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Iruka had never felt like more of a dumbass. He hadn’t made a mistake so amateur since his Genin years, and his pride had definitely taken a hit. Words like “superficial damage” and “a month, at most” and “lucky” were all rattling around in his brain, mixing in with instructions for care and names of medicines and salves he hoped he could remember. He had them written down, but he still worried about remembering. As it were, reading his note to himself wasn’t as easy a task as it usually was. Turns out having half of your vision obscured was no fucking joke.
He sighed heavily, shoving the note deep in his pocket and looking instead at the small bottles he’d left the hospital with. All in all, the day was much more trouble than it would ever be worth. The injury wasn’t even that painful nor serious, which he was grateful for, truly. But the resulting hours in the hospital, being prodded by various med-nin and being told the same thing over and over again before he was allowed to leave had resulted in the most incredible headache, ravenous hunger, and utter exhaustion Iruka had felt since he left active mission duty.
Though he had no desire for the rest of the village to witness him in this state, he hadn’t the patience to attempt cooking a meal for himself. He could only hope that the good people at Ichiraku’s had the tact enough not to mention the large white bandage affixed over his right eye.
He managed to leave the ramen stand with nothing but his food and some wide-eyed looks of concern. He knew they probably wanted him to elaborate on the bandaging, but he had no desire to. He made his way towards his home quickly, sighing in relief once he was finally alone. He scarfed his food down in record time, pushing his takeout container aside in favor of slumping onto his table, holding his aching head in his hands. The thought of waking up in the morning and going back to the academy sounded like the most daunting task in the world right now.
He managed to haul himself up from his table and into the bathroom, facing himself in the mirror for several seconds. He hadn’t actually seen what it looked like under the bandage; like with most injuries, he was discouraged from looking at it. He peeled the bandage away carefully, opening his eye slowly.
It didn’t look good. Then again, he didn’t expect it to. The skin around his eye was puffy and purpled, and the eye itself was very, very red. Iruka wasn’t a weak-stomached man, but he felt a lurch in his stomach knowing that was his eye that looked like that. He had been assured, multiple times, that this wasn’t that bad. But the med-nins still used the word “trauma”, which was never a good word to hear in relation to your own body. He reapplied the bandage quickly, leaving his bathroom and practically falling into his bed. Shutting both eyes brought little reprieve from the splitting headache, but little reprieve would have to do for tonight.
___
Iruka was able to forget about his injury for a few, blissful moments immediately upon waking the next morning. He ruined the moment for himself the instant he attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes, the dull pain of his bruise and the uncomfortable scratching feeling in the eye itself making him curse softly at his own stupidity. Who forgets a life-altering injury?
He took his time at his bathroom mirror that morning, carefully dripping in his eyedrops and gently rubbing in the ointment he was given. Neither was comfortable, he had to squeeze his eye shut to keep from crying out the medicine. He taped fresh bandage over his eye, sighing heavily at his own reflection. He could already feel the hints of a headache building behind his exposed eye, and wondered if there was any point in hoping for an easy day.
When he arrived to his class that morning, his students were all abnormally quiet and still. Two or three of them kept their gaze down at their desks. Iruka supposed he couldn’t really blame them, and he planned on taking full advantage of their brief obedient streak. He knew it probably wouldn’t last long, even if the injury did.
Despite the relative quiet from his students, it wasn’t long in the day before the ache in Iruka’s left temple built up to a steady throb. The very basic fundamentals of teaching; reading and writing, were proving more and more difficult as the day went on and Iruka’s one, tired eye stubbornly resisted focusing on any one point. He didn’t dare risk any practical skills lessons in this condition. On top of being considerably more dangerous this way, he wouldn’t want to repeat the very thing that got him into this mess in the first place.
When the day was finally over, and his classroom was mercifully empty and quiet, Iruka slumped forward against his desk with a quiet groan. He pressed the heel of his hand gently against his left eye, the easy pressure combined with total darkness bringing instant relief the likes of which could have made him cry, it was so needed. He felt like he could fall asleep just like that, and a part of him wanted to. He knew he had papers to grade, a mission desk shift to work, but all he wanted to do was sleep. The mere thought of reading made his head throb painfully. The thought of also fending questions about his injury while trying to work sounded exhausting, but he didn’t want to have to call out of work for a second day in a row unless he was completely incapacitated. This wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever faced, and he would get through it.
Iruka brushed off the worried looks from his coworkers fairly easily, saying no more than he had a training accident and would heal within the month. The looks he got from returning Shinobi bothered him far more; a kind of personal curiosity that wasn’t born out of concern but rather just the need to stick their nose in peoples’ business. None of them ever asked, but Iruka could tell some of them wanted to. It was getting more and more difficult to get his eye to focus on the faces of people in front of him, much less the handwriting of various Shinobi.
When Iruka’s coworkers finally pestered him enough that he agreed to go home early, he felt disappointment on top of the pain. It wasn’t in his nature to give up and shirk his responsibilities over a little discomfort, and he felt weak for doing so. He took a fuma shuriken to the centre of his back against Mizuki, and finished the fight not quite standing, but strong. Now, he takes one scratch to the eye and people don’t think he can finish a shift at his desk job.
Iruka was starting to think that maybe, they were right.
___
As the days went on, Iruka wad finding he was more frustrated by the hour. Iruka’s days eventually took him to the nearest empty training ground, with a personal mission. If he was going to be living like this for a while, he might as well adapt. Given the risks of his profession, it would undoubtedly be a valuable skill. He pulled out a set of kunai, eyeing the training post wearily. Shifting to monocular vision had been something of a challenge for even mundane tasks, the third or fourth time he’d reached for a pencil, or a mug, and just missed had been almost enough to make Iruka call it quits on the day before it even really began. But he had noticed, when he paid attention, that he always had shifted things a little too short in distance, or a little too far to the left. He could learn to compensate for that, surely.
He started with a single blade, twirling it around his finger quickly before aiming and letting it fly. The gentle thud of his kunai hitting the grass past the training post was enough to make Iruka grunt in frustration. It was fine. He was still just cheating left, he can make that adjustment. He pulled out another, focusing intensely, loosing the blade toward the post. It hit this time, but just barely connecting to the right side. Too much compensation.
Iruka sighed heavily, staring down at a third kunai in his hand. He hadn’t felt so inexperienced since he was a Genin. He knew it wasn’t his fault, he’d never attempted to train like this before and he couldn’t expect to master it instantly. He never mastered anything instantly. But it did nothing to help his recent feelings of weakness.
He retrieved his two spent kunai, gathering the three in his hand and eyeing the post yet again. First time he didn’t adjust enough, the second time it was too much. This time, he’d be just in the middle of that.
He shut his open eye, breathing deep and slow, concentrating. He’d done this a million times before. He opened his eye, focusing on the target, and he let the three kunai fly.
Only one hit the mark. Iruka swore out loud, clenching his hands into fists and pressing them against his temples. He did this every day. This wasn’t going to get the best of him.
“I would tease you about deciding to borrow my look, but I’m guessing this isn’t just for a training exercise.”
Iruka let out another loud, startled curse, turning sharply toward the source of the voice. He scowled when he realized he had to turn almost fully around to be able to locate the person behind the noise. Of course Kakashi Hatake would plant himself firmly in Iruka’s blind spot. He probably knew firsthand how irritating that was. Iruka refused to believe that it was a coincidence.
“No, it isn’t for a fucking training exercise,” Iruka muttered. “It’s also the wrong eye to be your look.”
“Is it gone?”
Iruka paused, surprised both by the question, and the serious tone in Kakashi’s voice.
“No,” he answered, looking down at his hands. “They said maybe for a month. It’s just hurt.”
“I’m glad,” Kakashi seemed genuinely relieved. “What happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Iruka’s words came out tense as he moved away from Kakashi, back towards the training post to retrieve his kunai.
“Fair,” Kakashi watched Iruka in silence for several moments, possibly waiting to see if Iruka would come back towards him. He did not. “Did it happen today?”
“Three days ago,” Iruka answered, pulling a kunai out of the post with considerable force. “Why do you care?”
“I won’t ask any more questions if you don’t want to talk about it,” Kakashi shrugged. “Sorry to bother you.”
Iruka heard Kakashi turn to leave, suddenly feeling a little guilty for being so rude.
“Kakashi, wait.”
Iruka knew Kakashi had stilled without turning around. He kept his eyes on the blade in his hands, having to grit his teeth and bury his pride, just for a moment.
“How long?”
“How long, Sensei?”
Iruka let out a short, quiet noise, stabbing the kunai back into the post before turning swiftly to face Kakashi.
“How long until my head stops feeling like it will split in two every time I open my eye?”
Kakashi sighed softly, his shoulders slumping a little further as he considered Iruka’s question.
“Do you want me to be honest?”
Iruka laughed weakly, slumping backwards until his back hit the training post and he slid down to sit on the ground. He was through trying to deny how exhausted he was. He couldn’t keep it up any longer.
“I was so afraid you were going to say that,” Iruka muttered, letting his face fall into his hands.
“I know,” Kakashi said simply, letting the silence stretch between them for several long moments. He sighed wearily, walking over towards where Iruka was sat, crouching down beside him. “Hurts over your left eye?”
“Yes,” Iruka mumbled, miserable. “I can’t focus on anything, or even open my eye all the way,” he paused, looking up at Kakashi slowly. “Hang on…is that why you always look bored?”
Kakashi brought his arm up to scratch at the back of his head, sheepish. “You understand…holding one eye all the way open isn’t the most comfortable.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Iruka sighed, pressing the heel of his palm against his left eye gently. “How do you live like this?”
“Years of practice,” Kakashi said shortly. “Luckily, by the time you get used to it, it’ll be over.”
Iruka huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head slowly. “Just in time to get used to having both eyes, again,” he murmured, moving his hand aside to look up at Kakashi again. “When I take the patch off at home…the first time I did, I almost fell right on my ass.”
Kakashi laughed then, loud and sudden and short, and Iruka felt his cheeks heat up. He opened his mouth to speak, slightly indignant, when Kakashi spoke up again.
“You took the patch off while you were moving, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Iruka frowned a little. “How’d you know?”
“I did the same thing,” Kakashi shook his head slowly. “Only I was sparring at the time. I was frustrated with how I kept missing stuff, because of depth perception, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I opened this eye while running and I got so dizzy I fell on my face.”
Iruka snickered, the mental image of a young Kakashi opening the Sharingan only to fall in a heap making him feel much better about his own predicament.
“How do you adjust to that?” he asked. “Switching depth perceptions in the middle of fights?”
“It took a very long time,” Kakashi admitted. “And a lot of headaches. Though, the Sharingan does that too. So sometimes it’s hard to tell where the pain is really from.”
“Fair enough,” Iruka murmured, sighing softly and letting his head fall back against the training post.
Kakashi just watched him silently, even though Iruka’s eyes were both shut he could practically feel Kakashi’s gaze. It wasn’t particularly comforting. Though Kakashi was the first person in days who managed to look at Iruka without either pity or contempt. It seems that a lot of the village thought Iruka weak because of his injury. While Kakashi wasn’t often a comfort, it made Iruka feel better that he’d struggled the same way when he was younger.
“Do you—” Iruka cut himself off with a quiet laugh, ducking his head. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to be answering my stupid questions all night,” Iruka felt himself shrinking up on himself, both mentally and physically. “Especially since it’s not even permanent. I must seem so whiny.”
“I don’t think you’re whiny, Sensei,” Kakashi said firmly. “And your questions aren’t stupid. What your going through isn’t any less than other injuries. Having only one eye was the hardest injury I think I’ve ever had to work through.”
“I find that a little hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth,” Kakashi assured him. “Ask your question.”
“I…when you close your eye, to sleep, does it…” Iruka let out a small, frustrated sound. “I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“It feels like it takes more effort to close?” Kakashi offered. “Tense, even when you rest it?”
“Well—yeah,” Iruka looked up again, surprised. “It happened to you?”
“Every damn night.”
“For how long?”
“Still happens, sometimes,” Kakashi said ruefully. “Every now and again. But it gets easier.”
“Fuckin’ perfect,” Iruka muttered. “How the hell do you read all the time? I can barely read one sentence before I want to rip my other eye out. The focus is murder on it.”
Kakashi chuckled. “Why do you think I started reading so much in the first place? I wanted to train myself.”
“The only thing I’m looking to train myself out of is elbowing people who stand at my right side.”
“Irritating when people stand in your blind spot, isn’t it?” Kakashi cocked an eyebrow.
“I’ll do my best only to do it when you deserve it.”
Kakashi snorted and Iruka grinned; his first genuine smile since he’d suffered his injury. He finally felt lighter, underestimating how much commiseration did to make him feel better. He would never have thought to seek out Kakashi after his injury, but he was glad it had ended up this way.
“May I ask you a question, Sensei?”
Iruka huffed out a short breath of laughter. “I suppose that’s only fair.”
“How did it happen?”
“Shit,” Iruka rolled his visible eye, groaning softly. “It’s not a very daring or adventurous story, I warn you.”
“Dazzle me, Sensei.”
“It was the damn students at the academy,” Iruka shook his head slowly. “It’s my fault, I underestimated how chaotic they can be. He was meant to hit the training target with some shuriken…one ended up bouncing back and hitting my face. Luckily for me it was a shitty throw, so the flat of it hit my temple…but the edge scratched through my eye.”
Kakashi let out a low whistle, seeming almost impressed. Iruka would concede that it was a pretty impressively embarrassing situation. He hated admitting aloud that he was taken out so effectively by a pre-Genin student, and could hardly believe that he’d told Kakashi the truth.
“You can understand why I haven’t been wanting to tell people what happened to me.”
“I suppose,” Kakashi shrugged. “Though I think you’re being hard on yourself. Those kids are terrors sometimes, it only makes sense that you’d get on the wrong side of it at least once.”
“I know,” Iruka muttered. “And I’m not…embarrassed, or anything. Not really. But…” He trailed off on a heavy breath, letting his eyes slip shut again. The moments of respite that the conversation had brought were slipping away as his customary nightly migraine began to form behind his left eye.
“But?”
“Hm?”
“You said but,” Kakashi prompted, raising an eyebrow. “You weren’t embarrassed, but...?”
“Oh,” Iruka let his face fall forward, pressing at his temple with his hands. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“I…feel like I’m hurting myself more at school. I don’t take it as easy as I should because I can tell that my students feel guilty for hurting me,” Iruka avoided meeting Kakashi’s eye, though he felt his gaze burning into him. “And I don’t…want them to see me hurting and feel worse.”
“Hm.”
Iruka looked up then, searching what little he could see from Kakashi’s face for any kind of reaction beyond the single, meaningless syllable that he got. It was pretty clear that Kakashi wasn’t going to offer up any more insight unless prompted.
“What?” Iruka asked, feeling a little defensive.
“You amaze me,” Kakashi murmured, turning his gaze skyward. “The things you’ll put yourself through for others. I don’t think those kids have any idea how lucky they are to have you.”
Iruka felt his face flush hot and he looked down at his hands, struggling to find his words for several seconds. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I don’t think I’m—all that, or anything,”
“You are,” Kakashi said firmly. “And…it’s an incredible quality. But you don’t always have to sacrifice your own comfort for other people’s feelings, Iruka. You are allowed to be a little selfish for things like this.”
“I—I know,” Iruka shrugged his shoulders up around his ears. “I just…shinobi life is gonna be so hard for them, and I know they’ll have to deal with hurting people much…much worse than this. I don’t know. I just want to keep them innocent for as long as I can, I guess. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not. You rarely say stupid things, Sensei,” Kakashi smiled a little, placing a hand on Iruka’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly before standing and moving away. “Anyway…I hope you heal quickly and fully.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thank you,” Iruka stood, not quite sure where to look. “For answering my questions, and…everything.”
Kakashi nodded, turning to leave. “I’m sure you’re excited to be rid of it. But if you have more questions before then…”
“Right, thanks,” Iruka smiled a little. “But I am ready to be rid of it. Doesn’t suit me as much as it does you, anyway.”
“It is much a much greater shame to cover half of your face versus mine,” Kakashi agreed. “Goodnight, Sensei.”
Kakashi had leapt away by the time his words caught up with Iruka, making him stop in his tracks. Damn Kakashi, needed the last word even then.
Iruka found, however, that he didn’t really mind that much this time.
It may have been a fluke, but Iruka’s headache was much more manageable that night. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was pretty sure it had little to do with his injury healing, and a lot to do with Kakashi lightening his mood. Whichever it was, he would gladly take it.