Kakashi raked dripping silver hair out of his face. "But your talent for understatement is still healthy," he drawled, locking panic away in a cast iron box. A fever was just a fever, the body's defences kicking into overdrive. Everyone got them. Everyone could recover. He just needed to be smart. "Lie back for me, okay? Breathe a minute. Think about something shiny."

Even through his haze, Ginta managed a remarkably dry look. Kakashi slashed a quick smile at him, trying to make himself think. They had supplies. Bottles of sealed water,IVs of antibiotics, clean bed linen, recently stocked medi-kits...

Food. Tea. Painkillers. Help on the way. Ginta would be fine.

He'd be a lot damn better if Kakashi hadn't fallen asleep for six hours while his fever had soared--

But that wasn't a helpful thought.

"I'll be right back," Kakashi said, kicking himself into the present, and turned for the kitchen. His bones felt like brittle rock-candy wrapped up in dessicated muscle; he made himself move anyway. Cupboards yielded ration bars, a med kit, towels, and bottled water with seals for freshness still glowing faintly in the clear plastic. He grabbed everything and limped back towards the cot, splashing through puddles. The jutsu had yanked all the moisture out of the air; the safehouse felt hotter, now, in the bright sunlight.

Ice jutsu, Kakashi thought, and dropped everything but the med-kit when he crouched back down. He ripped the kit open, grabbed the little metal box that rattled with soldier pills, and swallowed two. Then he tore three towels in half, froze half the available water with the first cold-snap jutsu he could think of, and wadded the chunks up in fluffy terry-cloth, packing them against Ginta's sides and down his flanks. He twisted the cap off a water bottle, and chilled it with a sparkle of ice created from glowing fingertips.

"Drink this. As much as you can." He pressed the bottle into Ginta's shaking hand--the one not attached to a wounded arm--and lurched back to his feet. Both of Ginta's IV bags were empty, which was probably how his infection had taken hold. Kakashi sank his teeth into his lower lip, found new bags of antibiotics and fluids, and reconnected the lines.

Then he had to stop and stand for three painful heartbeats, processing. It shouldn't have been necessary--but these weren't exactly normal circumstances. His mind was taxed, stressed.

Kakashi snorted a disgusted breath at himself, and sank back down to his knees at Ginta's side. Water soaked into his pants. He stripped the sodden, rancid covers carefully free of Ginta's legs, tossing them to the floor, and stared at the revealed mess. The smell rose like a wave, coating the back of his throat. He breathed through his mouth, grateful of his mask, and glanced at Ginta's pale, tensed face, trying to find coherence in glazed blue eyes.

"I need to clean your legs. Can you swallow painkillers?"