That was obvious.

And frightening. Ginta was an ANBU: one of the Hokage’s personal bodyguards. He wasn’t supposed to fall apart.

“Well, you better damn sure figure it out,” Pakkun snarled. He shoved himself into Ginta’s lap, jabbing two paws of hot, sharp chakra against the kid’s chest. “Kakashi’s kept you alive before. He almost died keeping you alive. I know you haven’t forgotten; you’ve still got the busted leg to prove it. So think, you numbskull, and do what he did.”

Ginta’s scent lashed around like a changing tide -- bittersweet fruit and seething panic -- then it caught and steadied. Found a fixed point. He drew a raw breath and nodded shakily.

“Warmth,” he said, and Pakkun could have kissed him. “He needs to be warm. And his head needs to stop bleeding.”

Pakkun nodded emphatically. Ginta touched the bandage wrapped around Kakashi’s head, fingers finding the clumsy knots like he couldn’t remember tying them, then he dug through his belt again. Hopefully for a foil blanket, but Pakkun would really take anything right now.

“And I need to take him home,” Ginta whispered.

“Best plan you’ve ever had, kid,” Pakkun said, and butted his forehead gently against Ginta’s blood-soaked armour. Then he slid back down and nosed worriedly along Kakashi’s jaw, feeling the heavy weight of no one here right now in the way Kakashi’s head rocked slightly when Pakkun nudged it. No muscle tension. No reaction.

Behind Ginta’s shoulder, Baiji whined.