InsaneJournal

A Resolution Never Comes From Broken Bones. [Closed to Kakashi]
Takes place directly after Show What You Know

Broken bones have a unique and distinctive feel, different from any other injury. The crunching sound you got when you sustain such a hurt is often a good clue, too. Kakashi resisted the urge to make another such crunching sound with his head against the corridor wall; instead he wrapped his arm carefully around his ribs and concentrated on walking steadily. In and of themselves broken ribs weren’t much of an inconvenience for a ninja – they didn’t stop you making seals, they didn’t directly impede your ability to run. They didn’t compromise your judgment in the same way a concussion would. In fact, if you were going to sustain an injury during a mission, broken ribs were probably the way to go.

Having your ribs broken in an attempt to master a jutsu, however, was a little frustrating. Having your ribs broken in an attempt to master a jutsu by an ass of an Uchiha trying to make a point by wearing your teammate’s face… was something else entirely.

Kakashi paused to brace himself against the wall and groaned very quietly, hissing a short painful breath through his teeth. Something like nausea dragged through his chest, through his bones, which made no sense because how could ribs feel sick? But they did, in a grinding red-shift sort of way. In a he-had-to-stop-and-breathe-or-vomit-through-his-mask sort of way, and that never got fun. It was probably the headache. Probably the sharingan. He’d used it too much. Or used it too fast. Or too soon. He’d done something wrong.

It was probably seeing Ginta face down that jutsu for the second time, blue eyes wide in his china-pale face. It was probably being the one to hold that jutsu the second time. It hadn’t been Ginta, and Kakashi knew that, but the image was written into his sharingan now, along with the first. It was a henge, and he could see Itachi shifting underneath the fake skin, but that didn’t stop Kakashi from seeing blue eyes over red and—

He needed to stop thinking before he was spectacularly sick in the corridor.

Kakashi leaned his forehead against the wall for a long moment, drawing a bit of relief from the cool plaster. Then he took as deep a breath as he could manage –- not much with the broken-wrong feeling grating in his torso -– and resumed his journey.

Kanae-sensei was not impressed to see him. She was even less impressed with his first story -- “I had a mission and these suddenly rabid squirrels came out of nowhere and threatened to desolate the populace of a nearby pagoda, what else could I do but step in?” – or his second story – “So, I was walking, as I do, and suddenly this big rock fell…” – but she believed his third story – “Training accident. Now can you stop asking pointless questions and do something about it-argh!”

A rudimentary healing, an admonishment to be less damn stupid next time and give himself a few weeks to heal, and a bottle of painkillers later, Kakashi was once more shoved back out into the corridor. He walked the three flights of stairs back up to his apartment, bracing himself with a hand on the wall whenever his head spun. The lift would have been a better choice, but the slight vertigo might have finished him off.

The bandages Kanae had strapped around Kakashi’s torso were tight; firmly strapped and taped into place. Generally broken ribs didn’t require bandages – it was better to have as little pressure and as much breathing as possible, even if that hurt – but these were woven with healing seals for a much quicker recovery. A week, perhaps a week and a half, and he would be mission-fit.

Kakashi’s apartment fell somewhere spartan and messy. He didn’t own much in the way of unnecessary things, and what he did have was neatly stored away. But the bed was unmade, dirty dishes lay stacked in the sink, and he really, really needed to get that dog hair off the floor. Kakashi did none of these things. Instead he replaced the seals on the door and threaded a fine tendril of his chakra through them to test their reactions. They flared beautifully. Then he carefully stripped off his snow-soaked, mud-splattered clothes and replaced them with some that were just as black, but dry and warm. The bottle of painkillers rattled as he dropped his pants on the floor. Kakashi fished them out, eyed them for a moment, and then dry-swallowed three.

One week to recover. Kakashi staggered to his bed and stretched out slowly on his side, one arm cradled around his aching ribs. The other he lay over his pounding head. He didn’t summon his dogs. His chakra was there, but it was low after his morning’s activities, a little scraped raw after the repeated sharingan use. After the seven hundred jutsu attempts. After almost killing Ginta for the second time--

Kakashi scowled, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. Slowing it, steadying it. Some time later he slept, finally, and dreamed of lightning.