Consciousness came hard for him. A terrifying surge of unstable chakra, misfiring neurons, and clenching muscles brought Ginta gasping to the surface, flailing wildly, trying to protect his face. Kakashi caught his wrists and held him, calling to him sharply, insistently. Pleading. Ginta panted, eyes wide but not seeing for several long moments, before recognition sparked.

"Ka-- Genius?" His own question was drowned in a rushing sound. Kakashi's masked face hovered close. He looked grim.

Mission. Had they been caught? He'd been hiding from the bastards in the ductwork. Had to get Tsuyako out. Tsuyako's neck snapped under Kakashi's hands. Ginta tried to scramble backwards. Tried to use his legs for leverage.

The roaring wind drowned everything out.

In the cyclone's wake, Ginta groped for consciousness again. Kakashi was leaning over him, pinning him--no--lifting him. Telling him to hold on, just hold on. The air was syrup, weighing him down, pouring thick and cloying into his lungs. Hold on. That was all he had to do. All he had to do was lift his arms, push strength into his hands, and hold on.

There was a sling around his back, Kakashi's broad shoulders in front of his face. Hold on. He reached forward, let Kakashi pull him up, and fell into the whirlwind again.

Running. Running. Running away. He was five years old, tumbling with puppies and a father he'd never known. He was strapped to the back of a terrified genin, covered in his sensei's blood, choking on the musk-filled smoke of the Fox's breath. He was falling into a vat of flaming chemicals, light and heat flaring around him. His legs were already burned clean through.

There was shouting. Screaming. The sound of weapons tolling like funeral bells. A chakra flare like a volcano erupting.

Falling. Falling, falling, falling, into an eternal pit. Falling into hell.

Kakashi's chakra blossomed around him. Ginta laughed. Kakashi was here to save him even from damnation? It was almost enough to make him religious.