It was a seemingly random pattern. Short strokes that accumulated in black masses, danced in swirls, squatted in squares, lined up in, well, in lines, and covered the whole wall of the hospitalroom.
"He really did this in just one night?", Kakashi raised one eyebrow.
"Yes", Ino nodded "and he's been just sitting there since morning."
She nodded towards the far corner of the room, where Shikamaru cowered, entirely immersed in counting his fingers. He never got further than four, then lost count, glared at his half-formed fist as if the hand itself had distracted him, shook his head and started all over again.
"He's not getting any better, is he?"
"I think it's getting worse. Half the time he doesn't even recognise me any-", she got interupted by Shikamaru who suddenly had gotten to his feet and started to yell unintelligbly at the drawing, which, as it was just that – a drawing, did not seem to take notice.
Careful not to get struck by his wildly gesturing hands Ino neared him, whipsered low, soothing words.
"There", she said, once he had calmed down a little.
"Is the drawing bothering you?"
Shikamaru shook his head, making the face of a six-year-old, too proud to admit that he was being bullied in school.
"Say, why don't we go out for a walk?"
She half pushed, half led him out the room, past Kakashi who was still squinting at the drawing, ttrying to make any sense of it.
"You go ahead", he noted, once he had noticed Ino waiting for him.
„I need to check something first."
When the door had shut behind them, Kakashi, though uncertain whether it would help at all, pushed back his foreheadprotector. He hesitated, briefly, then opened his left eye.
For a split second he saw, he actually understood the meaning behind those strokes Shikamaru had drawn on the wall, understood that there was nothing random about them. Then a bright, piercing pain struck him, like visual feedback. He stumbled back, covering his eyes with his hands.
The pain ebbed away slowly, left behind a light feeling of nausea, however Kakashi did not allow himself to give in to that. He had to write down what he had seen, before he forgot.
Not quite as steady on his feet as he'd liked, but steady enough for noone to take notice (or to note it), he hurried to the reception, hurried the receptionist to hand him pen and paper, and scribbled down all that he could still remember.
"Hokage-sama, are you alright?", the girl behind the counter meekly asked, but did not get much more than a distracted nodd as a reply, before said Hokage turned, his note clutched in one hand, and left the hospitalbuilding.
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Chapter notes:Title respectfully borrowed from: The Statler Brothers