Chapter Text
Itās not that he didnāt know he died. That fact is pretty easy to understand and become comfortable with after a matter of hours. Itās that he somehow ended up as a baby in another universe absolutely nothing like his own; a world where children as young as three were soldiers and war was fought with magic. (Itās not magic, but heād thought as much for a solid year!)
Aikawa Toshiro is born in Konoha, during one of the hottest summers theyād ever experienced, as war raged around them and more came home scarred than not, if at all. The memories donāt really settle in his head right for a bit. By the time he really gets a grasp on everything and takes a few hours to overcome the idea of reincarnation, heās in an orphanage.
His parents are the victims of war.Ā
Heās young enough that no one really expects him to feel sad, or even understand the concept of death in a concrete sense, so he doesnāt. Feel sad, that is. Because heās not, really. Thereās only foggy baby memories of them, and while itās certainly disappointing and he feels bad, there isnāt enough of a connection to warrant any mourning on his part.Ā
Heās two. Soon to be three. The orphanage is a run-down, overpopulated disaster zone, new children arrive by the boatload. He sits back. He observes. He learns. Clan kids never arrive, kept by relatives no matter how distant. Any child four and older is watched for intelligence and skill, then plucked from the orphanage to join the academy. Kids like that are given their own apartment and an āallowanceā, though incredibly meager and generally only enough to keep the kids fed. The economy is equally in shambles and booming. Thereās not enough of some things, sickening amounts of others. Weapon production is at an all time high.
Some kids go missing.
Toshiro doesnāt know if anyone notices, or even cares. (But he resolves to not end up like them, because he canāt do anything for them, harsh as it sounds. Not like this, in this tiny, weak body.) Children are quite literally drafted, ninja coming by at random intervals to swing some big speech about village loyalty, the will of fire, power and knowledge. All the while, their sharp, piercing gazes sweep the hundreds of tiny, dirty faces peering back, looking for anyone with signs of genius. Of potential. Ā
He finds out the hard way that he is woefully out of his league, and avoiding the gazes of these recruitment nin is more difficult than he realized. Toshiro learns a lot about what happens to children shunted into single-bedroom apartments to fight in a war because he becomes one of them.Ā
(This happens when heās four, just old enough to make the cut. They would have taken him earlier, he knows, if the Hokage didnāt have some semblance of restraint and guilt over sending literal children with baby fat padding their cheeks into battle with men.)
Toshiro is not a coward, per se. But heās not interested in fighting a battle like this, when heās not sure he even cares enough for the village to put his life on the line for it. Alas, he doesnāt have a choice. They say he does, of course, but theyāre lying. Toshiro doesnāt want to become one of those children who disappear. The route of civilians is safety and a slow, meandering pace. So much time to walk about and breathe. Shinobi are born sprinting, reckless and flashing out like fireworks, their life expectancy just a snap of fingers in length.Ā
Toshiro learns to run.
They call him a genius, and maybe he is. But he has the body of a child and very little motivation beyond his own survival. It becomes obvious that he is a genius of the mind rather than the body, but at this point the shinobi system will take what they can get.Ā
So he gets his apartment, with itās dusty corners and leaky kitchen faucet and the fridge that seems to hum a little too loud ā and he trains. He trains until he heaves up half the meals he chokes down, his bruises grow bruises and calluses practically fall off his hands to leave thicker, hardier skin behind.Ā
He doesnāt make friends. Friends would be a liability. If he makes it out of this alive, if the war ends and peace happens, then heāll think about making friends. That way it might hurt a little less. All the kids around him act like this is a game ā no, thatās a lie. Anyone not from a clan acts like it is. Theyāre playing ninja, running with knives in their hands and saying āI win!ā when they successfully push each other in the dirt.
Except that distancing doesnāt work. Not a hundred percent.
It still hurts to watch children fold like a house of cards, too small to be formless and gaping on the soil, crimson spilling from carved flesh. Toshiro counts fourteen dead children by the time heās nine, and by then heās only been in the field for a year after graduating at eight. Itās not impressive. Everyone is graduating at eight, and that sickens him.Ā
His fighting skills are average, the chakra in his veins average, the only thing extraordinary about him is his mind. And, he finds out, his control of chakra. He pulls it tight into his core and vanishes from the senses of others, which lets him slit the throat of his adversary before they see him coming. Itās the twelfth man heās killed ā though man is a relative term, it was 8 men and 4 women ā and while heās sitting in the middle of the forest among the corpse of the one heād killed and the six others whoād made up both his team and the opposing one ā dust in his lungs, iron in his nose and flaking, hot crimson under his nails, the lone survivor for the third time ā he realizes he wants more.
Ā
Ā
Aikawa Toshiro is fifteen years old. His hair is ashy blond and mostly straight, chopped short around his ears but a little longer on top. (Heās thinking about growing it out, Yukimura-senseiās dark hair tied back in a bun had an appealing look to it. No, he wasnāt attracted to her, but her hair style was inspiring.) His eyes are stunning, sakura petal pink and a faint spray of freckles trails across his nose and cheekbones.Ā
Heād been asked out by six different girls during his first year of work. One day heāll get enough courage to tell everyone that the reason heās not interested is because he likes dick. Unfortunately, that day is not today. He doesnāt have enough sway ā enough power ā beyond the hospital to be protected by prejudice. Itās easier among shinobi, most taking the live fast, eat ass motto pretty seriously. They didnāt care who slept with who because if you were gonna die sooner rather than later, might as well fuck who you wanna. Clans were stricter, some older members straight up homophobic. The civilians were the worst, wrapped up in heternomative societal norms and traditions. There were pockets of LGBT friendly areas, but they werenāt advertised to the public or even protected. (In fact it had taken forever to find them. And he never actually went in, because it was a place for civilians. He supposes he just wanted to know if they existed at all.)
The Third Great Shinobi War ended when he was ten, and those two years of active duty had been completely and utterly traumatizing and an amazing incentive to begin pursuing something else entirely. Healing. Utilizing his stellar chakra control and intellect, Toshiro went above and beyond the education of the average Medic Nin within four years, and itās been a year of working in the hospital. As a Chuunin, heās able to be a doctor all on his own after a mandatory observational period.Ā
Which was over now, one year after officially beginning work at the hospital not as an intern-slash-student. So.
Fifteen.
And a Doctor. Of sorts. Medic Nin, technically.Ā
In that year, heād taken one look at the shambles the hospital had fallen into while attempting to pick itself back up after a fucking war and the desertion of the infamous Senju Tsunade (say what you want, it was a fucking desertion, and the only reason she wasnāt being hunted like the missing nin she technically is was because their esteemed hokage was a man with a weak will and selfish sympathy), and thought, Oh no, this wonāt do.
Now heās basically running the Shinobi Trauma Ward. And has an office. Itās all very fancy and official. He breathes hospital air and sleeps more at his desk than in his own bed. Itās during one such impromptu nap that thereās a knock on his door. And everyone knows itās his nap time, because heād posted a little note on his door saying FUCK OFF , all caps and underlined and everything, which means something really fucking bad is happening.Ā
āCome in.ā He grumbles, voice heavy with sleep. He pulls a paper off his check, sure that there will be lines on his face from the sleeping position.
The door opens, revealing a mousy looking woman with deep brown hair and eyes, her mouth set in a grim line. Tsutomu Hanako, 27, Shinobi Trauma Team Member for six years and one of the few not pissed about the fact that a fifteen year old boy was running the department.
āSorry,ā she says, and she even looks it for a moment, āWe need you out here.ā
Toshiro heaves himself up, āAlright, whatās the damage.ā
āANBU Unit of six, two with minor injuries, three with major and one in critical condition.ā Hanako explains as they briskly walk down the halls. Theyāre lucky itās not a busy night.
The great thing about the Trauma Team? Theyāre all professionals. With brains. Before Senju-sama reinvented the Hospital system, the medical profession was basically a joke. It was Konohaās weakest point because almost all efforts were poured into the offensive front. Team work, battle, hit fast and make it last! That was how Konoha nin rolled, until Tsunade pulled everyoneās head out of their asses and said, Hey, maybe not so many people would fuckinā die if we actually learned how to put on a bandaid.
She had changed the game. Then left. Which was really the only thing Toshiro was mad about. Because it left a bunch of semi-competent people scrambling for order, with only like, five people who actually knew everything they needed to. Konoha was not as old as everyone liked to think. All these kids running around? Clueless. Did they even realize the walls around them hadnāt even hit a hundred years old yet? People from the First Great Shinobi War were still around. (Which was amazing in itself, surviving three fucking wars, even if theyād been too old to fight in the most recent one.)
The hospital was desperate for Medic Nin.Ā
First and foremost, it was seen as both civilian and womenās work. Thanks, sexism. Secondly, ninja were never actively encouraged to pursue healing as a learning subject. Toshiro remembered quite clearly that, in the four years heād attended the academy, the focus was heavy Konoha propaganda that verged on brainwashing, battle tactics, and fighting. Shinobi were expected to harm, to bleed and to kill. The hospital struggled because the amount of Medic Nin was completely overwhelmed by the amount of civilian doctors.Ā
Doctors which couldnāt heal shinobi. At least, not traumatized, moderate to severely injured shinobi. To protect the civilian doctors from the panic and pain-fueled instincts of an injured shinobi, only Medic Nin could see them. And ANBU or Hunter Nin? Forget it! Medic Nin or no one. Regretfully, there have already been multiple incidents of civilian doctors getting hurt ā from nasty cuts to near-strangulation ā because, as previously stated, there werenāt enough Medic Nin. Brave souls, those civilian doctors. Some of them, anyway.
Tsunade had been close, though. Her appeal to have one Medic Nin per team was not only ingenious, it would have also lowered the casualty rate substantially. Unfortunately, the Council was made up of a bunch of shit heads. For most of those old, tradition-obsessed fools, being a healer was equivalent to being weak. Tsunade broke the mold by being a frontline medic, but not the ingrained stigma. One day theyāll learn that just because you stayed at the rear, just because you didnāt jump before looking, didnāt mean you couldnāt defend yourself. And that Tsunadeās capability to kill and heal was not an individual trait.Ā
They arrive at the main entrance, which is a flurry of activity. The hospital is really, really badly designed in the way that there are no secret entrances for ANBU, no separate waiting rooms for ninja and civilians, no fucking privacy for ninja coming in, screaming in pain with possible missing limbs or any other ailment. The amount of civilians who came to the hospital to be healed only to walk away traumatized by the sight of a near-feral jounin gripping where his leg used to be and screaming was astronomical. (Injury varied, though. There werenāt as many legless shinobi as implied. Really.)
Toshiro takes a deep breath and pretends he didnāt just get this promotion last month. Prioritize, prioritize, prioritize. āUeno-san, the two with minor injuries. Yokoharu-san, Ito-san, Gedou-san, pick an ANBU, pick a team.ā He barks out the orders, projecting his voice above the rabble. The four Medic Nin immediately set to work, stretchers brought in and younger Medic Apprentices called over for assistance.Ā
Thereās already a man on one of the stretchers. The critical one. āTsutomu-san, with me.ā He says, heading right for the man, who looks unconscious. Maybe not.
āInu.ā For the mask can mean no one else. Toshiro has never personally attended to the man, but the guy has been in the hospital a lot. And never for long, no matter the injury. He was the bane of every Medic Ninās existence.Ā
Thereās only a grunt in response, the entire manās body trembling and taut as a bowstring. Toshiro is already moving. With Hanako, he pushes the stretcher at lightning speed down the hall to the first OR available. Thereās blood. A lot of it. Toshiro eyes the manās body as they walk with squinted, rosy eyes. Eight lacerations, at least. Possible poisoning. Probable concussion. Broken arm. Likely to be other broken bones. Ribs at risk.Ā
āInu,ā he says when theyāre tucked in a room, two other medical attendees following them in. He keeps his voice controlled and authoritative, a trait heād picked up first as a nine year old on the battlefield, then as one of the only male shinobi trying to fight his way into the hospital. Yukimura-sensei was a harsh teacher. Also a godsend. āIf you are able to respond, do so. Youāre safe, weāre in Konoha. Iām going to perform the Diagnostic Jutsu. If you attack me I will be very displeased.ā
Another grunt, but at least the man doesnāt look like heās going to be moving any time soon. Toshiroās hands light up with chakra, and he begins.
Ā
Ā
āI hope you arenāt thinking of sneaking out that window.ā Toshiroās voice is authoritative enough to give the man pause from his attempted escape ā one leg dangling out the window. Fucking ANBU.
Thereās no response.Ā
Toshiro sighs and shuts the door behind him. The ANBUās shoulders seem to slump a little when he realizes Toshiro isnāt leaving. āGet inside.ā
Slowly, painfully, the man hefts himself back into the room and stands beside the hospital bed. Toshiro watches with dispassionate eyes. Whatever pain Inu is feeling was brought on by his own stupidity.
āYou realize youāve been here a total of two days.ā He begins, walking closer and ignoring the tensing of the manās shoulders. āYouāve only recently woken up, and while the Mystical Palm Technique is excellent at sealing wounds and purging poison, it canāt replenish your chakra. Of which you are currently severely lacking.ā
ā...It is sufficient.ā Comes the whisper, not even dulled by the mask. God, what Toshiro wouldnāt give to get a look at the seals they used.
āOut of the two of us, who is the medical professional?ā The question is redundant, of course, so he bulldozes forward without waiting for a response. āItās not sufficient. What you need is rest. And another round of treatment. No soldier pills. ā
The ANBU looks veryā¦ awkward. Itās late afternoon, the sun just beginning to slip under the treeline visible from the open window. Orange-tinted rays turn the white room into peach and spun-gold, the gray of the manās hair aglow like a flame. He holds himself tensely, likely from pain but also from something else. Inu isnāt bulky. Heās lean muscle, skin yellow with bruises and pink with new and old scars, the hospital clothes hang shapelessly off his frame (theyād taken everything but the ceramic mask, his ANBU uniform taken away just last night). He looks, surprisinglyā¦ young. Even if he is a good five inches taller than Toshiro.Ā
Spinning these details through his brain for a second, Toshiro comes to the conclusion that the guy probably isnāt much older than him. (Operating on the guy had at least told Toshiro that Inu was young, maybe twenties. Maybe younger.) So. Definitely socially and emotionally stunted, like every child soldier the Third War churned out.
Toshiro doesnāt know Inuās actual name or face. He didnāt ask and he didnāt look. Inu is an ANBU, so itās expected. Medical history is rarely shared, almost never stored. (Another disaster that needs to be sorted.) Allergies? Not always something they can get out of a patient if theyāre badly injured and incoherent. Running on luck is not how Toshiro wants to run a hospital.
Is that the plan? He hums to himself. Hospital takeover?
āGet back in bed.ā He orders after another silence.Ā
Inu sits.
Toshiro very painfully refrains from saying Good boy. Heh. Dog puns.
The ANBU is quiet and stiff as Toshiro passes chakra heavy hands over his body, checking the rate of recovery and status of his current ailments. Inu could run and be out of here before Toshiro even blinks. Heās not stupid. He knows the man far outclasses him in skill. Toshiro has always known that while he can hold his own, his fighting capabilities will never be S class like they were required to be for Black Ops. So it says something that Inu decided to stay. Social awkwardness, definitely. Ā
āThe poison didnāt leave any lasting effects.ā He says in the silence, the sky shifting into sunset hues. Inuās hair shines pink and gold. āYour concussion isā¦ nearly healed. You may still feel nauseous, so if you end up needing to puke, you know where the bathroom is.āĀ
Inuās body language doesnāt give much away. Heās still coiled like a spring and doing the exact opposite of what he should be ā which is relaxing. Ninja are the absolute worst patients. Toshiro frowns.
āGet some sleep, Inu.ā He says, and hopes it sounds like an order. āWe both know I canāt stop you from leaving, but youāre not cleared for duty so sleeping here wonāt be any different from sleeping at home. At least here youāll have access to medical attention if something crops up.ā
Thereās another long, quiet moment ā then Inu settles back, pulling himself fully onto the bed and under the covers with heavy reluctance and painful slowness. Something like a huff can be heard, barely more than an exhale. āYes, sensei.ā
Itās drawled, though the tenor of the manās voice is still way too...soldier-like. Still, the hint of exasperation from behind the mask is both a relief and mildly telling of Inuās age. Toshiro nods shortly, flashing a tired smile and hoping the deep bags under his rosy eyes arenāt too terrifying. Itās a little refreshing to be taken seriously. The world was aware of freaky genius children with abilities far beyond their years ā that didnāt mean people liked being bossed around by someone younger than them. Toshiro still dealt with shinobi who assumed him to be some child playing doctor rather than the Head of the Shinobi Trauma Ward.Ā
āAikawa Toshiro.ā He introduces, realizing belatedly how impolite he had been in not doing it upon entering the room. āYou know the drill. Seal at the bedside if you need a nurse, theyāll grab me if you want me.ā
Predictably, Inu does not return the introduction. (Toshiro expects nothing less.)
Ā
Ā
Toshiro takes a lot of notes. He fills notebooks upon notebooks with potential ideas for the future, plans to improve the hospital system and maybe even throw the entire village into political upheaval. (Those notes were more like 3 am delusions after not sleeping for three days straight.) He doesnāt know what kind of person heād be if he didnāt have the maturity and early clarity of a previous life backing him, so heās thankful for it at times like these.
āI understand your concerns, Aikawa-sensei.ā The hospital director is a gaunt, pale woman with gray-streaked black hair and piercing silver eyes. They have something of a reluctant partnership, because she sees him as a wild and revolutionary, which is dangerous in a shinobi village.Ā
āDo you?ā He quips, sitting across from her in the uncomfortable little chair provided. His legs are crossed, notebook open on one knee and fingers absently tracing the sentences inscribed there. āThen you agree with the motions Iām putting forward?ā
Aoyama-senseiās office is sparse and white, like the rest of the hospital. She probably spends just as much time as he does here, if not more, but thereās no personal touches anywhere aside from a little plant on her desk. Toshiroās office is filled with too many notebooks, filing cabinets, about fifteen plants, a futon and an assortment of knick-knacks heād squirreled away over time.Ā
He likes shiny things.
Aoyama-sensei pinches the bridge of her nose. āWe donāt have the funding, Aikawa-sensei. Donāt protest ā I agree with you. The hospital could desperately use some remodeling, both for updates and for easierā¦ handling of patients. It means nothing when the Council denies us at every turn! We had to struggle for the funding we manage to receive already.ā
Toshiro purses his lips. āIf I show them my plans?ā
Aoyama-sensei raises her brows, face marred with slight exasperation. āIām sure some of them would appreciate the benefit that would come with it, others would laugh in your face. They are not willing to spend money if they do not have to.ā
āThen Iāll make them see that they have to,ā he declares, āHow else do they expect a village to prosper if they do not allow it to grow? Arenāt plant metaphors Konohaās thing?ā
She offers a quaint smile, āI will express yourā¦ plans to my greatest ability.ā
Toshiro sighs, āNo way I can do it myself?ā
āYou know that wonāt happen.ā She murmurs, just a hint of remorse in her tone, āNot until you take my job, that is.ā
āOh?ā He grins, pretending heās not feeling the weight of her first words pressing on his chest. Konoha, for all its claims about being a peaceful place for the people, tended to choke out the voices of their population. If you had no clan, you werenāt seen. If you had no power or reputation, you werenāt heard. He was a clanless orphan who lived in the same one-bedroom apartment heād been gifted as a four year old. Heād made no waves in the war, had no special ability or skill to attract attention. No, Aikawa Toshiro was just a guy living his second life, throwing caution to the wind and setting his sights on changing the world for the better. Might asĀ well, right?Ā
(He thinks of eight year old bodies lined up, mutilated and staring unseeingly into the abyss of a dark sky. Heād only been carrying two body scrolls. How do you choose which child to bring back? Which to leave alone in the forest, left in the carnage and rot? Logic. Clan kids had higher importance. He hated it. Hated it, hated the bitter feeling of leaving two kids behind, taking the corpse of his sensei and the corpse of an eight year old Inuzuka with him. What made them better than the other one? The clanless kid who deserved just as much, just not in the eyes of the elite? Thereās some measure of vindication, knowing a clanless kid like him had been the only one to survive, even if the other had fallen. Itās a poisonous, regretful thought, because none of them had deserved to die.)
āDonāt act smug,ā She interrupts his thoughts, āYouāre not ignorant enough to not know youāre the most considered replacement, you only lack experience and age. Itās why I canāt finally retire. A few more years under your belt, and this damn office is all yours, kid.ā
āIām gonna tear them apart.ā Is what he settles on, not sure what expression heās conveying, though his lips have pulled into some semblance of a smile.
Aoyama-sensei matches him, her own grin unrepentant and sharp, making her look like the shinobi people sometimes forget she is. āIām counting on it.ā
Ā
Ā
āInu.ā He says, very little inflection in his voice. Heās not surprised to see the ANBU. This is a hospital and the man is a ninja. āWhat a relief, youāre not not critically injured this time. Might even get away with leaving tonight.ā
If Inu cares for Toshiroās dry tone, he says nothing of it. Still, Toshiro feels like the ANBUās eyes are on him, peering from behind that painted, ceramic mask. Toshiro doesnāt take the silence personally.Ā
Theyāre lucky enough that the night is slow once more, and the ANBU team that shows up isnāt very injured ā and only three of them are even here, which speaks for the success of the mission because ANBU squads generally contain six members. (At least, thatās what Toshiro has observed.) Maybe itās sensitive information, maybe itās not. Either way, a separate entrance for shinobi would help keep away gossip and rumors spread by curious civilians. Ā
A Council meeting is taking place today, and Toshiro feels like his heart is about to leap from his chest with how much anxiety heās feeling. If Aoyama-sensei plays her cards right ā well, his cards, but same thing ā then maybe some change would be heading their way soon. Heās trying very hard not to get his hopes up, because sheād been right the other day. The Council would burst out laughing at the audacity of a clanless, fifteen-year-old Medic Ninās proposal. Especially when it included them spending money where they didnāt want to.Ā
With the amount of money they put into their shinobi forces, youād think the education system would be better and the kunai would be gold-plated.
āAikawa-sensei.ā Inu finally replies in a stilted greeting, and Toshiro is actually a little surprised the man remembered his name.
āYou can walk, right? Follow me and Iāll fix up that arm for you.ā Toshiro moves away from the desk area, heading straight down the hall to the nearest free room. If it werenāt for the fact that the ANBU wasnāt hiding his chakra, Toshiro wouldnāt have even noticed the man following him. Moving silently isnāt a skill only the Elite know, Toshiro is pretty good at it himself, but Inu seems to take it to a whole new level, erasing his very presence. Toshiro doesnāt even feel the weight of eyes on him, even though he knows heās being watched.
Inu lets him disinfect and stitch up the wound down his forearm without a single complaint. Not even a wince. Not unusual, but sad. Very...sad. With his glove and forearm protector off, Toshiro is left looking at an arm not only baring the freshly stitched wound, but the marks of many previous scars. A hand and wrist covered inā¦ lightning burns. Very telling. Either Inu has a lightning chakra nature, or had a bad run in with a lightning jutsu. Judging by the fork-in-a-socket look Inuās hair pulls off, Toshiro is pretty sure it was the manās chakra nature.
He runs a chakra coated hand over the wound, sealing up the worst of it. āNo poison detected, the stitches will dissolve in two days. Try not to get them wet ā sorry, you probably know all this.ā Thereās a bit of a joke in there, āSeeing as this is your favorite place in the village.ā
Inu twitches a little, the subtlest roll of shoulder muscles. āIām not entirely medically incompetent.ā
āOh ho?ā Toshiro raises a brow. āIāll believe it when I see it, flight-risk.ā
He pretends he doesnāt hear the man exhale in a way that sounds close to a laugh. Thereās still too much tension in Inuās body for humor. Toshiro wonders if the other knows the meaning of the word relax. Ā
āGo home.ā He finally says, releasing the manās arm with another cursory glance. āYouāre taking up space.ā
The man is gone within the next blink.
Ā
Ā
Bad news, the Council remains filled with dipshits who get their rocks off on sabotaging the livelihoods of future generations. His proposal (delivered through Aoyama-senseiās mouth) is rejected. Itās not surprising, not really. But it smarts a bit. Turns out heād held a little more hope in this endeavor than heād realized.
So he stews in his thoughts and makes a few more lists out of stress, reorders all his cabinets again, then goes out and buys a cute little mint plant to sit next to the little cactus heād gotten last month, imported from Suna. It grinds his gears, but he can wait. Heās only fifteen.
In a world that uses children as cannon fodder.
Ok, so many heās more pissed than he lets on, but thatās not surprising. He never shows the full scope of his emotions. Itās better that way. Easier to not get attached or have people get attached to you. A habit he still hasnāt broken out of, even five years after the war. Guess the trauma is a little more deep-rooted than anticipated, mature mind or not.Ā
He thinks heās forgotten how toā¦ accept being lonely. Admitting it. Heās gone a bit numb, frankly speaking.
Speaking ofā¦ Ā
He makes another note on a stray piece of paper.Ā
MENTAL HEALTH. YAMANAKA???
The words are swiftly underlined twice, and he puts the note next to his new mint plant. Hopefully he wonāt forget it.
In other news ā not good, not bad, justā¦ news ā Inuās mission return schedule seems to suddenly line up with Toshiroās shifts. It feels like he always ends up patching up the man, unless another shinobi is critically injured, and itās gotten to the point where Toshiro almost feels like the man is seeking him out.
Well, he thinks, I suppose he just trusts me a little more. Maybe?
Get patched up by the same face every time and youāre bound to be Pavlovād. It could be a lot of things, actually. His age, for one. Child genius finding comfort in another āsupposedā child genius. Because Toshiro was very obviously fifteen and very obviously in charge. Stunted kids related more to stunted kids. Loathe as he is to admit his own faulty mental health, a childhood in Konoha fucked him up. Like, a lot.
āYou know,ā he murmurs one day, hands coated in Inuās blood and shining with healing chakra. āYou keep showing up here and I might start thinkinā ya like me.ā
The slice isnāt too terrible, but it must be painful, feeling the flesh of your leg knit itself together. Sage knows no self-respecting ninja would take painkillers fresh off a mission. Idiots.
He almost misses the weak laugh.
Itās an odd sound, it almost sounds distorted; except Toshiro knows by now that those ANBU masks somehow let voices be heard clear as day. After a moment he comes to the realization that it's probably because Inu has forgotten how to laugh, so the sound is heavy with discomfort and shock, perhaps at his own slip up.
So he says nothing, and neither does Inu.