De-ja-vu. The familiar feeling of dread, the well known room, the always present scent of blood. A child's terror unguarded, tears unchecked, darkness surrounding. He was running, running down a hall which seemed a million miles long. He tripped and fell, his hands wouldn't co-operate and he fell on his dace, inhaling the dust of the old house, un-swept for centuries. The pieces of his mask shattered around him, the painted white porcelain scattering. The door to his right was open, flooded with light which did not reach past the door frame into the darkness which threatened to swallow him whole. He knew the carpet shouldn't be red. A figure lay on the stained carpet, facing away from him. What should be silver was brown, what should be pale was tan, and what should be unmarred was stained red.

Kakashi screamed as he awoke, sitting up, barely avoiding hitting his head on the bedside table as he fought to disentangle himself from the suffocating sheets. The room was dark as he fell out of his bed, forcing himself to his feet. He stumbled into the bathroom, groping for the light as he fought the urge to be sick. The light flickered on, too bright for his eyes as he fell to the floor in front of the cold ceramic of the toilet bowl, heaving as he lost the contents of his stomach into the swirling water.

He got, shakily to his feet, flushing the toilet and staggering over to the sink. He looked terrible. Dark rings surrounded his eyes and his skin was paler than usual, clammy and sticky, hair glued to his face with sweat. He spat into the sink, washing his mouth out with the mouthwash he kept in the cupboard.

Half an hour later, Kakashi stepped out of the bathroom, looking considerably better than when he'd gone in. He ran a hand along the sword laying atop the cabinet in his bedroom, remembering the vivid nightmare haunting him. Iruka. Not his father, Iruka, laying dead on the floor, this very blade thrust through his gut. He felt sick again.

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The morning light hit Iruka's face as he awoke, his face wet with tears from another night of fitful sleep and haunted dreams. He felt weak, drained and ill, just as he did every morning; dead to the world. He glanced down at his arms laying on top of the dark quilt. He wasn't fit to be a shinobi, let alone a teacher. What would his students' parents say if they knew what their children were being taught by. He forced himself to roll over, crawling out of the low bed, shivering as the cold hit him. Staggering, he made his way into the bathroom, barely able to keep himself upright as he grabbed the wall to get to the targeted room.

There were no windows in the unlit room, the only light coming in through the open door from the un-curtained window in his bedroom. Years of this morning ritual enabled him to make his shaky way to the toilet and fall down to his knees on the cold wooden floor.

He gagged, the acidic feeling in his throat making his eyes water as his body fought against his mind. His stomach heaved but nothing came up, nothing ever did these days. Iruka squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for breath. The pain in his stomach intensified as he fought the urge to scream. He gagged again, blood spilling from his mouth. He could feel the healing wound on his stomach reopen, the searing pain rushing through his body, blocking out the acidic feeling in his throat. He could taste blood, the metallic coppery scent making him gag, fighting the urge to throw up.

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"Yo."

"Kakashi-sensei! You're late!" Naruto yelled up at his tardy sensei, shaking his fist and wondering what elaborate excuse the jounin would come up with today.

"How come you haven't been here for two weeks?" Sakura asked, leaning against the bridge railing as their sensei jumped down onto the wooden boarding.

"Well, a big green monster told me to go find a dolphin and steal his hair tie, and I couldn't say no to the monster because it would have eaten me, and then I couldn't catch the dolphin, they're very slippery you-"

"LIAR!!"

Kakashi glared his one-eyed glare at his students. For once, he was telling the truth, and yet they still didn't believe him.

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Iruka lay his forehead against the cold ceramic bowl, panting slightly as he fought to regain his breath. He really didn't feel like teaching this morning. He ran a finger across the deep wound and wondered how deep it would have to be before he died. He moaned in anguish as he thought of Izumo's reaction if he died. He didn't want to upset the other chuunin, no matter how jealous he was of the other's relationship with Kotetsu. He wished sometimes, he could have someone like that, someone who cared for him and would look after him. He couldn't possibly have that sort of relationship with anyone though, not with his body in the state it was. He sighed and stood up. He would have to face the ankle-biters that were his class at some point.. It may as well be now.