Ginta went very still. You have the most annoying hair. He wanted to shake Kakashi. Tell him he'd lost the right to say things like that weeks ago. And he wanted to cling to it, to the tiny hope that things could be... could be back on track. But not after everything that had happened. Not any more.

And not when Kakashi was wheezing like an old man, shifting Ginta's weight again and again, trying to carry him. Every time he adjusted his grip, it jostled fractures, pushed against burns, ruptured blisters. The morning's morphine was metabolized and gone. Long gone. Ginta grit his teeth for as long as he could, then summoned his energy into a tight ball, raised his hands, and formed seals.

"Put me on its back," he ground out, as he released his chakra into the jutsu. Soldier pill chakra, so it burned brighter and hotter, felt thinner and more brittle, but it was sufficient. A clone appeared, running in step with Kakashi. Ginta's clone, unhurt, unmasked. It turned fierce blue eyes on Kakashi and held out its hands.

"On its back," Ginta repeated, feeding more energy into the jutsu. He could feel himself shaking, but shaking on the clone's back for three hours and making it to the safehouse was a far preferable end to letting Kakashi drive himself into a coma before they even got there.