Kuromaru lay back and very still, and focused on breathing. "Glad I could help," he muttered darkly. He didn't appreciate that Raidou had fixed it all without him having to fight them. Not at all. Not even a little. "Thanks." But that was only because it was expected, and his tone was very grudging. And maybe a little relieved. And probably none of it sounded like he was hurting.

"They do this every time," he added unhappily. "I have a file. If they would just get the file first... or even read my dogtags. They say 'canine' blood type." He glared at Raidou. "Canine. Not dog." He watched the ceiling tiles roll by overhead and added, "It's even worse when you come in without insignia and they assume you're in training..." Tsume was five foot four; short for a kunoichi. Kuromaru was five foot five; short for a ninja. Or a male. Or even a teenager, half the time.

It was vastly annoying.

They rolled into the room and came to a stop. One of the nurses bustled in, holding his file clutched to her chest. "We're so sorry, Raidou-san," she babbled.

"Raidou-san? He's not the one you were going to make vomit!"

She jumped and looked at Kuromaru. "Ah, yes, of course. Very sorry, Kuromaru-san."

If she stuttered over the suffix, he forgave her.

Then his doctor came in, white haired and with skin wrinkly enough to be wizened, if he hadn't looked so grizzled. "What did you do this time?" The man's voice filled all the corners of the room.

Kuromaru looked away. "I was carrying these two cubs--"

The doctor rounded on Raidou. "How many times do I have to tell you people that you can't load dogs up like that!"

"Canines!"

The doctor ignored him. "They aren't beasts of burden! Keep the weight near their shoulders," he gestured, "and give them lots of breaks!"

Kuromaru kept as still as possible in the hopes that he wouldn't be noticed and included in the scolding.

The doctor glared at Raidou, adjusted his glasses, and glared again. "You're not Inuzuka."