Title: Aspenglow [Part III
Fandom/ Pairing: Naruto/ KakaIru
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, AU
Notes: Written for the KakaIru LiveJournal Christmas song challenge; "Aspenglow"

The wind was his ally; it urged him forward, sweeping flurries his direction as he tore across the forest floor on swift feet that barely skimmed the earth. Heady with adrenaline and the burning in his muscles, Kakashi did not pause and did not slow. Obstacles—a fallen log, a sharp limb protruding at a deadly angle—were mere scenery against the sheer force of his will and speed. He was a being of thunder and lightning, powerful and swift and free as a winter storm; creature, predator, force. A wolf on the hunt. The aspen trees sang encouragement in their clear, quiet trills, affirming his lot in life: to chase with all his soul and, eventually, to kill so that it might survive to hunt another day. He was close, now, so close that he could taste flesh of his prey in its heady scent, the roar in his ears driving him ever faster. It was there, he had found it! The aspens needed only recede from their mystical huddle around his quarry, and, without seeing or stopping, Kakashi pounced upon the thing which he had run so far to catch.

Even as he bit into the muscle and tissue of his fallen victim, however, the wolf knew something was wrong. The flesh rotted in his mouth, its blood burning as it dripped upon the snow. His single eye focused on the mauled profile before him. Suddenly maddened, weak and all-too-human, he retched upon the ground, gaze filled with Iruka gasping in front of him, not dead but still eaten…

Kakashi woke to the sound of gagging, and, for a heart-stopping moment, thought it his own. But no, he was still in wolf form, lying unmoving near the fireplace. It was another who was panting between sicknesses. Careful not to disturb his wound for another time, the wolf rose shakily, banishing the nightmare to the back of his mind in favor of searching out the human. His claws clicked delicately against the wooden steps as he ascended, eyes trained on a chink of light spilling from the restroom. Kakashi drew up next to it and heard Iruka's unmistakable coughs. He poked his head into the small room. The human was on his knees in front of the commode, body sweat-soaked and trembling with such intensity that Kakashi almost felt wary of him. However, doubling over, the young man retched again, and the wolf realized that he was simply very ill.

A long time passed before the human took notice of his visitor. He gave a weak smile upon seeing Kakashi. "Hey, boy," he murmured. "Did I wake you?"

Boy? Offended, Kakashi receded and began to make his way back to the hearth, but a fresh bout of coughing made him pause at the staircase. Perhaps the human had not meant to address him as such, given his weakened state. Perhaps he had merely been mistaken for a childhood pet. With the haunting dream yet fresh in his mind's eye, the wolf made his decision: Iruka was out of his head and did not intend to be insulting. He could—and did—return to his side with dignity.

He found the human washing his face and mouth in the sink, upright but still unsteady. Drawing up next to him, Kakashi was suddenly bearing a large portion of Iruka's weight as the human stumbled and caught himself on Kakashi's sturdy frame. He pushed back quickly. "Oh…Sorry."

Stoic, the wolf nudged his hand toward the door.

"It's never been this bad," mumbled Iruka, taking the wolf's advice and heading back to his bedroom, one palm braced against the wall for support. Beside him, Kakashi gave a mental snort—believe whatever you need to, human—and all but dragged him into the dim sanctuary, where half-soaked bed sheets, crumpled and askew, gave him pause until Iruka collapsed uncaringly onto the mattress. The wolf backed up to observe as the human curled into a weak ball. He was yet shaking and looked to be in pain, but he would survive, wouldn't he? Had Kakashi not fulfilled his obligations? Of course he had. The wolf exited the room, unrepentant. Or so he told himself.

Iruka's previous statement was truthful: in the many winters he had suffered through his colds, none had ever proved as severe as the one with which he now dealt. The world grew hot and hazy soon after the wolf left him, pain and nausea making him sluggish and heavy as he writhed in his own perspiration. Distorted memories and dreams were his only refuge. The visions danced before his eyes as though attempting to draw him from the fever's torment. He saw his mother and father cuddling on the very couch which now sat in his living room, the wolf's intelligent gaze gleaming in spite of the demonic snarl it wore, the stares of so many people in town: immoral, they pronounced him, unnatural. Why couldn't he simply melt before their icy judgment froze him in his tracks? Tears carved canyons on his burning cheeks; undoubtedly there would be scars. "Mother," he begged, wishing for the coolness of her hand. "Father, please…"

And then a hand did come, seizing him roughly by the shoulder and all but dragging him to his feet. He loosed a small groan, only to be rebuked with a low snarl. "Quiet," said an unfamiliar voice. Then, "Get in."

In where? wondered Iruka stupidly before he heard the shower's rushing hiss. There was no steam, however, no warmth that he could sense. He opened his mouth to protest, but found himself shoved, still clothed, under a stream of water so cold it made him yelp. His eyes flew open only to be blinded by the restroom's golden light. Gripping him by the back of his neck, the stranger's hand held him in full force of the shower despite Iruka's struggling.

"Do you want to get your core temperature down or not? You aren't a mewling child, and I will not lower myself to treat you as such." the voice came again. Iruka forced himself to calm down, though his shivering redoubled. His hair had long since fallen from its customary ponytail and hung limp at his shoulders, smoothed and darkened by the water. He tried again to get a good view of the strange person's face, only to have soap poured indiscriminately over his head.

"H-Hey!"

"You stink worse than a badger in heat." There was a touch of annoyance but no outright spite in the stranger's tone. Iruka felt his shirt pulled from him then, the buttons of his pajamas clinking against the tile floor. The action was oddly tender, or at least it struck Iruka as such. He relaxed a little. "Take off the rest."

He tried, but the floor was too slippery and his balance was skewed in the first place. Losing his footing for a moment, he caught himself against a hard, broad chest that seemed to be wrapped with bandages. He paused in fevered shock, cold water forgotten. "Is that…?" he wondered aloud, but all too soon the hand found a nerve at the back of his neck, and he slipped into darkness once more.

It would be far easier this way, Kakashi told himself for the thousandth time as he tossed the limp human, still wet from the shower, onto his freshly-made bed. Unconsciousness meant less questions, fewer chances of being seen. Ruined pajamas aside, nothing would be that different; Iruka could easily chalk the whole affair up to a fever-induced fantasy, and Kakashi would make damn sure that he would have no reason to think otherwise. Still, he cursed his own carelessness; was he such a fool that he could not think to cover the one thing that might draw parallels between his human and wolf forms?

"Idiot," he growled, pulling the human back into a sitting position. The man was still shivering. He had to dry him off, or the shower would only make things worse, he reflected, grudgingly fetching a towel. The hair was first; he twisted it, rubbing harshly from roots to tips in an effort to wring out the excess moisture. A low rumble reached Kakashi's sensitive ears, but it didn't surprise him: he had smelled the oncoming storm long before it announced itself.

"Do you hear that, human?" he whispered, yanking at the addressee's damp locks. "A blizzard is approaching. Perhaps I was wise to remain with you after all, no matter how much trouble you cause me." He moved the towel to Iruka's neck and back. The human's skin was smooth and soft as a pup's down fur, dark and rich and earthy in coloring. It seemed to flicker with warmth and life. Eye narrowed as he looked at the bare body, the wolf found himself splaying a gloved hand over Iruka's navel. He growled at the little moan his action produced in the human, and, standing quickly, he paced and hissed curse after curse. "Fool. Fool!" Veritably shoving Iruka into a fresh set of pajamas, the wolf covered him before storming from the room, shifting to his animal form as he fell onto the hearth. However, neither the change in scenery nor the change in species halted his swirling thoughts. He instead directed them down other paths.

Unlike most lone wolves, Kakashi remembered something of his father. Though his firsthand recollections were few—an odd image of Sakumo trotting in the lonely light of morning, serious gaze holding his—the fame his father accumulated on Aspenglow lent to an abnormally complete picture of him. He had been strong, alpha material even, though expelled from his pack for reasons on which only the birds dared speculate. His muzzle had long since greyed by the time Kakashi came into the picture. That had been highly suspicious in itself, as there had been no female wolves on Aspenglow at the time of his birth.

Later, whispered the birds, a human woman had drowned herself in the mountain lake.

Kakashi turned over, fury redoubling as a realization raked like claws through his mind. How could he not have made the connection? How could he not have known that he, though sired by one of the mightiest hunters on Aspenglow, had been birthed by a human? He had never thought to pay attention to rumors, never assumed that a grain of truth might within the inane chatter and speculation. Unnatural, Iruka had called himself. Well, this makes two of us, the wolf thought a tad hysterically, rising in human form only to open the door. He was a silver blur across the snow, legs pounding as he ran from the warmth, from the human, from his memories, and from himself.

It was five days before Christmas, and the aspens were silent.