Full summary:
"Whether you come as a lover or an executioner, I am ready to receive you."
-The Carnivorous Lamb by Agustin Gomez-Arcos, translated by William Rodarmor
Set in an AU where the Akatsuki were smarter and more determined to exact revenge on the very system that had cast them aside. Before the Chuunin exams could take place, they had, undercover, wormed their way into the villages and sowed the seeds of distrust, eventually sparking the Fourth Shinobi War, pitting all the villages against each other.
Now, six years later, Shikamaru is 22 and, having lost both his teacher and father in the Fourt Shinobi War, the new strategist for Konoha's ever-diminishing shinobi army. The war has whittled away his humanity, hardening him to the tough life of a general. He has seen much in the past few years and his reputation for cunning grows larger every day. But one fateful day, he is ambushed by someone from Suna-someone with blond hair and a large fan, and the wits to match him.
.
So yeah this is an AU otherwise none of these scenarios could ever happen. I honestly don't really know where exactly I plan to take this and a bunch of this will probably not make sense from a timeline point of view; I only know I like that quote and I was struck by feelings of Shikatema with that quote and I just had to write it.
For a sorta detailed timeline of the AU and how it splits from canon, check out the notes at the bottom.
I sorta plan on continuing this but also might not so your guess is as good as mine. Thanks for dropping by.
Shikamaru considered himself a practical person. He never shied away from challenges presented to him, it was true. But he also never recklessly sought out risks and danger the way some of his peers did-the way a certain blond loudmouth with whiskers did.
He held his cards close to his heart, tucked away under layers of chain mesh and sarcastic remarks. He wore his laziness as a glamorous armor-meant to deceive and fool so that his enemies never saw the cunning beneath. His impassiveness was his crown, one that he wore as easily as he breathed.
When the Fourth Shinobi War had broken out, these were the traits that had saved the life of a young teen at the tip of adulthood. That child had charged into battle, the same careless smirk on his face, his eyes half-lidded with disinterest, thinking the world was his game, his chess board for the taking.
He was no longer that child.
Now, he knew better. The war had gone on for years, far longer than any of them had thought it ever would. The Akatsuki had been smart. They had wormed their way into their thoughts, breaking the shaky foundations of trust among the villages, using their weaknesses against each other. And before anyone had known that they were the real enemies all along, the shinobi villages had turned on each other, spreading bloodshed in their wake as the Akatsuki laughed from their hidden thrones.
Shikamaru's reputation had grown in the midst of war, the perfect nourishment for his latent potential, fueled by the deaths of his father and mentor.
And now, six years later, everyone knew of him, of Konoha's hidden shadow, who struck with a furious vengeance. Seeing his face alone scared shinobi away, knowing they had no way to outwit him. However, that brought Shikamaru no pleasure. He was sick of war and violence, of all the needless deaths, when the real enemy was still out there, biding their time.
He wanted peace. Or a vacation. He would even take a nap, if that was all he could get.
.
He didn't get his wish. Any of them. Before the sun had even begun to think of rising, Shikamaru was roused from his sleep, the dark circles under his eyes growing darker by the minute and his sore muscles screaming at him.
"We need you, Shikamaru," said Kakashi, who had taken over as their secondary Hokage-after the Sandaime and Yondaime's untimely deaths, Konoha was more careful with their next batch of Hokages, instating Kakashi as their Rokudaime while Tsunade was still alive, to ensure that the line of succession happened as smoothly as possible should she fall during the war.
Shikamaru made barely a grumble, though, in another life, he would probably have made some retort like, "You always need me". Instead, he dragged himself out of bed obediently. Though, to call it a bed was an overstatement. It was merely a few blankets thrown hastily onto a tent floor, their shapes unaligned, with a worn-out, nearly thin pillow on top. Being their main strategist, he knew he was lucky to have his own tent-the other, less key figures in the army were crammed around five to a tent-but still, he longed for the days when he could sleep in a soft bed until two in the afternoon, with the sun in his eyes as his only indication of the time. Those memories felt like a lifetime away. The memories of a naive child.
They made their way to their makeshift war room-four sticks pitched together with a waterproof cloth thrown over it to create an overhang. There was a sturdy desk at its center, made of short wooden poles and planks that could easily be dismantled in a hurry. Or destroyed and used for kindling. Whichever came first.
Though Kakashi and Shikamaru were high ranking officials and, as such, deserved better quarters, they were the ones who personally led their vanguard and scouting troops. They had learned early on that surprise and mobility were key to all their strategies, and had abandoned all permanent structures quickly.
A map was laid out on the table, Shino and Kiba standing by it, with Hinata not too far off. Three now-cold cups of tea were set on the table behind them, long forgotten. As Shikamaru approached, one of the shinobi on standby-Shikamaru couldn't remember his name and had long since stopped caring; the less he knew about them, the less painful it was when he learned of their deaths-handed him a lukewarm cup of coffee.
Shikamaru grunted, downing the cup in two gulps, letting the bitter taste revive his senses a little, though not by much. The air was chilly and damp, and he could feel the headache of fatigue creeping up on him. "What are we up against?"
Kakashi jabbed at the map, at a small gorge wedged between two canyons. The gorge had been dried out a few years back, likely due to the damage to the environment the war had wrought, and the pass it revealed was narrow and small, barely worth anything. Shikamaru waited for Kakashi to explain what he wanted.
"I've sent the three of them this morning-" Here, Kakashi jerked a thumb at Kiba, Shino, and Hinata. "-to scout ahead, and everything looks clear. Which, as you know, isn't right. They should have set up fortresses and everything. The Suna-nin may be a lot of things, but they aren't dumb or talentless. Their scouts would have known we were coming."
"Maybe they simply left after the injuries they got from Kumo last week," Kiba ventured.
Shino shook his head. "They're powerful. They don't tuck tails. Ever."
Shikamaru examined the map closely. "They can't be so stupid as to think they'd win an ambush against us. The gorge is covered in shadows, and they have to know I'm here. They should have crossed over and attacked us from our side of the gorge, away from the shadows."
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, his brain feeling sluggish. It would take a few more minutes before the caffeine would kick in, but he needed his mind working now. "Who's leading them? Do we know?"
Kiba gave a rueful shake of his head. "Some new player, a good one. We don't know who he is. Suna's always been secretive, but now it's getting harder and harder to find out anything."
"Then you simply have to get better," Shikamaru snapped. "It's why you're here, isn't it? So make yourself useful and get that intel we need."
Kiba flinched and backed down, the wisp of a glower in his eyes. Shikamaru ignored him, though he knew exactly what the other man was thinking. They had been comrades once. Friends. But friendships and coddling were for the weak, and Shikamaru had a job to do. He wasn't going to be the one to cause all their deaths. Never again.
"There has to be a reason they're setting an ambush in the gorge," he said. His finger tapped the map restlessly, itching to pull out the cigarette pack in his pocket. He closed his eyes and ran through what he knew about the gorge in his head, listing everything neatly like an instruction manual. His eyes flew open. "The rocks. The sand. The water that used to be there weathered the rocks down to fine sand. The whole place must be filled with it."
"No," Hinata breathed, speaking for the first time. "Not him. It can't be."
"We can't take on him," agreed Kiba, shaking a little, looking queasy. "None of us can."
"I think that's an insult to my skill," Kakashi said carefully.
Kiba scoffed. "You were in your youth. He's a demon now."
Shikamaru's eyes hardened and he fixed the dog lover with an intense stare. Next to Kiba, Akamaru whined.
"Well, it's a good thing I fight demons."
.
The battle had taken longer than Shikamaru had originally calculated. Their losses had been tremendous, and he cursed his foolishness and haughtiness as they set up camp a little ways from the gorge, in sight of it but not close enough as to be attacked without warning.
"Curse you and your wind," Shikamaru mumbled, limping his way through their camp. A medical-nin approached him and he waved her off, nearly growling. He would tend to this wound himself, as a reminder of his failures.
He and Kakashi had arrived, with Lee in tow, expecting a decisive battle. The taijutsu user had bested the demon of the sand once before, and this time, Shikamaru had contingencies in place to back him up. His plan couldn't go wrong.
He had been so caught up in his own self-assuredness that he hadn't stopped to confirm any of his facts.
It had not been the fourth Kazekage greeting them at the gorge.
No, it had been his sister.
Shikamaru knew of her, of course, and it was only too late he realized her advantage: the wind was everywhere in the depths of the gorge, howling around them in fast sweeps, reaching them long before Shikamaru could reach the shadows.
There had been no cover.
Now, as Shikamaru leaned against a tree, he replayed the scene in his head. He had refused to retreat, of course, his pride preventing him from doing so. The war had murdered his humility, rendering it obsolete, with only vengeance and ego keeping him afloat. He had scoured the canyon walls, using the shadows to propel himself up. Lee had been a distraction down below-he was tough enough to withstand her attacks-and he had caught her by surprise when the length of his shadow snaked its way towards her.
But she had been too fast, and the two of them had engaged in a game of cat and mouse, chasing each other relentlessly on the top of the canyon, obscured by rocks and trees.
Shikamaru sucked in air noisily through his teeth, feeling drunk, as if he had downed a glass of sake too many. Except he knew that wasn't the case; he refused to consume alcohol, knowing how much it would dull his senses and make him invulnerable. He hated feeling weak and helpless-out of control.
He staggered to his tent, the nearby shinobi-most of them young and fresh-eyed, he noticed, likely recently graduated from the Academy-watching him with cautious eyes, their gazes slightly averted as to not draw his attention.
But he saw everything. He always did.
He reached the entrance of his tent and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, drawing one out and lighting it. He placed it to his lips, the familiar roll soothing him. He could smell the smoke surrounding him, encasing him in its invisible warmth.
It had been a close game between the two of them. A game of high stakes, with their lives on the line, where losing was not an option, where they were risking and sacrificing everything they had-but it had been a game nonetheless.
He found himself shaking, overcome with a feeling that he hadn't felt in a very long time, not since the start of the war.
Was it fear? Shikamaru took a long drag of his cigarette, his hand trembling and dumping ashes onto the floor.
No, it wasn't fear. He knew fear. He wasn't so arrogant as to have forgotten it. Fear slept with him wherever he went, his unshakable lover, always reminding him of what he was fighting for, what he had to lose.
No, this was not fear. It was excitement.
No one had bested him in years, not since Hidan, and the immortal had paid heavily for that. Shikamaru had made sure it never happened again, that he always had the upper hand.
And yet...she had. Well, he had still won over her, in the end, but she had come so close, closer than anyone had ever dared.
It sent another shiver through him, his grip on his lit cigarette tightening, turning his knuckles white. He forced himself to relax but he found he couldn't.
He was drunk on it, on the thought of her.
"You're just one man, Nara Shikamaru," she had hissed into his ear, a tiny proclamation that had echoed loudly in his ears, her breath hot on his skin. "You can only control so many shadows. But me? I have the wind on my side."
He had done the impossible. He had laughed, which infuriated her, her teal eyes ablaze with a promise of something unspeakable. He had welcomed that promise, drawn to her like a magnet but repelling like the opposite ends of the pole.
Shikamaru swallowed, closing his eyes, his cigarette dropping to the ground, though he barely noticed.
He could still feel it, the cold edge of her kunai pressed against his throat, her one mark against him. Her face had been inches away from his so that he could see every line on her face, every detail: her sun-kissed skin and hair like dark sand, her gown of ghastly death. The strands of hair falling over her smirking eyes-a dangerous vow of retribution within them that had made his heart hammer in his ears-and the slight parting of her dried lips, old blood painted on them. And beneath it all: that ruthless acumen and quick judgement, those same hardened eyes that Shikamaru saw every time he looked in a mirror, a reflection of what he had become.
There was no escape from someone like that.
.
That night, as he laid in bed, tossing and turning and waiting for the sun's first rays to appear, he could not stop thinking about her, a demon summoned from the deep hell of his mind, existing to match him, word for word, blow for blow. He found himself staring at the ceiling of his tent, at the shadows dancing on the walls.
Her name rang relentlessly in his head, an echoing prayer in the sacred halls of his consciousness. Numbly, his fingers strayed to the bandage at his throat.
He knew only one thing.
No matter what, even if it cost him his soul- especially if it cost him his soul-he had to see her again. His own demon in the dark.
Temari of the desert.
Timeline:
- Akatsuki, undercover, sow seeds of distrust in the villages, whispering secrets and lies to them so that none of them trust each other.
- This gets so bad that the chuunin exams during Naruto's time is cancelled right after Gaara and Lee's fight (we never get to the last round), with war threatening to spill
- Orochimaru still attempts to take over, and Hiruzen dies.
- There's two years of growing unrest and unease, and eventually the attempted kidnappings of Jinchuuriki by the villages (the Akatsuki in disguise-they disguised the kidnappings and each other as respectable members from the five hidden villages) starts the Fourth Shinobi war
- The Akatsuki join the chaos, though the villages are too busy fighting each other to take notice of them too much