Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

Part 1: Nara Shikari

"Something was off, I knew, but I was young

And didn't think adult things could go wrong.

So as we quietly filed out of the house

We wouldn't see again for another decade,"

Julia Alvarez, Exile

His ancestors had a terrible sense of humor, Shikamaru decided, and it said a lot, coming from him since his own was pretty askew, like showing Shikadai the Infinite Tsukuyomi to teach him to shut his mouth.

Shikamaru knew it was reckless of him, not to mention cruel, but if experience had taught him something, it was that if he wanted to get away with anything – especially anything shabby or even remotely scandalous – it would be best to appear crazy; hence his theatrical act.

Shikamaru had only just discovered some serious, possibly world threatening issues, when Shikadai had appeared out of the blue before Shikamaru could do some damage control; and after delving inside Hotaru's rapidly cooling and dying brain, getting blindsided by copious amount of memories in the process because he was a disgrace of a Yamanaka, only to discover that Dokuzetsu had been hijacking Etsuko's body all along, doing only Kami knew what, Shikamaru was quite distressed. Suddenly everything became more than just petty family drama about a poor girl with her cheating mother and bastard father who was trying to make a place for herself in the big, bad world; suddenly the purpose of Shikamaru's existence became clear:

To hide until the end of the world.

Shikamaru wouldn't delude himself into believing that he could defeat the physical manifestation of Kaguya's will. The thing was practically immortal; even if Shikamaru blasted it into thousands of pieces like he did to Hidan, it would simply mend itself back together and go on its merry way to ruin other people's life again. The only seemingly foolproof method (Shikamaru often wondered at night if it had actually managed to get away and pushed them into another war) to get rid of it was through sealing arts, which was unfortunate because he was neither a sealing master – he was a mid-tier, at best – nor someone with the Sage's power. Considering his work ethic, Shikamaru would probably die before he could become one.

No. Just no.

Shikamaru would leave the cleaning job to the pro. The God of Shinobi existed for a reason and Shikamaru did not want the guy to be unemployed. His existence had done enough damage already, and he did not want to screw the timeline even more.

This time around Shikamaru would fulfill his dream of ordinary life: to marry a regular person who wasn't too ugly nor too pretty. To have two children, first a girl, then a boy. To retire after his children become successful, spend the rest of his life playing shōgi or Go, and finally died of old age before his spouse did. End of story.

He simply had to get out of this mess first.

"So…" Shikamaru quietly surveyed his now cramped room, "is there any reason why you people disturb my much-needed sleep and chained me into the wall?" And with a chakra suppressor to boot, which Shikamaru had allowed them to put because he wanted them to feel safe (and because he knew how to get around it, duh). "Is this part of the training exercise? It's kinky."

Daisuke's mouth twitched into a frown. Disappointment practically oozed out of him. "Did you kill your clan head?"

Shikamaru blinked. Repeatedly.

That… was unexpected.

"You mean his dad?" Shikamaru nodded his chin towards Shikadai, who was growling menacingly from the corner of the room.

Daisuke nodded imperceptibly, as if he was afraid that further reaction would set Shikadai off. It probably would, since the preteen looked like he wanted to jump across the room and slashed his blade across his throat.

"You have my condolence." Shikamaru inclined his head. His tone was gentle, but firm. "Unfortunately, it's not me that you're looking for. I didn't kill him, didn't even know he was dead. I don't know him and have never spoken to him. I finished my patrol and then went to meditate on the dojo's rooftop to clear my head before returning to the barrack, where I found you guys waiting for me."

"You're a liar," Shikadai spat. "You omit the parts where you killed that woman, put me under that horrible genjutsu, and told me that you will kill our fathers." The boy clenched his hands, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I should've left you to rot in that basement."

At the word 'fathers', the Yamanaka clan head, a.k.a. Shikari's paternal grandfather, a handsome man in his forties (who really had no business doing meager job at the light of dawn because he was the freaking clan head), twitched – for lack of better word – before he swiftly composed himself. It was strange, because Shikamaru was pretty sure that the man did not give the slightest shit about Hitoshi.

"I said I needed to tie a loose end," Shikamaru clarified. And it was the truth, he was simply going to question them about the Uchiha sleeper agents fiasco, plant some ideas into their heads – coerce and blackmail them if he had to – to mitigate the possible fallout that could hurt their clans, and then remove himself from their memories. Shikamaru could not, in good conscience, leave them alone when he had the means to help them. "It does not mean, however, that I will kill them. I put you in that genjutsu because you wouldn't stop your ridiculous accusations, among other things."

Yamanaka cleared his throat, trying to reign the situation. "Back into our main issue. A head of a clan – a very good friend of mine – had died as of an hour ago. There's no sign of breaking in, no sign of struggles, nothing. We are trying to narrow the possible list of suspects that have come near the dojo from the last three hours. Shikadai-kun and Daisuke-san, along with corroboration from many witnesses, give us investigators strong reasons to believe that you might be our suspect. You have shown remarkable acting talent, versatile combat abilities and wide ranges of skills, all of those which the real Nara Shikari cannot possibly possess overnight. It will be remarkably easy for you to get a hold of her, as she lives with a single father that is busy with work. It's a clever cover too, because who would suspect a woman? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, I don't," Shikamaru deadpanned. Showing himself as a 'prodigy' was a gamble, but he did not foresee it to backfire like this. "But you're right, I'm not Nara Shikari, not really. Who I really am is irrelevant, as I have absolutely no intention of doing you or your clans any harm. I've gotten my eyes on something bigger than yourselves or your clans, something that you definitely do not want to get involved with; because the second it sets its eyes on you, the second it thinks that you're a threat towards its goal, you're dead. The clan head's death could be directly tied to it, but I doubt it.

"I mean, look at me. Truly look at me. Can't you see how confused I am? Do I even have a motive in your cheap fiction, or perhaps a simple common sense to escape after I have killed your so called 'good friend' as you have put it? Probably not. I am simply a mindless, convenient villain, aren't I?"

Daisuke slapped him with a resounding crack. "Mind your manners, girl."

Shikamaru flexed his throbbing jaw and gritted his teeth. "Soft punch, Akimichi." Shikamaru licked his bloodied lip. "No wonder they benched you."

Daisuke smiled benignly. "That was simply the entrée."

Yamanaka continued his speech, his pale eyes narrowed. "You choose to be difficult, I see. Which is a shame, because I want us to work together to prove your innocence. It's a routine process; painless, really. I simply have to take a peek into your mind. Cooperate, and you shall be granted a swift extraction. Resist, and I will extract that information from your head in the most painful manner possible and you will wish that you were dead."

Shikamaru stared, undeterred. "Look, I know that I'm a suspicious and an all-around unpleasant individual, but before you waste your time on me, have you ever considered the possibility that the man died of natural cause?" He held up his hand before he could be interrupted. "Ah-ah-ah, hear me out first. We live in a difficult time and medical researches are quite limited – what with us running for our lives and all – so you might not know yet, but this involves you too, especially you." He pointed at Shikadai.

"I am aware that it seems strange for someone relatively young and apparently 'healthy' to suffer from sudden death. But just like how the Yamanaka are more prone to suffer brain aneurysm, the Nara are more prone to suffer from chronic stress. Our brains take too much information… think too much. Trying to survive and making sure that others survive is hard, especially for a clan head, and I know for a fact that you're stressed so don't give me that look."

The brat huffed.

"When you are stressed," Shikamaru continued, "your amygdala – the area of your brain that deals with stress – signals to your bone marrow to produce extra white blood cells. This, in turn, causes arterial inflammation, which is involved in the process that leads to heart attacks, angina and strokes. Stress can also increase your blood pressure, which is a risk factor for cardiovascular disease. If stress itself is a risk factor for heart disease, it could be because chronic stress exposes our bodies to unhealthy, persistently elevated levels of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol.

"So, did your father die of sudden cardiac death? I don't know, you have to perform an autopsy to find out. Did he exhibit symptoms of chronic stress – headaches, indigestion, muscle tension, difficulty sleeping, racing heart, exhaustion, weight gain or loss, upset stomach, constant worry, inability to concentrate, loss of sense of humor, poor memory, anger, anxiety, mood swings, irritability, compulsive eating, impulsive actions, withdrawal from social situations, and so on? Did he complain about chest pain, perhaps lightheadedness or abnormal heartbeat? I. Don't. Know. But before you accuse me of murder, do try to eliminate natural cause first; that is, if you're not simply looking for someone to blame. If you do, you know where to find me."

It all started when Madara was unable to pee.

He had come into the creek to brood when the Head Healer had dismissed his idea of growing Tajima a new eye as ridiculous and impossible to be done and yada-yada-yada. In hindsight, it was mostly his fault, as he had been too excited and had come as quite brash and had not prepared his case beforehand before barging into the infirmary where the man was supervising their dying clansmen and started chattering into the man's ears until he was this close from having aneurysm.

But what could Madara say? He thrived in others' misery.

Madara stood there for a while, humming a song that his mother used to sing to him as he absentmindedly stared at a bark of a tree on the edge of the creek with his hands bunched on the waist of his pants, before dismissing the whole thing as a lost cause.

Madara tugged his pants up and turned around, about to reprimand whoever it was that thought that standing behind him and not respecting their fellow men's basic needs was a good idea, but the sight that greeted him shocked him to his core.

There was a white-haired boy at the other side of the creek. The boy looked to be around Izuna's age, around ten-years-old, perhaps younger even, with a black sleeveless shirt tucked into unfashionable hakama pants and a pair of wooden flip-flops. His arms, which looked skinny and frail, were protected by short gloves that looked like they were made from animal membrane – perhaps goats, lambs, or pigs intestines. The boy's hands were wrist-deep inside someone's chest.

"Um…"

Madara had seen many weird things during his short twelve years of life, but this one was quickly climbing into the top of the list. He knew that mankind was a weird species with weird fetishes, and that some human liked to eat the insides of their fellow human in order to gain more power or immortality or something that he did not really care about; perhaps the boy was one of them.

Their eyes locked. Pitch black versus red, and Madara felt his instinct urged him to activate his sharingan. Not willing to give his identity away, Madara coughed awkwardly and slowly turned into another direction. "I probably should go…"

"No, wait!" the boy called.

Madara forcefully stopped his legs.

"Please, I need help," he iterated, calmly this time. "My hands are stuck."

The boy was probably lying. But still, like a bee that was attracted to pollen, Madara inched closer, took a peek at the mess of blood and gore, then immediately cringed and regretted his action whilst willing himself not to throw up. He felt a sense of déjà vu, the whole thing reminded him of the night with the freaky girl that pumped a heart with her hand.

Madara did not know why he kept on encountering and interacting with crazy people. Why couldn't they be more normal, like Izuna, for once? Despite that, he would be lying if he said that he wasn't curious. Was he an adrenaline junkie? He probably was. He loved fighting above all else: the sights, the sounds, the thrum of his heart.. even the taste of his own blood.

The boy looked expectantly at him, as if he already knew that Madara would agree. He could practically see the upward tug of lips on the brat's otherwise blank face.

He is sooo going to regret this.

Madara crossed the creek. "What do you want me to do?"

"Please cut off this section of his ribs, so I can lift his liver. But don't graze his lung."

Madara blinked. Liver, as an organ, was soft-textured. Eaten raw, it was like a meat-flavored jelly with a bit of a snap and a chew. Cooked, it could be tender, almost creamy, or – if over-cooked – tough, dry, and mealy. "Okay."

"And don't contaminate anything."

Obviously. As if Madara would touch any of those bits without his gloves. "Okay."

"And full disclosure, since you show me your sharingan–"

Madara blanched and willed his eyes to turn black, only to realize a second later that he hadn't activated them in the first place.

He growled at the smirking boy.

"–I knew it, you're an Uchiha! I swear, all of you look the same. Still… full disclosure, I believe it is only fair to inform you that our families are archenemies–"

"Who aren't," Madara muttered.

"–Nevertheless, you seem like an amiable person – certainly pragmatic enough – and I would like to be your acquaintance, if you like."

Madara stared at the boy, at his eerie, pale, red eyes and at the pale body with the dirty blond hair before him. Inwardly he wondered what it was that had made the boy do this kind of atrocity, what had the man done to him. Madara noted the shadow below the boy's eyes, the droop of his shoulders, the darkness and the spark of madness that lied before his eyes... and stopped himself from prying.

Years later Madara would look back and continuously regret the moment when he plucked the ribs away with an air of complete resignation and said, "Okay."

It was the start of a beautiful friendship,

Not.

Shikamaru had stayed in the room for a week. He had unchained and rid himself of the chakra suppressor by meticulously overloading the arrays of seal, frizzling it along with the outermost layer of his skin. His neck was still pink and tender from the burn, but the herbal ointment that he had brought along helped to prevent infection. In his defense, he had really, really needed to pee.

There were no guards that were stationed on the floor that he was in, but a packet of military ration was always left in front of his door three times a day, so Shikamaru saved himself from the effort of climbing the stairs and simply laze around his room whilst reading whatever scrolls or books that someone had left alongside his food.

Today was day eight, and no food had come.

Feeling a bit hungry, Shikamaru dog-eared his newest leather bound book and tucked it into his satchel. He then put on his nicest yukata and fastened his shoes. He stretched out a bit before fastening his belongings into his waist.

Shikamaru trekked through the familiar twists and turns, climbing stairs upon stairs before reaching a trapdoor that Shikamaru was sure was not supposed to be there. He gently pushed the door open using his shadow, and came face to face with an empty land. There were no mess halls, no barracks, no dojo, no outpost… nothing. Everywhere he looked, there was only grass.

"Miss?"

Shikamaru blinked.

There was a peasant – a farmer, from the looks of it – who was kneeling a few feet away from him. In his hands were a packet of food and – surprisingly – a letter. Shikamaru gently took them away and put the food into his satchel. "Thank you," he said politely.

The farmer flinched, as if Shikamaru's demeanor had scared him. The man then bowed lowly before immediately trying to scurry away. Shikamaru skimmed over the letter.

"Who sends you?"

The farmer looked down onto his feet, his hands quivering with nervousness. "A young man, Miss. Four days ago, 'e gave me two gold coins to bring you offerings. Offerings for a Witc', 'e said. T'at offering was the last one. M' sorry for being late, Miss."

Him? A witch? "Never mind that." Shikamaru once again raked his eyes over the empty land. He could see marks from where one of the supporting beams had been buried into the ground. It was almost like all the buildings had been lifted off of the ground and carted away overnight. "Have you seen anything strange?"

"Aye, Miss! I was planting some corns when giants popped out of nowhere an' then disappeared."

Definitely Akimichi's Multi-Size Technique, Shikamaru thought.

"Does anyone else see them?"

"I don't thin' so, Miss. I work alone, just enough to feed me and ma' family."

"An honorable job…" Shikamaru tucked the letter into his pocket. He then made a few quick hand signs before tapping the man at his temple, mimicking the gestures that Ino had once done thousands of times. "But you never see me or the giants. You never received two gold coins from anyone. You have them because you are an honest man with an honest job. You never come into this place because it belongs to a wicked Witch. You will return to your family and never look back."

Shikamaru hauled the farmer up and pushed him into the opposite direction, then whispered, "Go."

Once the farmer had already walked considerable distance, Shikamaru made a Ram sign and as per the instruction on the latter's attachment, a genjutsu that used to conceal the barrack complex snapped shut, rendering it invincible to random passerby.

Safe within the confinement of the genjutsu protection, Shikamaru plopped down onto the grass and opened the letter again. It was written in neat blocks of kanji and kana and was signed with a bold insignia at its very bottom.

By the time you open this letter, we are no longer within the precinct. Do not fret about our whereabouts. Wherever we are, we are exactly where we want ourselves to be, i.e. as far away as possible from you.

I have always thought that the three-clans formation was tedious, that it would make it hard for us to push aside our differences and personal agendas. I was right. That is, until you came along. You fill important needs in our lives, giving us scapegoats to blame and common enemies to unite over – something to be afraid of.

It took us some digging, but we eventually uncovered everything. I do not know if you're aware of it, but your existence marked the biggest breach of security in the history of our clans: underhanded deals, homicides, thefts, human trafficking, unethical experimentation… The extent of things that your 'father' is willing to do for you is astounding; which is ironic, considering the fact that you're simply emulating his daughter. We found him in your house, disemboweled. We are not sure whether he committed seppuku or if it was his own father who took matters into his own hand – Yamanaka-dono refuses to talk about it.

We obviously cannot remain there. There's you, there's the Uchiha, and then there's that threat that you spoke about. I do not understand who it is that you're so wary of, but I would rather not tempt fate and bring its attention towards us. You do whatever it is that needs to be done, but if there's any part of you that truly wishes to do us no harm, stay away.

These last few days have been hectic, and we still aren't sure of your intention, so do forgive us for lacing draughts into your foods (I have sent you some books as consolidation). You might feel tired and more sleepy than usual, but it's quite harmless. The effects should disappear within days and you shall be as good as new. I have sent someone to deliver your food in our absence, please take care of him after you have received this letter.

In another life we might have been good friends, but we both meet under unfortunate circumstances, and we both have our own responsibilities and priorities; mine is to keep my clan safe, even from itself and at your expense. I'm still too inexperienced to assume my father's position – I am young and angry at the situation and I have rashly blamed you – but when I do, I'll make sure to be a good one. That's a promise.

Do what you want with that land, it was never ours to begin with. Grow crops, herbals, or vegetables; perhaps build a simple shed for cloud watching – it's quite therapeutic, I heard. Wherever you go, I pray that life is kind to you and I hope that you wish us the same.

Yours sincerely,

- Nara Shikadai

Shikamaru sighed and neatly folded the letter before securing it inside his satchel. The grass flattened beneath him as he lied down and closed his eyes. Blade of grass tickled his side, each one was no more than a sliver of green, yet together they danced in a way that brought out his pain and let a little goodness in. The morning sun felt warm against his arms – safe. With the chorus of the birds above and the gentle breeze of wind against his face, Shikamaru drifted to sleep,

As a free man.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.

I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.

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