Second Chance

Summary: Shikamaru is back, war flashbacks and everything. But no matter how much foreknowledge he has, changing the future is not as easy as he thought. His Hokage being set back to a snot nosed brat that reacts bewildered to any form of affection does not help. At all.

Meanwhile, Gaara is thrown back to being avoided and feared, while being tormented by a voice urging him to kill every step that he takes. He really needs someone to fix the seal this time around...


Chapter 28

Fugaku took Itachi home in a hurry. He all but dragged him along – wanting to arrive as quickly as possible and missing the words to fill their journey with reassurances and comfort.

Itachi spoke even less than usual. His eyes were magnetic and repulsive simultaneously – Fugaku's eyes kept being drawn to them, only to flinch away as soon as crimson filled his sight.

In the time it took Fugaku to nudge his son over their doorway and onto their living room couch, Itachi hadn't spoken a single word. He kept his gaze low as though trying to hide his irises from sight.

Fugaku hovered, not knowing whether to reach out or how. Words formed on his lips and broke apart just as quickly, and when he managed to string together a sentence at last, it was only a curt, "I'm going to get your mother."

Mikoto would know what to do. She had to. Fugaku certainly didn't, and if Mikoto turned out just as clueless as he was...

Fugaku left Itachi sitting on the couch and didn't know whether to feel anxious or relieved about exiting the room.

Mikoto wasn't in their bedroom. Nor in the kitchen. Or the bathroom. By the time Fugaku tried the storage closet in an act of desperation, something that felt shamefully close to panic stirred in his chest.

Fugaku forced himself to take a deep breath and do what shinobi did best in situations like these: compartmentalize.

He carefully sorted out the things he didn't currently know how to deal with – the Mangekyō, the implications it made, what it told him about the story Shikaku's son had told – and focused on something he could fix.

Almost all the visions his clan members had experienced had drawn injuries in their wake. Itachi had failed to hide a limp on their way home. Fugaku grabbed the fully stocked first aid kit they kept on hand, took another deep breath and returned to the living room.

Itachi didn't seem to have any major injuries, and if he had, Fugaku didn't think he'd willingly admit it. There were bruises and scrapes – insignificant after a mission, but puzzling when there wasn't as much as a recent training session to blame them on – as well as the telltale muscle tremors that spoke of an adrenaline crash or severe chakra exhaustion.

Fugaku took Itachi's arm to bandage yet another mildly bleeding wound (the cut was shallow but precise, too neat to be caused by anything other than a kunai), far gentler than he would have treated just another subordinate.

And yet, Itachi still wouldn't talk.

"What do you see?" Fugaku asked, thinking of the other Uchiha he'd so far interrogated. He'd never been good (or considerate) with his words.

Fugaku finished tying another bandage in the time it took Itachi to answer.

"You," he muttered. "All of you. All the Uchiha." He paused. "Killed."

Shikamaru had said that they weren't visions.

The Mangekyō was said to manifest only after deep trauma – the sort only the pain of a dead loved one caused.

He'd said they were memories.

Whispers had reached their ears before. Terrible whispers. Rumors of retaliation against the planned (but postponed, possibly dismissed) coup. Perhaps, if they hadn't made the choices they had, if things had gone differently, if things had gone wrong…

Shikamaru's claims were outlandish, but so was everything else that was happening.

Fugaku grabbed another bandage and said nothing.


Mikoto had experienced a rather stressful couple of weeks.

For months and years, the rift between the Uchiha and the rest of the village had been growing. Even with the gap tentatively closing, other problems began rising up – the Uchiha's 'clan sickness' being only one of them.

Mikoto was feeling on edge constantly. Clan relations were mending, but the mysterious injuries remained – although with Shikaku and Yoshino in their corner, Mikoto felt far more optimistic about solving the mystery.

Mikoto knew that she'd begun trusting the Naras to a frankly worrying degree. She had no desire – nor reason – to revoke that trust.

When Yoshino intercepted her on her way to the ANBU headquarters and told her to head home right away, the grimmest look on her face Mikoto had ever seen on her, well. Needless to say, Mikoto was highly motivated to do exactly that.

"What happened at HQ–"

"– would take too much time to explain." Yoshino looked at her intently. "You want to be home right now. Trust me."

Mikoto did. She trusted Yoshino far, far more than she had anyone other than her clan members in a long time.

Mikoto pressed together her lips, gave Yoshino a nod of thanks and took the shortest route home that she knew of. Namely, she took the rooftops.

Scenarios formed in Mikoto's head during the brief time it took her to reach her home. Scenarios born from the tension building up in the village, from Yoshino's grim expression, born from the paranoia of a shinobi and – worse – a mother.

Whatever her mind came up with on its own, it didn't prepare her for the sight of Fugaku treating wounds on a too pale, too motionless Itachi.

"Itachi," Mikoto said, and she frowned when Itachi wouldn't look at her. She took his hand into hers, frowning deeper upon feeling his cold and clammy skin. "Can you look at me?"

There was no reaction. Itachi refused to meet her eyes.

"Itachi," Mikoto repeated. "Look at me."

The command did the trick. Itachi looked up, and Mikoto swallowed heavily to keep herself from letting out an undignified gasp.

'Mangekyō', she wanted to say, the comment as useless as she already felt. 'How did you get that?' she wanted to snap, likely doing more harm than it would do good.

Mikoto grasped for every shred of composure she could muster and said none of it. She took her place at Itachi's side – Fugaku scooted over to make room – and pulled her son closer in the clear invitation to lean against her. He didn't take it, but neither did he try to lean away.

"It's going to be alright," Mikoto whispered, not because she thought that Itachi needed to hear it. Not because she desperately wanted it to be true. Mikoto said it because she would make sure that it would.

They stayed like that, Fugaku softly explaining what had happened and what they knew. Mikoto chanced a look at Itachi in time to watch the Mangekyō fade, replaced by her son's natural dark irises. If it weren't for his still shell-shocked expression, they could have tried telling themselves that it all had been a bad dream.

They sat in silence after Fugaku had finished, and Mikoto had to force herself not to flinch when a knock on their front door broke the deceitful peacefulness of their living room. It opened without either of them leaving their seats – proving that whoever was outside had knocked out of courtesy, not out of necessity – and Yoshino peeked in, biting her lip and her brows furrowed.

Nobody told her to leave, so she stepped into the room.

"I just wanted to check in," she said quietly, her eyes twitching from Mikoto to Itachi and back.

She sent Mikoto an apologetic look, and Mikoto realized why when Sasuke followed in Yoshino's wake, hovering anxiously in the doorway.

'I'm sorry,' Yoshino mouthed, and Mikoto shook her head.

If Sasuke had heard rumors of what had transpired – or even just whispers of his brother being hurt – Yoshino couldn't have stopped him if she'd tried. No wonder he'd realized something was wrong; events like these made waves through the village, and their children weren't so naive to not notice.

"Mom," Sasuke said, his voice small and his steps hesitant. "Is Itachi–" He cut himself off, only needing to look at his brother to realize that something was terribly wrong.

Itachi's eyes had gone back to normal, but he averted his gaze regardless.

It didn't stop Sasuke from stepping forward, gripping Itachi's shirt and curling against him wordlessly.

Itachi reached out awkwardly after several seconds frozen in place, and Mikoto felt a pang in her chest. She couldn't decide what was worse: seeing her youngest take over the unfair task of comforting his brother, or her oldest's near incapability of accepting the comfort.

Fugaku and she had both known that Itachi was drifting away from them, but seeing the reminders of it still stung.

"Is something wrong?" Fugaku asked gruffly, addressing Yoshino.

"Nothing you don't already know," Yoshino said.

Fugaku pursed his lips. "The ANBU who found him–"

"Didn't realize what she saw." Yoshino paused. "I'm not sure myself."

The Mangekyō – both its origin as well as its capabilities – was a well-kept secret within the Uchiha clan. They might have no choice but to explain it to the Naras at one point (a thought that didn't bother Mikoto as much as it once might have) but the secret was safe for now.

On top of everything else, at least they wouldn't have to worry about this.

Yoshino hesitated, then tentatively took a seat in their living room.

"Shouldn't you be elsewhere?" Mikoto asked quietly.

"Do you want me to be?"

"No." Perhaps her answer had come too quickly. Mikoto was beyond caring.

"Good." Yoshino shifted her weight into a more comfortable position. "There's nothing else for me to do."

Mikoto didn't answer, but she was quietly glad for it. She could use a friend.


Shikaku trailed after Shikamaru almost immediately after realizing his son had managed to slip past them. He'd taken a moment to share a glance with Fugaku, reassuring himself that he had it handled on his own.

He shouldn't have to. He was a father as well, and Shikaku wanted nothing more than to stay and offer his support. But his own son was getting further away with each second. He'd managed to leave the village once, and he'd been gone for weeks. Shikaku wouldn't accept the same thing happening again.

"Go," Fugaku had whispered, relieving Shikaku from the moral dilemma.

So Shikaku had gone. Catching up with Shikamaru was easy compared to sticking to the shadows and hiding his presence, once he did.

They still knew next to nothing of what had happened. Shikamaru had refused to tell them anything concrete, and they wouldn't get anywhere sticking him back into interrogation – Shikaku's best chance was to follow and see for himself what his son was doing.

He wouldn't allow Shikamaru to slip away again. He would get answers, and he would get to the bottom of whatever hole Shikamaru had fallen into – no matter whether he'd helped dig it himself or been tossed into it heedlessly.

Shikaku would help his son, whether Shikamaru wanted him to or not. And one way or another, Shikaku would bring him home. No matter the cost.


Gaara wasn't at the meeting place they'd agreed upon. Shikamaru combed the area and the surrounding trees thrice before he was ready to admit that something (else) must have gone wrong.

He took a deep breath, pushing down the agitation left of his escape from his father and Fugaku. Nothing was going as they'd planned – nothing had gone right ever since Konoha's borders had come within sight – but Shikamaru had gotten out. He'd made it, and wherever Gaara had gone – whatever had forced him to abandon the hiding place they'd chosen – he would be alright, too.

After everything they'd already gotten through, this wouldn't be enough to keep them down.

Shikamaru began looking for marks on the forest ground and the surrounding trees. A trail or some sort of message – something that would indicate where Gaara had gone.

There were no footprints on the ground and no broken or bent tree branches. Not so much as a leaf seemed out of place.

Surely if somebody had discovered Gaara, there would be signs of a struggle? Surely if Gaara had been forced to leave, he'd have found a way to let Shikamaru know about it. With nothing amiss, did that mean–

Shikamaru leaped up and glued himself to the bark of the nearest tree. The trap snapped shut inches in front of his face and buried its silvery wire deep into the wood below him.

Several figures bled out of the shadows of the surrounding forest, faces covered in ANBU masks and as silent as the trees around them. Their uniforms differed slightly from the standard ANBU attire, just enough to be noticeable. Root.

Shikamaru's blood ran cold at the implications. "Where did you take him?" he demanded, dismissing the option of pretending to be oblivious with not more than a passing thought. If Gaara was in trouble, it would not do to merely save his own skin.

Two of the Root agents shared a glance. They eased out of their battle formations – but lost none of the tension in their bodies – and the taller one jerked their head, indicating for Shikamaru to follow.

Shikamaru was split. He wasn't being contained – not yet – but the chances of his escape weren't great. Even if they were, he couldn't make a run for it when it was so likely that Root had gotten its slimy fingers on Gaara. He couldn't leave him alone, he had to fix this.

"Go ahead," Shikamaru said curtly, his expression like stone and his instincts blaring at him to run.

His day had already been one disaster following the next. This was just another in a long row that Shikamaru wished he had any sort of control over.


Uzumaki seemed determined to keep his distance from Konoha. He led Yashamaru all the way through the Fire Country, but stopped before they came within sight of the village borders.

Yashamaru ought to be glad to be one step closer to finding Gaara. Instead, his nerves fluttered in his chest as though he was on his first S-rank as a graduated ANBU.

"What if he isn't there?" Yashamaru swallowed, trying not to let the anxiety show on his face. "What do I do, then?"

Uzumaki tilted his head, thoughtful. "I can't come any closer to the village," he said, half explanation and half apology. "It's too risky."

There was no need to justify himself to Yashamaru. Through Gaara, he'd experienced firsthand how shinobi villages treated their jinchūriki – their assets. Without Uzumaki to protect them, the youngest of them would be in grave danger.

Uzumaki hummed, seemingly coming to a decision. "We'll stick around just in case."

He reached out to take Yashamaru's arm and waited for his tentative nod before placing a seal around his wrist like a bracelet. "Use your blood to activate it," he explained. "I can't promise how quickly it'll be, but I'll come."

Yashamaru didn't know what to say. "Thank you," he settled on, far too little for a favor so big. "I'm in your debt. However you want me to repay you, I'll–"

Uzumaki swatted away the offer with his hand. "Make sure that Gaara is alright. That's plenty."

Yashamaru didn't need to be told twice.

His wishful fantasy of storming the village, tracking down Gaara and whisking him away – home, safe with his family – wasn't quite realistic. Yashamaru couldn't allow himself to be Gaara's uncle just yet. This once, where it concerned inter-village relations, he needed to be Suna's representative first.

The village guard was hesitant to let him inside. Their eyes kept twitching around in a nervous tick – almost as though they were expecting news from within – and Yashamaru idly wondered what had happened to cause the ruckus.

He didn't much care as long as he got to see his nephew. He needed to see him. Far too much time had passed since his disappearance, and now that Gaara felt within reach – far closer than he had been in weeks – Yashamaru was barely able to bear the tension.

"You should know," he said, his nerves worn so thin he feared they might snap at any moment, "that I'm a direct representative of the Kazekage."

The claim was only half a lie (he had sort of threatened his Kazekage in order to be allowed to leave at all) and he supported it by showing off Suna's ANBU symbol tattooed on his forearm.

"He will not be pleased to learn that I was turned away at Konoha's gates." He let just enough of a threat bleed through his voice to make the gatekeeper nervous.

She pressed her lips together but did not dare bar him entry.

Yashamaru disliked pulling rank, but this once he allowed himself not to care. Gaara was more important.

He looked around the village as he was led inside. He'd been to Konoha once or twice at the Kazekage's side, but never for extended visits. Shinobi were on the move in numbers too large to be natural – ANBU whisking about the rooftops too fast for the untrained eye to see, regular shinobi hurrying past them on the streets, sporting grim expressions that had the civilians whisper to each other in a muted hush.

The tension was palpable, and Yashamaru tried not to let it unnerve him. He hoped the buzz had nothing to do with Gaara. He resisted the urge to pray for his safety – nothing good had ever come out of the desperation that bore prayers.

He was led into an official looking building, several stories down into a dimly lit chamber. The interview that followed (the Konoha shinobi took great care not to call it an interrogation) was wrapped into layers and layers of politeness and etiquette, intentions buried so deep that Yashamaru stood no chance of recognizing them.

"I'm here to retrieve the Kazekage's son," he said, his patience snapping at last. "His name is Gaara. Is he here or not?"

By the time a third shinobi was ushered into the room and managed to tell him nothing in an overwhelming amount of words, Yashamaru had the notion that Konoha was hiding something.

He clenched his hands to fists and smoothed his expression into a blank mask. The shinobi sitting across from him trailed off.

"Do you know why the Kazekage sent me?" Yashamaru asked. "Me, and not a full ANBU squad?"

The shinobi didn't look anxious to hear him clarify. "I don't know."

"It's because I'm family. And Gaara is my nephew." He narrowed his eyes and noted with satisfaction that the shinobi leaned away from him. "Nothing is more important to me than his safety. And I will stop at nothing to bring him home."

He paused for effect, but also to stem the furious tremor in his hands. "Suna is not far. The Kazekage will be notified of your lack of cooperation."

Yashamaru was bluffing – there was no way he'd step a single foot out of the village or wait for a messenger to make the journey while there was even the smallest chance that Gaara was here.

The shinobi exchanged glances. Yashamaru almost missed the nervous flicker on one of their faces, and he tried not to relish it.

The shinobi stuck their heads together in a hushed discussion – Yashamaru couldn't make anything out other than that they seemed to be arguing.

"Okay," one of them said eventually, sounding like he'd lost the argument. "Come with us. We'll... find someone for you to talk to."

Yashamaru pressed together his lips, not pleased about being shoved off to someone else and start anew. If worse came to worst, he'd just make a break for it and comb the village by himself. If nothing else, following the ninja allowed him to scout Konoha without anyone chasing after him.

Yashamaru pushed himself to his feet and mustered a smile as fake as his willingness to put diplomacy over finding his nephew. "Lead the way," he said, and tried to decide how much of the village he would allow to leave standing if it turned out that Konoha had been trying to hide Gaara from him this entire time.


A/N: A whole bunch of POVs with a whole bunch of build-up. We're rapidly approaching the climax!

My betas are Igornerd, To Mockingbird and PyrothTenka! Go check them out, they're all wonderful writers!