Kakashi got there first. Both hands caught Ginta's fine-boned wrists, stopping him short before he wrenched at sloughing wounds or shattered limbs. Kakashi tightened his grip as much as he dared. Heat radiated through his fingers, searing one burned palm and one whole one. The infection-reek billowed up as blankets tangled and slipped aside, as Ginta moved, yanking on his hands, trying to huddle over himself. Sweat streaked his face.

"I'm fine," Kakashi told him hurriedly. "Look at me. I'm completely fine. You're just delirious."

Again. Was every mission with Ginta destined to end in fevered nightmares? Rain had been bad enough, even with a trained medic around. But now...

Now there was just Kakashi, and he had a job to do. Achingly stiff muscles clenched and cramped as he bullied them into working order, forcing himself off his knees and into a crouch. His slashed hip stung a protest. Ginta's wrists stayed firmly locked in his hands. He stood up, easing Ginta back--or trying to. Ginta fought to curl forwards, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, tensed muscles shivering fitfully. Tendons stood out at his throat and wrists. Heat rolled away from his skin.

He'd been trying to work a water justu.

"Don't grab yourself," Kakashi ordered, shifting to block him with an arm if he tried to lunge forwards, and released him, fingers already dancing through seals. Copying. The barest thread of chakra tore through weary pathways; Kakashi hissed and released the jutsu.

Lukewarm rain showered down, soaking them both.