The corridors of the Konoha General Hospital always smelled the same: iodine, floor wax, and the heavy, sterile scent of anxiety.
It was a sharp, chemical sting that coated the back of the throat, poorly masking the underlying copper tang of dried blood and the cloying sweetness of "Get Well Soon" flowers rotting in the lobby.
Kakashi walked with his hands in his pockets, his hitai-ate pulled low over his left eye. The nurses ignored him—they were used to masked ninja stalking the halls—but the atmosphere felt heavier today. The village was recovering, but the beds were still full.
A gurney rattled past him—clack-clack-clack—carrying a Chunin with a leg wrapped in so much gauze it looked like a cocoon.
He stopped in front of Room 304.
He didn't open the door immediately. He listened. There was no sound from inside. No shouting about the "Power of Youth." No doing pushups on fingertips. Just the rhythmic mechanical hiss-click of a ventilator and the steady beep of a monitor. The silence was heavy, pressurized, as if the air in the room had been sucked out and replaced with lead.
Kakashi knocked. Rap. Rap.
"Come in," a voice answered. It was dull. Heavy. It sounded like a man speaking from the bottom of a well.
Kakashi paused, his hand hovering over the latch, surprised by the total lack of volume.
Kakashi slid the door open.
Might Guy sat in a plastic chair next to the bed, his head buried in his hands. He looked smaller than usual, his green jumpsuit slightly wrinkled, his usually gleaming bowl cut lacking its luster. He didn't look up, likely assuming it was a nurse coming to check the IV drip. The blinds were drawn, slicing the afternoon sun into thin, dusty strips that illuminated the floating motes of lint but left Guy in the shadows.
"Yo," Kakashi said softly.
Guy's hands dropped instantly. His posture snapped straight, vertebrae cracking into alignment. He spun around, eyes wide and red-rimmed.
"Kakashi!"
He was there in an instant.
There was no time to dodge. No time to substitute.
CRAACK.
Guy crushed Kakashi in a hug that threatened to dislocate three ribs and compress his spine into dust. Guy didn't smell like his usual "Springtime of Youth" soap; he smelled of stale cafeteria coffee and day-old sweat.
It wasn't a "bro-hug"; it was a desperate grapple for stability.
"Gah—" Kakashi wheezed.
Guy held on for a second too long, then realized he was currently strangling his eternal rival. He released him, stepping back and patting Kakashi's flak jacket with frantic energy.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Guy laughed, though the sound was brittle. "My reflexes! I am just... overflowing with energy!"
"Oofph," Kakashi groaned, rolling his shoulders and feeling things pop back into place. "Thanks for the readjustment. Cheaper than a chiropractor."
He looked at Guy. He looked at the exhaustion etched into the lines around his friend's eyes.
"Hey," Kakashi asked, tilting his head. "Has it been three years?"
Guy blinked. He looked at his watch. He looked at the calendar on the wall. He looked back at Kakashi, utterly confused.
"Since what?" Guy asked. "Since the invasion? Since we last ate sushi? Kakashi, you are making no sense!"
A fly buzzed against the windowpane—bzzzt-thwack—the only thing in the room exerting energy without purpose.
Kakashi averted his visible eye, scratching the bridge of his nose through his mask.
"Never mind," he muttered.
Internally: How strong has Naruto become that he mastered the Rasengan in a month? It took the Fourth three years. If the timeline is moving that fast... maybe I'm the one standing still.
He pushed the thought away. Now wasn't the time for an existential crisis about his teaching methods.
Kakashi cleared his throat, stepping past Guy to the foot of the bed.
"How is Lee?"
Rock Lee lay in the bed, swathed in bandages. He looked tiny. His bowl cut was matted against the pillow, and tubes ran from his arms like spiderwebs.
Guy forced a smile. It was the "Nice Guy" smile, complete with a sparkle, but the sparkle was wet.
The skin around his eyes was tight, the smile stretching like old rubber, threatening to snap.
"He's still training," Guy whispered. "Even now."
Guy motioned with his hand toward Lee, then pointed to the heart monitor.
Kakashi looked.
Lee's eyes were moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. REM sleep? No. It was too intense.
Beep... beep... beep...
Suddenly, the rhythm changed.
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.
Lee's pulse jumped. The numbers on the digital display climbed. 110. 130.
His chest rose and fell faster, though he didn't wake.
The sheets rustled violently, his legs twitching as muscles fired in a phantom sprint.
The machine began to whine, a high-pitched alarm warning of tachycardia.
WHINE-BEEP-WHINE-BEEP. The sound drilled into the quiet room, panicked and urgent.
"He's fighting," Guy narrated softly, watching the boy's face. "He's running laps in his mind. He's opening the Gates."
He should be dead. A heart shouldn't beat that fast while lying still.
Then, just as quickly, it plummeted.
250... 220... 190... 160...
The sweat broke out on Lee's forehead. His breathing hitched, then smoothed out.
130... 100... 80... 70. 70. Steady.
The machine returned to its slow, rhythmic chant. Beep... beep...
Kakashi stared. He had heard of visualization training, but this was visceral. Lee wasn't in a coma; he was in a dojo built of sheer willpower. Heat radiated off the boy's body, a feverish warmth that Kakashi could feel from three feet away, smelling faintly of scorched chakra.
"Curious," Kakashi murmured.
"Youth," Guy said. He gave a thumbs up, his hand trembling slightly. "The Power of Youth never sleeps."
Kakashi nodded slowly. "The Power of Youth."
Kakashi stuck his fist out.
Guy looked at it. He smiled fully this time—a genuine, blinding expression of gratitude. He bumped his fist against Kakashi's.
Thud.
Guy's knuckles were dry and rough, trembling against Kakashi's gloved hand.
"I'll take care of them," Kakashi promised quietly. "You stay here. He needs you when he wakes up."
Kakashi turned and started to walk toward the door.
"Kakashi!" Guy called out.
Kakashi paused, hand on the latch.
"Don't let Neji frown too much," Guy said, his voice turning serious. "It causes wrinkles. And it bad for team morale."
"Heh," Kakashi chuckled, scratching his head. "Yeah, it does."
He opened the door.
"And tell Tenten to give the whittling a break," Guy added. "She is getting too many splinters. It makes it hard to throw kunai."
Kakashi felt a pang of sympathy; he knew the specific frustration of a weapon user unable to hold their edge.
Kakashi stopped. He put his hand over his face for a second, hiding a smile that was halfway between amused and 'Kami help me with these kids.'
He turned his head slightly, giving Guy the one-eyed smile.
"Got it."
He shut the door, leaving the Green Beast to guard his cub.
The latch clicked shut—snick—sealing the heavy, medicinal air inside and leaving Kakashi alone in the hallway.
The sun outside the main gate was bright, cheerful, and completely at odds with the group waiting for him.
A cicada screamed from a nearby tree, a shrill, vibrating noise that seemed to amplify the heat and the tension.
Kakashi stood at the trailhead, looking at his "New Team."
It was a study in geometry and angst.
On the left: SasukeUchiha. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a wooden post. He was staring at the ground, radiating a brooding energy that was practically visible. A breeze kicked up dust around his sandals, but he didn't blink, his Uchiha crest stark and unmoving on his back.
On the right: NejiHyūga. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the opposite post. He was staring at the sky, radiating a stoic superiority that mirrored Sasuke perfectly. His white eyes reflected the clouds drifting above, cold and distant, refusing to acknowledge the earth beneath him. They were facing away from each other, like bookends of emotional unavailability. The space between them felt charged, like the air before a lightning strike, crackling with silent rivalry.
In the middle: Tenten.
She stood between the two prodigies, holding a scroll. She looked at Sasuke. She looked at Neji. She looked at the ten feet of awkward silence stretching between them.
She looked at Kakashi and shrugged, her expression saying, 'I just work here.'
Behind them, the transport carriage waited. It was pulled by two horses this time, sturdy and calm. Kotetsu and Izumo were feeding them apples, looking relaxed and happy. One of the horses snorted, shaking its mane and stomping a hoof, breaking the standoff with a wet, blubbering sound.
"So," Kakashi muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head. "Two geniuses who hate everything, and a weapons specialist who's one bad day away from using them on her teammates."
He sighed, feeling the weight of the mission before it even started.
"Well," Kakashi called out, stepping into the sunlight. "Let's go save the world. Try not to kill each other on the way."
He stepped onto the carriage step, the wood creaking under his weight, the smell of horse feed and old leather replacing the hospital's iodine.
Sasuke grunted.
Neji hmphed.
Tenten sighed.
Troublesome, Kakashi thought, signaling the carriage to move. I miss my students already.