Sure he would be. And Asuma was a leaping tree-frog.

Amphibian or not, Asuma wasn’t in the habit of kicking a man when he was down—unless he was a ninja who deserved it—so he didn’t call Ginta on the bravado. Instead he reached out, making sure sure to telegraph the move well in advance, and squeezed Ginta’s skinny shoulder.

“Sounds like a good plan, too,” he said. “Now howsabout you kick back and get some shuteye while me an’ cheerful-san here work on getting you both down from this rock in one piece?”

The medic gave a vengeful snort.

Ginta’s eye slid shut; he jerked his chin in a fractional nod, then re-opened a slit of blue. “If he wakes up again—” He stopped, groping for words. Asuma wasn’t sure Ginta even knew what he wanted to say. After an aching moment, Ginta brushed Pakkun’s fur with broken-nailed fingertips. “Make sure Pakkun’s with him. Make sure he knows his dogs are all okay.”

“Yeah, sure,” Asuma said. “You got it. I’ll tell him you’re okay, too. Now sleep already. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“That’s what I always liked about you, Asuma,” Ginta said, drowsy and indistinct. “You know how to tell a good lie.” His eye closed again and his head rocked a little to one side, falling still. It took only a handful of breaths before what little animation there’d been slipped away, leaving his battered face blank, and his body lax.

Drugs and exhaustion, the universal equalizers.

The mild concussion probably helped, too.

“He out?” Saiyuri asked, softer-voiced than she’d been before.

“Like a light,” Asuma said. “How’s Hatake?”

“No change.”

“Well, so long as he ain’t throttling anyone,” Asuma muttered, shifting back from his crouch to drop on his ass, letting out a long breath. He pulled Pakkun into his lap again. The little dog was almost as out of it as both fallen ninja, but he hadn’t unsummoned himself. Asuma cradled him in hands that felt too big for the task, indelicate around breakable ribs and greenstick limbs, and pressed warmth into him.

Pakkun sighed quietly and went to sleep.

“Almost tempted to take a nap myself,” Asuma said dryly, glancing over the makeshift tent and spilled medical supplies. His two clones were standing silent guard at the entrance. He whistled at one of them. “Make yourself useful and tidy up.”

The clone obeyed mutely.

“You might as well sleep,” Saiyuri said, checking Ginta’s pulse and other vitals before she went back to Hatake. “Ibiki-san will be a while. I’ll wake you if I need anything.”

It was more than a little tempting. Maybe they could stuff Ibiki in a dogsled and let him nap on the way back.

“Yeah, alright,” Asuma said, easing himself down flat at Ginta’s side, careful not to jar Pakkun. He pillowed an arm beneath his head, keeping his other hand on Pakkun’s narrow back. “Give me a kick if anythin’ changes.”

“With pleasure,” Saiyuri said, sounding just very faintly amused for the first time. Or perhaps that was the wind catching her voice.

Ginta was a slight, barely breathing presence within arms-reach. Kakashi’s chakra felt like ice-melt worn down to a bleeding edge, but both of them were alive and found, even if they hadn’t found Ryouma, and that was two thirds of a job well done.

You know how to tell a good lie.

Asuma closed his eyes, wished distantly for a cigarette and a hot bath because damn, his muscles hurt, and slid into a half-aware doze, waiting for Ibiki to drag his ass back.