Chapter Text
Shikamaru knelt on the blood soaked soil of the battlefield. Sweat poured down his back creating channels in the caked on dirt, sand, and blood from enemies and fallen comrades. Panting desperately as if more air in his lungs could fix his state of exhaustion. His mouth is dry and sticky from yelling commands for hours without water. He had managed to stay alive this long somehow, he had no will to go on and he doesn’t believe he had much of one to begin with. It’s been years since he can remember the will of fire that Naruto is so full of. Did he need to spend more time with him? Will there be more time to spend with him? Will Naruto die today? Will he die today ? His body shuddered at the thought of a world without Naruto. It’d be a world without light to guide the people, a dark age, worse than any era experienced to date.
He slapped his hands hard on either side of his face, the sting dancing across his cheeks bringing his focus back to the situation. Was he really lost in thought in the midst of battle? Asuma taught him better than that.
“Even as you analyze the situation, never take your focus off the battle; watch every move, every play. Never take your eyes off the board.” He heard in Asuma’s stern voice he used when he was serious, which wasn’t very often.
Shikamaru scanned the field , the sight so awful he wished he was blind. Bodies strewn all over the place as if it was trash at a festival coating the ground.
He looked to his left seeing Neji’s lifeless body, spikes still lodged through his chest. He was draped over a boulder with Lee’s Leaf waist band tied around his eyes like a blindfold. The corners of shikamaru’s lips curled slightly upward. Though he wasn’t happy in any sense of the word, he knew just by looking at Neji that Lee loved him. Loved him so much and mourned him so greatly, he has clearly placed him delicately onto the stone. He most likely tied the waistband blindfold to shield Neji from seeing any more of this gruesome war; he was foolish and sentimental that way.
A feeling bubbled up in shikamaru, one that shocked him, disturbed even; the feeling of envy. Deep in his mind he wished that was him, to have died nobly in battle, to be loved that much. But that just wasn’t his luck.
“Tsk, what a drag.” He muttered.
Suddenly, he felt the ground beneath him begin to rumble. His eyes darted from side to side, scanning every possible threat to surmise what was causing this tremor. Based on the vibrations it was coming from Naruto’s direction. Was it Naruto’s attack that caused such a massive quake?
No. This wasn’t a quake, this was movement. Movement underground.
“Get off the ground, NOW!” he barked. A sea of shinobi followed his command, doing everything in their power to get away from the vibrating surface. Their efforts were in vain as wood crashed upwards through the earth.
“Wood?!” Shikamaru thought out loud . “Fuck this is really, really not good,” He whined as a small vine-like branch grabbed his ankle. An image of Team 10 flashed across his mind, the photo they took together when they were officially placed under Asuma sensei. In a fraction of a second the image in his mind formed a frame around it, and was sitting in a very familiar place; his own bedroom. The picture became dusty, then clean, then dusty again, a swipe appeared in the dust clearing only the upper portion of the photo. Sensei? The dust formed again, still lighter over the previous cleared swipe. Was this his life flashing before his eyes? Even this was a disappointment to him. The last moment of his life, and all he got was an image he had looked at everyday.
The vine spiraled up his leg at an insane speed, he was unable to move or stop it. This must be how others felt when he used the Shadow Strangle jutsu; helpless , stuck , and -- frankly -- manhandled. Before he could voice his displeasure, the vine bloomed to encapsulate him. Shikamaru let out a small startled scream.
“What the fuck is this????” He thought. “How can I get out?” He retrieved a kunai from his leg pouch and began carving at the wooden prison. It let off an unusual smell, not the smell of carved wood that’s for sure.
Shikamaru stopped immediately; he didn't like not knowing what to do next. His brain was foggy, was the exhaustion finally catching up? No that wasn’t it. Were his chakra levels too low? No , it’s running on low but not dangerously so just yet. Why was his brain so clouded? Why couldn’t he think clearly? It’s the only thing he has left. He can’t lose that too, he can’t , he has lost too much already. His brain is circling, self deprecating, doing nothing useful.
“God, I hate myself, I’m useless.” He thought in a remarkably clear way. “Oh, of course that’s what I can hear clearly” Scowling internally. His fingers and toes began to numb. It crept up his body, making his hair stand on end. A feeing of dread strikes through his nervous system, and suddenly he couldn’t feel anything; not a single cell in his body. Everything went black, his consciousness was suspended in darkness.
Was this death?
A sudden jolt of sensation shot down his spine. Could he feel again? Gradually, his toes and fingers began to feel the space around them, warm like a summer's day. Strange; it was early spring and certainly not this warm. Was it some sort of jutsu? He searched for an explanation in the darkness around him. The warmth spread from his extremities up through his limbs like a wave of static crawling up his body. He felt his legs crossed—had he somehow positioned them that way when he couldn’t feel them? How was that possible? Sensation returned to his lower abdomen. He felt wood pressing against his ass—was he sitting down with his legs crossed? His stomach should have felt empty and sore upon regaining sensation, yet it was full and warm, as if he had just finished a meal. The sensation swept over his chest, his lungs were no longer hungry for air or strained from battle. Had he been healed? Perhaps Lady Hokage or Sakura had treated him?
No, felt as if he had never been in war to begin with. Why was it still dark? The sensation traveled up his neck and over his lips; he felt wind against his neck, angry and focused. Was this an attack? His lips tingled, and he could taste his favorite cola with a hint of a very familiar chemical—cigarettes, the kind he had smoked every day. As sensation returned to his nose, he was overwhelmed by scents. Some he recognized immediately, others were familiar but elusive. The most distinct scents were the harsh smell of cigarettes he had tasted just a moment ago, and the scent of a hot muggy summer night.
He knew that scent well. Since the incident with Hidan, he had trouble sleeping most nights, often wandering the village, walking on rooftops and gazing at the night sky. Before he could explore the other scents, the wave of static washed over his eyes, and to his surprise, they were wide open.
In front of him was an outstretched arm which held a chakra blade to his throat. Startled, he let out a yelp like a puppy as he attempted to jump back. He couldn't move, his body wasn’t listening to his commands. It stayed there, frozen. Shikamaru’s focus drifted up the arm, and without any command from his brain tears began to stream down his face like a roaring river. What his eyes saw must have meant he was dead, and this was the afterlife.
Before him sat his Sensei , the man he wished everyday since his death to see just one more time, Asuma Sarutobi. But why was he holding a chakra blade to his throat?
Shikamaru didn’t care, Asuma could strike him down then and there and it would be the least he deserved for being so fucking useless. He had lost Asuma because he messed up and underestimated the opponent.
He’d sworn to never let a comrade or friend die in front of him again, but he failed. He had failed so miserably. Moments ago he was standing on the soggy land of a massacre. Staring down at countless bodies, covered in the blood of those closest to him. Images he would never be able to shake. But now as sick as it was to say he was happy, he saw Asuma one last time and that was more than he deserved.
All the familiar scents fell into place, and he knew exactly where he was. He was sitting on the wooden porch of the Nara estate, across a table from Asuma. Whom was stretched over the table to press a blade against his throat, with a cigarette hanging out the left side of his mouth. A half-finished game of shogi sitting between them, he didn’t even have to look at the board to know he was winning. It was very late in the evening, just after dinner, he had a glass of cola next to him. He could hear the carbonation pop against the glass and ice. The sound accompanied by the loud chorus of frog croaks, and distant shrill buzz of cicadas.
He had no memory of why he was here on this porch, or why Asuma was attacking him. For once he had no idea and didn’t care in the slightest. This was the calmest he has felt in years. He couldn’t describe it, the feeling of relief that flooded him, the world felt still for once.
“Who are you? And what did you do to Shikamaru.” Asuma barked, breaking the silence with a tone Shikamaru had never heard directed at him.
“It’s me Sensei!” he managed to say, his voice unintentionally shook, "it's me, Shikie!” His arms hung relaxed, as though Asuma was not a threat at all.
Asuma's blade faltered slightly before returning to its position. He had never called Shikamaru ‘Shikie’ in front of anyone but the boy himself. Not even Ino or Choji could know about the inside nickname.
Asuma’s glare at the man before him only deepened. He couldn’t explain what just happened if his life depended on it. From Asuma’s point of view, it had been a normal night. After taking Team 10 -- his precious Genin -- out for barbecue, he and Shikamaru had returned to the Nara estate to discuss training strategies over a few rounds of shogi. That was until, suddenly, the 13 year-old Genin, dispersed like a shadow-clone (a jutsu neither of them possessed), and was replaced by a grown man sitting in his exact position.
On instinct, Asuma had lunged forward, chakra blade in hand and pressed firmly against the intruder's neck. Something felt off, the man in front of him seemed dazed, but not malicious. If this was an attack on a skilled Jōnin, Lord Third’s son & former member of the Twelve Guardian Ninja, then their attack would need to be flawless. But the man’s body language did not indicate that this was an attack at all; in fact, he seemed almost relaxed.
Can he really be so confident that he could defeat me? Asuma thought, No, then he would never have bothered masquerading as Shikamaru in the first place. More notably, this guy is a Nara if i’ve ever seen one, the genes in that clan are unwavering there’s no denying that. So what is going on? Why’d this imposter use a name only Shikamaru and I would know?.
Shikamaru hated the nickname, Asuma remembered; always complained when he used it. “It's longer than just saying Shika, so why waste the effort?” he’d always say in his usual monotone voice.
Either way… Asuma thought, mind racing.
The question of the real Shikamaru still remains. It’s my duty to protect him ‘til he can protect himself, so I need to figure this out right now!
“Liar!” Asuma barked again with all the protective violence of a rottweiler. “My Shikamaru is a 13 year old Genin! Who was just sitting where you are now moments ago, now I’ll ask again, and if you aren’t honest then you’re dead.”
My Shikamaru? Shikamaru thought acidly, what, do you own me or something, old man? Shikamaru would have laughed in his sensei’s face if the circumstances were different. He needed to think of a solution, and to choose his words very carefully.
“Sensei, I don’t have time to feed you a believable lie,” Shikamaru began “And I don’t truly know enough about what’s going on to do so, either. So I’m going to go with the truth.”
Shikamaru tilted his head up and looked directly into Asuma’s eyes. “If you choose to kill me where I sit then I won’t blame you for doing so. That is your right.” He positioned his carotid artery at the tip of Asuma’s blade. Like a deer walking up to a hunter with an uncertain hope for compassion and an expectation of death.
Asuma recognized a gleam in this foreign man’s eye; it was the same as when Shikamaru would bet everything on a course of action.
Shikamaru carried on.
“I-... well I don’t exactly know where to start. How do I summarize a lifetime of information?” he sighed, “ugh, this is going to be a drag.”
Asuma’s chakra blade wavered, as that familiar catchphrase left the man’s lips. Shikamaru pretended not to notice.
“From what I’ve gathered there are four possibilities. First, I have somehow entered an alternate world that isn’t my own. Second, I have somehow traveled through time and returned to my younger body. Third, which I see as the most likely scenario, a powerful genjutsu called the Infinite Tsukuyomi has been placed over the world.”
“That would make this the so-called dreamworld Madara described” Shikamaru continued, never breaking his direct gaze. “You being here with me is even more evidence, Sensei. Fourth, and least optimistic -- I’m dead and this is the afterlife.”
Asuma’s head ached. Not only was his question still unanswered, but it had multiplied. But something was pulling at his heart, something about the man sitting before him. There was a familiarity in everything he did and said, down to the smallest mannerisms, the patterns in which he spoke, even the way he breathed. It all matched Shikie.
How is that possible? Asuma felt the need to ‘find’ his Shikamaru begin to slip away. Something inside was screaming at him that this man in front of him was Shikamaru!
But, if that’s true, what happened to him?
Surveying the man, even though he was in perfect condition physically his eyes looked weathered and defeated. He is wise beyond his years, Asuma thought, even wiser than even the brilliant Genin should be at this age. But wisdom like this doesn’t usually come from experience alone, it’s paid for in pain. What did the world do to you Shikamaru? Did I fail to protect you?
Asuma shook the thoughts from his head, and he reminded himself that he still didn’t know whether or not this really was the real Shikamaru. Or even how such a thing would be possible.
Asuma blinked as he attempted to process the events.
Wait, did he say Madara? As in Madara Uchiha?!
“Madara Uchiha is dead!” Asuma scowled.
“I wish that were true, “ Shikamaru shot back unenthusiastically, ”He was reawakened by the Akatsuki using a reanimation jutsu.”
Asuma dropped his blade held against Shikamaru’s throat. It clattered off the shogi table and landed on the wood porch, where it made the sound of a rolling coin as it gradually came to a stop.
“How do you know about the Akatsuki? That knowledge is classified to everyone below the rank of Jōnin!”
“Ugh, Old Man Third was always so cagey with information. Maybe we wouldn’t have had a fourth Great War in the first place if he and the dirty rat terrorist Danzo didn’t run this village.” Shikamaru growled, forgetting Lord Third was Asuma’s father since the two couldn’t be more different.
“Yeah,” Asuma breathed. “My old man trusts that Danzo guy way too much. It’s clear he’s -- “ He caught himself “Wait, how do you know Danzo and Lord Third run the village together? That’s something only Anbu and myself are supposed to know.”
Asuma was surprised to find himself so comfortable around this stranger, it felt as though he’d known him for years.
“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, I’m also an advisor to the Fifth Hokage, Lady Tsunade,” Shikamaru began, slowly , “So much has happened since my days as a Genin; we’d be here all night if I was to tell you everything.” He sighed, “What a drag. I’ve not had even a moment of rest away from the war.”
Asuma laughed. This was the Shikie he knew, there was no doubting that now. His heart brimmed with pride and respect. To see Shikamaru all grown up like this, wise beyond his years and serving as advisor to none other than the Hokage! Shikamaru was still several years Asuma’s junior; but, despite this, Asuma still got the same feeling he did when addressing a superior.
“How about this, let’s take this conversation to my place. You can rest there, plus we’ll have a place to hide away from the prying eyes of the Nara.” Asuma said.
Shikamaru’s eyes darted around; lost in the moment, he forgot they were even at his home. He needs to watch his mouth.
He knew all too well how dense Nara security was, and their preferred way of interrogating so-called ‘outsiders.’ And the last thing he needed was those three poking around in his head.
“Good idea,” he breathed, “let’s leave immediately.”
“Once we’re at my place we can discuss this in a more leisurely way. With booze, of course; I need a drink after what you’ve told me so far,” Asuma stood, and extended his hand to Shikamaru. “ You look like you could use some yourself, Shikie. You look about old enough to drink, am I right?”
“We can pretend I am, sure,” Shikamaru said sarcastically, “I mean, if I’m old enough to fight a war I should be old enough to have a drink for fuck sake.” He gave Asuma a thin smile, ”Plus, I will be in three months if it matters” He stated, taking Asuma by the hand.
When their hands touched, Shikamaru jumped, feeling the familiar heat of his sensei’s hand flowing through his own. His frigid finger tips stung as Asuma’s warmth spread over them, seeping into his tissue, into his bones—a comfort he had almost forgotten.
Shikamaru had always run cold; even on the hottest summer days, his fingers and toes remained cool to the touch. He recalled placing his cold hands against Asuma’s neck on hot days; the man always ran so hot, and he’d always let out a loud groan; as cool brought him relief. This same warmth and comfort he felt now would envelope him. Tears welled up in Shikamaru’s eyes, and he quickly blinked them away.
“Your hands are so hot you could fry an egg Sensei, you know that?‘ he chuckled, this was a lame inside joke he’ll admit but he used to say it to Asuma back in the day.
As he stands up, he grabs the precious chakra blade from the floor and flips it around his finger handing it to Asuma handle first, a sign of camaraderie and trust.
“Let’s get going then, I trust you know the way?“ Asuma asked, smiling. This was the last test for the ‘imposter’ Shikamaru, though there wasn’t a bit of doubt in his mind at this point. This is Shikamaru, all grown up and more of a man than he finds himself.
Shikamaru did know the way. He had spent a lot of time there, especially after he passed the Chūnin exam. He and Asuma were great friends, they were closer than some families. But their relationship was always strictly as friends or team mates.
They arrived at Asuma’s home. Though the man didn’t look like it, his position as Jōnin afforded him a spacious home and enough money to fill it with nice things. The two-story house was quite nice and always tidy. Surprisingly he never smoked inside so the house smelt fresh, a hint of cooking herbs that grew in planters on the kitchen window sill, filled the room with their fragrance. Shikamaru had grown to hate those plants in his time, he tried his best to keep them growing. He took care of them perfectly and followed Ino’s instruction to the letter but they wilted despite his efforts. They had remained in that window sunken and dried. Now the scent of them flourishing coated the house adding to its cozy and revived atmosphere.
As you walk into the front door, you’re met with a spacious living room attached to the open kitchen that sat at the back of the house. A dining table separating the two rooms. To the left of the dining table was a hallway where the bathroom door sat just before you reached the stairs at the end of it. The bathroom was equally spacious, in it sat an immense and impossibly beautiful floor set soaking tub; Asuma’s personal hot-spring to relax his muscles after intense missions or days of training. Upstairs, Shikamaru knew there were three bedrooms. One was Asuma’s, of course, but the other two were kept practically empty dressed with only the bare minimum.
All of this house, Asuma had to himself.
Shikamaru sat down on the oversized sofa that sat against the rightmost wall, while Asuma proceeded to the kitchen. There he grabbed a bottle of sake from the fridge, and took two cups down from the cupboard. He brought them back to the living room where Shikamaru lounged and sat them down on a low coffee table.
“So, Shikie, how do you wish to relax?“ Asuma said warmly as he opened the bottle of Sake and began to pour himself a cup. ”Would you like a drink?” The older man asked. The smell of alcohol rose from the bottle and mingled with the aroma of the house. Shikamaru felt relaxed by Asuma’s welcoming demeanor.
Does he finally believe I’m the real Shikamaru? That must be it, he decided.
Shikamaru didn’t respond to Asuma's question; he was too wrapped up in the warm embrace of this familiar sofa. He hadn’t realized how badly he had missed it. This couch, this house, this entire city had been destroyed by Pain. They rebuilt, but there was no need to rebuild a home that had not belonged to anyone in years. Shikamaru hadn’t forgotten that -- how could he? -- but he had forgotten his love for this incredible couch.
So much has happened that I can barely keep up myself, he thought.
“I know!” Asuma said, suddenly standing, “How about a good, long soak? How’s that sound, Shikamaru? I’ll get the water running,” He said, hurrying towards the bathroom before Shikamaru had a moment to object.
Classic Asuma, picking the option he secretly wanted from the start. Shikamaru looked around the familiar home, heart aching. He missed this place terribly, but somehow hadn’t even realized that until this moment. It just wasn’t the same after Asuma died, Shikamaru would often sleep here whenever he felt he needed Asuma’s guidance, well before it was reduced to unidentifiable scraps of rubble piled at the edge of the crater.
But without Asuma the house felt overwhelmingly empty. Asuma’s aura filled this house made it feel alive and loving, but without his presence to give it life the empty space felt cold and musty. And, over the years, it only grew even more so. Shikamaru never had the energy to clean it; just being in that empty, yawning ruins of a home was all he could ever muster. And so gradually the house began to decay. He remembered feeling relieved when he realized this house was no longer standing, as twisted as it felt to think that way about something he cared for.
Shikamaru’s mind reeled beneath the weight of grief and exhaustion. He began to feel dizzy, and a tinge of nausea. He laid down on his side, but looking out at the coffee table wasn’t helping. Rolling over, he closed his eyes and buried his face in the back of the couch. His body curled in on itself, his knees pressed against his chest.
Many pitiful hours were spent exactly like this. Shikamaru, alone in the husk of his Sensei’s home; sometimes thinking, sometimes crying, sometimes listening, sometimes just hoping to smell the herbs growing on the windowsill one more time.
Lost in memory, he didn’t hear Asuma re-enter the room. Thinking Shikamaru was already asleep, Asuma leaned down beside the sofa and placed his hand gently on his shoulder.
He spoke softly, “The bath is ready, Shikie, let’s get cleaned off.”
Shikamaru wasn’t startled, but he jumped just the same. Warmth radiating from the large hand, and an unfamiliar feeling rushed through his body, making his nose and fingertips tingle. He rolled over to face Asuma, his sensei saw tears streaking down his face.
“Thank you,” Shikamaru said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice, “For -- I don’t know, for being alive. ”
Asuma was taken aback. Although he didn’t know all of what happened in the future, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t a part of it. How does one respond to finding out they died?
“Don’t mention it,” Asuma said, smiling warmly as always, “I’ll be here for you whenever you need me, whether in flesh or in spirit.”
Shikamaru wasn’t satisfied with that response, but accepted it anyway. After all, what would he even want him to say back?
Shikamaru stood and stretched, releasing a symphony of snaps, crackles, and pops from every bone in his body. He flopped back onto the couch letting out a painful but satisfying groan.
“Do you need me to carry you!” Asuma jeered, though his eyes made it clear that he would do so, if Shikamaru needed it. Asuma had never seen another person in such a vulnerable state. In their line of work, vulnerability meant weakness. He stood next to the sofa gazing down at Shikamaru. He offered his hand once again and helped him to his feet.
He accepted it gladly.
Shikamaru followed Asuma to the bathroom at his usual slothish pace; his entire body was exhausted. The bathroom was even more beautiful than he remembered; Shikamaru hadn’t seen running water in this room in years, but now the shower roared to life and the huge soaking tub brimmed with steaming, aromatic water. His eyes misted again.
Shikamaru removed his clothes -- a black tee shirt and comfortable green shorts, the same outfit the Genin had been wearing. But, strangely, they were his size, perhaps even a little baggy on him. He hears a playful chuckle from beside him and his eyes dart to his Sensei. Asuma was holding in laughter for dear life, cheeks puffed up and lips sealed. He didn’t want to upset Shikamaru.
“Hey, what’s so funny?” Shikamaru snapped.
Asuma pointed, and Shikamaru’s eyes followed his finger down to his boxers. They were white with cute little green deer printed on them. Shikamaru’s face flushed with embarrassment as he scrambled to cover them with his arms which wasn’t successful.
“Man come on, I didn’t pick these! This must be what younger me was wearing the moment I appeared.” He grumbled.
“Wouldn’t know.” Asuma responded before bursting out into laughter.
Shikamaru quickly slid them off and threw them across the room, as though them being further away would delete them from their memory. Asuma followed suit and stripped as well. They both turned towards the shower and realized, in unison, that this would be awkward to do at the same time.
“After you, Shikie,” Asuma stepped back and gestured to the younger man to go first. He did just come back from a war after all -- he deserves this much.
The warm water washed over Shikamaru’s skin, and it felt heavenly. He fought back the urge to stand there in the warmth and comfort forever, he was careful about not using too much of Asuma’s hot water. Once he felt good and clean, he stepped out of the shower passing Asuma as he lazily made his way to the tub. The sudden rush of cool air swarmed across Shikamaru’s skin, making him aware of every inch of himself. Much to his surprise, he was standing at full attention. This caught him by surprise, naturally. How on earth could I not have felt that? Shikamaru wondered. His mind raced, why was he hard at this time? Was it the water? It felt good, sure, but not that good. Was it because someone else is here with him ? That’s never affected him before, it was normal practice to relax in a hot spring with their teammates and friends. So what was the reason?
Could it be Asuma?
The very idea of it brought back that gentle, tingling in his fingertips and nose, even stronger than before. Shikamaru shook his head in an attempt to erase the thought. Whatever it was, he was certainly never going to tell Asuma, that’s for sure.
Asuma entered the shower just as Shikamaru was leaving, with his arm lazily stretched behind his head. Asuma couldn’t help but notice Shikamaru's… predicament but tactfully ignored it. Meanwhile, Shikamaru eased into the bath scented with soothing green tea, sinking into its warmth with a sigh of relief. Making his way slowly to his seat in the corner. He leaned back against the tub's edge, arms draped over it, finally allowing himself to unwind after such a demanding day.
Asuma washed away the grime of their training session, reflecting on how different his day had been just that morning. He had gathered early with his Genin team, enduring Choji's mandatory breakfast ritual, before heading out to their usual training grounds in the woods. Asuma had spent the session helping Ino refine her Mind Transfer jutsu, while young Shikamaru struggled with restraining Choji in his boulder form using Shadow Possession jutsu—a task that usually ended with Shikamaru being thrown back by Choji's immense strength, much to Asuma's amusement.
"I wonder how much stronger his jutsu has become," Asuma pondered to himself.
They had trained for hours until Choji's hunger brought an end to their session, leading them to their usual barbecue spot. Asuma sighed at the thought of the growing bill, courtesy of his team's massive appetites.
Turning off the water, Asuma ran his hands through his hair and beard to shake off the excess water. The idea of sharing a bath with the now-grown Shikamaru still felt surreal. Approaching the steamy bath, he found Shikamaru, his eyes closed and lost in thought—his mind as enigmatic as ever. It wasn't until Asuma stepped into the steaming water that Shikamaru seemed to snap out of his trance, straightening up, acknowledging Asuma's presence, knowing that despite his desire to simply relax, he had promised an explanation in exchange for it.
Asuma noticed Shikamaru had chosen a spot directly opposite him, about three feet away. Was it mere chance, or did Shikamaru actually remember Asuma's usual spot in the tub? Asuma dismissed the thought, knowing Shikamaru likely picked the nearest spot out of convenience.
The two men settled into the hot-spring bathtub, savoring the moment of tranquility just a bit longer.
"Let’s get this over with,” Shikamaru spoke in an exhausted tone. “I will tell you everything, but you must understand one thing first. If this world mirrors mine, there are some things we can't interfere with, do you understand?” The seriousness in Shikie’s voice struck Asuma.
"Firstly, the Chūnin Exam incident," Shikamaru explained in great detail, as thorough as you'd expect from the smartest shinobi in the Leaf and the lead advisor of the Lady Hokage herself.
"So, Orochimaru killed my father? And the Sand Village was deceived by him as well," Asuma said angrily. “How did they let this happen? Was the old man really that weak now? He'd been defeated by his own student.”
"Yes, it is tragic. But because of this incident, we gained the Sand's alliance and Tsunade was named Hokage. These pieces are essential; without them, we have no shot at winning. In short, we cannot interfere with this plot."
Asuma knew he was right; he had always trusted that Shikamaru's mind would be the savior of the village, and now he was seeing that in action. Asuma should have felt more anger knowing that his father would die in less than a year, but he knew that if it didn't have to be that way, Shikamaru wouldn't have said it did.
Asuma nodded solemnly as Shikamaru moved on to the next issue, outlining the fate of Sasuke Uchiha in the same unalterable terms.
"After that, the Akatsuki captured the Kazekage Gaara. This is something we can't ignore. Changing our approach could yield better results," Shikamaru stated. Asuma struggled to process the situation. It wasn’t a matter of understanding; what Shikamaru had said made perfect sense. What troubled Asuma was how such intricate plots could unfold unchecked under the current administration. He recognized these actions as verging on treason. His already strained respect for his father plummeted further, anger boiling within him, teeth clenched. At this point, nothing could surprise him anymore.
He nodded at Shikamaru, silently urging him to continue.
"This next part," Shikamaru began, his voice trembling, "is the most difficult for me to recount…" Tears welled up in his eyes once more, threatening to spill over. "I'm sorry, Sensei," he whispered softly. Asuma noticed the sudden change in Shikamaru's demeanor. One moment, he exuded strength and wisdom far beyond his years; the next, he appeared fragile and vulnerable. Asuma felt a protective instinct stir within him, seeing Shikamaru as delicate and in need of care.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Shikamaru. Whatever it is, I can handle it," Asuma reassured him, his tone filled with genuine concern.
"The Hidan incident... our last mission together. That was the day you died in my arms, Asuma-sensei," Shikamaru's voice cracked, as tears streamed down his cheeks uncontrollably.
Asuma listened intently as Shikamaru recounted the harrowing details of the battle. It was evident that Shikamaru carried immense guilt, though Asuma couldn't find any fault in his actions. Shikamaru finished with determination, "Hidan is still alive, entombed deep in the Nara forest, closely guarded by my family and the deer there. This will not happen again," he vowed firmly. "I won't lose you again."
Asuma felt a knot tighten in his stomach and chest at Shikamaru's words, though he struggled to find the right words to express the whirlwind of emotions inside him. "It sounds like a manageable task. Now that we know their abilities, we definitely have the advantage," Asuma said, trying to lighten the mood and reassure Shikamaru.
"You're being too casual about this, Sensei!" Shikamaru snapped under his breath, his worry evident.
“Since when do you believe in too casual?’’ Asuma joked in an attempt to liven the mood.
He's right, Shikamaru reflected. "I used to approach things differently... before you died." He turned his face away like a pouting child, he didn’t want to burden Asuma with the guilt he felt.
"What a drag... there's so much more to discuss, and all I want to do is sleep. I'm starting to prune in the water, too. Could this get any worse?" Shikamaru groaned in frustration.
"That's more like my Shikamaru. How about we continue this tomorrow after we've rested? Does that work for you?" Asuma asked. He hid it well, but Shikamaru could tell that Asuma was just as exhausted as he was.
At that moment, Asuma was thinking more about a post-bath cigarette, than the safety of the village.
"Thank god, I thought you’d never ask, I need a cigarette bad, Sensei," Shikamaru sighed in relief.
Asuma rose from the tub, water cascading down his fit, tan physique.
"He's built like a Greek god," Shikamaru thought to himself, casting a glance down at his own slender, almost feminine frame.
Asuma stepped out, grabbing two towels and offering one to Shikamaru. Shikamaru stood, his long, dripping black hair falling just below his collarbone. "This isn't fair," Shikamaru thought to himself as he compared his body to Asuma’s. His slim figure, accentuated by unexpectedly broad hips, was a point of mild embarrassment for him. Taking the towel from Asuma, Shikamaru draped it over his head to dry his hair and hide his embarrassment.
Asuma hesitated briefly, considered turning away out of respect but quickly dismissed the thought, opting not to treat Shikamaru differently than any other man. As he handed over the towel, his gaze lingered for a moment on Shikamaru's hips, noticing how wide they sat, the small indention on either side. It was only when Shikamaru broke the silence that Asuma snapped out of his trance.
"Uhh, Asuma-sensei," Shikamaru intoned flatly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Startled, Asuma jumped slightly, closing his eyes and swiftly turning around to face away from Shikamaru, realizing his momentary lapse. Ignoring the question, he hurriedly moved to retrieve Shikamaru's clothes from the counter, unintentionally leaving behind the deer boxers in the corner — much to Shikamaru's silent relief.
"Here you go, Shikie," Asuma said, handing over the crumpled, unfolded clothes.
Shikamaru reached out to take them, feeling still flushed and awkward from the earlier incident. As he grasped the clothes, his cold fingertips accidentally brushed against Asuma’s very warm hand, sending a sudden jolt through him. Shikamaru flinched just enough to lose his grip on the clothes. There was a gentle fwop! Sound as his only clothes made contact with the bath water.
Shikamaru had lunged for them but could not catch them in time; he tried unsuccessfully to hide his growing embarrassment and discomfort.
Asuma felt no better, stepping back in silent acknowledgement of the unspoken tension that lingered between them.
“Fuck, that’s just my luck.” Shikamaru grumbled.
“I-I’m so sorry, Shikie!” Asuma sputtered, “I know, I’ll go get you some dry clothes right away!”
Shikamaru didn’t have time to speak before Asuma practically sprinted from the room and up the stairs; he had wanted to say that none of Asuma-sensei’s clothes would fit him.
Asuma’s brief absence was much welcomed after what ever the fuck just happened in the bath. ‘Why was he staring at my dick like that? Is it weird or something’ Shikamaru thought as he retrieved the boxers from the corner and slid them on. The childish deer undies were preferable to the look he just received.
The door slid open once more, and there stood Asuma dressed, with a black t-shirt in hand, far larger than the one Shikamaru had lost to the bath. It was freshly washed, warm, and folded perfectly. Shikamaru took it from Asuma and brought it to his nose out of habit, inhaling deeply. The scent was a pleasant surprise—a blend of green tea and a distinctly masculine undertone that was unmistakably Asuma's. Despite his frequent smoking, Asuma always carried that comforting aroma. Shikamaru slipped his arms into the shirt, pulled it over his head, and watched as it settled over him, its length extending just past his knees, more than he had anticipated.
"Great, I look like a kid," he muttered, lifting his arms out straight on either side to emphasize the massive excess of loose fabric which hung from him.
‘He does, hahaha, especially with his arms out like that, he looks like he wants to be picked up’ he thought. He fought to contain his laughter.
"Don’t you laugh at me, dumbass," he warned, unwittingly lifting the shirt on one side as he pointed up at the man, revealing the deer pattern hidden beneath.
Asuma couldn't contain his laughter any longer and burst into a full-bodied laugh. "Don't worry, no one else will ever see you like this, I promise," he managed to say amidst his hearty chuckles. "We'll dry your clothes and pick up some new ones tomorrow."
"Ugh, fine. This is a drag. Also, you're paying for them because you dropped them," Shikamaru said. "Plus, I don’t think 13-year-old me was very flush with cash either," he added.
"That’s fair,” Asuma responded.”I'm going to smoke outside on the balcony. Care to join me, Shikie?"
Shikamaru had been waiting for those words. He slipped past Asuma and ascended the stairs faster than his usual slothish pace. He knew exactly where the balcony was; he and Asuma had spent a lot of time there. They would talk while Asuma smoked cigarettes and continue their conversations when they returned inside. Shikamaru remembered those days so clearly, glad he did now. Before he appeared in this world, he had seen these memories as curses, taking up precious space in his brain — knowledge he believed was useless, but not anymore. Confidently, he walked down the upstairs hallway to the last room. He slid the door open as if he owned the place and scampered inside.
"Hey, that's my room. Shouldn't you ask me before barging in?" Asuma said, trailing a few steps behind Shikamaru.
"Did you expect me to teleport to the balcony? How else would I get to the door?" Shikamaru replied, a bit bratty. He knew Asuma was right; they had just met, and from Asuma’s perspective, they were practically strangers.
"I'll ask next time. I'm sorry; I'm not used to you not knowing me as much as I know you, Sensei," Shikamaru said, his eyes dropping and his pace slowing.
"No, no. Don't worry about it, Shikie. I was just teasing you. My home is yours; please go wherever you want freely," Asuma reassured him.
Wait, did he just say he could live here? Why did he say that? Shikamaru was right; he barely knew the man. Could he really trust him that much? Asuma didn’t know why, but he did. He trusted the man standing before him more than he trusted anyone else in his life — more than his own family, that’s for sure. Something inside of him didn’t want this Shikamaru to leave.
"Was that your way of saying I could stay here, Sensei?" Shikamaru asked. It was the only logical place for him to stay in their current situation, but for some reason, he still felt this kindness was more than he deserved. Shikamaru slid open the door to the balcony, feeling the crisp late-night/early morning air hit his skin.
"This house is huge. Who would I be if I left you on the street?" Asuma said, not quite expressing his true feelings, but all he was willing to say.
"Why? I don’t deserve it, Sensei? I messed up. I literally got you killed. I'm a foreign 'time traveler' or whatever the fuck is going on with that, and I have nothing to offer you besides information. Why would you take in such a lost cause?" Shikamaru's voice carried a tone of sadness and sincerity that caused Asuma's eyes to tear up.
Asuma pulled out his pack of smokes, leaning it over to Shikamaru to take a cigarette before placing one in the left corner of his own mouth.
"I don’t know what's happened to you, but you're clearly my Shikamaru. All I ever wanted was to protect you and Team 10, and watch you all grow up and live happy lives. From what you told me earlier, you blame yourself for my mistakes, and I’m deeply sorry I burdened you with that. I promise to protect you this time, and I swear I'll never let you feel that pain again. You are my responsibility, and I failed you once. Please, let me make it right.”
Asuma threw his arms around the damp-haired man, holding him tight and resting his chin atop his head. Shikamaru let out a small gasp before wrapping his arms around him returning the embrace. It had been over three years since Asuma had hugged him. The last time was to celebrate his successful mission protecting the Lord of the Land of Fire and receiving recommendations for the Jōnin exam and an invitation to join the Twelve Guardian Ninja. He promptly declined the position and he remained a Chūnin. He never found the heart to take the Jōnin exam, without Asuma to celebrate his promotion it just wouldn't feel right. He hugged Asuma tighter.
‘Another failure,’ he thought to himself.
The warmth emanating from Asuma made the summer night air feel cool, like lying in a warm, comforting bed. How could someone with such a strong, defined body be so soft?
Asuma stepped back, flicking open his metal lighter to light his cigarette. After a long drag, he exhaled a cloud of smoke towards Shikamaru before offering him the lighter. The smoke stung Shikamaru’s eyes, still wet with tears. As he took the lighter, the moonlight reflected his tear-soaked face back at him, reminding him of the lighter that laid on Asuma’s chest, on that awful rainy day. He dropped it immediately.
“Hey, that’s two tonight,” Asuma said lightly. “Are you okay, Shikamaru?” he asked more earnestly.
“I’m sorry, Sensei,” Shikamaru choked out, tears falling freely now. “I lost your lighter. My most cherished possession. I had to use it to light a paper bomb during the battle, and I couldn’t retrieve it before the enemy overwhelmed us.” His voice shook with emotion. “After that, it was lost beneath the heap of bodies.”
Asuma picked up the lighter and lit it under Shikamaru’s cigarette. “Please don’t apologize to me. I'm glad it was the lighter lost and not you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”
“It’s okay, Sensei,” Shikamaru said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think we lost that day. But finding myself here, with you—it’s a much better place to be.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, it burned painfully in his lungs. He coughed uncontrollably, his eyes watering not from sadness but from the physical pain. He dropped to his knees, gripping the balcony railing for support. The coughing fit seemed endless.
“I thought you said you smoked,” Asuma remarked with a hint of amusement. “I do,” Shikamaru managed between coughs, “I picked up this dumb habit of yours the day you died, and I’ve had it ever since.” Coughing again, he added, “But this body, in this time, clearly hasn’t smoked a day in its life.”
Finally regaining his composure, Shikamaru stood up and took a much more gentle drag from the cigarette. His lips began to feel numb, and a dizzying rush of nicotine washed over him.
This was an unexpected but happy surprise for Shikamaru. "I feel good! I haven’t felt this way in so long, Asuma," he said, looking up at the full, beautiful moon in the sky.
Asuma fixed his gaze on Shikamaru, who stood illuminated by moonlight. His hair cascaded down, framing a face that seemed to glow softly under the moon's touch. His cheeks and nose flushed from crying and his recent coughing fit, adding to his allure.
Asuma found himself unexpectedly captivated by this sight, his thoughts swirling. He reassured himself that he wasn't attracted to men, let alone his own student; he wasn't a monster. Yet, in this moment, he couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer beauty — gender aside, Shikamaru was undeniably mesmerizing. 'It's fine to appreciate beauty without any implications,' he reasoned silently. Was he trying to justify his own thoughts? Unbeknownst to both Asuma and Shikamaru, someone was watching them. Down on the street below, a particular jōnin was on his way home and feeling unusually curious. Kakashi spotted Asuma on his balcony and considered jumping up to chat about how his Genin's training was going, until he noticed someone with him.
Kakashi didn’t recognize this person, which piqued his curiosity about their relationship with Asuma. Stealthily ducking around a corner to observe without being seen, Kakashi scrutinized the stranger with his Sharingan. He was certain he had never encountered this individual before, yet they seemed oddly familiar.
Upon closer inspection of their chakra, Kakashi deduced they were male, likely between 18 to 24 years old, with an indistinct chakra nature suggesting they possessed multiple affinities. How intriguing, Kakashi mused. Observing his casual attire—a T-shirt several sizes too big—Kakashi speculated, Is that Asuma’s shirt? It seemed to fit. Noticing the man lacked pants or shoes, Kakashi pondered, Hmm, why is Asuma hosting a half-dressed man on his balcony?
Glancing back at the older of the two, Kakashi confirmed it was indeed Asuma and not a shadow clone. Studying Asuma's expression, he saw him gazing at the moonlit young man with great fondness. Kakashi began to feel as though he were witnessing something private, something not meant for others to see.
Suddenly feeling intrusive, Kakashi decided, "I should go home before I end up like Jiraiya Sensei, labeled a pervert." He recalled Naruto's voice echoing "pervy sage" in his head. Kakashi sighed and shook his head, whispering, "The horror," as he walked away from the alley and resumed his journey home.
Asuma finished his cigarette, still intently watching Shikamaru who was calmly gazing at the sky, periodically taking light drags from his own cigarette. Asuma realized that Shikamaru resembled his Genin lying back on his favorite bench as he watched the clouds drift by. Even though Shikamaru was now fully grown, this habit still seemed to bring him some peace. Asuma extinguished his cigarette in the small ceramic pot on the balcony rail.
"Where would you like to sleep, Shikie?" Asuma asked softly.
"I'll sleep on the couch; I've slept there plenty of times before," Shikamaru replied, without mentioning that it was after Asuma had passed away.
"Are you okay enough to sleep?" Asuma asked, genuinely concerned.
"I'll be fine, Sensei. I'm a grown man, not a child," Shikamaru said, putting out his cigarette in the designated pot before sliding the door open. He placed a hand on Asuma's shoulder.
"Thank you, Asuma," he murmured as he walked inside and closed Asuma's bedroom door behind him.
Asuma stretched, groaning like a man twice his age, and followed Shikamaru inside. He walked to the left side of his bed, pulling back the corner comforter and sheets, realizing he had forgotten to provide Shikamaru with a pillow or blanket. He walked out of his room and retrieved a thin blanket and a fluffy pillow from the hall closet.
Quietly descending the stairs, Asuma saw Shikamaru lying on his left side, facing the back of the couch. His knees were drawn up, and his right hand was nestled between them, just as Asuma had found him earlier upon returning from preparing the bath. The sight stirred a concern within Asuma; he feared Shikamaru might be silently crying again. Approaching cautiously, he took the thin blanket and carefully unfolded it.
Gently covering Shikamaru, Asuma leaned in to discreetly check his face for any signs of tears. To his relief, Shikamaru was deeply asleep, likely exhausted from the mental strain he had endured. Stepping back quietly, Asuma continued to watch over him. Even in his sleep, Shikamaru seemed restless, shifting and murmuring in discomfort. Suddenly, a pained moan escaped Shikamaru's lips, startling Asuma. He worried that Shikamaru might be having a nightmare, seeing him toss and turn slightly.
Asuma hesitated, unsure whether it was appropriate to watch another man sleep, especially someone he had only recently met. Yet, he couldn't tear himself away; concern for Shikamaru's well-being held him there. Taking a seat on the loveseat beside Shikamaru, Asuma kept his gaze fixed on him. He watched with a furrowed brow as Shikamaru continued to toss and groan, clearly tormented by whatever haunted his dreams.
"Should I wake him?" Asuma wondered silently, torn between wanting to offer comfort and knowing that Shikamaru desperately needed the rest, troubled as it was. After a moment of deliberation, he reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Shikamaru's shoulder. He half-expected Shikamaru to startle awake, but instead, to his surprise, Shikamaru seemed to relax at the touch, exhaling softly.
Leaving his hand there for a while, Asuma eventually withdrew it, settling back on the loveseat. He felt drained, both physically and emotionally, from the events of the day. Just as he began to relax, Shikamaru let out a muffled scream and kicked at his blanket, jolting Asuma back into alertness. Reacting quickly, he moved back to Shikamaru's side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder once more.
This is going to be a long night, Asuma sighed, preparing himself for the night ahead. Good thing I have tomorrow off. With that thought, he slid down to the floor, from there, he could rest his back against the sofa and still keep his hand on the sleeping Shikamaru. Gradually, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted off into a light sleep, ready to support Shikamaru through the night.