muttering beside me. I turned just enough to see Iruka reading.

What the hell was he doing here? Wasn’t he still angry with me?

My gaze dropped lower. He was holding Icha Icha. I nearly laughed but managed only a smirk as I squeezed his hand. He startled, dropping the book the second he realized I was watching.

I didn’t even care what we said after that. I just wanted to watch his face. He looked… relieved. Then I saw it, the shine in his eyes. Tears? I couldn’t move much, so I turned my hand to brush his cheek. Yes. Crying.

“Iruka, I’m fine,” I rasped.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. He was on his feet instantly, wearing the same look he gave Naruto before a lecture.

“Fine?! Have you lost your mind, Kakashi? You’d be dead right now if Shizune and I hadn’t saved you.” He caught himself, swiping at a stray tear. His voice softened. “We’ve all been worried about you.”

The expression on his face was one I’d never seen him wear. Fear and pain. I was the cause.

I drew a cautious breath. “Iruka… I’m sorry.” I squeezed his hand. “Would you tell me what happened?”

He didn’t cry again. Instead, he grabbed my hand in both of his and pulled his chair closer. He filled in the gaps. Asuma dragging me out. The whole team nearly dying. Shizune taking over for him to stop me from bleeding out. The dogs running ahead, and then Iruka managing to maintain chakra over my wound while sprinting back with me. I never imagined he could do that.

Asuma and Iruka saved my ass this time. I’d need to debrief with the others, tell Lady Tsunade what I’d learned. We might be able to take down at least one Akatsuki. I turned back to Iruka. “Can you let Lady Tsunade know I’m awake?”

He nodded, still holding my hand for a beat longer than he had to, before slipping out of the room.

Once I was alone, the pain increased. I’m not sure how, but Iruka was some kind of painkiller. Maybe he was using medical ninjutsu without my knowing. I focused on my breathing while I waited and ran through the whole battle again in my head. That guy was on to us almost immediately, and with his ranged jutsu, we couldn’t get in any real counterattacks.

I need to get stronger. That was the only solution. I thought through training plans and decided that the first step was to increase my chakra reserves. The Sharingan takes too much chakra. I’d have to do more research into it anyway. From what I’ve seen Itachi do, I have hardly tapped into the power Obito left me.

When the door opened again, Iruka was followed in by Tsunade, Asuma, and Shizune.

“How are you feeling?” Tsunade asked, and I considered lying, but I had a feeling Iruka would lecture me again if I did.

“It hurts to breathe.” I admitted. She sighed like that was expected.

“Well, you crushed half your chest, you’re lucky you still have that lung.” She finished. Then motioned for Shizune to help her look over his bandages. “You can keep talking while we work. This will probably hurt anyway. Distractions will help.”

She tugged at a bandage that had dried into my skin. I gritted my teeth but forced myself to keep talking.

“We encountered twice the expected number of smugglers. Taking them out was easy enough, but it seems the Akatsuki was also waiting for us. I didn’t recognize him from the Bingo book. He molds clay into bombs using chakra.” I paused when they yanked another bandage free. “The bombs can be disarmed by lightning style, which probably means he is an earth style user.” I finished. Asuma only nodded like he had made the same observations.

“I have put in some requests with a few people I know from the Hidden Stone, but it will take some time to hear back from them.” Asuma said before turning to Iruka.

“I’m leaving him to you.” He and Iruka shared a glance that I didn’t understand.

“Of course, Asama-Sensei.” He responded, and Asuma headed out of the room. Iruka came to hold my hand again, and he seemed to flinch every time they adjusted a bandage that drew blood.

“You don’t have to stay.” I managed to say between two particularly painful bandage removals. He met my eyes, but it was Shizune who spoke.

“He hardly left your side, I doubt he is leaving now. Right Iruka.” She smiled up at him as Tsunade chuckled at some inside joke. “I don’t think he can leave.” She laughed again, moving to heal what must have been my worst injury. Iruka blushed at her words. “Lady Tsunade, teasing isn’t very nice.” He murmured. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was pouting. To my surprise, I found it oddly endearing.

It didn’t take long for staff to arrive, the shuffle of heels dragging me back from the fog. They pulled Tsunade aside almost immediately, pressing a stack of mission briefs into her hand. She was already murmuring with an ANBU operative I didn’t recognize.

Shizune’s hands brought me back. Something cold stung against my arm. I grit my teeth, focusing on the ceiling beams instead of the burn that lit across my ribs from flinching. Shizune seemed to notice and waved Iruka over.

He looked wary, but came anyway. “Here,” Shizune said, her tone brisk but patient, “Help me with these burns. Not too much chakra, spread it evenly, like water flowing.”

Iruka followed her instructions, hovering his hands just above my chest. The shift in chakra was immediate, and I felt myself relax. His chakra was softer, more careful than Tsunade’s had been. It dulled the pain.

Shizune nodded. “Good. Maintain that rhythm.”

For a while, Iruka did, and the warmth pulled me back toward sleep. I felt his chakra waver just slightly at the edges, followed by Shizune telling him to rest. Maybe he was more tired than I thought.

Shizune must have given me something because the room was fuzzy again and the ache in my ribs seemed to fade away. I caught Tsunade saying something about moving me in two days. My focus slipped before she finished. The last thing I felt was the warmth of Iruka’s hand in mine again.

Iruka POV:

Shizune finished covering Kakashi’s chest, then glanced at me. Her eyes narrowed the way Tsunade’s did when she knew someone was hiding something. “You’re pale,” she said. “How long have you been feeling lightheaded?”

I hesitated, then sighed. “Since this morning... This wasn’t the first time.”

“Mm. I thought so.” She disappeared for a moment and returned with a thin pillow and a folded blanket. “Rest.”

“Shizune, I’m fin—”

Her look cut me off instantly. The same look I used on Konohamaru when he tried to talk in class. “You’re not fine. We should have put you in a bed, too, the moment you came into the hospital. Now you’ve been sitting here without food or sleep, waiting for him to wake up. You won’t help him if you collapse.”

I couldn’t argue with that. My body felt like lead the moment she pressed the pillow into my arms. With a reluctant nod, I settled into the chair, the blanket tugged across my lap.

“Rest,” she ordered more gently this time. “I’ll keep an eye on both of you.”

It took only minutes before the exhaustion caught me. I didn’t mean to fall asleep with my hand still in Kakashi’s, but I did.

The days blurred into one another. I must have dozed and woken half a dozen times, always with Kakashi still beside me. He was sleeping soundly now. I’d never seen him look so peaceful. I caught myself wondering if he’d ever truly rested before this.

I, on the other hand, was running on spotty sleep in a stiff hospital chair. Yet strangely… I hadn’t had a single nightmare. Not once since dropping everything to go help them. The Nine Tails, Mizuki, Orochimaru—gone. The only difference between then and now was him.

As Tsunade signed off on Kakashi’s discharge, I was still exhausted. He muttered something about not needing a babysitter but fell silent when Tsunade gave him a look that promised she’d happily re-break his ribs. A beat later, he faked a smile and added that on second thought, he wouldn’t mind the company. It was only for a few days, until he had enough strength not to collapse in his own kitchen.

Walking to the apartment was a silent affair; my shoulders ached from supporting his weight. I searched for my keys once we made it up the stairs. I was ready to get him settled. He hadn’t complained, but it was becoming more obvious he was in pain. By the door, I noticed Kiba waiting, two injured ninken stretched out beside him.

“Kiba? What are you doing here… with dogs on my doorstep?”

“Yo, Iruka-sensei. Mom said these two needed someplace quiet to heal. Asuma told her you’d be home today, so…” He shrugged, like that explained everything.

I stared at the ninken, then at Kakashi. He didn’t look surprised.

“Asuma stopped by while you were asleep,” Kakashi said, leaning against the wall, arm braced around his ribs. “They won’t be too much trouble.”

I managed a tight smile, biting back the urge to point out that it’s polite to ask first. Kiba, meanwhile, was watching Kakashi like he expected him to keel over any second.

Once I unlocked the door, Kiba helped me herd everyone inside. It turned into more of a chore than I expected; I hadn’t exactly planned for dogs. The ninken padded straight to my bed, curled up without a second thought. I got Kakashi onto the couch, then headed to the kitchen, reluctantly admitting the dogs were kinda cute.

Kiba didn’t linger. As soon as he saw the dogs settled, he gave a quick nod and was gone. Akamaru’s bark carried faintly from the road a moment later.

Kakashi stayed quiet, tracking everything from the couch. I focused on the kettle, though when I reached for the cups, the room tilted under me. I steadied myself against the counter, drew a slow breath, then poured the tea.

I set a cup down beside Kakashi. Then worked up the courage to place my copy of Icha Icha next to it. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before thanking me for the tea.

When I came back with extra pillows, he was already asleep, his breath steady. I sighed, fetched a blanket, and laid it over him.

Only then did I settle across from him with my own book, Fire Style: Advanced Forms. I’d kept most of my skills secret from everyone, except for Asuma, who occasionally joined me.

My mind drifted back to what I’d heard the Akatsuki could do. According to Kakashi, they would be coming for Naruto. That meant they’d be coming here. A chill crawled up my spine. It was only a matter of time.

I pushed on, finishing the dragon fire technique and practicing the hand signs until it felt comfortable. Then I set the book aside for a scroll on sealing jutsu. At some point, the words blurred, and I drifted off with the scroll still open in my lap.

Chapter Text

Kakashi POV:

I woke to the rustle of paper, then silence. The apartment was dim, the single lamp by the table throwing a low circle of light. Iruka had dozed off, a scroll draped across his lap. His breathing was steady, one hand still resting against the parchment like he hadn’t meant to let go, even in sleep.

The kanji on the seal caught my eye. Advanced Sealing Jutsu. Not something you picked up casually. Sealing took patience, precision… and chakra. A lot of it. My mind went back over what they said, Iruka keeping a steady flow of chakra over my wounds while sprinting for hours. That wasn’t “basic first aid.” Most seasoned medics would have struggled with that.

A sigh slipped out of me, soft and painful in my chest. Everyone, including me, had written him off as the kindhearted teacher who patched kids together and lectured Naruto. Too compassionate, too soft, always letting his kindness trip him up. That’s what I thought years ago when I had him on a mission before Lord Third sent him to the Academy. I never looked closer.

In this light, he looked different. It hit me then, he resembled the First Hokage. Not just his features, but the way he carried himself, even in sleep. From what I heard, the 1st Hokage always came off as cheerful and kind.

I shifted against the pillows, pain sparking through my ribs. Iruka stirred but didn’t wake, the scroll still loose in his grip. I almost reached out to take it, then stopped myself. Instead, I leaned back, watching him with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

Maybe I never knew Iruka at all.

I let my gaze drift over the scroll in his lap, then noticed the stack of books beside him—advanced water and fire style jutsu. Seals, medical ninjutsu, chakra reserves that could rival a jōnin… so why wasn’t he one? Why spend his time corralling Academy kids when he clearly had the ability for the field?

The thought sat heavy. I’d seen shinobi scramble for promotion with half his skill. Seen others break under the weight of a rank they weren’t ready for. Iruka wasn’t unqualified; he was hiding. Maybe by choice. With what little teaching I’ve done, I can’t imagine a room full of twenty Narutos and Sasukes.

Even if he loved teaching, why let people think he was weak? Why wear that softness like armor, let the gossip about being “just a teacher” go unchallenged?

My ribs ached when I shifted, but the question stayed. Fear didn’t explain it. I knew what he’d done for me, and fear didn’t carry that kind of endurance. No, this was something else.

Maybe he really was too kind, too stubborn, and too selfless. Maybe that’s why he stayed at the Academy. Someone had to shield the next generation before they ever saw a battlefield.

Still, I couldn’t shake the sour taste in my mouth. The village had overlooked him. Worse, I had.

Iruka's POV:

I woke with a start, breath sharp in my chest, the couch pressing into my back. For a moment, I was still in the dream. Smoke curling over broken rooftops, the Nine Tails howling in the distance. My muscles locked like I was still that boy, chasing after my parents.

The room was dim, only the lamp in the corner casting a soft glow. My neck ached from sleeping at an odd angle, and the scroll I’d been reading had slipped to the floor. I pushed upright, stiff, my heart still hammering, moisture cooling on my cheeks.

A low huff pulled me back to the present. One of the ninken raised its head from my bed, ears twitching. The other shifted with a soft groan. On the couch, Kakashi sat propped against the pillows, the book I’d left for him in his hands. He was reading or at least pretending to.

I froze, the remnants of fear draining from me. I’d forgotten. Forgotten, I wasn’t alone anymore. I wanted to be embarrassed, but I just felt hollow. Slumping back against the cushions, I pressed a hand over my eyes and exhaled shakily. “Just a nightmare,” I whispered to myself.

The dogs’ eyes followed me when I got up. I rinsed my face in the bathroom, one of the hounds padding after me, claws clicking faintly, tail brushing my leg. A quiet reminder: you’re not alone.

When I came back, Kakashi had set the book aside. “Does that happen a lot?” he asked, watching me.

I tried to smile, to play it off. “Kinda. Nothing I can’t handle.” My voice was steadier than I felt. A glance at the clock made me wince… it was already past eight. “Sorry, did you want something to eat?”

He didn’t answer right away, just kept that quiet gaze on me. I decided not to wait and went into the kitchen. I started with the tea and rice first. Then pulled out miso, eggplant, and tofu to make something simple and warm. The rhythm of cooking steadied me. I poured us tea, then bent to pick up the scroll I’d dropped. I was setting it with the other books when Kakashi spoke again.

“Can I see that?” His voice was mild, but his eye was sharp.

“Sure.” I passed it to him and flicked on another lamp. The hound from earlier was still shadowing me. I looked down at his tan coat, confused. “Umm… are you hungry too?”

“We ate already,” the ninken replied, padding over to curl at Kakashi’s feet.

“This is Biscuit,” Kakashi murmured, reaching to brush the dog’s head, “and that’s Shiba.” Both perked at the sound of their names before settling again.

I grabbed a big bowl and filled it with water anyway, sliding it near the ninken before finishing the soup. Two bowls, two sets of rice, and miso. I went back to check on Kakashi.

“Would you like to eat?” I asked once the table was set.

“Alright.” He set the scroll aside and started to get up. I moved instinctively when I saw him wince.

At first, he brushed me off, muttering something about being fine, but when he tried to push himself up, his ribs reminded him otherwise. He let me slip an arm under his and steady him.

“It should only be a few more days until you can move on your own,” I said, trying to reassure him. He only sighed and sat gingerly at the table.

We gave thanks for the food, and I reached for the rice first. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him hesitate over the soup.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. Then it hit me, he never ate in front of anyone. I flushed as the realization landed. “Oh… I didn’t even— I’ll go and let you eat—”

“Iruka, sit down.” His voice was quiet but firm, enough to stop me in my tracks.

I sank back into my seat.

“I’m just not used to someone cooking for me,” he added, pulling his mask down just enough to take a bite.

I caught how the light brushed over sharp cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the faint scar below his eye. I froze, staring like a fool. He was… damn it… he was beautiful. A solid ten out of ten, and here I was, gawking at him over miso soup.

His expression softened just slightly as he tasted the broth. For the first time since I’d known him, his whole face shifted when he smiled. It was quick, gone almost as soon as it came, but I caught it.

He finished the bowl quickly and held it out to me bashfully.

“More?” I asked, still mesmerized, still trying to remember how to breathe.

He nodded, reaching instead for the rice.

I refilled his soup, telling myself to stop staring, but every time he lowered his mask again, I couldn’t help it.

Kakashi paused mid-bite, his visible eye flicking toward me. The corner of his mouth tugged up.

Heat rushed to my face so fast it burned. I snapped my gaze down to my own bowl, shoving rice into my mouth like it required immediate attention.

“The soup is good,” Kakashi murmured. As if nothing had happened, but I heard the smirk under the words.

I kept my head down, chewing like a man on a mission, praying my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

Kakashi seemed satisfied, finishing off the last of the soup and rice. I helped him back to the couch before going to clean up. Biscuit started following me again, and I reached down to search his head once I was finished.

“Is your leg hurting?” I asked, seeing that it was bandaged.

“A little.” He admitted.

Before I thought better of it, I scooped him up and carried him back with me. Kakashi looked up when I came in.

“Don’t spoil them. They’re not pets.” His tone was flat, but his eye softened as it flicked to Biscuit.

I chuckled, settling with the dog in my lap. “Think of this as payment for not telling me I was going to be caring for dogs.”

Kakashi rolled his eye, unimpressed, but I caught the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth. Shiba took the opportunity to hop onto the couch beside me, and soon both were dozing.

To my own surprise, I didn’t mind. My hand found its way to Biscuit’s scruff, scratching absently as I reached for my copy of Advanced Water Style. I’d been meaning to review the water clone technique. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kakashi tilt his head at the text.

“Did you want to read it?” I asked.

He startled slightly, then shook his head. “No. I can already make water clones.” His gaze lingered. “Where’d you get this scroll?”

“Lord Third gave it to me a while back,” I admitted, flipping to the next page. “He wanted me to start learning about the Uzumaki clan seals and methods to seal or remove curse marks.”

Kakashi’s eye didn’t leave me, and despite myself, irritation prickled at the back of my neck. “What?” I asked, not looking up.

“Most Chūnin would’ve burned out attempting this jutsu,” he said.

I got what he was saying. “So what you want to know is why I’m still a Chūnin?” I asked, finally meeting his gaze.

He didn’t answer, but I had his full attention.

I sighed. “Asuma asked me the same thing. The truth is, it doesn’t matter to me if I’m a Chūnin or Jōnin, as long as I can stay at the Academy.” I didn’t add that killing dragged up memories of my parents, or that I’d never seen a Jōnin stay at the Academy for long.

Kakashi seemed to mull this over, then surprised me with, “I thought you were mad at me.”

My cheeks warmed. “Well… I was.”

“But you’re not now?”

I shook my head. “No. Not anymore. I realized I was blaming you for my own helplessness and for what happened with Sasuke and Naruto.” His shoulders stiffened at the name, and my chest squeezed, but I pushed on. “Neither of us knew what Orochimaru was planning. And I can’t blame you when I wasn’t much better at stopping Mizuki.” My voice faltered, and I found myself staring at my hands, heart heavy.

Silence stretched between us. I cleared my throat, eager to change it. “Did you want to get some rest? I pulled out a bed for you.”

I moved to stand, but his voice stopped me. “Iruka.”

I turned, and his gaze pinned me. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

The words eased the heaviness. Before I could think of an answer, he leaned back into the pillows, closing his eye as though the conversation was over.

I exhaled slowly, my chest tight, then turned back to the book in my lap. I didn’t stay up much longer. The dogs moved back to my bed as soon as I moved to stand. Kakashi was asleep again, and I decided it was best to let him stay on the couch. I gently lifted him to put his feet up, and he looked at me.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, and he caught on to what I was doing. He adjusted himself to let the couch take all the weight before I covered him again.

“I’ll leave the door open, if you need me.” I said. He nodded before falling back to sleep. I made my way to the room and pulled my hair down, then changed into a plain shirt and shorts for sleeping. Shiba ended up lying with Kakashi, and Biscuit seemed to have become attached to me. He curled up in my arms as soon as I laid down. I felt myself relax having his warmth beside me. It didn’t take long to fall asleep again.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:
I woke to Biscuit’s tail thwacking me in the face. The dog looked far too pleased with himself when I groaned and sat up. The scroll from last night was on the table. Shiba was sprawled across the couch, and Kakashi was missing.

The faint clink of porcelain drew me toward the kitchen. Kakashi was sitting there with a cup of tea in one hand, watching me with that maddeningly calm expression.

I yawned, shuffled past him, and muttered, “Caffeine,” as if it were an order. I poured myself tea, already reaching for the eggs. My hair was down, sticking to my neck, and I was still half-asleep, too tired to bother with my usual composure.

When I finally glanced at him, I caught the amused glint in his eye.

I jabbed the spatula in his direction. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear judgment from you. Your hair is always a mess.”

His visible eye curved, and I turned back to the stove before I had to see him smirk. The kettle hummed behind me, the pan hissed as I scrambled the eggs, and soon enough I tossed last night’s rice in for omurice. Out of habit, I cracked more eggs for the dogs.

Kakashi didn’t hesitate this time, digging into his plate without a word. His only reaction was an exaggerated eye-roll when he noticed me setting down bowls for Biscuit and Shiba before I sat with my own food.

I rubbed at my eyes, still not fully awake, and leaned my head on my hand as I ate. “If you don’t wake up,” Kakashi drawled, “you’re going to end up wearing that.”

I squinted at him, but he wasn’t wrong. With a sigh, I sat up straighter and stretched until my shoulders loosened. “You’re right,” I admitted, downing the rest of my tea. The caffeine buzzed just enough to wake me.

“I need to get back to the Academy soon,” I said as I scraped my bowl clean and pushed back from the table.

“That was fast, are you always this full of energy?” Kakashi asked, one brow arched over his teacup.

“Energy?” I gave a wry laugh, stacking dishes in the sink. “More like stubbornness. They probably won’t let me back until my chakra’s fully recovered, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work here.”

He made a low sound, somewhere between doubt and amusement, so I kept going. “I’ve been thinking of new ways to explain chakra form versus chakra nature. And control. With Naruto, I realized the real problem wasn’t just focus—it was the sheer volume of chakra he had. If I can get kids to understand their own chakra earlier, maybe they won’t stumble the way he did.”

When I turned, Kakashi hadn’t pulled his mask back up yet. He was watching me—smiling.

“Uhh…” Heat rushed to my face. “What?”

“I just realized how much you enjoy working at the Academy,” he said, voice softer than usual.

My blush deepened. I coughed into my hand. “Yeah. I guess I do.” Then, eager to escape, I motioned toward the couch. “Did you want to rest more, or… maybe a bath?”

“A bath would be nice.”

Relieved, I hurried off to start the water. “I could stop by your place today, grab clothes or books—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in, faint smirk in his voice. “The uniform works. And you already have a book here.”

I helped him to the bathroom, then gave him space. While I waited, I straightened the couch and sorted my books, eventually sitting down to draft a new lesson plan. I was halfway through a sentence when I felt someone leaning over my shoulder.

I looked up. Kakashi. Clean, dressed in dark fatigues. His forehead protector was gone, his mask absent. His whole face uncovered, framed by damp silver hair. His left eye stayed closed, but it didn’t matter—I saw him, all of him, and it stole the breath right out of me.

Butterflies tangled in my stomach. I shot to my feet, words fumbling. “I—I’m going to take my shower now.”

Before he could answer, I retreated, clutching my towel like a lifeline. Under the hot spray, I couldn’t stop the image from replaying. The rare sight of his face, the way he’d hovered close, the quiet steadiness of his presence.

I liked it more than I wanted to admit.

I finished my shower, toweling off quickly, still unsettled by the memory of Kakashi so close. When I stepped back into the living room, he was stretched out on the couch again, Icha Icha balanced loosely in one hand. His eye flicked to me, unreadable as always.

“I’m going to the hospital,” I said, tugging on a clean shirt. “Lady Tsunade wanted you to have fresh dressings for your burns. And I’ll stop by the market for some fish for dinner.”

He only hummed in reply, but I caught the way his gaze followed me until the door shut behind me.

Kakashi:

The silence felt heavier without him in it. I let out a slow breath and set the book aside. Strange, how quickly I’d grown used to his presence. The warmth of his chakra. The way he fussed without making it feel like pity.

I wasn’t used to being cared for without strings attached. And for reasons I couldn’t untangle, it didn’t chafe. I wanted him here.

The knock was soft, but the chakra was familiar. “Asuma,” I said before the door opened.

He stepped in, cigarette glowing faintly, and dropped into the chair without asking. “Thought I’d check in. How’s the chest?”

“Manageable.” I shifted upright. “I need to ask you something. About Iruka.”

One brow lifted. “Go on.”

“You’ve trained with him. The chakra he used in the field, the scrolls I saw him reading, are all very advanced. Why is he still a Chūnin?”

Asuma’s silence told me enough.

“He has the skills,” I pressed. “He shouldn’t be buried in lesson plans while everyone else thinks he’s weak. Why is he hiding?”

Asuma exhaled smoke, his gaze drifting out the window. “Iruka doesn’t want the field or the rank. He wants the Academy. Promotion would drag him back out there. He won’t do it. I’ve asked.”

My jaw tightened. “So the village writes him off.”

No.” Asuma said flatly. “The village lets him choose. And he chooses the kids.” He tapped ash into an ashtray. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t capable.”

I leaned forward. “Does this have to do with the nightmares?”

His eyes narrowed. “So you know about that?” He glanced up at the ceiling. “That’s not my story to tell.”

“You already started.”

Asuma dragged long on his cigarette, then muttered, “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to my team. Or the people who saved my life.”

Something shifted in his face. He exhaled. “Iruka’s strong. You’ve seen that. He probably doesn’t even show me everything he can do. But strength isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?”

He hesitated, weighing whether I deserved the truth. “You press this, Kakashi, you better respect it. He doesn’t talk about it. Not with me. Not with anyone. The only reason I know is because of Lord Third.”

“I will.”

Asuma took another drag. “Every time he kills, he sees his parents. The night the Nine Tails attacked, he was dragged clear and watched both his parents die. He’s still that kid, running through fire. That’s what eats at him. That’s where the nightmares started.”

I didn’t move.

“Then there’s everything Mizuki did.”

“What do you mean?”

Asuma gave me a stern look, then sighed. “Right… you weren’t really involved in that. Mizuki wasn’t just a traitor. Before that came to light, he’d grown close to Iruka. He knew about his trauma and instead of helping, he twisted it. Played on his emotions. Every time Iruka tried to step forward, Mizuki was there whispering that he wasn’t good enough. That he was too soft, too broken. He made Iruka believe it.”

“You’ve seen how Iruka throws himself into the Academy? That’s part of it. Mizuki kept feeding the idea that he’d never survive the field, that he’d get his team killed. And Iruka… he believed it. He initially chose the Academy to spread the Will of Fire. Then Mizuki convinced him that was all he was good for and that without his help, he never would have made it.”

Heat crawled under my skin. If Mizuki hadn’t been locked away, I would have been on my way to kill him.

“Truth is, Iruka’s stronger than most jōnin I know,” Asuma went on. “But Mizuki made damn sure he never thought so. What we see is the damage. He carries it like it’s his own fault.”

My ribs ached with the weight of it. “All this time, I overlooked him.”

Asuma’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “You and half the village. That’s exactly how he wants it.”

I worked to unclench my fists. Asuma noticed and leaned forward, flicking his lighter. “Don’t stress too much. He’s getting better. He started training again after Mizuki’s betrayal. I’ve seen a lot of change in him because of Naruto.”

We sat quietly for a moment, and I took a cigarette from Asuma.

“Well, I have to get going. Tsunade has me on another mission, looking into our artsy friend.”

I took a drag and sat back.

“Give them hell for me.”

He gave me a grin like it would be his personal pleasure.

The apartment was quiet after Asuma left, smoke still lingering faintly in the air. I sat there longer than I meant to, ribs aching, cigarette finished, Asuma’s words replaying like a mission brief I couldn’t put down.

Iruka. Haunted by fire and rubble. Mizuki whispering poison into every crack. And me. I hadn’t realized until tonight how wrong I’d been.

The door slid open and broke the silence. Iruka stepped in, a paper bag tucked under one arm and his hair damp from the evening air. He paused when he saw me sitting up straighter than before, watching him.

“You’re awake,” he said simply, setting the bag on the counter. “I see Asuma stopped by.” He smiled and started unpacking.

I should’ve said thank you. Should’ve told him to sit, to rest, to stop fussing. Instead, I just stared. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t see the teacher who scolded Naruto, or the man who smoothed over village gossip with polite smiles. I saw someone who carried too much alone and still came home with groceries to make trash like me happy.

An ugly heat stirred in my chest. Mizuki’s voice twisting him into doubting himself. It made my hands curl tight enough my stitches pulled. I forced them to loosen.

Iruka glanced at me, brow furrowing. “What?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, too quickly. His eyes lingered, searching, before he let it go and started setting things aside for dinner.

I leaned back, watching the careful motions of his hands. Protective wasn’t something I usually admitted to being outside of missions. My students and comrades were one thing. But this was different. This was personal.

And I didn’t like how easily I’d lost my cool hearing about someone hurting him.

When Iruka brought me a glass of water and one of those easy, tired smiles, I had to look away. My chest felt too tight.

I wasn’t used to this. The thought of him walking back out the door made me uneasy.

Iruka set the bandages aside and came over, worry clear on his face. “You’re acting strange. Is it the pain? Let me check the bandages again.”

Before I could argue, he was already kneeling beside me, hands glowing faintly as he worked along my ribs. His chakra was warm. The ache eased, but the tightness in my chest didn’t.

“Better?” he asked softly, looking up. His eyes caught mine. They were so open and kind.

Something in me snapped. Before I could think better of it, I reached out, pulling him into me. My arm curled around his back, holding him tighter than I should’ve with broken ribs.

He froze, startled. “Kakashi?”

I shut my eye, forcing the words out. “Just… stay a second.”

His breath caught, but he didn’t move away. His warmth seeped through, steadying me. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, only that for once, I didn’t want distance.

When I finally let him go, the air between us felt different, charged. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it, and honestly, neither did I.

So I gave him an out. “Didn’t you say something about fish?”

“Y-yeah. Right.” He stammered, scrambling back toward the kitchen. I caught the way his hands busied themselves with the rice. His movements were too quick and precise, like he was trying to cook the tension out of the room.

It didn’t take him long to plate the food.

I eased myself into the chair across from him, ignoring the pull in my ribs. Iruka set down the bowls, but instead of sitting right away, he lingered, arms folded as if bracing himself.

Finally, he asked, “What was that about?”

I blinked, buying time. “What was what?”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Kakashi. You don’t just… grab people like that.” His voice softened, almost uncertain. “What happened?”

I let the silence stretch, staring down at the steam curling off the fish. He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t do things like that. Didn’t need things like that.

But tonight, I had.

I forced a shrug. “Guess I was just… tired.” The excuse tasted thin even to me.

Iruka frowned, like he wanted to press but knew better. “Alright,” he said finally, though the look he gave me said he didn’t buy it. He sat down and picked up his chopsticks.

The quiet between us wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt too aware.

Dinner passed in mostly silence, chopsticks clicking against bowls the only sound. Iruka cleared the table afterward, moving slower than usual, a faint tightness in his steps that told me he still wasn’t recovered. He washed the dishes, ran the water, and looked ready to sleep on the floor.

Part of me wanted to tell him to stop, to sit down, but the words caught. Watching him fuss, tired as he was, felt too… normal. Too comfortable.

When he finally sank onto the couch, eyes heavy, I realized my own chest ached for something more than rest. The same closeness I’d pulled him into earlier. It startled me, that longing. It was protective, yes, but also sharper, more physical. A want I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I leaned back, mask tugged into place, trying to make sense of it. I’d spent years holding everyone at arm’s length, and suddenly the one man I’d overlooked was the one I didn’t want to let go.

Iruka exhaled beside me, head tipping back against the cushions. Within minutes, his breathing evened into sleep. Biscuit padded over to curl up at his side.

I sat in the quiet, watching. Confused. Uneasy. And, against every instinct I had, unwilling to look away.

Iruka shifted restlessly beside me, a low sound slipping from his throat. At first, I thought he was just uncomfortable, the couch too stiff, but then his breathing changed. Quick, shallow, sharp with panic.

“No…” he murmured, twisting, face drawn tight. “Stop—”

The air around him trembled with tension. His body jerked like he was bracing against blows I couldn’t see. I moved without thinking, catching his shoulders.

“Iruka.” My voice came low and steady. “Wake up.”

He didn’t. His eyes stayed shut, caught in whatever memory dragged him under. The Nine Tails? His parents? Mizuki? I didn’t know and it didn’t matter.

So I did the only thing I could. I pulled him against me.

His fists bunched in my shirt instantly, trembling. His breath came ragged against my collarbone. I wrapped my arms around him, careful of my ribs, and held on.

“Easy,” I murmured, voice softer now. “You’re not alone. It’s over. You’re safe.”

Slowly, the tremors eased. His breathing returned to normal, though his grip on me never loosened.

By the time he finally sagged against me, his face pressed to my shoulder, I realized my heart was hammering just as fast as his.

I should’ve let go. Should’ve shifted him back, pretended it hadn’t happened. Instead, I tightened my hold. If it meant he could sleep, I would keep him here all night.

The dogs settled on the floor at our feet, the only sound their slow breathing. Iruka’s weight against me grew heavier as his body eased, his breaths finally steady. It hurt to stay twisted this way with my ribs, but I adjusted until I could keep him close without strain.

At some point, sleep dragged me under too.

When I blinked awake, the room was pale with morning light. Iruka was still in my arms, hair loose around his face, soft against my jaw. For a long moment, I didn’t move, afraid that if I did, the fragile calm between us would shatter.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:
I woke to warmth… too much of it. My hair was down, my cheek pressed against something firm. My eyes blinked open just enough to find myself wrapped in Kakashi’s arms. His fingers idly brushed through my hair, slow and steady.

Heat flooded my face instantly. Before I could jerk back, his voice stopped me. “You had another nightmare.”

Mortified, I tried to shift away. “Sorry—”

But his hold only tightened. “Iruka, please. I’m actually really comfortable.”

I froze, then let out a reluctant sigh. Truth was, I was comfortable too. More than I wanted to admit.

The silence stretched, not awkward, just… present. I could feel every line of him against me; the press of muscle, the brush of his breath. His cold feet bumped into mine under the blanket and, without thinking, I covered them with my own to warm him.

The words slipped out before I could catch them. “You smell nice.”

My face burned. I shut my eyes, praying he hadn’t heard.

But he had. I could feel the faint curve of his approval in the way he shifted.

“Iruka.” His voice was soft now. “Will you train with me, once I’m healed?”

The request stunned me. Kakashi, the Copy Ninja, the man half the village whispered about like he was a myth… asking me. My throat went dry. “I… don’t know that I’d be much help to someone like you.”

He tilted my chin up until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. My blush deepened under it. “Humor me?”

His hand dropped, but the moment lingered. I hid my face against his chest, hoping he couldn’t feel how fast my heart was beating. “Fine,” I muttered. “But it has to be outside school hours.”

I felt, rather than saw, his smile.

“So I get to play with the teacher, huh?” His voice carried that lazy drawl, but the deliberate edge in it made the words sound… dirtier than they should have.

My whole face went scarlet. “Kakashi… why did you have to say it like that?” I tried for a scolding tone, but it came out closer to a pout.

He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through me, then threaded his fingers back through my hair. I hated how much it calmed me or maybe I didn’t. Little by little, the tension drained out of me again. What was I letting him do?

“You should get some more rest,” he said softly, the teasing gone now. “I’ll be alright. Let your chakra recover.”

Something in his voice settled the last of my nerves. Or maybe it was just the fact that my body felt utterly at peace in his arms. Either way, I didn’t argue. My eyes slipped shut again, and before long I was drifting back into sleep.

Kakashi POV:

I felt it the moment Iruka slipped back under. His breathing evened out, weight sinking into me. What surprised me was how little he fought it. I brushed my fingers through his hair again. Tied up, it looked neat enough — but loose, it was soft, falling through my hands like I’d been meant to touch it. Softer than I expected.

Another slow pass, fingertips grazing his scalp, and he hummed in his sleep. The sound caught me off guard. My chest eased, and before I knew it I’d lost track of time — just watching him, marking every little shift when something felt good, listening to him rest.

The chakra at the door hit me before the latch turned. I didn’t move. Even when Kurenai and Shizune stepped quietly through the kitchen, I stayed put. The couch had taken all the strain off my ribs, and with Iruka here, I’d been pain free for hours.

I tugged my mask up with one hand, put a finger to my lips with the other. Shizune smothered a giggle behind her hand. Kurenai’s eyes lingered on Iruka instead.

“Did you two need something?” I asked softly.

Shizune nodded, slipping into business. “I’m here to work on you for Lady Tsunade.” She crouched beside me, tugging my shirt up carefully so as not to disturb him. I let her work on my ribs and the deeper cuts, but my eye stayed on Kurenai.

She was still watching Iruka. I remembered then, she and Asuma had both been keeping an eye on him for years.

“He’s been having nightmares,” I said quietly, hoping it was explanation enough for why I hadn’t let go.

Her gaze flicked up to mine, then softened. She came closer, kneeling on the other side. Her fingers brushed some stray hair off his face with the kind of care that spoke of long habit.

“Asuma and I have been worried,” she murmured. “He really hasn’t been sleeping much since we lost Lord Third.”

Shizune worked quietly, but her chakra bit deep into my ribs. I clenched my jaw against the sting, kept still. Kurenai set a pair of paper-wrapped parcels on the table. The smell of rice and grilled fish filled the room.

“You brought food?” I asked.

“You both forget to eat when left unsupervised,” Kurenai replied simply.

My eye narrowed. She wasn’t wrong. Until Iruka, I’d spent most days only eating once.

She glanced at Iruka, still curled against me, hair loose over his face. “His light balances your darkness,” she said softly. “Don’t waste it, Kakashi.”

Before I could respond, Iruka stirred. His eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep. He shifted, then froze, realizing the room wasn’t just us anymore.

“…Kurenai? Shizune?” His voice cracked halfway between panic and mortification.

He scrambled upright too fast, tripped over the blanket, and toppled straight off the couch. There was a loud yelp. Shiba’s tail had been the unlucky landing spot.

Iruka jerked sideways with a horrified apology, only to crack his head on the low table. A stack of books toppled over and landed squarely on him.

Silence.

Then Shizune’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a laugh. Kurenai raised a brow. “Graceful as ever, Iruka.”

Flat on the floor, books around his head, Iruka groaned into his palms. “…Kill me now.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Honestly, it was the most alive I’d seen him look in days.

Iruka POV:

My face burned hotter than a forge. Of course they’d walked in. Of course they’d seen me wrapped up against Kakashi like some… some lovesick teenager. I pressed a hand over my face, groaning into my palms.

When I finally peeked through my fingers, Kurenai looked more amused than judgmental, and even Shizune was hiding a smile behind her hand. They weren’t laughing at me. Not really.

I let out a long sigh, scratching the bridge of my nose the way I always did when I wanted to vanish into the floor. “...Tea,” I muttered. “I’ll make tea.”

Kurenai rose with me, graceful as ever, and followed into the kitchen. She was already reaching for the cups before I could protest.

“You look more rested,” she said simply, taking the kettle from me and putting it on the heat.

I frowned at that. “Do I?”

Her lips curved faintly. “More rested. More relaxed. Maybe even… happier.”

Heat crawled back up my neck. “That’s… no. You’re imagining it.”

She tilted her head, sharp eyes flicking toward the other room. “I don’t think so. I think Kakashi has a thing for you.”

I nearly dropped the cup I was holding. “Kurenai!” My voice came out too high, too defensive. “Don’t—don’t say ridiculous things.”

Her smirk was soft, not cruel. “I’ve known him for years. I’ve never seen him hug anyone. Not even me. And yet…” She let it trail off, playful, as she pulled two more cups down.

I busied myself with pouring the hot tea, hoping she couldn’t see how red my face was. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mmh.” She didn’t argue, just carried two cups back toward the living room.

By the time we returned, Shizune had Kakashi sitting upright, shirt off. Her hands glowed faint green against his side. He tried not to show it, but every time she passed over his ribs he flinched, the twitch of pain visible in his jaw. Most of the burns were already healed, the angry marks fading to faint pink, but the deeper wounds were still raw.

I lingered for a moment, watching the way he endured it in silence. It made some part of me ache seeing him in pain. Kurenai set her cups down, her gaze lingering on him a beat too long. Then, with that deceptively gentle smile of hers, she said, “I’ve never seen you so well-behaved, Kakashi. Sitting still, letting someone take care of you… maybe Iruka should’ve been the one assigned to you years ago.”

Heat shot up my neck. I almost dropped my cups. “Kurenai!”

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed at her, two breaths away from some razor-sharp retort. But she wasn’t done.

“Shizune,” she went on, tilting her head, “you see it too, don’t you? Not even a single complaint. Almost like he’s trying to impress someone.”

My ears burned so hot I was sure Shizune could feel it from across the room. I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to bolt. “Guy’s… the tea’s getting cold,” I muttered, but no one was listening.

Kakashi’s eye cut back to Kurenai. “Impressing someone takes effort. I’m just letting Iruka spoil me.”

My whole face went scarlet. “Spoil you?! That’s not what I—”

Before I could get another word out, the door rattled open.

“Yosh! Kakashi, my eternal rival!” Guy’s booming voice shook the walls as he stormed in, Genma sauntering behind with his senbon, and Tenzo trailing after them, calm as ever.

I nearly dropped the cups again. “Are you serious,” I groaned, setting them down and pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Perfect timing,” Kurenai said dryly, sipping her tea like she’d orchestrated the whole thing.

Guy’s gaze swept from me to Kakashi, lingering on his bare chest, Shizune bent over his ribs, and tea steaming on the table. His eyes went wide. “Ahh! Look at this! Healing through the power of friendship! Just as I would expect of my eternal rival!”

Genma chuckled, grabbing a chair from the kitchen and dropping into it like it was his own living room. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day Kakashi let someone take care of him. You work fast, Iruka.”

The last guy just gave me a polite nod, though I thought I caught the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

Genma caught it and grinned, smacking him on the shoulder. “See Tenzo? I told you it was worth bothering him.”

Tenzo sighed, the picture of long-suffering patience. “I didn’t say you were wrong. I said you were obnoxious.”

Genma leaned back, smug as ever. “Same thing.”

I could feel the heat burning straight through to me. “I’ll… go make more tea,” I muttered, already halfway to the kitchen.

Kakashi had the audacity to look smug.

I escaped to the kitchen, grabbing the teapot, grateful for the excuse to put a wall between myself and Guy’s booming declarations.

Shizune slipped in after me a minute later, shaking her head with a wry smile. “You looked like you needed backup.”

“Backup won’t stop Guy,” I muttered, filling the pot again. “At this rate, I’ll need Asuma to keep the peace.”

From the other room, Guy’s voice thundered, “Kakashi! Our next challenge shall be a race across training field 3.”

Genma’s lazy drawl followed immediately after: “What, you want him to pass out with broken ribs? Yeah, real fair match, Guy.”

I winced, waiting for Kakashi to take the bait. Instead, his voice cut clean through the ruckus, calm and maddeningly confident. “No. I’d rather stay here.”

Shizune snorted softly into her hand. I pinched the bridge of my nose, heat crawling up my neck. Of course he would drag me into it.

In the living room, Genma’s laugh rose above Guy’s protests, and I wished more than ever that Asuma were here to rein them in.

Shizune sighed, setting down her teacup with finality. Then gave me a wink before turning to the group. “That’s enough. Kakashi needs rest. Out. All of you.”

Guy looked like she’d just challenged him, but even he knew better than to argue with Shizune when her voice carried that edge. Genma grinned, clearly enjoying himself, and rose lazily to his feet.

On their way out, Tenzo paused in the kitchen doorway. His usual stoicism softened just slightly as his gaze met mine. “Thank you,” he said.

I blinked. “For what?”

“For saving us,” he replied. Then, with a short nod, he followed the others.

The apartment felt quieter immediately, the silence wrapping around me like a reprieve. I started tidying up—pushing the chair back, gathering empty cups—when I noticed Kakashi follow me into the kitchen with two more in his hands.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after them. Next time, I’ll make them do it,” he said. I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—that he’d said next time or that he planned to make them clean.

“It’s fine,” I answered with a small grin. After all the embarrassment, it was nice seeing how many people cared about him.

When I stepped back in with the last of the dishes, I froze. He was already at the sink, washing. “Oh—you don’t need to do that,” I blurted, flustered. He just took the cups from my hands and kept going.

I shifted awkwardly, unused to being on the receiving end of someone else’s care. “Kurenai brought food,” he said softly, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Could you grab it from the table?”

He was smiling again. I felt my face warm and nodded quickly, retreating to fetch the parcels. It was grilled fish and rice. By the time I’d set the table, Kakashi was already lowering himself into the seat beside me.

We ate in companionable quiet. After the earlier theatrics, it was nice. I caught him glancing at me once or twice, his visible eye soft, and quickly ducked back to my rice before he could catch me doing the same.

After a while, I cleared my throat. “How are you feeling now?”

He set his bowl down, thinking it over instead of giving the automatic brush-off I expected. “A little better,” he admitted finally. “Still sore, but Shizune’s chakra work made a difference.” His eye curved faintly in something close to a smile. “Your cooking didn’t hurt either.”

Heat crept up my neck at that, and I busied myself with tidying the wrappers. “I’m glad,” I said, hoping it sounded casual.

He watched me for a moment longer, then leaned back. “Do you want to read for a while? Or maybe take a walk with me?”

I blinked, caught off guard. A walk? He could barely sit upright a few days ago. But he looked serious.

“…A walk sounds nice,” I admitted.

His shoulders eased, like he’d half-expected me to refuse. “Good. Just around the block. I could use the air.”

I gave him a long look, gauging how steady he seemed, then nodded. “Alright. But if you keel over, I’m dragging you back.”

His eye crinkled in amusement. “Fair trade.”

Chapter Text

Iruka POV:

We left after dinner, sandals scuffing against the quiet street. I made sure Kakashi had his arm steady and that he wasn’t walking too fast. He tolerated it with his usual silence, though I caught the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his eye.

By the time we reached the river, the night sky had opened wide above us. Stars scattered across the dark, reflected in the slow current. I realized, not for the first time, how much I enjoyed these small moments with him. Ordinary, unremarkable, but ours.

“I never thought about coming out here at night,” I said, taking in the view.

Kakashi eased down onto a bench by the bank, gaze tipped upward. I started to sit beside him when his hand closed firmly around mine. “Kakashi?” I asked, startled.

He didn’t look at me, still staring at the sky. “Five,” he murmured.

I had known they were there since we left the house, but I let him continue. “Three across the river, one trailing behind, and one on the roof to our right.” His tone was calm, almost conversational, but his grip didn’t ease.

He missed one ahead of us. I closed my eyes, extending my chakra, letting it bounce off the buildings and water around us. The one on the roof wore an ANBU mask. I couldn’t tell if he was rogue or not. Across the river, there were three shinobi with their weapons drawn. The one behind us was weak, probably not even a Genin. The last one was suppressing himself, and that made him dangerous.

“There are six,” I corrected quietly.

Kakashi turned, surprise flickering across his face. “You knew?”

“Since we left the apartment,” I admitted. “The last one’s ahead of us, dampening his chakra.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I didn’t know you had sensing abilities.”

I shrugged. “How else was I supposed to keep track of Naruto?” The thought made me smile despite myself. Compared to Naruto’s antics, sensing assassins was easy.

“Are they after you?” I asked, watching the ripples in the river.

“Probably.” His fingers tightened around mine. “We took out a group of weapons smugglers on my last mission.”

A chill pricked along my spine, followed by heat in my chest. If these were the ones who had already hurt him, then I wasn’t about to let them keep breathing.

The one on the roof shifted position, and I felt the trio across the river edging closer. Three minutes before the ambush. I squeezed Kakashi’s hand. “Don’t tell anyone about this, alright?”

“Iruka—”

But I had already slipped free and pulled a scroll from my back pocket. He started to rise, grimacing at the stab of pain in his side.

“You’re in no condition to fight,” I said, the playfulness gone from my voice. “Stay here. I’ll handle this.”

He looked like he wanted to argue. Then, reluctantly, he sank back onto the bench.

I unfurled the scroll. I never wanted him, or anyone, to see this side of me. But if they thought they could touch him again, they were mistaken.

Three kunai shot across the river, paper bombs trailing in their shadow. The explosions tore through the trees, scattering the first wave. Before the smoke cleared, I broke the next seal, summoning oil. I signed, pulling it into my hand as I formed the water whip, then ignited it with fire. The whip hissed to life, blazing like molten metal.

The one on the roof never had a chance. A lash of fire coiled around his leg, yanking him down. He hit the ground screaming, oil spread as he thrashed, and the flames devoured him.

The weakling from behind rushed, panic in his steps. I side-stepped, planted a heel in his chest, and sent him into the river. Two shinobi from across the water survived the bombs and closed in.

“Why are you after him?” I asked coldly, the fire whip circling back toward Kakashi like a serpent protecting its master.

“The boss said kill the Copy Ninja, and we're being paid handsomely for it.”

The casual tone made my blood boil. “Wrong answer.”

I grinned despite myself. Something dark and bitter unfurled in me, the same repressed anger that had followed me since I was a boy watching my parents die. I wasn’t losing anyone else. Not again.

I signed before they could move, a Water dragon surged from the river at my call, crashing into the weaker pair. The strongest met me head-on, weaving hand signs too slow. I threw a barrier up around him, the seals snapping tight before he realized what I’d done.

Oil poured from the scroll again, spinning into the barrier in twisting cyclones. I fed fire through the whip, igniting the storm. He shouted, cursed, slammed fists against the walls.

Then came the final step. Asuma’s voice echoed in my head as I signed the wind style. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, sending the gust into the prison.

The barrier became an incinerator. Fire roared, devouring oxygen, and the shinobi’s screams cut short. When the flames died, nothing but charred bone and ash remained.

I dropped the barrier. The surviving rogues crawled from the river, bleeding and broken. Two ANBU appeared beside Kakashi, finishing the cleanup, binding the survivors.

I tucked the scroll back into my pocket, before returning to him. My heart was still pounding. “…I’m sorry you had to see that. Are you alright?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His eye followed the ANBU as they put out the ninja still burning, his hand flexing once against his thigh. Then, softly, “You can handle this?”

The ANBU nodded. Kakashi stood, faster than he should have been able, and grabbed my hand. His grip was iron as he dragged me back toward the apartment.

“Kakashi, slow down, you’ll—”

He ignored me, pushed through the door, and shoved me back against the wall. His palms braced beside my head, his entire body pressing into mine.

“Kakashi—”

I didn’t finish. His mask was tugged down, his lips on mine before I could think. His hand slid into my hair, pulling it loose, while the other pressed against my throat, holding me there.

My breath hitched. My hands found his shoulders, then his waist, pulling him closer, until I didn’t care about words, only heat. His ribs must have screamed at him, but he didn’t stop, not until we stumbled toward the bed, sandals kicked aside.

Pinned beneath him, my arms caught above my head, I whimpered when he broke the kiss. “Iruka…” His voice was rough. He pressed his forehead to mine. “What are you doing to me?”

I wrapped my legs around him, pulled him back down for another kiss. His chuckle tickled my lips. “You’re so needy,” he murmured, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

He shifted, lying beside me instead, pulling me into his chest. “That’s all I can give you right now. My ribs won’t take more.”

Reality snapped me out of the haze. “Shit—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“Stop.” He kissed me again, softer this time. “I wanted this.”

His fingers threaded through my hair, slow and steady, like he’d never let go.

Chapter Text

Iruka POV:

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the window.

“ANBU,” Kakashi said, starting to rise, but I rolled, pinning him down with one hand and stealing a quick kiss.

“I’ll get it.”

He smirked, tugging his mask into place as I opened the window.

One of the ANBU slipped inside, the other keeping watch. He handed me a blank report sheet. “Complete this.”

My chest tightened. Still, I reached for a pen and sat at the desk, the scratch of ink loud in the silence.

Whoever this was, Kakashi clearly knew him. “You don’t really have the best timing, do you?” Kakashi asked.

“I gave you time, Senpai. Doesn’t look like you used it very well.”

Heat raced through me as the implication sank in. My ears burned.

“Tenzo,” Kakashi drawled, “you really know how to ruin the mood. Did you at least send them to Ibiki?”

Tenzo pulled off his mask, nodding. “Yes. The Hokage is waiting for our reports.”

Kakashi’s tone sharpened, just a touch. “And what exactly do you intend to put in yours?”

Tenzo met his eye, then sighed. “Was there something you didn’t want added?”

Kakashi’s grin was easy. “Just… downplay everything Iruka did.”

I froze mid-sentence, pen hovering. “Kakashi—”

Tenzo shook his head. “I can’t do that. The interrogation team will drag it out of them regardless.”

The realization hit like a kunai to the gut. Not only had Kakashi seen… so had two ANBU. And when the reports reached Ibiki, and then the Hokage… my classroom felt like it was already slipping away.

I didn’t notice Kakashi move until his arms were around me. “We’ll talk to the Hokage tomorrow,” he murmured, calm as ever. And somehow, maybe because it was him, I believed it.

I forced myself to finish the last few lines, then passed the sheet back.

Tenzo tucked it away, mask sliding back on. He paused in the window. “Iruka,” he said. “You should stop by ANBU sometime… teach us that jutsu.” And then he was gone.

Kakashi shut the window and turned to me, his eye curved in that infuriating little smile. “Now that you’ve shown me what you can really do,” he said, “let’s talk about training.”

My face went hot. “Can we just forget about it?” I muttered. “I don’t want the attention.”

His smirk only deepened. “It’s too late for that.”

He crossed the room and took my hand. “I know you want to stay at the Academy, and I respect that. But it’s hard to watch everyone overlook you.”

I felt the urge to kiss him again. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him. “They’re not,” I said quietly. “People think I’m weak, and that’s fine. That’s not how I want to be measured.” I lifted my gaze to his.

“My students were the only rookies in the Chūnin Exams,” I reminded him. “The others are preparing for the next cycle. I don’t want to be measured by my jutsu. I want to be measured by my students—by whether they become shinobi who can protect each other and the village.”

The words had always been true, even if I never said them aloud. I thought of Naruto, of how far he had come. And for the first time, I felt the weight of pride ease some of the old shadows in my chest.

Kakashi’s smirk faded into something softer. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at things. Most of us don’t have the luxury of seeing beyond strength.”

He paused, his gaze distant. “Maybe that’s what I missed.”

The words were quiet, almost like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.

I tilted my head, uncertain. “Missed?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eye slid back to mine, steady but unreadable. “I spend so much time pushing genin to get stronger, to survive as shinobi, but… I’m not sure I ever gave them what you do.”

My chest tightened at the weight under his words. He wasn’t saying much, but there was something raw there. A hint of guilt.

Kakashi let it hang a beat before he added, lighter now, “Can I watch one of your classes?”

I blinked at him, startled into a laugh. “You? In the Academy? You’d terrify half the kids just standing in the doorway.”

“Maybe,” he said with a faint shrug. “But it might be worth it.”

His voice had gone quiet again, and I didn’t know what to say. So I just nodded, still flustered, still trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted at the idea that Kakashi Hatake thought he had something to learn from me.

At some point, he laid back down, and I left to clean myself up. Steam curled out of the bathroom as I stepped back into the room, toweling my hair. The room looked emptier than before.

I paused, then realized the dogs were missing; the absence bothered me more than I expected. I wasn’t about to say it out loud, but it didn’t feel right without them.

Kakashi was stretched against the pillows, mask tugged down just far enough for me to see the smirk tugging at his mouth. He tipped his head at me. “You pout more than Naruto when someone steals the last dumpling.”

My hand froze halfway through combing my hair. “I wasn’t—” I started, but the heat creeping up my face gave me away.

His smirk deepened, lazy and amused. “If you miss them that much, I’ll add you to the contract.”

I blinked at him. “The ninken contract?”

He gave a small shrug, wincing when the motion tugged his ribs. “Biscuit already likes you. Shiba, too. They’d come if you called.”

The casual way he said it made my stomach flutter. He was joking, but not entirely. That kind of offer wasn’t small.

“…You’d really do that?” I asked carefully.

Kakashi’s visible eye curved, warm and just a little wicked. “Of course. I might even show up myself if you try summoning. You’d never know if it was me or the dogs.”

I sputtered, face burning. “Kakashi!”

He chuckled, low in his chest, then leaned back like he hadn’t just flustered me within an inch of my life.

“Think about it,” he said lightly, as though it didn’t matter either way. But the look he gave me told a different story.

I busied myself with straightening the blanket, anything to keep from melting under his gaze. “You should rest before your ribs get worse.”

“Already worse,” he muttered, but when I slipped onto the mattress beside him, his arm curved around me without hesitation.

For a moment, I let myself lean in, the space Biscuit and Shiba had left behind filled instead by the steady weight of him.

Chapter Text

Iruka POV:

I woke slow, the kind of heavy warmth that only came after real rest. For once, I didn’t dream. No fire. No screams. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest under my cheek.

It hit me a second later, how I was curled into him, one leg hooked over his, my knee brushing the line of his hip. Worse, the hard press of my arousal against his thigh.

Heat rushed into my face so fast it made me dizzy. I wanted to groan, bury myself under the blankets. Every nerve screamed at me to shift away, but my body wouldn’t move. If anything, the hunger clawing through me urged me closer. I wanted to whimper, wanted to give in, but my brain caught up.

No. I couldn’t. What if this was temporary, just while he was hurt? What if he walked away once he healed? What if it hurt? What if I hurt him?

My breath hitched when I realized he was awake. His eye was already open, fixed on me with that unreadable curve that wasn’t quite a smile. And then I felt him, hard against me, pressing back.

“Kakashi—” I started, but the word broke when his hand slid to the back of my neck and pulled me up into a kiss.

It wasn’t careful, not this time. It was heat, insistent and sure. His lips parting mine, stealing the air from my lungs. I gasped, fingers fisting in his shirt before I could stop myself, dragging him closer like I’d been waiting for this.

His mouth trailed down my jaw, my throat, grazing sensitive skin with teeth that made me shiver. My leg tightened over his hip, grinding us together, and the low sound that escaped me wasn’t one I could ever take back.

“Kakashi…” My voice was half-moan, half-plea.

He shifted, hand sliding lower, teasing the edge of my waistband, and I felt my breath stutter. Every part of me screamed yes, but the fear still anchored me. I caught his wrist, chest heaving.

“I’m not… ready,” I admitted, the words raw, humiliating in their honesty.

For a beat, it was silence. Then, instead of irritation or disappointment, his touch softened. He leaned back just enough to kiss my temple, his voice low, steady.

“Iruka… that’s fine. I’ll stop.”

Relief and want tangled painfully in my chest. I nodded, though I didn’t let go of him.

His smirk ghosted against my skin. “But we’ve got a problem.” His hips shifted just enough to remind me of the hardness still pressed against me. “It’s getting hard not to… handle this.” The pause was deliberate, and I heard the pun even through the haze in my head.

Despite everything, I laughed, shaky and embarrassed, hiding my face against his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it,” he murmured, running his fingers once more through my hair before settling me back against his chest, no pressure this time.

And damn it, he was right.

My whole body was aching for him, shaking with it. I pressed closer, breath catching, and whispered before I could second-guess myself: “I… I don’t know what to do.”

He stilled. Then, softly, “What do you mean?”

Heat scorched my face. “I’ve never…” My voice cracked. “I don’t know how. What if—what if I mess it up?”

Kakashi chuckled, the sound rough and warm in my ear. “Iruka. You can’t mess this up.” His hand slid down, settling low on my stomach but not pushing further. “Let me show you.”

I shivered, but I nodded.

He shifted us carefully, pulling me onto my back. His mouth found mine again, slower this time, coaxing instead of demanding. His hand slipped below my shorts, grasping me, tentative at first, then firmer as I arched into it despite myself. A groan tore from my throat, my face flaming hot, and Kakashi swallowed it with another kiss.

“See?” he murmured against my lips. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

I whimpered when his hand stroked me again, fire sparking through my body. My hips jerked up helplessly, and I clutched at his shoulders, gasping his name. Every touch stripped me raw, made me dizzy with need, until I was breaking apart under him, spilling into his hand with a sound that was embarrassingly mine.

Kakashi didn’t stop kissing me, didn’t stop murmuring low praise into my ear until the tremors eased. My chest heaved, and I hid my face against him, mortified.

Then I felt it, his own hard length straining against me. He hadn’t taken care of himself yet.

I looked up at him, flustered, lips parting. “Kakashi…”

He smirked faintly, breath ragged. “Don’t worry about me.” But I saw the tension in him, the strain in his shoulders.

I swallowed, gathering what courage I had left. My hand slipped down, brushing against him under the fabric, and his breath hitched hard. His hips jolted before he caught himself, and I thought for a moment he might stop me. But then his hand covered mine, guiding me.

“Slow,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the word. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Heat curled low in my stomach at the sound of him. Kakashi, the unshakable, unreadable Kakashi, reduced to this. My movements grew more confident with the way he leaned into them, his head tipping back, his breath coming faster. Every little sound he let slip only spurred me on, until he caught my wrist and found release.

“That’s enough,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine. His breath was ragged, but his gaze steady. “Iruka… that was perfect.”

The warmth in his eye undid me more than anything. I nodded quickly, cheeks burning, and he kissed me again. Slower this time, until the tension between us ebbed and left only the quiet thrum of closeness.

When he finally shifted, it was only to wrap me tighter against his chest. His chakra pulsed low and steady, anchoring me. He stroked my hair until the frantic pace of my breathing eased. I must have drifted for a while, because the next thing I knew his voice was breaking through the haze.

“We should shower.” His tone was gentle, though the faint smirk underneath gave him away.

I blinked at him. “Together?”

One silver brow arched. “That was the idea.”

I groaned, burying my face against his chest. He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me, oddly soothing. In the end, we made it to the bathroom, both of us sore in different ways, both of us flushed for reasons that had nothing to do with the steam rising off the water.

Kakashi moved carefully, mindful of his ribs, but still reached to steady me when I fumbled. “Relax,” he murmured, like it was the easiest thing in the world. His fingers brushed through my hair as I rinsed it, the same way they had in sleep, and something in me melted.

To my surprise, I didn’t really mind showering with him. I had no doubt that if he didn’t hide his face, half the village would be lining up at his door. The rest of him was just as unfairly beautiful, and for some reason, it felt like it was mine.

He followed me back into the bedroom and slipped into his uniform while I dried my hair.

“After we see Tsunade, want to grab ramen?” he asked, tugging his mask into place.

I couldn’t hide my smile.

“You’re as bad as Naruto.”

“I don’t know if I’m that bad,” I said lightly. “But I do love ramen.”

I reached for my vest, only for him to pluck the brush from my hands. “Here.” He nudged me to sit on the bed, and in half the time it usually took, he had my hair smoothed and tied.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked, startled.

“Sakura. If I didn’t help, training breaks lasted forever while she tried to get knots out.”

The thought hit me sideways. Kakashi would make a terrifyingly good dad. My cheeks burned before I could stop them.

He leaned down, kissing me quickly before flashing a wicked grin. “You’re thinking something naughty.”

My face went scarlet. “I—I am not,” I stammered, snatching up my vest and forehead protector just to have something to do with my hands.

He chuckled, unbothered, already heading for the door. “Come on. If we dawdle, Tsunade will make us regret it.”

By the time we reached Tsunade’s office, Kakashi managed to steal a quick kiss in the hall, smug behind his mask as though that would make me less flustered walking in.

The office was chaos. Tsunade buried in papers, Shizune juggling scrolls and muttering under her breath.

“Kakashi, Iruka—I’ll be with you in a second. Shizune, find the letter from the Hidden Sand.” She barked, already pushing to her feet and striding toward the window.

I sighed and stepped over to the desk. “May I?”

Shizune gave me a quick nod, relief flickering across her face. In moments, we’d fallen into rhythm; sorting, stacking, aligning in order of urgency. By the time Tsunade turned back, her desk was clear, the Hidden Sand's letter neatly placed on top.

“Efficient as ever,” Shizune murmured. I scratched my head, flustered.

Kakashi, of course, hadn’t moved from his perch against the wall. His eye trailed lazily down the page of Icha Icha, utterly unbothered. I resisted the urge to kick him in the shin.

Tsunade sighed, dropping into her seat again. “I’ve read your report.” Her gaze pinned me. “And I’ve read the reports from the ANBU assigned to Kakashi.”

My chest tightened. I was ready to beg her not to take me from the Academy.

Kakashi closed his book with a snap. “So what are your thoughts?”

Tsunade’s eyes flicked to him, then back to me. “I think I’ve got an overqualified ninja wasting away at the Academy.”

The air left my lungs. I opened my mouth to protest, but her hand came up, silencing me.

“However,” she went on, her tone softer but no less firm, “Hiruzen left me a note about you. And because of that, I’m inclined to keep you there. At least until I determine how best to utilize your skills.”

Relief surged through me so quick my knees nearly buckled.

She stood again, circling the desk. “Shizune, see to Kakashi’s microfractures. I need a word with Iruka alone.”

My stomach dropped. Kakashi’s gaze lingered on me before he followed Shizune out, the door shutting quietly behind them.

“Iruka,” Tsunade said, her voice losing its edge. “I know you have a complicated past, and you're not field-oriented. Still…” she sat across from me, eyes intent, “Hiruzen didn’t give you enough credit. I want to keep you in the Academy. But I will use you on harder missions when I have to. We’re short-handed, and your skills are too sharp to leave idle.”

I nodded mutely, throat dry.

She tilted her head. “What I’d like to know is why you didn’t come to me yourself.”

Go to her? And say what? That I was terrified of losing the one place that made me feel useful?

“I… I guess I was afraid I’d lose my position,” I admitted. Even as the words left me, I knew they weren’t the whole truth.

“I know about your parents. And Mizuki.” Her tone was quiet, but the words hit like shrapnel. My stomach sank.

“I know you thought he was your friend. He wasn’t. He used your trauma against you. He wasn't everything; you have people who genuinely care about you. I need you to remember that.” Tsunade’s eyes softened, though her voice stayed firm. “You’re capable. Gifted. I’d promote you to jōnin tomorrow and send you out with Kakashi or Asuma if I thought it was the right move. Do you understand?”

I nodded, though the doubt still twisted inside me. I'd missed all the signs Mizuki was using me, for years. I was too naive and too weak to stop him.

Her sigh pulled me back. “We’ll work on it. Belief doesn’t change overnight.” She rested a hand on my shoulder. “Would I be wrong to say Kakashi’s already making you more sure of yourself?”

Heat crept up my neck. I hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. She was right. I’d never have shown those jutsu to anyone else.

“Good,” she said briskly. “Stay with Kakashi until he’s fit for duty. You can return to the Academy Monday. But I’ll also expect you to train with a jōnin or ANBU once a week. You need to start trusting yourself in the field.”

“Understood, Lady Tsunade.” I bowed, and she chuckled.

“Oh, and ANBU’s already asked for a demonstration of that jutsu. They think it could be useful. You understand.”

I did. It was useful for eliminating bodies without drawing attention. I exhaled, uneasy. “Lady Tsunade… Lord Third taught me that. He had me studying seals, barriers, and curse marks… But passed before I could ask him why. Did he ever mention it in his notes?”

She leaned back, arms folded. “Hiruzen left me notes on many shinobi, but yours was clear. He never wanted you lost in ANBU or dragged into the field. He believed your strength was here—” she tapped her chest, “—not in jutsu, but in how you reach people. Especially kids who might slip through the cracks.”

I swallowed hard, something tight in my throat.

“As for the jutsu,” she continued, “he was worried about Orochimaru. Worried about the Academy being vulnerable. My grandfather, the First Hokage, believed children shouldn’t have to fight. With your skillset, Hiruzen was trying to make sure they wouldn’t.”

My breath caught. “…So he wanted me to keep the First Hokage’s vision of The Academy alive.”

Tsunade stepped closer, catching my chin in her hand before I could look away. Her eyes searched mine, then softened. “You even look like him,” she murmured.

I froze. “…Who?”

“My grandfather,” she said simply, releasing me. “There’s a reason, I’m sure. You’re dismissed.”

I bowed, murmured thanks, and slipped out. My steps faltered before the portraits of past Hokage. Hashirama’s calm, steady face stared back. Did I really…?

Kakashi found me there. He glanced at the portrait, then at me. His visible eye curved into a grin. “Hmm. Without that scar, you’d be almost a replica.”

Heat surged straight to my ears. “Don’t,” I muttered, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the wall of legends. I was done with futures and visions and impossible comparisons. Right now, I wanted ramen, sunlight by the river, and Kakashi’s hand in mine.

The walk to Ichiraku’s felt longer than usual. My thoughts kept circling back to Tsunade’s words, to the weight of names I’d never imagined tied to mine. Hashirama. Hiruzen. Their vision, their expectations… were now resting on my shoulders.

I didn’t want it, or maybe I just didn’t know what to do with it.

Kakashi said nothing as we walked, though I caught him looking at me more than once. His silence wasn’t heavy, not like mine; it was patient.

By the time we slid onto the stools, the smell of broth and noodles almost pulled me out of my head.

Teuchi leaned over the counter with a smile. “Iruka! Kakashi! Haven’t seen you two together in a while. The usual?”. I nodded quickly, grateful for the distraction. Kakashi hummed his agreement, flipping open his battered book as if he weren’t watching me from the corner of his eye.

Bowls arrived, steam curling up between us. I stirred mine without eating.

“What’s wrong?” Kakashi asked, finally, like it wasn’t a question but a certainty.

I stiffened. “Nothing.”

“Mm.” He slurped noodles loudly, deliberately, like he was giving me space to contradict myself.

I sighed, setting my chopsticks down. “It’s just—” My throat felt tight. “The Hokage has high expectations of me. I'm a good teacher. Good enough at the basics to help the kids. Teaching the Will of Fire is enough for me.”

Kakashi’s eye tipped up, sharp under the lazy curve.

“But now—” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Lord Third had this plan for me to cultivate Lord First's vision for the whole Academy. I don’t even know if I believe in myself that much. It feels… heavy. Like I’ll fail them just by being me.”

The silence stretched. I risked a glance at him.

Kakashi set his chopsticks down, leaning back. His expression was softer than I expected. “You’re not failing anyone,” he said quietly. “The only reason Hiruzen or Tsunade sees that in you is because it’s already there. Whether you believe it or not doesn’t change that.”

Heat crept up my neck. I stared down at my ramen, wishing the broth could swallow me.

He leaned closer, voice low enough only I could hear. “You think you’re just a teacher. But the truth is… you’re the kind of man Hokages look to when they need hope.”

My chest tightened with something warmer.

Kakashi slurped another mouthful like he hadn’t just said something that would keep me awake all night. “Eat. Your ramen’s getting cold.”

I let out a breath, picked up my chopsticks again, and let myself feel how grateful I was to have him beside me.

The broth warmed me from the inside. For a few minutes, we didn’t speak, just the sound of Teuchi working, the hum of the lanterns overhead, the faint river of voices drifting down the street.

It felt… comfortable. Like the kind of meal I’d never dared to think I could have with someone like him.

“You’re quiet,” Kakashi said after a while, not looking up from his bowl. “So are you,” I shot back, and his eye curved faintly, like he’d been waiting for me to say it.

Silence stretched again. I risked a glance at him, and he met it without looking away. My chest tightened all over again.

I looked down quickly, fumbling for my tea. “Thanks… for what you said.”.

He tilted his head, “Hmm? About the ramen?"

I groaned, nearly spilling my tea. “Kakashi!”

His chuckle was low, easy, the kind that vibrated right through me. “You’re welcome,” he said simply, and for once, there wasn’t anything left for me to argue.

We finished in comfortable silence, the kind that made the broth feel like a hug after a long absence. My vision blurred slightly, but I ignored it.

“Ready?” he asked, rising with that lazy grace.

“Yeah.” I stood from my stool, only for the floor to tilt under me. Heat drained from my face. A heavy buzz filled my ears.

“Iruka.” His voice snapped, the mask of boredom gone. Before my knees could give, his hand locked around my elbow, steadying me with surprising strength for someone with broken ribs.

“I’m fine,” I muttered automatically, even as the world swam.

“You’re not fine.” His eye narrowed, his arm slipping around my back like it was the most natural thing in the world. To me, it was the only anchor I had. “That jutsu was probably too much for you.” he pressed.

My cheeks burned. “I’m just tired.”

He hummed, unconvinced, and half-carried me into the street.

Of course, that’s when Kotetsu and Izumo spotted us.

“Iruka!” Kotetsu waved far too loudly. “Kakashi! What’s got you—oh.”

Izumo squinted. “Wait, we heard you two fought off eight assassins last night. Iruka, are you hurt?”

They leaned in, practically circling me. Kakashi gave them that polite, lazy smile that never meant anything good.

“Assassins? No, no. I was up a tree reading Make Out Paradise. Iruka caught me when I fell.”

They stepped back, whispering not nearly as quietly as they thought.

“Do you buy that?”

“Nope. Kakashi doesn’t fall out of trees.”

“So he did take out those assassins.”

“Yeah—and Iruka probably got beat up like usual.”

I bit my tongue, heat prickling my ears.

“We’ve gotta report to Lady Tsunade,” Izumo said, throwing us a wave. “We’ll stop by later, Iruka!”

“See ya,” Kakashi said easily, tugging me closer and steering us away before I could react.

Then another voice cut in. “Iruka, what the hell happened to you this time?”

Kakashi sighed, under his breath. “Does everyone know you?”

Anko and Asuma strode toward us. Asuma’s sharp gaze swept over me , then flicked to Kakashi.

“We’re headed to my apartment,” Kakashi said before they could speak.

“Your apartment, huh?” Anko crossed her arms, eyes narrowing on Kakashi. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with him there? Perv. If you’re the reason he looks roughed up, Hatake, I’ll give you a reason to cover that other eye.”

Kakashi’s visible eye curved lazily. “I’m not really in the best shape to fight, but you can try if you like.”

“I'm going to do a lot more than try.” She took a step forward.

Asuma slid between them with a sigh, already lifting me easily onto his back. “Save it. Iruka’s about to pass out.”

Anko scowled, then jabbed a finger at Kakashi. “You hurt him, you answer to me.” With that, she pivoted toward the dumpling shop. “I’ll catch up with you later, Asuma.”

I groaned faintly into Asuma’s shoulder as my vision tunneled. Their voices blurred, Asuma’s low rumble and Kakashi’s quieter replies slipping out of reach as everything went heavy.

Chapter Text

Kakashi's POV

I lost count of the hours sometime between afternoon and evening. Iruka slept like he hadn’t in years. Not the twitching, nightmare-haunted doze I’d grown used to seeing, but a flat, heavy rest that swallowed time. I watched him for a while, the way his chest rose and fell, and felt something warm and new in my chest every time a breath came easy.

When his eyes didn’t open after a few hours, I shifted, testing my ribs. Pain flared and releveled, nothing terrible, but enough to remind me I wasn’t invincible. I crawled up, moving like an old tree, then padded to the hall to pee and cleared my throat at my own reflection. The apartment felt too quiet with him asleep.

The kitchen was a tough reminder. I opened cupboards that held a bag of rice and a few days' worth of food pills. No fresh food, nothing that would help either of us. I could have asked someone to grab something, but that felt childish; instead, I cleaned a pot, warmed some water, and made a cup of tea.

A knock at the door surprised me. Shizune slipped in without standing on ceremony, carrying a small satchel of supplies and a look that was business wrapped in worry. She set a thermos with a medicinal broth on the counter and produced several little vials.

“You should have said something earlier,” she said, already moving to set ice packs and bandages within easy reach. “If Iruka is like this, he probably set back his recovery. This will help with your microfractures and stabilize his chakra recovery. Tsunade doesn't want to see either of you exerting yourselves.”

“He’s… sleeping,” I said.

“Good. Let him sleep.” She eyed the apartment with a small, appraising smile. “You’re doing fine. Call if anything changes.”

She hesitated by the door, then added softly, “You two are good together.”

“Thanks, Shizune.” I meant it.

She left barely ten minutes after arriving, and I sat with my cup until the tea was lukewarm. The lamp cast the apartment in a pool of yellow calm. A while after Shizune, there was another set of steps in the hall. Someone firmer and more impatient.

Anko slammed the door like a storm. Her eyes cut to Iruka on the bed, then to me. For half a second, the scowl cracked into something closer to surprise than hardened again.

“You’re actually looking after him,” she muttered, folding her arms. “Good. But you’d better keep it that way. After the shit you put teams through, don’t think I won’t gut you if this is some twisted game.”

I didn’t rise to it. “You really like poking your nose into things.”

Her hand shot out, fisting my collar, dragging me close enough to smell the sake on her breath. “Listen, friend-killer,” she hissed. “I know your type. You're missions end with someone covered in blood. You drag him into that, I swear I’ll—”

“Orochimaru hurt you,” I cut in, my voice even. Her grip froze, just enough. “Mizuki hurt him. This isn’t about me. This is about making sure no one ever lays a hand on him again.”

Her eyes narrowed. I didn’t look away. “If Mizuki breathes Iruka’s name, Ibiki will look merciful compared to what I’ll do. I’ll carve him down to nothing and make him beg for death. You have my word.”

For a beat, silence stretched. The mask slipped, not the shinobi, but the ANBU in me. Cold and unfiltered. She saw it, and her smile twisted.

“Good,” she said finally, letting go of my collar. “That’s the answer I was looking for.”

She gave Iruka one last look. Something raw flickering behind her eyes, then pivoted on her heel and left, the echo of her boots sharp against the quiet.

Who knew Iruka had such passionate friends? I got up and rinsed my cup before settling on the bed beside him with Make Out Paradise. I dozed once, then woke to the window opening. Tenzo slid through like a ghost and set down a paper bag.

“Figured you’d need something real to eat,” he said, voice low. Inside were rice balls, wrapped in seaweed and perfectly compacted. He’d thought of the most basic, most useful food a shinobi could eat on the move.

I took one with hands that were steadier than I felt. “Thanks,” I said. He stood by the bed, looking at Iruka with the flat, concerned look that we all got after years of fieldwork.

“They’re talking,” Tenzo said. “ANBU heard what Iruka did. Even with limited information, the teams are interested. People want to know who Iruka is. Root’s been poking around, too.”

The name lodged under my sternum. “Root?”

“Yes.” Tenzo’s masked tone didn’t shift. “There’s always interest in shinobi who have skills like his. He has the darkness for it. Root sees utility. Some of them will try to recruit him; some might even try to test him. Donzo will assume he can break him of his kindness. You know how they are.”

I let the threat sit. My voice dropped without me meaning it to. “If Donzo breathes in Iruka’s direction—”

“—I will file the paperwork and then personally dispose of the corpse Donzo leaves behind in whatever hole that will hold it,” Tenzo finished.

A small, rare laugh left me. “That would be appreciated.”

We sat a while with the rustle of the leaves and the soft clink of wrapped rice. I talked more than I had in days: about our last mission, what I thought the enemy had been trying to buy, about why we thought the Akatsuki was there, and Tenzo listened quietly. He told me the ANBU had left the wording of the assassination report factual but brief.

"They really do have a bounty out on you. I assume it was the hair and Sharingan that gave you away. Tsunade is using it to gather intel. We captured a few rogues from the Bingo book earlier today."

I looked down at Iruka again. Being near me was putting him in danger.

"Senpai, he isn't in danger. You can rest easy." Knowing Tenzo, he meant it.

"Thank you," I said, standing and closing the window behind him.

After he left, I tossed the bag in the trash and stood at the doorway for a long time, watching Iruka. I felt the thin frayed threads of worry settle into something like resolve. Whatever the Root wanted, whatever those bounty hunters did, I wouldn’t let it cost Iruka this quiet.

I moved to the bed and laid my palm lightly on his hair, feeling the slight dampness at his temple. He shifted in sleep and mumbled something that sounded like my name. I was relieved, knowing he was dreaming about me and not having a nightmare. Eventually, I laid down beside him, pulling him to my chest and let his steady breath coax me to sleep.

Morning

I woke to the sound of rain against the window. Iruka was still asleep, his breathing steady. For a moment, unease prickled in my chest. Should I wake him? Shizune had said he needed rest. Maybe this was normal. I forced myself to settle, though the tension lingered.

“Tenzo,” I called quietly when I cracked the window. He was already there, perched above me. Of course.

“Keep an eye on him while I step out.”

Tenzo nodded once. I slipped into the street.

At the flower shop, I picked up cloth and offerings, the motions as routine as breathing. Before long, I was at the memorial.

Rin. Obito. Minato-sensei. Their names cut through me like they always did. I cleaned the stone, left the flowers, and finally let the words slip out.

“Sensei… what would you do right now? What would you tell Kushina?” My voice was hoarse, too thin. “Did you feel this helpless when you had to protect her?”

No answer, of course. Just the rain.

My thoughts spiraled: Sasuke, Naruto, all the ways I’d failed them. Is this how the Third felt, watching Orochimaru fall? Unable to stop it, no matter what he tried?

Time blurred, as it always did when I stood here. My shoulders were already soaked when I felt arms wrap around me from behind. It only took a breath to know it was Iruka.

He let go and stepped forward, setting his own flowers against the stone. “My parents are here,” he said softly, and when he looked up at me, there was a quiet smile. He took my hand in his.

“Tenzo told me where you were.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Let’s go eat. Then I need to stop by the ANBU office. I can’t demonstrate the jutsu, but I can explain it to them.”

He smiled again, steadier this time, and I followed him.

Chapter Text

Iruka POV:

Kakashi kept close as we walked, his single eye flicking to me more often than the street ahead.

“How are you feeling?” he asked finally.

I hesitated, then admitted, “Yesterday wasn’t good. But today… I feel steadier.”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered, as if weighing whether to believe me.

By the time we reached the ANBU office the rain had soaked us through. The moment we stepped inside, the room shifted. Masks turned toward me, and before I could even shake the water from my sleeves, they crowded close.

“How does the jutsu function?”

“Who taught it to you?”

“Have you used it in combat before?”

The questions came sharp and fast, voices overlapping. My throat closed for a beat. I wasn’t used to being the center of attention here, not in a room like this, not among them.

“Enough,” Kakashi’s voice cut through, deceptively mild. But the edge under it made the crowd fall back. “Let him breathe.”

Tenzo appeared at my side, setting dry clothes in my arms before I could thank him. Grateful, I changed quickly, then sat down with the few who remained. Explaining the mechanics steadied me.

“Well,” I began, “I use a special oil when shaping the water release. That forms around the walls of the barrier. Then you ignite the fire—” I gave a rueful smile. “Which is tricky. The aim is to rotate the oil and fire together, layered like tiles, so they hold in place. Once that’s set, you use the center to channel wind through. You can push it outward to defend, or…”

The words caught. My throat tightened with the memory of what that choice had cost. I let the sentence die there.

Half of them shook their heads immediately; they couldn’t touch all three elements. A few stepped forward—they could, but barrier work wasn’t in their arsenal.

One by one, the rest drifted off. Missions, training, and rotations pulled them away until only a handful stayed, still curious enough to keep pressing.

“Would any barrier work?” one asked.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll have to test it.”

They nodded, and we agreed to meet in a few weeks.

When it was over, I caught Kakashi watching me with a look that tugged the corner of his mouth into something smug.

“You fit in with them,” he said.

There was something under the words. Something sharp I couldn’t quite read.

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked carefully.

His eye dropped, and he sighed. “Not every ANBU plays for the same team.”

The way he said it wasn’t casual. It felt personal, like an old wound surfacing in the space between us.

"Is there something I should know," I asked, voice low as we made our way to the door.

He didn't look too excited to add more, but he surprised me when he leaned in. "A radical faction, known as Root, is interested in you. I have Tenzo keeping an eye on it."

I stared at him for a moment, processing what he was saying. This whole thing was really turning into a mess.

Chapter Text

Iruka POV:

The rain was steady, the kind that soaked through the air even under an umbrella. By the time Kakashi and I left the ANBU office, the back of my neck felt damp, fatigue tugging at me again despite the long sleep.

“We should stop at the store,” I said, adjusting the umbrella. “I need to do laundry, and I don’t have anything for breakfast tomorrow.”

Kakashi nodded like he’d already decided to come along. His presence at my side was so matter-of-fact now that it didn’t feel like an intrusion.

The market smelled faintly of fish and rain-wet wood. I took a basket, drifting automatically toward the familiar miso paste, eggs, cuts of fish I knew Kakashi preferred, a bundle of tea. Halfway through my list, I noticed Kakashi had disappeared. Then he reappeared, unhurried, balancing a small bundle of oranges in his hand.

“You never buy fruit,” he said, as though it were somehow a Ninja law.

“I thought you didn't like sweet things?”

“It's good for your health.”

I huffed but didn’t argue, adding the oranges to the basket. It was easier than pretending he wasn’t right.

By the time we reached my apartment, the heaviness in my legs had settled into my shoulders, too. I set the basket on the counter and rubbed at the back of my neck. Kakashi watched me for a beat, then silently began putting groceries away. Fish wrapped for the icebox, tea in the cupboard, the oranges sitting smugly in the center of the table.

“I can do it,” I muttered.

He ignored me, closing the cupboard once he was finished. When I reached for the laundry basket, his hand closed lightly over mine.

“Couch,” he said, voice quiet but not leaving room for debate.

I wanted to protest, but the truth was I didn’t have the energy. So I shrugged out of my gear and sat.

The couch creaked as he dropped into his usual sprawl beside me. I pulled tomorrow’s lesson plan into my lap, smoothing the edges, trying to focus on neat handwriting and rows of exercises. Kakashi pulled Icha Icha from his pocket, flipping it open with practiced ease.

For a while, the rain was the only sound. It was ordinary and strangely comforting.

When the lesson plan was finished, I set it aside and reached for something lighter. I usually had a novel tucked on the shelf. Something simple, full of warmth and happy endings, nothing like the mess outside our walls.

I could feel Kakashi’s eye flick toward me, not the book in his hand. I tried to ignore it.

“What?” I asked finally, glancing up.

He tilted his head. “Just wondering what could possibly compete with Jiraiya.”

I snorted. “This has characters who do more than get naked.”

The corner of his mask tugged upward.

Before I could look away, he leaned closer, pulling down his mask. The kiss was slow, testing, the kind that asked a question instead of demanding an answer. My breath hitched; my hand, traitorous, curled against his chest. The warmth of him bled through the thin fabric, steadier than I wanted to admit I needed.

I pulled back before it went further, heart racing, face hot. “We should be resting. And the laundry needs to get done.”

Kakashi’s sigh was almost theatrical.

I stood quickly, grateful for the excuse to break away. Shizune’s jar of medicine sat waiting on the counter. I poured a measure into a cup and set it in front of him before taking my own.

He eyed it, then me, then tipped it back in one go. By the time I turned toward the laundry, he was already reaching for the book I’d left behind, orange forgotten in a half-peeled curl on the table.

“Don’t dog-ear the pages,” I warned over my shoulder.

“Mm.” His voice was low, already scanning the paragraph. “This protagonist reminds me of someone.”

I rolled my eyes and carried the basket to the back room, telling myself the warmth in my chest was just from the medicine. It didn't take long to have the clothes sorted and washing.

When I came back, Kakashi was still on the couch, book in hand, but his eye flicked up the moment I stepped into the room. He set it down on the table.

“You look tired,” he said. His voice was quiet, almost lazy. “Come here.”

I hesitated, but he was right. He didn't sit up, instead he opened his arms, inviting me to lay with him. My head found his shoulder, reluctant at first, then easing into the warmth.

The rain outside carried the silence, steady and soft. My pulse slowed. My aches began to unknot.

His fingers tugged my hair loose before running his fingers through it, idle at first, then stroking through the strands with a rhythm so gentle it was almost hypnotic. He didn’t speak, just picked up Icha Icha again, and kept reading.

At some point, my eyes drifted closed, and I felt a soft kiss to my temple.

I don’t know how long I dozed like that, lulled by the steady rhythm of Kakashi’s hand in my hair and the rain against the glass. The apartment was warm, quiet. For once, it felt like the world outside hadn't just tried to kill us.

Which is why the knock on the door made me flinch.

It wasn’t the polite sort of knock, either—it was rapid, uneven, punctuated by laughter. Then a second set of knocks joined in, heavier.

Kakashi’s sigh rumbled against my temple. “Guy.”

I blinked, still groggy. “What?”

“Someone had the bright idea to visit us.”

The laughter outside got louder. A woman’s voice... Anko. Another low and steady... Genma. And underneath all of it, unmistakable, Kotetsu and Izumo egging them on.

I groaned and tried to sit up. Kakashi’s arm didn’t move.

“They’ll go away,” he said, but the smirk in his voice told me even he didn’t believe it.

The next knock rattled the frame. Then someone shouted: “We know you’re in there, Hatake! Quit hiding and let us in!”

I rubbed at my eyes. “You invited them, didn’t you?”

“Mm.” Kakashi’s eye crinkled. “Why would I do that?”

Another shout: “Iruka! Don’t let him keep you all to himself!”

Heat rushed to my face. Kakashi’s laugh was quiet, amused. “Looks like they miss us.”

The pounding started again.

With a sigh of my own, I pushed up and shuffled toward the door. “You’re helping me clean this up later,” I muttered.

Behind me, Kakashi drawled, “Tenzo can handle it.”

By the time I pulled the laundry from the washer and hung it to dry, the living room had transformed. Bottles clinked on the counter, and half my pantry was being raided. Guy already had Kakashi by the wrist, dragging him upright with a booming challenge.

“Tonight, we see whose YOUTHFUL SPIRIT burns brightest!”

Kakashi let himself be hauled up, eye crinkling in that way that told me he was already resigned. Genma had claimed the couch, pouring snacks into a bowl with the casual ease of someone who’d made himself at home before.

Asuma and Kurenai slipped in like they owned the place, settling across from Kakashi as if they hadn’t just walked in uninvited.

I was still trying to process the invasion when Koketsu’s arm looped around my shoulders and a sake cup was shoved into my hand.

“Listen up, Iruka,” he said gravely, already flushed. “The Fifth Hokage had the nerve to send Izumo and me on separate missions today. Do you know how traumatizing that was? We needed a drink.”

I barely had time to raise the cup before Izumo came in, pouring his own with a dramatic flourish.

“Koketsu, did you tell him?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed me by the sleeve and tugged me into a chair beside them.

Anko appeared a second later, sharp grin flashing as she shoved Izumo out of the way and dropped into the seat next to me. “Iruka, can you believe these cowards? Crying because they couldn’t cuddle each other?”

I opened my mouth, already cornered. “…Well, they are always together. It makes sense to keep them partnered.”

Izumo and Kotetsu shouted their agreement. Anko groaned, snatching the sake from my hand, and thrust a beer at me instead. “Hell no, Iruka. You’re on my side. Drink!”

My face heated. “I don’t think you’re supposed to mix beer and sake—”

Anko rolled her eyes, “Kampai!”

I sighed and took a sip. She looked like she wanted to complain but settled for turning her attention back on Izumo, needling him about “crying to the Hokage.”

I was just starting to relax when Shizune swept in, cheeks flushed and energy already simmering. She plucked the sake cup out of my hand and downed it in one swallow.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had,” she ranted, dropping heavily into the chair on my other side. “Shizune, where’s this? Shizune, file that. And the gambling!” She gestured wildly, snatching Anko’s cup before I could process. “Iruka, can you believe she still can’t organize her own desk?”

She shoved my empty cup back into my hand, and Anko filled both of ours like she was officiating a wedding.

“You’re drinking with me, right?” Shizune pressed.

I sighed. “Sure.” Another swallow burned its way down.

Anko narrowed her eyes. “Hey, sis, why are you crowding Ruka?”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, already trying to keep the peace. “Did you want my seat?”

Shizune, undeterred, slid into my chair with a smirk. “He isn’t great at this drinking thing.”

Anko grinned, leaning in close. “Guess we’ll have to fix that.” She raised her voice. “Alright, cowards, drink!”

The whole room answered her.

I downed the rest of my sake in resignation. Before I could breathe, Anko shoved the half-empty beer back at me. “You didn’t finish this yet.”

The cheer that went up when I groaned nearly rattled the windows. I tipped it back, grimacing, and handed the glass over.

Somehow, I’d ended up wedged between Anko and Shizune.

Anko was mid-rant about the creeps who hung around the dango stand after hours, and Shizune, already a little pink, was matching her complaint for complaint.

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to pry drunks off Tsunade-sama’s table?” Shizune huffed, sloshing sake dangerously close to the rim of her cup.

“At least you don’t have to date them,” Anko shot back, rolling her eyes. “Half the men in this village think flirting means describing their best jutsu.”

I muttered something vague and noncommittal, but they weren’t really listening.

Across the room, Guy was booming about Rival Loyalty while dragging Kakashi into a drinking contest. Kakashi hadn’t protested, but his lazy posture hadn’t changed either. Every so often, his visible eye creased in that smug way that made me wonder if he was actually drinking at all.

By the time Genma declared Kakashi the winner, I’d lost count of how many cups I’d had. Every time I lowered one, another magically appeared. Refilled by Anko or slid into my hand by Shizune with a conspiratorial smile.

The door banged open.

“Shizune, there you are!”

Tsunade strode in like this was her office. She took in the chaos with a glance, bottles on my counter, shinobi sprawled across my floor, and claimed the empty seat opposite me.

Anko perked up instantly. “Sooo, Lady Tsunade, think you can drink me under the table?”

Shizune burst into giggles, almost toppling into me. “That’s not even a challenge,” she said.

Tsunade grinned, eyes bright with the thrill of a fight. “Anytime.”

Anko was already pouring, slamming cups down in front of us. “Kampai!”

Shizune nearly fell out of her chair, shouting “Kampai!”, and the three of them downed their cups in unison.

I hadn’t touched mine yet when Tsunade’s sharp eyes zeroed in on me.

“Well? What are you waiting for, Iruka? Too good to drink with us?”

Heat shot straight to my face. “N-No, of course not.” I stammered, lifting the cup quickly. The burn hit hard, but I managed to swallow without coughing. I refilled the cups automatically, my hand a little unsteady.

By the seventh round, the room was tilting.

Kakashi appeared at my side like he’d been waiting for the right moment. “Iruka,” he said, voice soft enough to cut through the roar of Anko and Tsunade egging each other on. “Come join us.”

Relief washed through me, and I let him guide me to the couch. Guy was still insisting Kakashi had cheated, Asuma calmly pointing out that he’d beaten Guy by three drinks.

Then Guy launched himself into Kakashi’s side, arms thrown around him. “Rematch! I demand a rematch!”

Kakashi didn’t even flinch. “I would still win.”

Guy pouted, loud and theatrical, while I swayed where I sat. Kakashi’s arm slid around me, steadying me without a word.

“You alright?” he murmured, eye soft in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

I think I nodded. “Lady Tsunade can really drink,” I slurred.

That earned a quiet chuckle. “She’s had years of practice.”

He wasn’t wrong. I reached for my cup and blinked when it was still empty. Kakashi rubbed my arm, then slipped it out of my hand.

“I’ll get you some water.” He stood, steady in a way I definitely wasn’t. The room tilted, and I gave up trying to fight it, sliding down until my head ended up pillowed in Guy’s lap.

Guy froze, back stiff, face a mask of panic. Across the room, Asuma and Kurenai burst out laughing.

“Don’t break him, Guy,” Asuma called, smirking as he rose.

Kurenai bent, kissed my cheek lightly, and straightened with a smile. “Get some rest, Iruka.” Then the two of them slipped out into the rain, leaving Guy staring down at me like I’d turned into a live explosive tag.

By the time Kakashi came back, he had to coax me upright with Guy’s help, settling me between them. I leaned into Kakashi without thinking, grateful for the steadiness of his shoulder.

On the other side of the room, Anko was sprawled against Genma, grinning like she’d lost a bet and didn’t care. Tsunade and Shizune had claimed the couch, cups still in hand.

“Drink,” Kakashi said firmly, pressing the water into my hand. I obeyed, though part of me still itched for the warmth of sake.

Across the floor, Izumo and Kotetsu had collapsed in a tangle of limbs, already snoring. Guy and Tsunade locked eyes in what could only be described as a silent battle of wills.

“Alright, Tsunade,” Guy declared at last, dramatic as ever. “I accept your challenge!”

They went at it again, bottle after bottle, while Anko and Genma offered the laziest cheers I’d ever heard. By the third glass of water, the edge of the haze was starting to lift.

I tried to stand and immediately stumbled. Kakashi’s hand closed around my arm before I could hit the floor.

“I’ll get the futons,” I mumbled stubbornly, and staggered toward my room.

Behind me, Kakashi sighed, low enough I almost missed it. “They can sleep on the floor…”

By the time I came back with two futons and a stack of linens, Anko had lifted her head just enough to smirk.

“See? Sensei’s the only one who actually cares about us.” She tugged Genma’s sleeve, making him grunt in agreement.

The bedding vanished into eager, clumsy hands. One by one, everyone burrowed into blankets, Anko and Genma curled up together, Izumo and Kotetsu snoring into their pillows. Tsunade and Guy finally called it a tie, both collapsing. Guy on the floor, where Kakashi quietly tucked a pillow under his head and draped a blanket over him; Tsunade across the couch, Shizune already tucked at her side, one arm flung across her face.

I shuffled to the front door, turning the lock with a click and dimming the last of the lights. The apartment finally hummed with quiet. Just rain against the glass and the sound of my friends breathing deep in sleep.

Kakashi guided me back through the maze of bodies, his arm steady around my waist. We slipped into my room at last, and I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

He closed the bedroom door behind us, the soft click shutting out the muffled snores and rain. I stumbled toward the bed and collapsed onto it, face pressed into the blanket. The room spun, warm and heavy, but not enough to drown the thought that I had Kakashi here. Just him and me.

“You,” I said into the mattress, my voice muffled. “You’re way too calm about my apartment being full of drunk shinobi.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he said mildly, tugging the covers down so I could flop onto the pillow properly. “At least no one’s fighting.”

I rolled onto my back and squinted at him. He was shrugging out of his vest, moving with that same irritating grace like he hadn’t had half as much to drink as the rest of us. My mouth got ahead of my better sense.

“You know… we should do that thing from chapter two.”

The pause was telling. Kakashi looked over, eye narrowing in amusement above his mask. “Chapter two?”

Heat climbed my neck. “You know what I mean,” I muttered, tugging at his sleeve as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You read it nine times. Don’t act innocent.”

His chuckle was low, warm. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.” I pushed myself up on one elbow, the room swaying. My fingers tugged his mask down halfway. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

The kiss I pressed to his mouth was clumsy, insistent, but real. He steadied me with a hand at the back of my neck, kissing back slow enough to make me dizzy for another reason entirely.

"It's too warm." I said, sitting up and yanking at my shirt until it came free in a messy pull and hit the floor. Goosebumps chased across my skin, but my blood buzzed hot.

Kakashi’s gaze lingered a beat too long before he looked away, throat tight.

“That’s better,” I said breathlessly, pulling at his shirt this time. He let me.

The next kiss was hungrier, sake still on my tongue. His hand caught at my waist, his body leaning into mine just enough to promise how easy it would be if he gave in.

“More,” I whispered against his mouth, desperate now. “Please, Kakashi.”

For a heartbeat, he almost did. His grip tightened, breath uneven. Then he broke away, pressing his forehead to mine, his eye squeezed shut.

“Not like this,” he said, voice strained. “If I start, I won’t stop. And I won’t take advantage of you.”

“I want you,” I pouted.

His laugh was soft, pained, almost fond. “And I want you sober.”

He eased me back against the pillow, tugging the blanket up over my bare chest. My limbs were too heavy to fight him.

“Can we do it tomorrow?” I mumbled, eyes already drifting shut.

His hand threaded through my hair, steady and gentle. “Sure. We can do it tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:

The first thing I felt was the pounding in my skull. The second was the weight of Kakashi’s arm draped over my waist.

I groaned softly and pried myself free, blinking against the gray light that slipped through the curtains. My mouth was dry, my stomach sour, and worst of all, I needed to pee.

Dragging myself upright was harder than it should have been. Kakashi didn’t stir, face turned into the pillow, hair even more disheveled than usual. I pulled the blanket up over him, then shuffled into the hall.

The sight that greeted me in the living room nearly made me turn back.

Bodies everywhere. Guy snoring on the floor, blanket kicked halfway across the room. Kotetsu and Izumo tangled together like they’d lost a fight with gravity. Genma slouched against the couch, Anko in his arms and a senbon still stuck between his teeth. Tsunade sprawled across the couch with Shizune curled at her side, except Shizune was awake now, sitting upright and looking like she regretted every decision of the past twelve hours.

I ducked into the bathroom, took care of what I had to, and returned to find Shizune in the kitchen, carefully pouring liquid into two glasses. She handed one to me as I stepped closer.

I blinked at the cup, then at her. She was staring at me, at my half-naked state, to be exact, with absolutely no shame. Heat rushed to my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I muttered, taking the glass quickly.

“This is a hangover cure Tsunade made me perfect years ago,” she said, her voice a little too steady for someone who’d been drinking as hard as she had last night.

The smell was sharp, medicinal. I eyed it suspiciously.

“It works,” she added flatly, lifting her own and knocking it back.

I hesitated, then followed suit. The taste was terrible. Bitter herbs and sharp citrus, but the effect was immediate, like someone wrung the fog out of my head with both hands.

Shizune smirked faintly at my expression. “Told you.”

Behind us, Guy let out a heroic snore that rattled the dishes in the cupboard.

The medicine was still working, taking the edge off my headache. My stomach still churned, but at least I didn’t feel like dying.

Shizune leaned against the counter, sipping water and… very obviously using me for eye candy. Her gaze flicked over my bare chest, then down to wear my pants hung low at my waist, not even bothering to hide it.

I ignored her. Or tried to.

I started the rice, then pulled the eggs out of the fridge. Familiar motions steadied me. Shizune set a kettle on the stove, humming under her breath as though she hadn’t been sprawled across my couch a few minutes ago.

I cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them until foam bubbled at the edges. That’s when I felt arms circle my waist, Kakashi’s chin finding its place on my shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was smug enough to make my ears burn.

“Shizune gave me something. So… not so bad now.” I twisted to look at him. His visible eye curved, grinning under the mask.

“What’s with that look?” I asked, already wary.

He leaned in, his voice dropping low so only I could hear. “Do you still want to do chapter two?”

It took me a second. Then the memory came. Taking my shirt off, the taste of sake on his lips, asking him for more. Heat rushed to my face. I groaned, burying it in his shoulder.

“I guess you do remember,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, mortified.

His hand tilted my chin up until I met his eye. “Don’t be. I thought you were cute.” Then he tugged the mask down just far enough to kiss me, slow and deliberate.

When I pulled back, Shizune was still watching us over the rim of her cup, entirely unbothered. My blush deepened until it reached my ears. Kakashi chuckled, handing me the pan I’d forgotten I needed.

I busied myself with breakfast, trying to ignore the heat in my face. Shizune finished the tea and began collecting cups from the night before, stacking them in the sink.

Then Kakashi brushed my hair aside and pressed a kiss to my neck. A shiver ran straight down my spine. He chuckled again and moved to the sink to rinse cups beside Shizune, like nothing had happened.

I cracked more eggs, the whole carton this time. With everyone here, it wouldn’t be enough. The fish went into the pan next.

Every time I set a dish aside, Kakashi stole something. A bite of egg. A pinch of rice.

“Kakashi,” I warned, batting his hand away.

He hummed innocently, circling behind me to steal again. This time, he pressed a kiss just below my ear. My breath hitched.

I somehow managed to finish the fish before he leaned past me, cutting off the stove. Then his hand caught mine, tugging me around, and he kissed me again; unhurried, unashamed, like the mess of bodies in my living room didn’t exist at all.

The smell of grilled fish and rice eventually dragged the others out of sleep. Groans and muffled curses filled the apartment as heads lifted from futons and the couch.

Shizune, looking remarkably collected now, moved through the room with a tray of small cups. “Drink. All of you. This will keep you functional.” She shoved one into Guy’s hands before he could protest, then tipped another toward Anko, who downed it without question.

Meanwhile, Kakashi made it abundantly clear that the only thing he wanted to eat was me. Every time I tried to set plates on the counter, his hands found my waist. Every time I leaned forward for a glass, he stole a kiss just below my ear.

I barely managed to keep the plates balanced. “Kakashi—”

“Mm?” he asked innocently, lips brushing my jaw.

I swallowed hard, thinking, not for the first time, that if he kept this up, I might let him drag me back to bed, crowd or not.

The others eventually staggered in, each making their own plate before drifting back out to find a corner of the apartment. Guy sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to get Kakashi’s attention, but Kakashi didn’t even glance his way. His entire focus was fixed on stealing food from my hands and kisses from my skin.

It was Tsunade who broke the lull, chopsticks poised. “You two are getting familiar awfully fast.”

Heat flared across my face.

Anko leaned back in her chair, eyes raking over me without shame. “I’m not complaining.”

Shizune, sipping tea like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, added, “Adorable. Honestly.”

Kakashi’s chuckle vibrated against my neck. He didn’t bother looking up. “He’s not available.”

I wanted to sink through the floor.

Izumo and Kotetsu finally staggered in, hair sticking up at impossible angles, and I knew exactly what they’d say before they opened their mouths. I turned on them, voice sharper than I meant.

“If either of you gets any ideas about spreading what happened in this apartment as gossip, I am personally letting Kakashi put you both in a genjutsu of his choosing and leaving you in a hole to suffer.”

Behind me, I felt Kakashi smile against my skin. He lifted his head just enough to look at them, eye curved in lazy promise.

Both nodded quickly and shuffled past to pile their plates.

Tsunade finally glanced up from her food. “Kakashi, you have my permission to punish anyone who speaks about last night in whatever manner you see fit.”

Kakashi’s lips left my neck at last. He looked straight at the Hokage and said, calm and precise, “Understood.”

The room went quiet, and even Guy didn’t interrupt. He ate silently, eyes darting between us like he was trying to puzzle something out.

I decided it was too crowded, too loud, too much, and slipped back toward my room to put on a shirt, desperate for a breath.

As I pulled fabric over my head, I heard Kakashi’s voice from the living room. Low, something meant only for Guy. Whatever it was made Guy grunt softly in response.

I was tugging the shirt down over my stomach when the door slid shut behind me.

“I can't believe you,” I muttered without turning.

“Mm.” His voice was amused. “You didn’t sound that upset a minute ago.”

I spun to glare at him, heat still climbing my neck. “You were shameless! Everyone was right there, Kakashi. The Hokage!”

He tilted his head, unconcerned, and started toward me at an unhurried pace. “And?”

My mouth opened, then closed. The memory of his lips at my neck, the heat of his hands at my waist, it all came rushing back.

“And—” I stammered, fists curling. “It was inappropriate.”

“Was it?” His hand caught my wrist, sliding up my arm until it rested at my shoulder. “Or was it effective?”

I hated the way my pulse jumped at his words. “You—”

He didn’t let me finish. His other hand tugged the hem of my shirt, lifting it slowly, deliberately, until the fabric slid free again and landed on the floor.

“Better,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across my collarbone. Then he leaned in, mask already down, and stole a kiss that was nothing like the clumsy heat of last night. This was controlled. His way of reminding me exactly who was in charge of the pace.

I made a muffled sound against his mouth, part protest, part surrender. When he finally drew back, his eye curved in smug satisfaction.

“I want more,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

He pressed another kiss to the corner of my mouth, softer this time, his voice low and warm. “So do I. But not with an audience in your living room.”

I groaned, dropping my head against his shoulder. “You’re infuriating.”

His chuckle rumbled through me, arm wrapping around my back. “And you’re adorable when you pout.”

The smug look on his face pushed me over the edge. Before he could say another word, I shoved him back onto the bed. His eye widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing in surprise as I climbed over him, tugging his shirt up.

My mouth trailed kisses across the hard lines of his stomach, the taste of skin and heat making me dizzy all over again. His breath hitched, fingers twitching at his sides like he wasn’t sure whether to stop me or pull me closer.

“Iruka,” he warned, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.

I ignored him, pressing lower, wanting to see him lose control for once.

That was when he caught me, hands at my shoulders, dragging me up with deceptive strength. In one fluid motion, I was beneath him, his body caging mine, his mouth crushing against mine. This was fire and restraint all at once, his tongue teasing mine until I was breathless, pinned and powerless beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, I was panting, hair sticking to my face. My lips curved into a grin despite myself. “We’re finishing this later.”

His eye softened, crinkling at the edge, but his voice was steady. “Later,” he promised.

He grabbed my discarded shirt, pressing it into my chest before tugging his own mask back up. One last frustrating kiss to my temple, and then he stood, sliding the door open like nothing had happened.

I stayed there a moment, catching my breath, my skin still tingling where his hands had held me down. By the time I followed, he was already back in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from my lungs. I made my way toward them, tugging my shirt down, praying no one noticed the heat in my face.

They noticed.

Anko’s grin was wicked. “Well, well. Ruka disappears with the Copy Ninja for five minutes and comes back looking like that.”

Izumo elbowed Kotetsu, smirking. “Think he’s that good?”

My entire face went hot. “I—!” The word caught in my throat. I turned sharply away, heading for the counter before my dignity collapsed entirely.

A few muffled snickers followed me. I made myself a small plate, only for Kakashi to appear at my shoulder, mask tugged down just enough to steal a bite. Then another.

“Kakashi.” My voice was weak even to my own ears.

He hummed like he hadn’t heard me, stealing my fish before I could pick it up. I sighed and let him. Fighting him on it never worked anyway.

Across the room, Guy sprang to his feet, suddenly back to his usual volume. “Aha! The flames of youth are restored!” He struck a pose, then blinked at Tsunade, who had pulled a scroll from her sleeve.

“New mission,” she said flatly, handing it over.

Guy accepted it with solemnity, then promptly swept me up in a bone-crushing hug. “Iruka! You are like a younger brother to me now!”

I wheezed something unintelligible. Kakashi didn’t move to help.

Finally, Guy released me and stormed out, full of fire and purpose. One by one, the others followed. Genma with his arm still around Anko, Anko still smirking, Izumo and Kotetsu whispering to each other under their breath.

At last, only Tsunade and Shizune remained. Shizune collected her medical bag with a weary sigh, but Tsunade lingered. Her sharp gaze flicked between Kakashi and me, weighing something.

“Whatever this is,” she said finally, voice softer than expected, “it’s good.”

Then she was gone, Shizune trailing after her, and the door shut behind them.

The silence stretched after the door shut behind Tsunade and Shizune. I looked at the wreckage of my living room, the mess I should’ve been furious about.

But Kakashi was leaning there against the counter, his eye on me, calm and steady in a way that made my pulse skip. And suddenly, none of it mattered.

I crossed the room before I could second-guess myself. His arms came up instantly, pulling me in, his mask already sliding down as his mouth met mine. The kiss was hungry, and the careful control from earlier was slipping.

I broke away long enough to breathe. “We’ll clean later,” I murmured, already tugging at his shirt.

His chuckle was low, strained. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

We stumbled into the bedroom, lips colliding again, hands everywhere. My body ached with the need for him. Every nerve on fire where his fingers brushed my skin. He pushed me back onto the bed, kissing me until I was dizzy.

Hours of restraint finally gave way, and I let go, pulling him with me.

Kakashi’s mouth traced fire down my neck, over my chest, his hands tugging at the hem of my shirt. He pulled it off in one swift motion, tossing it aside, his eye never leaving me. Heat coiled in my stomach as he moved lower, slow and deliberate, making me shiver before I even realized I was begging.

“Please,” was all I managed, breathless.

He caught the edge of my pants and slid them away, his touch unhurried but firm. When his mouth finally closed over me, I gasped, my back arching off the mattress. His hand steadied me, the other pinning my hip as if he knew I couldn’t keep still.

“Kakashi—” My voice broke on his name. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me tethered. Each stroke, each flick of his tongue, pulled me tighter and tighter until I was unraveling in his mouth, every nerve lit, the world falling away in waves of heat and pleasure.

I cried out as the release tore through me, shuddering, his name spilling from my lips.

When I finally collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, he lifted his head. His eye curved with a grin, mouth glistening, and he licked his lips like he meant to torment me.

Before I could speak, he was over me again, kissing me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

I whimpered into his mouth, overwhelmed, and he chuckled softly against my lips.

He kissed me until the tremors eased out of my body, until all I could do was cling to him and breathe. His weight against me was grounding, steady, but when I finally blinked up at him, I saw the tension in his jaw, the strain in the way his body hovered just above mine.

He hadn’t let himself go.

I reached up, brushing the damp hair back from his forehead. My voice was still hoarse, but the words came clear. “You’re next.”

His eye curved in that maddening smile, though his breath caught when my hand trailed lower, learning him the way he’d just learned me.

“Iruka…” My name came out as a warning, but his hips betrayed him, pressing into my touch.

“Shh.” I sat up, kissing the salt of his throat, tasting heat as my hands explored. His groan was rough, one hand clenching at my shoulder like he was holding on for dear life.

I wanted to hear more. I wanted to see him fall apart.

When my mouth closed around him, he shuddered, his control cracking. His hand fisted in my hair, guiding me how he liked it, and I let him, opening for him, wanting more of the sounds that broke from his chest. He tugged harder when he was close, a fractured sound escaping him as I worked him through it.

He came undone, trembling, his usual iron control shattering as he gasped against me. His thumb brushed my lip, catching some of his release. Before he could stop me, I licked it. His breath stuttered, undone all over again.

For a long moment, we just breathed together, sweat cooling on our skin.

Finally, Kakashi lifted his head, hair falling into his eye. He kissed me again, slow and grateful, full of something I hadn’t expected to feel so soon.

“You’re dangerous when you decide what you want,” he murmured against my lips.

I grinned weakly, still flushed. “Good thing I only want you.”

His laugh was low and warm, and he pulled me down with him, tangled in the sheets until our heartbeats slowed.

I let myself savor it, just a few minutes of quiet, of him. Then I sighed. “Kakashi?”

“Hm?”

“We have to clean and get ready to go.”

He groaned, long-suffering, then pressed another kiss to my mouth before sitting up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Iruka POV:

The shower was quick, hot water loosening what was left of the tension in my body. Kakashi was no help. Hands wandering, lips brushing over wet skin, but he kept it playful, teasing, knowing we didn’t have time to let it spiral again. We left the bathroom damp-haired and laughing, towels wrapped carelessly around our waists, steam clinging to our skin.

Fifteen minutes later, we were dressed, and the apartment looked halfway respectable. This time, Kakashi actually helped. Once he quit stealing my sponge just to kiss me across the counter, he moved with a quiet precision that made me wonder how often he did this alone. The counters gleamed, the futons were folded sharper than I ever managed, and bottles lined in neat rows by the door.

He cleaned like germs personally offended him.

I busied myself gathering stray plates, feeling oddly out of place in my own home while he straightened everything with that calm efficiency. It wasn’t until he tugged open the curtains, letting the storm-warmed sunlight pour through, that I realized how different the room felt.

Almost like it belonged to both of us.

We stepped out together, the air still thick with summer heat. I squinted against the brightness, rolling my shoulders until some of the tension cracked loose.

“Hold still,” Kakashi said suddenly.

Before I could ask, his hand slid into my hair, tugging loose the uneven tie I’d thrown in earlier. His fingers smoothed through the strands with infuriating care, retied it in a neat knot, and patted the top of my head like a job well done.

“There,” he said lightly.

I blinked at him, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “You know, that’s not something you do to just anyone.”

His visible eye curved in amusement. “Good thing you’re not just anyone.”

The words lingered warmer than they should have. I tried to laugh it off, but it stayed with me as we walked on.

The Academy gates loomed, familiar and comforting, until I heard it.

“IRUKA-SENSEI!”

The shout nearly rattled the windows. I sighed, bracing myself, and opened the door.

Chaos exploded.

A dozen students barreled toward me in a tangle of arms and chatter, nearly toppling desks in their rush. Konohamaru was in the lead, practically climbing up my vest before I could steady him.

“You’re back! Finally! These teachers don’t know how to run a class!”

“Hey!” Moegi shoved him sideways, clutching at my other arm. “We did fine!”

“Fine?” Konohamaru shot back, still clinging. “We’re supposed to be training like real ninja! And they had us practicing calligraphy for three days!”

“Because you can’t even hold your brush straight!”

The bickering set off the others, the room devolving into squabbles until I raised my voice.

“Enough!”

They froze, wide eyes flicking up at me. A beat later, the tension broke, smiles spread across their faces, and they crowded closer again.

“Welcome back, Iruka-sensei!”

The ache in my chest loosened, replaced by something softer. I steadied Konohamaru with one hand, ruffled Moegi’s hair with the other, then drew a slow breath.

“Alright,” I said, voice firmer now. “We have a guest sitting in with you today. So, back to your seats. Notebooks out. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Chairs scraped, papers rustled. Excitement buzzed, but they obeyed, sliding back into their seats.

I glanced toward the back. Kakashi had slipped in at some point, quiet as ever. He was seated off to the side, long legs stretched out, looking for all the world like this was just another mission to observe. His visible eye crinkled faintly when he caught me watching, then he looked back toward the kids as if he belonged there all along.

The scratching of brushes filled the room, the rhythm of a dozen hands shaping careful strokes across parchment. Calligraphy was calming for most of them, not Konohamaru, of course. His brush hovered, the ink blotting in a dark spot, eyes flicking toward Kakashi at the back of the room.

I cleared my throat once. His shoulders slumped, and the brush moved again.

We moved from there into math. Fractions, measurements, and the kind of basics they’d need for missions. Predictably, Konohamaru lasted all of three minutes before leaping to his feet.

“Why do we need this anyway? Real shinobi don’t—”

Thunk.

A kunai buried itself in the wood of his chair, the hilt still vibrating. Konohamaru’s words died in his throat as he stared, wide-eyed. Half the class did too.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I walked over. The kunai came free with a practiced twist, and I tossed it back without looking. Kakashi caught it easily, unrepentant, his eye crinkling with amusement above his mask.

“Sit down, Konohamaru.”

The boy dropped into his chair so fast the desk rattled.

By the time we reached geography, the atmosphere had steadied again. I traced rivers and borders on the map, asking them to mark the same in their notebooks. Then came the first aid review. I pulled out the bandages, asking them how to treat different wounds, the basics every academy student needed. Their hands were clumsy, but they remembered more than I expected.

At the end of the day, I called them back to the mats. “We’ll finish with clone jutsu. Spread out.”

They scrambled into position, some eager, some groaning. I glanced at Kakashi. “Want to help?”

He tilted his head, considering, then pushed off the wall. “Sure.”

It was almost comical, the famed Copy Ninja crouched beside a cluster of children, trying to explain chakra flow. His instructions were sharp, precise, but they went over most of their heads. Konohamaru tried to follow, scrunched his face, and produced a lopsided mess of smoke.

Moegi tugged on Kakashi’s sleeve. “You have to say it simpler,” she told him seriously. “Like Iruka-sensei does.”

To my surprise, Kakashi actually paused, then adjusted. He tried again, his tone flatter, slower. The kids lit up when the clones came easier.

But Konohamaru wasn’t satisfied. “This is baby stuff! Naruto could do way cooler jutsu than this!”

Kakashi’s eye narrowed. “Fine.”

He strode to the front, gesturing for them to follow. “If you think you’re ready, try this. Focus chakra into your feet and climb.”

He pressed a foot to the wall, walked three steps up it, and stood sideways like it was nothing. The kids gasped.

“Tree climbing?” I asked, raising a brow.

Kakashi’s eye curved. “It’ll keep them busy.”

The room erupted in shouts as the students rushed to try. Most failed spectacularly, sliding back down with yelps. But their determination was fierce, Konohamaru leading the charge, demanding louder and louder to be shown again. I chuckled and decided to step in.

“Alright, listen,” I said, clapping my hands once to get their attention. “Don’t worry about running up the wall like Kakashi-sensei. Start with one foot. Just one. Get it to stick. Once you know how it should feel, then you try the second.”

The students nodded, eager. One by one, they pressed their foot to the wall and focused, brows furrowed in determination. A few managed it, a single step, then another, before slipping and landing hard on their backsides.

Kakashi didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as Konohamaru hit the mat with a yelp. I was across the room in two strides, crouching to check him over.

“You’re fine,” I told him, steadying him as he scrambled up again. “Good try. Do it again.”

He grinned, fire in his eyes. “I will!”

Others struggled more. Moegi whined when her foot refused to stick. Udon nearly toppled forward onto his nose. I crouched beside each of them, pressing a hand to their backs, guiding their chakra flow until their soles stuck for just a moment. The joy on their faces when they felt it, even for a second, made every stumble worth it.

Behind me, Kakashi muttered, “I’m not doing all that.”

I glanced back at him, raising a brow. “No one asked you to.”

Konohamaru whirled, planting his hands on his hips. “Yes, we did! You’re supposed to be a genius! Show us again!”

Moegi chimed in, tugging on his sleeve. “Yeah! You have to teach too!”

Kakashi’s eye narrowed at me over their heads. I shrugged, biting back a smile.

With a sigh that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul, he pushed off the wall. “Fine.”

The kids swarmed him as he crouched, voice flat as he explained chakra flow again, slower this time. Konohamaru mimicked his stance, concentrating so hard his face turned red. Moegi beamed when her foot actually stuck without assistance.

By the last half hour of class, the room buzzed with energy. Moegi and Udon were clinging to the wall side by side, laughing as they tried to take another step up. Konohamaru was determined to outdo them both, sweat dripping down his forehead as he pushed higher, foot by shaky foot.

Even the quiet ones, the kids who usually lagged behind, were grinning, feet pressed to the wall, chakra holding steady for seconds at a time. Some still slipped, tumbling back onto the mats, but they got up faster each time, eager to try again.

“Good,” I called, to catch their focus. “That’s enough for today. Remember that feeling, one step at a time. We’ll start here tomorrow.”

They chorused back, “Yes, Iruka-sensei!” before collapsing into heaps of laughter and chatter, proud of their progress.

I glanced toward the back. Kakashi was leaning against the wall again, arms crossed, watching them. His visible eye curved faintly, not the lazy amusement I was used to, but something softer. Thoughtful.

As the students filed out, still buzzing with excitement, Kakashi fell into step beside me.

“You realize,” he said quietly, “that it took Naruto and Sasuke an entire day to manage that.”

I blinked, startled. “Really?”

He hummed, almost grudging. “Your method’s… effective.”

I snorted. “It’s just patience.”

His eye slid toward me, crinkling in that way that said he was smiling under the mask. “Patience I don’t have.”

We reached the door, the empty classroom stretching behind us. He didn’t move to leave.

“I’m coming back tomorrow,” he said simply.

Something in my chest tightened. “To help with class?”

“Mm.” His tone was maddeningly casual. “Or to watch.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth that spread through me was impossible to hide.

The last students trickled out, notebooks under their arms, voices loud with the thrill of the tree-climbing challenge. I stayed behind, tidying the chalkboard and stacking brushes back into their jars.

Kakashi hadn’t left. He leaned against the outer wall, idly flicking shuriken at a stump someone had dragged into the yard years ago. They landed clean, the quiet thunks rhythmic and unhurried.

I shook my head. Typical.

The side door creaked, and Konohamaru barreled out with Moegi and Udon trailing behind him. “Kakashi-sensei!” he called, grinning. “Show us again! How do we go higher?”

Kakashi glanced down at them, one brow lifting. For a second, I thought he’d brush them off. Instead, he sighed, tucked his kunai away, and crouched. “Alright. Watch closely this time.”

The three of them crowded around him as he explained chakra flow again, this time slower, with little hand motions to illustrate. Moegi asked sharp questions. Udon fumbled but stuck close. Konohamaru beamed like he’d won a bet.

I leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching him.

“He's not what I expected,” a voice drawled.

Anko stepped up beside me, arms crossed, her eyes following the same scene.

I gave her a sidelong look. “What do you mean?”

She smirked. “Copy Ninja, former ANBU captain… I always figured he’d be cold with kids. Distant. But he’s actually trying.”

I turned back to the yard. Konohamaru had managed two shaky steps up a tree, and Kakashi’s hand shot out just enough to keep him from face-planting. He didn’t even look at me when he did it.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. “He’s not what I expected either.”

Anko snorted. “Guess you bring out strange things in people.”

I didn’t answer. Kakashi looked up just then, catching me watching, and his eye curved. Subtle, smug, and meant only for me. Then he turned, ruffling Konohomaru's hair, “That’s enough for today.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Konohamaru blurted, still rubbing his butt where he fell. “But you didn’t show us the water-walking thing!”

Moegi leaned forward, pouting. “Yeah, you can’t just leave now! You’re way cooler than half the boring teachers we get.”

“Hey,” I cut in, raising a brow.

“I mean-uh—except you, Iruka-sensei!” she backpedaled quickly.

Kakashi’s visible eye curved, amusement plain. “I’m not here every day. Ask your sensei if you want to keep up.”

The groans were immediate, the chorus loud. “Awwww, no fair!”

Even Udon muttered, “I wanted to try the water walking next...”

Kakashi’s shoulders lifted in a half-shrug as he strolled toward the door. “Maybe I’ll stop by again.”

The way their faces lit up at that, like he’d promised them the moon, almost made me laugh.

"I'm going to stop by the store. I'll meet you at the mission desk?" He asked, and I gave a nod.

Once he disappeared down the hall, the complaints began anew, they slumped dramatically.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. “He’s not your new teacher. You still have me.”

“Yeah,” Konohamaru said, already grinning again, “but if he comes back, you’re gonna let him show us more stuff, right?”

I muttered something noncommittal, knowing I’d lost this battle already. They seemed content for now and ran toward to gate to head home. I made my way back to my desk and gathered the papers I needed to grade before heading to the mission desk.

It hadn’t changed. Scrolls still piled high, requests scribbled on half-torn sheets, the steady shuffle of shinobi dropping off reports and picking up assignments. The only thing different was me.

I slipped behind the counter, set my papers down, and noticed that someone thought color-coded slips would make things “easier.” I sighed, rubbing at my temple.

“Welcome back, Iruka-sensei!” A kunoichi leaned across the counter with a bright smile, too close. “We saw you this morning... with Kakashi.”

I blinked. “Ah—yes, he was sitting in with the class.”

She giggled. “Sitting in, huh?”

Before I could make sense of that tone, another voice cut in. “Hey, is it true you got jumped by assassins? That’s what I heard.”

I stiffened, stamping the next slip harder than necessary. “Rumors exaggerate. I’m fine.”

A third teacher chimed in, smirking. “Didn’t look fine when you disappeared for three days.”

My patience thinned. “I had some personal things to take care of.”

“Personal?” Ebisu’s nasal voice intruded as he stepped up, arms crossed. “I hope you’re not letting your personal troubles interfere with your duties. Konohamaru’s training, for instance—”

My eyes narrowed. “Konohamaru is doing just fine. He and his classmates worked harder today than they have in weeks.”

He sniffed. “That boy needs firm guidance. I don’t coddle him.”

I leaned forward over the desk, voice even but iron under it. “Neither do I. What I do is teach. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

Ebisu’s mouth opened, then closed again. He huffed and stalked off, muttering about “proper standards.”

I blew out a slow breath and went back to stamping, ignoring the sidelong glances and whispers still circling.

Another kunoichi slid a mission slip across the counter, her fingers brushing mine deliberately. “You really look well, Iruka-sensei,” she said, voice low.

I smiled absently, marking the slip. “Thank you.”

Her friend giggled behind her, and I didn’t have the faintest idea why.

The desk always tested me. Not with paperwork, not with the flow of shinobi in and out, but with this: the endless gossip, the posturing, the sideways questions I had no interest in answering. I tamped it down, like always, and kept working.

Two hours. I could survive two hours.

Chapter Text

An hour and a half passed with shinobi coming and going. I stamped another slip, slid it across the counter, and felt the tension still buzzing under my skin when the mission hall door opened again.

Kakashi strolled in, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bag that looked suspiciously like takeout. My shoulders eased before I even realized I’d been tight.

He stopped beside the desk, eye sweeping the room. The half-hidden giggles, the whispers that hadn’t died down since I sat down, the pointed glances in my direction. His gaze flicked back to me.

“…Is it always like this?” he asked.

I gave him a tired look. “Pretty much.”

His eye curved faintly. “And do you always have kunoichi giggling and trying to work up the nerve to ask you to dinner?”

Heat rushed to my face. “What? When did that happen?”

He chuckled, low and amused. “The two by the door.”

I blinked, glancing that way. Sure enough, the pair ducked their heads quickly, whispering behind their hands.

I sighed. “So that’s what that was.”

Kakashi’s smile was visible in the curve of his eye. “You’re cute when you’re oblivious.”

My blush deepened. I muttered something about paperwork and tried to bury myself in the last stack of slips. He didn’t press, just leaned against the counter, quietly amused, while I finished out the shift.

The last ten minutes slipped by in comfortable silence. The day was catching up to me; every muscle reminded me I wasn’t fully recovered yet. When the clock finally turned, I put away the last report, set the stamp down, and stood.

“Done?” he asked.

“Done.”

He held up the bag. “Then let’s go home.”

Kakashi POV:

Iruka was quiet on the walk back, fatigue in every line of his body. He’d burned through more energy than he wanted to admit. Watching him, I thought again: if anyone could live up to the First Hokage’s vision for the village’s children, it was him. He had a way of pulling people to him, steady and unshakable. Just like Naruto.

“I grabbed us ramen,” I said.

His face lifted at that. Not a full smile, but close enough. “Thanks.”

“Do you still have a lot to do tonight?”

“Yeah. Papers to grade.” He sounded resigned. I was beginning to see being an academy teacher wasn’t what I expected. I only had three brats to deal with, and I could send them off to train when I got tired of them. Iruka faced dozens every day, then stayed up correcting their mistakes. I’d even seen him helping kids at the park on weekends.

By the time we made it back, he shuffled out of his sandals, set his bag down on the desk. I unpacked the ramen. When I turned, he was already asleep on the couch, vest and headband still on.

I smiled under the mask. Typical.

I put the food away, then knelt beside him. Carefully, I eased the vest off, tugged the tie from his hair. My ribs ached just thinking about lifting him, but I tried anyway.

“Iruka?” I shook him gently.

He hummed, barely waking.

“Do you want to lay in the bed?”

No answer.

I sighed, weighing my chances of hauling him without cracking something. A knock on the window made me glance up.

Tenzo.

He slid it open. “Need a hand?”

I stepped back. He lifted Iruka easily, carrying him into the bedroom.

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t really feel like watching you break a rib,” he said dryly, then vanished back out the window.

I shut it again, sat down with my ramen, and pulled the book Iruka had left out. After a few pages, I set it aside and picked up his papers instead. If he was going to insist on carrying the whole Academy on his back, the least I could do was lighten the load.

The handwriting was atrocious. Naruto-level atrocious. By the time I finished, most of the pages were red. Iruka would have gone easier on them. Maybe that was the point. I wasn’t Iruka.

When I was done, I put everything away, tossed my trash, and stepped out onto the roof. Tenzo was waiting.

“Senpai,” he greeted.

“You know you can just use my name,” I said.

He shrugged.

I sighed. “Back in Root. Did you ever come across anyone with unusual sensory skills?”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

I thought back to the river, the assassins, the faint chakra pulse I’d felt before Iruka struck. “Just working through a hunch.”

No matter how I looked at it, I needed to start training again. Tenzo stayed beside me but didn't pry.

“Can you check ANBU archives for anything on the Sharingan?” I asked.

Tenzo gave me a sharp look, but only nodded. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated, then added, “Keep an eye on Iruka while I’m gone.”

Tenzo’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. That was one of the reasons I trusted him.

I slipped back inside long enough to pull on my sandals, then vanished out the window. The jump from the second floor jarred my ribs, a flash of pain up my side, but tolerable now. I landed quiet, moving into the shadows.

The village was alive with the usual sounds, but my path was silent, familiar. Past empty streets, over tiled rooftops, until the hushed stillness of the Uchiha district rose around me.

Sasuke’s old home stood dark and hollow. It was as good a place as any to start.

I searched the rooms one by one. Dust. Empty drawers. A few old scrolls, brittle at the edges. Most were mundane, instructions on chakra control, basic genjutsu forms, the kind of training every Uchiha child probably had drilled into them. Hardly secrets. Still, I tucked them into my vest. Any scrap could matter later.

I moved through the rest of the compound. A few locked cabinets had long since been broken open, probably by ANBU. I kept moving, finding a passage in a destroyed building. There were a few advanced scrolls that I took and a stone tablet that I couldn't decipher.

By the time I returned, Iruka was still sleeping soundly, chest rising steadily with each breath. Tenzo gave me an odd look from his post by the window, but didn’t say a word.

I set the scrolls on Iruka’s desk, stripped out of my uniform until only my pants remained, and slid into bed beside him. He shifted instinctively toward me, curling up against my chest. I wrapped my arms around him, ignoring how it pulled at my side. This had somehow become routine, ending my days with him. I let his steady warmth lull me to sleep.

Chapter Text

Kakashi POV:

I woke with Iruka pressed against me, his breath warm at my collarbone. For a long moment, I stayed still, letting myself pretend the day could wait.

He stirred first, blinking up at me with sleep-heavy eyes. “Sorry… I didn’t eat the ramen you got us,” he murmured, voice rough. Then he started to pull back. “I should get up. I have papers to grade—”

I caught him by the waist and tugged him back down. “Already done.”

He froze. “What?”

“The papers,” I said, deadpan. “I graded them last night.”

His mouth worked, but no sound came out at first. He looked… overwhelmed, like no one had ever thought to lighten his load before.

“You don’t— you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” I cut in, softer now. “But you were sleeping and I wanted to help.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, and for once, he didn’t argue. I leaned in, brushed my lips over his. He kissed back harder, and suddenly it was deeper, hungrier. Sweet, giving way to something that curled heat low in my gut.

I broke away before it could spiral. My ribs still ached from last night’s run, and I wasn’t up for testing how far I could push them. I pressed my forehead to his instead. “Shower with me.”

He blinked, then nodded.

I got up first, my side made my movements stiff. Iruka was still collecting himself on the bed. The heat of the shower helped loosen my sore muscles.

The steam was thick by the time Iruka stepped in. His eyes made their way over me like he was reading something.

"You're sore here?" he asked, running his hand over my side and gently pressing chakra into my sore muscles. I almost moaned at how good it felt. He looked pleased, leaning in. I meet him with a kiss and pulled him to me. He was hard against me and blushed when he realized I noticed. My body responded, and I was second-guessing not pushing this farther. Iruka must have been satisfied with his healing because he kissed my neck; then he dropped to his knees, hands braced lightly against my thighs, my breath caught. He looked up at me with that steady gaze, almost teasing, before taking me in his hand and then into his mouth.

My head thudded back against the tile. Seeing him like that, wet hair plastered to his face, lips wrapped around me, was enough to drive me mad. I tangled my fingers in his hair, a groan slipping past my guard.

“...Iruka,” I managed, voice rough.

He hummed, smug, and the vibration nearly undid me.

For once, I didn’t care about control. I let myself feel, let him take the lead, let the world narrow down to heat and water and the impossible sight of Iruka on his knees, grinning even as he drove me to the edge. I would have lasted longer, but I noticed him stroking himself, getting his own pleasure from pleasing me. I pulled him into me, fisting his hair, and a pleased wimper escaped him.

When he pulled back, water running down his face, he grinned up at me, smug and satisfied.

“Come here,” I said, rougher than I meant. He rose without hesitation, and I pulled him in, kissing him hard, trapping him against me.

I broke the kiss just enough to breathe, forehead resting against his. “Thank you.”

His brows knit. “For what?”

“For this. For being here. For standing beside me when I don’t deserve it.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, uncharacteristically bare.

He blinked at me, startled, blush spreading up his cheeks. He didn’t answer, not right away. Just kissed me again, softer this time, like he understood anyway.

The spray beat down on us, hot enough to blur the world.

“Turn around,” I said.

He gave me a suspicious look, but did it anyway. I reached for the soap again, working it into his hair. The strands slid softly between my fingers, longer than they looked when he tied it back.

When my nails brushed his scalp, he let out a low, approving moan before catching himself.

“…That feels amazing,” he admitted, voice rough. “I keep it tied up so much, I forget what it’s like.”

I smiled. “You should let it down more often.”

“You just want an excuse to mess with it,” he accused, but he leaned into my hands all the same.

I kept massaging, slow circles, until his shoulders dropped and he looked like he could fall asleep standing up.

“Careful,” I murmured near his ear. “If you relax any more, I’ll have to carry you to class.”

That earned me a weak swat at my arm. “Don’t even joke.”

I rinsed the suds from his hair, smoothing it back from his face before pressing a light kiss to the nape of his neck. The sound he made at that was quiet, almost lost under the spray, but I caught it.

By the time the water ran lukewarm, Iruka looked boneless, hair loose and damp against his shoulders. I shut off the tap and handed him a towel before wrapping one around my own waist.

We dressed in quiet routine. Him fussing with his vest, me pulling on fresh pants and mask. When he tried to tie his hair up in its usual rushed knot, I reached over and fixed it, neat and even. He flushed, muttered something under his breath, but didn’t stop me.

It felt… ordinary. Comfortable. Almost domestic.

We stepped out together into the morning air, the sun already warming the streets. Iruka carried his satchel of lesson plans, I fell into step beside him, and for once I thought maybe we’d make it to the Academy without interruption.

No such luck.

“Hatake!”

Genma dropped down from a rooftop in a blur of movement, senbon bobbing. He gave Iruka a nod before turning to me. “The Hokage wants you. Now. Word just came from Jiraiya.”

Iruka stiffened beside me, glancing my way.

I exhaled through my nose, adjusting my mask. “Figures.”

Genma smirked faintly. “Don’t keep her waiting.” Then he was gone again, as quick as he came.

I looked back at Iruka. His expression was carefully schooled, but I could see the question in his eyes.

“I’ll catch up later,” I told him, tone deliberately mild. “Don’t let Konohamaru climb all over the ceiling while I’m gone.”

His lips twitched, like he didn't know if he should laugh or grimace. “Don’t give him ideas.”

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before vanishing in the same direction as Genma.

Tsunade and Jiraiya. That meant Akatsuki, Sasuke, or Orochimaru.

Something worth sinking my teeth into again.

Tsunade’s office felt tighter than usual, though that might have been her mood filling the space. Her sake bottle was already half-empty on the desk, and her expression said she’d rather smash it over someone’s head than drink it.

Asuma lounged against the wall, smoke curling from his cigarette. Genma leaned one hip on the windowsill. Shikaku had the corner, lazy posture, hiding the sharp eyes that missed nothing. Ibiki stood stone-still, arms crossed beside me. Tenzo gave me a short nod when I slipped in, his usual unreadable mask in place.

“About time,” Tsunade muttered. “Come here.”

I did.

She dropped a scroll on the desk hard enough that the ink jar rattled. “Word from Jiraiya. Akatsuki won’t make their move for about two years. He’s confirmed it.”

No one spoke. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft scratch of Shikaku’s quill as he made notes.

“They’re building resources,” she continued. “Working with criminal groups, collecting relics. What type, what for, we don’t know. We do know they are doing more mercenary work. Assassinations, hired muscle, and even guarding smugglers. It doesn’t look like the last encounter was a planned ambush.”

“That doesn’t sound like them,” Asuma said around his cigarette. “Guard duty?”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Tsunade snapped. “If they’re with smugglers, it’s for a reason. They’re building toward something, and I don’t like not knowing what.”

I frowned under my mask. Two years wasn’t long. Not nearly enough.

She shoved another sheet forward. “The clay user. Still no ID, but Jiraiya’s narrowed it down to a handful of rogue shinobi from the Hidden Rock. His partner is still unknown. But remember, the Akatsuki always work in pairs.”

Beside me, Tenzo’s shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly. Ibiki’s eyes darkened.

“And Orochimaru?” I asked.

Tsunade’s jaw tightened. “Moved again. Jiraiya is working on finding out where. We know Sasuke is with him.”

The room stilled at that. I didn’t let my expression shift, but my stomach twisted tight.

“And Naruto?” Shikaku asked finally, his tone mild.

“Fine,” Tsunade said, softer now. “Jiraiya has him training. He’s in good hands.”

She looked over the room, her glare sharp enough to cut. “That’s all the good news you’re getting. The Akatsuki being quiet doesn’t mean they’re idle. We keep training, we keep watching, and we keep our village safe. Make sure your teams are ready.”

The others filtered out, murmuring low, but I lingered. My ribs ached, but not nearly as much as the urge to move. I needed to train, and I had one more thing on my mind.

"Why are you still here Kakashi?" she asked, like she expected us to flee.

"I'd like to be cleared to train," I said and she looked me over, then jabbed me in the side. I immediately recoiled with a groan.

"No, those ribs can't handle it. If you want to work light chakra stuff, fine. But no Taijutsu. Nothing rigorous."

I sighed, regaining my posture.

"Was there something else?" She asked, calming down a little.

"I'd like to keep Tenzo or a trusted ANBU watching Iruka," I said. Tsunade turned to me fully, measuring me.

"Why?"

"He possesses skills that have sparked curiosity among some members of Root. I have a hunch that should Donzo learn about all his skills, he will try to either recruit, abduct, or eliminate him." I finished.

Tsunade poured herself a drink and took her seat at her desk. Sighing heavily after she downed it.

"If we have the manpower, I'll consider it, but one barrier jutsu, even one that useful isn't enough for Donzo to do more than watch."

"What if he could do more than just what you seen in the report?" I asked, keeping it vague.

"What more can he do," she asked, cutting through my evasiveness. I sighed.

"I know for certain he has sensory capabilities. His skills are greater than mine, and I don't think he can just sense chakra. It is almost like he can see through things without looking." I finished, feeling my stomach become unsettled sharing Iruka's secrets. Regardless, he needed protection.

"I see. Iruka trusts you, for now I want you to train with him. Only you and I want you to report all his skills to me. He isn't going to like this but I can't protect him if I don't know who will come after him." She paused, rubbing her temple. "I am starting to see why Sarutobi kept things about him and certain orphans secret. It's a headache."

"I understand. I will speak with him tonight." I confirmed turning to leave.

"Kakashi," she stopped me. "I can't afford to lose any more Shinobi. Train him well enough that he can protect himself." I nodded and made my way into the hall.

Well, training Iruka was at least something. I still had the scrolls from the Uchiha. I could use this time to study.

I probably should have gone to the classroom, but Iruka would expect answers that I wasn't ready to give him. The practice field took care of itself. I found a clearing that fit: out of sight, easy to sweep for tails, defensible if things went south. Iruka would be comfortable here.

On the way back into town I stopped at the market. I grabbed some items for dinner and replacements for what we had eaten when his apartment was invaded. I stopped at the popsicles. Naruto liked them; Sasuke pretended not to. I grabbed them despite myself. Before I finished, I grabbed flowers, the usual kind I had always grabbed. Rin would have rolled her eyes. The shopkeeper just nodded,

“Going to visit your friends, Kakashi? You are usually so early.” She asked politely.

“Yah, things have been busy,” I said giving her a polite smile. She patted my hand like most grandmas do before I left.

I carried it all in without thinking; at this point this place felt more like home than my own apartment. Broaching the topic of living together was probably premature.

My mind wandered while I unpacked. He’d been exhausted yesterday; I could manage a single meal. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be worn out today.

The ramen from last night was gone. Tenzo must have had it, because the takeout bowl was in the trash with note saying "thank you." Of course Iruka would give it away. He would invite the whole ANBU over if he knew they hadn’t eaten.

The scrolls still sat on the desk where I left them. Iruka didn’t notice and if he did, he didn’t say anything. I should have told him. Sneaking around wasn’t new, but this felt like lying. I also needed to come clean about my connection to Root. I sighed, grabbed the flowers, and made my way to the cemetery.

It ended how it always did. Flowers were left on their headstones, and I stood staring at the memorial, wondering why I always survived.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

A voice behind me cut through the quiet.

“Kakashi.”

Shikaku came up behind me. “I thought I would find you here. Ibiki and I are meeting to discuss the smuggling activity on the border. More requests came in from the Land of Rivers. Your input would be useful.”

“…It can’t be helped,” I said, and followed him down to the planning room. It was already past noon. I doubted I’d make it to the Academy before Iruka finished for the day.

Ibiki sat in one of the chairs, looking like he had been forced to be here. Tenzo and Asuma arrived shortly after I took my seat.

“Anyone else you want here?” Ibiki asked as they settled.

“No.” Shikaku didn't look up; he was still thumbing through his notebook. “Asuma and Tenzo will be enough for now.”

Ibiki wasted no time getting started. “Jiraiya’s reports say Akatsuki are operating as mercenaries when not working on their own missions. I think it is safe to assume we should start sorting their activity into those two categories and use it to map patterns in their behavior.”

“You make that sound easy,” Asuma muttered, blowing smoke.

Ibiki set a file on the table. “This is a list of shinobi who match the bomb users description. You've seen him, do any of them look familiar?”

Asuma, Tenzo, and I all moved in.

"They all look too old. This guy was younger and brighter blond." I said, sitting back again.

Shikaku chimed in almost like it was an afterthought. “If he uses clay for his bombs, we might be able to start with finding where he gets it.”

They traded ideas on where to infiltrate and the best means of communicating with the assets we send. I listened. I spoke when it mattered. With Shikaku and Ibiki there, my input was hardly needed.

Then Tenzo said the thing that stuck: “Most bounty hunters showing up are small-time. They’re cash-driven and don’t like questions. If we infiltrate as bounty hunters, we get to the wallets and the handlers.”

I met his eyes. “Who do we put in the field? Asuma and I are too well known.”

“We have a candidate,” Ibiki said. “Someone we can impersonate. Otherwise, we pull ANBU.”

There was a pause. Impersonation is messy for long missions. ANBU was reliable, but getting the updates timely could be complicated.

I kept my mouth shut. The thought of going rogue as a cover made my skin itch; my name carries weight they’d notice the moment I walked into the wrong tavern. Tenzo's wood style would also make him stand out. Genma or a lesser-known operative would blend. If we needed a famous face, I could do it, but I doubt coming back to the village would be an option.

Asuma and Tenzo drifted into an argument over espionage tactics. Shikaku and Ibiki spoke quietly about current interrogations. The meeting stretched on, and I resisted the urge to pull out Icha Icha.

When we broke, Shikaku gave me the look that I'd seen when he was working out who to send on a mission. I stood, felt my ribs gripe from sitting still too long, and moved out with the rest of them. At this point, Iruka was probably heading home already.

Iruka POV:

I picked up where we’d left off yesterday, running the class through another round of tree climbing. By the end, most of them could hold their footing longer than before, and a few even managed to reach the branches. We used the last thirty minutes for clone jutsu again. The chakra control lesson had helped — one by one, they were producing solid copies instead of the faint shadows they’d started with. Konohamaru was so proud of his first proper clone he nearly toppled off the desk showing it off. I was satisfied with their progress, enough that I let the lesson end early.

The rest of the day passed quickly, though my mind kept drifting back to Kakashi and the meeting that morning. He had never returned to class. Which probably meant he’d already been sent back out on missions. The thought left me uneasy, an odd mix of anxiety and inevitability. This was who Kakashi was. All I could do was keep faith that he would return.

On my way through the gate, I noticed one of the ANBU from Sunday waiting. “Iruka. Do you have some time to talk?” she asked.

I slowed, caught off guard. “Huh—sure. How can I help?”

“Walk with me? It’s a little crowded here.”

Something in her tone made me wary, but I followed. She led me off the main path, into a stand of trees where the village noise faded.

“We would like to invite you to guest lecture for some of our recruits,” she said.

The words gave me pause. ANBU had recruits that didn’t go through the Academy? That didn’t sit right. Why not submit the request properly through the school? I couldn’t shake the sense that there was something off about this.

Still… I couldn’t turn down kids who wanted to learn. I never could.

I forced a polite smile. “I’m always happy to help the students. Come by the Academy with some dates, and we can set it up.”

With that, I turned to leave, pretending the conversation hadn’t unsettled me as much as it had.

I hadn’t gotten far when a shinobi landed in front of me, facemask and goggles blanking his features. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

“Iruka Umino. You will come with us.”

I didn’t need to look to know two more had dropped behind me. Their chakra pressed at the edges of my senses like a trap closing.

“Sorry,” I said, surprised at my own steadiness. “But I don’t think I will.”

They didn’t move. Just watched.

I shifted to step past, and the one in front cut me off. The other two adjusted in unison. My stomach tightened.

I slid a hand into my vest, fingers brushing the small vial I always kept there. A few practiced signs drew oil into shape, lengthening into a katana. Another sign and fire caught, the blade burning steady in my grip.

“What are you after?” I asked.

I was met with silence.

“Fine.”

I slashed at the leader. He slipped past easily, his counterstrike driving into my side hard enough to rattle my ribs. His chakra control felt Jōnin-level.

I twisted, bracing with an arm to land on my feet. The other two were already in position, cutting off my retreat.

If they wanted to capture me, I’d give them a fight.

I exhaled and focused on my surroundings, looking for something to help me split them up. There wasn't much. I noticed a few more shinobi waiting. They had backup. Sweat beaded at my brow.

One on the left shifted, as if he’d been waiting for that signal. I sent two kunai his way before he could correct. They scattered, buying me just enough distraction to lunge again. This time my blade struck true. Only to cut through burning wood. Substitution. Branches fell to my feet, still burning.

The leader’s hands blurred. Wind roared through the clearing, whipping dust and grit into a choking storm. My vision vanished in a heartbeat.

Panic tightened in my chest. I shut my eyes, pressed a hand over my mouth. Sight was useless. I forced myself to stillness, to feel.

The dust carried vibrations, tiny shifts crawling across my skin. A shape on my left. Another closing behind. The leader is straight ahead. Three points circling me in the haze.

My oil blade sputtered out in the storm. Water would only make mud. Earth Release. I was cornered.

I signed a barrier, but the leader was already through, steel flashing. Pain ripped down my arm where his blade cut deep.

I staggered, breath ragged, and fire surged from instinct. Heat ripped outward, tearing open a gap.

I didn’t hesitate.

Chakra burned in my legs as I leapt, throwing a wall of fire in my wake. For a moment, it roared high between us, but the dust smothered it.

The ground thickened at my feet. Dust pooling, clinging, locking my legs. I dragged in air and coughed grit, vision swimming.

My whole body prickled, skin buzzing with energy I didn’t know how to name. I shoved it outward in desperation.

The dust shivered. Then the world cracked with force, a wave of soundless pressure exploding from me. All three shinobi faltered, clutching at their ears though I’d made no noise.

The rock around my legs gave. I didn’t look back. I ran toward the Academy, toward help.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:

I barely made the path before my legs buckled. Tenzo caught me mid-fall, voice sharp.

“Iruka!” He bound my arm fast, but my lungs burned, every breath like dragging in fire.

Kakashi was there the next instant. His gaze cut over me once, sharp and silent. “Who did this?”

I tried to answer, but my throat scraped raw and the world tilted. He didn’t wait.

“Your ribs,” I rasped when he bent to lift me. He ignored it, turning to Tenzo instead. “I have him. Follow them.”

And then I was in his arms. The fight drained from me as darkness edged my vision.

When I surfaced again, Tsunade’s hands were on my arm, pulling at the wound, Shizune pressing chakra deep into my chest. A fit tore through me, every cough brought up more grit, more fire. My skin burned like the dust had seeped under it.

Kakashi stood just off my shoulder, silent, his focus fixed on everything Tsunade did.

“Kakashi,” she snapped, “water.”

He vanished and reappeared in a breath, setting the bowl at her side, then stepped back into place.

“Iruka,” Tsunade said, glancing up at me. “How are you feeling?”

“My chest…” The word broke rough, barely more than a gasp.

Her chakra flared through me. She cursed under her breath. “Shizune, focus on his lungs. Kakashi, hold him down.”

Kakashi released my hand and held my shoulders. Her hands pressed harder, chakra tugging like hooks. The pain tore through me, and I choked back a cry. Instinctively, I fought against the pain.

Kakashi didn’t look away from Tsunade, but his grip anchored me as she drew the dust from my lungs.

Fluid rattled when I tried to breathe. My chest spasmed under Tsunade’s jutsu, and I grabbed Kakashi’s arm to ground myself. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held on.

“He has heavy metal binding his tissue,” Tsunade muttered. “I've seen this poison before. It's used to capture targets and kill them if capture fails.”

Kakashi’s voice was calm. “Can you remove it?”

“Yes,” she said, sharper than usual. “But, this is going to be long and painful for him.”

I focused on Kakashi's touch; despite all my training, the pain was becoming unbearable. A coughing fit wracked me again, pain tearing through my chest. The world tilted, black creeping in at the edges.

“Iruka.” Kakashi’s voice cut through, low and precise. His hand brushed my mouth, then caught my chin, tilting my face toward him. “Breathe.”

I tried. It felt like breathing through fire and oil. My arm was engulfed in pain, my joints felt like they were slowly being devoured, my hands shook, and the room was getting colder. Death would have been a mercy.

“His lips are blue,” Kakashi said flatly.

Tsunade’s head whipped toward me, curse already spilling from her lips. “Shizune, give him a Bronchodilator and a sedative.”

Shizune moved fast, pulling a small vial out and pressing it against my skin. After a moment I felt like I was getting some air, but the pain remained. She grabbed another vial, and the pain dulled, but the air in my throat caught, tremors rolled through me, and my skin felt like ice was burning through it. Sweat poured down my temples, and my vision blurred with bursts of light.

“His temperature’s spiking,” Shizune warned.

“Of course it is.” Tsunade’s chakra shifted again, pulling, and the pain exploded again. It felt like I was being carved open. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Kakashi's grip was still steady, anchoring me through the wave of agony.

“I'm here,” he said quietly so only I could hear, cleaning my face with a damp cloth that sent a thousand needles through my skin.

My nails dug into his arm as Tsunade forced another surge of grit from my lungs. I tasted metal, and my stomach rolled.

“Damn it,” Tsunade growled. “We need to move him to the hospital.”

Shizune was already packing the vials back into her case. “I will start the binding solution for mercury.”

“Go, we will meet you there, have them prep a room for us,” Tsunade instructed..

The room spun as another cough rattled me, raw and wet. I felt my strength fading, my breath became shallow, vision was now a haze.

Tsunade snapped, “Kakashi, lift him!”

Kakashi didn’t hesitate. He lifted me carefully but fast, one arm bracing my shoulders, the other firm beneath my knees. The movements made me nauseous, but Kakashi's never loosened.

By the time I heard the door open, I was already fading. My last clear thought was Tsunade’s voice barking orders, and the steady pressure of Kakashi’s arms around me, holding me to this world.

Kakashi POV:

Iruka was still shaking. His breath rattled against my chest, every inhale thin and wet, every exhale dragging like it hurt. His fingers were still clinging to my arm.

“Clear the hall,” Tsunade barked beside me, her chakra still supporting him as she moved with us. Shizune appeared beside us, leading us toward a room.

I didn’t look at them. My focus was on the heat bleeding through Iruka’s skin, the way his lips stayed tinged blue no matter how I shifted him to ease his breathing. His body was failing in front of me.

The hospital staff had the doors open by the time I reached them. I laid him down on the ICU bed, unwilling to break the hold he had on my arm until Tsunade herself pried me back.

“Out of the way, Kakashi,” she ordered, snapping her gloves tighter. “I need space.”

Reluctantly, I shifted aside.

“He’s hardly breathing,” Shizune said.

“I know!” Tsunade snapped. “Finish the solution for the mercury, while I keep him stable. Right now, we get him breathing, get me more hands in here.”

Three more medical ninjas arrived. "We’ll have to flush his lungs and chelate his blood.”

The team moved fast, getting into position, grabbing fluids. Tsunade looked at me over the table.

“Out, Kakashi. You can’t be in here.”

I looked at her, pleading, but she didn't waver.

Reluctantly, I stepped back, the hollowness settling in my chest like stone.

The doors closed behind me.

I stood outside, mask in place, hands buried in my pockets to hide the fists they had curled into.

Tenzo found me, his mask pulled up, shoulders stiff.

“I lost them,” he said. His voice sounded guilty. “But there were three different blood trails. Whoever it was, they didn’t walk away unscathed.”

I didn’t answer. He looked at me harder, then asked, quieter, “How’s Iruka?”

I turned just enough for him to see my eye. He didn’t press again.

I moved to the bench against the wall, sat down, and pulled a copy of Icha Icha from my pouch. I opened it, stared at the words, but they were just shapes on a page.

The memory of Iruka collapsing into Tenzo’s arms, blood spilling from his nose, his mouth, running down his arm. His body burning against mine, his fever so high it felt like he was boiling, and his hands trembling uncontrollably. Despite it all, he never let go.

I kept turning pages I didn’t read. Minutes dragged, each one stretched into a lifetime and gone too soon. I moved my hand to cover where Iruka dug his nails into my arm. He was in so much pain, I doubt he even realized it.

A hand touched my shoulder. I looked up to find Guy lowering himself onto the bench beside me. He was unusually somber.

“Iruka’s strong,” he said softly. “Tsunade knows what she is doing.”

I didn’t answer. My eye dropped back to the unread book in my hand, the words blurring together.

But I didn’t shrug his hand off, either.

I don’t know how long I sat there. My mind looping back again and again. At some point, I think Guy rubbed my back, but I hardly felt it.

The door opening caught my attention. Shizune stepped out, pulling her mask down, her expression tight but not hopeless.

“They cleared what they could from his lungs,” she said. “His temperature’s down a little. We’ve started extracting some of the poison, but his body is extremely weak. Tsunade is taking out as much as she dares without pushing him too hard. It’s going to be a long time until she’s done.”

I nodded once. That was all I could manage.

“One of the staff will see to your ribs,” she added, softer. “You should try to get some rest, Kakashi. It’s going to be a very long night.”

She left me with that. For the first time since I carried him in, I felt something ease, but it wasn’t comfort. Just the knowledge that he was still alive. Barely. And in more pain than I could imagine.

I lowered my head, staring at the smudge of his blood on my glove. My ribs ached, but I didn’t care. Finding out who had done this didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Iruka breathing through the next hour. And the next.

Guy hadn’t left since he arrived, hadn’t said more than a few words. His hand stayed steady on my shoulder, grounding me without forcing anything more. I doubt he was going anywhere unless someone made him.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Asuma and Kurenai came in together, their faces grim. Kurenai crossed straight to me, her hand closing firmly around mine.

“What happened?” she demanded, voice shaking with anger. She turned her gaze to Guy when I didn’t answer. “What did they do to him?”

Guy’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak right away. I stayed silent, staring at the blood on my glove. I couldn’t give them what they wanted.

Tenzo lingered nearby, leaning against the wall, silent in his guilt and support—a quiet shadow.

The waiting room felt heavy, the weight of Iruka’s absence pressing down on all of us.

As the hours dragged on, I noticed the lights in the corridor buzzed faintly. The steady pressure of Guy's hand on my shoulder and Kurenai's hand in mine kept me grounded.

One by one, more people came

Anko first, loud, furious, vowing to slaughter whoever touched him, until she saw me, saw Guy, and Kurenai beside me. Her voice dropped to a low growl, her anger burning in silence. She sat across from me, restless but refusing to leave.

Izumo and Kotetsu came together, faces drawn. They didn’t ask questions. They just set a thermos of tea on the table beside me, like it might help, then sank into the chairs beside Anko. Their presence spoke louder than words.

Ebisu arrived next, stiff as ever, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. He stood near the door, arms folded, as if guarding the threshold against anyone else who might try to take Iruka.

Ayame slipped in quietly after him, a carrier clutched in her hands. She set down two bowls of ramen beside the tea.

“I made it fresh,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “For when he wakes up. And… for you.”

Her eyes lingered a beat longer than they needed to. She didn’t ask questions, but there was something knowing in her gaze. The smell reminded me of all the times Iruka and I had ramen together. Some with him glaring at me and ignoring me. Others with him smiling in that way that makes your chest feel full.

"Thank you." I managed softly. She gave me a kind smile before leaving.

I slipped Icha Icha back into my pouch and resigned myself to staring at the floor.

Later, heavier footsteps. Ibiki. He didn’t stay. Just dropped a small parcel on the table, a scarf, folded neatly, and muttered, “From my wife.” As he was leaving, Shikaku came, Choza beside him, and Ko Hyuga with Shibi Aburame. Clan heads, men who rarely left their homes at this hour. Each carried something from their wives': food, healing ointment, flowers, and a book. They set them down carefully, as though their offerings could ward off death itself.

“Tell him our families are praying for him,” Shikaku said, voice low. His eyes lingered on me before he moved on.

They didn’t stay long. They never do. But their presence, even for a moment, filled the room.

It was early morning, the halls beginning to stir with staff, when I heard it: the uneven shuffle of familiar steps, low voices drifting closer. They filed in together: Shikamaru, Choji, Ino, and Sakura. No longer Academy kids, but the moment they stepped into the waiting room, I could still see them at their desks, Iruka at the front of the class.

“Sensei…” Sakura’s voice was soft, almost broken. “How is he?”

I didn’t answer. My silence had become its own language by now.

Guy straightened beside me. “Iruka is strong,” he told them, voice quieter than they’d ever heard it. “He is fighting. And he will win.”

Sakura nodded and then seemed to gain some confidence and slipped into the room to join Shizune and Tsunade.

Shino, Hinata with Neji, Kiba, Lee, and Tenten arrived soon after, the rest of the rookies filing in one by one. They carried their questions in their eyes, but none of them forced me to speak.

Lee dropped to his knees, shoulders shaking. “Iruka-sensei cannot—he must not—” His voice cracked.

Guy crouched beside him, hands firm on his arms. “Youthful spirit,” he said, unusually tender, “your sensei will endure. Have faith.”

Hinata and Ino stepped forward, flowers in hand. Without a word, they added them to the pile.

Choji drifted toward Asuma, head bowed as they spoke in quiet tones. Then his gaze caught on the untouched ramen Ayame had left behind.

“Would be a shame to waste it,” he said finally. “Iruka-sensei… he’d tell me not to.”

The room hesitated. Choji looked to Kurenai. She glanced at me, searching for an objection. I gave none.

“It’s alright,” she said softly.

Choji ate quietly, reverent in his way, before setting the empty bowls back with the other offerings.

The room grew too full. Too heavy. Asuma lit another cigarette, the smoke curling low. “Guy,” he said at last, “Kurenai and I will cover your missions. Take care of him.”

Guy nodded, sitting beside me again. Then he gave instructions for his team to train and meet him again at noon.

One by one, the teams began to filter out, leaving the room quieter but not empty. The flowers and gifts stayed, crowded together like a shrine.

I sat where I had been all night, my body numb. I should have been with Iruka.

Then the noise came. Quick feet, high voices trying to whisper but carrying down the hall anyway. A whole crowd of them, too many for this hour.

Iruka’s class.

They poured into the waiting room, Konohamaru at the front like always, the others clustering around him. Their eyes were red from crying, faces blotchy, voices breaking over each other.

“Kakashi-sensei, is he alive?”

“Where’s Iruka-sensei?”

“I heard he’s dying!”

Konohamaru’s fists were balled, chin up, fire in his eyes. “We want to see him! If you won’t let us in, we’ll find whoever did this and—”

Their presence landed like a kick to the chest. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I thought of Iruka: how he would have handled this, what he would say. He certainly wouldn't let them skip class. He wouldn't want them falling behind. Iruka would still be teaching, even now.

I forced myself to stand.

“This is a hospital, not a playground,” I said, my voice carrying just enough to cut through the chaos. The room went still. “Keep your voices down, and follow me.”

The kids froze, eyes wide. Even Konohamaru swallowed his next protest. Slowly, they fell into step, trailing after me.

I didn’t look back at the shrine of flowers and gifts, or at the lingering eyes of the Jonin still in the hall. My focus stayed forward. Iruka couldn’t be here to guide them.

So I would.

Chapter Text

Kakashi's POV:

The courtyard was too big for them. They huddled close together, Konohamaru at the front, Moegi and Udon right behind him, the rest bunched up like they hadn’t decided whether they were scared or excited.

I leaned against the low wall, arms folded. My clone waited back in the hall, ready to let me know of any changes.

“Your sensei would be teaching you right now,” I said. My voice made a few of them flinch. “So you’re not getting out of it. Sit.”

They dropped down quickly. Even Konohamaru, though he tried to make it look like his idea.

“Chakra,” I started, “isn’t just energy. It’s part of your body and connected to your spirit. If you can’t control it, you can’t fight, you can’t protect anyone, and you can’t even pass your exams.”

A few of them shifted, guilty. I let it hang before pulling a slip of chakra paper from my pouch.

“This tells you your chakra nature. Fire, wind, earth, water, or lightning. But that’s only half of how we use chakra. The other half is form. What you shape it into.”

I pressed my fingers together. A flicker of lightning chakra sparked to life, humming in the still air. The kids gasped, wide-eyed. I cut it off and slipped the paper away.

“Nature is what you’ve got. Form is how you use it. Understand both, and you won’t waste energy. Waste energy in the field, and you don’t come back.”

That silenced them. Even Konohamaru’s usual bravado faltered.

I pulled a handful of leaves from the tree overhead and let them fall to the grass. The kids watched me warily, waiting.

“Pick one up,” I said. “Stick it to your forehead. Don’t let it fall.”

They scrambled to obey. Konohamaru snatched his leaf like he was about to prove something. Moegi and Udon hesitated, then copied him.

“Chakra isn’t just for flashy jutsu,” I continued. “Even a simple clone jutsu requires chakra control.”

I tapped my own forehead with a leaf. It clung without effort. The kids stared.

“Focus. Feel your chakra here—” I touched my stomach. “—and move it where you want it. Slow. Don’t force it.”

Around me, leaves started slipping. One by one, they fluttered to the ground. The kids groaned, tried again. Konohamaru muttered insults at the leaf under his breath.

“Too much,” I said, stepping behind him. “Chakra isn’t about force. It’s about balance. Push too hard, you burn out. Push too little, you fail.”

Mogei bit her lip, concentrating. Her leaf trembled, but it held. Udon’s slid down his nose, and he yelped. Konohamaru’s fell again, and he stomped on it in frustration.

I let them struggle. “Iruka’s been drilling this for a reason. You master the leaf, you master control. Master control, and everything else follows.”

They quieted, focusing harder this time. For a moment, the courtyard was still. Just a circle of kids with leaves pressed to their brows, the sound of their breathing even and steady.

The leaves trembled, fell, stuck, and fell again. I let them try until the frustration dulled into focus. Then I stepped back and dropped my own leaf.

"Now that you all have some understanding of chakra control. Who remembers the chakra natures?" I asked.

Mogei's hand shot up. "Water, Fire, Wind, Lightning, and Earth," she said, listing them.

I formed a quick seal, pulling fire into my lungs. A small arc of flame roared across the grass and died out. “Fire Nature. Wide form. Can be used for area control.”

I slammed a hand to the ground, pulling up a low wall of earth. “Earth Nature. Wall form. Used for defense.”

Then, with only a flicker of thought, lightning danced at my fingertips, sharp and crackling. “Lightning Nature. Blade form. Used for attacking.”

The children gasped, eyes wide.

“Same chakra. Different shapes. Different results.”

Konohamaru’s fists tightened, his eyes blazing. Udon scribbled something on the back of his hand. Moegi’s mouth formed a silent “wow.”

I let the silence hold, then looked at Guy. “Your turn.”

His eyes lit with a rare, quiet fire. He stepped forward. “Taijutsu,” he declared, softer than usual but still carrying his conviction. “The shape of chakra without jutsu. The body, trained into its own weapon.”

The children straightened. Even Konohamaru.

I stepped back, letting Guy take them into movement, drilling stances and strikes, burning the edge off their restless energy.

This wasn't math and geography or calligraphy, but hopefully Iruka would be satisfied. My heart ached. We had no idea when he would be strong enough to teach again. I didn't even know what his life would turn into after this.

Guy kept them moving for nearly an hour, drilling basic stances, punches, and kicks. His voice stayed steady, his corrections precise — none of the booming enthusiasm he used with Lee, but enough to keep the children sharp and sweating.

When the forms began to sink in, I stepped forward. “Pair off,” I said. “You’ll spar. Light contact.”

The courtyard shifted into nervous laughter and shuffling feet. Guy and I walked the line as they squared off. Konohamaru and Moegi facing each other, Udon awkwardly circling a taller boy, the rest stumbling through the first exchange.

“Hands higher,” Guy told one. “Too wide a stance,” I corrected another. “Don’t flinch. Anticipate.” “Good, but keep your guard up.”

The sparring grew louder, sharper, as confidence replaced hesitation. A few of them hit the dirt and bounced back up, determination burning through their fear.

After nearly an hour of this, I raised a hand. “Enough.”

The children stumbled into a loose circle, breathing hard, faces flushed with sweat.

“Break for lunch,” I said. “Be back ready to work. This afternoon, you’ll learn about traps, strategy, and the rules that keep shinobi alive.”

Konohamaru groaned, but picked himself up anyway. The others followed. They scattered toward their bags and the food their families had pressed into their hands before sending them here.

Guy clapped his hands together. “You see? Youthful spirit sharpened through effort. They will honor Iruka well.”

I didn’t answer, my eye drifting back toward the hospital. Toward Iruka. What would he say right now, seeing me like this? Would he laugh? Rin, Obito... will these students live up to your legacy?

Guy was still rambling.

"Kakashi, are you listening?"

"hmm?"

"I asked if you have eaten since yesterday."

I shook my head. “Not hungry.”

Guy’s brows pulled together, and for once he didn’t try to make a joke out of it. He dragged me back inside, grabbed one of the rice balls Choza had left on the table, and shoved it into my hand.

“Eat,” he said simply.

I stared at it. “I said—”

“Eat,” Guy repeated, sharper this time. "It's not sweet, so you have no excuses."

The silence stretched. I could have argued, but the truth was my body felt hollow, my head heavy. Slowly, I peeled back the wrapping and took a bite. Guy watched until I finished, then nodded, satisfied.

“Better,” he said.

I brushed my hands off, eye drifting back toward the ICU doors. “I want to check on him.”

Shizune met me at the door, her hands still faintly glowing with chakra.

“He’s stable,” she said, her voice carrying that calm efficiency I’d learned to trust. “We’re extracting the last of the poison now.”

My shoulders eased, just barely. “He’ll be moved?”

“Shortly. To a recovery room. Tsunade will give you a full update then.”

I nodded, but I didn’t leave. Guy stood like a green bodyguard at my side, arms crossed.

The students drifted back into the hall one by one, whispers running through them until Konohamaru found me again. Neji, Lee, and Tenten arrived not long after, falling in at Guy’s side, their eyes sharp but quiet.

My eye drifted over the crowd of young faces. “Iruka-Sensei is going to be ok,” I said. The relief in their small bodies was immediate. Shoulders dropped, tears turned to smiles, and a wave of breath let out all at once.

“But—” I let the word cut through the noise. “Your sensei wouldn’t want you skipping class. So I’m giving you your first mission.”

They straightened, Konohamaru puffing his chest out like he’d just been handed an S-rank.

“Return to class. Your assignment is to write about your reason for becoming a ninja. I expect each of you to have it finished and returned to me tomorrow. When he is well enough for visitors, you’ll also show him you can hold the leaf for five minutes and perform a proper clone jutsu.”

To my surprise, they didn't complain. They looked more determined.

“That’s the mission. Don’t fail him.”

Guy clapped his hands once. “Neji, Lee, Tenten—you’ll escort them back to the Academy. Deliver Kakashi’s instructions to the substitute.”

Neji bowed his head, Lee’s eyes shone wet, and Tenten gave a small smile. “We’ll see it done.”

The children shuffled down the hall, taking to Lee and Tenten immediately. Konohamaru glanced back once, defiance flashing in his eyes. Then he turned, following the others.

Twenty minutes after the hall cleared, the ICU doors swung open. Tsunade stepped out, shoulders slumped, hair stuck to her temple with sweat. Even worn down, her presence filled the space.

Her eyes landed on me. “Kakashi. You look like hell. How are you holding up?”

“Still standing,” I answered. “How is he?”

She blew out a long breath, crossing her arms. “About as bad as it gets without a funeral. The poison was mercury vapor, which spreads everywhere. I’ve spent the last sixteen hours dragging it out of him, and I still don’t know if we got it all.”

One of the staff tried to approach her with a clipboard; she waved them off without looking. “The arm’s closed. That’s the easy part. His lungs are the problem. They keep filling with fluid because of the dust and damage from the poison. We’ll have to go back in tomorrow, when he’s strong enough to survive another round.”

Her fingers dug into her temple, then dropped, steady again. “For now, he can breathe on his own, and we can remove the fluid. That’s the only reason I’m letting him rest. He’s sedated — you won’t get a response out of him tonight. You’ll just sit there and worry yourself sick, so try not to forget you’re human too. Get some sleep while you can. If he crashes, I’ll have your ass dragged out of bed.”

Shizune appeared, bowing slightly. “Lady Tsunade, the transfer is complete.”

Tsunade gave a curt nod, then looked back at me. “Go. Sit with him. I had a bed put in there for you — use it. Don’t make me treat two patients because you’re too stubborn to rest.”

Guy stepped forward, laying a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone, Kakashi. Sit with him. I’ll keep watch outside.” He moved off to update the others.

His room was unnervingly quiet when I stepped in. He looked almost lifeless, like the hospital bed had stolen the color from him. Every breath caught at the top of his chest before dragging loose again, uneven and shallow. Even sedated, he looked like a man drowning quietly on dry land.

I sank into the chair, pulling his hand into mine. It was still too warm, damp with fever, but the tremors had stopped. That should’ve been a relief, but I wouldn't be satisfied until he was giving me that embarrassed little smile he always got when he was flustered.

“You’re still here,” I whispered, but my voice broke.

I pressed my forehead against his hand, breath shuddering. “I almost lost you. I wasn’t there when it mattered, I let you walk into this alone—” My chest tightened, words catching. “You saved me, and all I did was almost let you die for it.”

The words burned as they slipped free. “I’m sorry, Iruka. I should’ve been the one in this bed. Not you.”

The door creaked, and I almost let go of Iruka’s hand. Shizune slipped in, arms full, moving with the quiet assurance of someone who’d already been running for too many hours. She didn’t say anything at first, just started setting Iruka's gifts down on the little table by the bed.

There were more now, some I didn't recognize, like a handful of letters tied with twine, childish handwriting scrawled across the edges. His students must have written them before they left.

I stayed still, hiding the dampness in my eyes, hand still wrapped around his. I thought I’d hidden the words, but she must have caught them. The admission I hadn’t meant anyone to hear.

Her eyes flicked to me, steady but not prying. As she reached into her coat, “Antibiotics. And something for the fever.” The vials clicked softly into the line. “It’ll make him rest easier.” The words were meant for me, not him — like she knew I was desperate for anything that gave him a little peace.

She came around the bed, adjusted the blanket at Iruka’s chest, and let her hand linger on his arm. Then a faint, tired smile. “You know, Iruka was just as torn up when you were the one in this bed.”

I hadn’t expected that. My chest tightened, but not with guilt. With something heavier. Warmer. I’d loved people before — family, comrades, friends — but this was different. This was the first time I realized someone had been carrying me the way I carried them.

I brushed my thumb over his knuckles, unable to look away from his face.

Shizune didn’t press. She only closed her case, straightened, and paused once more beside me. “Kakashi, the only reason he’s alive is because of you. Don’t forget that.” With that, she left the room as quietly as she’d come.

The door clicked shut. Silence rushed in. My pulse still hadn’t slowed. Iruka’s gifts filled the room with color. Proof that people needed him, loved him. His hand was still warm in mine.

But all I could see were the hands I hadn’t saved. Obito’s crushed beneath stone. Rin’s slick with blood. Minato’s gone while I was ordered to watch. How many more? How close had I come to adding Iruka to them?

Was this what Obito felt, watching Rin taken away? That helpless fury no jutsu could mend?

I bowed over Iruka’s hand, breath ragged against his skin. For the first time, the dangerous, undeniable truth settled in: I was in love with him.

Instinct pulled me closer. I stretched carefully onto the edge of the bed, curling around him without disturbing the IV line. I pressed my forehead to his hair, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat anchor me.

I told myself it was so I’d wake if he worsened. But the truth was simpler. I needed him in my arms, where I could feel he was still here.

Chapter Text

Guy's POV:

I eased the door open just enough to check on them. For once, I didn’t announce myself. What I saw needed silence.

Kakashi had pulled himself onto the edge of Iruka’s bed, one arm draped protectively across him, his head bent low into Iruka’s hair. Even asleep, Kakashi’s grip on Iruka’s hand was tight, like if he let go, the world would take him.

I closed the door again, leaned against the wall, and let out a slow breath. After all these years, I’d seen Kakashi broken, angry, half-dead. But I’d never seen him like this.

Asuma and Kurenai arrived not long after, moving with the same tired heaviness I felt in my own bones.

Asuma gave me a look. “How bad?”

I tilted my head toward the door. “Iruka’s stable. Kakashi…” I hesitated, then said it plain. “He’s curled up with him. Out cold.”

Kurenai’s mouth softened, and she almost smiled. “Not surprising.”

I blinked at her. “Not surprising?”

She folded her arms, calm as ever. “Kakashi’s been pining after him for years. Quietly. I don’t think he even realized it himself until now.”

That landed heavier than a kunai to the chest. I thought of all the times Kakashi brushed off company, slipped away from crowds, or buried himself in duties and excuses. But with Iruka, he’d been there. Again and again.

Asuma nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “When Kakashi went down on that mission, it was Iruka who wouldn’t leave his side. He saved him. They’ve been stuck together since. Closest thing I’ve seen to your loyalty, Guy.”

I felt something swell in my chest — not surprise, but relief. Maybe even hope. “Then maybe,” I said, voice low, “this time he won’t lose the person holding him together.”

Kurenai’s eyes met mine, steady and determined. “No. He won’t.”

The three of us fell into an easy silence, guarding the hall outside. Inside, Kakashi finally let himself rest where he belonged. For once, not alone in the dark, but pressed close to the man who’d joined us in the fight to heal his heart.

As the night dragged on, friends came and went from their duties. Asuma and Kurenai went home. Tenzo and my self remained, drifting into the room after we noticed Kakashi woke up.

The door opened again with a heavier swing. Anko barged in, arms folded, eyes scanning the room. Her gaze landed on Iruka first, and for a breath her scowl slipped into something rawer, more fragile. Then she saw Kakashi curled against him and raised a brow.

“Well,” she muttered, voice rough but not unkind, “at least someone’s keeping him warm.”

Shizune sighed from the other side of the bed. “Anko, you can’t—”

“Don’t even start,” Anko cut in, planting herself against the wall with arms crossed. “I’m not leaving him when he looks like a reanimation jutsu. You’ll have to drag me out.”

Shizune pinched the bridge of her nose but didn’t argue further. She turned instead to Kakashi, her tone gentling. “There’s another bed, are you sure you wouldn't be better off lying in it?”

Kakashi didn’t move, didn’t open his eye. Just tightened his grip on Iruka’s hand, silent as stone.

“I’m not moving either,” Tenzo said from his corner without lifting his head. “I’m guarding them.”

Anko snorted. “Good. Means I can catch a nap.”

I stretched, pushing myself up on the spare bed. “Same here. I’m not leaving unless Kakashi tells me to.” My eyes lingered on him. “And he’s not asking.”

Shizune looked between us all, exasperation flickering in her eyes, but I saw the truth underneath: relief. She wasn’t alone in holding vigil.

The door opened once more, and Tsunade herself stepped in, her presence filling the room. She scanned the beds, her gaze hard. “This isn’t a gathering place. You all have duties tomorrow, and I won’t have anyone getting underfoot.”

Anko bristled immediately. “You’ll have to knock me unconscious to get me out of here.”

“After the day I’ve had, I just might,” Tsunade shot back.

Then her eyes cut to Kakashi, sharper still. “And you. If you so much as disrupt his IV line, I will drag you off that bed myself.”

Kakashi finally lifted his eye, voice low, flat, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I know exactly where his IV is. His fever’s down by a degree and a half. And it’s been forty-three minutes since the last treatment on his lungs.”

The words cracked across the room like shuriken. He wasn’t raising his voice, but the message was clear: he wasn’t moving, and he wasn’t blind to anything happening to Iruka.

Shizune’s eyes widened slightly. Not at the numbers, I thought, but at how precise they were.

Tsunade let out a long breath through her nose, studying him like a puzzle piece she hated to admit fit. Finally, she shook her head. “Fine. You can all stay. But you are going to eat something and take care of yourselves. Guy, put together a sleep schedule. I’ll send home the ANBU I had assigned to Iruka and Kakashi for the night.”

Tsunade swept out, Shizune on her heels with her clipboard. The door shut behind them, leaving the room quiet again.

Anko leaned back against the wall with a crooked grin. “Well. Congratulations, everyone. We just got promoted to bodyguards.”

Tenzo didn’t even open his eyes. “Already was.”

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. “Security detail for a man who probably never thought he’d need it. Seems fitting.”

My eyes flicked to the bed. Kakashi had settled back against Iruka, running his fingers through his hair like he was terrified he would vanish. But I saw it now — the tiny loosening in his shoulders, the faint ease in his breath. He was only able to relax like that because we were here. Because he knew we wouldn’t let anyone through that door without a fight.

Anko caught my look and tilted her head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got his back too. Both of them. Iruka may be the idiot who puts himself in danger, but Kakashi’s the idiot who thinks he has to carry it all alone. They’re a set now.”

I nodded, smiling faintly. “That they are.”

“You know I’m not deaf,” Kakashi murmured.

Tenzo stirred enough to add, voice low but firm, “I’ve been guarding them.”

And that was that. No ceremony, no grand declarations. Just the four of us settling into a watch Tsunade hadn’t wanted but had accepted.

“Alright! Who’s hungry? Kakashi, fish and rice for you. Anko, Tenzo — pork or fish?”

“Pork. Oh, with extra pickles. And dango if they’ve got it. Don’t get cheap on me, Guy,” Anko said, pointing a sharp look at me.

“Ahh, the fuel of youth. Great choice, Anko! Tenzo?”

“Fish,” he said quietly.

“Perfect choice,” I said, pushing to my feet. “Anko, you take first watch. Tenzo, use the bed and get some rest. You haven’t slept since yesterday.”

I glanced at Kakashi, wondering if I should bother trying to get him to rest. Then I sighed. This guy wouldn’t listen anyway.

The cafeteria ladies knew me by name. Lee and I had spent more late nights here than I could count. It didn’t take long to gather what I needed: dango, rice bowls, miso soup, pickles, and bottles of tea. I added a paper bag of sweet buns on impulse. For morale.

When I pushed the door back open, the smell of warm rice followed me inside. Anko’s head snapped up first, her eyes narrowing before softening.

“About time,” she muttered, snatching the pork bowl I set in front of her. “With extra pickles. You actually listen.”

I gave her my signature smile. “Of course I do. Youthful energy comes from balance.”

Tenzo cracked an eye open when I nudged a fish bowl and miso toward him. He accepted it without argument, which told me how tired he really was.

Kakashi hadn’t stirred from his spot, still curled on the edge of Iruka’s bed. His hand was resting in Iruka’s again. I set a bowl beside him anyway. It was what he usually ate: grilled fish, rice, and miso.

“Eat,” I said softly, not pushing. “Hokage’s orders. And mine, if you’re counting.”

For a long moment, nothing. Then, with a sigh, Kakashi sat up. He stayed next to Iruka and ate quickly, mechanically — accepting it only as a necessity to get through. He set it aside when Iruka started coughing. He kept his arm with the IV steady and then grabbed a cloth to wipe the trickle of blood from his mouth. Then he laid back beside him, running his fingers through his hair and saying something only Iruka could hear.

I placed the bag of sweet buns in the center of the little table. “Dessert. For morale,” I said brightly.

Anko snorted around a mouthful of pork. “You’re ridiculous.” But she took one anyway.

I settled back with my own meal, watching them eat, watching the room steady itself. Kakashi was back in a dark place — I could see it in the set of his shoulders. But I believed these things helped him. Food, warmth, reminders of life. And I would always keep giving him hope.

I caught Tenzo’s eye as he finished his bowl. “Tenzo, time for rest. Anko, go ahead and rest now, too. I will stay up for a while and keep watch. Kakashi…” I hesitated, then said it plain. “Sleep if you can.”

He didn’t answer, but the smallest nod told me he’d heard.

Iruka coughed weakly in his sleep again, and Kakashi immediately leaned in, steadying him with one hand, wiping sweat from his brow with the other. He murmured something too low to hear. Anko glanced away, giving him the privacy of the moment, and I understood why Tsunade had let us stay.

We weren’t just security. We were family. Watching over Iruka, and making sure Kakashi didn’t lose himself before he could see him wake.

Chapter Text

Kakashi's POV:

Guy had tried to talk to me once the others fell asleep, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I would, later. He’s been my anchor for as long as I can remember. Right now, I could only focus on Iruka.

Sleep hadn’t come after that short nap. His first coughing fit had pulled me awake, and I’d stayed alert since. He was growing restless. Maybe burning through the sedatives.

“Kakashi? Do you want me to watch while you sleep?” Tenzo’s voice from the corner. Guy’s soft snore from the spare bed. Anko sprawled on the makeshift cot Tenzo had built her.

“No. I wouldn’t sleep.”

“You know he isn’t going to get better in a few hours. You have to pace yourself.”

Irritation flared, then dulled. He was right. “When Shizune gets back, I’ll rest,” I said finally. It was the truth. He went quiet after that.

Staff came in to drain fluid. I stepped back, hands hovering, watching every move. When Iruka coughed, I steadied him, wiped the blood from his mouth. When needed, I cooled his brow. The sweats eased a little as the night wore on. Whoever had done this: shinobi, assassin, whoever, they weren’t going to walk away. I would see to it.

My fingers ran through his hair, the way he liked. When he leaned into it, my breath caught. His eyes were open.

“Ka… ka… shi…” His voice scraped out, raw and broken.

I froze. Unwanted tears stung my eyes. “Iruka,” I breathed, relief cracking my chest open.

Tenzo slipped out, silent, leaving us space.

“Are you in pain?” I asked, pressing my lips to his temple. He tried to answer, but another coughing fit wracked him. I held him through it, wiped his mouth again. When it passed, he rasped: “Crying?”

“I thought I was going to lose you." The words came out raw. “I love you, Iruka.”

His eyes widened. His hand came up, clumsy and weak, toward my face. I bent, kissed him lightly, then stopped him before he tried to speak.

“Rest.”

He gave a faint nod, head sinking back. His breathing had changed, more labored now.

“Are you hurting?” I asked again. He gave a weak nod. I started to rise. “Let me call—”

His hand caught my wrist, surprising me with its strength. I sank back down. “Alright. I won’t leave.” My fingers smoothed through his hair until his body eased.

“Guy,” I called, low.

He was on his feet instantly. “Kakashi? What’s wrong?” His voice was hushed, too careful for him, and I knew he’d been awake longer than he wanted me to think.

“Get someone. Iruka's in pain.”

Guy’s eyes went to Iruka, and I saw him break — tears streaming before he could stop them. He choked out, “Iruka…!” his voice cracking wide.

“Guy.” My tone carried the warning.

He swallowed, wiped at his face with the back of his hand, and gave a sharp nod. “Right.” His composure snapped back into place in an instant. “Leave it to me.”

He ran for the door without another word, the way he always had when he knew it was urgent.

Guy's outburst woke Anko. She was up and crouching at Iruka’s side, her hands closing around his.

“We’ll kill them,” she growled. “Tell me what they looked like.”

“Anko,” I warned, and she backed off with a forced smile.

“Fine. Later. First, we get you looking alive again.”

Iruka tried to smile. My chest ached at the sight of it.

Tenzo reappeared at the foot of the bed. “Welcome back,” he said softly. Tears pooled in Iruka’s eyes.

“What is it?” I asked, scanning for distress. He shook his head.

“Too much?” I asked. He nodded, coughed, and whimpered in pain. I wiped his mouth, rubbed his arm, kissed his temple. “It’s alright. Help will be here soon.”

Anko looked ready to explode.

"If you need to blow off steam, go," I ordered, and she vanished out the window. Tenzo gave me a nod and headed after her.

I bent low, tugged my mask down. “When you’re better,” I whispered, voice rough with exhaustion, “I’m not letting you out of bed again.”

Iruka’s lips twitched, his breath catching. “Kakashi…” It came soft, half-chiding, the way he always said it when I was pushing a line. Then, barely audible: “Please…”

My chest tightened. That word — ours. Permission. Trust. A plea and an answer all at once.

I pressed a kiss against his throat. “Alright,” I murmured. “I’ll start like this… then I’ll take your shirt off, kissing my way lower.” My hand traced down his chest, over his stomach, stopping just above where he wanted it most. “You’ll arch for me, Iruka, and I’ll keep going until you forget all of this.”

His fingers twitched around mine, weak but deliberate, and I felt the tightness in his body ease. His breathing smoothed, the ragged edge softening, and for the first time all night, he let out something close to a sigh of relief. The coughing didn’t vanish, but it settled into something less violent.

I brushed his hair back from his damp forehead, whispering against his ear. “That’s it. Just rest. I’ve got you.”

His eyes closed, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. He leaned into my touch, shoulders sinking back into the sheets, and I felt the burn of my own tears. For now, it was working.

Behind us, the door opened again. I pulled up my mask, wiped my eyes. Shizune came in.

“Iruka,” she said with a smile. “Are you in pain?”

He nodded weakly.

“Okay. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep,” she said, pulling a vial from her bag. Then her tone softened but stayed steady. “When it takes effect, we’ll be taking you back in for another surgery. There’s still dust deep in your lungs that we have to remove. It won’t be easy… and you’re already very weak.”

His eyes widened faintly, but he didn’t speak.

She glanced at me, then back at him. “It’ll take about five minutes to work. If there’s anything you want to say before, now is the time.”

Iruka gave the smallest nod, his hand shifting toward mine.

She added the medicine to his IV and left us.

I met his eyes. “You’re going to get through this. I’ll be here. You’ll be okay.” He gave me a soft smile and moved his hand, tugging me closer.

“I love you,” he whispered.

The words broke something in me. I kissed him hard, then pressed my forehead to his, my hands trembling as I pulled him tight against me. “Come back to me,” I whispered, the plea tearing out of me before I could stop it. My voice steadied as I forced the rest out: “You’re going to. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Iruka’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched, catching the fabric of my vest and holding on, weak but certain. He refused to let me go.

“Kakashi…” His voice cracked, too faint for anything more, but I understood.

I covered his hand with mine, anchoring it against my chest. “I’ve got you,” I murmured against his temple. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

“Can you breathe?” I asked because I needed to be sure.

He gave the smallest nod, his grip still hooked in my vest. I stayed there, holding him, until the medicine finally dragged him under again. His fingers stayed curled in my clothes. I didn’t pry them loose. I let him hold on.

Shizune came back a few minutes later. “You two are okay?” she asked quietly. I nodded.

“Are you taking him now?” I asked, reluctant to let go.

“Soon. As soon as Tsunade gets here. They’re preparing the room. I’ll be back to get him.” She left, and Guy returned as the door closed.

“Kakashi…” Guy started, but I cut him off.

“Guy. Thank you. I don’t know how I would have managed this without you.”

Guy burst into tears. “Kakashi!!!”

I couldn’t help but smile. He was still carrying on when three medical-ninjas followed Shizune in. I gently shifted Iruka back onto the bed and stood beside Guy.

The moment they wheeled Iruka out, my body shook. I didn’t follow. Couldn’t. My chest tightened, my vision narrowing. I watched the door close, and it felt like the war never ended. Obito under the stone, Rin with my arm through her chest, learning of Minato's death.

I didn’t hear Guy at first. Only the silence. The weight of it pressed down until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Then his hand was on my shoulder, steady and grounding. “Kakashi,” he said softly, none of his usual booming fire. “You’re not alone. And listen... the best medical ninja in the world is in there with him. No one better. Not anywhere. Iruka is in the strongest hands.”

The words tugged me back, just enough. Guy coaxed me down the hall, away from the door. “Come on. You need something warm.”

I let him steer me, my body moving without thought. We ended up in the cafeteria. The smell of rice and broth should’ve been appetizing, but I only stared at the steam rising from the bowl Guy put in front of me.

“Miso and tea,” he said, sliding the tray close. “Eat, Kakashi. Iruka would kill me if I let you waste away.”

I forced myself to lift the spoon. The taste barely registered, but the warmth in my chest was something. Enough to keep my hands from shaking.

Tenzo drifted in, quiet as always. “Anko’s been sent on an assignment,” he said, eyes flicking between me and Guy. “How is Iruka?”

Neither of us answered. He studied me for a moment longer, then sat down beside us. “Kakashi… you’re not yourself.”

I ignored him. My mind kept circling back: Iruka’s hand gripping my vest, his voice whispering I love you. Did I deserve that? After everything? After everyone I’d failed?

My jaw tightened. The only one who would have a reason to target Iruka like this is Donzo. That trail of blood Tenzo found earlier would leave visible injuries. My thoughts snapped into place, our window was closing. “Tenzo,” I said flatly. “Can you keep an eye on Root? Look for anyone who shouldn't be missing, or shows signs of injury.”

He nodded once. “I’ll handle it. But Kakashi… we should tell Lady Tsunade.”

Guy leaned in, his voice steady. “I’ll handle it.”

Tenzo’s eyes lingered on me before he stood. “Then I’ll start watching.” He left us there.

I slipped back into silence, my mind spinning out. Minato’s smile. Rin’s lifeless eyes. Obito and I getting into arguments. It all pressed in until the present blurred.

Then movement caught my eye. We were back in the waiting area. I hadn’t even realized we’d walked there.

The doors slammed open. Shizune came running, her gloves smeared red, blood dripping down one hand as she grabbed two more staff from the hall.

“His lungs collapsed,” I heard one of them hiss. “He’s crashing.”

The words shattered inside me.

My chest seized, my breath splintered. Then I saw it: my hands. Red. Soaked. Rin’s blood again, dripping down my fingers, warm and slick.

I scrubbed at them, frantic, but it only smeared deeper. Never clean. Never gone.

“Rin—” The name tore out of me, ragged. Then the vision shifted, and it wasn’t Rin. It was Iruka, pale and broken, his blood on me.

“Not again,” I gasped. My hands shook violently, scrubbing at a stain only I could see. “Not him. I can’t—”

Guy’s grip locked down hard on my shoulders, shaking me once, steadying me. “Kakashi. Look at me.” His voice was firm, no room for retreat. “Your hands are clean. Are you listening? Clean. Iruka’s alive. Tsunade’s in there with him. ”

I tried to breathe, but the air came ragged. “I should’ve been faster. I should’ve stopped it…”

“No.” Guy’s voice cut sharply, dragging me back inch by inch. “Don't blame yourself. You brought him here. He is in there fighting right now. And Kakashi, he's going to make it.”

My knees buckled. Guy caught me, eased me down onto the bench, his hand steady on my back as I dragged in shallow, useless breaths. My fingers still trembled.

“Kakashi.” Another voice. Someone softer. Kurenai. She knelt in front of me, red eyes steady on mine. “Iruka is strong. He’ll fight his way back. And when he does, he’ll want you here. Take a deep breath for me. ”

A shadow shifted beside her. Asuma. He didn’t speak at first. Just put his cigarette away, unlit, and stood behind her like a wall.

Then Genma sat at my side, voice low, dry but not unkind. “You’re not the only one who’s seen too much tragedy, Kakashi. Don’t let it bury you. Not now.”

I pressed a shaking hand to my mask, dragging it down far enough to breathe. The air still felt thin. My throat burned. I muttered, voice breaking, “Everyone I love—” The words cut off, choked. I couldn’t say the rest.

Guy’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Not this time,” he said fiercely.

The others didn’t argue. They didn’t fill the silence with promises they couldn’t make. They just stayed, circling close, their presence anchoring me to the present.

My throat burned. My chest still felt too tight, every breath scraping shallow and ragged. I bowed forward, elbows braced to my knees, my hands trembling.

Guy didn’t move. He stayed close, steady heat at my side. I leaned, just enough for my shoulder to touch his, and didn’t pull back.

Kurenai shifted beside me, settling onto the bench. She laced her fingers through mine, firm and sure. “Breathe with me,” she said softly, drawing in one long inhale, waiting until I tried to match it. Her grip was steady, grounding.

On the edge of my vision, Asuma and Genma stood a half step forward, broad shoulders set like a wall. Guarding the space, keeping the hall from seeing too much.

For the first time, I let myself lean on them. Into Guy, into Kurenai’s hand, into all of them. I couldn’t carry it alone anymore.

Chapter Text

Guy’s POV

Kakashi’s weight pressed against my shoulder. Small, barely there, but it was more than I’d ever felt him give. His mask was tugged down, his breath ragged, his eyes glassy. The Copy Ninja. The man who always hid his pain. Here, now, he wasn’t hiding at all.

I tightened my grip on his shoulder, fighting back my own tears. I’d been waiting a decade for this — for him to stop carrying the weight of every ghost alone. And it wasn’t weakness I saw in him now. It was trust.

Kurenai’s hand was twined with his, her voice calm, steady, guiding his breath. Asuma and Genma stood shielding him from every other gaze. No judgment. No pity. Just comrades who knew exactly what he’d been through, and who were relieved that he was finally letting us in.

Kakashi muttered something under his breath, too soft for the others to catch. I leaned close and heard it: “I can't lose him…”

I squeezed his shoulder. “Have faith in him, Kakashi. He won't let you down,” I whispered back, fierce as a vow.

And for the first time, he didn’t argue. He just took another breath with Kurenai.

Eventually, he tugged the mask back up, pulling the fabric into place with hands that still trembled faintly. Asuma reached into his vest, handed him a cigarette without a word. “Shut up and smoke it,” he muttered, gruff but steady.

Genma snorted. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d look worse than me after a mission.” Dark humor, sharp enough to cut the tension, and for once, Kakashi let out the faintest huff of a laugh.

Then silence again. Everything caught up to him: exhaustion, fear, the adrenaline still burning through his veins. He let his head tip, light but certain, resting against my shoulder. I didn’t move. He stayed that way as the hours dragged on.

When the doors opened, he was already stirring, posture taut as if he hadn’t drifted at all.

The doors opened, and Tsunade stepped out, hands still stained. Every muscle in Kakashi’s body went taut beside me.

She didn’t waste time. “His lungs collapsed during surgery. His heart stopped.”

Kakashi’s knuckles went white where his hands clenched.

“But he fought,” Tsunade continued, her eyes cutting briefly toward Kakashi. “Even sedated, he refused to let go. He was muttering, pushing chakra through his system on his own. He restarted his own heart. That gave us enough time to stabilize him, flush the last of the toxin, and extract the remaining dust and fluid. He’s stable now.”

The tension cracked. Kurenai let out a slow breath. Asuma’s shoulders eased. Genma shifted his senbon between his teeth, muttering something sharp under his breath.

Kakashi didn’t move. Then a sound broke the silence. A laugh. Low, unsteady at first — then cracking open, real and raw.

“Of course,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “Of course that bastard would hide something like that. Restarting his own damn heart while I’m out here losing my mind.” He gave a small, shaking chuckle. “All his damn secrets…”

Tsunade folded her arms, mouth twitching into something between pride and amusement. “He’s out of the woods, as far as surgery goes. Recovery is on him now. And I’ll admit this much—” her gaze swept the circle, then landed on Kakashi, voice lowering, “—there’s a jutsu I need to study. Something he may be able to use himself. To heal faster. I don’t say this often, but I think he can handle it.”

Kakashi’s laugh softened into something smaller, quieter. His visible eye narrowed, tired but warm.

Tsunade held his gaze. “I see what you were talking about now. You were right.” A grin cracked across her face. The grin of someone who hated losing a bet but was almost glad she did.

Kakashi exhaled, leaning back against the bench. “My hunches are usually right,” he said, dry as ever. Then his voice sharpened, steady again. “Tenzo already left to keep an eye on Root.”

Tsunade nodded. “When he returns, have him report to me. You get your wish, Kakashi. Iruka’s getting a personal guard until he’s trained.”

She glanced over the group once more, then turned down the hall.

We stayed there, silence heavy but steadier now. Relief humming through all of us. For the first time in hours, Kakashi let his shoulders ease.

We all stood there, letting Tsunade’s words sink in. He is stable and in recovery. The academy teacher who everyone underestimated had just fought off death in the middle of surgery.

I could feel it in the air. The unspoken question hanging between us all. What the hell don’t we know about Iruka?

Kakashi leaned back against the bench, the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth. Relief, exhaustion, something softer buried underneath. Then I saw the way his eye drifted, the subtle slump of his shoulders. His body was done.

Forty-eight hours with no real sleep, barely any food, and his nerves torn raw. Now that Iruka was safe, the fight drained out of him all at once.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I need to see him,” he muttered, but his voice was thin, frayed at the edges.

Kurenai glanced at me, her expression saying what we were all thinking: he’s going to drop if we don’t get him down first.

I put a steady hand on his back. “You will. But right now, you need to lie down too. He’d want that. Trust me.”

Kakashi didn’t argue. That was how I knew he was at his limit. He just nodded once, slow, eyes already half-lidded.

When Shizune came to get us, I knew exactly what he’d do, crawl into the recovery bed beside Iruka and finally crash.

Chapter Text

Kakashi’s POV

The day of the surgery and the day after bled together in fragments. Shizune checking Iruka’s IV, the steady hum of monitors, Guy keeping a hawk’s eye on me until I ate every bite of the tray he’d brought. Rice, miso, fish, tea. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d actually eaten a whole plate of food.

Iruka’s fever broke sometime before dawn. When I brushed his hair back, his skin wasn’t clammy anymore. His face was still pale, but less… hollow. He finally looked like himself again. Not a corpse I was trying to convince myself was still breathing.

Guy had me on a “schedule.” Eat. Sleep. Walk the hall. Repeat. I let him get away with it. Partly because I didn’t have the strength to argue, partly because he was right. Iruka wouldn’t forgive me if I fell apart sitting here.

By day two, the visitors started coming. Shizune only let them in small waves, and I stayed in the corner, watching.

His class came first, Konohamaru acting like a second Naruto. They turned in the calligraphy assignments I’d given them days ago. They also brought a stack of crooked, colorful cards. Get well soon, Iruka-sensei. Each one clumsy and heartfelt.

More came. Academy teachers with flowers. Parents with baskets of fruit, jars of tea, and homemade broth. They bowed to him even while he slept, thanking him for their children. I found myself saying little more than “He’ll appreciate it” and stacking the gifts where I could find space.

Even ANBU came. The handful he’d been working with left their offerings quietly. A hand-carved shuriken. A bundle of paper cranes. A thousand, they said, folded during night watches. The room grew colorful, crowded with tokens from lives he’d touched.

By day three, there was barely a clear surface left. The gifts stacked on the tables, filled the windowsills, crowded the walls. Flowers everywhere, letters tucked into every space. It was getting ridiculous. The quiet academy teacher, buried in the kind of adoration most Jōnin never saw.

I’d fallen into a routine of my own. Eating when Guy shoved a tray at me. Sleeping in the chair or curled along the edge of Iruka’s bed when Shizune was satisfied his vitals weren’t shifting. Doing exercises to build my strength back up.

I caught my reflection in the window that evening. The tightness was gone from my shoulders. The pain was nearly gone from my ribs. For the first time since I was blown up, I felt like myself again.

By day four, the hospital room was overflowing. The tables were buried under cards, flowers, and homemade food. The windowsills were crowded with gifts. Even the chair I usually slept in was stacked with letters.

Guy caught me standing there, arms folded. “We’ll take some to Iruka’s place,” he said before I asked. “No point letting it pile up.”

He was right. Shizune sighed in relief when she heard we were taking it back to his place. So Guy and I hauled armloads of gifts back to Iruka’s apartment. His place already smelled faintly like him, tea, sandalwood, paper and ink. Setting the flowers there almost made it feel like he was home again.

After Guy left, I stayed. Showered. Changed into clean clothes. Stood in the kitchen staring at the food I’d bought days ago. I cooked enough for both of us: Rice, grilled mackerel, and miso with scallions. Then portioned it into containers and set a few aside for Guy to pick up later. The rest I carried back to the hospital, packed in Iruka’s bento tins. He would’ve teased me about the presentation.

Before leaving, I grabbed a few of the scrolls I left on Iruka's desk and placed them in a backpack Iruka had in the closet. It already had a pen and notepad,  I tucked the scrolls in and set the bentos beside them. It all fit neatly.

I noticed Iruka's favorite shirt and the loose pants he wore to lounge around the apartment. I grabbed them and tucked them in the bag last. He would probably want to wear those while he is recovering. I left a note for Guy about the food I left and then headed back to the hospital. 

When I made my way back to his room, Shizune was giving him supportive therapy. Something I had gotten used to at this point because they came in every other hour. I looked at the monitors, his heart rate was steady but slightly elevated. Tsunade said that it is from the fever and the fever is from the inflammation. His temperature was slowly going down but it was still a fever. I noticed her adding another dose of Antibiotics to his IV. Tsunade warned me that he was still open to an infection and in his condition, she wasn't sure if he would survive it. Shizune had inspected everyone who visited and I ran lightning over myself before entering his room. 

 "How is he?" I asked, knowing she was charting about the status of his immune system and lungs.

"Well, the lungs are improving but not as fast as we wanted. The Mercury poisoning shouldn't have any long-term impacts on him, but it seems that it did cause some burns internally. It almost feels like the Mercury was heated before some of it was inhaled." She shook her head, then added a few more notes on her chart before stepping out. 

I settled in, unpacking the bag enough to get out one of the scrolls, the notebook, and the pen. The scroll was older, noting different stages of development for the Sharingan. I looked over them, most I knew. So I moved on, reading about the disadvantages of using the Mangyeko. With each use it causes eye damage, resulting in blindness. To get around this, eyes can be implanted. This results in a perfect Mangyeko sharingan. Then it went on to talk about the known abilities the Sharingan has. I opened the book to take notes and paused.

Entry — not dated

The village still smells like smoke. Everywhere I walk, I hear echoes that aren’t there. Children crying, wood splintering, the sound of fire tearing through everything we’ve built. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there. My nightmares are worse now, sharper, as if they want me to remember every scream I couldn’t stop.

I keep asking myself if you felt this too, Mom. If you woke up drenched in sweat, heart racing, the way I do. Did you learn to live with it, or did you just hide it behind your smile, the way I try to?

Naruto’s gone. He should be. He deserves to grow, to become someone strong enough to protect this place in ways I never could. I’m proud of him. I am. But damn, it’s lonely. The village is too quiet without him. I didn’t realize how much I leaned on the steady thrum of his chakra until it wasn’t there anymore. The silence feels heavy.

I miss Hayate. I miss Lord Third. Sometimes I still expect to hear the old man’s laugh when I walk past the tower. Sometimes I swear I see Hayate leaning against the railing, coughing into his hand, waiting for me to tease him. I blink, and they’re gone. Everyone keeps disappearing, one by one, until the memorial stone is crowded with people I loved.

I’m supposed to be the steady one. The teacher who tells the kids it’s alright, that Konoha endures, that loss makes us stronger. But when the classrooms are empty and the lanterns go out, I feel fragile. Like a single spark could undo me.

The ink blurred near the bottom of the page, smudged where the paper had buckled under drops. I followed the words anyway, each line pulling tighter in my chest.

I’ll try to be like you, Mom. Tomorrow, I’ll smile. I’ll hide my tears and try to be brave like you taught me. But tonight… tonight I don’t know if I can. Please don’t be disappointed.

I stared at the sentence until the words blurred.

This wasn’t a notebook. It wasn’t work, or lesson plans, or anything meant for another set of eyes. It was Iruka’s memorial stone. The place he whispered all the things he couldn’t say out loud, the way I spoke to names carved in stone when no one was listening.

I shut the book, slower than I meant to. My hand lingered on the cover, fingers pressing into the worn leather, like I was holding onto him through it.

Guilt flared hot in my chest. I hadn’t meant to pry, but the words were in me now, too raw to ignore. The quiet grief he’d carried, the loneliness he never showed, it hurt to see it laid bare. And yet… it was trust, wasn’t it? That he kept this at all, that he carried it, that he hadn’t burned it or locked it away.

I set it back into the bag, sliding the pen across the spine exactly how I’d found it.

“Please don’t be disappointed,” I murmured under my breath. “She wouldn’t be. Not in you.”

I brushed Iruka’s hair back, let my thumb linger against his temple, the steady heat of his skin grounding me again. His chest rose and fell, slower now, but steadier.

I leaned back in the chair, the scroll still open in front of me, but I couldn't focus on it now. I set it back into the backpack, covering Iruka's notebook. Covering his secrets.

Day 5

The shrill alarm yanked me awake, and for half a second I didn’t know where I was. Then I saw it. Iruka’s heart rate stuttering in fits across the monitor. My blood went ice cold.

“Shit.” I was on my feet, ready to run for help. “Iruka—”

The door burst open before I could. Shizune swept in, already snapping a seal over her hands. Her chakra pressed into his chest, warm and controlled, where mine would have been frantic. The monitor beeped, stuttered, then evened out again.

“Arrhythmia,” she said calmly, eyes flicking to me. “It's not uncommon after someone's heart stops.” She adjusted his IV, adding a line I didn’t recognize. “His heart’s still recovering. These episodes should stop once he’s stronger.”

I collapsed back into my chair, trying to settle my nerves. Iruka needed to quit scaring me like this. I pulled one of the cigarettes Asuma had given me from my pocket and cracked the window. I perched myself outside so the smoke wouldn't get to Iruka. Shizune glared when I lit it. 

"Kakashi, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, furious. 

"Don't tell Iruka. He'd give me a lecture." I said, feeling the burn hit my lungs. Hot and familiar from long missions where Asuma and I sat for days on a target. 

Shizune slid the window open enough to join me and then closed it. “…I get it. You needed something to hold onto. But he’ll smell it on you, you know. And you’re right," she smiled, looking fondly back at Iruka, "he’d lecture you until you wished your ears fell off.” 

When she turned back to me, she looked thoughtful. "Tsunade and I have been discussing an experimental treatment to help Shinobi who've seen too much. Trauma has a way of changing how we see the world. We bring things home that impact our families," she finished softly. She gave me a knowing look. "If that sounds familiar, it might be worth trying." She gave me a smile before heading back inside. 

I took another drag of the cigarette. I knew too well what she meant. It killed my father. Iruka would push me to try it, but would Rin and Obito think I'd given up on them if I did? I finished the cigarette and went back inside. He looked peaceful again, but it was just because of the medicine. I wonder when they will let me take him home. Look at me now, Obito. Would you laugh at me for being soft… or tell me I finally get it?

By morning, Tsunade gave me a once-over and waved me off with a sharp look. “You’re healed enough. You can start training again. Just don't be stupid about it.”

Finally. I left for the training grounds the moment she dismissed me. I tried the new techniques. Pushed the Mangekyō. My eye shifted, power surging, then the burn ripped through me, chakra draining twice as fast as I could manage. I staggered, hand braced on my knee, the Sharingan still searing behind the lid. I had it. But it would cost me everything if I weren’t careful. I practiced activating it a few more times before I hit my limit.

Back in the hospital, worn out and feeling a headache coming on, I rested my head against the bed, forehead brushing Iruka’s hand. The monitors hummed. His breaths rose and fell. I let the rhythm carry me under for a little while.

It was dark when I woke again, but something was different. Warmth pressed against my hair.

I froze. Then lifted my head.

Iruka’s eyes were open. His hand still rested weakly against my head.

“Kakashi…” His voice was rough. 

My breath faltered. I caught his hand in both of mine, holding it against me, like if I let go he’d vanish. A laugh tore out of me, and before I knew it, my eyes were burning.

“Don’t—” My voice broke, and I pressed my forehead to his palm to hide it. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

His fingers twitched faintly against my temple, the smallest echo of comfort.

I let out a shuddering breath, dragging myself together, forcing a smile behind the mask I hadn’t even realized I’d pulled down. “You should see the mess you’ve made,” I murmured, trying for lightness. "Flowers are stacked to the ceiling in your apartment. Half the village has been through this room.”

His lips curved, faintly, but it was a smile.

I kissed his hand, letting the tears flow. “I’m never letting anyone put you in this bed again,” I promised. And in the quiet between heartbeats, I knew it wasn’t a figure of speech. I would die before anyone put Iruka in a hospital again.

He looked on the verge of falling asleep, but kept his gaze on me. The journal tugged at me, sharp with guilt. "I found your notebook. I'm sorry I opened it. I was packing things for the hospital and didn't realize what it was. It's safe, I put it back." I said, Iruka's eyes went wide for a second, looking at the backpack, then back to me. "I didn't read it. Once I realized what it was, I closed it." I reassured him. He slowly relaxed, squeezing my hand as much as he could muster.

"Ka.." he tried to speak and winced. He took a shallow breath and tried again. "Trust... You." he finally rasped, looking like each word was sending fire down his throat. 

"Don't talk if it hurts," I said, running my fingers through his hair. "Let me get Shizune or Tsunade." It only took a second to make a clone and send it to get them. Then I took his hand back in mine. Pressing my forehead to his. He looked so damn tired. I felt him pull my hand. 

"You want me to lay with you?" I asked, and he nodded weakly. I checked his IV and adjusted the blanket, moving slowly so I didn't jostle him. He let out a low whimper when my weight moved his chest. I froze, "Am I hurting you?" I asked immediately. He shook his head, lips pressed tight, but I knew him well enough... it hurt. He just didn’t want me to move away. I settled myself beside him, balancing our weight to keep his chest steady. Once the movement stopped, he relaxed into me. Closing his eyes again and drifting back to sleep. 

Chapter Text

Kakashi POV:

Tsunade came in shortly after he fell asleep again.

"He woke up?" she asked, walking in like she was ready to fight whatever else he was going to throw at her. Then she noticed I was lying with him again and glared. "Kakashi..." she trailed off and sighed, moving to check Iruka's chest, then checking the monitors. She was reading something on the second machine Shizune set up.

"He was only awake for eight minutes, and he was in pain when he spoke or if his chest moved." I rattled it off like a mission summary.

"And I bet he is the one who convinced you to lie with him?" she asked, knowing.

"Yes," I answered, watching for signs that I was hurting him. When I looked up again, Tsunade was tapping her finger against the machine like she was working through a puzzle.

“If you’re going to be glued to him anyway, you might as well be useful. Take your shirt off.”

I blinked at her. “…What?”

“You heard me. Strip off your shirt. I don't know why, but it will help stabilize his vitals. Shizune, help me get Iruka's shirt off.”

Shizune moved without hesitation, adjusting Iruka’s IV before easing the fabric back. She didn’t look embarrassed, which only made me feel worse for being the one who hesitated.

“So this is medical,” I deadpanned, “and not you being a pervert.”

“It's necessary,” Tsunade said, mouth twitching like she almost enjoyed watching me squirm. “I’ve seen it work when nothing else does. Just watch his fever, your body heat will increase his.”

Then she stepped closer, voice lowering. “And keep him calm. He worries too much. Stress is the last thing his heart and lungs need right now.”

She left me with that order and walked out like she hadn’t just told me to crawl into bed half-naked with the man I loved. Shizune looked at me expectantly. "Would you stop being a prude about this. It is just a shirt, you act like we didn't just have you here a few weeks ago with our hands putting your chest back together," she said.

For a long moment, I stared at her. Then sighed, sitting up and unzipping my vest, setting it beside the bed before pulling my shirt off. My ears burned knowing she was watching.

She supported his weight while I slid in beside him, careful not to jostle the lines. He shifted toward me almost immediately. His muscles eased. His breathing evened out, faint but noticeable.

I sighed again, embarrassed but happy it was helping him.

"I'll let them know not to allow visitors," Shizune said, then adjusted his sheets. "This top sheet can be pulled back, which will let you control how much heat he retains. If his fever rises too much, let us know immediately," she finished with a wink before leaving. My face still burned, but without them here, I felt myself relax. I pressed a soft kiss to his temple before closing my eyes and listening to the soft beep of the monitor. It was steadier than I had heard it in days.

Every half hour, I checked his temperature, lowering the sheet when the number ticked up, tucking it back when it went back down. It became a rhythm: monitor, adjust, watch his chest rise and fall.

By the time Guy came in with food, I almost forgot I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He balanced two trays in his arms.

“Kakashi!” he whispered, too loud anyway. “Rice, miso, and—ah!—grilled salmon. The fuel of youth!”

“Guy,” I muttered, giving him a look.

He set the tray across my lap so I didn’t have to shift away from Iruka.

“I heard,” he said around a mouthful of his own, “You're cleared to start training again.”

I almost rolled my eyes. Shizune probably told him to get him to leave her alone. I let the silence sit until the words slipped out. “I activated the Mangekyō.”

Guy blinked. “The same eyes Itachi used on you?”

“Yeah, but I can only hold it for a few minutes. I need to build up my chakra reserves.”

The grin returned, fierce and immediate. “Then we train. You and Me. Eternal Rivals... After you can leave Iruka, of course.”

I huffed, not denying it.

His face shifted then, more serious. “Tenzo came back last night. He brought a female ANBU with him… she was in bad shape.” His voice lowered. “They said she is part of Root. But she joined a small faction trying to change it. She died this morning. Donzo's curse mark wiped most of her memory. But before she went, she muttered something about Iruka and children.”

The words froze me.

Beside me, Iruka stirred. His brow furrowed, breath rasping. He tried to speak and managed only a rough croak. “I… know her…” His chest hitched, pained, and the words died in his throat.

“Don’t,” I said quickly, brushing his hair back. “Don’t force it.”

His hand shifted weakly, grasping at the air. “Pen,” he rasped.

I glanced around, nowhere to be found. Then his eyes flicked to the backpack in the corner. Realization dropped into place. “…Your notebook?”

He nodded, once, sharp with urgency.

I pulled it out, set the pen in his trembling hand, steadying it with my own. His breathing labored as he bent over the page, but his eyes sharpened with focus. Line by line, stroke by stroke, he began to write.

I watched the words appear, tight but deliberate. Memories. Faces. Fragments of what she’d said, then of what happened before the attack. Every detail he could remember was forced onto the page.

He handed it back to me, closing his eyes again, just writing wore him out. I pulled him closer, reading what he wrote, Guy coming closer to see.

"Iruka..." I said, finishing the last of it. He looked up at me before mouthing the word "Go." I understood what he wanted. He was giving me permission to bring this to Tsunade and find these kids. "I will be back as soon as I can," I promised, kissing his temple, then setting the tray aside and trying to keep from shifting him too much as I got up. I threw on my shirt and shoes, "Guy, let's go.". He left his tray next to mine and followed me out the door. We caught Sakura by the front entrance.

"Sakura!" I yelled to her. She turned immediately.

"Kakashi-Sensei? Guy-Sensei?" she said once she saw us.

"If it's not too much trouble, could you keep Iruka-Sensei company?" I asked, and she nodded.

"Sure, I can head there now." I gave her my usual smile. "Thank you," I added, before Guy and I rushed to the Hokage's office.

She called us in before we had the chance to knock. "It must be something important if you're here, Kakashi."

"It is. Iruka gave us this." I pulled the page from my pocket and handed it to her. She read through it, her gaze looking more and more stern.

"Do you know anyone who matches these descriptions?" she asked, growing more irritable.

"No. Tenzo might." I said.

"Guy, bring Tenzo here now." She said. After a quick confirmation, he was gone.

"What is he talking about at the end?" she asked, picking up her tea.

"I don't know. He was really weak getting us that much." I said. Then she was up and looking through her books, whatever she was looking for, she didn't find because she opened the door and headed down the hall. I followed, she entered another room filled with old books.

"Damnit, where is it?" she cursed under her breath before finding it in the back, on the bottom shelf. She opened it and immediately started flipping through until she found what she wanted, then grabbed another book from the shelf before heading back to her office.

"uhh... Lady Tsunade?" I asked, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"Look at this." She said, pushing the book toward me while leafing through the other one.

"This..." I couldn't finish. It was the Senju family tree, except it had the branch families with notes scribbled in a handwriting I didn't know. Each branch had a new surname added.

"When I was little, my grandfather told me that carrying the Senju last name wasn't safe. So many of the branch families changed their last names to minimize conflict." She pushed the other book toward me. It was the Funato clan from the Land of Water. I scanned the page and noticed Iruka's last name at the very bottom. I looked back at the other book. "Umino" was written in by one of the branch families.

"My great uncle Lord Second complained once about some clans under the Funato who could perform water release without signs and navigate through rough seas like they could see everything below their ships." She said, taking the book back and flipping through it, looking for something. She handed it back to me; there were more notes with drawings about the enemy capabilities. This time, written in a different handwriting.

I thought back, piecing it together, the unique sensing ability, his affinity for water and fire release, just like Lord Second. His complexion and features match Lord First. He also has medical ninjutsu skills, superior sealing abilities, and almost perfect chakra control. Tsunade watched me, like she was waiting for me to make the same connection she had.

"So, Iruka is using chakra and soundwaves to sense his environment?" I asked.

Tsunade smirked, "That's not all. If this is what Iruka is doing, then the shinobi that attacked him were hit hard enough by that pulse to rupture the membrane in their ears."

I stared at her. Was Iruka really that strong?

Tsunade closed the second book, her jaw tightening. “That kind of jutsu isn’t ordinary chakra work; it’s a kekkei genkai, and one that can be weaponized.” She leaned back, arms crossing. “Danzo wouldn’t be the only one after it. The Funato would claim him as theirs by creed. Once you join them, they think they own you. Orochimaru would carve him open to see how it works, and half the Land of Water would sell their own kin to get their hands on it.”

Her eyes narrowed, voice rough with anger. “Anyone who learns what he can do will stop seeing a man and start seeing a tool."

My stomach turned cold. Iruka wasn’t just a target; he was a prize, and every scumbag with ambition was going to come looking.

I thought of him back in that bed, hand clutching mine even when it hurt him, still trying to protect children when he could barely breathe.

No. Over my dead body. Then something occurred to me. "Did Lord Third know?" I asked.

Tsunade gave me a hard look, setting the books down. "Probably, the old bastard left me more headaches than I can count. Regardless, Iruka's abilities will be kept secret until I am satisfied that they won't create a security problem for the village." She dropped the books into her drawer and took her seat again. "I will have Tenzo look over this description and see if we can't identify who attacked Iruka. In the meantime, I want you with him. I trust you can keep an eye on his health and keep him safe. I will also assign more ANBU to him; they will report to you." She paused, rubbing her temple like she was getting a headache. "I am going to put together a team to look into this faction of Root and the children they mentioned. You seem to know a lot about them. Who would you send?"

"Kurenai's squad or Yugato, Tenzo, and Genma," I said without hesitation. They had skills that fit the mission and could track all their movements if given a decent trail. Tsunade considered this, then picked up her tea again and started flipping through papers.

"Go back to the hospital, I'll let the team know to report to you. If you see Shizune and Sakura, send them to me." She finished.

I bowed and confirmed my orders before leaving.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:

The pain hit before the memory. A dry cough tore up my throat and left me shaking, every muscle locking as the burn spread through my chest. My heart stuttered, each beat a spike of pressure. I curled a hand over my ribs, waiting for it to pass, but it only deepened, dragging me back under.

It felt like being asleep and underwater. Heavy. Dark. Soundless. I couldn’t feel the room anymore. Only the pull of something deeper, quieter. Peaceful.

Somehow I knew: this is what dying feels like.

Shapes formed in the distance, blurred at first, then sharper. My mother’s smile. My father’s steady eyes. They were standing just ahead, as if I could reach them with one more step.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to.

But moving toward them meant leaving everything else behind. Leaving Naruto. Leaving the kids. Leaving Kakashi.

A voice cut through the dark like a blade. “Dammit, Iruka, don’t you die on me.” Lady Tsunade.

Then another, softer but somehow louder in my chest: “Come back to me…” Kakashi’s voice.

I clenched my fists in the dark. “Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad… you’re going to have to wait a little longer.” My voice cracked, even here. “I promised him.”

My body felt like stone, but I screamed at it anyway, the way you scold a stubborn student: We are not dying here. Start.

Chakra surged to my heart. Once. Twice. Forcing it to beat. I felt a second pulse join mine, Tsunade’s chakra wrapping, guiding, pushing. Good. I held onto that, clawing my way up through the haze.

When I opened my eyes again, the world was pale and thin. Hospital walls. The faint scent of antiseptic.

The door opened, and a small shape stepped in, light cutting around her shoulders.

“Good afternoon, Iruka-sensei.” Sakura crossed the room, her voice soft but steady. “Kakashi-sensei asked me to keep an eye on you.” She set another flower in the vase. Only then did I really look. The table was full. Gifts crowded the windowsill, cards stacked like a miniature tower.

Embarrassment burned hot under my ribs. Had this many people really come?

Sakura caught my glance and smiled. She picked up a stack of cards. “Would you like me to read them to you?”

I tried to take a deeper breath to answer and instantly regretted it. The ache speared through my chest, so I fell back on shallow breaths until it eased. Slowly, I managed to turn my head toward her. She was watching me closely.

“Are you in a lot of pain, Iruka-sensei?” she asked quietly.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice, and pointed toward the cards instead. Even to my own eyes, I looked weak.

She seemed relieved and opened the first letter.

“‘Get well Iruka-sensei,’” she read from the cover. “It’s from your class.” She flipped it open and smiled as she read aloud:

"Iruka-sensei, we miss you. Kakashi-sensei says we all have to do well while you are away as part of our mission. He sure gives hard missions. This new teacher isn’t as nice as you. I hope you get better soon so I can show you my Clone Jutsu. Kakashi-sensei made us all practice so we can show you our perfect clone when we’re allowed to visit again. From Sashi."

Her voice softened at the end. I closed my eyes to hide the tears. Sakura smiled and reached for the next envelope.

“Iruka-sensei, I’m practicing every day like you said. When you come back, I’ll show you my best transformation! From Misa.”

Her voice was bright, like she wanted me to hear their eagerness. My throat tightened.

The next one was scrawled messily, her lips twitching as she read.

“Dear Iruka-sensei, I didn’t mean to cry in class. Ebisu-Sensei gave me extra homework, and I hate it, but we all have to work hard to complete our mission. Please come back. You make learning fun. – Sumisagi.”

I turned my face toward the window, blinking hard. The ceiling blurred no matter how many times I tried to steady my eyes.

Sakura hesitated, her voice gentling. “Iruka-sensei… Do you want me to stop?”

I let out a shaky breath. My hand trembled against the blanket. I managed to shake my head.

She hesitated but grabbed the next letter. 

“Iruka-sensei, don’t worry about us. We’re still doing our morning runs. Konohamaru even made us go twice around the field, so you’ll be proud when you come back. We are going to win the next class competition for you. Please get better soon. – Hiro.”

Another card.

“Iruka-sensei, I tried to make rice balls for you, but they burned. Mom says I’ll try again when you can eat with us. I’ll get it right next time. – Emi.”

I closed my eyes as another tear slipped free. Listening to those small, uneven words was like feeling their hands tugging me back to the classroom. Tugging me back to life.

I wiped the tear from my eye, "I have one more in this pile," she said before opening it and continuing:

  “Iruka-sensei, Kakashi-sensei said our mission is to make you proud. So I will. I’ll be the best in the class when you come back. Please… don’t give up. – Konohamaru.”  

The words cut straight through me. My chest shook, whether from pain or something deeper, I couldn’t tell. A ragged sound escaped before I could swallow it down. I turned my face toward the window, ashamed of how weak I must look.

But Sakura didn’t say anything. She folded the letters back and stacked them neatly like nothing had happened. Giving me space.

Sakura hesitated with the last letter still in her lap, then stood. “I’ll get you some water,” she said softly, setting the stack of cards aside.

The door clicked shut. Alone, I dragged a trembling hand over my face. My fingers felt clumsy, useless against the wetness streaking my cheeks. The more I tried to steady myself, the tighter my chest felt — emotion and pain locked together.

By the time Sakura returned, my hands were still shaking. She held the cup out, eyes flicking over me with worry. “Here,” she murmured, slipping an arm behind my shoulders to help me sit.

The first swallow hurt. It scraped down my throat like glass, sending a coughing fit tearing through my ribs. White pain burst across my chest. I doubled forward with a strangled sound, clutching at the ache.

“I’m going to get Shizune,” Sakura said quickly, voice rising a notch.

I shut my eyes and leaned back, forcing myself to breathe slow, shallow breaths. In. Out. Through the window, the sky was a pale winter blue. I focused on that instead of the pain.

The door opened again. “Sakura,” Shizune’s voice cut cleanly. “Head back to Tsunade. She’s waiting for you.”

“But—”

“I’ll handle it,” Shizune said, already moving to my side.

Sakura glanced between us, then nodded and slipped out.

Shizune crouched beside the bed, her chakra already humming faintly against my skin. “Iruka, I know you’re prone to worry,” she said in that brisk, no-nonsense tone, “but I really need you to relax. Your heart and lungs can’t take this right now.”

I managed a weak nod.

She pulled the blanket down, pressing her hands gently to my chest. Warm chakra flowed into my lungs. The tension eased just enough for me to take a fuller breath.

It didn’t last. She shifted her hands lower and a sharp, searing pain shot through me. I wanted to scream but only a ragged, broken sound came out — half groan, half cry.

“Sorry, Iruka,” she murmured, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder. “Some areas are burned. We have to clear the tissue before it will heal.”

I nodded again, grateful Kakashi wasn’t here to see me like this.

“I’m going to try a bit more. Tap the bed if it’s too much.”

I clenched my hands in the sheets and braced. Her chakra pushed deeper. Pain flared bright and hot, and I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to endure it.

Another minute. Another wave of sweat slicking my brow. My chest throbbed, my whole body ached from the tension.

Shizune drew back at last, her expression tightening. “Iruka?” she said, looking into my eyes.

She blurred at the edges.

“Dammit,” she muttered. “I knew I should have sedated you.” She slipped something into the IV.

Relief slid through me like water. The pain softened, fading into something distant and peaceful. My eyelids grew heavy.

I let go at last, slipping under before I could stop myself.

When I woke again, warmth pressed against my side. My chest still felt raw, every breath edged with fire. I shifted, trying to stretch out the ache, and groaned.

“Hey. Don’t try to move too much.” Kakashi’s voice. Fingers threaded through my hair, steady, soothing.

I nodded faintly, letting myself sink back against him. After a few minutes the pain dulled to something manageable, though it never really left.

When I looked up, the room was dark. I didn’t know what day it was anymore. Kakashi sat beside me, posture loose, but there was a tension under his stillness.

“Ka—” The word scraped out of me, sharp pain searing my chest and throat. Damn it.

Kakashi hushed me with a kiss to my temple. “Hold on.” He shifted, then placed my notebook and pen into my hands.

My lips curved into a weak smile. I wanted to kiss him, but all I managed was scrawling the words: What’s wrong?

He sighed, eye softening. “Rest. We’ll talk later.”

I wrote again, slower this time: If you don’t tell me, I’ll just worry.

His mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fine. But I need you to try not to stress.”

I nodded once.

“I spoke with Tsunade about your family earlier,” he said carefully. “Do you know anything about your lineage?”

I shook my head, frowning. My lineage? Why would that matter now?

“Your last name should be Senju,” Kakashi said quietly. “Umino was your great-great-grandmother’s surname.”

I stared at him. That wasn’t possible. He was messing with me. My parents would have told me if something like that were true.

“You promised me you wouldn’t stress,” he reminded me, pulling me closer when I stiffened.

I forced myself to focus, to breathe shallow and steady. My hand trembled as I wrote: How?

“Tsunade said it was dangerous to carry the Senju name during the Warring Age. So branch families changed their names. Umino comes from the Funato clan in the Land of Water. Your sensing ability… it’s a bloodline trait.”

His voice was quiet, steady, like he was afraid to tip me over the edge. “Tsunade’s still researching, but for now, we keep this secret.”

I just stared at him. Senju? Funato? No. That didn’t make sense.

The notebook slipped from my hand as my chest tightened with more than just pain.

Mizuki. My parents. The Hokage. Now this? First betrayal, now lies wrapped in more lies. Did everyone know but me? Hell, Lord Third had known both the First and Second; of course, he must have known.

Anger burned through my fatigue, sharp and bitter. Why did they all lie?

My chest ached harder. A shrill beeping joined the ache, cutting into my ears.

Suddenly, Kakashi’s hand caught my chin, forcing my gaze to him. “Iruka. You need to calm down. Now.” His voice was low, edged with anger.

The beeping... It was my heart monitor.

I nodded weakly, forcing my head against his chest, trying to focus on his heartbeat instead of my cursed bloodline, my cursed past. Slowly, the monitor steadied. Kakashi exhaled. “That’s better,” he murmured.

I reached shakily for the notebook again. When is it?

“You were attacked eight days ago,” he said gently. “It’s Wednesday.”

Seven days gone. A Root operative dead for wanting my help. And now… Senju blood. That made Tsunade my cousin, in some tangled way. Wonderful.

Whatever this ability was, it clearly mattered more than me.

I scribbled again: Who is the Funato clan?

Kakashi read, then — to my horror — smiled.

“The Funato clan are pirates. Known for their navigation and Water Style.”

I blinked at him. Pirates. No. Absolutely not.

I turned away, scowling. They had to be joking. The Senju bit was already too much — and now this?

“Are you pouting?” Kakashi asked, amusement curling in his voice.

I shoved my face into his chest and refused to answer.

“You’re cute when you pout,” he teased, but I wasn’t in the mood.

His hand shifted, lifting my chin, and he caught the wetness at the corner of my eye. His expression softened. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He pulled me against him again. The movement sent pain slicing through my chest, but I ignored it. The tears I’d fought back all day finally spilled free.

And once they started, I couldn’t stop. It wasn’t just about Senju, or Funato, or pirates. It was Mizuki. Naruto. The ANBU who died. The kids who would always be caught in someone else’s war. My own childhood, scarred and lonely.

Kakashi held me through it, steady arms bracing my chest, his heartbeat grounding me.

By the time the tears ebbed, I felt hollow. My body dragged me down into sleep, and this time I didn’t fight it.

I woke to a dull ache and the faint hum of chakra moving through my chest. The clock on the wall glowed 6:00 a.m. in soft green. Kakashi was slumped in the chair beside me, mask still on, his head tilted back in sleep.

Shizune stood over me, hands pressed lightly to my sternum. The chakra didn’t burn like before, but it was still enough to pull me from sleep.

“Sorry,” she murmured, glancing at my face. “I tried not to wake you. I gave you something for the pain.”

I nodded faintly. Her hands shifted once more, the warmth sinking into my lungs, and after a few minutes she stepped back. My chest still ached, but the tightness had eased a little.

I tried to look down toward the bedside table, searching for my notebook.

“What do you need?” Shizune asked softly.

I mimed opening a book and writing. It took her a second to understand; then she reached behind Kakashi, pulling the notebook off the desk. She placed it gently into my hands and gave my fingers a reassuring squeeze before slipping out of the room.

There was just enough light from the window to see the page. Using Kakashi’s arm as a makeshift table, I turned to a fresh sheet and began to write.

Hey Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you and Dad. There are still people here who need me, someone I love who needs me. My kids sent me letters. Sakura read some and I cried. I actually cried a lot today.

Kakashi held me when I cried earlier. I’m not sure I deserve that kind of patience. I’ve had no emotional discipline. There are just so many things going on now. Someone died just for speaking to me about helping kids. I need to find them.

How could you not tell me I was Senju? I could have felt a little more sure of myself, knowing. Kakashi says part of our family is from a pirate clan… Is that a joke? So my echoes are because of pirates? It sounds like something my kids would say to tease me. Did you have these abilities too? I don’t even understand them, but the secrecy has me worried.

The men who nearly killed me must have been after me, not Kakashi. Does that mean my kids are in danger around me?

I felt tears again, but kept writing.

What am I supposed to do? Everything hurts. Breathing hurts the most, especially when I take a deep breath. Even now I’m happy Kakashi is here, but just lying with him makes half my body hurt. The fatigue doesn’t help. Any resolve I have to endure the pain is consumed by how tired I am.

I’m getting tired again now. So I have to go, but I miss you. I almost stayed with you, and sometimes, when the pain is really bad, I wish I had.

My hand trembled as I finished the last line. The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor. 

I froze when I looked up and saw Kakashi’s eye half-open. He wasn’t asleep anymore.

The notebook was still open across his arm, my writing sprawled uneven and raw across the page. Heat crawled up my neck. I wanted to slam it shut, hide it under the blanket, pretend it was nothing.

Kakashi didn’t move. He just studied me for a long moment, then said softly, “If there’s something on your mind, you can come to me too. I won’t judge you.” His voice was quiet, steady, the kind of honesty he didn’t hand out lightly. “I’ve got enough ghosts to know better.”

The words reminded me of my own loss.

I stared at the page, the lines still wet from where my hand had smudged the ink. Part of me wanted to guard it, lock it away where no one could see how weak I was. But another part, the tired, aching part, wondered what it would feel like if he actually read it. If someone else carried even a fraction of the weight I kept to myself.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. My hand shook, but I slid the notebook toward him.

Kakashi’s eye softened, almost surprised. He didn’t snatch it up. He just laid his hand over mine first, grounding me. “Only if you’re sure,” he said.

I nodded. It felt like stripping bare, but I trusted him. Being bare with him usually turned out all right.

He closed the notebook gently and set it aside before leaning down to kiss me. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” he murmured.

I smiled despite the ache in my chest, fresh tears stinging at my eyes.

Kakashi chuckled softly. “You’re a mess.” He kissed me again, lighter this time.

I settled against him, eyelids already too heavy to fight. His warmth and heartbeat were the last things I felt before sleep pulled me under again.

Kakashi POV: 

Iruka’s breathing evened out against me, slow and shallow, sleep tugging him back under. He’d fallen asleep mid-tear more than once tonight. His body was exhausted, and every time he drifted off I told myself I’d let him rest. But still, when his chest hitched or his hand twitched against mine, I found myself smoothing his hair, whispering words he wouldn’t remember.

He needed comfort, even in sleep. Maybe especially then.

My gaze drifted to the notebook on the table, closed where I’d set it aside. My stomach tightened.

He’d given it to me. Iruka — who keeps everything too close to his chest, who carries more than he’ll ever admit — had actually slid the damn thing into my hands.

I wasn’t sure what shook me more: that he trusted me enough to share it, or that I was afraid of what I’d find inside.

I’d read field intel reports covered in blood, enemy dossiers stacked with atrocities. This… this felt heavier. Personal. Naked.

My fingers itched to open it. To know what was clawing at him from the inside out. But another part of me held back. Because once I knew, I couldn’t un-know. And if it was darker than I thought… what if I failed him?

I looked down at him, hair mussed, face too pale, tears still drying on his skin. He shifted closer in his sleep, pressing against me like some part of him believed I could keep the nightmares away.

I brushed my thumb across his temple, careful not to wake him. “You really are a mess,” I whispered, though my chest felt too tight for humor.

The notebook waited on the table. But for now, I stayed still, holding him, listening to the faint, stubborn rhythm of his heart.

Hours passed. The ANBU checked in, and I rotated their shifts so they could all get a full night’s sleep and eat. Shizune came in next, working on Iruka’s lungs and immune system, then adjusting his IV with more pain meds and antibiotics.

I should have been grateful. I should have closed my eye and let myself rest. Instead, I kept staring at the notebook on the table.

It sat there like it knew I was afraid of it.

I told myself I’d wait. That I’d ask him when he was stronger. That trust meant patience. But patience had never been my strength when it came to ghosts. And Iruka’s ghosts had him screaming in the middle of the night.

With a sigh, I slipped it into my hand, careful not to wake him. The cover was warm from where it had been resting under the lamp.

I didn’t go to the last page. Not yet. That felt too raw, too much like prying into a wound that hadn’t even begun to scab.

Instead, I opened to the beginning.

If I was going to carry this with him, I needed to know where it started.

Chapter Text

Kakashi's POV:

The handwriting on the page was raw and uneven, the ink pressed into the paper like someone had tried to carve the words out instead of writing them. I read every line until the page blurred.

Day 4… They told me the truth about Mizuki. I wish they hadn’t…

With each sentence my jaw tightened. The file on Mizuki had been thin, an administrative nuisance at best. It didn’t prepare me for this: ten years of friendship reduced to a weapon that had been used to break Iruka from the inside. The words tasted wrong in my mouth.

When the entry slid into the part about his parents, about watching them die, something cold knotted in my gut. I’d held my share of confessions and final notes in the field, and none of them had ever felt like this. This was not a report to file away. This was a life left in pieces on paper.

I turned the page. The tone hadn’t softened; it had given up. The sentences shortened into jagged fragments—accusation, then self-loathing, then a dizzying collapse into exhaustion. Maybe I’m exactly what he said… maybe I’m weak. The last words trembled like a body trying to stand and failing.

My hand closed around the notebook. The instinct that rose was old and ugly: hunt, punish, erase whoever could do this to someone I cared about. The last line smeared; the pen trailed off like it had nothing left to give. I clenched the page until my knuckles ached. If Mizuki weren’t already locked away, I’d hunt him down and make sure he never laughed again.

Then Iruka shifted in his sleep. His breath came ragged, as if each inhale scraped at raw tissue. The anger that had flared hot and clear stuttered and rewound. Reading those pages had put the man in front of me at risk again—he was not just memories on paper. He was fragile and present, trying to sleep with a wound that still wanted to open.

If Iruka had been that close to giving up once, I had to know where he stood today.

My thumb slipped the pages forward, past years of entries I wasn’t ready for yet, until I reached the newest entry and stopped breathing. My thumb pressed into the page until it bent.

someone I love who needs me.

For a moment, the ward went silent around me. Beeps of the monitors, the shuffling of people in the hall, the birds singing outside the window, all of it blurred. Iruka had written that after dying on an operating table. He had chosen to come back not out of duty, not even for his students first, but because of love.

My chest ached. I thought I’d been the one holding him together. But he’d been clawing his way back to me.

The rest of the page was no easier. He still thought he didn’t deserve patience. Now he worried his bloodline made him a threat to his own kids. Still hurt so badly that even lying beside me was pain, and still… “I almost stayed with you, and sometimes, when the pain is really bad, I wish I had.”

I shut my eye, fingers tightening on the notebook. That wasn’t almost losing him. That was losing him. He’d been gone, and he’d chosen to return, and I hadn’t even known what he’d given up.

I reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

“You stubborn idiot,” I whispered, the words rough in my throat. “You came back.”

I set the notebook down gently, my hand still resting on it, and let the vow form in the quiet: whatever ghosts hunted Iruka, they’d go through me first. He wasn’t going to fight his way back alone again. 

When Shizune came in, I was half asleep, pressed against him. His fever had finally dropped again.

“Shizune?” I asked quietly.

She looked at me while sliding something into Iruka’s IV, then shifted the blanket off him to start working deeper into his lungs. Iruka tensed, but didn’t wake.

“Is there something more we can do for the pain?” I asked.

Her eyes flicked up briefly, then back to her hands. “Has he complained of pain?”

I hesitated, hearing his words from the journal echo back at me. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts the most.

“Not directly,” I admitted, “but it’s worse than he lets on.”

“We can try something stronger,” she said, steady as ever, “but a little bit of pain keeps him from pushing too hard, hurting himself more.”

It made sense. But watching him wince even in his sleep felt unbearable.

“Can we try adding just a little bit more?” My tone was calm, but insistent.

This time she paused, meeting my gaze. “Is it that bad?”

“I think so,” I said. My eyes went back to him as his body tensed again under her chakra. I caught his hand, let him feel I was there. He didn’t ease until she finished.

Shizune adjusted the IV, then hesitated. “This medicine will help with the pain. But it may make him act… differently.”

I wanted to press, but decided I’d find out soon enough.

“Thank you,” I said instead. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

She gave me a tired smile and slipped out, leaving the ward quiet again.

It was late when Iruka stirred, lashes flickering against pale cheeks. He shifted under the blanket, breath rasping but without that sharp tension I’d grown used to.

“Mm… s’too warm,” he muttered, voice thick and groggy.

I leaned in, brushing his hair back. “Shizune changed your medication. You’re safe.”

His eyes cracked open, dark and glassy. He blinked up at me like focusing took effort. “K’kashi.”

That tug in my chest again. Always that tug. “Right here.”

His lips curved in a slow, uneven smile. “You always… sit like that? Watchin’ me sleep? Creepy.”

I huffed softly under the mask. “Guess I’m a little creepy then.”

He made a faint sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Don’t mind it. S’nice. You’re… warm.” He shifted clumsily against my arm, like he was testing how close he could get before I’d push him away.

The medication had stripped away his usual restraint. He didn’t even hide the wince when he breathed too deep.

“You’re too good t’me,” he murmured, almost a whisper. “I don’t deserve it.”

The same line I’d read in his journal hours ago. My jaw clenched. “You deserve more than this. More than me.

His brows knit faintly, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough. “…nah. Don’t want more. Want you.”

The words hung in the dim room like a blade I couldn’t dodge. His grip shifted weakly, catching the edge of my sleeve.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “Then you’ve got me.”

He sighed at that, tension easing, and his hand slipped slack again. His breathing evened out, drug-heavy but calmer, softer.

I smoothed the blanket over his shoulder, my own chest too full. Shizune had warned me he’d act differently.

And sure enough, it started innocently enough. He was fading in and out of sleep.

“Run your fingers through my hair,” Iruka mumbled, voice rough with sleep and meds. “Feels good.”

I obliged, combing my hand slowly through the dark strands. He sighed. “Mhm. Knew you’d be good at that.”

His eyes cracked open again, glassy but sharp enough to make my stomach flip. Then, flatly, like a random observation:

“Your dick’s bigger than I expected.”

My hand stilled mid-stroke. “…Iruka.”

He blinked at me, completely unbothered. “What? It is. Thought you’d be all… delicate. Pretty face, small frame, tragic poet vibe.” His lips twitched. “But no. Big. Should’ve known.”

I felt heat creep up under the mask, mortified, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “You should sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.” He shifted against me, careless in a way he never was when sober. “Always wondered, y’know. When I saw you with Team 7, thought… damn, he’s good with kids, makes my stomach flutter. Then wondered if you’d be good with me. Turns out, yeah.”

My throat went dry. “…Iruka.” My voice came out rougher than I meant.

He ignored it, drifting into another thought like nothing had happened. “Mizuki was a stupid asshole,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “Made me feel like I could never have someone like you. Fuck him.”

The curse startled me as much as the confession. Iruka never cursed like that. Not even when angry.

His hand fumbled until it caught the edge of my sleeve. “You’re not like him. Love you. Love Naruto. Would adopt you both if I could. Feed you popsicles every summer. Stupid idea. But… feels right.”

My eye closed for a second, the words cutting deep and soft at once. “Not stupid,” I managed.

He sighed, already drifting again, voice breaking into fragments. “Don’t… let go.”

“I won’t,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair again until his breathing steadied.

Inside, though, I was a mess — half mortified, half laughing, and completely undone. He’d just handed me every secret he normally hides behind that easy smile. And as much as it embarrassed him, as much as I’d tease him later… a part of me never wanted him to stop.

It started again ten minutes later when he shifted against me, a small sound catching in his throat.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, one hand pressing faintly at his chest. “Feels like fire when I breathe too deep.”

I caught his hand before he pushed too hard. “I know. You don’t have to breathe deep. Just easy.”

He nodded, half-asleep, then muttered, “Konohamaru’s annoying. Talks too much. Always wants to show me things. But… I love him anyway. Don’t tell him I said that.”

A huff slipped out before I could stop it. “Your secret’s safe.”

He rolled his head on the pillow, blinking up at me with that unfocused gaze. “Y’know, for a while I thought you were dating Guy.”

I almost choked. “What?”

“Mm.” His lips twitched in a half-smile. “He touches you a lot. All over. Arm around your shoulders, pats your back, grabs your hand when you’re not lookin’.” He gave a tiny snort. “Thought, wow, Kakashi’s got strange taste… but then I realized… nah. Guy’s just a big softy. Big, loud puppy.”

I bit down on a laugh, shaking my head. Damn, if Guy ever heard this… “You should sleep.”

“I like your eye,” he said suddenly, staring too intently at me. “Pretty. But you never let me see both. Don’t know why. Makes me feel weird only lookin’ at one eye. Is there an animal like that? One eye?”

He frowned, clearly thinking hard. Then his face lit faintly. “Maybe in the ocean. Somethin’ big and round with one eye. Ohh… the beach sounds nice…” His voice trailed into a sigh. “Sand, waves… you’d look good in the sun.”

The words caught me off guard. Under the mask, my face went hot. He was too far gone to realize what he’d just said, too heavy with medicine to know what it did to me.

His hand twitched against mine again, searching. I laced our fingers together. “Rest. We’ll talk about beaches another time.”

He hummed, already drifting. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

I sat there, holding his hand until his breathing steadied again.

And that was the moment I decided I was getting him off this medicine. In the morning, I’d tell Shizune the meds were changing. He couldn’t keep spilling his heart out like this in front of anyone else. If Anko, or Asuma, or heaven forbid Guy ever heard half of what he’d just said, Iruka would never forgive himself.

These words were for me alone.

Iruka slept a few more hours, heavy and slack against me. When Shizune slipped back in to check his IV, I shifted carefully, keeping my voice low.

“Whatever you gave him earlier,” I murmured, “don’t give it to him again.”

Shizune glanced up, curious. “Why? It worked. He’s resting without pain.”

I was about to answer when Iruka stirred, blinking groggily. His eyes landed on us both. “Why’re we awake? …Why’s Shizune here?”

I braced.

“Why d’you follow Tsunade everywhere?” he asked, voice heavy and slow. “All she does is drink… gamble… hang around gross dudes. Should settle down with a gooood guy.” His hand flopped in my direction. “Not me. Not Kakashi either. He’s mine. All his sexy parts are mine.”

Shizune froze. My eye went wide.

Inside, I was howling.

Iruka squinted, thoughtful. “But you could have Guy. Or maybe Genma. Genma’d probably make you happy in bed. But the senbon…” He snorted, then winced as it pulled at his chest. “…might complicate things.”

Shizune’s face was caught between horror and disbelief. Mine was hidden behind the mask, thank every kami in existence, because I was biting the inside of my cheek again to keep myself together.

Iruka sighed dreamily. “D’you like ramen? I like ramen. Could go for ramen. And taiyaki. Sweet. Hot.” He blinked at me again. “Kakashi, when’re we goin’ home? Wanna lay in my bed. This one’s weird. Not colorful enough.”

I pressed my lips together hard, my shoulders shaking.

He tugged weakly at my sleeve, eyes drifting shut again. “…kiss?”

I leaned down, brushed a kiss against his temple. His lips curved in a faint, dopey smile before he went out like a light.

Shizune stared. Then, almost like she was in shock, she said, “He can have a different medication.”

I nodded solemnly. “Good idea.”

She gave me one last look, still pink in the ears, and left.

The door clicked shut, and I dropped my head into my hand, laughing silently until my chest hurt. Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. But beneath that… there was a part of me that loved every second. Because for once, Iruka wasn’t hiding. Not from me. Not from himself.

I brushed his hair back again, still grinning under the mask. “You’re going to kill me, Iruka. But I think I’d let you.”

I finally tried to close my eye and rest, still grinning like an idiot under the mask. But hours later, I woke to Iruka’s low groans and the faint, broken sound of him whimpering.

“Iruka.” My voice came sharp with worry. “Where does it hurt?”

He lifted a shaking hand and pointed. Chest, then throat.

Shit. All that talking while he was dosed. I should’ve stopped him.

“Let me send a clone to get Shizune,” I said quickly, already forming the hand sign. A shadow clone darted off down the hall.

I sat there uselessly, hands half raised. I was afraid to touch him, afraid I’d make it worse. “What can I do?”

His hand reached for mine. That, at least, I could give. I caught it and held on. His fingers trembled in my grip, then tugged weakly at the blanket as if trying to move.

“You want to sit up?”

A weak nod. Teeth clenched.

I eased him forward, careful of every breath, but he didn’t have the strength. His body sagged against my arm. So I shifted, slid in behind him, and let him rest against me. His posture loosened a little once he was propped at an angle, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Better?”

Another nod, faint, but enough.

Shizune arrived a minute later, her pace brisk, eyes already scanning. She went straight to the IV, adjusted the line, then pulled a small vial from her pocket. She studied it, then poured the contents into a half glass of water and held it out to me.

“He needs to drink this,” she said.

I nodded and took it. Iruka accepted the first sip, wincing hard, like he’d swallowed fire. I nearly pulled it back, but he shook his head faintly, determined. Sip by sip, it grew easier, and by the last swallow he drank without grimacing.

He slumped back against me afterward, chest rising steady again. I stayed where I was, his weight warm and heavy, one hand fisted in the fabric of my pants under the blanket like he was afraid I’d move.

“Extra pillows,” I asked quietly.

Shizune left a stack at the bedside, scribbled something in his chart, and slipped out just as quickly.

Iruka was already asleep again, head tucked against my chest, lips parted in soft, even breaths.

I leaned back, propped a pillow behind my head, and reached for the notebook on the side table.

I turned the page and the tone was different. The words were steadier, fuller, not the jagged pain of before.

Sashi, Moegi, and Udon stayed after class today. They said they wanted to do substitution jutsu. I thought they’d give up after a few tries, but they kept going, failing again and again until each of them managed it once. They were so proud when they did it, they nearly toppled me over celebrating. I didn’t think I had it in me to smile, but they dragged it out of me anyway. Maybe I’m not as useless as I thought if kids like that still want me to watch them succeed.

I could almost see it, Iruka on the edge of the training field, trying to look stern while those three poured their whole hearts into something simple just to earn his nod.

After they left, I stayed too. I’ve started training again, little by little.

Lord Third still calls me sometimes, mostly for seals. We’ve been working on barriers, and after Anko’s curse, he asked me to look into marks like hers. I showed him a few ways to bind them, temporary fixes. He wanted more. He wanted me to find a way to break them completely. He even pulled out some of the old Uzumaki scrolls. Damnit, they’re complicated and full of dead ends. I wish I had more time to study them.

My brow furrowed. The Third hadn’t wasted time; even in his last years, he’d set Iruka to work on curse marks.

I’ve been experimenting on my own. Practicing Fire and Water release. I found I prefer combining them since water feels like an extension of me. I tried different oils, but they don't feel right. So, I made my own. It’s clumsy, but I like the feeling of building something with my hands, even if it blows up in my face half the time. 

Today I decided to focus on my sensing abilities. I’ve been paying closer attention to it in class. It’s strange. It’s always there in the background, like a hum I can’t turn off. But if I focus, I can shape it. Rock and metal come back sharp. Wood feels softer. Water dances when it echoes back, like a signal carried on a current. Sand is harder; it took days to figure it out, but I finally got it. I have to squeeze the signal, and it turns into something I can understand. 

I wandered around, enjoying the clear sky we had. My sensing is clearer in caves or underwater. If I didn't have to come up for air, I would have stayed down there. I might try fishing like this. The world comes back to me in pieces, like I’m touching it without hands. It makes me feel less blind, less small.

I paused, staring at those words. He’d been teaching himself, with no guide. Tsunade was right; this was no accident of talent.

The entries stretched on.

Asuma tried to help me with Wind Style again. I keep failing. My chakra reserves don’t stretch far enough to do what I want. I can't tell if it's the jutsu just asking for too much or if this sensing is pulling too much of my reserve. I will start training to increase my chakra. There is no way to move forward as I am now.

Another page.

I miss Naruto. I worry about him constantly. He’s reckless, but… he’s mine. If I had to have a little brother, I would want one like him. He is so much like I was, always getting into trouble because it eased some of the loneliness. I don’t know if I’m doing right by him, but I want to. I want to be someone he can lean on. When he comes back, I will take him for ramen and let him tell me about his training. He always gets so excited just having someone listen. 

My chest tightened. Anyone else reading that would think Naruto was his child. And maybe, in every way that mattered, he was.

Then the tone sharpened:

Kakashi infuriates me. He just left Naruto to train for the exam on his own. I heard he took off with Sasuke. He is always pushing Naruto too hard and ignoring Sakura. I know he doesn’t see it, but I do. And when he does notice, it will be too late. Thankfully, Lord Jiraiya agreed to train him. I won't spend every night worrying that he is going to get hurt or worse, lose control in front of the entire village. Sometimes I wonder if Kakashi even realizes how heartless he can be. Does he know what that would do to Naruto? The village wants to watch him fail. Naruto notices, even when I try to shield him from it. I wrote to Lord Jiraiya, and he put a lot of my worries at ease. He said he fixed his seal. It was disrupting his chakra. I can't believe we let Orochimaru get that close to Naruto. Stupid Kakashi!

I grimaced. Fair. Too fair.

I've been blaming Kakashi for what happened with Sasuke. Losing a student broke my heart. How did he let this happen? Maybe if I had been more involved, he wouldn't have gone. Now Naruto and Sakura only talk about training and getting him back. I hope this obsession is healthy and not pulling Naruto down a path he can't come back from. It hurts him, just like Mizuke hurt me. I know he cries at night when no one is there. I want to scream with how helpless I feel.

The ninkin came to get me yesterday. I ran to the Land of Rivers to help Kakashi. I can't unsee him lying half dead in Asuma's arms. When I thought I was going to lose him, running back to the village with his life bleeding out of him, I realized my anger was only a cover for how much I cared for him. Underneath, I was terrified. More terrified than I’ve been since I was a child. Because the thought of losing him… I couldn’t bear it.

I let out a slow breath. That was Iruka, through and through: furious with me, and still willing to tear himself apart to keep me alive.

The entries thinned after that.

Sometimes I wonder if this is a dream. Or worse, a genjutsu. How long until it’s ripped away? I learned that happiness never stays, not for me anyway. I love him more than I thought I could love anyone. For so long, I thought I was broken. I don’t know how to say it. Maybe I never will.

And finally, the last page before we came to the hospital. The words rushed, like he’d been afraid to think them too long:

Mom, I wonder what it would be like to spend the rest of my life with him. Is that too much to ask in a world that only hands out pain and suffering? I wish you were here to help me through this. There is so much I don't know.

I closed the journal slowly, hand resting on the cover. My chest ached, too full with everything I’d read.

He was clumsy, selfless, and stubborn. The kind of man who was far too nice and easily overlooked.

I ran my fingers through his hair while he slept. It needed brushing.

For a long while, I just sat there. But my mind wouldn’t stay still.

What would it be like, really? To live with him. To come home to this — not a ward, not a hospital, not a battlefield, but to Iruka in a space we both called ours. The smell of tea in the morning. Books stacked crooked because he never puts them back in the same place. My ninken sprawled under his desk while he graded papers.

And Naruto, of course Naruto, showing up without knocking, raiding the pantry, dragging stories of his latest misadventure behind him. Iruka fussing, me pretending not to laugh. The boy would probably eat us into debt, but Iruka would never complain.

I let the thought stretch further, a dangerous indulgence. Would Iruka ever want more? A child of his own, not just the Academy’s. Someone we could both raise, teach, protect. The image was fragile, almost unbearable. Family had always felt like something reserved for other people. Not me. Never me.

But Iruka had written it down, had wanted it enough to put the words on paper. And for the first time in years, I found myself wondering if maybe it wasn’t impossible.

I glanced at the journal again. It sat there on the blanket, full of his heart, and for once I wanted to answer him back.

I reached for a pen, careful not to shift him, and turned to a blank page near the back.

You’ve been honest with me. I think you deserve the same.

I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I don’t know how to take care of someone without breaking them. But you keep choosing me anyway. You came back to me, even when it would have been easier to go. I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve that.

I want to try. I want to give you something steady, even if it’s just me making dinner while you grade papers. I don’t know if I can give you more. A family, a future, but if you asked, I’d try. That scares me more than anything. But losing you scares me worse.

The pen hovered, then scratched one last line:

I love you, Iruka.

I set the pen down, shut the book gently, and let my head fall back against the pillows. My chest felt lighter and heavier at the same time.

There was a light tap on the door.

“Yo!” Guy’s voice carried in before the door opened. Even he had the sense to keep it low in the ward. “I’ve got news.”

I sighed, shifting Iruka gently where he rested against my chest. “Come in.”

Guy entered, all coiled energy, though his gaze softened when it fell on Iruka. He didn’t comment on the sight, just moved closer, voice quieter. “They found an old cottage outside the northern woods. Signs kids had been there. Some bedding, scraps of food, chalk marks on the floor. But it’s abandoned now.”

My jaw tightened. So they had been keeping kids still. Root was supposed to have been shut down years ago.

“That’s not all,” Guy went on. “Tenzo’s team ran into another Root operative. One of the defectors. Said they’d only talk to you, Tenzo, or…” his eyes flicked down toward Iruka, “…him.”

I felt Iruka’s weight heavier against me, like the words themselves pressed him deeper into my chest.

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow night. Genma's arranging it. Location’s secure.”

I let out a long breath through my nose. Tomorrow night. Which meant leaving Iruka’s side. Which meant trusting someone else to sit here if his fever spiked again, if he woke in pain, if the past clawed its way back through his sleep.

“I want to see that cabin,” I said finally. “I will summon the Ninkin, check for trails the ANBU missed. If there’s anything left, they’ll find it.”

Guy nodded, as solid as ever. “I’ll come with you.”

I shook my head. “No. I need you here.”

His brows rose. “Kakashi—”

“I trust you,” I cut him off, tone even. “Keep him safe. Don’t let anyone near him who doesn’t belong. I’ll go with Tenzo.”

Guy studied me, the fire dimming just a fraction. Then he nodded once, firm, and dropped a hand to my shoulder. “Done. You won’t have to worry.”

I glanced down at Iruka again. His face was peaceful in sleep, but the journal’s words still echoed in my head: I almost stayed with you, and sometimes, when the pain is really bad, I wish I had.

“Thank you,” I murmured, covering Iruka’s hand with my own. “I've already lost him once.”

Chapter Text

Kakashi's POV:

Guy stayed most of the afternoon, filling the silence with his usual stories. He was softer than usual, but still animated enough to make Iruka’s smile faintly even in half-sleep. I let him do the talking; Iruka needed the noise, not more worry.

Tsunade arrived just as the sun began to turn in the sky, bringing with her the air of command that even Guy softened under. She checked Iruka briskly, checking his chest, observing his arm, then thumbing through his chart. Iruka was awake now, watching her.

“Your body is healing as expected. The new medicine is working, bringing down the inflammation.” She flipped another page. “I was told you had a very interesting reaction to the new painkiller we’ve been working on.”

Iruka’s eyes slid to me, sharp even in his exhaustion. He wanted an explanation.

I smiled under the mask. This was going to be a fun conversation later.

Tsunade ignored us, continuing. “I think it’s time we start working on your Yin Release. You won’t have much strength now, but it should help with the pain. And as you improve, you’ll be able to support your own healing.”

Guy took the cue and stepped out, leaving me to steady Iruka through the practice. Tsunade stayed with him until sundown, coaxing him to weave the signs, focusing his chakra into tissue repair. He managed it a few times, brow furrowed in fierce concentration, but by the end he was shaking with fatigue and drenched in sweat.

I helped him lie back as Tsunade closed the chart. “Is he stable enough to bathe?” I asked quietly.

She considered, then nodded. “Just don’t let him breathe in too much steam. His lungs can’t afford any more fluid.”

Iruka mouthed thank you when she left. I gave him a warm smile. “Come on. I’ll tell you about your rambling while you soak.”

His brow furrowed, but he let me lift him carefully from the bed. He stiffened at the movement, a flash of pain across his face, but relaxed once I eased him into the warm water and slid in beside him.

He raised an eyebrow, half suspicion, half curiosity.

I sighed. “Shizune gave you another pain medicine. We wanted to keep you from being in constant pain. It worked, but…”

His eyes narrowed, waiting.

“…you woke up a few times and said things.”

His lips moved — what? His voice gave out before he could finish.

I felt heat creep under the mask. “Uhh… well…” I stalled, and he leaned into me, exhausted but stubborn.

“Plea…” he rasped.

I caved. “Well… you said a lot. Like… that my dick was bigger than you expected.”

He froze, mortification flashing across his face.

I kept going. “I’m glad you like it.”

He shoved his face into my chest. I laughed.

“You also said you thought Guy and I were dating. Then called him a puppy. And… you may have told Shizune she should find herself a man. Strongly implied that Genma would make her happy in bed.”

Once he recovered from his embarrassment, the rest of the bath passed like a routine. I washed his hair, slow and careful, and he leaned into it the way he always did, eyes half-closed, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. When we finished, I dried him and steadied him as he stepped out.

He insisted on trying on his own after that, stubborn as ever, managing a few shaky steps to pull on his favorite sweatpants. The loose fabric hung low on his hips, his chest bare, still damp from the bath. My eyes lingered longer than they should have.

He caught me.

For a heartbeat, his gaze met mine, sharp even through the exhaustion. His cheeks colored faintly, but he didn’t look away. And I… didn’t either.

The scars across his ribs, the lines of muscle that no illness could erase. I’d seen them before, but never like this. Never when he was clean, bare, and watching me notice.

I cleared my throat, moving forward to steady him before he swayed. “Come on,” I said, softer than I meant.

He leaned into me, still flushed. The silence between us carried more than words.

Back in bed, he didn’t flatten out like before. He rolled carefully onto his side, curling into me as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Face tucked against my chest, arm draped across my ribs, his body still trembling with fatigue.

I wrapped my arm around him, breathing in the faint scent of soap and warm water. My eyes slipped shut, but my chest stayed too tight. He was awake, I could feel it in the uneven catch of his breath, the way his fingers flexed against me like he was restless but couldn’t quite say why.

Desire edged close to the surface, raw and quiet, but I forced myself to hold steady. This wasn’t the time. Not yet.

Still, I let my hand linger at the back of his head, fingers sliding through damp strands of hair. He didn’t protest. He pressed closer.

And I thought, with something between longing and fear: if he asked me now, I wouldn’t be able to refuse him. I forced myself to focus.

“Iruka,” I said softly. His hair brushed my chin as I angled down. “Tomorrow I have to go meet with one of the Root defectors. They said they’ll only talk to Tenzo, me… or you.”

He shifted, eyes opening to find mine in the dark. Concern flickered there, sharp despite the exhaustion.

“It could be a trap,” I admitted. “But I’ll come back.” I bent, pressing a kiss to his temple, needing him to hear the weight of it.

“They found a cottage,” I continued. “One of the places they were keeping recruits. It's empty now, but I need to see it. Maybe the ninken can pick up a trail the others missed.”

His hand tightened into a fist against my chest, tendons flexing under my palm when I covered it.

“I’m going to find them,” I said, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. “And bring them back.”

The fight bled out of him slowly. He nodded, exhaled, and let his shoulders sag against me. Still tense, but softer now.

I kept tracing circles into his arm until his breath evened out again, his body slowly relaxing into mine.

But the knot in my chest didn’t ease. Tomorrow I’d be gone, walking into Root’s shadow, leaving him here still too weak to defend himself. Even with Guy nearby, even with Tsunade and Shizune checking in, it wasn’t enough. Not for me.

I bent my head into his damp hair. “Iruka,” I said softly. His lashes fluttered, eyes cracking open, hazy but searching.

I bit my thumb, formed the seal, and Pakkun appeared in a puff of smoke on the edge of the bed. “You called?” he muttered, already eyeing Iruka.

Iruka’s brows knit faintly in confusion.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” I murmured, summoning the contract scroll into my lap. The heavy parchment unfurled between us. “The Ninken contract.”

His lips parted, but no sound came. His gaze snapped to me: questioning, startled, almost protesting.

I covered his trembling fist with my hand. “If anything happens while I’m gone, I want you to have this. My pack will answer you like they answer me. They’ll protect you.”

Pakkun gave a grunt of approval, padding closer to sniff Iruka’s hand. “About time.”

Iruka mouthed, Kakashi… no… too much. His fingers shifted weakly against mine, a protest without strength.

“It's not too much,” I said softly. "It's actually overdue."

His eyes glassed, his throat working as if the words he wanted wouldn’t come.

“Sign it,” I urged gently. “Then you can spoil them anytime you want.”

He hesitated, then bit his thumb, drawing blood, and obeyed. His writing was slow and clumsy, but he managed. Finally, he pressed his fingers to the parchment, the bond sealed.

Pakkun gave a sharp nod. “He’s one of us now. Biscuit’ll stay with him tomorrow.”

I managed a smile under the mask, rolling the scroll shut. “Thank you,” I told the pug. He vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving only the faint smell of burnt leaves.

Iruka turned toward me, his eyes shining, wet at the corners. He mouthed why?

I brushed the tear before it slipped free. “Because I want you safe,” I whispered. “Because I never want you to be alone again.”

His lips pressed together hard, his hand gripping mine. No sound came, but I felt the answer in the way he clung.

I pulled him closer until his forehead rested against my collarbone. “Sleep,” I murmured. “We’ll talk more later.”

His fist loosened by degrees, his breath evening as sleep claimed him again.

I stayed awake, holding him, listening to the quiet, and thinking about how we were going to get those kids out of Donzo's hands

The next day blurred past in fits and starts. Tsunade drilled him on Yin release again, short bursts that left him sweating but proud when he managed to dull the edge of his pain. Later, they sedated him for deeper therapy on his heart and lungs. I stayed close through the worst of it, until his color came back. Tsunade said the scar tissue that forms and any burns have to be cleared away so he can heal properly and regain full lung and heart function. The problem is that it's painful and leaves him exhausted.

When he stirred awake again, groggy, the sun was already low in the window.

I was strapping on my radio, checking the static in the earpiece, when his lashes fluttered. He blinked at me like he was trying to remember where he was.

Guy’s voice carried from the corner, low and focused as he spoke to the protection team about rotations and fallback points. Biscuit sat squarely at Iruka’s feet, ears perked, tail twitching in faint irritation every time someone stepped too close. He was already on duty.

I went over my kit again out of habit: kunai, shurikens, wires, paper bombs, food pills, scrolls. It didn’t matter that I’d already checked twice. Going through the motions calmed my nerves before a mission.

When I looked up, Iruka’s gaze was fixed on me. Heavy-lidded, drowsy from the sedatives, but sharp enough to track every movement.

“Hey,” I said quietly, putting the last of the scrolls in my vest. “You’re awake.”

He mouthed something. My eye caught the shape of the word. Leaving?

I crossed the room, crouching so he wouldn’t strain to look up. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I have to go to the meeting I told you about, and check out that cottage.”

His fingers twitched weakly against the blanket. Biscuit huffed, shifting closer like he understood.

“Iruka,” I murmured, catching his hand. “Guy’s here. Biscuit too. You’re covered from every angle. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He squeezed faintly, the barest pressure, and I felt the accusation in it.

I bent closer, pressing my forehead to his. “I promised you. I’m coming back.”

For a moment, the noise of the room, Guy’s orders, the shuffle of boots, faded. It was just his tired eyes on mine, the faint heat of his breath.

“Rest,” I said softly. “Let me handle this.”

He mouthed something again, too faint to catch. I guessed at it anyway. Be careful.

I smiled under the mask and squeezed his hand once more before standing. “Always.”

The night air bit cold against my skin, the sharp chill clinging to the hills. I moved quick through the trees until I reached the small clearing where we’d agreed to meet and split up.

Tenzo was already there, crouched low. Genma and Yugato flanked him, gear neat and weapons ready. They looked up as I dropped into the circle.

“Kakashi,” Genma drawled around his senbon, though his eyes were sharp as ever. He flicked the map open and weighed the corners with a kunai.

I crouched beside him and scanned the rough lines he’d drawn: fallback routes, elevations, rivers, three decoy routes with traps if things went wrong. It was tidy work.

“Here’s the plan,” Genma said, tapping a finger at the nearest ridge. “Kakashi and Tenzo break off here and check the cottage first. Kakashi will dispatch his ninken while Tenzo lays seeds to track anyone who comes back. Yugato and I will re-scout the meeting site to make sure nothing’s changed. Once you two finish at the cottage, fall in with us and we’ll give the all clear.”

I pulled my radio cord taut to check the channel. “Tenzo, you’ll be my second. If I go down, you finish the contact.”

“Way to pick favorites,” Genma muttered. I ignored him.

Tenzo gave a single, even nod. “Understood.”

I pointed to the marked fallback points. “If it’s a trap, we break this way — west to the ridge. Signal smoke: green for regroup, red for scatter. If one of us doesn’t make it…” My voice trailed. They all knew the rest.

Yugato’s hand hovered near her bow, fingers flexing like she was itching to draw. “What do we know about the contact?” she asked.

“Not enough,” I admitted. “They’re with Root and claim to be defectors. They will only speak to Iruka, Tenzo, or me. Since Iruka met with them once and is now in the hospital… that alone makes me want to kill them on sight, but we’ll give them one chance.”

Genma’s eyes narrowed. “And if he’s bait?”

“Then we end it quickly,” I said.

Silence tightened around us. Finally, I rolled the map closed and handed it back to Genma. “Tenzo, let’s go.” We broke into two teams.

The run to the cottage didn’t take long at our pace. When the cottage came into sight, we paused. I lifted my headband and checked for chakra. Clear. Tenzo gave the agreed signal and we moved in. He placed seeds around the perimeter, in spots an ANBU might step. I summoned the ninken. Pakkun and the others appeared at the edge of the clearing, minus Biscuit; they moved immediately, noses down, tracking anything they could find.

Tenzo followed me inside. It looked empty on first inspection. I started looking where kids would put things. Tucked into a book, I found a child’s drawing: two little girls either fighting or training. It had been hidden where it would be easy to get to. I kept moving, eyes searching for anything the team might have missed. Next to the wall, I noticed a loose board and waved Tenzo over.

“Trap?” he whispered, already readying a Wood Release.

I lifted the board. Underneath were crayons, paper, and a few small kunai. I folded the drawing and slipped it into my pouch. There were more, tucked elsewhere; I folded those away too. Iruka might be able to make more of them than I could.

“I’m satisfied here. Are you ready?” I asked.

Tenzo nodded. We left the cottage as we’d found it and rejoined Genma and Yugato at the meeting location. Yugato gave the hand signal: clear. I dropped down into the circle and kept my gaze on the treeline, fighting the urge to move to a more defensible position. Meetings were never my favorite missions; there were always too many things that could go wrong.

Half an hour passed and I began to think they wouldn’t show, when two ANBU in cloaks stepped from the shadows.

“Kakashi of the Sharingan. We didn’t think you would be the one meeting with us,” the taller of the two said; he was about my height and broader than average.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” the smaller one added. The voice sounded like a woman, but I couldn’t be sure at a glance. “Iruka met with Koyuki, but they got to her before we could.”

“What exactly is it that you want?” I cut to the point.

The taller one spoke again. “We need your help. Iruka would have been the ideal choice, but you are sufficient. The children trained in Root take after the Blood Mist Village. We hoped someone like Iruka could help us liberate them and change the organization.”

I narrowed my eyes. If Root was copying the Mist, then these children might be expected to kill to graduate.

“Why do you think Iruka specifically can help?” I asked.

The taller one answered: “He is a teacher. We have been watching for a while to determine who we could trust. Iruka seems to have a way with kids. He can reach children with diverse backgrounds and deep trauma. You know how he likes to recruit.”

He was right, Donzo liked kids without families. Kids like Tenzo. Iruka would go out of his way to help them. I took a deep breath.

“So where are the children now?” I asked, irritation returning.

The smaller one spoke. “We don’t know. A small group of us tried to rescue them, but the children were moved right after they captured Koyuki.” She paused, then continued. “Your help finding the children would be appreciated, but what we really need is someone to hand them over to. It’s difficult to break the hold the organization has on them; many genuinely believe they’re serving the Hidden Leaf.”

They wanted help and asylum for the children; it's not unreasonable. But I’d need clearance from Tsunade. Where would they live? How many were there?

“We will support you in locating the children,” I said. “I’ll bring this to the Hokage and work on safe housing. As for the rest of you, what do you plan to do now that you’ve left Root? Donzo will hunt you.” I wasn’t sure if they were Tenzo-like defectors or people with other aims.

The taller one, who finally stepped forward, gave a name. “You may call me Kuro, I am the leader of this group,” he said.

Tenzo dropped into the clearing beside me before the man could continue. "Kuro?" he said, moving closer, his voice edged with recognition.

The cloaked figure reached up and pulled off his mask. Tenzo’s face softened; he knew him.

"How are you getting around the curse mark to talk to us?" Tenzo asked.

Kuro nodded, as if expecting the question, and opened his mouth to reveal the dark seal on his tongue, overlaid with a second, intricate mark.

"It’s not much," he admitted, "but it’s enough to let us speak in vague terms."

“Where do you all plan to go?” Tenzo asked. “Like Kakashi-Senpai said, they will hunt you.”

Kuro looked between us. "After you got out, a few of us started questioning the organization. Some of the targets didn't make sense, and watching Iruka with Naruto caught my attention. When we finally started talking to each other about it, we slowly gathered together. There are not many of us, with Koyuki gone, we only have seven of us, but we are tired of working for one man's ambition. We still want to serve the leaf, but I doubt they would take us in with all we've done."

I looked him over, remembering my days in ANBU. His past couldn't have been any worse than mine, and Tenzo clearly trusted him.

"I got Tenzo out; let me see what I can do for all of you. It will take some time once you are in our custody, but there might be a way to have you join our ANBU units that fall directly under the Hokage.

He gave me a nod, looking appreciative.

"Until we meet again, lay low. It is safer for us to search out the children. Tenzo will track you, and I will send my Ninkin to keep communication open. I should have an answer to you within three days." I finished, then fished the drawing from my pouch. "Are these children still alive?" I asked, showing them the drawing.

Kuro stared at it for a moment, then sighed. "I don't know for sure. At least one should be."

A cold feeling settled into my chest with his implication.

"One last thing," I added, an edge creeping back into my voice."You will communicate with Tenzo and myself. Iruka has children in the leaf relying on him. If it is safe, then we will bring him in, but he has duties that safeguard the village. You understand?" I finished, half as a warning and half as an explanation.

The woman paled but nodded. “We understand.”

Kuro hesitated, then agreed. When the formalities wound down, he gave a rough, sincere bow. “We never wanted more than to give them a choice,” he said. “To stop the killing.”

“I know,” I said. “We’ll do our best to get them out. But for now, keep yourselves safe. They will need you once they are in our care.”

"Thank you, Kakashi," he said, then nodded to Tenzo before they both vanished back into the shadows.

I ran the route back to Konoha with Tenzo at my side, Yugato and Genma close behind us, planning the next steps as we moved: debrief Tsunade, identify secure housing, write up my report, and wait for the Ninkin to return.

For a moment, I pictured the kids safe in a warm room, Iruka’s voice soft as he stitched them back together. I thought of the drawings in my pouch: two little girls training, fists raised in mock-fury. I kept those images pressed close like a promise.

By the time Konoha’s lights bled into the night, I was drafting the first lines of my report. Reviewing everything, I would need to add. When I stepped into the Hokage’s office, the village felt different. Iruka’s tired nod from last night sat behind my eyes. He needed this from me. How easy would it have been for him to have been like Tenzo or Kuro had Lord Third not been there? I shook off the thought.

Chapter Text

Kakashi's POV:

Tsunade was face-down on her desk when I stepped into the office; Shizune was sacked out on the couch like she’d been trying to hold the world together until it gave up. Good grief. The debrief could wait.

I nudged Tenzo. “Get Shizune,” I murmured, and crouched by the desk to gently wake the Hokage.

“Lady Tsunade, desks don’t usually make great pillows,” I said.

She jerked upright with a glare so fast it might’ve peeled paint. “Kakashi, why are you waking me?!” she snapped, clearly irritated. I pointed to the drool on her reports. She rubbed her temple and sighed.

“I’ll have the team hand in their notes tonight. We can debrief in the morning,” I said, giving her my best disarming smile.

“Kakashi, don’t try to act sweet, you’re not. It’s creepy,” she shot back, and somehow I’d been called creepy twice now. What was happening to me?

“Very well,” I said flatly. “Tsunade, you look like one of Iruka’s students passing out in class. Not very becoming of a Hokage.” That got a reaction: she bristled, fists clenching.

“Trying to irritate me?” she asked.

“You called me creepy,” I shrugged. She groaned, exhausted. “I’m going back to sleep. Shizune, get up!”

Shizune bolted upright and immediately crashed into Tenzo, who’d been trying to rouse her. They spent a beat rubbing their heads where they collided; I watched, amused. Tsunade barked orders: “Go home. Meet me back here at dawn with Sakura.” She stalked from the room.

I waved Tenzo off. “You can handle this. Have your reports in by dawn or we all suffer.”

He glared. I grabbed a report sheet and left for the hospital.

As I suspected, Iruka had waited up. Biscuit sat curled in his lap, tail thumping every time Guy landed another wildly embellished story. They’d propped him on pillows, a steaming cup of tea balanced carefully in his hands. He looked steadier than yesterday, but still pale.

“You’re drinking fluids again?” I asked as I slid the window open and stepped inside.

Iruka gave me a faint smile, then the hand sign for a little, holding it until I crossed the room. He caught my hand when I stopped beside the bed, his grip warm but trembling.

I glanced to Guy, intending to thank him for keeping Iruka distracted. “Guy—” I began.

Guy’s head snapped toward me, his grin dazzling. “Kakashi, don’t worry about it. I already know,” he said. He rose in a whirl of energy, clapped me once on the shoulder, then turned to Iruka.

“See you tomorrow, little brother,” he said warmly, flashing Iruka a thumbs-up before bounding out the door like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Iruka’s eyes followed him, a warm smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You and Guy seem to be getting along,” I said, tugging down my mask just far enough to lean in and kiss him softly.

When I pulled back, he grabbed his notebook and flipped past the entry I’d added earlier. I wondered if he’d read it. He scrawled a quick line.

'He told me about all your competitions.'

I smiled despite myself. “Guy’s been challenging me since the academy,” I admitted. Those dumb contests had given me something to look forward to when everything else fell apart. Iruka wrote again, a single word: The meeting? — a question. I sighed, pulled the drawings from my pouch, and handed them to him.

“It went better than I expected,” I said, sitting at the small table. “They want us to take the children once we get them away from Root. Tenzo and I would also like to find a place for their members with our ANBU. On their own, Donzo will hunt them down.”

Iruka’s brow tightened. He wrote, slow and careful: Would he kill the children?

He looked at my face and already knew my answer. He laid back, trying to keep calm; his fists tightened in Biscuit’s fur.

“Iruka,” I said softly, uncurled his fingers and took his hand, “I’m going to try to save as many as I can.”

I gave him a small, playful smile to keep the weight from crushing the moment. “And when I do, I’ll bring them all to you.”

He flushed, embarrassed, then glare-good-naturedly at me. I chuckled and turned back to my notes while he studied the drawings. I watched him run his finger over it, deep in through. I tucked that image away, then bent over the report.

By the time I’d finished writing, showered, and settled back beside Iruka, the room was quiet. He was resting heavier on the pillows, Biscuit beside his hip, tea cooling on the table. His eyes were half-shut, and I thought he’d drifted off until the smoke curled in at the foot of the bed.

Pakkun.

“They picked up a trail,” he reported, shaking water from his ears. “Faint, but it was there. Ends at a river, looks like they switched to a water route to cover their tracks.”

I frowned. “Keep on it. If you can’t pick it back up by dawn, I’ll see if Tsunade wants to put a sensory unit on it.”

“Got it.” He gave a sharp nod and vanished again.

Iruka stirred, his lashes flickering. I brushed a hand through his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’ll handle it.” He hummed something soft and settled again, Biscuit’s ear under his hand.

When Pakkun came back just before dawn, his tail drooped. “Trail’s cold. Nothing more to follow.”

I scratched the fur between his ears. “You did well. Go rest.”

Tsunade was awake this time, though she looked like she regretted it. Scrolls were scattered across her desk, and her cup of sake was untouched, which told me more than anything about her mood. Shizune was already scribbling at the side table when I stepped in.

I laid everything out: the defector's wishes, the drawings, Pakkun’s report about the river trail going cold.

Tsunade listened in silence, tapping her fingers against her jaw. Finally, she blew out a sigh. “I’ll need to bring in Shikaku and the elders. If we’re taking in these children, we’ll need funds, safe housing, and people to monitor them. Orphanages can only hold so many. And we’ll have to face the fact that kids raised under Root conditioning are a risk.”

I gave a single nod. “Agreed.”

“As for the defectors…” her mouth pressed into a thin line, “I’ll allow them in, if Ibiki and Inoichi clear them. I’m short on Jōnin, and seven more with ANBU training could ease the pressure.”

She looked up at me then, sharp as a blade. “And you, Kakashi. I’ll be pulling you back onto Akatsuki assignments soon. You’re one of the few I trust for it. But right now, I will keep you with Iruka. Sending you out too early would be stupid. You're not ready, are you?”

I let out a breath, long and slow. “If you’re asking if I could face the one who blew me up last time, no. Not yet.”

Her eyes narrowed, testing me.

“I would like a month to train,” I said. “Once Iruka’s cleared, let us train together. I need time to strengthen my Sharingan. I’ve unlocked the Mangekyō, but I’m not ready to use it. Not against them. You also said you wanted Iruka to be trained.”

Her expression flickered, suspicion, maybe concern, but she gave a reluctant nod. “A month. Then you’d better be ready.”

“Understood.”

The next three days were brutal. Tsunade and Shizune worked him hard, harder than I thought his body could take. Long Yin-release sessions that left him shaking, drenched in sweat. His lungs and heart were improving, but his throat and vocal cords still fought him. Every sound came out hoarse and broken.

Shizune had him practice anyway, short syllables, careful breaths, her chakra steady against his neck as she coached him. By the end of each round, he was slumped against the pillows, eyes half-closed, too exhausted to argue.

They pushed him to walk too. Just a few steps at first, each one slow and deliberate, his hand gripping mine until his knuckles went white. It took everything in him not to collapse. But he did it. Every day, he did it.

On the third evening, Tsunade finally signed off. “He’s stable enough to go home,” she said, snapping his chart shut. “The swelling is down, the scarring corrected. The rest is just strength and stamina. A medic will stop by every few days for follow-up healing.”

Shizune handed me a heavy bag of medicine: bottles for pain, swelling, sleep. Then she pressed a second bottle into my palm. “One glass of this tea per day. It’ll help restore his chakra. It's designed to restrict any nonessential chakra use. It may also suppress his sensing abilities. If he’s never lived without them, expect anxiety. No matter how upset he is, he must take this. If he doesn't, his recovery will take months.”

Guy helped me pack up, hauling flowers and gifts while I carried Iruka. When we got to his apartment, I almost didn’t recognize it. Half the place was covered in flowers or gifts. Vases on every surface. Bouquets tucked into corners. His desk was stacked with letters, his table with gifts. Guy must have roped Ino into keeping the flowers alive. The rest must have been dropped off at his door or to his classroom.

Iruka froze in the doorway, wide-eyed. By the time I eased him onto the couch with pillows and a blanket, his face was wet. Silent tears.

Guy clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll check in when I’m back from my mission,” he said, grinning. “You’ve got this.” Then he was gone, leaving me with Iruka’s quiet shaking.

I went to the kitchen to start tea, but his voice stopped me — raw and broken: “Kakashi.”

He was a mess when I crossed back. I pulled him into my arms. “Why are you crying?” I asked.

He was struggling to wipe all the tears away when he spoke. “Everyone really brought me all this?”

I brushed his hair back. “Iruka, you touched the lives of almost every shinobi in this village.” I leaned down and kissed him, deeper than I had since the night of the attack. His breath hitched when we broke apart.

“Feel better?” I asked quietly.

He nodded, swiping at his eyes, reaching for one of the gifts left by the ANBU. I left him with them long enough to bring out miso, tea, and the medicine Shizune had warned me about.

I set the glass down in front of him. “Eat first. Then this.” I pointed to the cup of medicine. “Shizune says this might dull your sensing for a while. It’s… like putting weights on your chakra. Everything is going to feel different for a while, but it’ll help you heal faster.”

He looked at the tea suspiciously but didn’t argue. He finished the miso, sipped his tea, then took the medicine in one swallow.

I sat back, watching him, uneasy. Shizune’s words rang in my ears: It might turn off his sensing.

Whatever came next, I doubted it would be easy.

Iruka's POV:

At first it was subtle. A soft dimming, like someone snuffing candles one by one.

Then it was gone.

It occurred to me for a moment that this is how everyone else felt. Normal sight. Normal hearing.

I set the letter down carefully, deliberately, because if I wasn’t deliberate, I wasn’t sure I’d land my hand in the right place. I wanted to reach for my tea, but the idea of missing it, of knocking it over, froze me still.

The room was too quiet. The silence pressed in on me, heavy and wrong. Every sound, the creak of the floorboards, the whistle of wind through the window, came sharp and sudden, startling in a way that made my pulse jump.

I wanted to trust my eyes, but it wasn’t the same. Sight only showed me what was in front of me. I couldn’t feel the world anymore, couldn’t tell if something was behind me, above me, waiting.

I hated how exposed it made me feel. Vulnerable in my own home. I didn't know how to function like this.

My hand twitched against my knee. Don’t show it, don’t let it shake. Breathe. Calm. The way I’d tell my students when they were frightened.

But inside, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin, I wanted to scream.

I moved, curling tighter under the blanket, trying to hide the tremor that kept threatening my hands. I told myself it would pass. That I could endure this the same way I endured everything else. But the truth pressed at the edges of my mind: without my echoes, I didn’t know how to move through the world.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to feel something steady, something real, but even my own chakra was faint and sluggish, like it was locked behind a wall.

And for the first time in my life, I felt truly blind.

Chapter Text

Kakashi POV:

I watched him fold in on himself, blanket drawn up, shoulders tight. He set his letter aside and hadn’t picked it up again. His eyes darted like a trapped animal, not my calm, stubborn Iruka.

This wasn’t just adjusting to medicine. This was stripping away the way he lived.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Iruka.”

His eyes flicked up, dark and sharp with something I'd never seen in him: fear. He didn’t answer, just pressed his lips together and shook his head, as if admitting anything out loud would break him.

I set my hand over his, firm enough to keep the tremor still. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His breath stuttered, and for a moment, I thought he might shove it all down again. But then he whispered, hoarse and raw, “I don’t... I...” His voice cracked. “It feels like I lost everything.”

The words lodged like a kunai in my chest.

I pulled him in before he could curl away again, holding him against me, steady pressure until his breathing slowed. He clung to me, silent, but the weight of it pressed into my bones.

This wasn’t something I could fix with reassurances. Not tonight. Not tomorrow.

All I could do was hold him.

The first day, he still tried. He ate what I set in front of him, small, careful bites. He let me guide his hand to his tea. He even wrote a few words in his notebook before drifting into silence.

The second day, the effort faded. The miso cooled untouched on the table. He curled under the blanket like it could shield him from the silence pressing in. His eyes darted at every creak, every tail thump from Biscuit, every cup I set down too hard. He didn’t speak, didn’t write, only shifted away when I asked too many times if he was alright.

By the third day, I barely recognized him. He stayed in bed, curled on his side, staring at nothing. The letters from his students sat unopened. The tea went cold in my hand before he took it. He didn’t even flinch when Shiba nudged his arm, just pulled the blanket tighter, shoulders stiff.

When I tried to press him, he snapped, voice hoarse: “Stop asking. I don’t want to talk.”

It wasn’t anger, not really. It was exhaustion, despair, and fear. But the words stuck in my chest all the same.

That night, when Guy came to check in, I stepped out into the hall with him.

He was smiling, but it faded fast when he saw my face. “Kakashi?”

I leaned against the wall, hand rubbing at the back of my neck. The words came out low and rough. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Guy’s eyes softened, the weight of his usual fire dimming to something quieter. He set a hand on my shoulder, firm, grounding.

“Have you been treating this like a mission?” he asked. “There's no right jutsu or strategy that will fix it. Kakashi, Iruka isn’t a mission. He’s the man you love.”

I flinched at that, though it was the truth.

Guy’s grip tightened, his voice steady. “If what you’re doing breaks him, then stop. Try something else. Be patient. Sit with him in the dark until he’s ready to move again. What's important is just being there.”

I let the words settle. They were blunt, simple, exactly what I needed.

When I slipped back into the apartment, Iruka hadn’t moved. He was still curled in the blanket, still staring like the world he knew was gone.

So I laid down beside him, didn’t speak, didn’t press. Just wrapped one arm around him and let him know I was staying.

He hadn’t moved in hours, but he hadn't pushed me away either. I sat with him, like Guy told me, waiting in the silence.

When his hand finally twitched against the pillow, I leaned closer.

“Iruka,” I said softly. “Tell me what you want.”

For a long time, there was nothing. Just the hush of his breathing, the scrape of my own heart against my ribs. Then, hoarse, raw, muffled against the blanket:

“I just… want to feel whole again.”

The words cut through me because I could hear the truth in them. Not better, not healed. Whole.

I brushed his hair back, coaxing him to face me. His eyes were wet, dark, and hollowed.

“What is it you’re missing?” I asked. “Not in shinobi terms. Just tell me what it feels like.”

He swallowed, voice shaking. “It’s like… being in a river. Like being held by it. Pressure all around me, sound carrying back. It made the world make sense. Now it’s just—” His voice cracked, the tears spilling. “Just empty.”

He broke then, pressing his face against my chest, his shoulders trembling. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “I can’t… live like this.”

I wrapped him tight, arms anchoring him until his sobs wore down to shudders. My own jaw clenched, anger sharp in my gut, not at him, but at this medicine, at myself, at the people who put him here.

When his breathing steadied, I pressed a kiss into his hair. “Then I’ll give you that.”

He blinked up at me, confused, but I was already thinking.

If Tsunade said hot springs were too risky with infection or if it was too much for him, I could work around it. I was the Copy Ninja, I had earth to carve out a hollow, water to fill it, and fire to heat it. He didn’t need chakra for this, just the pressure, the sound, the feel.

Just somewhere his body could remember what it was like to be held by something bigger than himself.

I tipped his chin up, meeting his tired gaze. “I’ll make you a place that feels like home again. You don’t have to ask. Just let me try.”

For the first time in days, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Not peace, not yet, but hope.

It took a day to get Tsunade’s permission, and another to make it real. Tenzo and I found a clearing half a day north of the village: private, quiet, edged by rock and birch. He shaped the basin with wood-release; I sealed the walls with earth and tempered the heat with fire until the stones steamed gently. By nightfall, the air smelled of mineral and cedar instead of antiseptic.

Iruka stood at the edge, wrapped in one of Tenzo’s spare cloaks, watching the steam rise.

“You built this?” he asked, voice soft.

“We built this,” I corrected. “Tenzo says the structure will be good for five years.”

It was quiet for a while, just the wind through birch leaves.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

The steam curled in soft ribbons over the spring as Iruka stepped in. For a heartbeat, he hesitated at the edge, palms hovering above the surface like he was afraid to break it. Then he sank in with a slow breath.

The change was immediate. His whole body shuddered, a sound escaping him—half gasp, half sob. He ducked under completely, hair fanning out around him, staying there until I was ready to drag him out.

When he surfaced again, tears mixed with the droplets on his cheeks.

“It’s—” his voice broke. “—I can feel again.”

He sat there up to his chin, eyes unfocused, breathing quick, like someone who’s just been pulled out of a nightmare. Every ripple that brushed his shoulders grounded him. His hands ran through the water as if memorizing it.

I crouched beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Better?”

He nodded, unable to speak, just leaning into the warmth. For the first time since the medicine, he looked alive.

He stayed in the water a long time, long enough that the surface stopped steaming and the Sun began to set. I sat on the edge, sandals off, toes dipped in, watching the tension unwind from his body.

After a while, Iruka tilted his head toward me. “It’s different now,” he murmured, voice still rough. “… but it’s something.”

“Different how?” I asked, keeping my tone careful, quiet.

He glanced toward the center of the spring, then back to me. “Like someone turned down the volume. Normally, I can feel the passive echoes, but even the active echo feels muffled,” he said

I lifted a brow, he caught it, and explained. “Passive is… everything. The air, the creak of branches, the weight of the rain. I don’t reach for it, it’s just on.”

He lifted a hand and let a ripple fan outward. “Active is when I push. When I send the signal out myself and wait for it to come back.” He looked at me then, eyes dark and calm. “Close your eyes.”

I hesitated, but did as he asked.

A moment later, a soft plop, the sound of a pebble dropped into the water. Then I felt the waves hit my toes.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s passive,” he said. “That’s what I feel all the time. Even when I'm sleeping. It’s like the world breathing.”

Another pause, and then a wave of pressure brushed against me, a steady push of water that rolled through the water, around my feet, then eased back again.

“This,” Iruka said quietly, “is active. I send the chakra out, it touches everything, and it comes back. If I focus, I can tell where something is, what shape it takes, how it’s moving.”

I opened my left eye, my Sharingan reflecting on the surface between us. I could see it then, the thin ring of chakra expanding and folding back into him like the heartbeat of the water itself.

“It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. “And overwhelming.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s normal to me. Like breathing. That’s why losing it felt like… drowning.”

“Iruka—” I started, but he turned toward me before I could finish, closing the space between us. His lips trembled when he spoke.

“But I’m okay now,” he whispered. “You got me back.”

His hand brushed my jaw—slow, deliberate. Searching, not hesitant. I leaned into the touch, letting him take his time, his pulse steadying under my fingertips when I caught his wrist. The water rippled between us, a quiet heartbeat.

I didn’t rush the moment. I just stayed there, forehead to forehead, his breath warm against my cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For not giving up on me.”

“Never crossed my mind.”

He reached up, tugging my mask down, and kissed me—soft at first, tentative, then deeper. The warmth of it, the way he melted into me, stole the breath from my chest. I pulled him closer, steadying his body as the water rocked around us in tiny waves.

He pressed against me, shivering, his hands searching, relearning. When he whispered “Let me feel you again” against my neck, it nearly undid me. His voice carried that same aching need that had haunted the hospital; need for connection, for proof he was alive and still wanted, still wanted me.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I managed, but he only nodded, eyes dark and sure.

I kissed him again, deeper, slower this time, until every sound he made blurred with the rhythm of the water.

When he was ready, I moved my hand lower, my hand brushed his length, and he shivered, but I kept moving until he froze.

"Kakashi?" he asked, confused. I kissed him again lightly.

"Trust me, just relax." He hesitated and then did as I asked. He was uncertain at first, then melted into my kiss as I pressed one and then two fingers into him. When I found what I was looking for, his whole body reacted. He grabbed my shoulders like he needed something to anchor himself.

He said my name, breathless as I grabbed him with my other hand and watched it build. His moans, his whimpers, and his pleas for more. I showered him in soft kisses as I kept my hands focused on what he needed. He bit my shoulder to keep from screaming as he finished. Pleasure rolled through him in waves. Each one warming my heart and turning me on at the same time.

By the time it stopped, I was holding him again, his head resting on my shoulder, and his body was loose. When I reached for myself, he moved with me, and the rest of the world dissolved; the steam, the cold night air, all of it fading into heat and quiet gasps.

For a while, it was just us. I held him close, his head tucked beneath my chin, his breath slowing against my throat. The water lapped softly around us, carrying the last of our exhaustion away.

“You’re safe,” I murmured against his hair.

He hummed something that might’ve been my name and relaxed completely, boneless and warm in my arms.

I stayed like that for a long time, letting him drift. The water cooled, the stars came out, and for the first time in weeks, he looked happy.

When I finally moved to reheat the spring, he stirred, barely opening his eyes. I kissed the corner of his mouth, smiling.

“Sleep,” I whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

He managed a faint, sleepy grin. “Only if you stay.”

“I’m just reheating the water. I'll be right back.”

He was floating half awake when I came back. The water was steaming again. I slid back in, careful not to splash him and grateful that the heat chased the chill from my skin. He moved to me and rested his head against my shoulder, falling back to sleep.

We stayed that way until the steam thinned and the fireflies came. I brushed my fingers through his damp hair, more out of habit than thought. He’d been tense even in sleep the entire week, twitching at every sound. Now, I almost couldn't believe this was all he needed.

The forest was quiet; there was nothing to startle him. Just the hiss of cooling stone.

I whispered, “It's getting cold, I'm taking you inside.”

He murmured something I didn’t catch, maybe my name, maybe just the sigh of breath leaving his lungs.

When his breathing deepened again, I carried him into the cabin, removed his wet clothes, and shifted him gently to the bed Tenzo had built. I pulled the blanket over him and sat for a long while watching the moonlight play across his face.

By the time the moon was high, a chill had crept into the cabin. I pulled Iruka’s blanket higher before lighting the small fireplace. The flame caught quick, shadows flickering against the cedar walls.

This far from the village, there were no security patrols. I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. Staying awake wasn’t an option anymore. I’d been running on empty for days, maybe longer. Every hour spent watching Iruka breathe, waiting for him to recover. I’d even stopped noticing how little sleep I was getting.

I bit my thumb, pressed my hand to the floor, and summoned the pack.

A puff of smoke and familiar scents filled the room.

Pakkun looked me over with one skeptical eye. “Kakashi… why are you naked?”

I sighed. “I suppose I should have put clothes on for this.”

Biscuit padded forward, nose twitching. “Iruka’s here, but he smells wrong. Was he poisoned?”

“No,” I said. “Chakra-suppressant. Plus whatever else Tsunade prescribed.”

The others sniffed the air, satisfied. Pakkun tilted his head, still studying me. “You look worse than he does. Is that why you called us?”

I nodded. “Could you keep watch while I sleep? We’re north of the village, long story.”

Pakkun gave a short huff. “Don’t worry about it. Biscuit and Shiba wanted to see Iruka anyway.” His tone made it sound like they’d been pestering him for days.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching down to scratch behind his ear.

He ducked away instantly. “Don’t touch me—you’re naked, and I don’t know where your hands have been.”

I laughed under my breath as he trotted off to organize the others. Shiba and Urushi slipped outside first, noses to the wind. Pakkun and Bull took positions at the door and window. The rest padded after me to the bedroom, tails wagging softly.

I crawled under the blanket, pulling Iruka close, his warmth seeping into me as the exhaustion finally hit. Biscuit circled once and flopped down against Iruka’s legs, sighing contentedly.

The fire cracked. Iruka stirred, mumbled something I didn’t catch, then settled again. His breathing evened out.

He was safe. I was safe. And he was finally himself again.

Uhei curled up behind my legs, tugging the blanket tight. He thumped me with his tail until I shut my eye.

Sleep came fast and heavy, dragging me under before I even settled.

When I finally stirred, the cabin was full of sunlight and the smell of smoke and wet cedar. The fire had burned down to embers, and something warm was pressed against my leg. I cracked one eye open to find Pakkun curled by my hip, snoring softly.

Across the room, Iruka was awake.

He sat on the floor in one of my shirts, hair curling at the ends, surrounded by my pack like it was the most natural thing in the world. Biscuit was half in his lap, tail thumping. Shiba leaned into his side with her eyes closed, and even Bull had stretched out beside him, massive head resting heavy on Iruka’s knee while he rubbed behind his ear.

It was nearly eleven by the angle of the sun through the window.

Akino lounged near the door, alert but lazy, while Urushi grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “hungry.” Iruka laughed—a low, warm sound I hadn’t heard in weeks. “If you promise not to tattle to Tsunade about me being up, I’ll cook something for you later.”

“That’s bribery,” Akino said dryly.

“It’s effective,” Iruka countered, still smiling.

I stayed where I was for a moment, just watching. He looked… normal. Healthy. Color in his face, humor in his voice. The sound of the dogs’ breathing filled the cabin in a steady rhythm that felt like the world finally setting itself right.

Pakkun stirred, blinking up at me. “Morning,” he mumbled. “You slept like the dead.”

“Feels like the first time I actually have,” I said, voice rough.

He smirked. “Iruka’s good for you. Even Bull’s civil.”

At the mention of his name, Bull lifted his head and gave a soft huff before settling it back in Iruka’s lap. Iruka smiled down at him, scratching behind his ear.

He looked over his shoulder at me then, eyes bright in the late-morning light. “You’re up.”

“Barely,” I admitted, sitting up.

“You needed it.”

I stretched, every muscle complaining. “Apparently.”

He chuckled, and for a while the only sounds were the dogs shifting, the river nearby, and the soft rustle of birch leaves outside.

I finally got up when I noticed Iruka shiver. Bull helped him move closer to the fire once I coaxed it back to life. He was still wrapped in just my shirt, bare legs tucked under the blanket Shiba had dragged over. Biscuit and Shiba lay at his sides, Shiba’s head in his lap. He leaned back against Bull like they’d been doing this for years.

“You’re spoiling them again,” I said, pulling on my pants.

He smiled, lazy. “They’ve earned it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Behind me, Pakkun made a noise suspiciously close to a snicker. “About time you found your clothes,” he said. “Wasn’t sure how long I’d have to live with that view.”

I ignored him, which only encouraged him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he added, “I’ve seen worse. But next time you summon me, at least pretend to have some decency.”

Iruka laughed, and that sound was worth every bit of the embarrassment.

Urushi yawned and flopped onto his side. “If you two are done flirting, we’re starving.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Fine.” I grabbed my shirt and pouch. “Uhei, Urushi—you’re with me. The rest of you, keep watch.”

Bull gave a grunt that sounded like acknowledgment. Shiba lifted his head, tail thumping once before setting it back down across Iruka’s legs protectively.

Iruka’s voice followed me. “Be careful.”

“Always.” I leaned down, brushed a kiss against his temple, and grabbed the canteens from the shelf.

Outside, the forest had already warmed under the early-afternoon sun. The air still held a crisp edge, but the chill was fading fast, replaced by the clean scent of birch and moss. The dogs’ paws were silent on the trail as we made our way to the river. Urushi trotted ahead, sniffing for game, while Uhei stayed close, ears twitching for any hint of movement.

It felt good to move again without the weight of fear sitting on my chest.

When we got back, the cabin was comfortably warm. Iruka had managed to move to the table, still wrapped in the blanket, watching the fire through half-lidded eyes.

“We’re only eating fish?” he asked.

“Nope,” I told him, setting the cleaned trout beside the pack Tenzo had left on the counter. “Tenzo packed half of Konoha’s pantry before we left.”

I unpacked what I needed—flour, salt, butter, and a small wedge of lemon wrapped in paper. Tenzo never forgot details.

Iruka raised an eyebrow. “You’re actually going to cook?”

“Why not?” I said. “We have the time.”

He smiled a little, half-amused. “I figured it’d be field rations and roasted meat. You know… shinobi food.”

“I can do better than that,” I said simply, already rinsing the fillets. I didn’t brag or explain. The motions were automatic, dusting the fish in flour, heating butter until it foamed and went just past golden, the faint nutty scent filling the cabin.

Iruka watched quietly as I worked, the way people watch something unexpectedly graceful.

When the fish hit the pan, it hissed. I tilted it just right, spooning the butter back over the meat until the skin crisped and the edges browned. The lemon went in last, the sharp scent cutting through the richness.

He blinked when I set the plate in front of him. “This looks… really good.”

I shrugged. “Just something I remember.”

He picked up his chopsticks. “From where?”

I hesitated a beat. “Old habit,” I said finally, and left it at that. Some things didn’t need explaining.

He studied me for a moment but didn’t push. Then he tasted it and froze mid-bite.

“This is incredible,” he said around a mouthful.

I smiled behind my mask. “Eat while it’s hot.”

He did, slower this time, eyes flicking toward me with something like embarrassment. “I feel bad for giving you Miso Soup the other night.”

I waved it off. “Miso Soup is good. Simple’s good.”

He smiled, sheepish but content. “You could open a restaurant if you ever got tired of missions.”

“Too much paperwork,” I said automatically, pouring him another cup.

The smell of browned butter and citrus lingered, mixing with cedar smoke and the faint chill of autumn slipping in through the open window. Iruka leaned back, cup in hand, warmth returning to his face.

Outside, the leaves turned slowly in the breeze. Inside, I was just happy to see Iruka eating again.

After breakfast and medicine, Iruka drifted back toward the spring like it was instinct. I didn’t stop him. Tsunade’s medicine still dulled his chakra, and though he was walking better, every step outside the water made him look like he was moving through fog. In the pool, he came alive again.

Bull followed him out, settling behind the stones where the heat hit strongest. Biscuit trotted ahead, tail waving. Shiba kept watch from the rocks above.

I sat on the porch, reading Icha Icha, pretending not to notice how the dogs had fallen into rhythm with him. Biscuit had started using his tail like a signal flag—gentle taps against Iruka’s leg whenever someone moved nearby. Iruka never missed the cue; he’d lift his head, orient, and relax again.

It was almost funny, my own pack had adjusted faster than I had.

“Did you hear that?” Pakkun said beside me.

I looked up from my book. “Hmm?”

“I hear it,” Urushi said, ears twitching. “It’s coming from Iruka.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Iruka said quickly, startled by all the attention.

“Do whatever you just did,” Biscuit said from beside him.

Iruka frowned. “I don’t even know what I did.”

“Try anyway,” Biscuit pressed.

Iruka sighed and focused on the water. A second later, every ninken’s head turned toward him.

Pakkun padded over, exchanged a few quiet words, then came back to lie beside me.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He lifted a paw for silence. “If you hear the sound, stand up. Iruka, start again. Four seconds between signals.”

Iruka nodded, concentration pulling at his brow. The water rippled once.

Bull stood first, letting out a deep rumble that rolled through the ground. Iruka beamed, startled but pleased.

When Bull settled again, Urushi, Biscuit, Pakkun, and Shiba rose almost in unison. Pakkun gave a short nod and they all sat. A few seconds later, they stood again.

I stared, amazed. Even with his chakra suppressed, Iruka was somehow signaling to them.

When he finally leaned back against the rocks, he looked happy and completely drained. I gave Pakkun a look that said start talking.

He stretched. “Iruka’s sensing ability runs on a blend of chakra and sound. The water amplifies the signal, so we can hear the faint pulses. The first was low; only Bull caught it. The second was high. The last was right in the middle.”

“So he’s like a bat,” I said.

Pakkun huffed. “Maybe. We’ll see how it works once the suppressants wear off. There’s a tactical edge if you can’t hear it, but we can.”

He wasn’t wrong. If the ninken hadn’t been here, I never would’ve noticed. Whatever advantages it gave him, keeping it quiet was the priority. Root already knew too much.

I pushed that thought aside. My focus now was getting him healthy and getting both of us trained.

The sun was high now, the air warm and hazy, that perfect stillness before autumn tips into evening. Iruka stayed in until his fingers pruned, head tilted back against the stone. When he finally climbed out, Bull was there to steady him, lowering that huge head so Iruka could lean a hand on it.

He smiled at the dog, eyes clear. “You really don’t leave, do you?”

Bull rumbled, a sound so low it vibrated through the ground. Iruka laughed quietly and scratched behind his ear. “Yeah. I like you too.”

Watching them, the pieces started to fall into place. Tsunade’s assumption that he’d ruptured his attacker’s eardrums was looking more like proof than theory. What else could he do if he pushed it? Could he actually see through things the way he’d guessed in his journal? Could he communicate with the ninken without me realizing it?

I looked up again; he was still smiling at Bull. I let them be. He needed this. The pack gave him ways to engage with the world again.

He wrapped himself in a towel, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the heat. Biscuit herded him gently toward the cabin, brushing his tail against Iruka’s knee with every step like a metronome.

“You’re bossier than Kakashi,” Iruka told him.

“Not possible,” I called from the porch. “Pakkun still holds that title.”

He grinned, and that single look was worth everything we’d been through.

From my left came a snort. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Pakkun muttered, curling his tail around his paws. “Someone has to keep you idiots alive.”

Iruka laughed again — a real, unguarded laugh that made even Bull’s tail thump against the dirt.

I didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.

Chapter Text

Kakashi POV:

By the time I followed Iruka inside, he’d pulled on one of my old shirts, too big on him, hanging to mid-thigh, and was rubbing at his half-dried hair with a towel. The look suited him, all warmth and sun-touched ease.

“Planning to keep that?” I asked, leaning in the doorway.

He looked over his shoulder with a small grin. “You weren’t wearing it.”

“Fair point.”

I stepped closer, intending to steal a kiss before he could make another comment, but a familiar gravelly voice beat me to it.

“Decency, Kakashi. Try it sometime.”

Pakkun was sprawled near the hearth, tail flicking lazily.

I groaned. “You’ve got the worst timing.”

“Please,” he said, stretching. “I’ve seen enough of you two to last a lifetime. Still, good to see you both vertical and clothed.”

Iruka laughed softly, ducking his head, and the sound made something unclench in my chest.

Pakkun’s tone shifted, lighter. “For what it’s worth, we’re glad he’s one of us now. The pack’s been… happier.”

Iruka looked down, brow furrowed. “Wait—really?”

“Signed, sealed, and scented,” Pakkun said. “Congratulations, professor.”

That made him smile, real, bright, and tired all at once.

Before I could tease him about it, Bull’s head lifted toward the trees, ears twitching. A moment later the forest echoed with Guy’s unmistakable shout.

“KAKASHI! MY ETERNAL RIVAL, YOUR FRIENDS BRING MORALE AND MEAT!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course he does.”

Iruka groaned, letting his head fall back against the chair. “I was finally comfortable,” he muttered, “and now I have to put on pants.”

Pakkun snorted. “Tragic. Truly.”

“You could always greet them like that,” I said, just to see the look he’d give me.

He didn’t disappoint. One sharp glare, the kind that could silence a classroom.

“Right,” I said, holding up both hands in surrender. “Pants it is.”

Outside, Guy’s voice boomed again, closer this time, joined by the sound of Anko laughing and Tenzo trying, and failing, to get them to lower the volume.

“I hate that I can already smell the hot pot,” Pakkun muttered.

“Don’t pretend you’re not excited,” I said.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” he replied, tail flicking.

Iruka sighed, standing to grab the folded pants draped near the fire. “Guess the quiet part of recovery’s over.”

“Yeah,” I said, watching him pull them on with a tired smile. “But at least we get dinner out of it.”

He smirked faintly. “I'd rather have your cooking again.”

“You will if you survive Guy’s entrance.”

He laughed under his breath, and that was all it took. Before I could second-guess myself, I crossed the space between us and kissed him, quick but certain. He startled for half a heartbeat, then leaned into it, smiling against my mouth.

It wasn’t about want. It was about relief. About being alive. About this tiny, impossible peace we’d managed to find.

I drew back, just enough to breathe. “I needed that,” I said softly.

“You and me both.”

From the doorway, Pakkun gave a theatrical sigh. “Wonderful. You’re both sentimental and underdressed. Truly thriving.”

“Go help Tenzo unpack the food,” I said without looking up.

“Gladly,” he muttered, padding outside.

By then, the voices were close — Guy’s booming laugh, Anko’s cackle, the soft splintering and resealing of Tenzo’s chakra as he reshaped a fallen branch into a makeshift bench.

Iruka glanced toward the window, pulling on a pair of soft cotton pants, half amused, half resigned. “Can we pretend we’re not here?”

“Unlikely”

Guy burst into view first, beaming like the sun itself. “KAKASHI! IRUKA! THE FLAMES OF FRIENDSHIP BURN BRIGHTER THAN EVER!”

Iruka barely had time to brace before Guy enveloped him in a careful but crushing hug.

“Guy—air,” I warned.

Guy released him instantly, patting his shoulders. “You look radiant, my friend! Truly the embodiment of perseverance!”

Anko appeared next, waving a sealed scroll. “Got your invite loud and clear, sensei.”

“I didn’t send one.”

“Details,” she said, grinning as she unsealed the scroll, revealing a pot that immediately started steaming. “Hot pot, courtesy of Konoha’s least responsible adults.”

Genma ambled in behind her, senbon shifting lazily between his teeth. “She’s not wrong.”

Shizune followed last, med bag over her shoulder. “You two actually look better than I expected.”

Iruka smiled faintly. “I rest a little easier here,” he said, voice soft but steady.

“Good,” Shizune replied. Then her gaze flicked toward the fireplace. “You’ll want more ventilation. Too much smoke will irritate his lungs.”

I stood and cracked one of the side windows. “Will this be alright?”

Iruka chuckled under his breath. “I’m fine. I didn’t even notice any smoke.”

“Because you’re sitting under the draft,” Shizune said dryly, though she gave me a small approving nod.

Once she seemed satisfied with the setup, Iruka and I stepped outside. Guy’s voice boomed over the crackle of fire as Tenzo handled the fish. A second campfire flickered near the tree line where Genma and Anko were fussing over the hot pot, arguing about seasoning like a pair of Genin on kitchen duty.

Shizune joined us on the porch steps, legs tucked neatly under her. Pakkun sprawled at her feet, head resting on his paws. For a while, it was peaceful — the rhythm of chopping, the smell of wood smoke and spice, the quiet that settled between laughter.

“Guy swears he’s marinating the fish in ‘the flames of youth," Shizune murmured.

I sighed. “So… unseasoned.”

Iruka’s laugh was soft, the kind that came from somewhere deep. “Be nice. They’re trying.”

He was pale again, eyes half-lidded, fatigue pulling at the corners of his expression. Shizune must’ve noticed too, because she rose, ladled some of the hot broth into a small bowl, and brought it back.

“Sip this before dinner,” she said, handing it to him. “It’ll help.”

Iruka accepted it, both hands around the bowl, breathing in the steam before taking a sip. “It’s good,” he said after a moment, surprised.

“That’s because Anko hasn’t touched it yet,” Genma called from the other fire.

“Keep talking and you’ll be eating it off the ground,” she shot back.

The easy laughter that followed rolled across the clearing like warmth. Even the dogs seemed content: Bull near the fire, Shiba circling Anko’s ankles, Biscuit curled up at Iruka’s feet.

By the time the fish was ready, everyone had drifted closer. Tenzo passed around small bowls, and I noticed more than one hand offering Iruka bites before he could even lift his own chopsticks.

“Try this one,” Guy insisted.

“Here, taste this,” Anko added, holding out a skewer.

Iruka looked overwhelmed but smiled through it, laughing quietly as Shizune pressed another bowl of broth into his hands.

I reached over occasionally to steal a bite from his portion. He didn’t protest, just looked faintly relieved.

As the sun dipped lower, the light spilled through the open window and caught in Iruka’s hair. The heat from the fireplace was starting to warm the space again. His head tilted, eyes half-closed, content and exhausted.

Pakkun yawned, stretching beside me on the futon we pulled out for Iruka. “He’s done for,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, watching Iruka’s breathing steady. “Let him sleep.”

Genma put out the fires before Tenzo added another room to the cottage with practiced ease. Anko inspected it, nodded in approval, then sat at the new table and pulled out a bottle of sake.

Guy finally settled near us with his own futon while the others drifted toward the table. Anko, Genma, and Shizune started drinking and playing cards. A few of the dogs padded over to watch, Akino jumped into the game and, predictably, started winning.

“I can’t believe I’m getting my ass kicked by a dog,” Anko muttered, downing another cup.

“Believe it, sister,” Akino replied smoothly, tail flicking.

Pakkun glanced over, grinning. “He cheats. I taught him.”

Shizune groaned. “That explains a lot.”

The laughter started again.

Guy’s voice dropped as he leaned toward me. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

I glanced at him. “Yeah. You were right. He just needed me to be there.”

Guy smiled, all warmth and conviction. “Then I’m glad you were.”

Shizune’s voice cut across the quiet again, indignant. “Pakkun! That’s cheating!”

“Don’t hate the player, medic,” he said, tail wagging lazily.

Iruka stirred at the noise, blinking once before settling again. I brushed a hand through his hair, and he went still, asleep before I could even say anything.

Guy reached for a blanket and handed it to me. I tucked it around Iruka and leaned back, the soft hum of laughter and firelight wrapping around the cabin like a heartbeat.

We sat quietly for a while. Guy got up to grab a drink and settled back beside me, closer this time.

“Kakashi, I am your rival and best friend, so I know you,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”

I looked down at Iruka, still asleep in my lap. “Trying not to think.”

Guy smiled faintly. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Not good at it yet.”

He followed my gaze. “Is he really doing better?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But he’s not safe.”

Guy’s brow furrowed. “Because of the men who attacked him?”

“Yeah. It was Root.”

That name was enough. Donzo’s ANBU.

Guy leaned forward. “I never would have imagined our own doing this… but that man is truly. Something. Horrible.”

“They killed one of their own who was defecting,” I said quietly. “When they came for Iruka.”

Guy glanced at him, then back at me. “Why do they want him?”

I ran my fingers through Iruka’s hair to settle myself, watching how the ends curled when you looked closely. Tsunade wanted us to keep Iruka’s abilities secret, but Guy was my oldest friend. Obito’s words echoed in my head: Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.

“They want what he can do,” I said finally. “He has a bloodline ability that mixes chakra and sound to feel his surroundings. It’s incredible. And he has a jutsu they want. Donzo would rather use him than kill him, but they’ll settle for dead if they can’t control him.”

Guy’s voice dropped to a rare whisper. “So the one they killed died trying to protect him?”

I shook my head. “They grabbed her because a small group defected from Root. She was meeting Iruka for help getting the kids out. Root silenced her to make sure no one else tried.”

Guy exhaled slowly, anger tightening his shoulders. “They doesn’t know when to quit.”

“No. He’s too ambitious, and the elders keep pretending not to see it.”

The fire cracked, throwing soft light across the room. From the table came a cheer as Pakkun pulled off an impossible win.

Guy’s voice softened. “You think they’ll come again?”

“They will. They won’t stop until they get what they came for... or until they realize I’ll carve new ambition into anyone who tries.”

He looked at me over the rim of his cup. “You always did have a poetic way of promising murder.”

I smiled faintly. “Old habits.”

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the fire and Iruka’s steady breathing.

“Tsunade mentioned she isn’t sending you on missions right now,” Guy said finally.

“I’m assigned to protect him during recovery and afterward,” I said. “She wants me working on controlling the new Sharingan and training him so he can protect himself. Root isn’t his only problem. His bloodline traces back to the Funato Clan, and they might come for him, too. He needs to be ready if they do.”

Guy nodded. “It’ll keep you both busy—and together.”

“That’s part of it too,” I admitted. “She doesn’t think I’d be effective if I left now... She’s right.”

Guy smiled gently. “You’ve been the unattached type since we were kids. I never thought you’d let someone get this close.”

I glanced at Iruka again. “Neither did I.”

“He eases some of your darkness,” Guy said simply. “You’re sharper, calmer. Not softer—just… warmed in a way that’s more dangerous.”

I snorted. “That’s a generous interpretation.”

“Kakashi, this is one of those times I’m right,” he said with that quiet certainty that never needed volume.

I looked at the fire, remembering the few times I’d been with people, faces I barely recalled, connections that never lasted. I’d kept it simple, physical, controlled. Until now, control was all I had.

Guy must have read it in my silence. “You finally started healing.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I just found something worth standing still for.”

He smiled. “Either way, that’s progress.”

At the table, Anko shouted for another round and Pakkun barked in victory. Shizune groaned, demanding a rematch.

Guy leaned back with a quiet laugh. “Some things never change.”

“Good,” I said softly, looking down at Iruka again. “The world’s cruel enough. I’d rather keep this part the same.”

Guy nodded, eyes half-closing—then they snapped open. “Funato!”

I glanced over.

He straightened, realization settling in. “Those sea-raiders from the Mist? I remember hearing about them during the war. They drowned an entire convoy with one ship. If that’s his bloodline, no wonder Root’s interested.” He shook his head, gaze falling back to Iruka. “We’re lucky he’s kind.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment, broken only by the fire and the distant laughter.

“Kakashi,” he said at last, quieter now. “I’ll be heading back early. My team’s excited about this mission.” He smiled, easy and sure. “When I return, I’ll help Iruka with taijutsu.”

He patted my shoulder once, then slid under his own blanket.

Outside, the wind picked up. The fire popped once, and Iruka shifted closer in his sleep. I looked over at the group again: drunk, loud, and happy. They’d be fine without me. Pakkun would make sure they didn’t break anything.

I lay down beside Iruka, Guruko curled in his arms. Sleep found me just as Guy started snoring.

Chapter Text

Iruka's POV:

I woke to a low growl pressed against my ribs. Guruko.

The fire had burned to embers, the room dim except for the faint moonlight bleeding through the window. Everyone else was asleep, Kakashi beside me, Guy’s soft snoring next to us, the occasional twitch of Shiba dreaming.

Guruko’s ears flicked toward the Southeast wall. Something’s wrong.

I didn’t move at first. “What do you hear?” I whispered.

He lifted his head, nose twitching. “Someone’s out there,” he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. “Walking toward us.”

Every muscle in me went still. “How many?”

“One,” he said after a pause. “Chakra feels small. Smells like blood.”

My stomach tightened. A child.

Carefully, I eased out from under the blanket, mindful of Kakashi’s arm still draped across me. Guruko padded to the window and peered through the gap in the curtain, then came back, tail low.

“I think it’s a kid,” he said. “Bleeding bad.”

I nodded once. The medicine dulled my chakra, but I could still manage a whisper of it. I closed my eyes and sent a single low pulse outward. A ripple just strong enough to travel a few feet.

Bull.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faint but sure, came the heavy rhythm of paws and a low answering rumble.

When the door slid open, Bull filled the frame, breath fogging in the cold air. “You called.”

“There’s a child out there,” I said. “Take me to them.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the sleeping figures behind me. “It could be a trap.”

“It could,” I agreed. “Or it could be a child hurt, looking for shelter. We have a cabin full of Jōnin. Backup isn’t far away.”

Bull grumbled, low and deep, weighing the risk.

Biscuit trotted in from the side, tail snapping once. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

Bull gave a resigned snort. “You’re all going to get me chewed out.”

“Probably,” I said. “But let’s make it worth it.”

He crouched slightly, motioning with his head. “Then stay close.”

I climbed onto his broad back, wincing at the pull in my ribs. Biscuit took point, nose to the wind, and Urushi slipped in behind us, silent and alert.

As we stepped out into the dark, Guruko circled back to the futon and pressed against Kakashi’s side, a silent watch left in our place.

The cold found me first. It left a sharp pain in my lungs. The world up the mountain was all silver frost and rock cliffs. Somewhere ahead, beneath the trees, I could hear it now too: the uneven crunch of small feet and the faint metallic scent of blood.

Bull rumbled again, so low it vibrated through my bones. “We are almost there,” he said quietly.

“Alright, let’s not let them die out here,” I murmured, pushing away my pain and focusing on what needed to be done.

Kakashi POV:

Something shifted.

Not a sound, more the absence of one. The steady rhythm of breathing beside me… gone. A cold patch where warmth should have been.

My eye snapped open before my mind caught up.

Guruko sat upright beside the futon, ears forward, tail low.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“They went southeast along the ridge,” he said. “Iruka woke when I sensed something outside. I think it’s an injured child. Bull and Biscuit took him to see.”

For a heartbeat, I just stared. Took him.

I pushed up, every nerve coming online at once. “When?”

“Five minutes ago—maybe six.”

My pulse spiked, Not fear, not yet, but that sharp edge I hadn’t felt since Sasuke left. “Did he tell you to stay?”

Guruko shook his head. “Biscuit signaled me to. Iruka was focused on making sure a child in need doesn’t die.”

“That’s supposed to be my job,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. My mind was already sorting worst-case scenarios: Root scouts, bandits, a child used as bait.

He’s still weak. Chakra suppressed. Lungs fragile.

“Which way exactly?”

Guruko pointed with his nose. “They took the south path, then cut along the ridge. Bull said it could be a trap; Iruka told him to send for backup if it was.”

“Not good enough.” I was already reaching for my vest and weapons pouch. The ninken had it covered, but instinct didn’t care.

Guruko watched me pull on my flak jacket. “You’re going after them?”

I gave him a flat look. “Wouldn’t you?”

He sighed, a sound too human for a hound. “You’re going to wake Guy.”

“Good,” I said, fastening the pouch. “If it’s a trap, two of us will be better than one.”

As I moved for the door, Guruko padded after me. “He’ll be fine, you know.”

“Iruka?”

“Yeah. He’s kind, but he’s not stupid. He’s got Bull and Biscuit. They’d die before they let him get hurt.”

“I know.” My hand paused on the doorframe. “I just wish he’d woken me.”

The night air hit like a slap in the face. Southeast. Too far for me to smell or sense anything yet.

Behind me, a rustle. “Kakashi?” Guy’s voice, still rough with sleep. “What’s going on?”

“Iruka went out after a wounded child,” I said. “I’m going after him.”

Guy blinked once, then nodded, suddenly wide awake. “I’m coming.”

I gave a short nod and slipped into the trees. Within a minute, he was running beside me, silent except for the crunch of frost underfoot.

Iruka's POV:

Bull slowed, nostrils flaring. “Here,” he rumbled.

Between the trees, a small shape stumbled into view—barely ten or eleven, blood dark on one sleeve. Her right eye was swollen shut, lip split, and a narrow stab wound marred her chest.

I slid off Bull’s back before he could stop me and started toward her.

She jerked, steel flashing—a short blade, trembling in her hand.

I caught myself mid-step. Bull and Urushi were already in front of me, hackles raised. Biscuit moved behind, watching the shadows for an ambush.

“Hey,” I said quietly, palms open. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The girl’s breath hitched; the blade wavered.

“I’m a teacher from the Hidden Leaf,” I went on. “My name’s Iruka. What’s yours?”

For a heartbeat, nothing, then a whisper: “Hikari.”

“Alright, Hikari.” My voice stayed calm, the one I used with frightened students. “You’re hurt. Can I look at your injuries?”

She didn’t answer, just stared. I stayed still, forcing myself to wait. Finally, she gave the smallest nod.

I stepped in slowly, took the hand holding the knife, eased it free, and pulled her against me. “You’re safe now,” I murmured.

She didn’t react—no fear, no relief. Just shock.

“Urushi, cloth,” I said. He tore a strip from Kakashi’s shirt. He’s never letting me wear anything again.

I wrapped her arm, then checked the wound at her chest. Too deep for field dressing, but not immediately fatal.

“I have a friend at our cabin who can heal this,” I said. “Will you come with me?”

Another small nod. Her fingers slipped into mine, cold and sticky with blood. I leaned on Bull’s shoulder as we started back. Each breath scraped my ribs; the cold bit deeper than I wanted to admit, but I kept moving. She was all that mattered.

We’d made maybe fifty meters when two figures broke through the trees, Kakashi and Guy, running hard.

Relief. Then the look on Kakashi’s face: relief twisting into fury.

Hikari darted behind me as he closed the distance.

“Kakashi, it’s alright—”

His hands were already on me, checking for blood, for new injuries. “Why didn’t you wake me?” His voice was low, sharp. He pressed a palm to my skin and swore under his breath. “You’re freezing.”

He stripped off his flak, tugged his shirt over his head, and shoved it at me before I could argue.

“Hikari,” I said gently, ignoring his fussing, “these are some of my friends. They’ll help us, okay?”

She peeked out from behind me and nodded.

Guy crouched beside her with a soft grin. “Hey there, little warrior. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He lifted her easily, and she didn’t resist.

When I turned back, Kakashi was pulling his shirt over my head, jaw tight. Then the vest went back on, every movement clipped and silent.

Biscuit trotted up, a small blade clamped in his teeth. “She had this,” he said, setting it down.

Kakashi crouched, inspected it, then handed it to Bull. “Keep it. We’ll check it once everyone’s inside.”

Before I could protest, he hooked an arm under my knees and lifted me. “You’ve done enough,” he said, already moving.

Guy ran ahead with Hikari in his arms, Biscuit pacing them. The girl kept glancing back, eyes fixed on me as if making sure I was real.

Kakashi’s breath was steady against my hair. I could feel the anger still coiled under his calm.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” I murmured.

He looked down once, then ahead again. “You weren’t hurt. That’s what matters. Just stay warm. We’ll be back soon.”

The world blurred past—dark trees, silver frost, the rhythmic thud of his stride. I tucked my face away from the cold and just tried to quiet the questions forming in my mind.

By the time we broke through the trees, light was already glowing through the cabin window. Shizune’s silhouette framed in the lantern glow.

Guy carried Hikari inside first. The girl’s head lolled against his shoulder, her breathing ragged. Shizune was already rolling out her kit before he’d even set her down.

“Over here,” she said, gesturing to the futon nearest the fire. Her hands were glowing green before the others had time to blink. “How long ago did you find her?”

“Ten minutes,” Kakashi said, voice flat and clipped.

“Any increase in bleeding?”

“Some, not much. She’s cold,” Guy answered, tone more serious than I’d ever heard.

“Then get her warm,” Shizune ordered without looking up. “Anko, close the door. Tenzo, water, towels. Genma, keep the fire steady.”

They all moved without hesitation. Tenzo disappeared toward the back room, the sound of water sloshing a heartbeat later. Genma crouched near the hearth, feeding the flames. Anko barred the door, eyes flicking between the girl and the treeline outside.

I stood a few feet away, frozen. Blood. Too much of it. Something must have torn while we ran. I’d seen worse on battlefields, but never from a child this small or this quiet.

Kakashi’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Sit.”

“I can help—”

“Sit.” His tone was soft but immovable.

I obeyed, sinking into the nearest chair. The warmth stung my skin, and I realized I was still shivering.

Kakashi stripped off his flak, then the shirts I was wearing, before sliding behind me. The blanket came next, pulled tight around our shoulders as he wrapped his arms around me, sharing his heat.

“Don’t argue,” he murmured. “You’re freezing.”

Across the room, Shizune worked. “Her pulse is thready. The puncture wound to her left chest likely a broken rib that is pressing against her lung. If she were any older, she’d already be gone.” Her chakra light deepened to a steady glow. “Keep the fire strong, we need all the heat we can get.”

Genma’s voice came low, careful. “Where is she from?”

We all stayed quiet, because we didn't know.

Anko swore under her breath. “I want to know what bastard did this to a kid.”

Pakkun sat by the hearth, eyes narrowing at the other dogs. “You three managed to scare the life out of him,” he said dryly. “Maybe next time, start with the words ‘urgent rescue mission’ before you go charging into the dark.”

Biscuit’s ears flattened. “She smelled like a child.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Pakkun replied, voice softening. “Just reckless.”

Bull grunted. Urushi kept his gaze fixed on the floorboards.

“It was my decision,” I said, throat tight. “Don’t blame them.”

Pakkun tilted his head. “Oh, I’m blaming everyone equally.”

That drew a faint snort from Genma, the sound easing the pressure in the room by a hair.

Kakashi didn’t say anything. His arms stayed locked around me, steady and deliberate, like he was trying to keep me from dissolving into air.

Shizune finally exhaled, sitting back on her heels. “She’ll live. The wound’s closed, but she’s dangerously weak. She needs warmth, fluids, and quiet.”

Anko moved closer, still tense. “If her attacker is still out there, they might follow her here.”

“We can't move her yet,” Shizune said firmly. “She’s a child first, we will just have to keep her safe.”

That silenced even Anko.

Guy stepped in from the doorway, snow dusting his shoulders. “Perimeter’s clear. I’ll keep watch outside.”

Kakashi nodded. “Guruko, Urushi—set traps along the ridge. Biscuit, I need you to go report this to Tsunade.”

The dogs filed out quietly.

The room felt smaller after they left. The fire crackled. Hikari’s breathing steadied, faint but constant. The others lingered near the hearth: Anko cleaning her kunai, Tenzo wringing out towels, Genma leaning against the wall, his Senbon shifting as he watched the door.

Pakkun glanced at me. “You’ve got a thing for strays, Iruka.”

“She needed help,” I said softly.

“That’s true, but from what I hear, you have a habit of putting yourself at risk for kids.”

“Was I wrong?”

He snorted. “You? Probably not. Him?” He tilted his head toward Kakashi. “Ask me again in the morning.”

Kakashi didn’t rise to the bait. He just pressed his chin lightly against my shoulder, silent and watchful.

Shizune finished cleaning her tools, checked Hikari’s pulse once more, then straightened. “She’s stable. I’ll monitor her through the night.”

I looked at the girl. Her face was too still, expression blank even in sleep, but one hand clutched the edge of the blanket, small fingers curled around the fabric like she wasn’t ready to let go.

Kakashi’s voice came quietly behind me. “Get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

He huffed a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You always say that right before you pass out.”

Well, he knew me. The exhaustion was already creeping in, the warmth and the quiet pressing down like a tide. My eyes closed for a moment, and I felt him shift, steadying me when I swayed.

"If I'm going to sleep, then let me at least lie next to her. She needs to know she isn't alone." I said softly.

The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was the firelight catching the faint scars across Hikari’s arms. Old, deliberate, and proof that she’d already survived more than she should have.

When I woke, I felt warmth. A blanket, the low hum of the fire, the faint weight of a child pressed against me.

Hikari was still asleep, her head tucked beneath my chin, fingers curled tight in the fabric of my shirt. Every breath she took was small but steady.

I didn’t move. I just listened to her breathing, to the quiet scrape of someone stirring near the hearth.

Kakashi was sitting against the far wall, half in shadow, mask on, one knee drawn up. Tenzo sat cross-legged at the table, sorting through supplies with the kind of focus that meant his mind was anywhere but the gear. Genma leaned against the window frame, senbon shifting between his teeth, gaze fixed on the pale light outside.

It was calm, but not peaceful. The kind of calm that waits for something to go wrong.

Across the room, Bull padded in from the cold. His fur was still dusted with frost. Without a sound, he walked straight to Kakashi and dropped something beside him. The short blade from last night. Blood cleaned off, hilt dull in the morning light.

"Pakkun told me to get it clean before handing it to you," he said

Kakashi looked down at it, and the air in the room changed.

Tenzo glanced up. “That the knife you told him to keep?”

“Yeah.” Kakashi picked it up, turning it once in his gloved hand.

Even from where I sat, I saw the way his posture shifted. That subtle stillness he got when recognition hit.

Kakashi’s POV:

I’d hoped I was wrong.

The grip was worn smooth, the alloy slightly different, but the design, the weight, was unmistakable. Root used blades like these.

Tenzo was already watching me. “You recognize it.”

“Root uses blades like these,” I said quietly. “Modified, but the pattern’s there.”

Genma pushed off the wall, crossing the room. “You sure? Could be an old ANBU piece.”

“Not with this design.” I flipped the blade, showing them the shallow cross-cut at the base of the hilt. “Same mark I'd seen years ago while saving someone else.”

Tenzo’s mouth set in a hard line. “Then she’s one of them.”

Iruka looked up from the futon, voice low but steady. “One of who?”

I met his gaze. “The kids we were sent to find.”

Iruka watched her face for a moment. "She does look like the girl from the drawing you gave me," he said softly.

Tenzo nodded, “What are the odds one would come stumbling to us?”

Genma’s tone was grim. “Well, either Root already knows she’s gone or they think she is dead. If we rely on the first assumption, then they’re still operating in these woods; we’ve got company coming.”

I looked toward the futon. Iruka had shifted to block more of the light from her face, hand steady on her shoulder. She was still asleep, unaware that the entire war she’d run from was about to find her again.

“We’re leaving,” I said. “Now.”

Tenzo was already on his feet. “I'll grab Guy and Anko”

“Genma,” I said, “pack up Shizune’s field gear. Wake her up, we move in twenty.”

Iruka’s voice came softly from behind me. “She can’t move yet.”

“I know.” I glanced back at him. “Guy can carry her. I’ll take you.”

He shook his head.

"I'll go with Guy, you carry her," he said, and his expression left no room for arguing.

"Alright," I said.

He just nodded, pleased, looking down at the girl with that quiet, steady expression that made my chest ache and ease all at once.

Bull rumbled low beside me, a sound almost like agreement. I reached down, resting a hand on his shoulder. "If anything happens, you keep him safe,” I murmured. He nodded, then trotted over to Iruka.

We’d found our missing child. Now we just had to keep her alive long enough to bring her home.