I made a mistake in trying to orchestrate the Wave storyline so closely tied to canon. With the chuunin exams, which will begin with the next chapter, I've opted instead to use a different tactic. Canon will exist as a backdrop.

In the name of doing as I said I would (that is, ending the story with this storyline), I have been focused rather cleanly upon this project for a while now. So I will be updating more often than my usual schedule, up until the endgame. I would have more to show for my efforts, I daresay, except a family emergency interrupted this week and made it extremely hard to focus.

Nonetheless, I've put together the threads of the final plot, and I dearly hope that those of you who have followed this story for any length of time will appreciate it.

Enjoy.

Hinata's breath came in slow, wheezing, sobbing gasps. Blood trickled from a cut above her left eye, mingled with the sweat dripping off of her face and hair, and fell into the dirt as she stumbled to her knees.

She looked up. Naruto's back was a brick wall in front of her. He'd removed his jacket, revealing the sleeveless black shirt beneath, and the already-prominent muscles of his bare arms. His hair was dripping with sweat. Sand coated his body in swatches.

Gaara stood straight as a statue twenty feet away, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing. He looked like a specter of death itself, with sand swirling and cresting and rippling around his feet like faithful dogs.

"You're still protecting her!" Gaara snarled, his statuesque face breaking into a grimace. "What can you hope to accomplish with a fragmented goal?" He reached out one arm and thrust it sideways, and the sand responded in kind, slamming into Naruto's left side and sending him in a long arc through the air before he crumpled to the ground with a grunt. "She's not so frail that she needs a bodyguard! Certainly not one so grossly incompetent! On your feet!"

When Kakashi wasn't around—which, during days like this, was normal—Gaara took up the unofficial post of leader and teacher. Both of his teammates could tell at a glance that he was not in a normal mood right now; his commander's permission to vent his frustrations on a moving target (whether that target was a friend or not) seemed to have been just enough of a push to send him into a borderline-sadistic fury.

Both Naruto and Hinata had known, instinctively if not consciously, that their friend and partner was having to battle back his personal (literal) demons more often lately. His loss of control against Gatou had been like a sledgehammer against the walls he had built around the bijuu within himself, around the dark and sinister chakra running rampant through his body, and now the floodgates were cracking. They could spy it in his eyes.

Naruto's apparent solution, from the look of it, was to literally beat his friend back into shape. He launched himself at Gaara. No words, no responses, no cries of outrage or confusion. He simply acted. As Hinata collected herself, gingerly pressing the fingers of her left hand against her ribs, she kept her eyes downcast and simply listened to the pair of them.

It was like being at a construction site, with all the grunts and pangs and—explosions? Gaara continued to taunt and jeer, and that was something else that was odd. Gaara was usually rather soft-spoken, in keeping with his role as the straight man in his relationship with the blond-haired bundle of live wires he called his best friend. But he always grew more and more talkative, the angrier he got. Hinata didn't know what, specifically, he was angry about. She had her guesses, but she'd learned over the years that the two boys with whom she now shared her life—working and social both—did not fall into anything resembling a normal paradigm. Guesswork meant very, very little.

She eventually managed to push herself up onto her feet. It had only taken a handful of seconds, but it felt like a month. Her muscles sang at the injustice of moving, and once she was upright, she swayed on unsteady legs for a moment, barely managing to roll out of the way as a rocket of sand sped through the air toward the spot where her sternum had been a moment before.

Six Narutos barreled into Gaara, one after the other, and sent him sprawling to the ground in a cloud. The red-haired jinchuuriki was up instantaneously, flickering out of existence and appearing right behind Hinata as she stumbled to a knee.

She felt the keen edge of a knife against the soft skin of her throat.

"Time!" Hinata whispered urgently, tapping the ground. "Gaara-kun! I can't…I can't…!"

The knife spirited away as quickly as it had appeared, and Gaara's hand replaced it. She clutched it eagerly, and forced her wobbling knees to still as she rose to her feet.

"Takin' this pretty damn seriously, man," Naruto said, removing his headband and mopping the sweat from his face with it. As he replaced it over his hair, he added, "What's your deal lately? Somebody piss on your lawn?"

"…No." Gaara seemed to collect himself. "Sorry. I am…"

"You're freaked," Naruto guessed. "This is about the Gatou thing, ain't it? You been bottlin' somethin' up since that mission. You're all jumpy."

Gaara wiped his hands on his hips and clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at his hands. "I…suppose I am."

"Look," Naruto tilted his head to the side and grimaced, "I'm not gonna get philosophical or whatever, 'cuz who knows? Maybe your bee-juice—"

"Bijuu."

"—is screwier than mine is or something. But here's the plan, Broham: you gotta vent, you vent. Scream at the sky, punch somebody, break a lamp-post…whatever. Don't try and fake like you ain't got issues."

"We're with you," Hinata said, trying a smile. "You can trust us. You know that."

Gaara nodded. "I do. You're right. Of course." He glanced at Hinata. "Are you feeling all right? Are you injured?"

"It's nothing serious," Hinata said. "You just…surprised me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be sorry. Sensei told us not to hold back. It…it's my fault."

Hinata smiled, and patted Gaara's shoulder as she passed him to pick up her jacket. Naruto followed suit, throwing his own coat over his shoulders like a cape. Puffing a stray strand of sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes, he cocked a suspicious eye at Gaara.

Gaara offered the ghost of a smile.

"Hmph," Naruto said, and turned away with a smirk playing at his lips.

He froze.

Hinata was staring. "G-Gaara-kun…" she whispered.

"Ain't that…?"

They all watched as their commanding officer approached them, flanked by two others. One was Iruka, wearing an uncharacteristically grave expression. The other was dressed in a loose, flowing white uniform.

They each knew that face.

Hinata and Naruto shared a look before turning their eyes back to Gaara.

The former scourge of the Hidden Sand struggled to speak, his lips quivering; for the first time in a great number of years, Sabaku no Gaara looked like a child.

"…My…my uncle."

Yashamaru dropped to his knees in front of his nephew like an acolyte at prayer, and drew the red-haired genin to him without a word. Gaara collapsed against his former caretaker, too stunned to speak. "Look at you, child," Yashamaru whispered. "Look, at how magnificent you are." He pulled back, holding Gaara's shoulders, and beamed. "To think that I should find you again, not only a full-fledged shinobi…but a hero!" He laughed. "Your mother would be proud of you! Almost as proud as I."

Gaara's mouth worked, but he could not speak. "I…"

"Your uncle has come to us as an ambassador for the Hidden Sand," Kakashi said, "with news that is of immense importance to this village. You three are implicated. Come. You are summoned to an audience with the Hokage."

Yashamaru's happy expression soured, but he kept the smile on his face. "Now that I see you…see the person you have become…I don't think that we have anything to worry about." He sounded sincere enough, but lingering doubt danced at the edges of his eyes. "Come, come. Let's get this business done. Then, perhaps you and your teammates can show me your home."

He was cheery enough, but the circumstances were so awkward that the atmosphere of the situation was taut with tension. Iruka's countenance didn't help anything. Though he tried to keep his expression neutral, he wasn't nearly as good at it as Kakashi was. The silver-haired commander kept up his usual poker face of statuesque boredom, and didn't reveal anything about anything.

As they made their way away from the training fields, Gaara held Yashamaru's hand.

They entered the Hokage's private office, the three of them passing glances at each other every few moments. Gaara was still too shocked to say anything, or even react to anything. His uncle spoke to him, and he would offer little grunts and sighs and half-words in response, but for the most part he seemed to be entirely separated from the planet.

Sarutobi looked older than his years, which was quite the feat. He had apparently ensured that there was nobody even close to within earshot of his office, and even so, he spoke so softly that his audience had to lean forward in order to hear him.

"The circumstances I am going to present to you today are…unprecedented. Owing to the rather extraordinary nature of this squad, however, I feel it prudent to involve you directly, as recent intelligence I have received is…directly related to you. Yashamaru, if you would please wait outside while I speak to my soldiers? I make this request not out of disrespect, but necessity."

Yashamaru nodded immediately, and bowed. "Of course."

He squeezed his nephew's hand, then left the room swiftly. Gaara stood there, looking confused. He looked nothing like the ninja he had become over his years of training, but rather like the tiny child he had once been, bereft and abandoned in a sandstorm with only enough understanding of himself to realize that he didn't belong.

No one, not even Kakashi—whose entire combat philosophy, indeed life's philosophy, was comprised of predicting people and their thoughts—could fathom what might have been going through his mind.

Sarutobi seemed to notice this lack of cohesion, and by the twinkle in his eyes…he appreciated it. He said, "Listen to me, you three: the mission I am about to give to you is the most important of your young careers. Succeed, and you will ensure the stability of our entire country. Fail, and you likely incite war. Do you understand?"

Naruto and Hinata straightened subconsciously. Gaara continued to stare.

"Gaara," Sarutobi said slowly, calmly, but with an undercurrent of some tumultuous emotion. "Think back. Take yourself back, years back, to your home in the Hidden Sand. Do you remember? The storms, the jeers, the terrified skittering. Remember. Entrench yourself in it. Are you there?"

The young genin's face had turned hard, his eyes bright. "I am."

"Remember the fear. The confusion. The unbridled hatred. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"Who did that? Who was responsible for that?"

Gaara scowled. He looked like a feral animal; his teeth suddenly seemed sharp as his lips pulled unconsciously back. He hissed, "…Me."

"No!" Sarutobi leaned forward, pointing a finger at his subordinate. "Not you. Not the demon. The people were responsible. And do you know who is responsible for those people? Do you know the person on whose shoulders lie the beliefs and expectations of those people?"

"The Kazekage."

Sarutobi stood up, put his hands on his desk. "And who is the Kazekage?"

"Your ally. My father."

"Tell me something, Gaara: in all those years you spent in your home country, how often did you speak with your father? How often did he come to see you? Do you recall what your father looks like? Did you ever know what your father looked like?"

Sarutobi's tone was sharp, and accusatory, and Naruto took an unconscious step forward. Kakashi put a hand on his shoulder; far from being reassuring, it was a silent command. The blond jinchuuriki bristled.

"I don't remember." Gaara swallowed back bile. "He did not speak to me. It was left to my uncle to look after me. Surely, Sarutobi-sama, you know this already. What is this mission? Why do you speak of my father?"

"Because he is at the heart of your mission. Surely youknow that there is no love lost between the two of you. Your father sees you as a threat. His fear trickled down to the citizens under his command. A jinchuuriki is dangerous, not to mention difficult to manage. Why would he send you, the product of so much dangerous experimentation, to me?"

"…I do not know."

"Because he hoped that I might contain you. This village is known for its expertise in sealing techniques, you know. We have several specialists in the art. I am certain that your father hoped I would use such tactics to rein you in, and keep you under control. Once that occurred, he would take you back. Or else make you into my problem." By this point, all faces were set in stone. "And do you know what he has decreed now?" Sarutobi continued. "Do you know why your uncle is here, after so many years? Do you know what he has been tasked with doing?"

General shaking of heads.

"No, sir."

"You have three options ahead of you, Gaara: the first is to return to your home. Return to your father, and integrate yourself as a shinobi of the Hidden Sand. If you refuse this first option, your uncle has been order to…treat you as a threat to the Hidden Sand, and rid the world of you."

"…And incite war between our countries," Gaara guessed; his face was strangely blank. No reaction was visible in him at all. "I must leave this place, or else watch this village burn. Is that what you tell me?" A beat of silence. "What is the third option?"

"Strike first. End this charade of complacency, and cut the cancer from the Hidden Sand ourselves. I have known, as I am sure you have known, that the Fourth Kazekage has many faces. He plays the part of steadfast ally rather well, when it suits him. If we cede you to him, he might be content for a time. Perhaps even a long time. He will place Uchiha Sasuke back into our hands, I am sure. He will be certain that he has placed an agent of the Hidden Sand deep within our ranks, playing at doing us a favor."

"You…did not intend for our exchange to be permanent."

"I am sure that he did not."

"Then why did you agree to it?"

Sarutobi leaned back.

"Be honest with me," Gaara said, and there were traces of venom in his voice now.

"…I took you in because I believed your presence would be a positive influence." He gestured vaguely to Naruto and Hinata. "I believed that you would benefit, as well, and that someone of your potential would be a powerful aid to our efforts at…consolidation. Understand, Gaara, that I have always treated my alliance with your homeland as something of a ticking bomb. It has long been a goal of mine to find…contingency plans, if you will, to solidify our ceasefire into a legitimate partnership. You, and Sasuke, were a part of that."

Gaara crossed his arms, and his face was once again an unreadable mask. "…So, if I am to remain a part of your plan, then I have only these options open to me: abandon the people I have sworn on my life to protect, sacrifice myself, or murder my father."

"Yes."

"And it is my father who has forced your hand. My hand."

"Yes."

"If I allow myself to die, it will be at my uncle's hand."

"Yes."

"If I allow myself to die, you intend to declare war on my homeland."

"Predicated by the proof that it was your homeland who orchestrated it…I do. Such a blatant act of betrayal will not be tolerated in my Hidden Leaf."

"What has my uncle told you? What is his part in this?"

"He is your father's instrument. He was to convince you to return, or else kill you. Instead, he elected to betray his mission and reveal these intentions to me. It is on his recommendation that I take preemptive measures."

"…He has recommended that you kill his own brother-in-law?"

"Precisely."

"Bring him back inside. I will know why." Now, something cracked. In the sterile, echoing silence that followed this command, Gaara's face was a picture in disgusted agony. "It would seem to me that the reasonable answer is to return to my homeland."

Sarutobi smirked without humor. "I think, perhaps, I hoped you would say that. But no matter. I will do as you ask." He gestured, and Kakashi left the room.

There was something on Gaara's face that resembled disgust as he watched his uncle enter the room. Yashamaru didn't react; he stood stolid, with his arms at his side, and he did not fidget. He was a shinobi of the Hidden Sand, and knew well the dangers of showing any cracks in his armor to advantage.

Gaara's teammates were less than adept at the craft, and it was clear that they were nervous. Uzumaki Naruto had removed his headband, revealing his wild shock of blond hair, and he looked like nothing so much as a cornered animal. Hyuuga Hinata was only slightly more composed; a tremor would go through her every handful of seconds.

It struck Yashamaru that they looked more like children in this moment than they had so many years ago, when they had first visited his homeland and transformed his nephew. Yet Gaara looked like a court executioner. The calm in him was a coiled snake.

"…Why?" Gaara asked softly. Yashamaru didn't speak immediately, opting instead to wait for elaboration. "The Hokage has told me that you've elected to betray the Hidden Sand."

"I have," Yashamaru said, staring Gaara directly in the eye without nervousness and without shame. This seemed to surprise the boy, but only slightly.

"You have recommended to the Hokage that he take up arms against an ally. Against my father."

"I have."

"Why?"

Yashamaru decided to take a gamble, and put on an indignant face. A half-sneer, dripping with condescension. "It seems your years here have dampened your memory. Surely, nephew, you remember your father. Surely you remember the make of the man. Your mother, who died to bring you into the world, made a request of me. She asked that I guide you. She asked that I teach you, and protect you, from the country she knew would eat you alive. I have simply decided to honor her request, rather than participate in the blasphemy of your father's cowardice."

"Why would you not recommend that I simply return to the Sand?"

"Because it would only enable his masquerade to continue. Your father has plunged my village even further into the hole it's been digging since the beginning. He has forgotten what it means to be a shinobi. The Hidden Sand has its share of effective soldiers, but his leadership has little, if anything, to do with any of them."

"So this is not about me. I am simply a piece in your scheme to overthrow him."

"Not at all. You are the catalyst, the object, of my understanding. What you have done in the name of the Leaf, what they have allowed you to become, has shown me the true colors of the man to whom I've sworn my service. Trust me when I say that if this farce were a simple matter of returning you to him, I would press upon you the necessity of it. For the sake of the people. But it is not. This act is but one more upon a heap of hundreds, showing how…ineffectual your father has become."

Gaara's fists were clenched, and Yashamaru was convinced in that moment that, had he been permitted to become one of his father's innumerable game-pieces, Gaara would have attacked by now. But his training under the Copy Ninja did not allow for it, and he stayed still. Though Yashamaru's eyes—sharp as they were—could spy grains of sand, slow and sinuous like lazy insects, floating through the air.

Gaara lowered his head. "…Show me."

"I won't have to," said Yashamaru. He glanced at the Hokage.

Sarutobi said, "A number of candidates from the Hidden Sand will be arriving here to our forests. The Chuunin Qualification Examinations will begin within the next few weeks. Tell me, Yashamaru: do you know which candidates the Kazekage intends to send?"

"I do." He glanced back at Gaara. "He will send Uchiha Sasuke, and your own siblings. You will see, when they arrive, what manner of soldier your father builds."

"And you believe this will convince me that my father deserves to die."

"No," said Yashamaru, and his bright eyes flared. "I expect the fact that your mother died as a direct result of his actions to do that."