Chapter Text
Out of every teacher at the Academy, Iruka was the only one who’d considered the possibility that Naruto was actually sick.
He didn’t believe that it was likely, of course – this was still Uzumaki Naruto they were talking about, and it was far more likely that he was just getting up to no good – but he figured it wouldn’t be impossible. A couple of kids from another class were sick with the stomach flu. Maybe Naruto had picked up the bug as well. He figured, if Naruto was planning some sort of extremely-elaborate prank, he wouldn’t have kept silent about it for this long.
He’d discussed as much with his colleagues over lunch break; he’d proposed the idea of maybe checking in on Naruto, to make sure he wasn’t dead. They’d shut him down swiftly. Some had laughed. Iruka shouldn’t waste his time, they’d said. Naruto didn’t get sick. He’d turn up eventually, and if not, then maybe the Academy would finally know some peace and quiet.
A couple of weeks ago, Iruka would’ve laughed along with them and would’ve left the subject alone. But something about that didn’t sit right with him. And that’s how he’d ended up at Naruto’s front door.
There’d been an absolutely terrifying moment, right after the first time he’d knocked, when he realized he couldn’t sense Naruto’s chakra signature at all. Which meant that either he wasn’t home – which would mean his colleagues were right – or that he was dead.
Slightly less terrifying, but still concerning, is the discovery that Naruto is home, and alive. He must’ve caught a pretty serious illness if it’s messing with his chakra reserves like that. Either that or he’s somehow exhausted his chakra. Iruka waits to see for himself.
The door clicks open, revealing a scowl on a pale, sweaty face. Naruto stares up at him, leaning against the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s wearing his T-shirt backwards.
Well, he certainly doesn’t look healthy. It’s satisfying to realize that Iruka wasn’t wrong about Naruto being sick. He’ll make sure to rub that in Mizuki’s face the next time they talk.
Naruto rolls his eyes at Iruka’s silence and shifts to scratch at his back. When he sees Iruka looking, he explains: “It’s, uh, some sort of rash. You should keep your distance. It’s probably contagious.” He coughs without holding a hand in front of his mouth, and Iruka automatically takes a step back. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yeah,” Iruka replies, directing his attention to the conversation. “I wanted to tell you that I brought the food to your dog, and I wanted to ask if you’d like me to check in on him again. It’s been a couple of days, after all.”
He hadn’t planned on offering to check in on the dog again, but he finds himself saying it anyway. He doesn’t normally empathize with the kid easily, but Naruto is already grounded and sick. Iruka doesn’t feel like adding to that misery by letting his dog die on top of everything else.
To his surprise, Naruto just shrugs absent-mindedly. “You don’t have to go see him again. He’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Iruka asks, bending down to look Naruto in the eyes. “It’s really not a bother.”
Naruto smiles at him a little, his gaze bleary. “Thanks,” he says, “but, no.”
Iruka holds the eye contact a moment longer, just in case he changes his mind, but Naruto just closes his eyes. “Okay,” Iruka says quietly. “I wanted to give you back your backpack as well. Also, Hinata asked me to pass this along to you. I think she was too shy to visit you herself.” He sets Naruto’s backpack down on the floor and hands him the little purple envelope from Hinata.
Naruto clears his throat and glances up at Iruka. “You came all this way for this?” he asks. “You could’ve just waited for me to get back to school.”
“Yeah,” Iruka replies with a half-shrug, “I could have.”
He came here because he’d been worried. It’s surprisingly difficult to get those words out of his mouth. One does not worry about Uzumaki Naruto. One worries about what trouble he’s going to cause next, sure, but not about the kid himself.
His silence lasts for too long; Naruto coughs again, more quietly than before. “Say, can we wrap this up?” he asks bluntly. His face is really pale all of a sudden, Iruka notices. “I kind of want to go back to bed--”
--and his voice falters, and his eyes roll back, and he topples forwards like a dead tree.
Iruka catches him with a surprised grunt, carefully lowering him to the floor. Well. This wasn’t how he’d expected this visit to go. He hadn’t known that Naruto was capable of passing out – while his classmates occasionally exhaust themselves during ninjutsu training, he’s never seen it happen with Naruto. He’d assumed it was just another way the Nine-Tails made him not-quite-human. Then again, he’d also assumed Naruto couldn’t get sick, and he was evidently wrong about that too.
He kneels down next to Naruto, reaching out a hand to pat his face. “Naruto,” he calls. “Hey. Naruto.”
He doesn’t respond, his expression remaining slack. Sitting this close to him, Iruka can sense the shaky hum of his chakra signature – it’s maybe half as strong as it usually is, and nowhere near as overwhelming to the senses. Whatever illness it is that Naruto has, Iruka thoroughly hopes he doesn’t catch it.
The thought makes him hesitate for a moment before he taps his hand against Naruto’s cheek again. His face is cold to the touch, cooled down by the chill in the hallway and the lack of blood in the kid’s face. He should probably get warm before he gets even sicker. Iruka feels a pang of guilt at that; he’s the one who called Naruto out of bed.
It’s his responsibility to get him back under the blankets, he decides, resigning himself to the fact that he now feels sympathy for Naruto. With a sigh, he picks him up and carries him into the apartment.
He takes a moment to shuffle the backpack over the doorstep with his foot, and to close the door with his elbow. He’s never been in here before; it’s cleaner than he’d expected. The sun-bleached wallpaper and the dark spots along the ceiling remind Iruka starkly of the apartment he used to live in himself after his parents passed away, after the Nine-Tails destroyed his childhood home. The feeling that thought gives him is too complicated to examine right here and now, so he moves on quickly.
The bedroom isn’t difficult to find, and it’s exactly as messy as Iruka had anticipated. He steps over the open ink container on the floor and clears an empty teacup off the unmade bed. As carefully as he can, he lowers Naruto onto the bed, onto his side, because his back was clearly bothering him earlier. He doesn’t think he’s ever been gentle with Naruto before. At all, really. He’s grabbed the kid’s arm to drag him away and he’s smacked him upside the head a couple of times, but the thought of being careful with him had never really occurred to him, he supposes.
He pulls the blanket over him and stands there for a moment, his hands in his sides. It’s tempting to just leave Naruto like this; he’s clearly been doing fine taking care of himself, if the multiple bottles of medicine on the nightstand are anything to go by. Iruka could leave right now and be reasonably certain the kid won’t die.
He would’ve had no qualms about leaving the Nine-Tails’ Jinchuuriki to his devices like this. Thing is, when he looks down at Naruto’s pale, slack face, he doesn’t see the Nine-Tails’ Jinchuuriki. He just sees a sick little boy. A kid who shouldn’t be fighting off such a serious illness by himself.
…If Iruka stayed to help, would he be helping the Nine-Tails’ Jinchuuriki or the sick ten-year-old?
Does it matter?
Iruka takes another long look at Naruto’s face and decides that no, it doesn’t matter. His feelings about Naruto are conflicted and they’ll probably always stay that way, but just for now, he’s willing to ignore the fact that Naruto carries with him the monster that killed his parents. He can go back to hating Naruto when he’s well enough to set off stink bombs in his classroom again.
He’s pulled from his thoughts when Naruto winces, reaching out a hand to scratch at his back like he’d done earlier. “Naruto?” Iruka asks him, stepping closer. “Can you hear me?”
But Naruto’s eyes stay closed, and he doesn’t react. Iruka’s gaze shifts to his back, his eyebrows drawing together with worry. He should probably check out what’s up with Naruto’s back. Maybe he’s sicker than he realizes. Maybe Iruka should take him to the hospital.
He kneels down next to the bed, reaching for Naruto’s T-shirt.
The moment Iruka’s hand touches Naruto’s T-shirt, a low growl sounds from underneath the bed.
Iruka launches himself backwards, automatically taking out a kunai. He stares at the darkness underneath the bed from the doorway – stares at the large white shape that crawls out of that darkness, at the bared teeth, the single eye.
The dog – the dog, which is in Naruto’s bedroom, where it shouldn’t be – plants itself squarely in between Iruka and Naruto, snarling.
It takes Iruka a couple of seconds to blink away his confusion and to start focusing on calming the dog down. Naruto said it liked to bite; Iruka should probably start paying attention.
“Hey there, Dog-san,” he says, his tone still a bit flat with alarm. He quickly puts away his kunai and holds out his hands. “Sorry I didn’t announce that I was coming in. I didn’t really expect you here.”
His words only make the expression on the dog’s face even more vicious. If Iruka’s earlier assumption about the dog understanding human speech had been correct, then the dog is choosing not to listen to him right now. It wants him out of here, Iruka realizes. More specifically, it wants him away from Naruto.
He swallows, the sound clicking in his dry mouth. “I was just trying to help Naruto,” he says, his shoulders tensing up at the absurdity of trying to explain himself to a dog. “I won’t hurt him, and I won’t hurt you, either.”
The dog does not back down, and Iruka runs a hand through his hair, a slightly-hysterical laugh bubbling out of him.
“Look, I’m having a really weird afternoon,” he tells the dog, voice rising against his better judgement, “so would you please--”
He’s distracted by the sudden sound of dripping liquid, and he cuts himself off. His instincts tell him the liquid is blood, and his instincts are correct – a few drops of blood patter onto the floor from underneath the fur on the dog’s flank.
He stares. The dog stares back at him.
And then a horrifying snarl rises from the dog’s throat, and Iruka flinches backwards--
“Stop it!” Naruto has raised his head off his pillow, and he’s staring down at Iruka and the dog with a frown. “Both of you. Please. You’re just freaking each other out.”
Inexplicably, the dog stops growling, and turns to look at Naruto. Iruka tenses up when the dog turns its head to look at Iruka again – but the dog just narrows its eye at him and retreats back into the darkness underneath the bed.
Naruto drops his head back to the pillow with a sigh. He stares wrily at Iruka. “You weren’t supposed to see him,” he murmurs gloomily.
“I wasn’t supposed to--” Iruka starts, then cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Of course you wouldn’t want me to see the dog. Naruto, why is he here? What did you…”
On second thought, he doesn’t need to ask; the story is pretty clear to him. Naruto ignored the Hokage’s direct orders, went outside the village and brought his dog back. How he did it without anyone noticing is still a mystery to Iruka, but he figures that it’s probably best for his mental health if he doesn’t know.
Naruto looks away, fidgeting with a hole in his blanket. “Don’t tell Hokage-jiji. Please.”
Iruka runs a hand through his hair, thinking. Ignored orders or not, he almost can’t imagine that Hiruzen would wish ill on Naruto and his dog. “I’m sure the Hokage would understand,” he starts. “Maybe he’d even help you.”
Nothing less than fear sparks in Naruto’s eyes. “Don’t tell him,” he insists. “Promise you won’t. Or else I’ll have to get Dog-san to bite you, and I don’t want to do that.”
Iruka sighs, then nods. “Okay. I won’t.” It’s not the threat that convinces him.
The fear in Naruto’s expression calms visibly. “Thanks.”
“But,” Iruka continues softly, “I do think you’ll need to ask somebody for help. A medical-nin, at least. And a vet. I get that you’ve been taking care of your dog by yourself all this time, but you can’t take care of an animal when you’re so sick yourself.”
Naruto looks away. “We’re fine.”
“Dogs aren’t supposed to bleed on the floor, Naruto,” Iruka tells him matter-of-factly. “Kids aren’t supposed to randomly pass out. You’re not fine.”
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Naruto asks, sending a glare at Iruka. “You don’t like me. You never did. Why do you suddenly give a crap now?”
That catches Iruka off guard. He’s been steadily disliking Naruto less and less over the past weeks – and for some reason, he expected Naruto to have noticed that. Of course he didn’t notice, though. Iruka never said anything.
He’s silent for a beat too long, and Naruto sighs, pressing his cheek against his pillow. “Just leave me alone,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to see a medical-nin, I don’t want to take Dog-san to the vet, I don’t want any help-- I don’t want your help, either. I’m glad you helped me out with Dog-san before, but I can take it from here. Just go.”
Iruka bites into the inside of his cheek. “Just to make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings,” he says gently, “I don’t hate you. I really don’t.” Not anymore, at least.
Naruto’s eyes widen before he gives Iruka a wry smile. “That’s very nice of you, sensei,” he replies, “but I still want you to leave. And take the food containers you brought Dog-san with you. They’re on the kitchen counter.”
All of this still doesn’t sit quite right with Iruka, but he finds himself turning around anyway. If Naruto is well enough to argue with him, then he’ll probably be okay.
He hopes Naruto won’t mind if he checks in on him again tomorrow.
The moment Iruka closes the front door behind himself, Kakashi dispels his henge and muffles a groan in his sleeve. He’s hurting down to his bones; he really regrets trying to scare Iruka, even though it worked. It was not comfortable to get up on his hands and feet with a tear in his side. He suspects he might’ve torn the wound open further by doing that, if the blood is anything to go by. He presses his hand against his side, the blood-soaked fabric warm against his cold fingers.
Above him, on the bed, Naruto heaves a long sigh. “Sorry about Iruka-sensei,” he says. “I tried to get him out of here as quickly as I could-- Are you okay?”
“No,” Kakashi croaks back. “You?”
Naruto laughs drily. “Also no.”
“Well, they do say that a problem shared is a problem halved.” Kakashi braces his foot against the nearest leg of the bed, using the leverage to slide himself out from underneath the bed on his back. His wound protests, and he flinches, pressing the back of his head against the floor.
Naruto is staring at him from on top of the bed, his gaze worried underneath his visible exhaustion. “Do you need any help?”
“No need,” Kakashi replies, carefully rolling himself onto his good side. “You should stay where you are. I’ll take care of my wound myself – I’ve done stuff like this a million times.”
It takes a second before Naruto replies, like he’s having trouble processing what Kakashi is saying. The chakra exhaustion must really be doing a number on him. “All right,” he then says, shrugging and closing his eyes. “First-aid kit’s in the bathroom.”
Kakashi makes his way there on his hands and knees, curled tightly around his stomach. He closes the bathroom door behind himself and sits there for a minute or so, gathering the courage to turn on the light. He’s thoroughly out of breath, just from crawling those few meters, and he has to focus to avoid coughing.
Eventually, he carefully unfurls from his position, wipes his bloody hand on his pants and reaches out to flick on the light. Not giving the jolt of pain time to ebb away – he’s already in pain anyway, he might as well get everything over with in one go – he grabs the first-aid kit from the cabinet under the sink, yanks his sweater off and rips the bandage off his side. With twitching fingers, he grabs a fistful of gauze pads and presses the gauze against the wound.
He sits like that for a long time, staring blankly at the bathroom wall, watching the dark spots that are crawling in his vision. His side throbs fiercely; every muscle in his upper body has tensed up in response, restricting his breathing even more than it had already been restricted. His mind reacts to the misery by blocking it all out, leaving nothing except a vague nausea and the knowledge that Kakashi should not move.
When he finally zones back in, his eye feels dry, and his side feels somewhat stiff. Blinking forcefully, he slowly removes the wad of gauze from his side and bends forwards to get a better look at the wound.
He’s a little alarmed to see his entire abdomen covered in blood, but at least the blood appears to be drying. The wound itself is dark and sticky-looking, blood coagulating along the outside of it, a broad crimson line parallel to the waist of his pants. About a third of the wound is torn open, turning the line into some sort of arrow that’s pointing away from his navel.
Even underneath the blood, Kakashi can make out the ragged edges of torn stitches, torn skin. Gritting his teeth, he plucks the torn stitches from his side, leaving the black pieces of thread in a bloody little heap on the floor.
Panting, he leans his back against the bathroom door, wearily resting his gaze on the first-aid kit. He should probably stitch his wound closed again, but he’s debating whether it’s worth the effort. The skin around the wound is all screwed up. He’s not sure whether the stitches would even hold.
It seems unfair not to give it a try, though. He’s already trapped Naruto and himself in Konoha for longer than necessary by ripping his wound open. He should do his best not to delay his recovery even more.
He stitches up the part of the wound he’d torn open as well as he can, carefully aligning the edges of the wound to give himself the best chance at healing quickly. He doesn’t have much faith in the strength of his damaged skin – one wrong move would probably rip the stitches straight out again – but it’ll have to do. He’ll just have to be careful not to move too much.
He washes the blood off himself with a washcloth and dresses the wound with fresh gauze. He’d taken an extra painkiller when he was still in the bedroom, and it’s starting to kick in now. The sharp edge to the throbbing in his side has been dulled somewhat.
He takes a moment to appreciate that, before cleaning up his bloody mess and making his way back to the bedroom. He still doesn’t dare get to his feet, so he crawls again.
He tries to be quiet as not to wake Naruto up, but when he gets to the bedroom, he finds that Naruto is still awake. The kid looks up from what he was reading – seems to be a get-well-soon card – to give Kakashi a concerned look. Kakashi tries hard not to feel even more pathetic than he already did.
“Stop worrying,” he tells Naruto sternly before he has the chance to say anything. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. I can’t move very well and that’s annoying, but that’s all it is. I’ll survive.”
That doesn’t change the look on Naruto’s face. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” he murmurs, and Kakashi recognizes the expression for what it is: guilt, not pity. “You could’ve just let me fall. I would’ve been fine. I heal more quickly than you do.”
“Very noble of you,” Kakashi replies drily, making his way to the closet to dig around for his clean sweater. “Unfortunately, I’m not a big fan of letting the people I care about get hurt. Especially not when I can prevent it. So you’re just going to have to deal with that, I’m afraid.” He wrestles himself into his sweater. “Probably for the best I didn’t let you hit your head, too. Imagine how your sensei would’ve reacted if you’d had a concussion on top of everything else. He would’ve dragged you to the hospital. That wouldn’t’ve been ideal.” Kakashi does not want to imagine how this evening would’ve gone if some medic had found the seal on Naruto’s back.
Naruto gives him a little smile. “Guess you’re right about that.”
“I am.”
Apparently, Naruto doesn’t feel like arguing with him on that, so Kakashi shuts the closet door and changes the subject.
“What were you reading?” he asks, nodding his chin towards the card that’s lying on Naruto’s blanket. “A message from a friend?”
“From a classmate.” Naruto holds up the card; it says “Feel better soon” on the front in neat handwriting, surrounded by lots of meticulously-drawn little sunflowers. “Her name’s Hinata. She helped me figure out what kind of medicine to get you, when you were so sick you wouldn’t wake up.”
“Huh.” Apparently he doesn’t owe his life to one ten-year-old, but two. Also, she’s the only one of Naruto’s classmates that he’s mentioned by name before. Lots to unpack there. “What did she write to you?”
Naruto shrugs. “She wishes us a quick recovery. And she says I can let her know if she can help out with anything.”
Kakashi quirks an eyebrow at Naruto. “She doesn’t happen to know medical ninjutsu, by any chance, does she?” Once again, he remembers nearly nothing about the Academy’s curriculum. Rin had already learned some medical ninjutsu at that age, he’s pretty sure.
“Not that I’m aware,” Naruto replies. “She’s only nine.” He frowns at Kakashi; “Do you think we should look for someone who does? Last time we talked about it, you said it was too risky. Are you hurt so bad that you need a medical-nin?”
“No. I was just curious.” It would’ve been ideal if Naruto had a friend who was trustworthy and good with medical ninjutsu, but of course they’re not that lucky. Kakashi isn’t nearly desperate enough to involve a medical-nin who might rat him out. He’s able to bear this pain and he’s more than willing to do so, especially if it means that he gets to stay out of jail. “Never mind. You’ll be fine without a medic, and I’ll eventually be fine, too. We’ll just need time and rest.”
That’s what he hopes, at least. He stubbornly shoves away his worry about his wound. It had taken weeks before he’d finally started healing a little, and now he’s lost part of that progress again. How much time will it take before his weakened body repairs this new damage again? Will he have that time before trouble inevitably closes in on him? More importantly, when that happens, will he be strong enough to protect Naruto from that trouble?
He’s not sure. But he’s not desperate enough to spend his precious energy worrying about it. As long as he’s safe, in a manageable amount of pain and not actively dying, he likes to think he can handle it.
That’s the limit of what his tired brain is willing to think about today, so he settles down to go to sleep early. Naruto does the same with enthusiasm.
He settles down with his back against the side of the bed, his wound still burning and his stomach still roiling with nausea. With a sigh, he rests his arm across his abdomen and closes his eye. Maybe he’ll feel better in the morning, if he manages to get a proper night’s rest.