Here's the first actual chapter. First scene is the same as the teaser, just from Jiraiya's POV instead of Kakashi's. Second chapter is already almost finished too, so... :)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never has been, never will be.
Jiraiya frowned at the small form in his arms as he ran. Minato's urgent message, sent by word of mouth through their shared summons— "Kakashi's not at home; please help search"— had obviously not ranked high on his list of favorite toad moments. Minato had gone to search their favorite chunin's preferred training grounds while Jiraiya, following some odd instinct he swore he'd gotten from spending too much time around depressed children, had gone to Sakumo's grave in search of their little gallivanting silvertop.
He'd found the seven-year-old passed out in front of the gravestone, fingers resting on the inscription as though he'd been tracing it, face flushed and wracked with the highest fever the Toad Sage had ever seen in his life. He hadn't taken more than a moment to think; he'd just scooped up the boy and started running.
It was an unfortunate thing that the graveyard was so far outside the village. It was supposed to give mourners in their processions time to take in the beauty that continued after their loss, and find comfort in the forest and its constancy. Even at top speed, it could take a special jounin ten minutes or more to reach just the gates, let alone the record six minutes from there to the hospital.
At the rate Jiraiya was going, he'd make it in five.
He noticed the little masked boy shift slightly in his arms and started to deliver the lecture he'd been planning since he got the news, but then he saw the look in those steel gray eyes, clouded as they were with fever. He decided to begin with some tough-ish comfort and just throw in a little threat for spice. "Don't worry, kid; we'll get you somewhere warm and dry, and then we can have a nice long conversation about just what you think you were doing hanging out by your old man's grave in this."
The last Hatake's eyes drifted to almost-closed, his brow twitching in confusion. Jiraiya almost laughed; always trying to assess the situation, Kakashi was. Good luck trying to do that with a fever that was threatening seizures.
Instead he shook his head, trying to fathom the boy's thinking. The storm had been threatening for days— everyone had been preparing— and he'd decided it was a good time to get over his grudge and come visit his dad's grave now? "C'mon, kiddo, what were you tryin' to do? Follow him up? Jeeze..."
Another confused twitch; This time there was a little clarity in the dark eyes as Kakashi tilted his head to see who was carrying him. His brow furrowed as deeply as a seven-year-old's could, with just that slight one-sided quirk to show he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. Jiraiya saw the mask move down with the jaw as the mouth opened, but the words that came out nearly stopped his heart.
"J'riya? Bu'... y'r dead..."
Kakashi's eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.
Jiraiya started running faster.
The first thing Kakashi was aware of was smell.
(Of course it was. He was a Hatake, after all.)
Good; he thought, noting the mutedness of the antiseptic and vomit mixture that always permeated hospital air, stirred intermittently by the smell of earth, slimy things, sweat, playing cards, onsen soap, ramen, burned food, strawberries, and sunshine. They remembered the mask.
Because he was a Hatake, and like all Hatakes since records could indicate, strong scents— like those usually found in a hospital— could assault his heightened olfactory system so brutally that he risked asphyxiation simply because of how powerfully he perceived it. He literally would be unable to breathe without choking at the potency. It was why the clan had developed the seal that was embroidered on the inside of all of his masks to limit how much scent could come through. Sakumo, who had despised having to cover his face, had opted to tattoo the seal on his upper lip (with some modifications to cover a projected area surrounding his nose instead of only that which was immediately touching the seal) in an ink so close to his own skin tone that even he couldn't find it when he looked in the mirror. Kakashi on the other hand found this distasteful, and so reverted to the age-old practice of mask wearing. He figured if it was good enough for his great-great-great-grandfather, it was good enough for him. Besides, it was better for teasing the world with.
He always had been told he seemed an old soul.
(Until he'd reached his twenties, of course; then he started being called childish most of the time.)
Eventually sound made a feeble attempt to join his conscious senses. Snippets, as though his ears were still deciding whether or not they really wanted to work, drifted down on the landscape if his mind like snow into treetops, trying desperately to form a solid layer upon which reality might rest, only to crumble through the gaps between the leaves as soon as it got too heavy and rush to meet the ground with an undignified sklerpt.
"... fever..."
"... in the rain..."
"Thunder... father... check on him..."
"... still a kid..."
"Idiot geniuses..."
It occurred to him after some time of this going on that the problem might not be his ears at all, but rather his state of consciousness— or rather, lack thereof. Upon reaching this conclusion he decided to experiment upon this notion by pushing himself to wakefulness. Granted, it was easier said than done, but he woke just in time to hear the impossible voice from before say "Thought I was dead."
"'S 'cause y' were dead," Kakashi interjected tiredly, forcing his eyes open. He was thankful for the low light in the room; anything bright was sure to trigger an explosive headache right now, given how the rest of him felt. "Not more'n... how long I been out, four hours? An' y' said 'Kumo's grave, so fi'teen... 'atever, y' were a' leas' sev'n y'rs gone... mebbe eigh'... las' I checked. Not too long 'go. Less'n a week. I think."
Sensing the stunned silence of the group he could sense was in the room with him, Kakashi gave up on blinking his eyes into obedience and turned his head to look at the blurry shapes of once-familiar people. "An' did I smell M'nato-nii an' Kush'na-nee? Y've bin dead, what, a'mos' t'enty-'hree? T'enty-four years? N'ruto's ge'in' older all 'a time... 'Afta give 'm the hat soon, b'fore 'e blows 'imself up wit' unna t'ose seals 'e k'ps messin' wit'..." He frowned, finally registering the sounds coming out of his mouth. "Could one 'f y' tell me jes' w't cr'wled inna m' mout' an' died? I can' spea' prop'rly 'ntil i' c'mes ou'."
For several seconds, none of the blurry figures moved or said anything. He couldn't even hear them breathing. Finally one of them spoke.
"Something's wrong."
Kakashi furrowed his brow once more in recognition as she approached him, her hands glowing with green chakra.
"Ts'nade? W't 're you doin' here? Y're s'posed ta be a' the Kage Summit wi' the other old-timers pr'tennin' 'a be r'tired..."
Cool hands touched his still burning forehead, and everything faded into black.
There it is. Thoughts anyone? Good, bad, indifferent? Here's a quick translation of Kakashi's brain-dead mumbling:
That's because youweredead.
Not more than... how long have I been out, four hours? And you said Sakumo's grave, so fifteen... whatever, you were at least seven years gone... maybe eight... last I checked. Not too long ago. Less than a week. I think.
And did I smell Minato-nii and Kushina-nee? You've been dead, what, almost twenty-three? Twenty-four years? Naruto's getting older all the time... I'll have to give him the hat soon, before he blows himself up with one of those seals he keeps messing with...
Could one of you tell me just what crawled into my mouth and died? I can't speak properly until it comes out.
The idea is that the strain of time travel has kind of scrambled his brain, so he's way out of it. High fever, little control of facial muscles, etc... whatever.
That's all for now :)
