Chapter Text
Groaning softly, Iruka rested his forehead on his arms, laying on top of a pile of grading he still had to finish. He had to get through the stack of papers soon, because he knew he would be too tired to work on the essays after his monthly blood donation.
Like all other village-bound shinobi, Iruka was required to donate blood once a month. The donation could be suspended by going on active duty, but Iruka didn’t have time for that, so he had no choice but to participate in the monthly donation. Though he hesitated to call it a donation, since he classified his attitude towards the situation as grudging acceptance at best. Was it really voluntary if your options were to donate or lose your rank? It was frustrating, but it was also just a necessary evil of the job. Iruka knew that Konoha required more blood reserves than the average village, but knowing his blood was going to a worthy cause didn’t make it any easier. The blood Konoha gathered could be used in a variety of ways, some more tasteful than others. Some of the donations were used in blood seals and curse research. Other times, the blood was used for emergency transfusions in Konoha hospital. Some of the donated blood was used to feed Konoha’s dwindling vampire population.
The vampire bloodlines were limited to a few clans, most notoriously the Hatake and the Uchiha. Of course there were ways to be turned into a vampire, but born vampires tended to have better control over their abilities. They also didn’t need to drink as much blood as their turned counterparts, but the amount needed was still a non-zero amount. Which is why Konoha still collected blood regularly, even though the number of vampires in the village was swiftly approaching zero. Blood donation was how Konoha defended against the feeding frenzies of blood-hungry vampires, and even though the vampire population was a lot smaller now, there was still a strong argument for keeping a ready supply of blood - just in case.
And Iruka was due for his next donation. If he could just finish grading his students’ essays…
Finally, when he’d marked the last paper, Iruka allowed himself a moment to relax. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead and twisting his back. His coffee table was a bit of a mess, with his plate from the snack he’d bought in the market still sitting there with toast crumbs all over it. His coffee mug still had a few swallows in it, which he knocked back quickly. That finished, Iruka checked the time. He had four hours before his scheduled blood donation, and the sky was already beginning to brighten with the promise of dawn. Ugh. He hated giving blood without at least seven hours of sleep; he always crashed for the rest of the day. Still, at least he’d gotten the most pressing work taken care of. He could deal with the rest of it later.
That settled, Iruka washed his plate and cup, and threw himself into bed, setting his alarm so he’d be sure to make the appointment.
Kakashi stumbled into Konoha with his enthralling eye clamped firmly shut. He’d definitely underestimated his opponents, and overestimated his experience with the Uchiha clan’s greatest weapon. He had drained both his ration flask and emergency flask dry, and he could feel the first rays of the sun dancing uncomfortably over his shoulders. He should take to the shadows. Although sunlight wasn’t going to kill him anytime soon, it still hurt and he was already teetering on the edge of true blood-hunger. Any injury or unexpected turn could be enough to push him over the edge at this point. So of course it was just his luck that a hapless human shinobi crossed his path. A shinobi with a blood-spattered bandage wrapped around one arm. A shinobi who smelled exactly like the blood in Kakashi’s long-empty flask.
Heedless of his own movement, Kakashi followed the shinobi, like a man caught in a thrall. He couldn’t put words to his actions, had no reasonable explanation for what he was doing. He just knew he was running on fumes, and that smell? It was the smell of food, and he was ravenous .
As he drew closer, he could feel saliva pooling behind his lips, teeth elongating in his mouth, readying him for the coming feast. Swiftly, silently, Kakashi crept behind the shinobi. The human’s neck was deliciously bared by the hair he had pulled back in a tight ponytail. He appeared preoccupied, seeming to not sense the predator creeping up behind him. Others on the street glanced their way, eyes growing wide with panic. No one dared intervene. They knew the danger inherent in coming between a vampire and his prey. Kakashi took another step closer, reaching up to yank away his mask, ready to sink his teeth into the soft flesh between the man’s neck and shoulder. Then, the shinobi stopped abruptly, swaying on his feet for a moment before turning around and pointing a finger in Kakashi’s face.
“If you’re going to fucking jump me then get it over with,” the man said irritably. “I’m exhausted and could use the hospitalization as an excuse to finally get some rest…” he trailed off as his eyes finally took in what everyone else in the vicinity had seen far sooner. “Fuck me,” he groaned. His eyes narrowed, taking in Kakshi’s post-mission form with a critical eye. “That’s not the usual killing intent,” he murmured, appearing thoughtful. A moment later, the truth dawned on him. “It’s blood-hunger, isn’t it?”
Kakashi would have been more miffed by the interruption, except the conversation had given him a moment to clear his head. He’d been too close to gone, and he hated losing control like that. Slowly, he nodded, grateful for the respite.
“That sucks,” the shinobi commented blithely, sounding far too calm for someone facing down a rogue vampire. “I just donated blood, so I don’t really have any to spare right now,” he said weakly. “Unless you plan on carrying my unconscious ass back to Konoha hospital for a transfusion of my own recent donation.”
That mental image was so absurd Kakashi was able to take a step back, reigning himself in a little bit more. But the part of him that hungered was only interested in the fact that Iruka had given permission, with the caveat of being carried back to the hospital. Kakashi reminded himself he was still in his full ANBU uniform. Feeding on anyone would necessitate the removal of his mask. He was momentarily grateful that the shinobi had turned and confronted him. If he had run, Kakashi would probably already be drinking his blood, face and fangs bared to the entire street.
Summoning all of his willpower, Kakashi lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, then gave a jaunty wave before running as fast as he dared towards Konoha hospital.
He needed blood. And he was pretty sure he knew exactly whose blood he wanted.
Iruka blinked at the empty space where an ANBU vampire (that blood-hunger variation on a killing intent was unmistakable for any chakra-sensitive person) had been standing only a moment ago. Then he sighed, and resumed his slow trudge home to go fall in bed and sleep the day away. He should have known his day was going to be bad when the new phlebotomist had put the needle in wrong and shot his blood across the room. They hadn’t even counted it towards his donation.
Now that Iruka thought about it, the stupid blood was probably why the vampire had ended up following him. Vampires could smell blood from extreme distances, and not only was his stupid bandage bloodied, he probably had some smeared on his clothes somewhere. That meant he couldn’t just fall into bed, he’d actually have to shower before sleeping, too, which would suck. He barely had the energy to walk home, and now he couldn’t even walk straight to his bedroom.
At least the vampire hadn’t assaulted him and drained him of what little blood remained in him after the donation and the phlebotomist incident. Though Iruka honestly felt like it would have been an improvement - it might have knocked him out, and then he would be someone else’s problem. It was an uncharitable thought, but honestly he was tired and frustrated and he wanted to sleep.
He took a shower anyway, after dragging himself up three rickety flights of stairs and fumbling with his chakra-sealed door. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but he was so exhausted that even his chakra was responding sluggishly. After failing to open his door twice, Iruka managed to get it to open without bursting into tears, though it was a close thing.
Once he was out of the shower he actually felt hungry, but he knew there wasn’t anything to eat in his house and the realization made him want to cry all over again. He knew the emotional reaction was just because he was tired, but was it really too much to expect the donation center to offer more substantial snacks? He’d been given a little juice box, a few rice crackers, and that was it. He was starving now, and he had nothing in his kitchen that didn’t require actual effort to prepare.
He was this close to just eating a handful of uncooked rice, though he knew that wouldn’t actually do anything. Just in case, he yanked open his freezer drawer and stared sadly at his empty freezer. Not even a package of frozen broccoli! He must have force-fed the last of it to Naruto. He checked the fridge, but all it had was a weeks-old carton with a dribble of milk that smelled so sour it made Iruka’s empty stomach lurch dangerously.
He should have bought a snack on his way home, he chided himself. But no, he had to get home and sleep. Except now his stomach was too empty to sleep.
With a loud sigh, Iruka pulled his clothes back on and staggered back out of his apartment. He didn’t bother to lock it this time, worried that by the time he got back he’d be too drained to control his chakra at all. He tried to walk down the stairs, but they kept swimming in and out of view. He probably should have been worried about the lights dancing in his vision, but he knew it was just the blood loss. Still, he gripped the railing hard as he shuffled his way back down three flights of stairs. Once he was on solid ground, he realized he had miscalculated. He couldn’t walk in a straight line, and he kept having to lean against a wall and breathe. He was sweating profusely for some reason, and that couldn’t be good, either.
He made it past the residential buildings lining his street and turned onto the main market street. He made it all the way to the snack shop where he’d picked up food the night before, stood in line behind two other people, and even ordered an unholy number of rice balls before reaching into his pocket and discovering that he had left his wallet in his apartment.
The look on his face must have said everything, because the elderly man at the snack shop told Iruka he knew he was good for the money, and handed him a little bag that he had stuffed full of onigiri.
Iruka clutched it to his chest, staggered out of the shop, and immediately crouched down, leaning against the shop wall, opening the bag. He then proceeded to inhale three rice balls in rapid succession. After finishing the food, he felt a little bit less like crying, but no less exhausted. So, toting his remaining rice balls, Iruka staggered back to his apartment, finally falling into bed, determined to get some good rest.
His rest lasted approximately two hours, at which point he was woken by a loud knock. Groggily, Iruka heaved himself out of bed, staggered to his door, and pulled it open. “Yes?”
An ANBU - not the vampire, fortunately - stood outside his door, their body language radiating exasperation. “Umino Iruka,” the ANBU said sharply.
“That’s me,” Iruka answered, equally exasperated.
“Your presence is required at Hokage tower,” the ANBU said.
“Now?” Iruka asked stupidly.
The ANBU stared blankly at Iruka until he realized how dumb he’d sounded.
“Okay,” he said in a defeated tone. “I’ll get dressed.” He might be able to put off a lot of things, but a summons from the Hokage himself was not one of those things.
The ANBU nodded sharply, vanishing before Iruka even managed to shut the door.