Chapter Text
Iruka Umino had made peace with the fact that his life would never be normal.
Whether it was men running him over with their cars, crazy stalker exes hiding drugs in his house, or his new boyfriend running around shooting people for a living, there was always something lying it wait, ready to rip Iruka from his perfectly happy, normal life and throw it into a nightmarish pit of chaos and drama. He had always been assured by his peers during his formative years that he was a boring nobody, and no amount of prank-pulling would make his life more interesting or attract people to him. That, it seemed, was no longer the case. His life was now very interesting, and he had attracted more than his fair share of weirdos.
After Anko had taken Mizuki into her custody, Iruka began to receive monthly progress-slash-apology letters from the man, delivered by Kakashi and liberally censored before the handoff. Often, the letters contained nothing more than “Dear Iruka”, three paragraphs of black marker scribbles, and then “sincerely, Mizuki”. Anko sent her own letters along as well, which were friendly and chatty, and Kakashi left those untouched. She was always sending Iruka new flavors of instant ramen to try, which made her Naruto’s new favorite person, even though he didn’t know her last name or where she lived.
Kakashi didn’t think Mizuki should be contacting Iruka. Then again, Kakashi also thought he was a hitman and was constantly leaving incriminating shit as Iruka’s apartment, so he wasn’t entirely ready to take his opinion as truth. Just the other day, Iruka had found pieces of a sniper rifle lying on his desk, and when he’d asked about it, Kakashi had insisted on showing him for forty minutes how to properly clean the barrel.
“I really couldn’t guess why you keep this up,” Iruka told him, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he chopped scallions in his kitchen for the ramen bubbling on the stove. “You know I already think you’re rugged and masculine, so it’s not entirely necessary to keep pretending to be this Man of Mystery.”
“Iruka,” Kakashi said, in the tone of a man who had already said the words a thousand times and was beginning to give up, “Why would I lie to you? I thought you were going to wash your hands of me, if you knew.” The ringing sound of a shot being fired cut through the otherwise empty pause before Kakashi continued speaking, saying, “I honestly never confronted the fact that you might not believe me.”
“Contract killers don’t exist,” Iruka said matter-of-factly, punctuating his words with knife slashes, dicing a leafy green onion into little rings for his ramen noodles, “I’ve done a lot of thinking about it.”
“And a lot of arguing with me.”
Another shot rang out.
Iruka flinched but pressed on. “Right, because I’ve come to the conclusion that you’ve been fucking with me this whole time. You’re probably just at a range right now, or something.”
“What’s your evidence?”
Iruka swayed over to the pot, cutting board in hand, and with his other completely healed arm - how novel! - brushed the onion slivers into the pot. “Naruto! Sasuke!” he called out loudly, projecting his voice up to the second floor. “Get in here!”
“Ow,” Kakashi said, “Loud.”
“Sorry,” Iruka said half-heartedly, “Anyway, my evidence is that you’ve never done anything illegal in front of me. Mizuki was always doing sketchy things in my apartment, but you’ve been a model citizen.”
“You want me to start leaving severed fingers in your pickle jar? I could do that.”
“Har har,” Iruka fake-laughed.
“I’m serious. You want proof? I’ll bring you the body parts.”
“My students have a word for people like you.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“Edgelord.”
Kakashi cackled, then swore and hissed as another gunshot pinged. “I gotta go. Tell the kids I said hi.”
“Sure thing. Dinner tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Iruka hung up the phone and set it down on the counter, ladling portions of ramen into three bowls just as the sounds of two individual footfalls pounded down the rickety wooden stairs. Naruto came barreling into the kitchen, all wide eyes and youthful energy, followed quickly by his friend Sasuke, coming in at a clip but significantly more dignified.
“Thank you, Iruka!!” Naruto cheered, scooping up his bowl with sloppy hands that sloshed hot broth onto the counter inches away from Iruka’s phone.
Sasuke lifted his gently, holding it in one hand and getting out two pairs of chopsticks from a drawer with the other. “Thanks, Iruka.”
“Sure,” was all Iruka had time to say before the boys were gone again, up to Naruto’s room to continue doing God knows what. Iruka didn’t question what went on upstairs; he knew way better than that. The music was loud, the door was closed, and that’s where his observations ended.
Iruka carried his own bowl up to his room, setting it down on his desk by the windowsill. He was working on lesson plans for school next week. Sure, the kids wouldn’t want to do much on the first week of school, but Iruka liked to have something prepared. He drummed his fingers against the wood a few times, looking out into the cloudless, sunny day. Like the students probably did, Iruka was feeling restless. It was the last bit of summer before they went back, and students and teachers alike knew to savor this final taste of freedom.
xoxoxoxo
Kakashi pressed his back to the brick wall, sighing as he tucked his phone into the inner pocket of his flak jacket. He peered over the lip of the roof, certain he’d been made, but the guard who had spotted him must have convinced himself he’d only seen a bird, because he’d gone back to looking down the road, his gun in his hands but lowered.
Kakashi crawled a few feet in the dust, away from where he’d been spotted - or perhaps just heard, judging by how thoroughly the guard just did not give a shit about him - and set his sniper rifle back up. He braced the barrel against the edge of the roof and looked down onto the entrance of the warehouse through the scope.
So, Iruka thought he was lying. Kakashi scoffed noiselessly, ghosting his finger over the trigger of the rifle. Iruka thought he was just some run-of-the-mill bond enforcer, bringing in perps who’ve missed their traffic violation court dates or other inane, way below his pay grade nonsense. His hawk-like eyes tracked the movement of a second guard as he came out of the warehouse to speak with the first guard. The two of them conferred a moment, and Kakashi could almost read their lips, the scope was that powerful. Kakashi would bring his boyfriend their thumbs, proof of his kill, except he wasn’t supposed to kill them tonight.
A faint car engine, nearly silent in the muggy evening air, came crooning down the street. A black Aston Martin pulled up to the entrance and idled there for a moment. The two guards took up their places on either side of the passenger door, snapped to attention with their weapons up.
Kakashi inhaled slowly, curling his trigger finger. He felt the burn in his legs from crouching, the cool metal of the scope warming where it was pressed against his brow, the slight ache in his neck from crouching on the roof for hours, waiting for his mark to arrive.
A man emerged from the car, dressed in a conspicuous white suit. A slight breeze, the first in hours, carried the scents of an incoming thunderstorm and fried wontons from the Chinese takeout place a block south of the warehouse.
Kakashi exhaled, eye wide open, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot was silent, but the man was not as crimson blossomed beneath the ivory threads of his clothing. Kakashi was already on his knees, dismantling the rifle and packing it away into his duffel bag with all of the speed and efficiency of someone who definitely fucking did this for a living, Iruka. He laid flat and crawled away from the roof, then sprang to his feet and ran the rest of the way to the fire escape on the far side of the building.
He was thinking of taking a vacation soon, scooping up Iruka and heading to some faraway island where there would be no criminals to bag, no murderers to, well, murder, and most importantly, no lesson plans for his boyfriend to obsess over. His school year hadn’t even properly started yet, and still Iruka was a whirlwind of activity every time he went over, mapping out his entire semester like a serial killer planning his murders. It was kind of cute, but mostly it frustrated Kakashi, who just wanted to relax after a hard day of breaking kneecaps and peeling up fingernails - joking, sometimes - and maybe get a little cuddle action with the feisty teacher.
Unfortunately, the man was even more obsessed with his work than Kakashi was, so more often than not, Kakashi sat on the other end of the couch, eating his dinner and watching Iruka build study-guides for lessons that were months away. It was peaceful, in its own way. Kakashi would moan and gripe, but deep down in the part of him he never admitted existed, it was nice to have someone who felt so normal, so scrupulous, so good.
The sounds of panic and confusion reached his ears as his feet hit the solid ground of the alley, right between two overfull dumpsters, but he was already out and running before the aromas of stale beer and rotting meat could truly do their worst. Kakashi ran about six blocks before he made it back to his car - a nondescript black truck - and slung the duffel bag into the back. He leaped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, taking off his hat and cranking the radio loud.
He drove past the warehouse along a side street, taking in the flashing lights and wailing sirens with the barest prickle of nerves. He hadn’t been made, which was a relief, but something about those blue and red lights never failed to send a shiver all the way to his toes.
No, there would be no thumbs for Iruka tonight.
Iruka’s little rowhouse was always a sight for sore eyes, the canopy of green and faerie lights like an enchanted grotto visible through the large first-story window, even with the gauzy curtain blurring the view from the street. Kakashi circled the block, parking well enough away so as not to draw suspicion to the house. Kakashi never drove the same car to Iruka’s more than once, and never parked on his block. It might’ve been paranoia, but better to be paranoid than to walk into a disaster.
It was just as he was thinking this, key in hand, that the door burst open, and a dark haired teen with wild eyes was there, clutching the doorframe with wrists still bound together with a plastic tie, a split second away from crashing straight into him. Behind him was another boy, still ripping the duct tape from his mouth with similarly bound hands, and he too stilled at the sight of Kakashi.
“Iruka’s gone,” the dark-haired teen managed to spit out, voice admirably level, given the circumstances.
The blond fared far worse. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth twisted in an agonized, frantic shout. “They took him!!”
xoxoxoxo
Iruka awoke to a ringing in his ears and a mouth full of cotton. Literally, there was a cloth gag in his mouth, and it tasted like dirt. His head was swimming, so much so that he wasn’t wholly ready to believe he hadn’t been hit by a car again. His hands were bound behind his back with something sharp and tight, and when he tried to move his legs, a horrible surge of pain rose up in his hips. He wasn’t yet ready to say whether it was a bad angle or a broken bone, but wouldn’t that just be his luck?
He cracked his eyes open a fraction, but it was too dark to see anything going on around him. He was on the floor in some kind of garage, maybe a mechanic’s shop? It smelled like oil and grease with the sharp, metallic tang of iron and sweat. He tried the bonds holding his wrists, but they were sharp and bit into his skin. He moaned a little, unable to silence his frustration and pain.
Footsteps, drawing closer. Iruka’s heart began to race, and he grunted as the toe of a boot prodded him in his side.
“Hey there. How you holdin’ up?” a man asked from above.
Iruka squinted, and now he could just barely make out the silhouette of a figure standing above him. A light clicked on behind him, and the shock dilated Iruka’s eyes painfully. He slammed his lids shut, and the stranger chuckled.
“Makes sense. Sorry about all this. It’s not personal.”
He bent down, taking Iruka’s chin between his thumb and index finger. His hands were dirty with grease and uncomfortably warm. His eyes were dark and cold as they looked over Iruka’s face.
He’d been making dinner and talking to Kakashi on the phone. He was listening to Sasuke and Naruto’s music through the wall and working on lesson plans. There’d been a knock, and that was odd. It was too early, and Kakashi never knocked anymore.
A cloth was tied around his eyes. It was thin material. Iruka could see shadows moving around, backlit by the single lamp. The stranger’s hands remained on his face and neck, feeling for something, perhaps. Iruka didn’t know what. The stranger’s hands trailed down his shoulders. They prodded muscle and scraped skin with blunt nails.
Iruka had gone to answer the door. A man with a gun had told him not to scream. Iruka had, so loudly and harshly, the birds on the telephone wire flew away in alarm. He didn’t know if Naruto or Sasuke had heard him. Their music was so loud. There were strong arms pulling him out of the house, something hard and blunt hitting him on the head, twice.
Why had he been taken, and to where?
“I see what he likes about you,” the stranger commented, and Iruka felt hands at his waist, his lower back, then lower still, gripping the soft muscle of his backside. The pain flared. Iruka whimpered. It didn’t feel like a broken bone, but the pain was terrible. Pain, and shame.
The hands released him, and the stranger straightened up. The light clicked off.
xoxoxoxo
Sasuke plugged his phone into Iruka’s computer, and a program began to run automatically on the screen. Ones and zeroes, a lightning-quick scroll of black and white, and then a symbol like a red and white fishing bobber blinked in the center of the screen.
“You’re sure you can find him?” Naruto asked, wringing his hands into knots. He stood beside the computer, staring over Sasuke’s shoulder at the incomprehensible data.
In spite of the blaring sirens and flashing red lights that comprised Kakashi’s current mental state, he had to hand it to the Sasuke kid. He was quiet and had a face that made him look perpetually unimpressed, but he was competent.
“I’m sure,” Sasuke said, fingers flying over the keys, “If he still has his cell phone, I mean.”
“If they know what they’re doing, they’ll have gotten rid of his phone,” Kakashi muttered, mostly to himself, but he saw Sasuke’s shoulders stiffen. Guiltily, he amended, “Unless they’re trying to ransom him, in which case they might be willing to let us know where they’re holding him.”
“Who would want to kidnap Iruka?” Naruto pleaded, “They’d better not be any of your freaky friends, Kakashi!”
Kakashi grimaced. “It’s the only reason someone would grab him like this. Unless you know of any enemies Iruka’s made?”
“Iruka is a goddamn saint!” Naruto yelled, poking a finger into Kakashi’s chest.
“He knows, Naruto,” Sasuke interjected, voice quiet and long-suffering.
Naruto’s face reddened. “We just gotta find him.”
Sasuke hunched over the keys, face inches from the monitor. “Why does Iruka still own a Dell? This thing is, like, ten years old.”
“He’d probably say it works fine,” Kakashi suggested.
“Don’t talk about him like you know,” Naruto said.
Kakashi arched a brow. “But I do know.”
“Kakashi, why would your friends want Iruka?” Sasuke asked.
“Well, all I’m saying is you haven’t won me over yet,” Naruto continued obstinately, arms crossed. His brow was furrowed with worry, his eyes squinted. “Especially if you can’t protect him from getting nabbed in broad daylight.”
“I’m sorry, was I the one who was home with him when this happened?”
“Doesn’t matter!
“Also, it’s ten pm.”
“You suck, Kakashi!”
“Naruto,” Sasuke said warningly.
“Did anyone ever tell you not to insult literal murderers?” Kakashi asked blithely.
“You’re a murderer?” Sasuke asked.
Naruto glowered. “Did anyone ever tell you not to be such a giant dickhead!”
“Ooh, nice one, kid,” Kakashi mocked, feigning offense, “My feelings will never recover.”
“Can you two cut it the fuck out?” Sasuke asked, voice level but impatient, “I found him. They’re heading for the old warehouses down by the docks.”
Kakashi and Naruto both leaned over opposite sides of Sasuke’s shoulders, peering at the map rendering on the screen. The red and white bobber logo was holding static inside a warehouse out along one of the piers.
“Since he’s still got his phone, that means this is definitely someone trying to get to you?” Sasuke asked.
Kakashi’s mind was like the eye of the storm. All around him, chaos and fear swirled, but at his center, there was clarity and focus. “Likely. But I’m careful. No one should know I’m involved with Iruka.” His eyes slid left, touching Sasuke’s. “Did the kidnappers leave anything?”
Naruto saw his moment to rejoin the proceedings. “You were the one outside, dummy.”
“Shut up, Naruto,” Sasuke said with no real bite to his tone, “We should go take a look.”
The three boys pounded down the stairs to the front door, and sure enough, an overlooked bundle of glossy paper was tied to the railing of the front steps with a zip tie. Kakashi slid a knife from his pocket and sliced the tie.
“Is that-?” Naruto asked.
“What the hell?”
Kakashi stared down, eyes narrowed to slits, at the Chinese takeout menu. “We always order from this place.”
“Maybe that’s how they found out about you and Iruka?” Naruto suggested.
“Maybe,” Kakashi repeated mockingly.
“Iruka wouldn’t like you picking on me, you know.”
“Probably not.”
“Can we focus?” Sasuke suggested.
The three of them stared at the menu for a moment, then Kakashi tucked it into one of the many pockets on his flak jacket. “I’ll drive.”
They took Kakashi’s car down to the pier, following the map Sasuke had pulled from the computer and back onto his phone. The night was dark and quiet, with the hint of a storm lingering damply in the air. A sliver of the moon hung limp in the sky, like a gossamer thread of hair clinging to a dewy leaf. Kakashi circled the pier a few times, headlights off and crawling down the streets, then ditched the car a few blocks away behind an abandoned factory.
He snatched his duffel from the trunk and leaped up to catch the end of a rusty fire escape and shimmied up the first few rungs. “Wait here while I get a better look,” he instructed the boys, then scaled the rest of the ladder and appeared on the roof, which was an absolute wasteland of sunken masonry and broken glass. He picked his way to the edge and crouched, reaching into the duffel and quickly assembling his rife, if only so he could look down the scope.
The warehouse Sasuke’s phone had pinpointed was dark, but through the scope, Kakashi could see a few cars tucked around the side of the building and a man loitering and smoking near a black van, probably left to be a lookout. His finger brushed the trigger, indulging his rage for a dark moment before letting his logic pull him back into the rational world. Best not to alert everyone right away. He didn’t know why the kidnappers wanted to lure him out. If it was to kill him, well, he wouldn’t be doing himself any favors by announcing his presence.
Kakashi snuck back down off the roof and reappeared at Sasuke and Naruto’s sides. Naruto was pale and trembling, either from worry or fright or both, and Sasuke was only faring better in the sense that he could somewhat control his own shaking.
“Do you want to wait in the car?” Kakashi asked, in what he thought was a gracious tone.
Naruto went from panicking to outraged in an instant. It was only Sasuke’s hand, hastily slapped across his giant mouth, that stopped him from blowing their element of surprise.
“We’re fine,” Sasuke said, “What’s the plan?”
“Other than being very loud,” Kakashi said, eyes on Naruto, then turned to Sasuke, “And being good with computers, do you two have any other skills?”
Naruto and Sasuke exchanged an uncertain look.
“Can you shoot a sniper rifle? Can you use a knife? Tear gas?”
Another look. “I’m pretty fast,” Naruto offered.
Somehow, Kakashi suppressed the urge to strike himself on the forehead. “Okay, can you drive?”
“Legally?”
“What makes you think I meant legally?”
Naruto’s eyes fixed themselves on the barrel of the rifle sticking out of the top of Kakashi’s duffle bag. “No idea.”
“Okay.” Kakashi breathed deeply, reminding himself to think of Iruka. Iruka, who had been kidnapped because some half-baked villain wannabee was trying to draw Kakashi out, for reasons that were currently unknown. Iruka, who was probably undergoing some kind of interrogation right now in that warehouse not one hundred yards from where they were standing. Iruka, who was beautiful and kind and smart and would kill him in a hundred different ways if he was here to see Kakashi enlisting his kid brother in a dangerous rescue operation.
“Okay,” Kakashi repeated, “Here’s the plan. I’m who they want, which makes you two my back-up. It’s the safest way to extract Iruka. Sasuke, you’re going to figure out how to shoot this.” He thrust the duffle bag at him. “Naruto, don’t think I’m leaving you out.” He reached behind him and withdrew one of his handguns. “Hold it with both hands, and point the barrel away from yourself before you fire.”
Naruto and Sasuke accepted their gifts like children at a funeral receiving candy. You didn’t want to be there, but oh my God, candy.
“I’m going to sneak up and break through the back. You two are going to watch the main entrance. Sasuke on the roof, Naruto in the van. Keep the engine running and the lights off. When I come out with Iruka, cover me.”
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Kakashi asked, “Okay?”
“Can we know just a little bit more than that?” Sasuke offered, “Just so we know what’s going on in there.”
“I wanna go in with you,” Naruto declared.
Kakashi shook his head. “I know you think that, but trust me, you are not prepared for what you might see.” His eyes rolled upwards. “Also, you’re too loud.”
Naruto pursed his lips, visibly repressing the urge to shout his rebuttal. Sasuke only nodded his agreement.
“You’re most useful to me, to Iruka, out here. Having more than just myself in there is only going to slow me down,” Kakashi said, “ And truly? I don’t know what’s going on. There’s at least four men in there, definitely armed, but their goal isn’t to kill Iruka.” He inhaled deeply for a moment, looking them both in the eyes, then asked, “I’m trusting you. Trust me?”
Naruto considered this, then nodded. “Don’t get hurt,” he said.
Kakashi turned towards the warehouse. “We’ll see.”
xoxoxoxo
Whispers in the dark. Footsteps pacing along the concrete floor. The acrid smell of old sweat and metal. His own fear, thick around him, hanging like a weighted blanket.
Iruka tried to focus on breathing through his nose. His chest felt tight with panic, and the ache in his hip had reached a feverous pitch. It was a cramp, he had realized, from the position he was forced to sit in. A gunshot wound would’ve been a little more bearable for his ego, but at least he knew he wasn’t actually injured.
Well, physically.
The stranger kept returning, his hands squeezing and feeling along Iruka’s tired, bruised body. They felt like tentacles, slimy and obscene. They felt like ropes, itching and burning his skin. He wanted it to stop, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. So, when the stranger returned, Iruka retreated inward, thinking about his lesson plans and the dinners he was hoping to cook this week and whether or not Naruto and Sasuke were still hungry after only one bowl of ramen.
“Kakashi chose you well,” the stranger would say, or, “I bet it would piss him off royally to know I was touching his stuff.”
Kakashi would never think about Iruka like that, he wanted to say, but it wouldn’t matter. He wanted to fight back, do something, but he was bound and helpless on the concrete floor. He couldn’t rebel or submit to the stranger’s thoroughly unwanted attention by virtue of not having a choice in the matter either way. It was seriously pissing him off.
The stranger mentioned Kakashi often. It was clear Iruka was here as a way to draw Kakashi out, and Iruka hoped Kakashi wouldn’t be so stupid as to fall for the bait. Iruka wanted to be rescued, absolutely, and not that he didn’t believe in Kakashi’s ability to rescue, but Iruka was the one who answered the door. Iruka was the one who’d gotten grabbed. The least he could do was get himself out.
But how?
The answer eventually came in the form of a piece of broken glass Iruka had found rather accidentally. He’d scooted into it while trying to get away from the stranger’s hands, and his cry of pain as his leg found the shard was mistaken for a cry of something else entirely, judging by the way the stranger had gone on teasingly, hands up Iruka’s shirt, about Stockholm Syndrome. Iruka bided his time until the stranger left, gleefully picturing all of the ways Kakashi would dismember the stranger when he finally arrived, and when he finally got back up and left, Iruka twisted himself subtly to grab the shard.
He scrunched his nose and brow and rubbed his head against the grimy concrete floor until the cloth covering his face had inched up far enough for him to see clearly, and then he began, painstakingly, to work on the tie binding his feet. It was terribly painful, the glass cutting into his fingers as he sawed away at the tie and his back cramping from having to arch it so deeply. His muscles were on fire, and the glass felt like it was cutting to bone, but eventually his ankles came free with a glorious, agonizing snap of plastic.
Iruka hauled himself up to his knees, hissing and breathing through the pain in his cramped hip. He paused, heart thudding in his chest as he listened for any signs that the stranger might return, and then dragged his carcass to his feet and limped into the darkness.
xoxoxoxo
Kakashi plunged into the dirty, garbage-infested water of the river and swam around to the top of the pier, the last place they’d expect him to come from. He hauled himself from the water, scaled the side of the high concrete wall and, freezing and half-drowned, crept low up to the side of the warehouse.
He liked Naruto a whole hell of a lot. He was a good kid, if a little thick in the head. Kakashi understood perfectly why Iruka loved him so much. Even Sasuke, really, though that kid would probably rather jump into the garbage river than admit he cared for the blond. Naruto had an enormous heart, and he was brash because he was sensitive. It didn’t necessarily suit him well to hostage-rescue missions, but…
… Well, actually, now that he was thinking about it, Naruto was pretty athletic, and his loyalty to people would make him an excellent teammate. Back-up wasn’t really Kakashi’s thing, but he had felt unusually secure in himself when he dove off the side of the pier into the water, knowing Naruto and Sasuke were watching his six.
Sasuke, too. That thing with the phone tracking had been handy, and the kid was pretty level-headed, all things considered. He’d definitely make a good sniper, which was most of the reason why Kakashi had trusted him with the rifle. He hoped Sasuke wouldn’t have to shoot it, though. That thing was like his baby.
Kakashi reached the back of the warehouse and peered around the side, towards the direction of where he’d left his teenage crew. He gave a thumbs up, not knowing but hoping Sasuke would see it from his position, then assessed the back of the building. No handy fire escapes this time, damnit, but there was a second-story window. Kakashi’s eyes scanned the rest of the building, then bid a final farewell to his fingernails - admittedly, pretty chewed up from scaling the pier - and worked to find purchase in the crumbling brick.
He picked up the pace and dove through the window elbows first, glass shattering, when he heard the ferocious, angry shout.
xoxoxoxo
“WHERE THE FUCK DID HE GO?!”
Iruka pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath as he listened to the direction of the pounding boot steps of his captor. A few more footfalls joined the stranger, and Iruka began to sweat bullets. How many men were there? Three, four? He’d made it to the second story of the warehouse, but now he was trapped, hidden behind some old cargo boxes and rotting burlap while he caught his breath and tried to think of a plan.
The zip tie binding his wrists was now totally soaked in his own blood, his hands a lacerated mess, but his cramp was more or less gone, which allowed him to move about more quietly. Crouching hurt like hell, but he was afraid, and his animal instincts were telling him to get low.
CRASH!
Iruka ducked as he heard the sound of a nearby window shattering, fear electrifying his senses. For a moment, his vision went black, and he clenched his teeth, willing his body to remain conscious. His chest hurt, he couldn’t breathe, and his head was pounding. Would he die here? Why had the window blown out? Was someone shooting the building?
Footsteps, impossibly soft but sounding like thunder to Iruka’s terrified senses, drawing closer. He couldn’t help it; he gasped. It was soft, but it halted the footsteps.
Then, “Iruka?”
Iruka felt like he might collapse at any moment. “Kakashi,” he said, exhaling the word like the ending of a prayer.
Kakashi was in front of him, hands touching everywhere, checking for cuts (many) and bruises (some). He searched Iruka’s eyes, and then they were kissing, harsh and desperate and perfect. Iruka let out a hitched, sobbing breath, probably more noise than was wise, but relief was like being dunked in ice water.
“Just a little longer, Iruka, and we’re gone, okay?” Kakashi murmured, his lips pressed to Iruka’s earlobe.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, echoing and menacing as Iruka’s captors came for him. Kakashi squeezed his shoulder and then shoved him to the floor. Iruka watched as Kakashi flattened himself against the stacked cargo boxes, head tilted to the side, and pulled a long-barreled hand gun from inside his utility vest.
“Where the hell are you, pretty boy?” the stranger called, angry but still trying to be playful with him, still flirting with him, “You know we need you to get Kaka-!”
Iruka heard the discharge of the gun like breaking the seal on a new jar of pickles. The stranger fell to the ground. More footsteps, more pops, and then silence. He heard Kakashi exhale.
It was the longest moment of Iruka’s life before Kakashi said, in a normal volume, “It’s over.”
Iruka was already on the floor, but he became boneless in his exhaustion. “Fuck.”
Kakashi put his hands on the back of Iruka’s head and neck and scooped him into his chest, holding him against his heart. “Christ, Iruka.”
“You’re telling me.”
Kakashi let go, and Iruka slumped back to the ground, but now he was smiling as he asked, “A little help with this?”
“Oh, fuck.” Now it was Kakashi’s turn to swear as he looked down at Iruka’s bound, bloody hands. He pulled a gigantic fucking knife from god knows where, and with all the delicacy of a chef julienning a carrot, broke the plastic tie. “Oh, my God, Iruka, are your hands okay?”
Iruka didn’t have the energy to be snarky. “I broke the tie on my feet with some glass I found.”
“You’re so fucking metal, baby.”
Iruka laughed windlessly. “Who the hell kidnapped me?”
“You know, I should go check.”
Kakashi stood and vanished from sight. Iruka listened to him bend over the bodies - and yikes, his brain hadn’t yet processed the fact that Kakashi had just literally killed people - and heard him rustling through their pockets for a moment before he sighed heavily. “I know these guys.”
Suddenly, Iruka found the energy to be snarky. “I was hoping. The alternative is that some rival history teacher was out to grope and kill me.”
Kakashi was in front of him in an instant. “Who groped you?” His tone was cold as death, his eyes as hard as the steel of the knife in his hand, and Iruka’s eyes tracked the way his knuckles gripped the handle.
“I didn’t get a good look.”
“I’ll cut his balls off.”
Iruka snorted. “Don’t do that. It’ll become your calling card or something ghoulish like that.”
Kakashi offered him a hand. “Can you stand up?” he asked.
Just as Iruka was letting Kakashi bring him to his feet, a man hit the top of the staircase and shot Kakashi in the back.
Iruka was screaming even as Kakashi was shoving him to the ground and whirling in place, knife in hand. Iruka scrabbled back to the crates and ducked, feeling stupid and useless but not knowing what else to do. His mind was full of nothing and yet so jam-packed with panic he knew he was close to blacking out again. Kakashi was shot. Kakashi had been shot. Kakashi was hurt.
The sound of Kakashi’s knife hitting flesh was a ghastly thing. The man Kakashi was stabbing fired his gun a few more times, but there was too much gurgling and screaming going on for Iruka to tell if any were Kakashi’s. His vision went out for real this time, his ears ringing as his mind retreated into his body, only coming back at the gentle coaxing of Kakashi’s hands and voice, bringing him up out of the darkness.
Kakashi was offering him his hand once again, his mouth set into a grim line as he announced, “It’s taken care of. Are you alright? Are you with me?”
Iruka stood and wavered. Everything felt very still in that moment. Kakashi wasn’t bleeding, but his eyes were hollow. Iruka’s hand went to Kakashi’s chest searchingly. He asked, “How-?”
“Bulletproof vest,” Kakashi said, his voice matching his eyes, “I was working, remember?”
Iruka would never fucking question Kakashi on his job again. He hesitated as Kakashi pulled him away from the safety of the crates, resisting, and when Kakashi looked back at him, he swallowed thickly. “Could you, uh, I mean-,” he stopped, collected himself as best he could, and held up the old blindfold in one hand, “I don’t want to see.”
Kakashi slipped the cloth over Iruka’s eyes, and then his feet left the ground as he was pulled into Kakashi’s arms. They moved together down the stairs, and Iruka focused on breathing with his entire concentration, trying and only mostly failing to think about the bodies of his dead captors at their feet.
When the cool night air hit his face, Iruka squirmed to get down and removed the blindfold himself. “Where the hell?”
“We’re on the old piers,” Kakashi explained shortly, “Naruto and Sasuke are at the van.”
xoxoxoxo
Kakashi made his first real mistake of the night, and he realized it instantly.
“Naruto and Sasuke are here?!”
Kakashi ducked as Iruka’s fist came sailing for his face. He backed up a pace, hands raised, but Iruka was still advancing. “They were worried, and they wanted to help.”
“I don’t care what they wanted!!” Iruka shrieked, “You brought my boys to an abandoned warehouse on a pier to rescue me?!”
“Yes?”
Kakashi ducked again, and then he decided he’d really had enough, and in one fluid motion, gathered both of Iruka’s bleeding wrists in one hand - careful not to hold them too tightly - and snaked his other arm around Iruka’s back, reeling him in. “Stop hitting me,” he asked nicely.
Iruka became meek in an instant. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. You’re still a little shocked,” he said smoothly, “The boys were worried about you. The kidnappers did them up in duct tape at the house. They deserved to be here.”
“I have to disagree.”
“Tough.”
Kakashi kissed Iruka, then, and he opened like a blooming flower, lips and arms and shoulders unfurling as he melted into the strength and safety of Kakashi’s arms. Kakashi let go of his wrists, and Iruka’s hands found a place on his biceps, gripping as he let himself be swept utterly away. His tongue grazed Kakashi’s bottom teeth, and they both shuddered into each other, Iruka swallowing the tiny hitch of his breath into his own mouth. His fingers traced down Iruka’s spine, delighting in each ridge and bump and press of warm flesh that meant Iruka was alive, he was whole and wholly his to touch and love.
A shot rang out, a bullet burying itself a whole two feet from where Kakashi and Iruka were tangled up in each other. Before Iruka had a chance to catapult back into panic - Kakashi was already there, was always kind of there to begin with - Naruto’s angry shouts reached their ears.
“Get your damn hands off my brother!!”
Iruka laughed a full, hearty laugh, his chest rising and falling as his heart continued to beat like Kakashi’s own, which was pounding double time as it pumped a cocktail of affection and protectiveness through his veins. He would never, ever let anything happen to this man ever, ever again.
“Still glad you brought them?”
“Nope. Still glad you asked about my work?”
“Nope.”