Everything hurt.

His mouth tasted like dry-gulched shock and rainwater. Kakashi blinked once, trying to think around the ice-pick driven through his skull, and found himself with a view of dark skies and the underside of someone’s chin, lit by green shadows. Blue fate-lines shivered across his vision, and a warm tear coursed down the left side of his face. The Sharingan, badly overworked. It was an agonizing pull on his coils. He closed it, shutting Obito out of the world.

Painfully, he blinked his good eye, and realized there was foreign chakra running through his veins. Water and fire, blended together like a complex ying-yang that didn’t quite compliment itself.

“T’saki?” he rasped.

“Hey,” Ryouma said, with warm relief. “Welcome back.”

“I’m not dead,” Kakashi said, because that seemed worth mentioning.

“You’re doing okay, Hound,” said another voice, close and clear—the lieutenant. Genma knelt down on Kakashi’s right, and put two fingers against the side of Kakashi’s neck. They were warm, skin-to-skin, and an entire part of Kakashi’s brain curled itself up around a cold, tight thought: where’s my mask?

There was a crinkle of foil blankets, then a sting against his arm—Genma’s other hand, with a needle—and a rush of familiar warmth. Morphine.

Well, he’d probably been done running for the day, anyway.

“Can you feel your hands and feet?” Genma asked, clipping the spent syrette to Kakashi’s dog-tags, where it would flap as a dosage marker.

“Yeah,” Kakashi croaked, because they were definitely there, sending all kinds of signals about how much they didn’t want to be. He focused and managed to haul his right hand up. It was like dragging a tectonic plate, but it moved. He wrestled it out of the silver heat-blanket and brought it up to his face, curving unsteady fingers over his mouth. There was shredded cloth there, but not much of it.

“We can see the tip of your nose and about half your mouth,” Ryouma said, because he’d picked up mind-reading while Kakashi had been studying the insides of his eyelids. Or Kakashi was just screamingly obvious. “Some cheek. It’s not a whole picture, though, so your secret identity’s safe from us.” He glanced up at Genma and added lightly, “Looks like you’ve gone in for some facial rearrangement, too, lieutenant.”

Kakashi focused over the edge of his own fingers. Genma’s bare face was shadow-drenched and blurry, but there were twin channels of blood cutting down from his nose. And the bridge looked… less straight than Kakashi remembered. Broken.

Kakashi tried to find a thought about that, and came up with, “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Genma said, with a ginger touch to his upper lip, eyes half-shuttering for a moment, then he visibly diverted himself. There was a quick blur of warm-handed movement, and Kakashi found himself rebundled up in the foil blanket. This time, Genma pulled the silvery material higher, up over the lower half of Kakashi’s face. “You need to keep warm. I’ve got jutsu that will help, but first I need to get some meds into you.”

Kakashi wasn’t sure he remembered what warm felt like.

That was chakra drain; it always froze you from the inside out.

“O-okay,” he said, and looked up at Ryouma again, a silhouette cut out against the clearing sky. “We got everyone?”

“You and I got ours,” Ryouma said, and glanced at Genma. “I assume, since the lieutenant’s here…”

“Three dead,” Genma confirmed. “One disabled prisoner.”