There was never any justice.

And none for Hatake and Ginta, either. Asuma cradled the little dog carefully against his chest, twitching his cloak around so the folds protected the towel-wrapped pug, and trailed after Ibiki and Saiyuri into the snow again.

It was bitterly cold outside, after the warmth inside. The dog made a throttled sound, like a barbed-wire whine.

“S’okay,” Asuma told it, trying to be as warm as possible. “What’s your name?”

The answer was almost inaudible. “P’kkun.”

“Talk when we get inside,” Saiyuri called sharply. “We’re almost there.”

She led them between two icicle-frosted buildings, around the back of a third, and then through an open-aired hallway that led into a little courtyard. It was covered in fresh-fallen snow, but someone had made sure to keep the stones clear of ice. A little brass plaque next to the door announced Takei Saiyuri: Medic in plain, sensible script.

Inside, it was warm again. No one bothered to take their boots off. Ibiki knocked snow from his, but Asuma followed Saiyuri’s directions and went straight through to an examination room, where a leather-padded table held pride of place.

He set Pakkun gently down.

“‘kay, little guy,” he said. “Better talk while she works on you, so we can multi-task.”

One ice-rimed eye opened to give him a look. “Might be little, but I’m older’n you, pup.”

Asuma split a grin that cracked his wind-bitten lower lip. “You got it, old man.”

Ibiki swept over like the wrath of Intel, cloak flapping behind him. “You said they were trapped. Where? Are there any hostiles?”

Pakkun struggled free of the towel, leaving red streaks on the white cotton and brown table, and staggered up onto his hind legs, planting his front paws on Ibiki’s armoured chest. The effort made his legs shake. “Dainichi Nyourai temple base,” he rasped. “No hostiles. There were traps. The roof came down. Sakamoto’s face is smashed in, but he was conscious when I left. Kakashi—”

His voice broke off, and his paws skidded down Ibiki’s chest. Broad hands caught and steadied the little body, careful around the narrow ribcage.

“Kakashi what?” Ibiki said, with something like gentleness in his voice.

Pakkun drew a hitching breath. “He took a bad hit when the roof came down, on his blind side. There was blood—he wasn’t waking up. And it’s cold.” He looked up at Ibiki, frantic. “Baiji’s holding the roof up. He’s another summons, big one. But he can’t hold out forever, and the whole thing’s unstable. You have to get them out of there.”

Ibiki pushed his mask back, looking Pakkun right in the eye. “We will. We’ll get them out if there’s any way to do it.” He took a breath and eased Pakkun back down onto the table, careful of his wrecked paws. “Let the doctor tend your feet now. What direction is it from here? Do you remember how far you walked?”

Pakkun curled onto the towel, taking his weight off all four feet. “South-west, I think. I could lead you back if you’ll carry me.” His voice wavered a little. “I don’t know how long. I lost track.”

Trudging through deep snow that came up past his neck, in bitter winds, scrabbling through mountain passes — it was amazing he’d made it this far at all.

“I know the base,” Asuma said. “At least, I think I know it. Ginta talked about running missions in Lightning in the war, and the brief said something about rendezvousing with Tousaki’s team near here. S’gotta be the same place.”

"Good. Then Pakkun can stay here." Ibiki looked at the little summons, managing to somehow sound like he understood; this influx of human emotion was becoming frankly alarming. "I know you want to be with your partner, but you're injured. It's better if you wait here, where it's warm."

“No,” Pakkun snapped, growl hitting bass depths. “You have to take me with you. I can show you where I got out, and I can take a message back in. You need me.”

Asuma knocked his mask to one side. “He’s got a point,” he said.