The dust settled slowly. Dirt coated the bodies strewn about like discarded clay dolls, clung to Naruto's skin like another layer of clothing. His blood pounded in his ears like frantic drums, and the sickly sweet metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air over the muted undertones of upturned earth. His fingers hurt from where they were clenched tight around the scrap of green fabric. He took in one choked breath, then another. Only forty seconds had passed.

The first time rain and Temari’s visits coincided, she stood in Shikamaru’s garden for three hours before coming in, soaked, shivering, and grinning from ear to ear. Her clothes were plastered to her body, every curve revealed, ponytails weighed down and dark with water, dripping all over the floor of the entrance with complete disregard for the mess.

In the aftermath of war, Temari stands beside him, steady. And Shikamaru finally understands.

According to the Bingo Book, Hatake Kakashi has two dæmons.

No one in their right minds would ever expect it of him, and that’s why he’s the one best-suited to the job.

It’s Jiraiya who brings him the news, bare hours after the decision has been reached.

“No,” Obito says, flat and cold. It’s testament to how much she’s hardened over the last year that Hinata doesn’t even blink. She certainly doesn’t waver, feet planted firmly on the other side of the bed and eyes fixed on him. “Do you really think I would come to you if there was any other option?” she asks quietly.

“Shh,” Kakashi breathes against his lips, and there's a look in his eyes that he gets on the very worst missions, in the middle of a battle, when there's nothing left in him of restraint or anything beyond instinct and act-react. “You’re safe, Shisui. And I'm going to fix it.”