Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Temari couldn't pin point when everything had changed, but maybe that was a good thing. Her days were steeped in ruin. In bloodshed. In lies tucked into every corner of the world. Her quarters were not the kind meant for the daughter of a leader, but for a weapon. A soldier. Every morning bled into the next, driven by missions, objectives, orders.

Rasa the fourth Kazekage had survived Orochimaru's attack and ever since he had aligned with the Akatsuki, the Sand had been infiltrated, rotted from the inside out. He still wore the title of Kazekage, still gave commands, still played the role of ruler. But it wasn’t leadership. It was control. A hollow, bitter reign.

In the years since the war began, Temari had killed exactly one hundred and eighty-seven people. She’d become Suna’s most efficient assassin. Kankuro wasn’t far behind. She had trained to be faster. Deadlier. Invisible. Gaara, though, was another story. He wasn’t allowed to leave the compound. He wasn’t allowed to speak freely. He was no longer her brother, he was a prisoner. A vessel. “Our ultimate weapon,” their father called him.

Temari didn’t trust the Akatsuki at first. She didn’t trust their words, their tactics, or their sudden interest in peace through domination. But trust didn’t matter anymore. This had been the world for years. It was her life now.

Konoha had always been the Sand’s greatest target. They had the largest army, the sharpest minds, an enemy unlike any other.  All the other nations were fractured and alone, but Konoha stood united. And that unity made them dangerous. During the Chunin Exams, Temari thought the Leaf Village was built on fragile, fake loyalty. She didn’t understand trust, or friendship, concepts foreign in a world where power meant survival. But then, for a brief moment, everything shifted. She watched Naruto talk with Gaara, and saw her brother transform. From a heartless monster to an empathetic, selfless young man.

For a brief second, she allowed herself to hope that Konoha might hold the formula for happiness. When she and her brothers were sent to aid Shikamaru Nara and his team against the Sound Five, she saw something new. She saw Shikamaru cry when his teammates were injured, a raw, unguarded moment. Something inside her shifted. She saw true love. And for the first time, she thought maybe… just maybe… It could happen for her too. Now she didn't know if that was just a fleeting memory or an illusion she conjured up. 

Temari sat up in her bed, every nerve taut, already bracing for the assassination mission she knew was coming or capture, or torture. Her life had become so dark she barely recognized herself anymore. The meaning behind it all was gone, swallowed by years of blood and shadows. But she didn’t care. She was a trusted Kunoichi now, and she would follow orders without question.

The sound of the creak of her door made her jump. She watched as a black cloak streaked in red clouds fell next to her bed and felt someone slither into her bed. The moonlight highlighting his pale skin, sharply contrasting with his wild crimson hair that fell in jagged layers around his face. His piercing yellow eyes, with vertical snake-like pupils, looked to her as she turned to him. Black tattoos coiled down his neck like living ink, Orochimaru’s legacy etched into his body. He smelled of metallic and dirt as he pulled her closer.

“You smell,” Temari said.

He laughed quietly into her hair, the sound low and indulgent. “I’ve been traveling all day” 

 She turned then, slowly, meeting his gaze with eyes just as cold, just as calculated. Akahebi had his eyes on her from the moment she drove a kunai into a shinobi’s heart, in front of the man’s sobbing children, without hesitation. It had been her mission. She completed it without blinking. That was all he needed to see.

Her father gave the Akatsuki anything they asked for. Weapons. Resources. Secrets. And when Akahebi the Akatsuki’s general of the Sand asked for her , when he claimed her, the Kazekage didn’t even flinch. No hesitation. Just a nod, like he was handing over spare armor. Temari stopped thinking of herself as a Sand shinobi that day. Whatever loyalty she had was cut clean in that moment, replaced with the cold clarity of survival.

Akahebi was twisted and cruel, but he understood her. He didn’t want softness. He didn’t ask her to be good. He wanted her sharp, brutal, unrepentant. He liked her vicious . His lips pressed against her chest as his hand slid down her leg, each movement deliberate and commanding. Between every kiss, their breaths quickened.

“You’re with me in the morning,” he murmured, voice low and unwavering.

Temari’s eyes flicked to his. “Who’s the target?”

Without breaking the rhythm, he shifted his weight, settling over her like a shadow, intimate, possessive, as if this ritual of theirs was as natural as breathing. “A Konoha battle camp. It’s getting too close, stirring trouble.” He slid the rest of his clothes off, still covered in soot and splatters of blood, possibly his own or someone else's. She didn't care to guess.

He moved to peel away her clothes, their bodies humming together as the bed creaked beneath them. Yet her mind was a tempest, strategies, possible outcomes, death, swirling relentlessly. She didn’t fully understand their tangled connection. Akahebi was controlling, and utterly in charge of her. But beneath that, a sliver of something lingered. 

His hand slid up to her neck, gripping tighter than usual. He forced her gaze to meet his. “Your father told me something interesting.”

Temari didn’t flinch. She shifted slightly beneath him, catching her breath even as his rhythm grew uneven, deliberate. Her gaze answered before her mouth could, cool, patient, inviting him to continue. He stopped moving, still atop her, and pressed harder on her neck, forcing her deeper into the mattress. A test. A punishment. A message.

She pushed back against his chest, just enough to draw breath, her voice rough but steady. “Go on, then.” He shifted, positioning himself higher now, his palm slamming against the wall above her head for balance, the other leaving her throat. His golden eyes burned as they searched her face.

“Told me about the mission you had in Konoha… years ago.”

Her breath caught, not from the pressure this time, but the direction. The why behind the words. It wasn’t like him to linger on the past, especially hers.

She narrowed her eyes. “What of it?”

“It wasn’t the mission that caught my attention,” he said, voice dark and low. “It was the details about who you met there and the way they swayed you and your siblings to act differently.”

Temari didn’t speak. Her body was still, tense beneath him now, not with fear, but with recognition.

“He said that you hesitated.”

Her fingers dug into the sheets. “I don’t hesitate,” she snapped.

He leaned in, his lips brushing hers without kissing her. “You did.”

A beat of silence. Tighter than before. Sharper. Then, her voice, calm, cool, honed like a blade. “That part of me died long before I ever let you touch me.”

His smile was slow, almost mocking.  His hand gripped her thigh, dragging her roughly back into place as he moved again, not gently. Not lovingly. But with something raw and commanding. “That better not be a lie,” he said against her skin. 

Temari bit her lip, the sting grounding her, anchoring her to the present. To him. To the dark path she’d chosen. She reached up, threading her fingers through his crimson hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. “Then remind me who I am now.” And he did.

His movements turned rough. In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her stomach and pressed himself over her, heavy and unrelenting. She felt his lips graze her neck, his breath hot and close, then the pressure as he turned her head sideways, exposing her throat. She didn’t need to look to know what was coming. She could feel it, his fangs, sharp and dripping with venom.

In between moans, she waved him off. “I don’t need reminding like that.”

He let out a soft moan, low in his throat, and let the tips of his fangs graze her skin without breaking it. Just enough to make her shiver. Then he kissed her there instead, and she felt the chakra recede, his jutsu pulling back like a wave retreating into the dark.

“Good,” he murmured, voice rough but pleased.

She didn’t say anything. Just breathed, the air finally coming easier. She didn’t know everything about him, but over the years she’d pieced things together. He’d once been a shinobi, before something broke inside him. After his village was destroyed, like it meant nothing. He turned to Orochimaru for power, for something darker. Whatever he became after that, it wasn’t exactly human anymore.

His jutsu… she still didn’t understand it. He’d used it on her before. Not often. But enough to not want it tonight. It wasn’t a normal poison. It didn’t burn or paralyze. It dragged her under, into something deep and cold. Her mind would slip, like falling into a shadow filled room with no doors, no time. She’d see things, visions that felt like memories, or nightmares, or maybe both. Sometimes it showed her past mistakes. Sometimes it made up new ones. Sometimes it just hurt. 

One vision came often more than others. She’d be young again, her vision blurred by shadows, and she’d turn to find a man standing behind her. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Not threatening. He looked at her with fear at first… then something else. Something gentler. Like admiration. Like she mattered. She never saw his face. Only his eyes. Dark and thoughtful and oddly familiar. She didn’t know if it was real or just some trick her brain had held onto. A forgotten mission. A phantom memory. A dream she’d had once and never let go of. 

She never knew if Akahebi could see what she saw or if he was even controlling it. Maybe it was all from her own mind. But when she came back, gasping, dizzy, he’d be waiting. Watching her like he knew. And maybe he did. But even now, with his weight pressing down on her and his mouth against her skin, she didn’t pull away. Because somewhere in this world of war, death and deception she accepted her life now. She liked it. 

______________

Morning came too quickly. The sheets were still tangled around their bodies, warm with the sweat of sleep and the weight of the events of the night before. Akahebi was still, breathing slow and steady, asleep for once. Temari lay beside him, unmoving, eyes tracing the curve of his shoulder, the faint scars that crossed his spine. He looked… peaceful like this. Young, even. And for a second, she hated how that stirred something in her chest.

He wasn’t evil. At least, she didn’t think so. He controlled her, yes. He acted like he owned her, because in war, everything was about ownership. Territory. Bodies. Loyalty. He didn't scare her Not when he touched her, but when he looked at her, and she could see how far he'd fallen. She wondered if she looked the same way. And sometimes, when she let herself think too long, she wondered what would’ve happened if she’d said no to him in that moment after the battle… when he’d walked toward her, covered in blood and ash, looked at her not with cruelty, but with something like approval . She hadn’t seen approval in a long time. Not from her father. Not from the Sand. So she let him take her hand. Let him pull her further into the dark. Because he didn’t ask her to be anything else. He didn’t want her to smile. He didn’t want her to lie. He wanted her as she was , hard, capable, brutal. And that was the part no one else would understand. Not anyone who hadn’t been twisted by the things they’d both done.

Temari shifted slightly, brushing her fingers along the sheet near his arm, not quite touching him. They weren’t in love. There wasn’t time for that. There wasn’t space. But what they had was real in its own way. They were reflections of one another of the environments that created them. 

She moved her fingers down his spine as he stirred awake. He turned his head toward her, red hair falling in a tangled mess across his face, For a second, in that liminal space between sleep and memory, he looked almost peaceful. She caught it, that flicker. A softness in his eyes. But then it passed. His gaze shifted inward, and whatever he remembered pulled it all away. She saw the light drain from his eyes as reality crashed back in. She knew that feeling too well.

He brushed his hand against hers, a silent acknowledgment, then pushed himself upright, running his fingers through his hair and stretching. His back cracked, his shoulders rolling as the tattoos along his ribs stretched like living ink.

Temari sat up with him, letting the sheet fall. Her eyes drifted to his black and red robe crumpled on the floor, then back to him. “Why did my father bring up that mission?” she asked, voice low but steady.

Akahebi didn’t meet her gaze right away. Instead, he tilted his head back, exhaling through his nose. “I needed information on some people we might run into.”

She hadn’t thought about it in a long time, that mission to Konoha, back when everything still felt like it could be salvaged.  She rarely thought about the brief ties she made while she was there. The hopeful glint in Naruto’s voice when he talked about changing Gaara. The strange weight of possibility in the brown eyes of that other one. The one who watched more than he spoke. The one she thought might’ve seen her clearly. Those memories drifted back now,like they belonged to someone else.

She didn’t know who that version of herself had been, that talked about alliances and futures and freedom. It felt like a dream someone had told her once, not a life she’d actually lived. “Do they matter?” she asked.

Akahebi stood, pulling his robe from the ground and shrugging into it. “They might.” He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to. "Come with me. We’re going to see Rasa before we leave.”

Temari moved swiftly out of bed, her movements precise, mechanical. She dressed without hesitation, her uniform all black now, modified from the standard Sand gear. Silent. Lethal. She tied her hair into its usual four buns, tighter than usual, and pulled a black scarf over the lower half of her face. Only her eyes remained visible, sharp as cut glass.

Akahebi watched her quietly, folding his robe over his bare chest, binding it with its deep red sash. He didn't wear armor, he never needed to. He wore fear like a second skin. They exited the room, silent shadows through the sandstone corridors. The palace was quiet this early. No servants. No guards. Just sand-swept halls that echoed with secrets.

Kankuro was already waiting outside the council chamber. His arms were crossed over his chest, jaw set beneath the paint he wore like armor. His eyes flicked to Akahebi, tense, wary, but said nothing. She gave him a small nod.  Kankuro nodded back. The doors opened before they knocked.

Rasa didn’t look up when they entered. He was seated behind a massive desk, writing something with delicate strokes of ink. The air in the room was dry and bitter, thick with the years of sucicide missions and deciding of fates. He didn’t acknowledge them until he finished the line. Only then did he raise his eyes, cold and colorless, like sand before a storm.

“You’ll be near the camp by nightfall,” he said, folding the paper slowly. “I want the forward unit destroyed before sunrise. That includes med-nin.”

Temari didn’t blink. “We’ll handle it.”

Rasa stood, his gold robes catching the morning light. He crossed the room to a map mounted on the wall, where red pins marked villages and supply routes.

“There’s a civilian village five kilometers off the supply trail,” he said without turning. “They’ve been feeding scouts. Quiet the whole region.”

Akahebi stepped forward, voice low and measured. “No witnesses?”

Rasa finally turned. “None.”

Kankuro stiffened. “They’re civilians.”

Rasa’s gaze cut to him like a blade. “They’re resources feeding the enemy.”

“And what are we?” Kankuro shot back.

“Tools,” Rasa said flatly. “You are what I shaped. What I own.” Rasa looked to Temari and then back to Kankuro “you ought to be more like your sister, she doesn't talk back.”

Kankuro narrowed his eyes “because she has a watch dog around her twenty four seven.” 

Rasa moved swiftly and slapped Kankuro across the face, blood dripping from his lip. Temari didn’t flinch. Not anymore. “I'll assign you one too if you don't start listening to me.”

Kankuro bit his tongue and moved his gaze to the ground as he held his cheek. Temar had the slightest feeling of wanting to comfort her younger brother but she knew he would never accept it especially not in front of their father and general.

Rasa moved to Akahebi, placing a scroll into his hands. His tone changed, respectful, almost reverent. “I trust you’ll be thorough.”

“I always am,” Akahebi replied, unrolling the scroll with deliberate care. “We leave in ten.” Akahebi folded the scroll and slipped it into his sleeve. He nodded once to Rasa, then turned and exited without a word. Temari followed. Kankuro lingered a moment longer, jaw clenched, then finally turned on his heel and left the chamber behind him.

As they stepped into the blinding heat outside, Temari didn’t speak. She didn’t look at her brother. She didn’t ask how he was doing. She already knew. This was the cost of obedience. And it was far too late to stop paying.

Chapter Text

The moment they started moving, the world went quiet. No words. No sound beyond the whisper of wind through the trees and the rhythmic thud of feet against bark. Temari moved like a ghost. Her fan was strapped across her back, but she rarely needed it now. She’d trained herself into something else, something quieter. A shadow among shadows. A blade without a sound. Years of conditioning had turned her into a wraith, skilled in kills that left no witnesses and no noise. She didn’t announce herself anymore.

Kankuro moved beside her, puppets shifting slightly with each leap. He was better suited for capture, clean, strategic, and theatrical when needed. He hated blood unless it served a purpose.

Akahebi led the formation, silent, focused, his pace merciless. He never looked back. He didn’t need to. He was a presence more than a person, someone shaped for torture missions, for extraction, for silence followed by screaming.

Temari wasn’t sure why they were sent with her. She didn’t need them. She could’ve handled the target alone. She almost preferred it that way.

As they darted through the tree line, the ruined world stretched below, burned out clearings, crushed shelters, makeshift grave sites marked with broken weapons and piles of stone. War didn’t stop to bury the dead anymore.

They passed a toppled supply cart, and Temari dropped down before either of the others could. The smell hit first, iron, smoke, rot. Inside, the driver slumped forward, shirt torn open, a crude spear wound carved deep through his ribs. Blood had dried at the corners of his mouth. She knelt beside the body, brushing tangled hair away from the man’s face, and stopped. An upside-down triangle had been etched into the skin of his forehead, jagged and careless. She blinked once. Of course. Hidan. He had attacked the village handing off supplies before they could even get there.

She’d seen his work before, brutal, erratic, and always ritualized. He didn’t kill to eliminate. He killed for devotion. For chaos. He wasn’t just unpredictable, he was a liability. She knew Akahebi kept his distance from him, not out of fear, but indifference. Hidan was a storm not worth walking into.

Kankuro landed beside her with a quiet grunt, covering his mouth as he took in the scene. “Damn it,” he muttered.

Temari glanced at him, ready to speak, when she felt an arm hook around her shoulders, tight, pulling her away from the corpse. She didn’t need to look. She knew it was Akahebi. He didn’t say a word. He never did when he decided her attention belonged elsewhere.

Sometimes, it felt like he and Rasa had made some unspoken pact, not to protect her, but to keep her contained . Watched. Controlled. She hadn’t gone on a mission alone in months. Hadn’t slept alone in longer. Conversations without one of them listening felt impossible. Even now, with Kankuro just steps away, she could feel the invisible leash tighten.

She let him pull her back. She always did. But that didn’t mean she stopped noticing. She cast one last glance at the body, then followed. The silence returned as they moved again, a darker kind of quiet. She didn’t say anything.

Her thoughts drifted, unwelcome, but persistent. She hadn’t seen Gaara in months. Not since the last meeting with the Akatsuki where he was paraded out like a weapon too dangerous to keep in storage, yet too valuable to discard. He wasn’t her brother anymore. He was just leverage now. Kept locked away in the inner compound. Waiting. 

Sometimes she let herself wonder if he was still okay. If he still slept at night. If he still trusted her. Temari blinked hard and pushed the thought away. She couldn’t afford it. Not here. Not now. Ahead, Akahebi gave a sharp signal. The camp was close. Another mission.And once again, she would disappear into the dark and return covered in silence. 

They moved just above the clearing, landing silently on a high branch that overlooked the camp. Below, rows of pale canvas tents ringed a central fire pit, where shinobi sat eating and sharpening weapons. Makeshift tables had been set up to repair gear, carts filled with supplies rested under a tarp of woven leaves. The green of their vests and the glint of Konoha headbands.

Temari scanned the scene with cold precision, every movement calculated. She didn’t speak, but when she glanced at Kankuro beside her, his face mirrored her own thoughts. A flicker of what could’ve been, smothered beneath a growing weight of bitterness.

The Leaf had always been the Sand’s rival. Their enemy. Since the Third Shinobi War, when Fire Country used Wind as a battlefield, its villages as shields. The Leaf called them allies, but let their civilians die in the crossfire. They watched from safe walls while Sand shinobi were ground into the earth like expendable pawns. And when the Sand fell into weakness, into desperation, Konoha offered nothing . No aid. No treaties. No help when the crops failed or the borders crumbled. They let Suna rot.

And Orochimaru, Leaf-born, Leaf-trained, had twisted everything. Even after his exile, his fingers gripped her father like a puppet string. He had whispered promises and poisoned strategy. He had sent her, Gaara, and Kankuro into that Chunin Exam like they were weapons, not children. That failure nearly cost Rasa his life. It nearly cost them all.Temari never thought she’d mourn Rasa. But in some quiet, broken part of her, she didn’t want to lose another parent.

Her eyes dropped back to the camp. A blonde-pony-tailed shinobi leaned against a crate, laughing as she pulled a pale-skinned teammate into a kiss. A few others joked around the fire, exchanging rations, teasing each other about patrols. No tension. No fear.

They looked happy. Even in wartime. Even standing on stolen earth, blood barely dried under their boots, still, they laughed like the world wasn’t burning. She couldn’t understand it. It felt wrong. Like some bright, blinding illusion built over ash. Like a genjutsu meant to soften you before the blade came.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the tree branch. She turned away before the warmth below could twist the knife deeper. These shinobi didn’t know what it meant to lose a home. To be traded away like property. To be told survival was more important than feeling. They didn’t live in the ruins of broken treaties or look their leaders in the eye knowing they were just another piece on the board. 

Temari didn’t hate them because they smiled. She hated them because she used to believe she could smile with them. Now all she could do was erase it. Behind her, Akahebi shifted slightly, a signal. Silent. Cold. It was almost time. And when the silence broke, it would be with fire.

She looked back down as she scanned her targets. She saw a man leaning on a crate his cigarette tip glowing in the low light. He was talking to someone just out of her sight, a silhouette pacing along the edge of the camp with a scroll in hand. Broad shoulders, tied-back hair. A watchful posture. Temari narrowed her eyes, tracking the movement. She couldn’t see his face clearly. It didn’t matter. Just another Leaf soldier.

Akahebi raised two fingers, the signal barely perceptible. Temari exhaled once. Then vanished. She dropped behind the supply carts, her boots making no sound on the earth. One flick of her hand sent a blade slicing through a canvas tie, dropping a tent in a sudden collapse. Dust and surprise erupted across the camp.

She dropped behind the outermost tent like a ghost, silent as falling sand. Her blade caught the tent rope, slicing it neatly. The canvas collapsed. Screams followed.

The reaction was instant. The man dropped his cigarette and barked orders. “Shields up! We’re under attack!”

The pony-tailed girl chakra pulsed, a sudden wave of sensory energy expanding outward in warning. The one she was just kissing leapt to his feet, unfurling a scroll and bringing a massive ink beast to life in a single breaststroke. Temari circled behind them, her fan still folded. She didn’t need it yet.

At the same time, Akahebi appeared at the front of the camp, his jutsu already pulsing through the ground, tendrils of venom-laced chakra twisting around the ankles of two sentries. They collapsed in spasms, mouths foaming before they could cry out.

Kankuro's puppet lunged from the treeline, a blur of limbs and steel. One Leaf chūnin barely dodged, only to be caught by a second puppet’s tail. His scream ended in a choke. The camp was chaos.

Temari stayed low, moving through the wreckage, striking quick. She slit a throat in passing. Kicked the knees out of a genin who fumbled for his kunai. She moved through them like wind, precise, invisible, deadly. And then her eye caught something.

Near the central fire the man smoking a cigarette, already shouting commands, chakra coating his knuckles. The pale one who had been kissing the blonde beside him, ink bursting into motion from an unfurled scroll. And, there, half-silhouetted behind a scorched supply cart, a man with a ponytail ducked into cover, barking out quick, efficient instructions.

She watched him carefully from behind the flames, the way he scanned the battlefield, the way he placed himself just behind the others. Coordinating. She didn’t know him. Not really. But something about him, his posture, the calm calculation in the middle of madness, felt familiar. She froze mid-step. He didn't see her. Didn’t pause. He was too busy coordinating retreat, calculating escape. Temari stayed behind the smoke. She had the angle. The shot. And didn’t take it. Instead, her eyes followed him as he moved through the destruction with calm precision, not fighting to win, but fighting to survive .

He helped the blonde to her feet, her shoulder bleeding from a slice across her arm. She pressed her hand to her temple, using the last of her chakra and extended her arm to point in the direction of where Temari was hiding. Temari didn’t flinch. Her breath slowed. She didn’t reach for her fan.

The man with the ponytail followed the gesture instinctively, turning sharply, scanning past the burning tents, until his gaze landed on her. Their eyes met for the briefest moment across smoke and flame. It wasn’t recognition. Not exactly. But it wasn’t nothing, either. There was something in the way his stare sharpened, narrowed. She felt it land heavy in her chest like the first beat of a missed step in battle. She held his gaze. Long enough for it to matter. Then she was gone, slipping behind the collapsed canvas before he could move,silent as vapor, melting into the dark. 

The pale one’s  beast knocked aside one of Kankuro’s puppets, giving the four of them just enough cover. Akahebi reappeared in the center of the camp, crouched over a fallen medic, hand deep in the man’s chest cavity. He looked up as the remaining Leaf shinobi began their retreat.

“They’re escaping,” Kankuro muttered, stepping up beside Temari.

“They’ll be hunted down,” Akahebi replied calmly, wiping blood across his thigh. “The message is sent either way.”

Temari’s eyes lingered on the trees the Leaf shinobi had vanished into. She didn’t move.

Kankuro looked at her. “You missed one.”

“I know.”

Akahebi said nothing. He turned and began walking through the bodies, his chakra releasing in waves as he set fire to the remaining tents. Screams continued somewhere in the forest. They were too far to matter now. The camp burned. By the time the dust cleared, the Leaf team was long gone. Their camp reduced to ash and scorched steel.

Temari stood in the wreckage, watching the spot where the one she locked eyes with had been. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t care to. That’s what she told herself. But part of her had paused when he looked at her. Not because of fear. Because of something else. Familiarity she couldn’t place. A life she might’ve had.

Akahebi walked past her without looking back, blood drying across his sleeve. “The bodies don’t matter.”

Kankuro didn’t speak. He simply sealed his puppet, his face unreadable. Temari glanced once more toward the forest beyond the ridge. They were gone. Alive. She didn’t follow. And didn’t know why she was relieved. Temari returned to the treeline just as the last screams faded into silence. The Leaf had fled, but the mission was complete: the camp destroyed, the message delivered.

Smoke curled up behind her as she approached Akahebi, who stood in the middle of the scorched remains. His cloak moving behind him in the breeze, stained with soot and blood. He had his back to her, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, as if listening to something in the wind.

Kankuro was already gone, or at least far enough not to interfere. He always knew when to disappear. Temari stopped a few paces behind Akahebi, her footsteps deliberate. She didn’t speak. She knew better. 

After a long silence, he finally turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his golden eye. “You had the angle, you always take the shot, what happened.”

Her jaw tightened beneath her scarf. “They were already running.” Her eyes stayed locked on his, unmoving. But she couldn’t stop the memory, those brown eyes locking on hers through the smoke, the beat of something… familiar.

Akahebi stepped closer. “You’re distracted.”

“I finished the mission,” she replied.

He was in front of her now, too close, his presence sinking into the air around them. His hand lifted, slow, almost gentle, and traced the edge of her scarf. Not pulling it down. Just reminding her he could.  “You saw something” he murmured, his fingers drifting up to her jaw. “Someone you recognized?”

Her breath caught, not in fear exactly, but tension. “No,” she said simply.

He didn’t move for a moment. Then his hand dropped, and he stepped behind her, not retreating, but circling, inspecting. The same way he did with enemies. Or prey. “Your chakra was calm during the fight. Too calm. You weren’t angry.” His voice was soft now, intimate in the worst way. “I remember when you used to enjoy the sound of their screaming.”

Temari turned her head slightly. “Maybe I’m just getting efficient.”

Akahebi stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath against the nape of her neck.

“Or maybe you’re growing soft.” His fingers brushed her hair aside trying to slide down her mask. “Maybe you need a reminder.”

Her hand twitched at her side, near her weapon. But she didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, she turned her head just enough to meet his eyes over her shoulder, cold, sharp, steady. “I’m not the one who let the survivors escape,” she said, voice like dry steel. “That was you.”

Akahebi's smile was slow and cruel, not angry. Just... aware. “I wanted them to run,” he said. “Let Konoha know what’s coming. Fear is more useful than corpses.”

He stepped away finally, pacing toward the burning wreckage. But even as he turned his back, his voice drifted back to her. He kept walking, stepping through flame and ash like it was familiar ground. He didn’t look at her again, he didn’t need to. His words sat heavy in the smoke, and she felt them more than she heard them.

She stood still, fingers curling slightly near her weapon before she forced them to relax. Akahebi always knew what to say, not to hurt her, but to unbalance her. That was worse. Pain could be fought. Doubt… that took root. Temari turned finally, scanning the ruined camp once more. They would need to head back. And with it, more orders. More destruction.

She adjusted her scarf and followed after him, the fire crackling in the distance behind her, and a flicker of brown eyes still burned in her memory, unwanted and persistent. They had completed the mission. But something had shifted. And she knew Akahebi felt it too. “My father won’t be pleased with this.”

He turned sharply, his expression shifting, anger flickering in his eyes. In two strides, he was in front of her. Without hesitation, he ripped the scarf from her face. His hand clamped around her jaw, fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him. Her breath caught for a second, not in fear, but readiness.

“You care what he thinks now?” His voice was low, a growl wrapped in control, like something coiled beneath the surface that hadn’t quite struck yet. “Since when does his approval mean more than mine?”

She didn’t look away. Even with his grip on her, even as his thumb dug into the space just beneath her cheekbone, she stared straight into his eyes, those strange, slitted pupils glowing against the fading firelight.

“I care about the consequences,” she said, her voice strained but steady. “You let them run. That’s a variable we weren’t told to leave behind.”

His mouth twitched, not in a smile, but something sharper, like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or lash out. “You’re lucky I am out of chakra,” he said.

“You’re lucky I don't kill you right now,” she fired back.

For a long moment, the only sound was the wind flickering against the ruined tents behind them. His grip didn’t loosen. But it didn’t tighten either. Then slowly, his fingers slid down from her jaw, almost a caress now as they dropped to her collarbone. He stepped in closer, the tension still tight between them.

“I don’t need to remind you who you belong to,” he whispered.

Temari didn’t answer. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in. Her silence was its own defiance. She saw Kankuro step out from a tree but he didnt move, just watched. Akahebi studied her for another second before stepping back and throwing the scarf back to her.

“We move in fifteen,” he said. “Report to Rasa with whatever version of this you think he wants to hear.” Then he turned and walked away, not sparing her another glance. Temari stood there, her face bare to the wind, the echo of his grip still warm on her skin. And for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sure who she was angrier with. Konoha, him, or herself.

Chapter Text

They made there way back to the sand and the war chamber felt colder than it had before. The torches burned low, casting long shadows that flickered across the map table, war zones etched in blood and ash. Temari stood near the back, silent, alert. Kankuro lingered beside her, stiff with tension. Akahebi paced near the table. Rasa watched them all from behind his desk,  as still and unreadable as stone.

“You let them go,” Rasa said, voice calm but edged. “That wasn’t the directive.”

Akahebi traced a finger across the border. “They were already running. I simply gave them something to carry.”

Rasa’s stare sharpened. “Fear wasn’t the mission. Eradication was.”

“I did what I judged would serve the war best.” Akahebi’s tone was low, unfazed. “You didn’t object when we burned their entire supply line.”

“That wasn’t the part that will come back to haunt us.”

Silence pressed in. Rasa’s attention shifted. “Temari.” She straightened, gaze steady beneath the dark scarf covering her face. “Did he give that order alone?”

Akahebi answered for her, not turning. “She follows orders, Rasa. That’s what you made her for, isn’t it?”

Temari’s eyes narrowed, feeling frustrated with everything. “You don’t speak for me.”

Now Akahebi turned. Walked toward her. Slowly. No sudden moves, no aggression, just presence. Commanding and unnerving in how familiar it had become. He stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin from the fires still smoldering in her chakra. 

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t touch her. “You hesitated back there,” he said softly, almost privately. “You stayed hidden longer than usual.”

“I was observing,” she replied.

His eyes scanned hers, reading, measuring. “You’re not afraid of killing,” he said. “So don’t start looking like someone who is.”

Temari didn’t look away. “Then don’t start talking like someone who doubts me.”

Behind them, Rasa folded his arms, watching the exchange unfold like a match he’d lit on purpose. “You two are getting sloppy,” he muttered. “You're too comfortable with each other. It’s a liability.”

Akahebi didn’t take his eyes off Temari. “No. We are fine.” Finally, Akahebi stepped back. Not retreating. Just releasing her from his focus. “She’ll be ready,” he said to Rasa. “She always is.”

Temari turned without being dismissed. But before she reached the door, Rasa’s voice followed: “Make sure of it. Or I will.”

She paused. Only for a second. Then walked out, steps sharp and sure. Akahebi watched her go. Kankuro followed her soon after, casting a look over his shoulder, not at Rasa, but at Akahebi. There was no trust in that glance.

She walked out into the hallway, their voices still echoing like cracks in glass behind her. Every word from Rasa, every glance from Akahebi. She wasn’t owned. Not really. But sometimes it felt like it. Owned by war. By expectations. By them .

She moved fast. A stride just short of running, like she could walk herself out of the feeling. But she felt him before she heard him. That presence that filled a hallway like smoke before fire. Then, his hand. Rough fingers wrapped around her arm, yanking her backward.

“No.” Her voice cracked slightly, the first crack she’d allowed in days.

He didn’t respond right away,  but his eyes softened just enough to unnerve her. That dangerous flicker of regret that never lasted. Then, as if he remembered his role, his grip tightened. His chakra surged, subtle but undeniable, humming beneath his skin.

“Akahebi—” she started.

But he dragged her. Down the hall. Past torches that burned low. His pace fast, furious. Controlled only by the thinnest leash. She stumbled once. He didn’t slow.

“Akahebi, I didn’t hesitate,” she muttered, breath catching. “I’m loyal.”

Still no response. He only looked forward. Toward her room. She hated that she didn’t fight harder. Hated that she followed. That a part of her wanted to explain herself, to be believed, to be seen. The door slammed open under his hand.

He pushed her inside, not violently, but firmly. Temari turned fast, grabbing the frame with one hand, trying to hold herself steady. “You don’t need to do this,” she said, quieter now. “I’m still me .”

Finally, he looked at her. “Your father gave the order.”

She hesitated. And in that pause, he stepped forward, hand sliding to her jaw, turning her face up. “You’re drifting. I saw it and he guessed it, he knew this mission might be different.” He pulled her close.

His breath hit her neck, warm and steady, and then she felt the sharp sting. The bite . Fangs piercing just beneath her jaw. Her body stiffened. The venom moved fast, a sick warmth spreading from the wound through her veins, dragging her under like a tide. Her knees buckled and he caught her, lowering her gently to the bed like a weapon being set aside. Darkness crawled into her vision. And then —

She felt her body go numb, nerves humming with a strange electricity. Each step felt too light, like she was walking outside her own skin. Her heart pounded harder the further she went, her surroundings warping at the edges. Her eyes were open, she was sure of it, but the darkness twisted around her. Slowly, the shadows pulled apart like curtains. 

Light broke through. Sand glittered beneath her feet, warm and familiar. The scent of dust and sun-drenched earth wrapped around her, grounding her in something that felt like memory. She looked down and froze. Her body was small. Thin arms, tiny hands she was no older than ten.

Confused, she turned in place. The world around her was soft and sunlit. A training yard in the village. Laughter floated on the wind like a lullaby.

“Temari, come play!”

Her head snapped toward the sound. Young Gaara rolled in the sand, a rare, full smile across his face. Kankuro sat nearby, focused on stacking a lopsided sandcastle with a plastic bucket. Both looked younger than she remembered, innocent.

For a moment, her breath caught. It felt real . So real she forgot to be afraid. She ran to them, legs pumping like a child’s, and dropped to her knees, wrapping them in a fierce hug. Gaara giggled, startled. But when she pulled back to look at them, everything changed. Their faces weren’t smiling anymore. Their expressions had twisted, not angry, not crying, just… afraid. Afraid of her. Confused, Temari turned to ask what was wrong, and froze.

He stood behind her. Their father. Towering. Silent. His eyes flat and hard as stone. He reached forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her off her feet.

“NO—!” She kicked out, struggling, but her voice vanished as the light dimmed. Shadows poured through it like black water. Rasa dragged her backward, his grip like steel. Her vision blurred, twisted. Gaara and Kankuro dissolved into ash behind her. The world shifted.

It went pitch black for a second. No sound. No breath. Just a hollow silence that stretched on like eternity. Then, the shadows reassembled. Familiar walls took shape: the war room.

The light was dim, filtered through cracked glass. The table before her was cluttered with open scrolls, maps marked in red ink. Her eyes dropped to her hands, older now, but not as they were in the present. She was seeing an earlier version of herself, just a few years into her time under the Akatsuki’s control. Hardened, but not yet broken.

Her hand rested against one of the maps. Blood had soaked into the corner. Next to her, Akahebi hovered, younger too, but only slightly. He looked over the plans with a far-off expression. When his hand slid over hers, he pulled back like he hadn't meant to do it. Their eyes met. And he looked away . Even in the illusion, that detail struck her. Why won’t he look at me? Her consciousness was only watching, trapped in the body of her younger self, reliving a moment she had tried to bury.

“Temari, I—” His voice cracked. 

But her past self didn’t pause. She didn’t even breathe hard. 

“I’ve lost everything in my life,” he continued, quieter. “You’re the only thing that stays.”

Her younger self turned to face him. Her posture was straight, precise. Her voice was automatic, cold and trained. “I pledged my loyalty to you,” she said. “I won’t ever leave.” And Temari, the real one, the watching soul behind the eyes, felt her stomach twist. She hadn’t spoken those words like a person. She’d spoken to them like a weapon confirming its use.

Akahebi stepped closer, close enough for shadow to swallow the space between them. “Loyalty is the same as love, Temari. If it hurts, that means it’s working.”

Present Temari screamed inside, tried to reach out, to shake herself. Her jaw clenched. Her younger self finally muttered, “No.”

He tilted his head. “Then why are you still here?”

The room cracked. Shadows peeled away from the walls like wet paper. Behind him, space distorted, stretching open into a dark corridor. A hallway. Endless. Narrow. Filled with doors on either side, each etched with the fan crest of the Sand.

Each door opened as she passed them, blood pooling beneath some, screams echoing from others. Her fan. Her blade. Her hand. A hundred bodies. A thousand regrets. Then, just at the edge, a flash. Brown eyes. Standing beside her, a little tired. His hand hovering near hers. She took a step toward the image. SLAM. The corridor snapped shut. Gone. The war room shattered like glass.

She stood in the center of an empty battlefield. Not one from her memory, not exactly. It was too clean, too still. As if the violence had just ended and the world hadn’t caught up yet. The air heavy with the scent of smoke and scorched sand.

Weapons littered the ground: kunai, broken fans, puppets with shattered limbs. She took a step forward. The sand beneath her shifted. Each footstep echoed like thunder in the emptiness. Then she saw them. Bodies. Dozens of them, lined up with military precision, faces covered. Shinobi uniforms torn, headbands cracked. All of them lying on their backs, arms at their sides. Their stillness made her stomach twist.

She kept walking. Until she saw one. Not like the others. Face uncovered but unrecognizable. Brown eyes wide open, unblinking. Temari staggered backward, breath catching in her throat. “No,” she whispered.

She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching for his hand, but his skin crumbled under her touch like ash. The moment her fingers brushed his, he vanished into dust. The entire field did.

She was alone again. Then— A voice behind her. “You left them all.” She turned. Gaara. But not the Gaara she remembered. He was bloodied, the kanji for “love” carved deeper than before. His gourd cracked, spilling sand endlessly behind him. “You let them use you.”

“I didn’t have a choice—” she began.

But more figures stepped from the mist.

Kankuro. “You stopped fighting.”

Her father. “You followed orders.”

Akahebi . But this time, he didn’t speak. He stood behind them all. Watching. Silent. His eyes were glowing, not with rage, but with certainty . He looked at her like she belonged to him. Like she’d always belonged to him. 

And her hands. Her hands were covered in blood. She hadn’t even noticed, caked beneath her fingernails. No wound. No injury. Just blood that wouldn’t wash off. She tried to rub it against her uniform, the ground, her skin, but it wouldn’t go. It never would.

Suddenly, her reflection formed in the air before her, a mirror made of shadow and smoke. Temari stared at herself. Her mask. Her uniform. Her scars. But the version in the mirror smiled. “You like this,” it said. “You chose this.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did ,” it hissed back. “And every time he sank his claws in deeper, you let him.”

“I wanted to survive—”

“No. You wanted to be needed.”

She stumbled back, but there was nowhere to go. The mirror cracked. Darkness swallowed the image, the battlefield, the voices, everything collapsed inward, turning into a tunnel of shadows that rushed at her, dragging her down—

Temari woke with a startle, breath caught in her throat. She didn’t scream. She never screamed. But her body jolted like she had. Her skin was damp with sweat. Her heart pounded hard enough she could hear it in her ears.

She blinked into the darkness, the fragments of the dream still hanging there, Gaara’s voice, Kankuro’s face, the corridor of memories she couldn’t shut out. 

Beside her, the mattress shifted. She felt his arm tighten around her waist, the slow movement of his breathing against her back. He was awake.

“Didn’t take you long to come out this time,” Akahebi said quietly, voice rough with sleep but too steady to be groggy. “I thought you’d stay under longer.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t need that,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Didn’t ask if you needed it,” he replied. “I noticed your focus was slipping. Figured a little clarity might help.”

Temari stared at the ceiling. “That wasn’t clarity.”

He shifted closer, his hand sliding along her stomach. “You call it whatever you want,” he murmured. “You’re sharper after. You remember where your loyalty lives.”

She could feel the heat of him at her back, the way he pulled her in like they were sharing comfort, not the aftermath of something she hadn’t asked for. She wanted to shove him off. But she didn’t. Not yet.

“You said you weren’t going to use it on me again.”

“I said I wouldn't unless it was necessary,” he said. “Your father ordered me to do it.”

She exhaled slowly. “That’s not a distinction that matters.”

“It does to me.”

A long pause. He leaned in closer, his mouth brushing the back of her neck. “Your loyalty to the sand, to the akatsuki, to me, means more than anything.”

She turned slightly, just enough to see his face. There was no smile. Just something darker, quieter, exhaustion maybe, or something like it. Not remorse. Not exactly.

“I’m not slipping,” she said.

He touched her chin, gently. “You’re remembering.”

And he kissed her, soft and brief, like that made everything fine. Like they weren’t two people broken in different ways, clinging to whatever control they had left. Temari didn’t pull away. But her fingers dug into the sheet just a little harder. Because she didn’t know if she was still pretending. Or if she had already stopped.

Tears filled her eyes as the last of the visions faded, her chest tight. She didn’t sob, she never did, but the tears came anyway, slow and silent, sliding down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Akahebi pulled her close without a word, laying her head against his chest. His skin was warm under her cheek, his hand finding her hair and moving through it gently, like he thought that alone could make it all go away.

She hated that it worked, even a little.The tears landed on his skin, and still, he said nothing. Just breathed with her. Steady. Controlled.

She didn’t know what the visions meant. Didn’t know if he was steering them somehow, feeding them to her, or if that man with the brown eyes was something her mind conjured on its own. A memory. A warning. A ghost. Maybe it was just her own thoughts, turning on her in the dark.

Her voice cracked the silence. “I want to see Gaara.”

He didn’t stop stroking her hair, but his fingers slowed slightly. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said, quiet. “He’s doing fine.”

She shifted, pulling back, her muscles aching but her mind suddenly sharp. She looked at him. “I need to see my brother.”

There wasn’t anger in her voice, just something calm. Certain.

Akahebi looked at her for a long second. She could see the resistance there, see the wheels turning behind his eyes, calculating if this was something he could stop. Then he leaned in, kissed her forehead gently, and let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he said. “In the morning.”

She nodded once, then laid back down, not in surrender, just needing the quiet. He wrapped an arm around her again. But neither of them fell asleep right away.

Chapter Text

Temari woke up, still dizzy from the effects of the venom, still exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster it had thrown her into. She looked over, Akahebi wasn’t there. A small wave of relief passed through her, but it didn’t last.

She scanned the room, then threw on her uniform like she was heading into battle. Tugging her scarf into place, pulling her hair back. She slipped into the hallway, her steps light, her instincts sharp. The halls were quiet, filled with a heavy kind of silence that meant something was happening behind closed doors. She moved like a ghost, the way she’d been trained to, slipping down corridors until she heard the low hum of voices through her father’s office door.

“Pain will be visiting the Sand Village in a few days to check on our weapon,” Akahebi said.

“When do you need him?” Rasa’s voice, blunt, unmoved.

Temari’s stomach sank. Gaara. She pressed herself to the wall, barely breathing. She had always known Gaara carried the One-Tail. It was what killed their mother. Her father had tried to seal the beast inside of her first, then Kankuro, but neither had been compatible. Gaara had survived. That made him useful. That made him expendable.

As children, she and Kankuro were ordered to keep their distance. But they hadn’t listened. They used to sneak into his room at night, tell him stories, try to make him laugh. Now, they hardly spoke. She hadn’t seen him in months. And now, they were talking about him like he was still a monster. Still a weapon.

“Temari asked to see him,” Akahebi said.

The mention of her name made her stiffen.

Rasa scoffed. “I’m starting to lose faith in you,” he snapped.

A loud thud followed, something heavy, maybe a chair, knocked over.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that,” Akahebi growled. “You work for us.”

“This is my village,” Rasa hissed, “and as long as you’re in it, you work for me. Get my daughter back on track. Or I will.”

“I tried last night.” Akahebi said tightly. 

“And?”

“She cried this time.”

“Emotions are a weakness,” Rasa said, almost disgusted by the word. “Eliminate them,”

A pause. Temari strained to hear. Akahebi muttered something, too low to catch.

Rasa went on. “She was always the most strategic of my children, the one who would go looking. I told you to contain her, not fuck her.”

“She knows who is in charge.”

“Does she?” Looks to me like she has some leverage over you.”

Temari’s stomach twisted. The words burned in her ears. She heard another thing being thrown across the room.

“Tame your anger in my office.” 

“Don’t speak to me like you're in charge of me.”

“Turn her into the heartless assassin you asked to create, or I’ll mention to Pain that your emotions are getting in your way.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” Akahebi answered with anger coating his voice.

“Then stop treating her like you do.”

Temari slowly stepped back from the door, her spine grazing the cold stone wall. She’d always known, deep down, that she wasn’t being protected. Not really. Her father never shielded her, he polished her edges and sent her to cut for him. Akahebi didn’t love her, he wielded her like a weapon sharpened just for his hands. She wasn’t blind. She wasn’t weak.  But hearing them speak about her so plainly, like a shared possession, still left her stomach hollow.

“I can assure you, sir,” Akahebi said calmly. “I don’t treat her that way.”

“Then show me,” her father snapped.

Temari’s breath caught as she heard footsteps shift closer to the door, but she didn’t move. Not yet.

Then Rasa’s voice, smooth and cutting  “Does she love you?”

A beat of silence followed, too long. “I don’t know,” Akahebi said.

Another pause. And then, Rasa, colder than ever “Love makes a stronger leash than fear ever could. If I see her harness loosen again I will make sure the Akatsuki cast you out.” a beat of silence “then you’ll have no home, once again.”

She heard a slam on the wall like someone punched something but then silence. Temari’s heart was racing, but not from surprise. She turned sharply, moving down the hallway with the fluid grace of a trained killer. Her boots made no sound. Her mind moved faster than her feet, sorting through every word, every implication. She wouldn’t forget this. As she neared the corner to her room, someone appeared in her peripheral. She pivoted, nearly colliding, until a gloved hand caught her arm. Kankuro. 

His eyes scanned her face, his body tense. “Temari?” he asked. “What happened?”

She shook her head quickly, regaining her mask. “Nothing.”

Temari had been the perfect soldier for as long as she could remember, precise, obedient, merciless. She followed every order, executed every target without question. There was a time when she took pride in the silence after a kill, in the flames rising from cities she'd burned, in the rare look of satisfaction on her father’s face when her missions came back successful. That used to be enough.

But lately…her mind wandered more often than it should. Faces stayed with her longer. Screams echoed in her sleep. And although she didn't want to admit it, maybe she did hesitate at the camp. Maybe her father and Akahebi were right, maybe she was slipping. Hesitating. Growing soft. She hated the thought, hated that it might be true. They were at war. Her village depended on her. There was no room for weakness. No room for questions.

Kankuro’s voice broke the silence like a blade. “Are you okay?”

Temari froze. It was such a simple question. But she hadn’t heard it in years, not like that. Not from him. Her eyes flickered, something raw flashing behind them before she blinked it away. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kankuro held her gaze for a second longer than he should have. Then he gave a small shrug, already turning away. It was a practiced thing now, the space between them. He moved like a fellow soldier passing on patrol, not a brother. And she let him. Because if she stopped him, if she admitted something was wrong, she wasn’t sure what part of her would be left standing.

Temari slipped inside her room, almost bracing for something. Of course he would be in here. She pulled her mask down and looked at Akahebi, leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes more intense than usual.

“I needed air,” she let out.

“I didn’t ask.” He pushed off the wall, stepping toward her. The room seemed to shrink with every movement he made. “You still want to see Gaara?” She hesitated for half a second, then nodded.

“Then let’s go.” He brushed past her without another glance, pushing the door open. She followed, the silent fury radiating off of him. After overhearing his conversation with her father, she knew something was coming.

They walked in silence through dim hallways until they reached an iron-reinforced door guarded on either side. The guards didn’t speak. One look at Akahebi’s cloak and they stepped aside, hands falling to their sides in deference. The door opened with a scream.

A gust of cold air met her face. The stairway was steep, wide, and shrouded in darkness. She moved first, her steps echoing down into the dark. He followed, close behind. The further down they went, the colder it became, each breath leaving her mouth in pale wisps. Temari reached for her side, feeling for the kunai she always kept there. It was still in place. Her grip tightened.

The narrow stairwell opened into a corridor lined with cells on both sides. Most were dark, empty. But ahead of them was a larger metal door flanked by another set of guards. As soon as they noticed Akahebi, they stepped aside, unlocking the door in silence. He didn’t speak. Just opened it.

Inside, Gaara sat in the corner of the room. His arms were folded under his chin, his posture slouched. His red hair hung lower than she remembered. His head was tilted down slightly, but even from where she stood, she could see the faint bruising. 

She stepped in slowly, crossing the threshold like it might collapse under her. Akahebi stayed near the doorway, turning his head toward a guard, like he was telling them something but Temari was focused on her brother. 

“Gaara…” she said, voice barely audible.

He didn’t lift his head. She took another step forward, swallowing down whatever cracked in her chest. “It’s me.”

This time, Gaara looked up. His eyes were bloodshot but aware. Dull, but not broken. She saw him blink slowly, like he wasn’t sure she was real.

“Temari,” he said, just once. The sound of his voice was soft. 

She reached for his hand, but before she could touch him, hands clamped down on her arms, yanking them behind her back. Her head twisted around and saw the two guards struggling to restrain her, but it was the sharp glint of yellow eyes behind them that made her freeze.

Adrenaline flooding her vein she kicked one guard in the knee, sending him stumbling. Her elbow connected hard with the second one’s face, a crunch under her strike. With her arm free, she grabbed the kunai from her belt.

The first guard lunged again. She slashed, fast, brutal. His throat opened under the blade, spraying hot blood across her face. The second guard staggered upright, but she was already behind him. She gripped his head, and the room went quiet, she heard the crack of his neck. He collapsed.

Her breath came steadily, calm in the aftermath, but when she turned her gaze to Akahebi, he looked victorious. He began to move toward her, slow and deliberate. Gaara had his head in his hands now, like he couldn’t bear to watch. Like he already knew what came next. Like he’d seen it before. “Temari,” Akahebi said softly.

She didn’t look at the bodies. One of them still gurgled, choking on his own blood. Her eyes were locked on the man who had destroyed her piece by piece.

“You attacked your own people,” he said.

“They attacked me first.”

“They were following orders.”

He stood in front of her now. He reached for her neck, not to hurt, not yet, but to touch . Like a lover. She jerked her head away.

She didn’t know why she still let him live after everything he’d done to her. Why she still shared his bed. Why she obeyed. Maybe it was the way he looked at her when she won a fight. Maybe it was that small, desperate need inside her to feel wanted. Or maybe it was because she had no one else.

“They were just guards,” she muttered. “Who cares?”

She turned to Gaara. His eyes met hers, hollow and heavy, the kanji on his forehead glowing faintly, brighter than before. She tried to snap her head back, but Akahebi’s hand cracked across her face before she could move. She hit the ground hard. Her vision swam, but she looked up at him. His eyes weren’t cold. They were burning. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her against the wall. Her feet left the floor. She looked to Gaara who stood straighter like he wanted to do something but something was holding him back. 

“Killing your own during wartime.” His head shook as if he was disappointed. “Punishable by death.”

She clawed at his hand, tried to breathe, but this time, it felt different. He’d hit her before. She’d hit him back. They fought. They bled. He liked when they fought. Sometimes even during sex. But this? This wasn’t dominance. This was execution.

His grip tightened. “But…” he said, leaning closer, “since you’re still useful, I think death’s too easy.”

Her head spun. Her fingers went limp. She heard her own heartbeat falter. Right before everything went black he threw her over his shoulder and she heard him say “say goodbye.” 

________________

Her vision kept slipping, fading in and out like a dying lightbulb. She tried to pull in a breath, but the air was thin, heavy. Cold stone pressed against her back, steel bars surrounding her like a cage. She reached for her kunai out of habit, nothing. It was gone. Her eyes fluttered shut again. Darkness.

Suddenly, water. Cold and jarring, pouring over her face. She gasped, choking on it, blinking as her vision sharpened. Yellow eyes hovered inches from hers.  Her hand flew to her neck on instinct, trying to shield it, but even the touch made her flinch. The bruises were already deep.

“We’re going to train,” he said calmly.

She blinked, trying to understand. Her body felt like lead. She glanced around, she was on the floor of a cell. Across from her, she saw the door to Gaara’s room, locked tight again. New guards already posted, pretending not to see.

Her voice was hoarse, barely there. “Train?”

“I can’t see what you see when the jutsu takes hold,” he said. “So you’re going to tell me.”

She felt it before he even moved, the energy shifting, his chakra sharpening. His jutsu was already starting to build. His fangs were forming.

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

His hand came down across her face again, hard. But this time, she didn’t even blink. She looked him straight in the eye. He smiled, like he liked that, but it vanished just as quickly.

“Tell me what you see,” he said, voice tightening, “and this’ll be easy.”

Then came the bite, fast, brutal. She didn’t have time to react. Her body went slack, the stone beneath her disappearing. The real world dissolved, swallowed by darkness. And then the visions started. Faster this time. Stronger.

The room warped around her, colors bleeding, the air turning sharp. The world cracked open and reshaped itself into a battlefield, th e battlefield where they first met.

Bodies were scattered across the dirt, the scent of blood surrounding her. Her own hands were stained red, her skin splattered from head to toe. Somewhere nearby, children were crying, high, broken sounds that didn’t match the silence of the dead.

She turned. Akahebi stood a few meters away, straightening from the corpse he’d just dropped. The body twitched once before going still. For a second, their eyes met, hers wide with confidence, his calm, almost curious. 

“You’re heartless,” he said, like he was trying to decide if he admired it.

She gave a small nod, like it was a compliment she’d grown used to hearing.

“We’re on the same side, then,” he added, watching her carefully.

She shrugged, eyes sweeping the field again. “I work with the Akatsuki,” she said. “But I fight for the Sand. For my village.”

The children were still wailing behind her, small voices swallowed up by the wind. Akahebi walked over to them slowly, his cloak brushing the ground. As he passed, the sound of their cries faded… swallowed, like they were never there at all.

“Better they die now,” he said softly, “than grow up in a world like this.”

She turned her head sharply, frowning. “They’re just kids. They don’t need to die.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, something like disappointment in his eyes. “Is that what you think?” he asked. “That being a child makes you innocent? That war spares anyone?” She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure. 

He walked toward her, a strange gleam in his eye, dangerous, thoughtful. “Those kids watched you kill their father. One day, they’ll grow up, and all they’ll want is revenge. One of them might put a blade in your back ten years from now. You think that’s worth the risk?”

Her voice was tight. “Are you speaking from experience?”

He smiled faintly. “My vengeance was fruitful. The man who gave me a second chance was a fool.”

His cloak slipped slightly from his shoulder, revealing tattoos that coiled down his skin like venom. Her eyes scanned up toward his face again, and she saw it. His eyes. Reptilian. A mutation she hadn’t noticed before. It was like looking into something ancient. Something wrong. Something like Orochimaru.

She took an instinctive step back. “I don’t work for him,” she said. “He betrayed my village.”

“I don’t either,” Akahebi replied smoothly. “Think of it more like… I used him.”

She stared at him. “Did you give him a chance? To take vengeance on you ?”

His voice was calm. Flat. “No. Like I said, I don’t take chances.”

And then she smiled. The battlefield began to dissolve. The sky turned black. The bodies crumbled to ash. The image of Akahebi blurred and twisted, but his presence stayed with her. The one who stood beside her from the moment they met. The one who never left her side since.

Time warped again. She wasn’t in her body anymore. She was watching from somewhere outside of herself, adrift, as if she were a ghost observing a life that might’ve been hers, or still was.

The room was dim. Familiar. Her bedroom. Akahebi sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looked small, for once, tired, like the weight of something unspeakable was crushing him. Her memory-self sat beside him, hesitant. Unsure of how to comfort him.

“I want you to work with me from now on,” he said, not looking up. “If you keep getting missions from your father, I can’t protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she said.

He turned to her, and the expression on his face flickered, something possessive, sharp, almost panicked behind the calm. “Pain is talking about stationing someone in the Sand permanently.”

“I’ll speak to my father.”

“No.” He grabbed her past-self’s hand. Firm. A little too tight. “I’ll do it. I’ll speak to him. I can make you stronger, Temari. A real warrior. You just have to stay with me.” He paused, his voice lower, softer. “I need you. You’re the only person I can trust.”

Watching it from the outside, her real self felt her own head nod, like her body was moving without permission, like that old version of her still lived somewhere inside. The world around her pulsed with a sick familiarity, the sense that her memory cut off here… and everything after had been rewritten.

She tried to shake it off, but the vision continued. She watched herself lean in. Their first time. Not gentle, not slow. He touched her like she was something that already belonged to him. He wasn’t cruel, not exactly, but there was always something tight in his hold. Like possession. But now, watching from the outside, she understood it. She saw why she let him in.

With her father breathing down her neck, the village watching her every move, no one had ever gotten close. No one had tried. But Akahebi did. He saw her as something more than a daughter of the Kazekage or a fighter on the front lines. Maybe letting him in felt like control. Maybe it felt like freedom. Maybe it was the only thing that had ever felt like a choice.

Before she could fall any deeper into the memory, something pulled, time collapsing in on itself, folding her back into the present. She hit the ground hard. Not a ground just darkness. Her breath caught as she looked up—Brown eyes.

Soft, kind. Reaching down toward her, a hand offered. She blinked. Her hand reached out automatically. He didn’t speak, but the look in his eyes said everything. That look… something warm, something she couldn’t place. It felt like safety. 

Maybe this was the reason her mind drifted in dangerous directions.  But before the face came into view, she jolted awake. Back in the cell. Heart racing. Chest heaving.

Akahebi sat beside her, watching her closely. Too closely. His eyes scanned every inch of her face like he could read the memory on her skin. “What did you see?” he asked.

“Memories” she said quietly as if she was trying to decipher if she was back in reality. 

He slammed his fist against the wall, inches from her head. “I need details.”

She flinched, barely. Her voice was quiet, strained. “Of you.”

A slow smirk crept onto his face, something dark behind it. “Tell me more.”

Temari rubbed the side of her head  “Memories,” she said slowly, “of things we’ve shared. Some good. Some bad.”

His eyes narrowed, “Then let’s focus on the good ones from now on.”

She shook her head. “I don’t control them.”

His expression hardened. “Neither do I. But I can influence.” He moved closer, crowding her space. “Tell me more.”

Her pulse spiked. She didn’t want to. Something inside her screamed not to. But the look in his eyes, that cold, precise hunger, told her she might not get a choice. So she stayed silent. That silence cost her.

Akahebi turned, nodding to the guard standing by Gaara’s cell. The door creaked open. A figure stood just beyond it, cloaked in black and red. Akatsuki robes. Temari couldn’t see their face, but her gaze dropped instinctively to the ground. A circle. A triangle inside. Painted in blood. Her stomach twisted.

“Do it,” Akahebi said.

The figure laughed, high, gleeful, like this was entertainment. He stabbed his own thigh. Gaara’s scream shattered the silence, raw and inhuman. Temari jerked at the sound, her entire body recoiling.

“You’re going to trigger the Tailed Beast,” she said, panicked.

But Akahebi didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. “We have it under control.” Then louder, casually,  “Again, Hidan.”

Hidan laughed even harder this time. He yanked the spear from his thigh and drove it into the other. Gaara’s scream echoed again, louder now, as if his very soul was unraveling.

Temari couldn’t breathe. She choked out the first words that came to her. “Brown eyes—” she gasped. “I always see brown eyes.” She looked past Akahebi to the open door. “Please. Make him stop.”

He moved in front of her, blocking the view. All she saw was him now. “Whose are they?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I never see their face.” She tried to push herself up, but his hand was already gripping her arm, pulling her back down like a leash.

“Tell me what you feel when you see them.”

Her mind scrambled, her thoughts crashing into the screaming next door. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t feel anything beyond the pain in her brother’s voice. She was drowning in it.

He gripped her chin and turned her face toward him, forcing her eyes to meet his. “What do they make you feel?”

She hesitated, then said it, almost in a whisper, “Safe.”

Akahebi’s expression shifted. Cold. Calculating. “And what do you feel when you look into mine?”

She stared at him. Really stared. She tried to dive deeper into the yellow to find any sort of softness that was there when he first woke up in the mornings or that lingered occasionally when they first met but it was no where. “Suffocating.”

His jaw clenched. No response. Then the bite, sudden, sharp, like being struck by lightning.

She cried out as her body seized, the screams from Gaara’s cell fading into nothingness, swallowed by the dark. He threw her back down like a discarded doll. And the visions began again. 

Shadows began to stretch and twist, crawling over stone and sky until they reshaped themselves into trees, hundreds of them. A stadium materialized around her, familiar and wide. The Chunin exams. She looked down and saw herself: younger, poised, her war fan already in her hands, ready to strike. Across the arena stood a boy she barely recognized. The one she fought that day. The one she saved from Tayuya. His face was blurred now, half-lost to time.

But his eyes. She squinted. They were gone. Or maybe hidden. Black shadows hovered where they should’ve been, like something wanted her not to remember them.

Dark jutsu slithered across the ground toward her. She leapt instinctively onto her fan, just like she had back then, the arena swirling below her. For a moment, she felt confident. Like the past was hers again.

She glanced to the audience. Gaara was watching, still and cold. The monster still had him then. Kankurō stood beside him, his arms crossed, a small proud smirk on his face. Behind them, her breath caught. Baki. Their teacher. He stood tall, just like he used to. He was the only adult who had ever treated them like people, not tools or burdens. The last time she saw him alive, was right after they returned home from this mission. Her father executed him that night. No warning. No chance to say goodbye.

She stared too long. A shadow yanked on her fan. She lost balance and slammed to the ground. She groaned and sat up, then froze. Baki’s eyes were pouring blood. Gaara’s mouth opened in a silent scream, the same one she’d just heard from his cell. The sound broke the illusion. Or twisted it.

She tried to run, but the shadows were already wrapping around her ankles. Her body started walking forward, but her mind screamed stop . Her arm rose. The boy’s arm rose to match.

“I give up,” he said.

The arena warped. Voices bled in from another memory, overlapping, mixing together. 

Akahebi appeared, running toward her. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, lips pressing against hers with that too-familiar weight. “I’m so proud of you.”

It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel right. She blinked. Was this a memory or a rewrite? No... this was right before everything went wrong. She thought to herself. Akahebi let her go, and the boy stepped forward. 

His eyes came into view now, almost the same brown eyes she kept seeing. But they weren’t right. They looked like someone had tried to draw them from memory and failed. “You disgust me,” he said.

Everything around them faded to black. Now it was just her and him. No arena. No stadium. Just endless dark.“You’re worthless,” he stepped closer. “You let your teacher die. You failed your first mission. You’re a coward. You’re everything you swore you wouldn’t become.”

She covered her ears, but the words slipped through like vapor, into her mind before his mouth even moved. “Stop it,” she begged.

“Do you even like yourself anymore?” The more he spoke, the more the eyes became familiar, too familiar. But she shut her own before she could look. Refused to see.

“No one could ever love someone like you,” he said. “Not even your siblings.”

Silence. He stopped. She thought it was over. She opened her eyes. And there they were. The brown eyes. No face. No mouth. Just the eyes, floating in shadow. And they weren’t kind anymore. They hated her. “No one can save you from yourself.”

Tears burned her eyes. The darkness around her bled away like smoke, And then the yellow returned. Akahebi’s voice cut through. “What do you feel now when you see mine ?”

She couldn't hear the screams anymore, “Confusion,” she whispered.

“And the brown?”

She paused. “Confusion.”

“Again.” he said.

She didn’t feel the bite this time. Not the teeth. Not the pull. Just the shift. A new world drifted into place like mist clearing.

The air smelled like rain, but the sky above her was black and starless. Temari stood  on cracked stone in front of a small wooden house. It looked familiar, though she couldn’t remember why. It didn’t look like any village she had been to. There were no guards. No wind. No voices. Just silence. 

The door was already open. Inside, the house was dim and warm. She stepped inside. Photos lined the walls. Her. Gaara. Kankuro. Their teacher. Their childhood. But every photo was slashed through. Not torn. Sliced. As if someone had methodically destroyed every memory she’d ever cared about.

A gentle voice called from deeper inside. “Temari…”

She turned toward it. The hallway stretched too long, bending slightly, like a dream that didn’t know how to stay stable. At the end of it was a room glowing with soft, golden light. She walked, drawn forward.

Inside, Akahebi stood by the window. His back to her. Light poured in around him, framing him like a painting. He turned slowly, and his yellow eyes met hers. But they weren’t threatening. Not now. They were warm.

“You came back,” he said, as if he’d been waiting forever.

Temari’s heart squeezed. Her hands trembled, though she didn’t know why. He walked toward her and reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered against her cheek. “I knew you’d choose me.”

She tried to speak, but a sudden cold washed through the room. The window shattered. Wind howled in. The warm glow flickered out. And at the broken window stood a figure. Just a silhouette. No face. No voice. Only brown eyes. Still. Staring. Watching.

She took a step back without realizing it. The eyes didn’t blink. They just stood there . “Who is that?” she asked.

Akahebi stepped in front of her protectively. His voice was calm, but hard underneath. “He’s the one who breaks you. The one who hurts you.”

“No… no, I know those eyes,” she whispered. “They’re—”

A voice, hollow, distant, as if it didn’t belong in this world.“Yellow eyes? Brown eyes? Again.” The words didn’t echo in the vision. They cut through it. For a second, the image around her trembled, as if it wanted to collapse, like it remembered it wasn’t real. But it held. The vision continued, right where it had left off. Temari stood in that shifting space between memory and invention, somewhere too vivid to be fake, but too perfect to be true.

“They’re dangerous.” Akahebi touched her wrist. “You remember the pain, don’t you? The shame? The way you felt like nothing.”

Temari’s mind flashed, her father’s words breaking through her mind as if the brown eyes had said them. The sound of Gaara’s scream echoing through her bones as if the brown eyes had created them. Memories of blood and abuse she had endured through the years as if the brown eyes had done it. Her own mind, breaking, as if the brown eyes had generated these memories, these illusions. Everything in her mind fractured and reformed around a new reality.

 “He looked at you like you were broken, I stayed.” 

She didn’t answer. Her chest hurt. Her hands felt cold.

“I’ve always protected you,” Akahebi whispered.

“But-”

“Yellow eyes? Brown eyes? Again.” 

The words circled like birds above a battlefield, a chant, a command, a memory.  They echoed through the dark, bouncing between the fragments of her mind like she hadn’t been present long enough to remember.

Flashes of other visions flickered around her, like broken glass catching light. Her father. Blood. Gaara screaming. The boy in the arena. War. Her own face distorted and twisted into things she didn’t recognize anymore. But this one vision held her. It stuck .

The shadows were still moving around her, like the other visions were trying to play, but something stronger overrode them. This one wouldn't fade. 

A single voice cut through the swirl, “Let him go.”

The silhouette stepped forward through the window frame, glass crunching under unseen feet. The room shook.

Temari covered her ears. The brown eyes glowed now, and they weren’t soft anymore. They were full of hatred.  “Get away,” she whispered.

But the figure kept coming.

“ Get away! ”

Akahebi pulled her into his arms. The room steadied. The brown eyes faded like smoke. “You’re safe,” Akahebi whispered. “With me, you’re safe.”

She looked up at him. His yellow eyes shimmered, soft again. Gentle. He pressed his forehead to hers. Their breath tangled. Temari felt her lips part. Her eyes fluttered shut. And for the first time in what felt like a distant memory, she kissed him first. And with it, She felt them all vanish.

All the past versions of herself. The one who had any dream outside of this war. The kind one. The loyal sister. The hopeful lover. The broken fighter. They faded like breath on glass, leaving only one. The heartless assassin. The one everyone always expected her to be. The one the world made her into.

She was the only version left, standing across from her with a blank expression and an outstretched hand. Inviting her to step into what she'd always feared. 

“Yellow eyes? Brown eyes? Again.” The words echoed around her like a sentence long awaited. A ritual repeated until it wore down the soul.  But this time, this vision felt different.

The others had passed through her like fog, half-remembered, half-felt. But this one... this one she was in . Present. Real. She stared at herself. The extended hand didn’t shake. But before she could take it, brown eyes appeared behind her.

She screamed. The sound of it tore from her throat like it had been buried for years. She jumped back, body reacting faster than her mind, all memory of warmth or comfort twisted into the horror they now brought her.

Those eyes. The source of her torment. The thing she’d learned to blame.

“You’re safe if you come with me,” said the version of herself, voice steady, eerily calm. When she looked closer, this version of herself had yellow eyes.

Temari tried to move, but the stare from the brown eyes held her in place. Not with jutsu. Not with power. But fear. Raw, primal fear. The kind you don't question, you just obey.

“You’ll get your vengeance,” said her other self. “He will never hurt you again. Come with me.” The voice didn’t even sound like hers anymore. It was deeper. Older. Like it came from somewhere outside her body. But she didn’t care. 

She ran. Straight into her own arms. She collapsed into the mirror of herself and hugged her tightly. “Help me,” she whispered. And with that,  the dark split open. Light spilled in like a flood.

Her eyes fluttered open. Soft sheets beneath her. Her own bed.  She blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the light.

Akahebi sat beside her, one hand wrapped around hers. His thumb ran gently along the edge of her fingers, his face calm, almost tender. “How do you feel?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away. Something in her brain was still catching up. Her first impulse wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion. It was gratitude. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to thank him. He was still here.

“You’ve been out of it for weeks,” he said gently, watching her carefully.

Weeks? Her brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. “What?” she breathed.

He paused. “The man,” he said, voice dropping just slightly.  “The one with the brown eyes.”

Her whole body tensed. Her heart spiked in her chest. She scanned the room instinctively, like he might be there, hidden in the corner, waiting to drag her back.

She didn’t even notice that she was holding her breath.

Akahebi leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper now. “You’re safe. I’m with you now.”

There was a slight smirk in his eyes, but it was hidden under softness. “Temari,” he said, “yellow?” like he had asked this question a hundred times.

She didn’t hesitate. “Love.”

“Brown?” 

Her grip tightened suddenly, nails digging into the back of his hand. “When can I kill him?”

Akahebi smiled triumphantly.

Chapter Text

Brown eyes scanned the map spread across the table, cluttered with pins and black X’s. His messy handwriting covered the page like battle scars, sharp, rushed, desperate. Moonlight barely cut through the trees, just enough to see. He ran a finger along the northern route, the one the supply convoy was supposed to take, then stopped at the spot where their camp used to be, before the raid.

Sai crouched near a tree, quietly sketching. Asuma stood a few steps away, cigarette glowing in the dark, smoke curling past his face. Ino sat across from Shikamaru, arms folded tight, her eyes jumping between the terrain report and the notes on the map.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Ino muttered, shaking her head. “The Akatsuki are split up. How the hell did they know where to find us?”

Shikamaru didn’t look up. His eyes stayed on the map. “It wasn’t the Akatsuki.”

Ino let out a short, sharp breath. “One of them was wearing the cloak. That’s kind of their thing.”

Asuma stepped forward, smoke drifting from his nose. “But the rest of them weren’t.”

Shikamaru finally met her eyes. “It was the Sand. Probably.”

Ino made a noise in her throat, somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “I can’t believe they’d actually side with the Akatsuki.”

“This war’s been going on for way too long, Ino.” Shikamaru's voice was quiet, low, tired. “There’s no point dwelling on a decision they made years ago.” He looked up again, his eyes shadowed in the moonlight. “Besides... when have they ever chosen the right side?”

Ino narrowed her eyes. 

But Shikamaru cut her off before she could speak.   “Or do you need a reminder of what happened after the Chunin Exams?”

“But they saved you” Ino said, voice tight with feeling, like the thought should still mean something. Like he should still be grateful.

Shikamaru didn’t look at her. He’d already accepted it. The moment he heard the reports.  He wasn’t the type to dwell. He didn’t wish for things to be different, what was the point? A fact was a fact. And they had to live with it. He barely remembered those moments now. The ones that were supposed to matter.

Would he even remember the three Sand shinobi who stood beside them when the sound five had the upper hand? Would he remember the girl who had stood just a few steps away while he cried over his injured teammates, shoulders shaking with the weight of leadership for the first time? The girl who beat him in the Chunin Exams, not with strength, but with pressure. The one he chose to forfeit to. The one who teased him at the gates later, smirking as she waved goodbye like they’d see each other again.

That was the last time he saw her. Now? He didn’t care. He couldn’t. He had a duty, to his village, to the alliance, to the lives still depending on his decisions. The war had already taken too many. Friends. Commanders. Civilians caught in the crossfire. He didn’t have the luxury of mourning what they’d lost. He only had the responsibility to stop what was still coming.

And if the girl who once stood at his side had become something else… If she had turned…or maybe thats who she was the whole time. Then she would be treated like any other enemy. Even if she remembered the boy who cried, he was gone now. All that was left was the strategist. The protector. And he would see this war to its end. No matter the cost.

Shikamaru shook his head, eyes locked on the map spread across the forest floor. “It doesn’t matter anymore. And you should know that, Ino.” His tone wasn’t cruel. Just certain.

Ino’s jaw clenched, but she nodded. “I do.” She glanced around the clearing where tree met sand. Too exposed, too still. The silence wasn’t calm; it was waiting. “We can’t stay here,” she said. “We need to move.”

Asuma stepped forward from the edge of the trees, the moonlight catching his headband as smoke curled from his cigarette. He didn’t need to raise his voice. “She’s right. We're burning moonlight. Sai, how long until your in the air?”

Sai rose fluidly from his crouch, already sealing his scroll. “Sixty seconds.”

“Good. We’ll need overwatch before the next ridge.”

Shikamaru rose beside him, folding up the map. “Ground route only. No chakra pulses. If they’re watching, they’ll be tracking movement from above.”

Asuma nodded in agreement. “Tree cover's thin out here. We’re not giving them a free shot.”

He looked at the rest of the team, then toward the direction they’d just come from, where the clearing still sat quiet, cold, and wrong. “That site back there…” he said. “You’ve all seen what war does to people. But that wasn’t a battlefield.”

No one spoke. Because they were all still picturing it. Two bodies, posed like trophies. Arms broken and bent behind their backs. Mouths forced open. Wounds with no sign of weapons. A triangle carved into the ground beneath them, encircled with blood.

“That was ritual,” Ino said, her voice low.

“Sacrifice,” Sai corrected.

Shikamaru ran a hand through his hair, the gesture tight with frustration. “Whoever did this wants attention. Not in a flashy, ‘we’re at war’ kind of way. This is deeper. Slower. Psychological.”

Asuma’s eyes narrowed. “Which makes them even more dangerous. Someone willing to take the time to pose bodies like that? They’re not acting on impulse.”

“They’re acting on faith, ” Shikamaru said.

Asuma stepped closer, folding his arms. “You’re thinking cult.”

Shikamaru hesitated. “I’m thinking it’s tied to Akatsuki, or what’s left of them.” 

The war had stretched across years. Not days. Not seasons. Years. It bled through borders, carved its way into mountains, deserts, oceans. Information was rare, fragmented, traded in whispers or smuggled through bloodied hands. Especially anything on the Akatsuki.

The only confirmed identity was the one tied to the Uchiha, Sasuke’s brother. A ghost who haunted the battlefield long before the war officially began. But after the last attack, Shikamaru was almost certain, at least one Akatsuki member was working exclusively with the Sand. Embedded. Supported. But likely still reporting to someone higher.

There were no other certainties. Only rumors. A leader who controlled six bodies at once, communicating through them as if they shared a single soul. Another who could touch the earth like it was skin, feeling tremors and tracking movement like a walking sensor network. And then the one said to be unbeatable, not because of jutsu or bloodline, but because of a sword. A blade that couldn’t be separated from its wielder. As long as it remained in their hands.

None of it had been proven. No intel confirmed. But the whispers didn’t need proof to spread. This wasn’t a war with two sides anymore, it hadn’t been for a long time. It wasn’t Sand and Akatsuki against the Leaf. That would’ve been cleaner. This war was every man for himself. When it began, the villages scattered like birds under fire, alliances shattered by fear and ambition. No one wanted to bleed for someone else's cause. No one except the Leaf. Konoha stayed whole. The last village standing with its chain of command, its walls intact, its shinobi still willing to fight together under one symbol. That made them a threat. That made them a target. And now? Now they were being hunted not just with blades or jutsu, but with strategy. With fear.

“We stick to the riverbed,” Shikamaru said at last. “Stay under the tree line. Sai, lead the scout trail with your ink decoys. Ino, go with him. If anyone gets caught in a genjutsu again, break it fast. ”

Asuma stepped in beside him, his presence grounding. “And Shikamaru and I will take the ground. We find the source of this. We cut it off.” He glanced back at the trail behind them. “Before any of us end up in one of those circles.”

No one questioned the order. They moved.

_______________

The forest was quiet, painted by the moonlight. The sound of boots over moss and dirt was the only thing breaking the silence, steady and purposeful. Overhead, the distant flap of ink wings echoed faintly as Sai’s hawk circled above, black against the setting sun. Ino was up there too, moving between branches, staying within mental range in case anything turned.

But for now, it was just the two of them. Asuma and Shikamaru, side by side, walking beneath a canopy of tall pines. For once, there was no immediate threat. No dead bodies. No maps. No strategy. Just air. And breath.

Asuma took a long drag of his cigarette before flicking the ash into the dirt beside him. “You’ve gotten quieter,” he said finally.

Shikamaru shrugged. “Thinking.”

“You ever stop?”

“Only when I sleep,” he said. Then, after a beat: “Sometimes not even then.”

Asuma chuckled softly. “You’re carrying too much.”

“I have to.”

Another few steps passed between them. The forest around them shifted from silver to the slightest blue, a splinter of the sun peaking through.

“You ever wonder,” Asuma said, “how many different versions of you there’d be if none of this had happened? No war. No Akatsuki. No politics. Just… Shikamaru. Existing.”

Shikamaru blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Yeah. I’d be lying in a field, watching clouds, complaining about how troublesome everything is.”

Asuma grinned. “That’s the one I remember.”

Shikamaru glanced sideways. “What about you?”

Asuma took another drag, thoughtful. “I think… I would’ve been a father”

Shikamaru blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean” he hesitated “I raised you brats didn't I?”

Shikamaru smirked. “And look how we turned out.”

He thought of their childhood. Of days spent dodging training with a sigh, dragging his feet next to a boy with a big heart and an even bigger appetite. Of a girl too driven to let either of them slack off. Of Asuma’s voice behind them, sarcastic but warm, pushing them harder even when he pretended not to care.

He remembered lazy afternoons on the roof of the academy, cloud-watching with Choji. Long silences that said everything. Sharing bags of chips like they were treasure. Arguing about nothing. Laughing at nothing. That was before war swallowed the world. Before friendships became tactical assignments, and trust had to be measured in reports. He hadn’t seen Choji in months. Last he heard, he’d been stationed with Naruto, Hinata, and Sakura. No contact since. Probably by design, spread your strongest across the board, even if it meant scattering the bonds that had kept them alive this long. He hoped they were okay. He needed them to be okay. He swallowed hard, jaw tight.

He’d had two father figures in his life, his real one, Shikaku, whose wisdom cut deeper than any blade, and Asuma, who gave him permission to be more than what he was afraid of becoming.

Asuma exhaled smoke, eyes narrowing with a smile. They walked in silence for a moment. Then Asuma said, softer this time “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Shikamaru’s steps faltered. He didn’t look over. “You don’t say that kind of thing unless someone’s about to die.”

Asuma grunted. “Don’t get dramatic. I just wanted to say it while I still could.”

Shikamaru kept walking. But his throat was tight. From ahead, the scent hit them first. Blood. Old and coppery, but thick in the air. Fresh. They froze. In the middle of the path ahead, just beyond the curve of a large tree, something glistened. Shikamaru held up a hand, signaling a stop. Asuma nodded silently, already drawing a chakra blade.

They stepped forward. What they saw was wrong. Three shinobi. Their bodies strung upside down by their ankles from the trees, mouths forced open, blood dripping into bowls at their feet. A crude symbol carved into the ground between them. An upside down triangle inside a circle.

Shikamaru’s stomach dropped. “Same as the last site,” he said under his breath.

From behind one of the bodies, a figure stepped out. Tall. Smiling. His skin was glistening with sweat, his hair silver-white, matted with blood and dirt. He wore the red-and-black cloak, open at the chest. His chest was also carved, deep, ritualistic wounds spiraling across it like a religious devotion. He was still holding a spear slick with blood. He looked delighted. “Ahh, shit,” he said cheerfully. “Was hoping for a couple more sacrifices, but this’ll do just fine.”

Asuma stepped forward, blade ready. “Who the hell are you?”

The man grinned wider, licking blood from his thumb. “Name’s Hidan. Ever heard of Jashin? No? Doesn’t matter. You’re about to meet him.” He tossed the spear to the side and pulled out a scythe throwing it into the air like a toy and caught it mid-spin. “Which one of you wants to die first?”

Shikamaru and Asuma stood in front of the feral man, and in an instant, everyone was moving. Shikamaru dropped to one knee, mind racing through possibilities. Asuma’s chakra blades were already flashing, striking against Hidan’s massive scythe in a clash of steel and sparks.

“This is fun!” Hidan cackled, swinging low toward Asuma’s ribs.

“Asuma, left!” Shikamaru shouted.

Asuma dodged just in time, pivoting with precision. His blade snapped up and cracked across Hidan’s face, opening a shallow gash along the man’s cheek. Shikamaru looked up, Sai and Ino were descending fast through the canopy, slowing just above the treetops. He met Ino’s eyes and gave a sharp shake of his head. Not yet.

Below, Hidan smeared the blood across his fingers and licked it with a grotesque grin. He trembled slightly, not from pain, but anticipation. “You can’t kill me,” he snarled. “I’ve been blessed by Jashin!” His movements became sharper, more erratic, his grin splitting wider.

Shikamaru’s mind raced. Looking to the bodies hanging from the trees, he pressed his hands together as he heard the two of them trying to land a hit on one another. The drops of blood echoing in his ears. Blood. He shifted his weight forward, watching every twitch in Hidan’s body. “Don't let him get your blood!.”

Asuma launched forward again, blades blurring. He pushed Hidan back with a flurry of quick, precise strike, one across the ribs, another across the shoulder. Blood splattered, but none of it was Asuma’s.

“Asuma—!” Ino shouted from above.

“Damn it,” Shikamaru muttered. “That’s enough.”

Asuma jumped over Hidan, chakra blades flashing, and kicking him mid-air, sending the lunatic backwards through the dirt. But at the last second, too late to dodge, the  scythe snapped forward, the chain coiling. It caught around Asuma’s leg. With a vicious yank, Hidan dragged him down, both of them hitting the ground hard. Asuma rolled, breaking the impact, and sprang to his feet in a flash, but Hidan was already there. Too fast. He feinted low. Asuma moved to block, but the strike never came.

Instead, the edge of the scythe arced up and caught him across the upper arm, just deep enough to draw blood. Asuma gritted his teeth, stumbling back. The cut was shallow, but it was enough.

Hidan licked the blood from the blade, eyes gleaming with manic triumph. “Got you.” His body turning into patterns of black and white. With the left over blood he drew a symbol in the ground, an inverted triangle inside a circle, flared to life beneath him.

Shikamaru’s heart jumped. “Asuma! Move!” Asuma leapt to the side, but Hidan had already stabbed himself in the thigh.

Across the clearing, Asuma shouted in pain, collapsing to one knee, his own thigh torn open in a mirror wound.

Ino dropped down rapidly, landing hard beside Asuma and catching him just as he fell. “I’ve got you,” she breathed, chakra already flowing into his wound.

Hidan raised his pike again, laughing through gritted teeth. “You feel it? That’s Jashin’s will!”

Sai struck. In a blur of movement, he dropped beside Shikamaru and summoned two ink beasts, a hawk and a panther, flanking Hidan from both sides.

Shikamaru’s shadow closed in. “Now!” he shouted.

His shadow snapped up like a whip, wrapping tightly around Hidan’s limbs just as the scythe was coming down. Hidan froze. “What the hell—?!”

Sai slammed a scroll to the ground, and black kanji burst across the clearing in a surge of chakra. Ink tendrils whipped forward, coiling around Hidan’s legs and arms. His scythe clattered to the side as sealing tags snapped into place, one after another, locking him down. The ink beasts circled him, growling low as the final tag flared with chakra. Just as the last seal clamped over his chest, pinning him to the earth with a heavy thud , Shikamaru saw something, his shadows flickered, twitched like someone else had touched them.

His eyes shot to Hidan. Shit. In that split second of flicker, Hidan shifted, just enough to plunge his scythe into his own heart. The gag tag sealed over his mouth the moment the blade pierced skin, cutting off whatever curse he tried to scream. The ritual circle dimmed, sputtering to silence. It was done. All that remained of Hidan was his ragged breathing and those bloodshot, wide, furious eyes, locked on Shikamaru with the intensity of a dying god who refused to die. 

Sai stepped back, brushing ink off his fingers as the last of the seals tightened into place. The scroll shimmered faintly before sealing itself with a metallic snap. Hidan, immortal priest of Jashin, was a prisoner now. Contained, but not beaten.

Behind them, silence. Then coughing. Ragged, low. Ino and Shikamaru turned immediately. Asuma was sitting up slowly, blood smeared on his thigh, his hand trembling over the wound. Then fell backwards as blood spilled out of his mouth. His chakra was flickering faintly under Ino’s healing glow.

The forest was still, too still. Shikamaru dropped to his knees beside Ino and grabbed his sensei's vest, trying to stop the bleeding not with chakra but with his hands. 

“You’re okay,” Shikamaru said quickly, too quickly. “You’re gonna be fine, just hold still.” his hands shaking aws warm blood coated them.

Asuma’s breath came in shallow gasps. His eyes were open, but unfocused. “Don’t… lie to me," voice rough, barely more than air.

Shikamaru shook his head hard, as if refusing to let the words in. “No. No. We’re not doing this. Not now.”

Asuma took a long breath and placed a hand on Shikamaru's shoulders, "Don't let this war change you." he paused "you'll lead best when you stop needing to be right and start feeling."

Shikamaru stared at him, not understanding his words but he sat with them.

Ino was crying openly now, her hands glowing brighter, her teeth clenched as she poured chakra into the wound. “Come on, damn it, come on —”

Sai stood a few steps away, scroll in hand, silent, but his eyes were on them. Watching. Absorbing everything with quiet intensity.

A shudder ran through Asuma’s chest. His fingers clenched, then slowly loosened. The last breath slipped from his lips. His head leaned to the side, and then—stillness. 

Shikamaru’s fists dug into the dirt. His forehead pressed to Asuma’s chest, the warmth already starting to fade. “I can’t—” he whispered, breath hitching. “I can’t do this without you.”

Ino’s sobs echoed in the stillness, her body shaking as she turned away, hand over her mouth. The green chakra at her fingertips flickered out. Sai took one slow step forward, his expression unreadable, but his hands were tight at his sides. He bowed his head slightly. A gesture of respect. One that carried weight, even from him.

The forest held its breath. But then, Shikamaru felt it again. A tremor in the shadow just behind him. His eyes snapped up, scanning the tree line. Movement. Between two branches, almost too high to notice, stood a tall figure, still as stone. Just a silhouette. But Shikamaru’s breath caught as his gaze locked with a pair of unmistakable yellow eyes. Cold. Reptilian. Watching.

His own shadow twitched again, barely perceptible, like it flinched in recognition. But when he blinked, the figure was gone. The trees were empty. Just wind. He stared at the spot for a moment longer, heart pounding. Not now. He didn’t have the strength for whatever that was. Not yet. He wiped his face roughly, forced his body to move pushing down his emotions. “We… we have to seal him,” he said hoarsely.

Sai nodded and dropped to one knee, unrolling a new scroll. “I’ll do it.”

Shikamaru helped lift Asuma’s body, cradling him gently like he was something precious, because he was. Ino helped lower him. Sai worked quickly and carefully, hands steady as the black ink rose up around Asuma’s body, encasing it with glowing script. When the final character closed with a dim pulse of light, the scroll rolled itself shut with a quiet snap .

Sai picked up the scroll with both hands, reverent. “I’ll carry him.”

Shikamaru nodded once, turning toward the scroll that held Hidan, silent, sealed, but still very much alive. He slung the scroll over his shoulder like a weight he couldn’t wait to drop. “Let’s go,” he said. “Back to Konoha.”

They turned from the clearing. From the ritual site. From the blood and symbols and agony. But as they left, Shikamaru glanced back, just once. The trees were quiet. Still. But he swore… he could feel something watching them. Waiting.

Chapter Text

Temari had slept for an entire day after waking from the torture. Her body still ached. Her mind was fogged, unsteady. The brown eyes kept flashing behind hers like ghosts. But when Akahebi walked in, something inside her stilled. He slammed the door behind him, hard enough to make the walls shudder. His hands ran through his crimson hair as he began pacing the room.

Temari sat up quickly, already searching the room for her gear. “What’s wrong?”

Akahebi didn’t stop pacing. “They got him.”

“Got who?” she asked, pulling on her clothes.

He snapped his head toward her, eyes flashing like she’d insulted him. “ Hidan. ”

She paused, the name sinking in. “He was killed?”

Akahebi scoffed, the sound sharp. “Of course not,” he spat. “ Captured. ”

Temari pulled her scarf over her mouth, the old familiar cloth grounding her. She narrowed her eyes. “By who?”

Akahebi stopped moving. His entire demeanor shifted, sliding from rage to something calmer. More controlled. A calculated sort of charm that always came before something venomous. “You want to kill your torturer, don’t you?” he asked, voice low and deliberate.

Temari’s eyes darkened. A cold smile curled beneath the edge of her scarf. She had been waiting. Burning for this. She nodded.

“I thought so,” he said, stepping closer, voice a whisper now. “Then I know exactly where we’re going next.”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been under, days? Weeks? Time felt unreal. But she knew this, she wasn’t the same person anymore. Something had calcified inside her. Made her colder. More vicious. More focused.

They were approaching her father’s office when Akahebi pushed the heavy double doors open without hesitation, not bothering to knock. Inside, Rasa stood with his back turned, towering over Kankuro, who looked like he’d been on the losing end of a fight. His lip was swollen, eye darkened under thick face paint.

“Don’t you ever talk back to me,” Rasa roared, voice like breaking metal. “And don't ask about your brother again,” He raised his hand, and Kankuro instinctively flinched.

Before it could land, Akahebi cleared his throat. Rasa turned, irritated, until his eyes landed on Temari. And something shifted. The fury ebbed, replaced by a slow, calculating smile. “What?” he barked at first. But as his eyes roamed over Temari, her posture, her silence, her eyes, his tone changed.

Akahebi stepped forward, smiling like a man presenting a trophy. “It is done.”

Temari glanced at him, confusion flickering in her chest, but Rasa’s face was what caught her. He looked pleased. Proud. And that pride felt... good.

“What is?” Kankuro muttered, stepping out from his father’s shadow, wiping blood from his mouth.

Rasa didn’t even look at him. “He finally completed his first mission,” he said. “After all this time.”

Akahebi nodded once. Temari stood beside him, a statue.

“Show me,” Rasa said flatly, now turning his full attention to her.

Akahebi’s yellow eyes glittered. He turned to Temari. “Kill Kankuro” Everything went silent.

Kankuro blinked, frozen in place. “Temari?”

Temari didn’t answer. She took one step forward. Her mind was quiet, too quiet.

“Temari, what are you doing?” Kankuro asked again, his voice rising, but he didn’t move. Not yet. As if afraid one sudden motion would set her off.

She took another step forward. No emotion crossed her face. Her heart didn’t race. Her thoughts didn’t scream. All she felt was the phantom hand pulling her, the version of herself she accepted. She moved. Focused on him like a target. Like a threat. Like a mission.

And maybe a part of her, buried deep, was whispering no. But that voice was small. Distant. Drowned out by the dull throb of obedience and the ghost of her father’s smile. Behind her, Akahebi stood like a puppeteer, silent, watching. Rasa said nothing. He was waiting to see what she would do. Testing.

Temari drew her kunai, the metal flashing as she spun it once around her fingers.Kankuro took a step back, hand inching toward his puppet, instincts kicking in. Then she lunged. She was on him in a second, slamming him to the ground. The blade nicked his neck, just enough to draw blood. Kankuro grunted, trying to twist free, but she straddled him, knees digging into his ribs, weight pinning him down. The kunai pressed to his throat. Kankuro caught her wrist just in time, holding the blade back by inches. The muscle in his arm strained under the pressure.

“What are you doing!?” he growled through clenched teeth.

Temari’s voice was flat. Cold. “Following orders.” And she meant it. She meant to kill him.

Their limbs locked, a brutal tangle, one fighting to live, the other driven to destroy. Kankuro’s eyes widened. He saw it, she wasn’t just doing this, she believed it was right.

“Alright, enough,” Rasa said suddenly, waving a hand like he was dismissing a sparring match he’d grown bored of.

She pushed harder, teeth gritted, nearly forcing the blade down. Then, abruptly, she let go. She leapt back off him, breathing hard, kunai still in hand. She stood at Akahebi’s side without looking at anyone.

Akahebi smiled, but there was venom in it. “Are you pleased with my work, sir ?” he said, mocking the honorific with acid in his tone.

Rasa raised a brow. “We’ll see how she performs on the battlefield.” Dismissive. Unimpressed.

Temari noticed the faint twitch in Akahebi’s jaw. He bit his tongue, but barely. Rage simmered beneath the surface, electric and dangerous.

Kankuro sat up slowly, wiping blood from his neck, chest heaving. He looked at his sister like she was a stranger. “What the hell did you do to her?” he demanded, staring daggers at Akahebi.

Akahebi tilted his head. “I didn’t do anything.” He smiled again, serpent-smooth. “I simply showed her who she was all along.”

Kankuro looked between his father and Akahebi with disgust. His lip curled, but he didn’t say a word.  He turned toward the door, at the threshold, he stopped. He looked back, at Temari. She didn’t meet his gaze. His expression twisted, hurt, disbelief, betrayal, and then he was gone. The heavy door shut behind him.

Akahebi clapped his hands once, too loud in the silence. “Well,” he drawled. “That was fun. But we have a problem we need to discuss.”

Rasa said nothing, only fixed him with a sharp, expectant stare.

“Hidan’s been captured,” Akahebi said, tone abruptly colder. “By the Leaf.”

That earned a blink. Barely. Rasa leaned back in his chair. “And how is that my problem?”

Akahebi’s brow lifted, incredulous. “He belongs to the Akatsuki.”

“And I,” Rasa said coolly, “do not belong to the Akatsuki. If Pain has an issue, go speak with him.”

There was a long pause. Akahebi stared at him, hard. Testing. But Rasa didn’t flinch. His authority was absolute, and he knew it. “Fine,” Akahebi said at last, jaw tight. He turned sharply and seized Temari’s arm, not roughly, but with possession. “I’m taking her with me.” Rasa didn’t stop him. Didn’t speak. Just watched, eyes cold and unreadable, as they left the room.

They moved fast, sand swirling around them as if they were the wind. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a long orange glow across the desert. Temari had never been to the Akatsuki’s hideouts, she knew they had many, scattered across different lands.

The landscape changed from shifting dunes to jagged stone. The sky darkened, even before true night fell. Eventually, they reached a sheer cliffside, a narrow fracture in the rock nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Akahebi entered without hesitation. Temari followed in silence. 

The passage twisted and dropped steeply until it opened into a massive underground chamber, stone pillars wrapped in decaying banners, and at the far end, a faint orange glow cast from torches in iron sconces. 

She felt the pressure before she saw him. That crushing, unnatural chakra. Like the weight of the atmosphere had thickened. Pain stood at the far end of the hall, tall, still, eyes burning with the concentric rings of the Rinnegan.

Akahebi didn’t bow fully, just tilted his head. “Hidans, captured.”

Pain’s eyes narrowed. “Alive?”

Akahebi smirked faintly. “For now. Sealed.”

Pain didn’t move, but the air grew colder. Konan stepped forward from the shadows, her gaze sharp, unreadable.

“Then they’ve made a grave mistake,” Pain said. 

Akahebi inclined his head slightly. “That’s why I brought her.”

Pain’s gaze shifted to Temari, finally acknowledging her presence.

“She’s from the Sand.”

“She obeys me,” Akahebi said. 

Pain said nothing for a long moment. Then, slowly, he descended the stone steps toward them. His eyes bore into Temari’s like they were searching for cracks. “She’ll be tested.”

Temari met his gaze. Her voice was calm. “Then test me.”

“She’ll kill if I say so,” Akahebi added, eyes gleaming.

Konan stepped forward, her voice the first sign of softness in the chamber, though it was still as sharp as folded steel. “Who is your target?”

Pain turned back to her. “Not who. Where. We retrieve Hidan. We make an example of anyone who stands in our way.”

A figure rose silently from the earth, Zetsu, his grotesque body half-white, half-black, framed by a jagged shell of plant-like armor. His eyes glinted with amusement and something darker. “The Leaf strategist,” he said again, voice split in that unnatural harmony. “He’s the one who captured Hidan.”

Pain’s voice rose so that it echoed through the chamber like a command from a god. “Zetsu will track him. Akahebi will ambush. Temari, your task is simple. Infiltrate. Disrupt. Recover Hidan.”

“And if the Leaf resists?” Konan asked.

Pain’s answer was without pause. “Kill who must be killed. Burn what must be burned. The Akatsuki does not beg for its own.”

Temari nodded once. “Understood.”

Pain paused, “Oh–and Akahebi.”

Akahebi turned his attention to his master, posture stiff.

“Have you controlled other shadows yet?”

He gave a partial nod. “I’ve tried. I don’t have full control yet.”

Pain’s expression didn’t change, but the disappointment was sharp enough to cut. Without another word, he turned and dissolved into shadow. Konan followed silently, her paper wings trailing behind like ash in the wind.

Zetsu melted into the ground, his final whisper curling through the air: “I’ll be watching.”

Now only Akahebi and Temari remained in the vast cavern. Akahebi stepped closer to her, the flickering light catching the glint in his yellow eyes. “You heard him,” he said quietly. “No mercy.”

Temari’s gaze didn’t waver. Her voice was like steel. “I won’t need any.”

________________

As Shikamaru passed through the gates he could have sworn that the scroll on his back was heavier than it was supposed to be. As soon as Shikamaru passed through the gates he felt relief crash over him like a wave, he was finally home. Sai landed next to him, as silent as ever. He gave a quick nod, which Shikamaru interpreted as assurance that Asuma's was still with him, since Sai had certainly guarded Asuma like he was the scroll's own personal guard.

Ino followed just behind, her steps sluggish. No light in her eyes. Her hands were clenched so tightly they trembled. Kakashi stood near the entrance, speaking with two guards, but the moment he saw them, his expression shifted. Calm turned to concern when he didn't see Asuma with them.  He excused himself quietly and stepped toward them.

Shikamaru didn’t speak. He just unclipped the scroll from his back and held it out. Kakashi took it in both hands, holding it like something sacred. There was a long silence.

“Was it quick?” Kakashi asked softly, his voice a crack in the silence.

Shikamaru shook his head once. Kakashi didn’t press.

Sai stood back, watching the people of the village pass, unaware of what was being carried through their gates. Ino wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and turned away.

“I want to prepare a place for him,” Shikamaru said finally, voice low. “Not just some stone. Somewhere quiet. Away from all this.”

Kakashi nodded. “He deserves that.”

They walked in together, silent, no fanfare. Just the quiet kind of grief that followed men like Asuma. The kind that never left.

“The man who killed him is sealed in that scroll. We need to interrogate him,” Shikamaru said, his voice steady but charged with determination.

Kakashi frowned, eyes narrowing. “What village is he from?”

Shikamaru shook his head. “No village. Akatsuki.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened in surprise. “You captured an Akatsuki member?”

Shikamaru’s gaze dropped. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “I couldn’t kill him.”

Before Kakashi could respond, a familiar voice called out. “Who couldn’t you kill?” Choji strode in.

Ino stumbled into Choji’s arms nearby, her tears flowing freely as she buried her face in his broad shoulder. Choji’s eyes locked on Shikamaru, disbelief and pain flashing across his features. “Shikamaru, where is Asuma?” Choji’s voice cracked.

Sai stepped forward silently and gently handed the scroll, containing Asuma’s body to Choji, placing it carefully in his free hand..

Shikamaru met Choji’s gaze and swallowed hard. “He’s...in the scroll.”

Choji's grip tightening around it, tears welling up in his eyes. Ino’s sobs softened, but the weight of loss remained like a heavy shadow over them all.

Kakashi cleared his throat quietly. “We’ll give Asuma the proper farewell he deserves.”

Shikamaru knew there wasn’t time in war to give proper burials. He also knew that bringing an Akatsuki member back to their village was risky but he couldn't have let that lunatic walk freely. He needed to do something. 

The burial was swift. Near a patch of shaded trees. They stood quietly around the shallow grave. The scroll that held Asuma’s body rested nearby, waiting.

Shikamaru nodded his head slowly at Sai. Without waiting, Sai opened the scroll and pressed his hand to the seal. Asuma's body appeared on top, pale, lifeless, with blood smeared over his limbs and face.

Ino turned her head away quickly, unable to look anymore but everyone heard Chouji's sharp gasp. Shikamaru held his eyes on his fallen sensei. He needed to see it, needed to see why he was fighting.

They lowered Asuma into the grave together, hands quietly, movements slow. Dirt fell in soft thuds, hiding the last bits of their sensei's mortal being, the man who was more than just a teacher. Family. The silence was not empty. It was laden; laden with grief. With promises. With words never again to be spoken. Shikamaru stood there a short moment longer, and turned. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

Then he saw Kakashi nearby, the scroll, tucked solidly under his arm like a barrel, loaded.

"Kakashi," Shikamaru said, his voice raspy, but having a steady resolve. Kakashi lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. 

Shikamaru kept moving, walking away. "I need to talk to him. Now."

Kakashi hesitated. “You’re not cleared for interrogation—”

“I’m not asking for clearance,” Shikamaru snapped. “He killed my sensei. And I’m not waiting another damn hour.”

Kakashi studied him for a long moment, then gave a short nod. “Alright,” he said. “But I’m coming with you. And we follow protocol.”

Shikamaru didn’t argue. He just turned, and Kakashi fell in step beside him. The two of them walked in silence toward the prison, where behind bars and stone walls, Hidan would be held, immortal, and restrained.

They entered the underground chamber, the air cold and stale, the stone walls heavy with silence. Kakashi tossed the scroll into the cell like it was scrap. It hit the floor with a dull thud. Shikamaru dropped to one knee beside it, hands already moving. Kakashi remained near the cell door, arms folded, watching closely. Shikamaru peeled back the first seal slowly, carefully.

“You think we should get Sai to do this?” Kakashi asked quietly.

“No,” Shikamaru snapped, not looking up. “I’m not waiting.”

Kakashi didn’t push further. The last seal came off with a sharp flick, and in an instant, Hidan's form erupted from the scroll, crashing to the stone. He was still bound by layers of reinforced jutsu tags across his chest, limbs, and throat, his body stiff and soaked in dried blood.

His eyes opened immediately, wild, deranged. He grinned through gritted teeth, shaking with rage and twisted glee. Shikamaru didn't hesitate to step forward and tore off the gag seal.

Hidan's scream exploded in the chamber. “You’ll die for this! Jashin will curse you, your whole village will rot!” His voice cracked as he thrashed against the binds. “I’ll watch you scream like he did! I'll carve your lungs out and dance in your blood, you little—”

Shikamaru grabbed a kunai and slammed it into the stone inches from Hidan’s face. “Shut up.” The word was low, deadly calm. Kakashi didn’t move from the door, but his hand hovered near his pouch. Shikamaru crouched, eyes meeting Hidan’s. “You’re going to answer me. And you’re going to do it now.”

Hidan grinned, lips stained red. “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He laughed maniacally, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. “Try. Go on, try. ”

Shikamaru didn’t blink. “No. I’m not going to kill you.” He leaned in closer. “I’m going to make sure you never get out of this hell again.”

Hidan bared his teeth in something between a grin and a snarl. “That so? Gonna lock me away? Bury me like your precious sensei?” He chuckled, the sound guttural, soaked in venom. “I remember how he screamed, you know. Right before I split him open.”

Shikamaru’s fist connected with Hidan’s jaw so hard it echoed through the stone cell. Blood splattered across the floor. Kakashi didn’t stop him. He just watched, eyes shadowed.

Hidan let out a wheezing laugh through cracked lips. “Your little fire. Thought you’d buried it with him.”

Shikamaru knelt beside him again, this time calmer, quieter, deadly. “I want names,” he said. “Who is the one who works for the Sand? The one that wears your robe but follows their orders?”

Hidan spat blood onto the floor. “You think I care about your questions?”

He tilted his head, dark eyes boring into Shikamaru’s. “You really think you won something by dragging me here?” Shikamaru didn’t answer.

Hidan leaned forward until the seals tugged against his skin. “You didn’t stop anything. You just signed your village’s death warrant.” Shikamaru stiffened.

Kakashi finally stepped forward. “What does that mean?”

Hidan smiled, wide and mad. “You didn’t think they’d leave me here, did you?” Shikamaru’s breath caught.

“They’re already on their way.”

The air shifted. A sudden chill spread across the chamber like a ripple in still water. Far above, the torches flickered. Shikamaru stood, heart pounding. 

Hidan leaned his head back against the stone and laughed. “They’re coming, And they’re not coming to negotiate. ”

Chapter Text

Temari moved quickly, jumping from branch to branch, the scarf wrapped around her face tugging in the wind. The trees were getting denser the farther she went, needles brushing her arms as she passed. The closer she got the more the smell of pine started to overpower her. She’d split off from Akahebi not long ago, and Zetsu was probably already tucked away somewhere in the village, creeping in like rot under the earth. Her orders were simple: find Hidan. But simple didn’t mean easy.

Something in her, buried so deep she could barely name it, was telling her not to do this. Telling her to stop. Not to go after someone who had killed innocent people. Someone who had hurt Gaara. Her brother. Her family. She exhaled sharply and kept moving. That part of her, the part that still flinched at blood or memories or names like Hidan, had been buried so deep she couldn't tell if that part of her was even real anymore. He only did it because the brown eyes told him to , she heard herself think. No time for this. No time to spiral. This was the job. And she was going to finish it.

The gates of Konoha came into view, the red-painted wood just visible over the treeline. Temari crouched on a thick branch just above the entrance, staying low. She scanned the area below, three shinobi stood at the gates, all armed, probably trained in more than just taijutsu. One wrong move and they’d sound the alarm in seconds.

Her eyes drifted past them, sweeping across the village. It looked…normal. Too normal. Vendors setting up food carts. Kids running through the streets. People talking, laughing. Like there wasn’t a war burning its way through the rest of the world. Her jaw tightened. How can they live like this? she thought. So casually. So untouched.

A subtle shift in the branch made her instinctively shift her weight. She turned her head just in time to see a sprout break through the bark beside her. It grew fast, twisting, expanding, until the sickly black and white face of Zetsu emerged from the leaves.

“Akahebi has taken his position,” he said in that low, unsettling voice. “Hidan is in the underground chambers. Heavily guarded.”

Temari kept her voice quiet. “Where?”

“The ANBU headquarters. All the way in the back of the village.”

She gave a small nod, and in a blink, Zetsu sank back into the tree, gone like he was never there. She exhaled slowly, thinking. Going through the village is too exposed. Too many eyes. Her fingers tapped against the wood of the branch. I’ll go around. Come in from the back. There wasn’t much time, and less margin for error. But she didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her scarf and disappeared into the trees, keeping low, keeping silent.

Temari moved quietly around the edge of the village, keeping low. It was bigger than she remembered. The last time she’d been here, she left it in pieces, smoke rising, streets cracked, blood in the dirt. And yet… it had healed. Somehow, despite everything, Konoha was still standing. Not just standing, thriving. It didn’t make sense to her.

She kept moving, staying in the shadows along the outer wall, her steps nearly silent, the fan on her back shifting with each leap. About halfway along the perimeter, she pushed herself up into another tree, blending in with the branches as the forest thickened again.

From this height, she could see more clearly, backyards of the village’s main clans. One compound was almost completely hidden by trees, the kind of territory that didn’t welcome strangers, not even with a glance. Beyond that, her eyes caught something further off, a flash of stone walls and empty stands. The stadium.

Her chest tightened. It had been years, but the image hit her like a punch to the gut. She remembered standing there, younger, more naïve. And she remembered the voice,  those brown eyes, saying things she hadn’t been able to forget, no matter how hard she tried. Temari looked away.

Temari dropped lower into the trees, her breath steady, movement precise. She was close now, the air even felt different here. Heavier. Quieter. It was the kind of silence that came with watchful eyes. The ANBU headquarters.

She paused on a branch, crouched low behind a veil of leaves. From here, she could see the edge of the compound, dark rooftops, reinforced walls, and the occasional flash of movement. Guards. Not the kind who stood at the gates, the kind who didn’t miss.

Her eyes scanned the area, calculating. One entry point at the back, but the patrol looped too frequently to slip by unnoticed. A rooftop access, maybe, if she could get high enough without drawing attention. Her muscles were tense, ready to spring, but her mind kept drifting.

Temari jumped toward the east wall, her presence melting into the trees as the shadows grew deeper. She was all instinct now,  no emotion, no distraction. Just the mission. Hidan was the target. Get in, get out. She spotted the first guard as he moved across the roofline, quiet, deliberate. He paused at the corner to scan the treetops, but his eyes passed right over her. Too slow. Temari launched. She landed behind him like a phantom. Her hand shot forward, snapping his neck clean before he could so much as grunt. His body crumpled silently on the tiles.

She moved fast, slipping across the roof to an access hatch she spotted earlier. But a second ANBU was already there, checking it. He turned just as her fan cracked open, a brief shimmer of light, a whisper of steel. She didn’t even need to speak the jutsu aloud. One quick swing. A focused blast of wind hit him square in the chest. His back slammed into the wall behind him, bones breaking on impact before he dropped like a ragdoll. No hesitation. No mercy. Just precision.

She ducked down and slipped through the open hatch, landing in a narrow corridor inside the compound. The air was colder here, not because of the underground structure, but the silence. Like the walls were used to secrets. Footsteps echoed nearby. She pressed herself against the stone wall just as a third guard rounded the corner. She let him pass. Then slit his throat.

He choked, his headband unraveling, eyes wide with shock, but there was no sound. Just the soft thud of his body hitting the floor and the quiet rustle of cloth as she stepped over him. Temari didn’t look back. Didn’t even blink. She crept deeper into the underground, senses sharp, fan still in hand.

Temari moved like a wraith through the narrow corridors, her footsteps silent over the cold stone floors. The further she went, the more fortified the structure became. The compound wasn’t just built to protect,  it was built to trap. She could feel it in the architecture: a place designed to keep people in, not out. A voice echoed down from the hallway. She didn’t bother listening. They knew she was here now. Fine. Let them come.

Two ANBU operatives appeared at the end of the corridor. One threw a kunai without hesitation, the other forming hand signs fast. Temari’s fan opened with a sharp snap,  and with one clean arc, she sent a gust of compressed wind slicing through the air. The kunai was blown back. The jutsu never landed. Both ANBU were thrown against the corridor wall with a dull, meaty thud. One twitched. The other didn’t move at all. Still not enough. She walked over to them, laying flat against the floor. She lifted the one whose eyes were fluttering. 

“Where is he?” 

The anbu was dazed, trying to form words but his body had slammed hard into the stone hallway, and the impact left him limp and disoriented, eyes flickering with confusion. She flipped his pouch open and grabbed a kunai from it stabbing him in the heart as she threw him to the wall, his blood smeared down the stone as he slid to the floor, leaving a red streak behind him.

She turned the corner, three more were waiting, this time coordinated. One came at her with water sparking in his palm, the others forming a pincer with Earth and Fire release. They thought they could overwhelm her. They were wrong.

She ducked under the water user’s strike, twisting behind him and jamming a wind-blade kunai into the seam of his armor. He dropped instantly. The Fire user released a stream of flames, but Temari was already moving, sliding under the attack as it scorched the corridor. She swung her fan upward mid-motion, sending a slicing whirlwind straight into the Earth user. His jutsu shattered in mid-form. He screamed as the wind tore across his shoulder.

Temari rose slowly, fan still open, the hallway littered with bodies. Her chest rose and fell steadily. No panic. No hesitation. She didn’t fight like a kunoichi from the Sand. She fought like something else now. Something colder. She reached a door. Reinforced. Sealed shut. But not for long.

She unsealed a scroll from her belt, unraveling it fast. A tag shimmered, charged with a chakra detonation jutsu. The explosion was muted, but effective. The rock shook, peeled, then gave way with a shriek of stone. Smoke spilled into the air. Uncovering a room full of cells, and dungeons.

Temari stepped through the smoke, her fan still half-open at her side, eyes narrowing as the dungeon came into focus. Cells lined the walls, their bars blackened with soot, shadows shifting behind some of them, prisoners, maybe, or what was left of them. But all she saw was him.

Akahebi stood in the center of the chaos, crimson dripping from the corners of his mouth. It stained the front of his coat, soaked into his collar. He looked like he’d been feeding, and maybe he had. His eyes gleamed with something feral. Controlled, but barely.

“Looks like I got here first,” he repeated, voice low, echoing off the stone.

Temari didn’t flinch as she attached her fan back. “You always did like to make an entrance.” She stepped forward, her boots crunching over rubble. “Did you leave any alive?”

His head tilted slightly. “A few. The ones that screamed the loudest.” His tongue ran across his lip, smearing more blood across his cheek. “You can have what’s left.”

Temari didn’t respond. She looked past him.

The cells were open. Some shattered. In one, an ANBU operative was slumped against the wall, throat torn out, eyes wide in a final expression of terror. Another cell held only chains. Blood pooled on the floor, soaking into the cracks of the stone.

“There was one who seemed to be a handful, though,” he said casually, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

She turned her head, her posture tightening. “Who?”

“A lightning user,” he said, his voice too calm for the weight of what he was saying. “Quick. Smart. Made it… interesting. He should be here soon.”

Temari’s jaw clenched, barely noticeable, but it was there. A flicker. She went to grip her fan. Before she could respond, footsteps echoed from the corridor behind them, slow, deliberate, precise. Calculated.

Lightning exploded in front of her, blinding her vision. Temari dropped low, rolling across the stone floor just as the lightning user lunged toward her, the heat from his jutsu scorching the air. Behind her, she heard Akahebi’s eager snicker, in the stuttering light, his fangs gleamed, and his posture was coiled, ready to strike.

Temari gripped a kunai, shifting her weight, ready to bury it in the lightning user’s back. But before she could move, she felt a heavy hand clamp onto her shoulder. She barely had time to react. The world pitched and spun as the hand hurled her across the chamber. She hit the floor hard, vision smearing into streaks of gray and red. Stone scraped against her palms as she tried to push herself up, her breath catching raggedly in her chest. Her scarf stayed in place, hiding her face, but her fan had been ripped from her back. She forced herself to move, coughing, ribs aching. 

Lightning cracked again, lighting up the chaos. Akahebi was already moving, blades flashing, shadows lashing out around him. The one who’d thrown her was huge, his silhouette filling the space, but even he looked tired, slowing down.

“Kakashi!” the big one shouted, voice raw.

“Where is he?” Kakashi called back, breathless between lightning strikes.

“Another Akatsuki was spotted across town, white clones! He was helping civilians!”

Temari barely heard them. Her chest hurt. Her head was still spinning. But she forced her gaze to sweep the cells, the ruined gates, the chains dragging across the floor. Hidan’s not here. There had to be another block, another sealed corridor, something they’d hidden deeper.

She shoved off the wall, stumbling but finding her footing. Her vision still danced with spots of light, but she pushed forward, ignoring the ache in her side. She sprinted toward the back of the chamber, slipping into the dark behind her, her heart hammering in her chest, mission burning hotter than pain.

“Follow her Choji!” she heard one of them say as she ran and ran, searching every cell on her way. 

She turned her head quickly, heart pounding in her ears, nothing. All empty cells, the dark pressing in on every side. Heavy footsteps echoed behind her, closer now, chasing her down the hallway.

Temari ducked around corners, shoving open every cell door she passed, the iron slamming back against stone with loud, jarring clangs. Anything to slow them down. Her lungs burned like fire, every breath ragged and sharp. The hallway grew darker with every step. She threw a kunai over her shoulder on instinct, but it clattered uselessly against the stone. Without her fan, all she could do was keep running.

Finally, she skidded to a stop by a stretch of wall that didn’t feel like the rest, older stone, cracked around the edges. Her hand scraped along the rough surface until her fingers found a thin seam. She shoved her shoulder against it. The hidden door groaned open just enough for her to slip through. She pressed it shut behind her, swallowing hard in the pitch black. She could feel stairs dropping away under her feet. One shaking hand gripped the wall as she descended, trying not to trip.

Below, she heard shuffling, a scuff of boots, too controlled to be random. She froze mid-step, chest heaving, pulse roaring in her ears. Then the door above groaned open again. Panic clawed at her chest. She forced her legs to move, pushing deeper into the dark. She couldn’t see a thing. She clenched her eyes shut, relying only on touch, her fingertips trailing across damp stone until they brushed cold metal as the stairs finally met the floor.

She fumbled for the lock, breath hitching, and tried to wedge another kunai into it, the metal slipped. Above, something slammed, a heavy bang that shook the stairwell dust loose. Her ears strained, trying to catch anything familiar.

“Hidan?” she whispered, voice cracking around the name. Silence.

The footsteps closed in around her, A hand fell down on her shoulder. Temari whipped around and swung, knuckles cracking against bone. The face rocked back, then turned back to her, yellow eyes flashing with amusement.

“Fuck, Temari,” Akahebi rasped, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand, a crooked smirk cutting across his face. “Did you find him?”

“I can’t see shit,” she hissed, breath coming fast, voice shaking despite herself. The darkness was making her feel like the brown eyes were going to appear any second. 

“Calm down,” Akahebi murmured, stepping closer, his voice low and smooth, too calm for the chaos around them. His hand brushed her arm. She clenched her jaw, forcing her breathing to slow. “This way.” 

She felt the tug on her arm, Akahebi trying to pull her forward, but she couldn't move, something clamped around her leg and yanked her back. Temari hit the stone hard, the air punched from her lungs as she slid across the ground, shadows coiling around her like dark ropes. Lightning flashed down the hall, painting the walls in quick, blinding white streaks,  but she was being dragged too fast to see.

“Shit,” Akahebi hissed, his outline twisting away from her. She caught a glimpse of him bolting into the maze of cells, leaving her behind.

Her body finally jerked to a stop. It was too dark to see anything, her breath came sharp, ragged. The shadows clamped tighter on her leg; she felt them slither up her arms, pinning them to the ground. Her pulse spiked, chest heaving. Then she felt it, a figure standing over her, blocking what little light there was. All she could see were brown eyes .

Her breath caught, raw terror rising from somewhere deep, old, and unhealed. She twisted, hands clawing at the ground, nails scraping stone. “NO!” she screamed, the word tearing from her throat, louder than she’d ever heard her own voice.

The figure crouched beside her, those brown eyes locked on her face, shadows still wrapped tight around her like iron shackles. Somewhere behind them, she heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the wall, then silence, thick and smothering.

A moment later, a cell door creaked open. And then, echoing through the stone halls, Hidan’s ragged, manic laugh. He got him. Akahebi got him.

The brown eyes turned his attention away for a second, then back to her. His hand gripped her arm, dragging her upright until she was pinned against his chest, the shadows tightening around her throat.

She heard footsteps closing in, boots scuffing stone, the harsh scrape of metal. Out of the dark, Akahebi appeared, Hidan beside him, blood in his hair and madness burning in his grin. For a heartbeat, everything froze, a silent, deadly stare‑down. Akahebi’s gaze locked on Shikamaru, then drifted to Temari, lingering just a moment too long. His jaw clenched, something dark flickering in his yellow eyes.

“Brown eyes?” Akahebi spat the words, his voice sharp, almost accusing. Like it was her fault, like she’d betrayed him by letting herself get caught.

Temari couldn’t speak, the shadows squeezed her throat until her breath rasped.

“Let’s just go,” Hidan barked, impatience twisting his grin. “Leave her. She’s nothing to us now.”

“No!” Akahebi’s voice cracked raw with fury, possessive and wild. “Not with him.”

The brown eyes grip on her tightened; she felt a kunai press against her chest, right over her heart.

“What’s your name?” the man’s voice was low, quiet, and terrifyingly calm, the words vibrating against her ear.

Akahebi’s eyes narrowed. “What’s yours? ”

“Shikamaru.”

Something in the way he said it made her heart stutter, like she should know that name, buried somewhere under layers of fear and darkness.

Akahebi’s lips curled back, fangs dripping with venom. “She belongs to me,” he growled. “Give her to me.”

Shikamaru didn’t move. The kunai didn’t waver. “Come and take her then.”

Kakashi and Choji appeared behind Akahebi, Hidan’s eyes went bloodshot with rage. Akahebi snarled, hate twisting his features, and charged. The corridor erupted into chaos.

Shikamaru shoved Temari behind him, as shadows surged around him, slick and fast, curling along the walls. Akahebi stepped forward, yellow eyes locked on Shikamaru, as Akehbi tried to form his own shadows, darker, oily, wrong, began to unfurl around his feet. Like the ones Temari saw in the visions.

They didn’t move like Shikamaru’s. They writhed and twitched, like something alive and hungry. Akahebi’s gaze locked, and Temari felt the air tighten as his corrupted shadows pushed against Shikamaru’s, trying to twist them, to steal control.

For a moment, Shikamaru stiffened, his jaw clenched, sweat tracing down his temple. The hall seemed to go still. “You think yours are stronger?” Akahebi rasped, voice hoarse, the hunger in his eyes almost feral.

But Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed, cold calculation settling in. His shadows surged back, the tension breaking like glass, and Akahebi’s false shadows shivered, losing grip.

Behind them, Choji roared, slamming into Hidan with a crushing blow, stone cracking under the force. Kakashi moved fast, lightning flashing in his hand, striking like a blade. Hidan howled, blood spraying, rage and madness twisting his face.

Akahebi’s gaze snapped toward him, just for a heartbeat, and Temari saw it. That terrible moment of choice. But it was already decided.

Akahebi stepped forward, the tainted shadows whipping around him. Shikamaru moved to intercept, kunai slashing, the steel biting deep into Akahebi’s ribs, blood splattered across the stone. Akahebi staggered, breath rasping, but his eyes were locked on Hidan.

Then, before he turned, he looked at Temari, and something possessive, hateful, almost sorrowful flickered there. With a flick of his hand, the shadows wrapped around her flickered, Shikamaru whipped his head around as he saw it but before the brown eyes could move. Her scarf fell from her face and his fangs sank into her neck, the pain hot and sharp, then turning to icy burn as poison flooded her blood.

Her vision swam. He pulled back, breath ragged, blood on his lips. His voice dropped low, raw, meant only for her: “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

Then he let her go. Temari collapsed against the cold floor, hand pressed to her neck. Akahebi turned, eyes flicking to Shikamaru one last time, challenge, hatred, something darker, then sprinted toward Hidan.

Choji lunged to stop them, but shadows whipped out, forcing him back just enough. Kakashi struck, lightning crackling, but Akahebi twisted aside, grabbing Hidan by the arm.

Hidan barked, half-laughing through blood. And together, they vanished into the dark, leaving only the stink of blood and poison behind.

Temari’s breathing turned ragged and shallow; the burn of Akahebi’s poison spread through her veins, each heartbeat twisting the world at the edges. The stone floor felt distant, unreal, her pulse pounding like a drum inside her skull. She forced her gaze upward, vision swimming, and met those brown eyes staring down at her, cold, unreadable. Then the venom surged deeper, sinking its claws into her mind.

"Temari?" the brown eyes spoke.

But the hall around her warped and darkened, reality peeling away. And in the next breath, it hurled her back into the black, suffocating nightmare that she was starting to think was reality.

Chapter Text

Temari’s vision drifted in the darkness until something broke through, thin as morning light. A little boy sat cross-legged on the floor of a messy bedroom, toys and half-open books scattered around him. His red hair barely peeked over the cover of a book he held, Medicinal Herbs Used in the Harukaze Clan . He couldn’t have been older than seven, scribbling careful notes in clumsy handwriting.

An older boy stepped in, brown-haired, brown-eyed, not the eyes that haunted her. This was different. A memory, distant and gentle, and it wasn’t hers. “What are you reading, Akahebi?” the older boy asked, dropping down beside him, voice teasing but soft.

“Mom and Dad said I need to start learning about our clan if I wanna get strong like you!” Akahebi said, looking up, eyes bright.

The older boy laughed, pushing himself to his feet. “Good idea, little bro.” He threw a few playful punches and quick kicks into the air. “My jutsu is unstoppable!”

“Shiraga!” a woman’s voice called from another room.

“Yes, Mother?” Shiraga replied, glancing back at Akahebi with a grin and a wink.

“Come in here, and bring your brother.”

Akahebi closed the book, his amber-brown eyes catching the light, softer then, not yet the sharp yellow they would become. Shiraga offered his hand, and the little boy took it without hesitation. Together they walked out, Temari trailing after them like a silent ghost tethered to a memory.

The hallway opened into a small kitchen, the air warm and smelling faintly of dried herbs. Books and vials lined every surface, plants hung from the beams overhead, their leaves brushing the brothers’ hair as they passed. Jars of powders and strange roots crowded the shelves, catching the orange glow of afternoon sun streaming through the windows. The whole room felt wrapped in nostalgia, golden and quiet.

“Look what your father found,” their mother said, stepping forward, brown hair catching the light. Her amber eyes glowed with quiet pride as she held out a woven basket. Inside were white, purple, and yellow trumpet-shaped flowers.

“No way!” Shiraga blurted out, reaching for the flowers before she pulled the basket back, laughing.

“What? What is it?” Akahebi bounced on his toes, trying to see inside.

“You haven’t been studying enough, mister,” she teased, wagging a finger at him.

“They’re called Datura flowers,” Shiraga explained, carefully lifting a yellow bloom by its stem, the jagged leaves drooping below. “They’re used in healing salves… but they can also cause powerful hallucinations.”

Akahebi stared, wide-eyed. “They’re beautiful.”

Shiraga handed the flower to him, his voice dropping just a little. “Be careful. They’re also some of the most dangerous flowers that exist.”

Temari watched the way the little boy's fingers curled around the delicate stem, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if even at that age he understood how easily beauty could turn to danger. This was not the man she knew. This was a child, amber-eyed and curious, his face still soft with innocence. The same look in eyes that she sometimes saw him wake up with. 

Shiraga ruffled his brother’s red hair, laughing under his breath. “Come on. Mother’s going to show us how to grind the seeds.”

Their mother smiled, gentle and tired in the way of a shinobi. “Remember,”she began, but before she could finish, the boys finished her words in unison, their voices bright with youthful certainty “We are healers, we don't harm unless necessary.” 

The mothers laugh echoed through the vision a s their father stepped into the room. His hair was a striking, unruly red that caught the last of the evening sun, and a faint scar traced his cheek “exactly.”

What had happened to that boy, the one who thought they’re beautiful? When had wonder soured into cruelty? The vision began to fade at the edges, colors draining like ink dropped into water. Temari fought to stay, to see just a little more, to remember for him what he might have forgotten. But the memory blurred, dissolving into darkness, leaving only the echo of a child’s voice and the ghost of flowers that could heal, or harm. She felt the bitterness of loss, not her own, but his

The memory blurred, colors smearing at the edges, then slammed into something darker. Temari felt herself pulled forward, dragged into another vision, like being yanked underwater. The light was gone. Smoke choked the air, curling black against the walls. The same kitchen, but the warmth had drained away, replaced by the stink of blood, ash, and burned herbs.

Akahebi was older now, maybe ten, he was crouched under the table, knees hugged to his chest, eyes wide with terror. His small hands were streaked with soot, shaking so badly he could barely keep them over his mouth to stay silent. His wide eyes were fixed on the horror before him, his mother, motionless, her body pooling in dark, thick blood that stained the floor beneath her.

Outside the kitchen, chaos raged. The walls shuddered with explosions. A man in dark shinobi gear kicked open the door, splintering wood across the floor. His kunai dripped red.

Akahebi’s breath caught in his throat. His amber eyes reflected the fire swallowing the ceiling beams, the dance of blood and flame. “Shiraga!” Akahebi’s voice cracked, so quiet, hoarse with smoke.Then he saw him.

Shiraga crumpled against the wall, chest heaving, clothes scorched and torn. Blood pooled beneath him, so dark it almost looked black in the firelight. His brown eyes, the same gentle eyes, searched the room until they locked on Akahebi’s. Shiraga tried to speak, lips parting, but blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth instead. His hand twitched, as if trying to reach out.

Akahebi crawled out from the table toward his brother but another explosion rocked the house. Shelves crashed down, glass shattering, petals and powders spinning through the air like falling snow. Akahebi flinched, tears streaking tracks through the soot on his cheeks.

The attacker turned toward Shiraga, raising the kunai higher, and brought it down. Akahebi screamed. The sound ripped out of his chest raw and broken, louder than he’d ever screamed in his life. Akahebi turned back and pressed himself deeper under the table, small shoulders shaking uncontrollably. His eyes were locked on Shiraga’s lifeless face, mouth still open as if frozen mid-word.  And in that moment, something inside Akahebi split, a thin thread of innocence snapping forever. Temari saw it, that moment of breaking, raw and absolute. A heart that had once called flowers beautiful cracking under the weight of blood and betrayal.

Then, through the roaring flames, through the ringing in his ears, a voice cut through, sharp and filled with sibilance. “All that loyalty, all that love… and look where it left you.”

A figure stepped into view, face half-hidden by a scorched hood. Their kunai dripped with fresh blood. They crouched so their eyes were level with Akahebi’s, hidden under the table. “The clan that made you is gone,” the stranger murmured, voice strangely calm amid the chaos. “You don’t belong to them anymore.”

Akahebi’s small hands clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms, blood mixing with soot. His heart pounded, desperate, terrified. Akahebi’s lips parted, but no words came. His gaze flicked to Shiraga’s lifeless body. The boy he had loved more than anyone.

The attacker’s voice dropped to a whisper, almost kind, “Belong to me instead.” his head tilted up, yellow eyes flashed. Orochimaru.

For one breath, Akahebi saw it, the promise of never being alone again, of becoming something feared and needed. His heart twisted, caught between the memory of his brother laughing, his mothers warm hugs and his father hunched over brewing potions.

Temari felt the raw ache of it, that desperate, unspoken craving to belong to someone , to something , even if it meant becoming a monster. And just before the vision shattered, Akahebi’s shaking head stilled. His wide, tear-streaked eyes lifted to meet the stranger’s, and in them glimmered something that wasn’t innocence anymore, but wasn’t strength, either. Just a desperate, broken hope. His gaze dropped, and he saw a datura flower lying beside him, scorched and half-crushed. He clutched it to his chest as he reached out and took the stranger’s hand.

The vision cracked apart, splintering at the edges like glass forgetting how to hold an image. All traces of Akahebi were gone,  only darkness now. Empty. And Temari was alone again. She felt the weight of those eyes before she saw them. Now she was the one trembling.

“Even you didn’t have love like that as a child,” the brown eyes said, calm, almost pitying.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to hear it, trying to tear herself out of this place, willing the darkness to let her go.

“Face me, you coward.”

Her chest tightened. She forced herself to breathe, forced her eyes open, but before she could meet them, light burst through, so bright it burned. She winced, blinking hard as shapes swam into focus: the sterile white ceiling, harsh fluorescent lights humming above her, the cold bite of metal under her back. Machines beeped steadily at her side. She tried to move, but her arm wouldn’t budge. She looked down, thick straps pinned her wrists and ankles to the table. Panic flared, sharp and cold.

A sound caught her ear. She turned her head and saw a young woman with short pink hair, scribbling something on a clipboard. The girl glanced up, and startled so hard the pen clattered to the floor. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Temari just stared, breathing ragged, still caught between worlds, trying to decide if this was real or just another hallucination. The pink-haired girl recovered quickly, stepping closer. “I’m Sakura,” she said, voice firm but not unkind. “Head of the medical team here in Konoha.” Her green eyes studied Temari carefully under the harsh light. “And you’re Temari.”

Temari’s brows furrowed, confusion tightening her chest. Her voice felt trapped in her throat.

“I remember you,” Sakura added softly, a small, almost surprised smile tugging at her lips. “From the Chunin Exams.”

She glanced over at the medical ninja, she looked familiar but Temari couldnt tell for sure. “Where am I?” 

“Konoha, medical center.” Sakura’s face tightened, “technically you are my patient but you are also a prisoner.” 

Temari’s memories started to come back to her, Akahebi had left her there, had left her with him. She was shocked the brown eyes hadn't killed her. “What did he do to me,” she snapped. 

“That's what i've been trying to research.” 

“So,” Temari rasped, her voice rough but steady, “you patch me up… then decide what to do with me?”

Sakura didn’t flinch, but something in her eyes flickered, regret, maybe, or recognition of what it meant to stand on opposite sides. “My job,” she said quietly, “is to keep you alive until they decide.”

Temari felt her chest tighten. She didn’t know if it was fear or fury, or something colder that had been creeping in since the shadows took her. “And what do you decide?”

Sakura’s gaze hardened, the softness stripped away, replaced by the calm steel of a kunoichi who had seen too much to pretend. “That depends,” she said. “Are you going to fight us the moment you can stand?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said.

Sakura’s expression barely changed, but her fingers curled around the clipboard just a little tighter. “Then decide carefully,” she murmured. “Because there are people here who still believe you can be reasoned with… and there are others who don’t.”

The machines beeped steadily beside them, counting heartbeats in the silence that followed. Outside the door, Temari could sense more chakra signatures, guards, alert and waiting. The door slammed open shaking the metal tray beside her.  Brown eyes swept across the room, sharp and cold, fixing on Temari with the same suffocating familiarity she’d just clawed her way out of. Her breath caught, panic tightening in her chest. She jerked instinctively, bucking under the leather straps, but they held, biting into her raw skin.

He walked toward her, each step unhurried, controlled, coiled power in every motion. But his gaze wasn’t on her yet, it pinned Sakura instead. “She is awake then,” he said, his voice calm and smooth as glass, but undercut with something colder.

Sakura didn’t back away, though her shoulders stiffened. “She only just regained consciousness,” she said, her tone carefully professional. “She needs time to stabilize before you question her.”

His eyes flicked to the faint tremor in Temari’s hand, the sweat at her temple, the wild beat of her pulse visible in her throat. His mouth curved, almost amused, almost pitying, and then the warmth vanished. 

“What's your name?” he said, grabbing the clipboard out of Sakura's hands skimming over the notes.

Temari couldn’t speak; her mouth felt dry, her throat raw. Her hand strained against the leather strap, reaching for the metal tray just inches away. Shikamaru was still distracted, eyes scanning the notes in his hand. Her fingers brushed across the cold steel surface, searching blindly, until they found a pair of scissors. Heart pounding, she curled them into her fist, hiding them in her shaking hand.

He looked back to her, “What’s your name?” 

She clenched her jaw, “Temari.”

He scoffed, “not the Temari I knew,” he said as he handed the clipboard back to Sakura.  

She glared at him, searching his face but avoiding his haunting eyes. All she could remember was the torture, the abusive words, the screams of Gaara that he caused. And now, she was strapped to a table at his will. Her fist tightened around the scissors as he took a step towards her. Right when his leg came into view she stabbed him in the upper thigh.

The sharp clang of the metal hitting the floor echoed through the room. Shikamaru’s breath hitched, eyes narrowing in shock and pain as he stumbled back. His hand gripped the upper part of his thigh where the scissors had pierced through the fabric and flesh. Temari’s chest heaved, adrenaline flooding through her veins. Her jaw was set, but her eyes burned, not with fear, but with fierce resolve.

Sakura dropped to her knees beside him, quickly tearing open a roll of bandages. “It’s not deep,” she said, voice tight as she pressed cloth to the bleeding wound. Shikamarus winced as Sakura pressed harder on his thigh. 

“You think that was smart?” he rasped. 

Temari was breathing heavy, the straps creaking as she tried to break free once more. “Don't talk to me like you know me,” she spat. 

“I don't,” his breath hitched as Sakura cinched the bandage around his thigh.

Sakura glanced between them, “Shikamaru you need to stay still.” 

He ignored her, eyes glaring at Temari. “At least not anymore.” 

Temari's fingers clenched until her knuckles turned white “go to hell.” 

He exhaled slowly, his voice softening “already there,” he paused “because of you.” 

His brown eyes bore into her, unblinking, and something inside her buckled. She turned her head sharply, staring at the wall, trying to push him out of her mind. But the darkness behind her eyelids wasn’t empty, it writhed with memories. The past bled into the present until she couldn’t tell which was real anymore. The room felt too small, the air too thick. Her breathing quickened, chest heaving against the restraints, but she couldn’t stop the memories flooding back. Shadows stretched around her, whispering doubts she couldn’t silence.

“Get him out,” Temari spat, her voice edged with panic.

“What?” Shikamaru snapped, disbelief twisting his features. “You’re a prisoner. You don’t get to make demands.”

“GET OUT!” she screamed, jerking violently against the straps until one slipped just enough to give her arm a few more inches of freedom.

His eyes flicked to Sakura, confusion and something closer to worry flashing across his face. Without a word, he pushed himself up, limping slightly from the bandaged wound, and stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sakura stepped closer to the table, her gaze flicking over Temari’s bruised skin and the dried blood at her hairline. Moving to the cabinet, she retrieved a small jar of salve and pulled on a glove. “I’m going to put this on the wound on your neck,” she said softly, her voice careful, almost gentle.

Temari didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall, the world around her blurring at the edges. She felt herself slipping, drifting somewhere far from the cold metal table and the sting of her restraints.

How could Akahebi have left her? The man who spoke of loyalty like it was sacred, who promised she’d never be alone again. How could he have abandoned her here, left her with Shikamara, the one who had broken her before, piece by piece? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. And in the cold silence between Sakura’s careful touches, a deeper fear settled in Temari’s chest: what if no one was coming at all?

“How long was I out?” Temari rasped, her voice low and rough.

“Twelve hours,” Sakura replied, professional and measured. Temari blinked hard, trying to push back the fog in her mind.

“Does that Akatsuki member do this to you often?” Sakura asked carefully, her gloved hand hovering near the bite.

Temari’s head snapped toward her so fast Sakura flinched, her fingers slipping from Temari’s neck. “He doesn’t do anything to me,” Temari spat, the words burning her throat. She hesitated, her gaze shifting toward the door, voice dropping to something colder, rawer. “This is his fault.”

“Shikamaru?” Sakura asked, her brow furrowing.

Temari’s eyes darkened, fury and fear twisting together, something murderous lurking just beneath the surface. “Yes,” she breathed, her jaw tightening. “The one with the brown eyes.”

“Do you remember what happens when he bites you?” Sakura’s voice wasn’t gentle or pitying, it was detached, clinical, like a medic extracting facts from a patient.

Temari hesitated, then nodded once, not trusting herself to speak.

Sakura turned away, crossing to the cabinet. The faint clink of glass broke the silence before she held up a small vial of pale liquid. “I gathered some of the poison from your neck,” she said, studying it with unsettling calm. “It’s derived from a flower.”

Temari’s chest tightened, her breathing quickening despite herself. Memories scraped at the edges of her mind, the rush of darkness, the burn under her skin, the suffocating weight of hallucinations that felt too real.

“A flower called Datura .”

Chapter Text

Temari laid on the cold metal table a while longer, her gaze trailing after Sakura as she moved in and out of the room with vials, test tubes, and needles. She watched, silent and wary, as Sakura drained the small amount of venom she had extracted into syringes.

“What are you doing?” Temari asked, her voice hoarse but sharp.

Sakura didn’t answer. She simply finished her work, placing the syringes carefully into a fridge. Something about her demeanor had shifted. At first, there had been curiosity in Sakura’s eyes, almost pity, as though she felt sorry for Temari. But now her expression was colder, distant, as if she’d reminded herself Temari was nothing more than a prisoner.

“Why did you put it in a syringe?” Temari tried to pull free from the leather straps again, the cuffs digging into her skin.

“We’re going to run some tests,” Sakura replied flatly, not meeting her eyes.

The door opened before Temari could press further. Shikamaru stepped inside, wearing fresh clothes and a new bandage wrapped around his leg. Behind him, she saw another figure, blonde, familiar. Naruto. The same shinobi who had once dragged her brother back from the darkness. The memory sparked a brief flicker of something like gratitude, but it was quickly swallowed by the shadows she now carried.

Shikamaru walked toward her, his gaze steady, “We’re moving you,” he said.

Temari clenched her jaw. She had faced down far worse threats without flinching, but something about him made fear coil tight in her chest. Still, she was Temari of the Sand. She would rather burn than let him see it.

His hand brushed against her thigh as he reached to unbuckle one of the straps. The touch was impersonal, clinical, but it still made her tense. Across from him, Naruto mirrored his movements, his blue eyes darting toward her face, uncertain. She felt her body loosen quickly as the straps came undone, a sudden rush of relief flooding her limbs. She hadn’t been able to move freely all day, and for a brief second, it felt almost liberating, but before she could even shift an inch, shadows slid over her skin coiling around her and locking her in place.

Shikamaru’s lips curved into a smirk, sharp and self-satisfied. As if this had been nothing but a game, and he’d just won.

“Let go of me,” she snapped, her voice low, dangerous.

“Now why would I do that?” he drawled, that lazy arrogance bleeding through. “So you can stab me again?”

Temari’s pulse spiked with fury. The moment her arms were freed from the leather cuffs, she lunged, aiming a punch straight for him, but the shadows caught her wrists mid-motion, jerking them back. Before she could resist further, the shadows moved again, forcing her to sit upright on the table. Her spine straightened against her will, her chin lifted, every part of her posture controlled by him. It felt like being turned into a puppet, and the look on his face told her he knew exactly how humiliating it was.

Each step out the door was mortifying. Naruto walked ahead of her, silent and stiff, while Shikamaru stayed behind, his shadows wrapped around her like a leash, controlling every unwilling movement.

“So… is Gaara like you?” Naruto finally spoke, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes locked on the back of his head, glare hot enough to burn straight through him. A sharp push from behind forced her to step forward.

“He asked you a question,” Shikamaru’s voice came, cold and clipped.

Temari felt her lips curl into a hungry, almost taunting smile. They wanted an answer? Fine. “He’s worse.”

She caught the subtle drop of Naruto’s head, a disappointed nod.They led her out of the hospital and around back into a dense patch of woods. It was dark, the moon barely spilling enough light to catch the edges of the path, but she didn’t need to see. Shikamaru’s shadows guided her every step, stripping away even that small freedom.

As they kept walking deeper in the forest Temari’s chest tightened with something she refused to call fear. She assumed they were taking her to a cell but this felt different. The forest felt different like it held secrets. She couldn't see much but she felt it. Shapes shifting behind the trees, silent eyes she couldn't quiet catch, but she could feel it all the same — watching her, weighing her. 

A twig snapped making her head shift in that direction, something behind a tree moved. She finally saw them, deer, standing between the saplings, antlers raised. They just stared at her. Temari didn't know this place, nor did she want to, one thing was certain. She was not welcome here. 

Behind her, Shikamaru’s voice broke the quiet. “Don’t bother trying anything. They’ll see it before I do.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to look back at him. She didn’t understand this forest, didn’t know why it felt so alive and silent all at once, but she understood one thing: this was his territory. And for the first time in a long time, she felt completely out of her depth. 

She barely had time to take in the clearing before the shadows shoved her forward. Her knees hit the damp earth, the cold sinking through her clothes. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let out so much as a hiss of pain.

Shikamaru stepped closer, his silhouette barely visible in the thin moonlight. She couldn’t read his face, but his voice came low and controlled. “You'll be staying here.”

Temari’s eyes narrowed. “And if I don’t?”

The shadows around her wrists tightened, cold and unyielding. “Then I’ll make you.”

She glanced around, trying to see where they planned to keep her. No walls, no cage, just trees, darkness, and the silent shapes of deer watching from the edges. It didn’t matter. She thought she could run. She thought maybe she could hide. But then the shadows pressed her back until she was sitting on the cold ground, her legs tucked under her, wrists pinned at her sides. She tried to twist free, but the effort was useless, every movement only made the shadows bite harder against her skin.

Naruto finally spoke, his voice softer than Shikamaru’s. “You’ll be guarded. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Temari shot him a look, but the defiance in her eyes barely masked the unease twisting in her chest. She didn’t know this forest. She didn’t know what was waiting beyond those trees, or why the deer kept watching her, unmoving and silent.

Shikamaru turned to leave, the shadows still holding her in place. “Get comfortable,” he said, almost mocking. “You’ll be here a while.”

She watched them, waiting for them to leave, but they didn’t move an inch. Just stood there, silent, watching her the way the deer had.

“Behave,” Shikamaru said quietly as the shadows slipped away from her wrists and ankles.

The second she felt her body free, she moved. Faster than thought. She lunged at him, slamming into his chest and knocking him backward. His back hit the ground hard, the breath leaving him in a sharp grunt.

Temari straddled him, knees pinning his sides. Her hands closed around his throat, fingers digging in. She didn’t have a weapon, but rage was enough. His brown eyes met hers, not frightened, just startled, confused, even, like he hadn’t expected her to have this left in her.

Then she heard it: poof, five Naruto's surrounded her in a blur of orange and smoke. She didn’t let go, tightening her grip until Shikamaru’s face flushed red, then purple, her own breath coming ragged from effort and exhaustion. Hands grabbed at her arms, pulling her back. Normally, she could have fought them off, but she was running on nothing but stubbornness. No food, no water, her body already shaking from the effort of standing. Her strength slipped through her fingers like sand.

The clones dragged her off him, forcing her back against a tree trunk so rough it scraped her shoulders raw. They pinned her arms wide, holding her still. Shikamaru got to his feet, coughing, his hand at his neck. He didn’t look back at her, just turned away, jaw tight.

Naruto stepped in front of her now, blue eyes hard where they had been soft before. “Do they need to stay?” he asked, voice edged with anger, glancing at his clones.

Temari’s chest heaved as she glared at him, hair wild around her face, breath ragged. “I don’t know,” she rasped out, her voice rough and defiant. “Do they? ”

Naruto’s eyes flicked between her and the clones pinning her to the tree. Shikamaru stepped back, the moonlight catching the angry red marks on his neck.

“We’re done playing nice,” Shikamaru said, voice low but shaking with anger. His gaze locked on her, sharp and dark, the same look that haunted her in nightmares. Temari quickly dropped her eyes to the ground before the visions could claw their way back to the surface.

“Who is the man you were with?”

She stayed silent, staring at the dirt. The clones’ grips tightened, bark biting into her shoulders.

Shikamaru stepped closer, then dropped into a crouch so his face was inches from hers. His breath was ragged, still catching from her earlier attack.

“ANSWER ME! ” he shouted, voice cracking through the clearing.

Temari flinched, the reaction tearing through her before she could stop it. Shikamaru’s eyes flickered with surprise, like he hadn’t expected her to flinch at anything .

“An Akatsuki,” she ground out, voice hoarse.

“Obviously,” Naruto snapped from behind, frustration bleeding through.

“ Name,” Shikamaru demanded, his voice low and unrelenting, eyes locked on hers.

She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, jaw clenched, refusing to speak. 

Then his hand grabbed her chin, rough, forcing her head up until her eyes met his. “Tell me. ”

She tried to look away, but his grip held her steady. His eyes burned into hers, anger, desperation, and something more raw that she couldn’t name. It dragged old memories up, blurring the edges of the present. Dark hallways. The smell of smoke. Brown eyes in the darkness, cold and watching. Her breath caught in her chest, her mind spinning.

“You pride yourself on being a better person,” she spat out, voice shaking, “but you’re just as disgusting.”

His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Then he shoved her head back, standing so quickly she heard the crunch of leaves underfoot.

“Your little boyfriend helped kill my fucking sensei,” he snapped, voice cracking with rage. “NOW ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!”

Temari’s chest rose and fell, breath burning in her lungs. “Akahebi,” she whispered.

Shikamaru’s stare darkened. “How can he control my shadows?”

“I don’t know.”

He crouched down again, the anger in his face breaking just enough to show something rawer. His voice dropped, hoarse, almost pleading. “He helped Hidan kill my sensei. I need to know, Temari.”

“I don’t know!” she bit back, bitterness twisting in her chest. She quickly averted her eyes again not wanting to stare into them any longer. The clearing fell silent but for the rough sound of their breathing and the quiet shuffle of the deer watching from the shadows.

“Whats wrong with you?” he said shaking his head like he almost couldn't believe it. 

She tilted her head to the side, the clones holding her still but leaving just enough room to move. Her eyes stayed pinned to the wet dirt beneath her. She didn’t understand the question. What kind of question was that?

“Who even are you?”

She didn’t know the answer. Not anymore. It felt like so many versions of herself had lived and died along the way, memories blurred, rewritten, or buried so deep they felt unreachable. And when he asked her that question, the only memory that rose was those same brown eyes, spitting hateful words at her in the dark.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her voice raw but steady. “The person you created.” For a moment, courage burned through the exhaustion, through the ache in her bones.

Shikamaru glanced to Naruto, confusion flashing across his face. “What?”

Naruto took a step closer, worry bleeding into frustration. “What does that mean?”

Temari’s gaze turned sharp, cold as steel, hatred curling in her chest like a living thing. “I’m going to kill you,” she hissed, voice low and trembling with rage. “I’m going to make you bleed for what you did to me. I can’t wait to hear you scream as I torture you, and your friends.”

Shikamaru’s face shifted, repulsion twisting his features, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What was sitting here, bound in his forest.

“What the hell?” Naruto muttered, voice breaking around the edges, the clones’ grip on her tightening until it hurt.

Shikamaru stared at her a beat longer, the anger in his eyes cooling to something like betrayal or maybe resignation. Then he shook his head and turned away. “You know the plan, Naruto. Watch her starve.”

Temari kept her eyes locked on him as he disappeared into the darkness, the fury in her chest coiling tighter and tighter. She wanted him to pay, for every scar, every nightmare, every twisted memory burned into her skull.

Then, in an instant, the clones vanished, and Naruto disappeared with them. The forest was silent again, only the whisper of wind through the leaves and the distant rustle of hooves. She stood, legs shaking so badly they barely held her weight. Hunger gnawed at her ribs, her mouth dry as sand. Sleep felt like a memory. But she couldn’t stay here. She wouldn’t.

Temari forced her eyes to adjust to the dark. Paths twisted ahead of her like a labyrinth. Silhouettes moved among the trees, four-legged shapes, silent and watchful. 

She drew a slow breath, muscles screaming, and leapt into the trees. Branch to branch, she pushed forward, heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. She landed on a fourth branch, and saw a deer below. Its antlers lowered, and it rammed the trunk with a heavy thud. The branch shook under her feet; she slipped, grabbing it by reflex, swinging under before flipping back up.

For a moment, a smirk tugged at her lips. Not yet, she thought. But when she looked ahead, two feet dropped into her view and knocked directly into her chest. She crashed backward, the air punched from her lungs as her back slammed into the ground. Pain exploded in her chest. She gasped, but no air came. Her vision swam, darkening at the edges.

Through the blur, she saw an orange jumpsuit. Naruto’s voice, hard and tired: “You’re not leaving here. So get used to it.”

Her eyes fluttered, the world tilting. And then, blackness swallowed everything.

___________________

Shikamaru walked off, anger twisting in his chest, but underneath it all, confusion. The person you created. What the hell had she meant by that? Did she mean the war? The years that changed them all? But her words hadn’t felt general, they’d felt sharp, personal, like a blade aimed squarely at him.

His steps quickened, boots crunching over fallen leaves as he headed back toward the hospital. He needed to see Sakura. He had told Naruto the plan the moment they captured Temari: the clones, the deer, would watch her every move. He knew she’d try to escape, of course she would, but with no food and no water, she’d get too weak to keep running. He wasn’t going to kill her; she was too valuable. But he had to break her silence somehow, and starving her into compliance felt like the only way left.

He pushed through the sterile doors, the cool air biting at his skin, and headed straight for the room where they’d been working. He knocked lightly as he stepped inside. Sakura was at the table, leafing through a thick book, her brow furrowed. Ino sat hunched beside her, scanning another volume, blonde hair falling into her eyes. They both looked up.

“How did it go?” Sakura asked, though her voice already held the answer.

Shikamaru shook his head, jaw tight. “Did you find anything?”

Ino set her book down, flipping it around so he could see. “My family’s texts don’t say much about those flowers specifically, but we did find this.”

He leaned in and read:

Datura (Devil’s Trumpet)
Family: Solanaceae

A striking and mysterious bloom, the Datura—often called Devil’s Trumpet—belongs to a family both beautiful and dangerous. Its large, trumpet-shaped flowers unfurl gracefully at dusk, releasing a heavy, intoxicating fragrance that lingers in the night air. Blossoms may be white, creamy yellow, or tinged with lavender.

Datura thrives in warm, sheltered places, often found near old gardens, or in untamed corners where the soil lies rich and undisturbed. Every part of the plant contains potent alkaloids, making it both revered and feared in equal measure. Throughout history, it has been used in ritual, medicine, and poison, its power balanced on the edge of healing and harm.

There is an old belief that to see a datura bloom under moonlight is to glimpse something sacred and forbidden, a fleeting vision of beauty entwined with danger. For in every trumpet-shaped blossom lies the whisper of sleep, dream, and delirium.

His gaze snagged on the last word. Delirium.

“It causes hallucinations,” he muttered, the pieces falling into place.

Sakura nodded. “That’s what we’re thinking too.”

“This can’t be a jutsu, right?” Ino asked, brows drawn together.

Sakura’s mouth twisted. “It’s hard to say. Did you get his name?”

Shikamaru let out a long breath and sat across from them, the weight of the night settling into his bones. “Just a first name.”

Ino exhaled, frustration tugging at her features. “We need his family name. Without that, we can’t trace his clan, or figure out how the hell he can control your shadows.”

Shikamaru leaned back in the chair, letting the ache in his battered body catch up to him. His wounded leg throbbed, a dull pain he’d mostly ignored until now. He stretched it out under the table.

Sakura noticed. “How’s it doing?”

He shrugged, voice rough with fatigue. “It’ll hold.”

For a moment, silence settled between them. Then, almost despite himself, he spoke. “Do you think…” He hesitated, the words heavier than he’d expected. “Do you think she’s lost her memory?”

Ino’s blue eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He closed his own for a second, running a hand over his face. “I know we barely knew each other, I mean hell I hardly remember that long ago, but… it wasn’t just that she didn’t recognize me. It was like she was afraid of me. Really afraid.”

Sakura leaned in, her expression thoughtful. “She didn’t seem to remember who I was either,” she admitted softly.

“No,” Shikamaru said, voice low. “It was different. Not just confusion. It felt like… she looked at me like I’d hurt her before.”

Ino closed the book slowly, meeting his gaze. “Shikamaru, you do have her prisoner. In your forest. I’d be terrified too.”

He shook his head with frustration. “It wasn’t nerves. It was dread. Like she’d lived through it already.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. And in the silence, Shikamaru couldn’t shake the image of her eyes, wide, haunted, staring back at him not with fear of what he might do, but what he already had.

Shikamaru finally leaned forward, elbows on his knees, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his eyes. “How many syringes do we have?”

“Three,” Sakura answered, her voice calm but tight.

He nodded slowly, thinking. “Ino, you’ll need to be ready to enter her mind when we start. I’m counting on you for this.”

Ino’s eyes flickered with doubt, her brows knitting together. “If it really is hallucinations, Shikamaru, I might not see what she’s seeing. It could block me out, or distort it.” Her voice carried an undercurrent of worry.

“It’s worth a shot,” he said, though the words felt heavy even to him. “We only have three tries. But we can’t do it all at once.”

Sakura nodded in agreement. “Her vitals were alarming when she was under last time. It acts like a poison, but it won’t kill outright.”

Shikamaru’s gaze moved between them, lingering for a moment before dropping to the table. His voice came out low, raw, resigned. “It’s torture.” He exhaled, shoulders slumping, the word hanging in the sterile air longer than he’d meant it to. And for a moment, none of them spoke, because they all knew he was right.

Chapter Text

Temari pushed herself off the ground, bruises etched like ink across her skin. Her knees trembled, sweat dripping from her brow. This was her fifth attempt. Two times, she’d been knocked out. Once, dragged back. Another time, she’d gotten lost trying to find her way out and stumbled back on her own.

Dizzy from hunger, dehydration, and exhaustion, she knew she couldn’t keep going like this. But she couldn’t stop, either. Escape was all she had left. So she did what she knew best, she disappeared between the trees, slipping from shadow to shadow the way the deer once had. But the forest had gone eerily quiet. Not a single deer in sight. That was the first sign something was wrong.

Still, she crept farther than she ever had before, clinging to hope. She leaned against a tree, chest heaving. It had been nearly forty-eight hours since she’d last eaten or had a sip of water. Her vision blurred, and her thoughts drifted dangerously.

She shoved off the tree, using what little strength remained, but her body wouldn’t budge. Her limbs were heavy, rooted like stone.

“You really thought you had a chance, didn’t you?” The voice was smooth and unbothered. Shikamaru stood just ahead, leaning lazily against a tree, a backpack slung over his shoulder and smoke curling from his lips. He exhaled like this was just another boring afternoon.

Temari had nothing left. No strength. No fire. No will to fight. She let her body slide back down the tree, hitting the ground hard. She should run. Or kill him. But she couldn’t even move. So she just stared at him, at that infuriatingly calm face.

“Get up.”

She tried. Her muscles tensed, arms trembling, but nothing happened. She wasn’t dying like this. Was she? He pushed off the tree with a sigh, walking toward her with quiet, deliberate steps. He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder.

Her breath hitched, panic flaring through her chest. The touch of the man who’d hurt her, who had become her captor, was enough to reignite the fight in her, if only for a moment. She kicked and thrashed wildly.

Annoyed, he dropped her flat on her back, watching her land in the dirt with a dull thud. “I’m really starting to lose my patience with you,” he muttered, standing over her.

She rolled to her side, lungs desperate for air, the world spinning.

“Either walk,” he said, voice flat, “or I carry you back.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her reality snapped into focus: she was a prisoner. Trapped in a forest no one could enter. No one was coming. No way out. And the man she thought she loved, he’d left her here. Left her with her demon.

“That’s what I thought.” He lifted her again. This time, she didn’t fight it. 

They didn’t walk far. A few minutes later, Shikamaru dropped her right back in the dirt where she started. She slumped against the tree, head tilted back, chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breath.

“How many times did she try?” Shikamaru asked.

“Five,” Naruto replied with a grin.

Shikamaru gave him a nod, dismissing him. She watched as Naruto vanished into the forest canopy with a single jump.

Shikamaru squatted in front of her, eye-level. “Do you want water?”

She gave a weak nod. Even that movement drained her.

“You get a cup for every question you answer.” He set a backpack between them and pulled out a jug and a single cup. “First question,” he said as he poured, “how can he control my shadows?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I told you,” she said between labored breaths. “I don’t know.” She pushed herself off the tree just enough to reach for the cup. He shifted it out of her reach.

“That’s not an answer.”

Temari closed her eyes and leaned back, too exhausted to argue. “I really don’t know.” A splash of cold water hit her face. Her eyes snapped open.

“I said you’d get water,” Shikamaru said coolly. “Didn’t say you’d drink it.”

Her expression twisted, eyes burning with fury. “Fuck you.”

“Right back at you,” he said flatly, eyes narrowing. “Why did you join the Akatsuki?”

“I didn’t.” Her voice was tight, teeth clenched. She wasn’t about to betray her village, wasn’t about to betray Akahebi, no matter how much bitterness sat on her tongue.

“You’re working with one, aren’t you?”

“We work with them,” she snapped. “But I’m aligned with the Sand.”

Shikamaru nodded slowly. “What made you work with the Akatsuki?”

That question landed heavier. She hesitated. What had made her father align with them? She had asked but just received a beating. So she just followed, blindly, obediently, into a war that was never hers. Not really.

“Ask my father that.”

“I’d love to,” Shikamaru yawned. “But as you can see, he’s not here. You’re the next best thing.”

She stared at him, disgusted. “What do you want from me?”

“For the war to end.. that you and the Akatsuki started,” he said, voice tightening, eyes sharp.

“I didn’t start anything.”

“No?” He leaned forward. “Because I remember you standing with Orochimaru. I remember the day you helped kill our Hokage. Or did I hallucinate?”

She flinched. A shallow breath caught in her chest. Images she’d buried surged forward again, uninvited. He noticed.

“I follow orders,” she said, almost defensively. “I’m not to blame.”

He studied her in silence. “You’re right,” he finally said. “You’re not to blame. But you are a coward.”

The word cracked through her like a whip. She tensed, hands flying to her ears as she curled inward, pressing her forehead to her knees.

Shikamaru’s expression shifted. His brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his hand moved, hesitant, unsure, and lightly touched her head. She jolted back so fast he nearly flinched.

“Here,” he said, this time quieter, holding the cup of water out to her.

She reached out, hand trembling, and took it. She drank in small, careful sips, not wanting to throw it back up. Every drop burned down her throat and tasted like mercy she didn’t want to owe.

He cleared his throat, still staring at her as if trying to peel back her thoughts. “Do you remember me?” His voice slipped into something gentler, almost hesitant.

She drained the last of the water, tilting her head back so not a drop would escape. Lowering the cup, she met his gaze, hatred sharp in her eyes. “Yes,” she spat, voice brittle but venomous.

He watched, seeing how disgust twisted her features into something feral. “I—” he started, but the word died on his tongue.

Kakashi’s silent arrival behind him broke the moment. Shikamaru pushed himself to his feet quickly, turning away from her, as if embarrassed by the softness that had slipped out.

“Change of plans,” Shikamaru murmured to Kakashi, voice low. “We’re starting now. I’m taking her back to the hospital.”

Kakashi gave a short nod. “Need help escorting her?”

“I got it,” Shikamaru said, pulling out a cigarette and striking a lighter. Smoke curled around his face, masking whatever expression lingered there. “She’ll probably stay overnight, but you’ll take the next shift.”

Kakashi nodded once, disappearing back into the shadows between the trees, leaving them alone again. Shikamaru kept his back to her, exhaling smoke into the cool air, trying to steady his own nerves.

Fool , she thought, the hatred burning so hot it felt like it might crack her ribs. She pushed herself up off the ground, muscles screaming in protest, but she didn’t hesitate. With a burst of fury, she lunged, slamming into his back and sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. The cigarette flew from his mouth, embers scattering.

They hit the ground hard, rolling through the brittle leaves and dust. His hand closed around her wrist, but she twisted, elbow catching him in the ribs.

“Dammit—” he hissed, trying to pin her, but she bucked underneath him, snarling like a trapped animal.

Their breathing turned ragged, sweat mixing with dust. Her hair whipped across her face, eyes wild. His grip tightened around her arm, nails digging into her skin.

“For fuck’s sake! Stop!” he barked, voice sharp, but she ignored him, clawing at his vest, knee driving toward his stomach.

He caught her knee just in time, forcing it aside and using the momentum to shove her onto her back, pinning both her wrists above her head. His chest heaved, strands of his hair falling over his forehead. They were both panting, close enough to feel each other’s breath. His gaze bore into hers, hard, furious, but there was something else, something conflicted, buried under the anger.

“Enough,” he growled, breath hot, his hold iron-tight on her wrists. “When are you going to give up?” 

Venom twisted her words. “Never.”

He was still on top of her, both of them breathing hard, sweat and dust clinging to their skin. For a heartbeat they just stared at each other, anger burning between them, confusion simmering under the surface, and for Temari… fear.

His gaze pinned her, sharp and searching. But her eyes darted away, fixed on the darkening line of trees beyond him. The sun dipped lower, staining the sky in bruised orange and red.

“Why do you do that?” he demanded, voice rough.

She scoffed, turning her head further from him. “I told you I was going to kill you, didn’t I?”

“No,” he pressed, the words quieter but edged in frustration. “Why can’t you look at me?”

Her gaze snapped back to him, defiant and sharp as a blade. The assassin’s mask slammed into place, burying the fear under practiced hatred. Something flickered across his face, anger at her stubbornness, or maybe at himself for asking. His jaw tightened.

He shoved her harder into the dirt, grinding the breath from her chest before yanking her up like she weighed nothing. He slung her roughly over his shoulder, her ribs protesting at the sudden pressure. Shadows coiled around her arms and legs, cold and suffocating, binding her tight enough she couldn’t even kick. Her heart hammered, but she bit back a retort, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

With her pinned in the shadows, he adjusted the strap of his backpack, the weight of her a reminder of the fight still left between them. The forest path ahead darkened, night swallowing the last traces of light as he started walking toward the hospital, each step heavy, his grip iron around her fate.

The path grew narrower as they moved, branches scratching at his shoulders and catching in her hair. Temari hung half-slumped over him, her cheek pressed uncomfortably against his back, every jostle digging shadows tighter into her skin.

Each step jarred her ribs, sending spikes of pain through her chest, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a sound. The heat of him, the smell of sweat and smoke, pressed around her until it was all she could breathe.

After a while, Shikamaru’s breathing slowed from the strain, but his grip never loosened. His shadows slithered over her arms, tightening each time she twitched.

“You really don’t know when to stop,” he muttered, not quite to her, not quite to himself.

Temari’s voice rasped out, raw from thirst and dust. “You’re one to talk.”

A humorless huff escaped him, almost a scoff. “Difference is, I don’t fight battles I’ve already lost.”

She lifted her head, pain burning in her shoulders. “Then put me down,” she hissed.

He ignored her, shifting her weight higher on his shoulder, his hand clamping around the back of her thigh to steady her.  When the pale outline of the hospital appeared ahead, lamps flickering in its windows, Temari felt the cold dread sink deeper into her bones. 

Shikamaru stopped just outside the threshold, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. He glanced around, his shadows rippling across the ground like living ink.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” he warned, voice flat, all trace of softness gone. “And don’t even think about trying anything.” With that, he shifted his grip, pulling her roughly from his shoulder and setting her on her feet. The shadows snaked tighter, forcing her to stay upright even as her knees nearly buckled.

Inside, the hospital hallway glowed dimly. He guided her forward, one hand on her arm, the other resting near his kunai pouch, ready, if she so much as breathed wrong.

Temari lifted her chin despite the fear biting at her spine, eyes scanning the hall, already searching for exits, for weapons, for anything at all that might give her an edge. But the shadows trailed after her like a leash, and Shikamaru never stopped watching.

Shikamaru pushed the door open revealing what looked like to be a makeshift interrogation room. At the center of the stood a single iron chair, bolted to the ground. Thick, worn leather straps hung from its arms and footrest.

She swept her gaze around, her breath catching when she spotted an IV bag hanging from a metal stand filled with clear liquid. But it was the device near the wall that pulled her eyes next, a metal box etched with faint sealing script, slender chakra-conducting wires coiling from its back to a screen.

It wasn’t a tool she recognized from Suna, nor did it look like standard medical equipment. It had the unmistakable feel of something crafted for the shinobi arts, chakra-sensitive. 

Shikamaru’s shadow stretched across the floor, brushing against her ankle like a cold warning. “Sit,” he ordered, voice low and without hesitation.

Temari hesitated, her feet rooted to the floor. Part of her screamed to run, to lash out, to do anything but obey. But the shadows curled at her ankles, cold and certain, and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate. With a shaky breath, she stepped toward the chair. The iron felt even colder when she sank into it, the weight of it sinking into her bones.

She heard the door creak open behind her. A bright blonde girl stepped in, hair so long it nearly brushed her waist. Temari recognized her instantly,  the same girl she’d seen at the camp. The blonde barely spared Temari a glance. She nodded once to Shikamaru, then moved straight to the strange metal device near the wall, adjusting the wires and seals as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

Temari’s heart thudded faster. “What is that?” she asked, her voice rawer than she meant it to sound, a thin edge of panic bleeding through.

Another pair of footsteps crossed the threshold. Sakura. She carried a clipboard tucked under one arm and a small medical kit in the other. She placed them on a low table near the opposite wall, her gaze flicking briefly over Temari.

“Did she eat?” Sakura asked, her voice level.

Shikamaru shook his head, his shoulders tense. “Didn’t get that far,” he muttered. “Not with her trying to attack me.”

Sakura’s sigh sounded almost practiced. She held out her hand toward him. “Backpack.”

He handed it over silently. Sakura unzipped it and pulled out a small ration of food pills. She crossed the room to Temari, her sandals scuffing softly on the stone floor.

“Eat these,” Sakura said, holding three small pellets in her palm.

Temari’s stomach twisted at the sight, dread and hate fighting inside her chest. She wanted to spit in Sakura’s face, to tear free and make each of them bleed. But without food, without chakra, there would be nothing left when the real interrogation began. Jaw clenched, she snatched the pills from Sakura’s hand and swallowed them dry. The taste was bitter, but the burn of energy followed almost instantly, spreading through her limbs and chasing back the weakness.

The moment she swallowed, Shikamaru stepped forward. His shadows tightened, pressing her back into the chair. He leaned over, pulling the straps tighter around her wrists and forearms until the leather bit into her skin. For a breath, his gaze drifted up to meet hers. There was something there, regret, guilt, something almost human, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by cold resolve.

He stepped back. Sakura moved in next, fingers brushing Temari’s arm as she found a vein. Temari refused to flinch, refused to give them the satisfaction of a sound as the needle slid under her skin and the IV tube settled into place.

Across the room, Ino settled into the wall near the metal box. She lifted the strange device, and placed it carefully over her own eyes, letting the wires drape over her shoulders and link back to the humming machine..

The room felt colder than before. Temari swallowed the taste of iron in her mouth, as the device over Ino’s eyes flickered with faint chakra light. Her chest tightened as panic clawed up her throat. “What are you doing?” Her voice cracked, breath hitching as Sakura drew a syringe and began to ready it, the clear liquid catching the torchlight.

“We’re going to be questioning you,” Shikamaru said, his gaze locked on hers. His tone was flat, steady, trying to keep her attention fixed on him, away from what Sakura was about to do.

Temari’s pulse thundered in her ears. “The venom is in there,” she forced out, shifting her shoulders, leather straps biting deeper into her skin. Each twitch pulled the IV painfully taut, the needle scratching under her skin.

“Exactly.” Shikamaru didn’t even blink. His face stayed calm, maddeningly controlled, a shinobi mask that didn’t crack.

Memories she fought so hard to bury crashed over her, the pain, the hallucinations, his shadow binding her as she thrashed against the ground, helpless. The raw humiliation of begging for it to stop. She stared up at the rough stone ceiling, the burn in her eyes blurred her vision, tears threatening to spill, but she swallowed hard, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“Please.” The word scraped out of her throat before she could stop it, shame flooding her chest. Pleading was the last thing she wanted to do, but there was no way out, not strapped down and surrounded by Leaf shinobi.

Shikamaru’s expression didn’t change. “Ino, are you ready?” His voice was steady, but there was a tightness in it, something only someone watching closely would catch.

Ino, seated near the chakra device, settled the wired headpiece more firmly over her eyes. The screen on the wall flickered from black to a deep blue, chakra lines pulsing gently across its surface, signaling it was linked and waiting.

“Sakura?”

Sakura didn’t hesitate. She nodded once, lips pressed in a hard line, then pressed the plunger on the syringe.

Temari felt the cold burn of the venom sliding through the IV into her veins, dread coiling in her gut as the world around her seemed to darken at the edges, and the machine across the room hummed to life. 

It was slower than normal. Her vision turned to a vignette, colors smearing at the edges. The room around her wavered, light twisting into long, dark ribbons. Then the warmth of the IV burned brighter, humming in her veins, and everything went black.

The black tendrils tightened around her mind, forcing her to stay, and the nothingness shifted. She heard it first, a single voice, then dozens, then hundreds, chanting in sharp unison. “RASA, RASA, RASA, RASA!”

The black dissolved into gold grains, hot and dry against her skin. Sand poured over her head, slipping into her clothes and scraping against her neck, until she felt its weight press her down. She blinked, and the darkness turned into the heat of the Sand Village plaza. The crowd swelled around her, villagers packed shoulder to shoulder, faces turned up to the raised platform where her father stood, the Fourth Kazekage, Rasa. His robes gleamed under the harsh sun, gold threads catching the light like tiny blades.

She looked down at herself, startled by what she saw, younger, maybe sixteen, hair tied high, fan strapped to her back. Sweat darkened the collar of her robes, and her chest felt tight, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe. The chanting blurred into a dull roar. 

Her father lifted a hand, and silence dropped over the plaza like a thrown shroud. His voice cut through the heat. “Today,” he declared, voice cutting through the stillness, “the Sand will do what it must to survive.”

Temari shifted on the soft sand, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the next words. From the crowd’s edge, she saw two figures step forward, faces partially obscured by cowls of black robes marked with red clouds. The air itself felt colder as they approached, chakra heavy. Rasa didn’t flinch.

She quickly turned her attention behind her, she felt a presence trying to break through. Like it didn't belong here. This was her mind and someone was trying to pear inside of it. She looked through the crowd and saw a figure she didn't recognize slip through. She watched with her eyes but her attention shifted when her father spoke next. 

“The Leaf has grown too bold,” he said, his tone like iron.  “And the balance of power shifts with every season. The Akatsuki’s strength will secure our place,” he hesitated “for a price.” 

Temari’s gaze flicked to the man nearest Rasa. His cowl hid most of his face, but she caught a glimpse, an antagonizing stare, and piercings that lined his face, as if amused by the gathered crowd. The other figure kept her head lowered, shadows covering everything but her chin. But even that stillness felt dangerous.

She stumbled backward, the vision shifting with her. Her sandals scraping against the polished stone floor of her father’s office. Her breath came ragged, the coppery taste of blood sharp on her tongue.

“Don’t you ever question my intentions,” Rasa’s voice thundered again, echoing too loudly, like it was ricocheting inside her skull instead of the walls.

Temari’s body moved on its own, reliving the memory she couldn’t stop. “What was the price?” her younger self demanded, voice shaking but stubborn.

“You can’t be a leader if you can’t sacrifice one of your own,” Rasa bit back, every word cold as iron.

“Gaara,” the name slipped past her lips, raw with dread. “Father, you can’t.”

His gaze met hers, but something was wrong. His eyes flickered, darkening to a different brown, colder, emptier. The face twisted subtly, as if his features struggled between Rasa’s and someone else’s.

The brown-eyed man. The one who held her captive. The shadows at the edge of the memory seemed to thicken, curling around the flickering face. She backed away, heartbeat thundering. Her shoulder struck something behind her,  solid but unseen. Her skin prickled cold, chakra brushing against hers, not her own. Someone’s here.

She spun, eyes wide, searching the empty air, and caught the faintest shimmer: chakra threads, thin as spider silk, trailing from her temples into the darkness. A presence, familiar yet foreign, trying to slip deeper into her thoughts. Ino, she realized, but the memory wouldn’t let her speak, her mouth locked in the past.

The corridor crumbled around her, breaking apart into drifting black sand. The poison tugged her deeper until everything went dark. When the vision steadied, she was somewhere else entirely.  A narrow stone balcony carved into the side of the Kazekage’s tower, overlooking the village at dusk. The sky was burning copper and violet, the wind dry and hot against her face.

Akahebi stood there, leaning against the stone railing, half his face lit by the dying sun. His hair, caught the light, strands whipped by the wind. His bare chest resting against arms, tattoos coiled around his shoulders and trailing along the balcony like restless snakes. Temari stood a few paces away, arms folded tight across her chest, trying to keep her voice steady.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly.

He turned toward her, pushing off the railing. The fading sunset caught his yellow eyes, making them gleam with something fierce and unreadable. “Your father.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

He shook his head, stepping closer. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms locking around her like a shield. “He doesn’t trust me.”

Temari’s voice was soft but bitter. “I don’t think he trusts anyone.”

His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, gentle, but only in these rare, stolen moments. “He doesn’t trust you .”

Confusion flickered across her brow. She tried to pull away, but his grip held firm, unyielding now. His expression darkened, frustration sharpening his features.

“You don’t get it, Temari.” He paused, studying her face like searching for an answer. “He doesn’t trust the position he gave me.”

“What does that mean?” Her patience thinned, irritation creeping in at his vagueness.

He sighed, voice dropping low, almost a growl. His teeth gleamed in the twilight as he leaned in, biting into her neck. “I can’t lose you too.” The sharp sting burned, and the world seemed to tilt. This was a memory long buried, the first time he had poisoned her mind.

The visions warped, tearing apart at the edges. Temari collapsed onto the pitch-black ground, chest heaving, breath ragged and shallow. Her limbs felt heavy, mind splintered and raw from everything it had been forced to relive. She was done. Done with visions, with half-remembered truths, with memories that felt twisted, rewritten, or stolen outright.

Above her, the brown eyes hovered, cold, unblinking, watching as the shadows slithered around her like living chains. She felt another presence slip into the space reaching through her mind and the venom, but Temari didn’t turn to look, didn’t even try to speak. She just stared upward, numb and drained, eyes locked on that gaze above her, feeling the darkness curl tighter around her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness claim her. 

“Temari?”

She felt her body being shaken, the voice cutting through the black fog.

“Temari!”

Something sharp tugged at her arm, the IV being ripped free, but her eyelids stayed heavy, refusing to open. Her mind was still trapped in that dark, silent place.

“Her heart rate is dropping!” someone shouted, the words muffled and far away, like they were echoing underwater.

“Fuck,” another voice snapped, closer. “Ino!”

She couldn’t see anymore, but she could feel, a rush of chakra flooding the space around her. The presence, familiar but urgent, pressed closer, hands hovering near her chest. Her breathing slowed, each breath thinner than the last, darkness curling tighter around her ribs. Somewhere at the edge of her failing awareness, she felt the warmth of chakra trying to pull her back, but the blackness felt heavier, stronger. Each breath was growing fainter.

She felt the chakra pressing closer now, hot and insistent. Ino’s presence cut through the cold, not gentle this time, but forceful, almost desperate. “Come on,” Ino’s voice echoed faintly, somewhere between the dark and the waking world.

Temari’s heartbeat faltered once, twice, then a jolt of chakra slammed against her chest, sharp as lightning. For a breathless moment, nothing. Then another pulse, flooding warmth through her veins, scattering the shadows. The blackness shuddered, cracked, and shattered into fragments of memory and fear.

Her eyes fluttered open, the ceiling above her swimming into focus. Bright light stung her eyes, and her breath caught in a dry, shaky gasp. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, as if reminding her it was still there. Shapes blurred above her, movement, voices she couldn’t quite catch. Her pulse hammered painfully in her ears.

And then, as the haze thinned, something came into focus. A pair of dark, tired brown eyes staring down at her. For a breathless moment, they were the same ones that she used to search for, that she used to feel safe with.

Chapter Text

Shikamaru gripped the edge of the table, knuckles pale. Across the room, Temari lay unconscious on a medical bed, the curtain drawn halfway around her. Even asleep, her face looked strained, as if she were still fighting something in the dark. He drew in a slow breath. “Describe it to me again.”

Ino exhaled, her shoulders heavy with fatigue. “I saw… ” Her gaze flicked back to Temari. “Memories, her memories.” she stared at Shikamaru, studying his face “and your eyes.”

Shikamaru’s brow furrowed, voice dropping to a sharp edge. “What do you mean, my eyes?”

Ino shook her head slightly, still processing what she’d seen. “It wasn’t you , exactly. But there were brown eyes, familiar, close to her. She was terrified.”

Shikamaru closed his eyes while he leaned on the table “It's not a genjutsu, it's a chemical toxin and chakra induced illusion.” He nods to Sakura, “we need more research on that flower before we dive deeper.”

Sakura spoke up, her voice edged with frustration. “We can’t do that again, Shikamaru.”

“We have to,” he shot back, the words coming out tired but firm. “We need information on him. We can’t stop this war blind.”

“She could die!” Sakura stepped closer, her hand tightening around the chart she held. “You saw what that poison did to her mind. Another round could finish her.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to Temari lying pale and still on the bed. For a moment, something almost soft crossed his face,  then he dragged his gaze back to the floor, jaw clenched. “She’s our enemy,” he murmured, voice low, almost like he was reminding himself. “That’s not something we can afford to ignore.” The words hung heavy between them, the only sound the slow, uneven rhythm of Temari’s breathing behind the curtain.

Sakura stepped forward, voice firm. “As the lead medical ninja in this village, I vote no.”

Ino looked up at him, eyes softer but no less resolute. “Shikamaru, her heart practically stopped, it took everything in me to bring her back” she said quietly. “You were friends once—”

Shikamaru’s hand slammed onto the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room. “We weren’t friends,” he snapped, voice rough and shaking at the edges. “We were always enemies.”

Ino didn’t flinch. She met his glare head-on. “But she saved you against Tayuya.”

Memory surged up against his will, the forest, choked with cursed flute melodies, his body heavy, blood in his mouth. Certain he was going to fail, that they were all going to die because of him. Then, the sudden snap of wind, the crushing weight lifted, and Temari standing there, fan in hand, eyes steady and sure. A bright, fierce smile tugging at her lips, like she’d known all along she’d get there in time.

For a moment, it had made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with relief. He blinked, jaw tightening against the memory. Against the part of him that still wanted to see her that way. “That was a long time ago,” he muttered, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. 

“The past doesn’t just go away, Shikamaru,” Ino said softly, her voice careful, almost pleading.

“You’re right,” he shot back, jaw tight. “It doesn’t.” His eyes locked on hers, “She works with the men who killed our sensei. She killed ANBU trying to free the bastard who murdered him.”

Ino opened her mouth, then closed it, the protest dying on her tongue.

Shikamaru drew in a shaky breath, his chest burning. “I haven’t forgotten the past, Ino. That’s exactly the problem.”

For a moment, the weight of old grief hung between them, silent and suffocating. Then Shikamaru pushed off the table, “make sure she’s ready for the next round,” he said, voice flat and controlled. “Feed her something.” He turned away, jaw set, eyes hardening like stone. “We start as soon as possible.”

Shikamaru walked away with a knot in his stomach, unable to name the tangle of emotions churning inside him. When he watched her chest stop rising, his heart hesitated, as if he should care, but he reminded himself that if she died, it was just collateral damage. She’d made her choice, and this was the cost. He understood the stakes, and he’d always known victory would demand a price.

Ino had mentioned she saw his eyes in the darkness, and that it terrified Temari. That would explain why she could never meet his gaze now… but why? Why had she seen his eyes in the dark? Was his presence haunting her? Or was it nothing but coincidence? He didn’t know. But one thing he did know with absolute certainty, they would figure it out, and they would win this war, whether Temari lived or not.

________________

Temari woke up, she wasn’t tied down. She wasn’t in the forest anymore, surrounded by countless eyes watching her every move. Instead, she lay in a hospital bed, the steady beep of a monitor beside her. A pitcher of water and a cup sat on the table within reach.

Her throat burned with dryness, and she instinctively reached for the cup, gulping it down until it was empty.

“Want more?” a voice drawled.

She snapped her gaze toward the sound. The white-haired ninja stepped out from behind the curtain, a small book in his hand.

Temari glared at him, her voice hoarse but sharp. “Where am I?”

“Still in Konoha,” he replied calmly, slipping the book into his back pocket.

A knock came at the door. “I’m back, Kakashi!” Temari heard Sakura call out.

Kakashi moved to greet her. “She’s awake,” he said, stepping aside.

Sakura nodded and set down a tray piled high with food, an assortment of fresh fruit, warm bread, and roasted meat. Temari couldn’t help but stare; it had been so long since she’d seen food like this. Her village wasn’t starving, but supplies were always scarce. Sometimes she felt guilty knowing that, as someone from a prestigious family, she never had to worry the way so many others in the Sand did.

“Thanks for standing guard while I was gone,” Sakura said.

“Shikamaru said I had next watch, so… kinda my job,” Kakashi replied lightly.

“You let that boy boss you around too much,” Sakura teased, shaking her head. “One of these days he’s going to steal your job.”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled into a smile behind his mask. “He’d never want to be Hokage.”

Temari’s gaze sharpened. Hokage? Her confusion slipped out before she could stop it. “If you’re Hokage… why are you taking petty jobs? Standing guard over prisoners? Going out on missions?”

Kakashi and Sakura exchanged a look, as if the question itself was strange.

“Because,” Kakashi said gently, “leadership doesn’t erase your duty. It doesn’t stop wars from happening, and it certainly doesn’t guarantee anyone’s safety.”

Temari quickly forced down her curiosity, trying to look indifferent. But the question still burned in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—that her own father had done something like that. Had he ever stepped in to protect the village himself? Or had he only sent his children off to fight his wars for him?

Kakashi quietly stepped out, leaving her alone with Sakura. Sakura lifted the tray and set it gently on the bed beside Temari. “I figured you’d be hungry,” she said softly. “You haven’t eaten in three days.”

Temari’s mouth watered at the sight of the colorful spread. She hesitated, forcing herself to look guarded, but her body betrayed her, a hollow ache gnawing at her stomach. At last, hunger won. She reached out and picked up a piece of bread, her hand trembling slightly despite herself.

Temari took a small bite at first, testing it as if it might disappear. The softness of the bread and its faint warmth startled her. She swallowed quickly, then reached for a piece of fruit, the sweetness blooming on her tongue almost painfully vivid after days without food.

Sakura watched silently, her expression soft but careful not to look pitiful. Temari hated pity. Even now, she kept her chin lifted, eating in measured bites as if to show she was still in control. But inside, her body felt like it was waking up all at once, sharp pangs of hunger fighting with a lingering weakness that made her hand tremble each time she reached for more.

After a moment, Sakura spoke gently, “Take your time. You don’t have to rush.”

Temari paused, her hand hovering over a slice of meat. She glanced up at Sakura, something guarded in her eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?” she asked, her voice raspy from disuse.

Sakura hesitated, then met her gaze evenly. “Because you’re still a person,” she said quietly. 

Temari looked away, her jaw tightening. A person. The words echoed in her mind, clashing against everything she’d done and the choices that had led her here. For a breath, she let herself just taste the food, letting it anchor her to something real, something human.

Temari swallowed hard, forcing down the sudden lump in her throat along with the next bite. She wouldn’t let her walls drop, not here, not now. She wasn’t sure if Sakura’s kindness made her feel more at ease or more exposed.

After a few silent moments, Sakura moved to check the machine beside the bed, adjusting something Temari couldn’t quite see. “Your vitals are steady,” Sakura said, her tone almost clinical now, as if sensing Temari’s discomfort with the softness. “That’s a good sign. You’ll need your strength.”

Temari felt her stomach twist again, this time not from hunger but from dread. “Again then?” she said flatly.

Sakura admitted. “it’s not that simple.”

Temari almost scoffed. It never is.

Sakura watched her, then spoke more softly. “I know you probably don’t care what I think… but for what it’s worth, I don’t want to see this end badly for you.”

Temari looked at her, her tired eyes sharpening. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right,” Sakura said, meeting her gaze. “But I know war. And I know what it does to people.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and raw. Temari looked down at the tray, suddenly unsure whether she had the appetite to keep eating. The food, the kindness, even the room itself felt strangely unreal, like something fragile that could shatter the moment she let her guard slip. Outside the window, the afternoon light slanted across the floor, reminding her just how far from home she really was. And for the first time in a long time, Temari wondered what home even meant anymore.

She looked back down at her hands, realizing again that she wasn’t strapped down. She wasn’t trapped in darkness, wasn’t under constant watch. She could kill this kunoichi right here and now. Her fingers twitched at the thought, but when she looked up at Sakura, something in her stilled. Just this once… she held herself back.

Maybe it was a weakness. Maybe it was hesitation. But for once, she didn’t care. Her father wasn’t here to glare at her with silent disappointment. Akahebi wasn’t lurking in the shadows, ready to punish failure. This decision was hers alone.

Slowly, Temari let herself sink back into the bed, the sheets cool against her skin. She turned her head to watch as the sun slid lower across the sky. For the first time in what felt like forever, the choice, to act or not, had been hers. And that, quietly, was enough for now.

___________________

Shikamaru stood in the hallway, arms folded tightly across his chest. He’d been listening, long enough to know she had finally stopped fighting. He couldn’t decide if that was a victory or something closer to defeat. Whether it made him feel better, or somehow worse.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, rubbing the back of his neck. The familiar ache of exhaustion gnawed at him. He hadn’t truly slept since Asuma died, how could he ? Strategy circled endlessly in his mind, tangled up with a dull, persistent thread of guilt.

He stepped forward and pushed the door open. Temari lay in the bed, her back turned to him, staring silently out the window at the dying light. Ignoring the tightening in his chest, he walked past her and stopped near Sakura.

“When can we start?” he asked, voice low but firm.

Sakura’s expression tightened. “You know my stance on that.”

“Sakura,” he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, “this isn’t up for debate.”

“Ino needs time to rest, too,” she shot back, her tone edged with frustration.

“We all need rest,” Shikamaru said, his voice sharpening despite himself, “but we’re running out of time.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed, unspoken anger flickering behind them.

“Eventually someone is going to come for her,” he added, softer now, though the warning still cut through the air.

From across the room, Temari’s voice broke the silence. “No one is coming for me.” She hadn’t turned to face them. Her words hung there, flat, resigned, almost brittle, yet somehow heavier than anything else in the room. 

Shikamaru ignored her words, forcing his focus back to Sakura. “When?” he asked again, voice low but insistent.

“Her vitals are stable,” was all Sakura offered, her tone clipped.

“Get Ino,” he ordered, the decision final.

Sakura hesitated, before she turned and walked out, the quiet click of the door sounding strangely loud behind her.

Shikamaru exhaled and leaned back against the desk, his gaze drifting across the scattered notes and supplies. His eyes caught on the floral informational text Ino had left earlier. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he crossed the room and stopped beside Temari’s bed. She still hadn’t turned to look at him, her gaze fixed on the window and the fading light outside. Without a word, he placed the book gently on the blanket in front of her. “Datura,” he said quietly.

Temari’s eyes flicked to the book, then up to him. The harshness that had once burned in them had softened, just barely. The coldness was still there, settled deeper, like frost that wouldn’t melt. But there was something else now, too, a sliver of recognition, or maybe memory.

For a breath, neither of them spoke, the silence between them threaded with things left unsaid. Outside, the last traces of daylight surrendered to dusk, shadows stretching long across the floor. 

She sat up, flipping through the textbook until she landed on the Solanaceae Family . He watched her eyes move over the page. Then she tapped a line with her finger.

To touch it is to invite darkness. To taste it is to walk among shadows.

She pushed the book aside. “That’s the only way to describe that place.”

Shikamaru picked it up, reading the paragraph again. Shadows. “So he does use shadows.” he said to himself.

“I mean, you saw him use them, didn’t you?” she said, her tone edged with mockery.

Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah… but I couldn’t tell if they were mine, or his.” he paused, putting the pieces together. “If he can control mine—” He stopped, the thought unfinished but heavy between them.

“You’re not going to see what you want, you know,” Temari murmured, sinking back against the pillow. “No one can control that place.”

“Don’t lecture me,” he said, the calm in his voice cracking just slightly.

“And don’t pity me,” she shot back, her glare brittle, defensive, and something darker beneath. “You’re not here to save me, remember?”

His eyes met hers, “No,” he agreed quietly, “I'm not,” she turned away from him. 

Ino and Sakura walked through the door, their faces drawn and pale, carrying the tools they needed to start the experiment once again. Sakura moved to Temari’s bedside, her hands steady but her eyes clouded with unease. She slid the IV needle into Temari’s arm; this time, Temari didn’t flinch, only watched with a flat, brittle calm.

Across the room, Ino settled at her station, the tablet and headset clutched a little too tightly in her hands. Shikamaru pushed off the wall, his posture rigid with quiet determination.

“We aren’t going to strap you down this time,” Sakura murmured, though her voice betrayed a hint of doubt.

“Thanks,” Temari replied dryly, forcing a smile that never reached her eyes before she let it slip away with an irritated roll.

Shikamaru stepped closer to Ino, his voice low. “Can you handle this?”

Ino drew a slow breath, shoulders stiff. “I’ll manage,” she said, though her tone carried the weight of dread. She lowered the machine over her eyes and leaned back in the chair, hands folding together.

“Start, Sakura,” Shikamaru ordered.

Sakura hesitated, just for a breath, then moved to the IV bag. She tightened her grip on the plunger and slowly pushed the poison into the line, watching the pale liquid snake its way toward Temari’s vein.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then her breathing changed, shallower, faster. Her fingers twitched against the blanket, knuckles straining. Across the room, Ino’s breathing grew shallow as she focused, sinking her mind into Temari’s consciousness.  Ino stiffened, pressing the machine closer against her face, her lips parted like she was about to speak but caught herself. A bead of sweat slid down her temple.

“Talk to me, Ino,” Shikamaru ordered, his voice calm only on the surface.

“She’s slipping deeper,” Ino said, the words tight, forced through clenched teeth. “Whatever it is, it’s already pulling at her.”

Temari’s head jerked slightly on the pillow, her eyes darting beneath closed lids. For a second, her lips moved, forming a word Shikamaru couldn’t hear.

Sakura hovered close, her hand frozen above the IV clamp, ready to cut the flow if Temari’s pulse spiked. The monitor let out a sharp beep, her heart rate was climbing.

Ino’s brow furrowed, her breathing ragged. “It’s… it’s like the shadows themselves are alive,” she whispered, barely audible. “They’re pulling at her, like they know her.”

Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed, mind already moving,  connecting shadows, poison, the datura flower’s properties. The hallucinations weren’t random, they were guided, shaped by someone else’s will. His will.

He forced the thought away and focused. “Don’t lose her, Ino,” he said, stepping closer, though he knew there was nothing physical he could do to help.

Temari’s whole body tensed, a shiver running through her limbs. For a moment, her hand clutched at the blanket, white-knuckled.

“She’s fighting,” Sakura breathed, voice caught between hope and fear.

Shikamaru watched, jaw set, the familiar helpless frustration burning in his chest. He refused to look away.

Ino’s breathing turned ragged, the machine trembling slightly against her brow. Sweat slid down her temple.

Shikamaru stepped closer, “Ino,” he urged, voice low, brittle with urgency. “Tell me what you see.”

Ino’s lips parted, voice cracking around the words. “It’s… it’s all in pieces,” she whispered. “Like someone took her memories and smashed them on stone.”

Her eyes moved behind the metal, chasing something Shikamaru couldn’t see. “There’s a field… the ground is black, cracked, filled with flowers, but they look weird. “

Temari twitched on the bed, breath catching, a soft sound of pain breaking in her throat.

Ino kept talking, words tumbling faster, fear sharpening her voice. “She’s walking through them, barefoot. The flowers are bleeding ink when she steps on them. And the shadows, they’re alive, Shikamaru. They’re moving around her, whispering things I can’t hear.”

Shikamaru’s pulse hammered. “What else?”

Ino swallowed. “There’s someone at the edge of the field. Watching her. I can’t see his face, but his shadow is wrapped around hers, like it owns her. And—” She flinched, a small gasp. “Your eyes.”

His brows furrowed. 

Ino nodded shakily, her voice breaking. “They’re everywhere. Reflected in petals, in the cracks in the ground… Sometimes they’re just yours, tired, human. But then they turn dark, empty… and she’s terrified of them. Like she’s waiting for them to judge her.”

Temari’s hand jerked on the blanket, her pulse spiking, monitor screaming. Sakura hovered over the IV, her hand shaking. “Shikamaru, she is crashing!”

“Continue, Ino!” 

Ino’s voice dropped, rough with strain. “There’s more, old things. Blood in the sand… a child calling her name. And newer memories… someone behind her, whispering poison, she’s trapped, She can’t move forward.”

Temari’s breathing turned ragged, a wet rasp in her chest.

“We have to stop, now!” Sakura said, while she tugged at the IV bag.

Ino pressed her lips together, eyes squeezed shut behind the visor. “And there’s guilt. So much guilt, like she did something she can’t forgive. And every time she sees your eyes, it makes it worse.”

Shikamaru’s jaw tightened, breath sharp. “Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Ino whispered, voice barely holding together. “But she’s slipping. The shadows are pulling at her, like they’re trying to drag her under.”

Temari’s back arched slightly, a broken gasp tearing from her throat. The monitor’s beeping turned shrill, frantic, then staggered.

Sakura’s voice cracked, fear spilling out. “SHIKAMARU.”

Shikamaru stepped closer, “Ino.” His voice shook once, then steadied, hard as iron. “ Bring me in. ”

Ino’s head tilted, “I don't know if I can, Shikamaru, you don’t understand–”

“ Bring. Me. In. ” His words cut through the panic like a blade, every syllable sharp with resolve.

Ino’s breath shuddered. “If you get lost, I can’t pull you both out.”

Shikamaru didn’t look away from Temari, her face pale and still except for the trembling of fear he could almost feel. “Then don’t lose me.” He felt Ino’s palm pressed to his forehead, her hand was cold and slightly damp with sweat. 

He closed his eyes. A breath. Then it was as if something wrenched at the back of his skull, dragging his consciousness forward, away from the chaotic beeping of the monitor. The floor seemed to vanish under him. For an instant, he was nowhere, caught in a colorless, weightless void. His thoughts scattered, then pulled tight again, coiling into something sharp and guarded.

Beneath it, the cold, unmistakable sense of shadow, not his, but something older, fouler, alive in a way shadows shouldn’t be. Far off, he heard a whisper of cloth on stone. The echo of footsteps. The brush of petals against skin.

Shikamaru forced his eyes open, or whatever part of himself saw in this place.And in the dark between breaths, the poisoned field began to take shape before him. The world resolved around him like ink swirling through water, cracked black stone underfoot, White blossoms bloomed from fissures in the ground, their petals turning dark at the edges as if rotting from within.

And there, only a few paces ahead, Temari. She was on her knees, shoulders hunched forward, one hand clawing at the ground as if trying to pull herself away. Her hair hung over her face, breath ragged and shallow. But it wasn’t exhaustion alone that held her there.

Black tendrils of shadow, slick, sinuous, alive, curled around her back and shoulders, burrowing into her chest and sides like roots sinking into soft earth. Each pulse of the shadows made her flinch, her breath catching in a strangled gasp.

For a breath, he stood frozen.  Then instinct cut through it, the familiar pulse of chakra coiling in his gut, flowing down through his limbs. His own shadow spilled across the cracked stone toward her. His shadow wrenched forward, lunging to wrap around the writhing tendrils invading her. For an instant, they met, cold against cold, shadow against shadow. But they didn’t yield.

Shikamaru felt it at once, the presence behind them, distant but vast. Ancient, poisonous. Like trying to seize control of a snake that had already coiled around its prey. The foreign shadows recoiled, then surged back, tightening around Temari’s ribs. She let out a soft, broken sound, half sob, half strangled breath, and collapsed further, fingers clawing uselessly at the stone.

Come on… Shikamaru pushed, I’ve controlled a thousand shadows, he thought, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I won’t lose to yours.  Shikamaru’s shadows writhed, coiling tighter around the invading tendrils, fighting to pull them free from Temari’s chest. His muscles burned with the effort, every instinct screaming to hold on.

Then, through the tangle of darkness, Temari’s head snapped up. Her eyes, wide, glassy, and filled with pure, bone-chilling terror, locked onto his.

Shikamaru felt it like a blade slicing through his chest, the weight of fear he had never seen before.  

Temari’s fingers clawed at the ground, desperate, broken. “Please… don’t—” Her voice cracked, fear breaking through every word.

Shikamaru gritted his teeth, pushing past the shock, the ache. “I’m trying to help you.” But even as he spoke, the terror in her eyes didn’t falter. It was a wall he had to tear down, one shadow at a time. Shikamaru’s voice cut through the oppressive darkness, steady and unyielding despite the storm inside him. “ I’m not the shadow you fear.”

Her eyes darted wildly, searching his face as if trying to find the man behind those cold eyes, but all she saw was the weight of pain and betrayal.

“I’m here to pull you out,” he said, reaching out with his shadow, weaving it gently around her trembling form, trying to shield her from the suffocating tendrils.

She flinched, pulling back, but her strength was fading, the shadows tightening their grip.

“Please,” Shikamaru urged, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Trust me.”

For a flicker of a moment, something broke in her gaze, a crack in the armor of fear. But then the shadows hissed, recoiling briefly, and in that breath, Temari’s eyes filled again with terror, retreating into the darkness she thought would swallow her whole.

Shikamaru’s fists clenched. This wasn’t just a fight for control, it was a battle for her very soul. He tightened his shadow’s grip, preparing for the next move, ready to face whatever this nightmare threw at them both. Shikamaru’s shadow tightened around Temari, but the darkness rippled, twisting unnaturally.

He searched around them, trying to spot Ino.  “Ino!?” he yelled out but all he heard was an echo.  Flickers of movement danced in the blackness, blurred, fragmented images.

He wasn’t truly here,just a ghost haunting Temari’s mind, a cruel echo twisting her memories like a poison.

Shikamaru saw flashes of all different versions of Temari, some he remembered, some he had never met, some he wished he never had. The sand rippled beneath his feet, and the moon hung heavy and watchful overhead. He glanced down, but Temari was gone.

He looked around and realized he was standing just in the Sand Village, the familiar but distant sounds of the night drifting on the warm breeze.

Ahead, Temari stood close to Akahebi. She looked smaller in the moonlight, her expression soft as she met his gaze.

“I never thought I’d find someone who understands me,” Akahebi said, his voice low but steady as he took her hand in his.

Temari smiled slightly, a fragile warmth in her eyes as she looked up at him.

Shikamaru stepped forward, trying to close the distance, but something held him back, like the shadows themselves whispered not to interfere. Akahebi pulled Temari gently, then suddenly began running, their footsteps kicking up sand as they dashed through the village streets. Laughter filling the air. He hurried after them, struggling to keep pace. For a moment, the world felt almost tender, two souls clinging to each other in a harsh, unforgiving place.

Shikamaru watched, frozen in the shadows of the alley, as Akahebi pressed Temari against the rough stone wall. Their kiss was fierce, urgent, almost violent, and Temari didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into it, her fingers tangling in his hair with a mixture of longing and defiance.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Akahebi murmured, his voice husky as he pushed her hair back, pressing a softer kiss to her temple.

Her face looked younger here, softer. Shikamaru’s eyes flicked around, searching for Ino’s presence, but he only caught the faint echo of her chakra, distant, watching, waiting.

Suddenly, a heavy figure stepped into the alley, Temari’s father, Rasa. Without hesitation, Rasa grabbed Temari’s hair with a sharp yank, slamming her back against the cold wall. His eyes burned with fury as he turned to Akahebi, stalking toward him like a predator.

“Is this why you wanted the job, so you could sneak around with my daughter?” Rasa’s voice was low and threatening.

“No, sir,” Akahebi replied, bowing his head respectfully, deliberately avoiding Temari’s gaze.

“Father, stop,” Temari whispered, voice trembling but resolute as she struggled to rise.

Rasa’s backhand came swift and hard, knocking her down again. The sound of impact echoed off the walls. “Come with me,” he commanded, gripping Akahebi’s arm tightly and pulling him away from Temari.

Temari’s eyes stayed locked on Akahebi’s retreating figure, a painful mix of fear, anger, and something more, a desperate yearning that twisted like a blade in Shikamaru’s chest. He swallowed hard. This wasn’t just about control or fear, it was about survival, loyalty, and the impossible choices she’d been forced to make.

The memory rippled again, like black water disturbed by an unseen hand, reforming into something sharper, colder. Shikamaru felt the change deep in his chest, as if the air itself had grown heavy with dread. He stood below, half-hidden in the alley’s dark embrace, staring up at the balcony above. The moon was a pale eye, watching without mercy.

Akahebi was there, shirtless, his hair caught the breeze, but his posture was relaxed, almost careless. Temari stood behind him, her face turned partly away, shadows hiding her expression. Akahebi stepped closer, hand brushing her arm, his head tilted, too calm, too close. Then, in a single breath, the softness broke. His mouth was on her neck and Temari screamed. I t was sharp, raw, carved from fear and pain, and it cut through the warm night air like a blade.

Shikamaru’s heart kicked against his ribs as he watched her stumble backward, falling, her hair catching the moonlight in a wild arc before she hit the balcony’s stone floor. The shadows around him twisted, alive and eager, and the balcony dissolved into darkness, leaving only the echo of her scream ringing in his ears. 

When the memory settled, Temari was no longer above. She lay crumpled on the ground before him, her breathing ragged, eyes wide and glassy.  Shikamaru took a step closer, his shadow stretching toward her like a hand offered in silence. But she didn’t see him.

“Ino!” he called out again, voice cracking with urgency, but the only answer was his own echo, thrown back at him by the cold, shifting dark.

He took another step forward, shadows stretching under his shaking hands as he leaned over her. Temari lay frighteningly still, chest unmoving, lips pale as desert ash. Panic clawed up his throat. He dropped to his knees beside her, pressing his palms over where her heart should beat, instinct screaming at him to push chakra into her, to do something. But this wasn’t real. It was just his mind trapped inside hers, no chakra to give, no hands that could save. 

“INO!” The scream ripped itself from his lungs, raw and desperate. His voice fractured against the swirling dark, swallowed by the memory’s endless hunger. He grabbed Temari’s shoulders, shaking her as if he could force breath back into her lungs, forcing life back into the shell in front of him. Then, everything around them fractured.

Shapes, visions, and sounds blurred into streaks of color and shadow, racing around them like a cyclone. The scent of sweat and sand, the echo of laughter turned to screams, flashes of moonlit skin and bloodied stone, all spinning at impossible speed. It felt like falling, through time, through memory, through every moment Temari had experienced. The shadows bent and tore themselves apart, as if rewriting what could and could not remain. And at the center of the storm, Shikamaru knelt over her unconscious body, refusing to let go.

Then suddenly, it all stopped. The cyclone of memories froze mid-motion, shards of past suspended in the dark like glass catching the faintest light. Shikamaru, still kneeling, felt the crushing silence press in around them. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down. Temari’s eyes opened. They locked onto his, not wide with terror this time, not glassy with guilt or shadow-haunted dread. Just open, steady… and, for the first time, unafraid .

Then he felt it, his consciousness tugged upward, like breaking the surface after being held underwater. The darkness around them tore away, dissolving into nothing. Shikamaru gasped, eyes snapping open, the familiar weight of his own body crashing back around him, lungs burning with air he hadn’t realized he’d missed. He quickly glanced around the room.

Ino’s hands trembled slightly as she pulled the headset off, strands of her hair sticking to her forehead, her breathing sharp and uneven. Sweat beaded along her brow and ran down her temples, the effort of holding on so long etched deep into the exhaustion on her face. She blinked hard, trying to steady herself, her chest rising and falling too quickly as if she’d just sprinted miles.

Sakura was leaning over Temari, her brow furrowed in quiet desperation, hands glowing faintly as they hovered just above Temari’s chest. Sweat traced lines down her temples, her lips pressed into a thin, terrified line.

Shikamaru pulled himself forward, legs heavy as stone, each step dragging him closer to the bed. The room felt painfully still. Even the steady beeping of the monitor seemed to vanish into a muffled hush. It felt like standing beside a body, not beside her . 

“Sakura?” His voice cracked, rough from shouting in a world built of shadows.

Sakura didn’t look up. She just kept pressing chakra through Temari’s still body, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

Shikamaru’s gaze shifted, finding Ino across the room. “Ino?”

Ino’s eyes glistened, the pale light catching in them like regret turned solid. Her shoulders sagged, every word heavier than the last. She shook her head, voice low and tired, “I told you… I couldn’t get both of you out.” 

Then, without warning, the floor beneath them lurched violently, a deep, guttural rumble that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Dust rained from the ceiling, hairline cracks spread across the walls as the entire building shuddered like something massive had struck its foundations. Medical trays rattled, glass clattered to the floor and shattered, the sharp smell of alcohol and blood mingling in the air.

Shikamaru threw an arm out, steadying himself against Temari’s bed, eyes wide as he felt the tremor pulse through the stone underfoot.

“What’s happening?” Ino barked, voice rough with alarm. 

“He is here," he looked around the room, shoulders tense, "to get her.” For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still, just long enough for Shikamaru to understand exactly what that meant. And Temari lay silent between them, still trapped at the edge of life and death.

Chapter Text

Another tremor ripped through the floor, rattling the walls violently. The building itself felt alive shifting, cracking, threatening to collapse with every heartbeat.

Sakura’s voice rose above the chaos, raw and urgent. “We have to get out of here!” Her hands worked frantically, ripping off monitors, tearing away the last strips of medical tape.

Ino lost her balance as the floor lurched again, falling hard to her knees, shards of glass crunching beneath her palms. She hissed in pain but pushed herself back up, fear sharpening her movements.

Outside the half-shattered window, Shikamaru caught flashes of chaos, medics dragging patients through swirling dust, shinobi running, shouting commands drowned out by the low roar of stone breaking somewhere deep in the hospital’s foundation. The air tasted of concrete dust and panic. “Go now !” The words tore from his throat, raw and commanding.

Without waiting for agreement, Shikamaru slipped his arms beneath Temari, lifting her into his chest. Her body felt far too light, her head falling gently into the crook of his shoulder, hair brushing his jaw.  Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he stepped into the chaos of the hallway. Sakura and Ino slipped past him, faces pale, eyes wide but focused. Behind them, the walls groaned, dust spilling from fresh cracks as if the whole building were exhaling its last breath.

Shikamaru tightened his hold around Temari, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. And together, they ran, Sakura and Ino at his sides, boots scraping on broken stone and glass. When they burst through the hospital doors and out into the open street, the world outside was worse than anything he’d imagined. Smoke curled in choking spirals, stinging his eyes and catching in his throat. Ash and dust clung to his sweat-soaked skin, the air hot and heavy like it was burning from the inside out.

People were everywhere, civilians stumbling blind through the haze, shinobi shouting commands that dissolved into chaos. Entire buildings had been split open, wooden beams burning, walls collapsed into heaps of stone and sand. A roar rolled through the village, low and guttural, vibrating up through the cracked earth until it rattled Shikamaru’s bones and nearly sent him sprawling. Dust and smoke curled around him. Shikamaru turned, and for a single, breathless moment, his mind stalled.

There, in the ruined heart of Konoha, the moonlight caught on shapes too big, too wrong. A towering ox, its hide scarred and horned, hooves crushing stone into powder. A massive, snarling dog with multiple heads snapping and howling in every direction. And crouched among the broken rooftops, scales shifting to match the crumbling stone, a chameleon so large it swallowed entire alleys in shadow. Just as it shifted, its eyes flickered open, and there it was, the Rinnegan . Ancient, merciless, and impossibly close.

“Fuck!” The curse ripped from Shikamaru’s throat, but before he could think, before he could even move, a slab of shattered stone thundered to the ground in front of him. The shockwave knocked him backward, pain flaring through his elbows and shoulders as he hit the ground. Temari slipped from his arms, landing limp against the rubble, her hair spilling across broken tiles.

Through the smoke, Ino’s voice broke, shrill with panic and raw fear, “We need to surrender her!”

Sakura’s outline flickered behind the drifting haze, eyes wide and mouth moving, but her words drowned under the roar of stone and the growl of monsters.

For a heartbeat, Shikamaru froze, his mind, usually so quick, so ruthlessly logical, crashed under the weight of terror and failure. Strategy twisted into useless fragments. He forced himself to look down at Temari. Her skin, ghost-pale. But when his eyes traced the lines of her face, bruised, exhausted, stubbornly familiar, something cut through the fog. His chest tightened, a feeling that wasn’t strategy or logic or duty.

He dropped to his knees, pulled her back into his arms, her weight sinking against him. The monsters roared again, stone splintered underfoot. But Shikamaru turned away, away from surrender, away from the crushing reality of what waited if he stopped. Clutching her close to his chest, he ran. Away from Ino’s voice. Away from the monsters. Away from everything but her.

He ran, lungs raw, legs burning, Temari’s limp weight heavy in his arms. Her head bobbed against his chest with each stumbling step, blond hair streaked with dust and blood. All around him, Konoha moved, ANBU flashing across rooftops, jonin dropping into the shattered streets, medics dragging the wounded into alleys that barely stood. The clang of metal, the thrum of chakra barriers, the terrified cries of children huddled behind rubble, it was the Leaf under siege, the village he had spent his whole life defending.

Then he looked up, and the world felt like it stopped breathing. High above the wreckage, framed by moonlight too pale and calm for what it watched over, floated a single figure. Robe hanging heavy, arms spread wide, head bowed as if in silent judgment. And then, catching the moon’s reflection: eyes of endless rings. Rinnegan.

For an instant, even the screams and falling stone seemed to fall silent. Then it happened. The air folded inward, crushing breath from lungs, pressing stone and steel and chakra and blood together into a single, suffocating moment. Shikamaru felt his ribs strain under the pressure, and tasted blood. And then, like a dam breaking, everything blasted outward in a wave that ripped buildings from foundations and turned walls to clouds of dust. He blinked. Where there had been streets and rooftops, there was nothing. Just broken, flattened ruin stretching in every direction, the Hokage Monument half-shattered behind a fog of drifting debris. 

The blast wave slammed into him a heartbeat later. Instinct alone made him curl around Temari, clutching her so tightly his arms ached. They were flung backward, sky and ground twisting around them until he didn’t know which way was up.They hit hard. His shoulder cracked against stone, pain shooting white behind his eyes. Dust filled his mouth, his ears rang so sharply it felt like knives. But when the world steadied, and rubble clattered around them like bitter rain, he realized one thing. She was still in his arms. Somehow, she was still there.

The world settled into an eerie, choking silence, the kind that felt too empty, too final. Dust hung thick in the air, turning moonlight into a gray haze that stung his eyes and burned his lungs with every ragged breath. Shikamaru shifted, pain slicing through his ribs and shoulder, but he didn’t let go. His arms locked around Temari, as if sheer will alone could keep her tethered to this side of life.

He lifted his head, coughing hard enough that his vision blurred. Through the swirling dust, shapes began to emerge, not houses or towers anymore, but broken outlines. Konoha, the village he had thought unbreakable, was gone. Flattened in a single moment, crushed under a power too vast to fight.

Temari’s hair was matted with ash, streaks of blood running down from her hairline. Her eyes stayed closed, lashes dusted with gray, skin too still. He pressed a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing grit from her skin, searching for warmth, anything. Nothing. No breath against his wrist. Shikamaru tried to force chakra into his limbs, but exhaustion clawed at him, turning every movement to iron.

A shift in the dust made him look up sharply. For a moment, there was only swirling gray, then, like ghosts stepping from a grave, they appeared, black cloaks trimmed in red clouds, walking calmly through the ruins. Shikamaru forced air into his lungs, every breath cutting like glass. The ringing in his ears dulled, replaced by the crunch of boots over stone.

He swallowed, tightening his arms around Temari, and dragged in a shaky breath. He could see them, black cloaks dusted in ash, stepping over broken walls. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs shook so badly he nearly dropped her. He ground his teeth until his jaw ached, forcing them to move. Just move.

Heart hammering, Shikamaru stumbled toward it, ducking behind the fallen beam and pressing himself flat against the cold stone. He eased Temari down beside him, propping her limp form so her face wouldn’t sink into the dust. Her head lolled against his arm, hair falling forward like a curtain.

The shadows felt wrong, too shallow, the moonlight too bright in places where buildings had once thrown safety across the ground. But it was all he had. He risked a glance around the broken corner of the wall. Pain was closer now, then another shape emerged through drifting ash and sand. Shikamaru’s breath caught in his throat. Akahebi. 

He swallowed hard, feeling sweat chill on his back despite the heat. Temari shifted weakly against his arm, and for a single heartbeat, hope sparked, but her eyes stayed shut, breath too faint to hear. Shikamaru pressed closer to the cracked stone, willing the darkness to hold. Through the dust and ruin, Pain and Akahebi moved steadily, step by deliberate step, gods and monsters picking their way through the corpse of the Hidden Leaf. And Shikamaru held his breath, heart pounding so loudly he was sure they’d hear it, clutching Temari as though the sheer act of holding on could keep both of them from being found.

“You could’ve killed her! ” Akahebi’s voice cracked through the ruins, sharp with fury and fear twisted into something wild. Dust trickled down the broken stone Shikamaru hid behind at the force of it.

They were right there . So close Shikamaru could see the shifting of Akahebi’s cloak around his legs, the faint tremor of rage in his stance. He pressed himself harder into the jagged wall, breath caught high in his chest. His hand slid instinctively over Temari’s shoulder, arm folding in front of her — a useless shield, but all he had. Only a fractured slab of stone separated them, that Shikamaru prayed wouldn’t crumble under the next heartbeat.

Pain’s voice answered, low and unshaken, calm in a way that made it feel like the world itself bowed to it. “And I am not here for her.”

Through the gap near the ground, Shikamaru could see them, Akahebi’s boots scuffing at the rubble, pacing back and forth in a tight circle like a caged animal; the hem of Pain’s cloak unmoving, his posture so still it felt inhuman.

“I AM! ” Akahebi’s voice cracked, raw and frantic, cutting through the settling dust like a blade. Shikamaru heard the panic, real, wild panic, bubbling under the fury, like a man on the edge of losing the only thing that mattered.

“Then find her,” Pain’s voice answered, perfectly flat, merciless in its calm. And in the next breath, he vanished, black cloak melting into the night as if he had never been there at all. Akahebi was left standing alone, breath ragged, cloak stirring in the breeze from the crumbling wreckage. 

Shikamaru barely had time to register the emptiness Pain left behind before he felt it, the faint brush of hair against his forearm. Movement. He turned sharply. Temari’s eyelids were fluttering, lashes trembling as if fighting to open. For the briefest heartbeat, relief flooded him, she was alive . Then terror slammed in right behind it.

His hand moved without thinking, covering her mouth, palm rough against her ash-dusted skin, trying to smother any breath, any gasp, before it could escape. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her gently but firmly against his chest.

Her eyes blinked open, wide and unfocused, pupils blown with fear and confusion. For a horrible second, he saw something else flicker there too, panic, revulsion, the ghost of what he’d seen in her memories. She pushed weakly against him, her strength barely there but desperate. He could feel it in her trembling hands, she didn’t know if he was friend or enemy.

Heart pounding so hard it hurt, he turned her slightly, forcing her to see his eyes. His head shook once, hard, a silent warning. Don’t. Temari froze, chest rising and falling under his arm. Confusion and fear twisted in her gaze, but she didn’t cry out.

Then, just beyond the broken wall, Akahebi’s voice ripped through the ruin, hoarse and cracking from raw desperation, “TEMARI!”

The sound of it made her flinch against Shikamaru’s grip, shoulders jerking, breath hitching under his palm. Shikamaru swallowed hard, the taste of smoke and blood on his tongue. And for a breathless, agonizing moment, the only thing that existed in the ruins of Konoha was a broken stone wall, a monster calling for what he thought was his, and his enemy, the girl Shikamaru was trying to keep hidden in the darkness.

_________________

Temari’s chest heaved, each breath shallow and shaking, like she’d only just remembered how to breathe at all. She had been gone too long in that place, the shadows had eaten at her mind, torn it to pieces, and now the pieces had fallen back into place, raw and ragged at the seams.

Memories rushed back through her, Akahebi’s voice in the dark, his promises that had once felt like salvation, the heat of his hand on her skin, the terror that had twisted that warmth into chains. The good moments too, stolen laughter, his tenderness, kisses shared but now all of it shone under the harsh light of truth. Unforgiving, undeniable. She remembered everything . The pieces were hers again.

She looked up into Shikamaru’s eyes. They weren’t cold or accusing. His were wide, dark with fear, not for himself, but for her . His hand, gritty with dust and sweat, pressed against her mouth, but it wasn’t cruel. It trembled with urgency. And in that moment, she realized he wasn’t restraining her. He was protecting her.

Outside, the voice called again, hoarse and raw from searching, “TEMARI!”

She flinched, breath catching in her throat, the sound of her name like glass dragged over an old wound. It came again, closer this time, then faded slightly, Akahebi pacing through the ruin, his desperation almost palpable.

Temari’s lips parted against Shikamaru’s palm. She tried to speak, a muffled syllable that died before it formed. His head shook minutely, jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out at his temple. The plea was silent, but it burned in his gaze, alarm, terror, and something deeper, a desperate hope she wouldn’t betray them both to the monster calling her name. She stilled under his hand, breath shaking, eyes locked on his.  

Akahebi’s voice rang out once more, hoarse and cracked at the edges, the desperation in it so raw it almost didn’t sound human, “Where are you?”

Then silence. Only the shifting rubble, the hiss of settling dust, and Shikamaru’s ragged breathing close against her ear. Temari felt his muscles tighten around her, bracing for the worst, but then, slowly, the echo of Akahebi’s footsteps began to fade, each step growing softer, swallowed by the broken village.

Shikamaru risked a glance around the shattered wall. He turned back to her, their faces close, breath mingling in the heavy night air. His hand slid from her mouth, shaking slightly, leaving a smear of dust on her cheek. 

Temari’s breath trembled in her throat, the memory of that dark place still clinging to her skin like smoke. She remembered seeing Shikamaru there, his eyes cutting through the shadows, the way he’d reached for her, tried to pull her out. But part of her still questioned if that had truly been him… or if it was just another cruel mirage twisted by the datura, another hallucination meant to break her.

Yet this time… it had felt different. Like his presence had ripped at the seams of that place, thrown its balance into chaos. Like something living had stepped into the dead. The fragile return of clarity brought a sharp ache with it, gratitude, yes, but threaded through with horror. Because now she remembered everything . What had been done to her. What she had become.

The memory burned behind her eyes, Kankuro’s face contorted in shock and pain, her own hands moving with a calm, ruthless precision that hadn’t felt like hers… but had been. She’d attacked him as if he were nothing more than another target. Her stomach twisted. Shame and fear pressed tight against her ribs, stealing her breath.

And now, crouched in the ruin beside Shikamaru, his hand still trembling where it brushed her cheek, she didn’t know how to look at him. Did he know? Had he seen? She couldn’t look at Shikamaru, not really. Not after what she’d done, and especially not after whatever they’d been to each other before . Enemies? Opposites? Friends?

And not politely so. They had fought with words that cut deeper than blades, plans designed to outwit and break each other's armies. And now here they were, crammed behind broken stone, pressed so close she could feel the tremor in his breath against her cheek. His hand still hovered near her face, rough and warm, a touch that felt wrong and necessary all at once. 

She tried to shake the thoughts away, they were enemies. She didn't know why she should think any differently. Even before Akahebi had re-written her memories, she still was against the leaf. Still had fought alongside her father when he tried to destroy the world. Still helped with the attack on the Third Hokage But the memory of him leaning against the tree, rough, ragged, dust clinging to his hair, trees crumbled around them, with that damned smirk, like she was the best thing he’d ever seen. It twisted painfully in her chest.

She broke the silence first, voice low, hesitant, “Were you… in there?” A breath. “With me?”

His eyes softened, the sharp edges falling away. He gave a small nod, and his hand brushed against her cheek, almost like he was wiping away something invisible. His breath caught, quickened, not with fear, but something messier, harder to name. She felt her own pulse stumble in answer, then forced herself to remember what this was, who they were. Enemies. Always had been. Always would be. And in his eyes, she could see the same painful recognition: This isn’t easy. It never will be.

“What did you see?” she asked, sharper now, the question spilling out too defensively, too raw. As if remembering these were her memories, and having him inside them might hurt worse than dying.

His answer came low, gravelly, and without hesitation,“I saw enough.”

For a breath, the world around them seemed to vanish.  All that remained was that thin, terrible space between them, history, hatred, and something rawer still. Temari’s chest tightened, shame and anger curdling together. He’d seen too much. Parts of her heart she’d buried under sand and steel, dragged into the open by poison and shadows. 

“We are enemies,” she repeated, voice cracking like splintered glass, desperate to find something sharp to hide behind. She tried to pull away, but his hand wouldn’t let her, it moved with her, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“We are,” he agreed, quiet, unflinching. His voice held no apology, but something softer that made her chest ache. “But… who you are, and who you needed to be to survive — they’re not the same.”

His words landed deep, tearing at walls she’d built even before Akahebi had broken her mind. She wanted to spit back something cold, something that would push him away, but she couldn’t. Instead, her eyes fell, drawn helplessly to his mouth. She saw the faint tremor in his breath, the way his gaze had dropped to her lips too, as if pulled by the same terrible gravity.

Their foreheads brushed, neither of them willing, or able, to close the last inch. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, the sound of it loud in her ears. This is wrong, something inside her whispered. But it’s real, something else whispered back. For a breathless moment, the past and the war and the betrayal balanced on the edge of that almost-kiss. And in his eyes, she saw it reflected, the same longing, the same hesitation.  And just as her chest tightened with something dangerously close to relief, he was ripped away. Shikamaru’s body was wrenched back, dust spiraling into the space where he’d been. 

“ Found you. ” The words dripped with possession, heavy and final. Akahebi stepped forward, yellow eyes glowing under the fractured moonlight. His silhouette cut through the haze of ruin and fire, robe torn from the battle, but power curling off him in visible tendrils.

His gaze landed on her, and for a heartbeat the rage there softened into something almost tender, then twisted again into hunger and control. Temari felt the weight of his eyes pin her where she sat, her heart hammering, breath caught in her throat. The fleeting warmth of Shikamaru’s touch still burned on her, but already it felt like something fragile that might be crushed in Akahebi’s hands.

And just like that, the world snapped back into cold reality, She was prey again. And Shikamaru, dragged to his knees, was her enemy.