There were moments in life that Kakashi almost wanted to believe in a deity just so he could thank them for having a mind that could multi-task; this was one of them. Facts filed away, the hand touching Ginta's throat moved to support his head, and his free hand leapt to retrieve the first scroll containing a medi-kit. He opened it with a flare of chakra, twisting the one-handed seal that was fortunately all it required, and grabbed the first morphine syringe his fingers touched.

One glance down to make sure he had the right drug, then he bit the plastic needle-sheath off through his mask, and injected the morphine straight into Ginta's neck.

There was still a bit of mental room left over to call himself an idiot. He'd dosed Ginta again while the man had been unconscious, but that was hours back. Too long. He couldn't believe Ginta had held his silence this long...

"Jackass," he said quietly, around too-rapid breaths, and meant every syllable. Ice-blue irises stared at him, almost entirely swallowed by dilated pupils. Ginta was shaking. Kakashi was shaking. The only steady bodies around belonged to a clone and three dead shinobi. Even Shouma trembled with exhaustion around his fury. Kakashi's fingertips left red streaks against Ginta's white skin, like the carmine design of a warped ANBU mask.

"You're okay. Hoshika's fine, too," he murmured, waiting for the drug to kick in. For one small thing--any small thing--to go their way. "You did great. Just breathe. It'll feel better in a second."

He was too tired to sway on his feet, too wired up with chakra to feel remotely weary. His heart thundered in his chest, drenched in adrenaline and chemicals. Blood and sweat greased his skin. He dropped the spent syringe back into the kit, re-sealed the scroll, and took his hand away from Ginta's face.

"Keep breathing." Two more clones siphoned away some of that reckless energy. He sent them to deal with the bodies--stripping them of anything useful, anything secret, burying what was left--and tried to catch his bearings. The safehouse was...

South. That way.

The clone moved quickly, Shouma at its left flank like a bristling hellhound, Kakashi at its right. He promised himself that he'd send the dog back as soon as they could afford it; Shouma was a well-trained summons, but not enough for this. He was past his limit and beyond. Like all of them.

There was still no choice but to keep going.

"Hang on, Ginta."