The jarring impact with Raidou's solid bulk was much less disastrous than one with the floor would have been, but even so the pain was exquisite. Genma's focus narrowed to a tiny pinprick of consciousness, engulfed in a roaring inferno. It was several long moments before he was aware of anything but the shuddering agony that had replaced his hand, and when consciousness did resurface, it was to memory: being carried to safety over the shoulder of an ANBU captain he didn't know.

Reality superposed itself over memory. The scent of Raidou's skin, rank with sweat and pain and burnt flesh. The coarse thundering of Raidou's chakra, flaring and stuttering within him as he struggled with his own suffering. The harsh, ragged breaths ghosting past Genma's ear.

Genma tried to ease himself back, and found Raidou's arm clamped so tightly around him that he'd managed to tear the scabs off the shuriken trails over Genma's right shoulder.

"Raidou," Genma's voice was still a rough whisper. "Raidou, hang on."

Genma's eyes darted to the syringe with its precious liquid still undispensed. He stretched out his right hand, reaching for it with desperate fingers.