A/N: Okay, remember, this chapter is in the past. Anyway, thanks go out to: InARealPickle, QuietInsomniac, Rangerfan58, iNsAnE nO bAkA, DarkRavie, Brown Eggs and Green Ham and The Laughing Phoenix.

Naruto's world is owned by some rich Japanese guy. I am, unfortunately, poor – not to mention American and female. Therefore, I obviously don't own Naruto.

Note: The section set apart by this : mark is another flash-back.

May, 3 years ago

The child clasped small hands over her mouth, stifling her giggles as she leaned eagerly towards the edge of the window. Blue eyes narrowed, locking onto her target – the boy in the window just below and across the street. 'I'm gonna get him!' Ino thought, all childish anticipation. 'I'm gonna take him over and make him do something dumb – that'll teach him to call me a sissy!'

The eight year old raised slender hands, her brow furrowed in concentration as she very carefully formed the seals her daddy had finally taught her. The little blonde bit back a squeal as she felt the weirdest twisting feeling, and then… then the ground was too far away, and it wasn't her own crossed, skirt-covered legs she was looking down at.

The eleven year old civilian boy she had possessed had thankfully leaned against the wall, or else the little girl would have fallen at the sudden change in her center of gravity. Drawing a steadying breath, the 'boy' looked up, fully prepared to start shouting nonsense and making faces – but then Ino really noticed the other two in the room.

The boy's mother was standing quietly, which was fine. But the little step-sister – one of the First Year Academy students if she remembered right – was crying, sobbing into her step-mother's shirt as she clung to her. Ino froze, mind blanking as all her carefully laid plans went right back out that window.

Finally the younger girl pulled back, raising tear-stained eyes to the adult. "You believe me, right Mom?" the girl – 'Kisa?' she thought 'yeah, Kisa-chan' – asked, her voice trembling. "There's really bad people, and they're here and hiding and… and we've got to do something! He said not to tell, to stay quiet, but… I had to tell you, Mom. I couldn't keep it secret anymore. What do we do, Mom? What do we do?"

'Bad people? Hiding? What? What bad people?!' Ino thought, utterly confused.

The woman knelt, drawing the frightened girl into her arms and running a hand gently over the child's hair. "Who told you not to tell, Kisa-chan?" she murmured quietly. "Who gave you such an idea? Can you tell me his name, baby?"

The little one shook her head, her face pressed into the adult's shirt once again. "Nuh-uh Mom. I promised. He said… said if I was gonna be stupid, I had to promise not to drag them in it. I can't tell you, Momma, but… but what can I do?"

There was a short moment of silence, and then the woman's voice sounded again, just as soft and low as before. "Then, there's only one thing you can do Kisa. Die." At first the soft words didn't register – until the hand in the child's hair tightened, quickly pulling down and left. The wrenching motion was accompanied by the sound of a loud crack, and the child dropped motionless towards the floor. Ino froze, every borrowed muscle locking up in horrified disbelief. The woman stood, the still form of the little girl in her arms, and slanted a look at Ino. "Kai, maybe you should go lay back down, son. I don't think that fever's gone down yet – your face is pale."

'Kai' stood motionless in place as the woman walked out of the room, and then collapsed to the floor as Ino flung herself back to her own body in a panic. There were tears streaming down the child's face as she scrambled awkwardly to her feet, rushing blindly back down the side streets to her house. She slammed through her front door, raced down the hall, shoved her bedroom door open and closed again and flung herself onto her bed.

She was never sure, later, just how long she lay there, curled desperately around her pillow. But finally a sound – a familiar, beloved voice calling her parents' return – broke her out of her shock. Everything crashing down on her at once, Ino screamed, a high, hysterical sound.

Almost instantly, her bedroom door was flung open, wood splintering from the force of the impact against it, and a blond man charged into the room, kunai in each hand. Ino looked at him – at the blades in his hands, the fierce, violent expression on his face – and screamed a second time, scrambling away from him. Hard, cold eyes swept the room, and then warmed, weapons disappearing as if they had never been. The sudden change, had he known it, terrified the child all over again.

A brunette woman glanced around the doorjamb, and then stepped quickly into the room, setting – of all things – a frying pan on the floor as she approached the bed. Inoichi stepped back, letting his wife fold their obviously frightened daughter into her arms, listening as she cooed to the child.

After a moment, he sat on the edge of the bed beside them. "What's wrong, Princess?" he asked quietly, reaching out to smooth one calloused hand over baby-fine blonde locks. He didn't miss the shudder that ran through the girl.

"Nightmare, baby?" his wife asked, watching until Ino nodded silently, almost helplessly.

And all the while, their baby girl stared at them as if they were strangers.

----

The boy moved slowly, a mindless, almost mechanical quality to his gait that resulted in his steps dragging slightly across the ground instead of the smooth glide that he'd long ago picked up from the older shinobi. If anyone had cared enough to bend down – or simply tipped the eight year old's chin up – they would have realized that his brown eyes were glazed, the intelligence in them dulled by shock. Shikamaru's usually brilliant mind was in complete lock-down, unable to process anything beyond the memory that had been looping through his brain ever since the class had been informed that morning of the unfortunate death of their lowerclassman.

: "I've got to tell her, Shika-kun!" the little girl cried, tears brimming in wide green eyes. "I can't keep this inside – it hurts too much! Momma will be able to figure it out, she'll find out what's going on. Then she'll fix it, and we won't have to worry no more! You should've told a grown up when you found out something wasn't right – I don't get why you didn't. But I've got to!"

Shikamaru had ground his teeth, frustrated that she couldn't understand the need to have more information before they brought stupid feelings to the attention of the adults. They'd be laughed at, and then the adults would talk – 'you'll never guess what my kid said today' he could hear it already – and that could get them in trouble! "Fine!" he'd finally spit out, irritated beyond the boy's ability to control. "Tell her then, but don't you dare tell her about the rest of us, you got it?! No names, Kisa – promise me that!" :

'She promised', he thought dimly. 'She promised… and now she's dead.' The boy had been on auto-pilot all morning, and still was as he made his way into his house. He vaguely noticed the larger pair of shoes on the mat beside the front door, but his shock-numbed mind failed to make the connection between the shoes' presence and the return of one of his parents. Though even if he had realized that one of their missions was over, he still wouldn't have been able to prevent the tensing of his muscles when his father called his name.

Shikaku laid one hand on his son's shoulders, noting both the tension and the near-blankness in the boy's eyes. "Shika?" he nearly murmured, his voice soft and low as he cautiously assessed his son's mental and emotional state. The boy blinked a few times, as if he couldn't quite understand the inherent question, but then he shook himself a little.

"It's…" the boy started, but then stopped, his eyes focusing inward as he strung his words together. Had he known it, Shikamaru was surprised to hear himself speak, the words falling thoughtlessly from his lips. "One of the first-years died yesterday" he explained, automatically censoring himself. "They said that she was practicing something, probably how to fall or a jumping roll or… or something… and she hit the ground wrong. Dad… she broke her neck. I just… it was never real, before, that… this shinobi stuff… it's dangerous, Dad. It's… really dangerous…" Shikamaru's words trailed off, his voice dropping throughout his explanation as his mind turned inward once again.

The boy shook off his father's concerned hand, muttering something indistinct about homework, and Shikaku could only watch worriedly as the child trudged into his room. The closing of the door was nothing new, but the click of the lock was, and the Jounin offered a silent prayer that this tragedy wouldn't damage his son's mindset too badly.

Finally alone, safe in his room with the door locked and the curtains pulled, Shikamaru curled up on his bed, back leaning against his headboard. At his father's touch, his mind had finally broken out of the loop it had been trapped in all day, and now his thoughts were racing a million miles an hour. Shika vaguely thought that, given the turn those thoughts had taken, he preferred the loop.

'How well do I know my parents' he thought, confused and dismayed. 'Not as Mom and Dad, but as people? What do I know about their interests, their hobbies? Anything outside of the 'parent' role? I know… I know that they're shinobi. I know that Dad goes drinking sometimes with Inoichi-san and Chouza-san. And… and…' Those brown eyes narrowed in thought, and then widened again in pained realization. 'And that's all' he thought, nearly numb again. 'Do I know them as well as I thought I did? As well as I need to? …as well as Kisa knew hers? …do I know them at all?'

He wished he could ask his father what to do, wished he could run to the man and pour out all his problems and fears like he did as a younger child. It hurt, to be unsure of his own family. But his parents were gone more than they were home, and with the cost of trusting the wrong person… Shikamaru wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees as he finally allowed the emotions he'd been keeping inside to surface.

Alone in his room, doubt and death consuming his mind, the child trembled uncontrollably.