[10_hurt_comfort][Naruto][Shikamaru][prompts 7, 5, 10, 9 & 3]
Half done in one post. I rock, I know. Enjoy.
Beware; the crack kills in one of these.
Title: Jealousy
Author: Kel (All hail the queen of creative titles… >_<)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: Akamaru had turned on him, and Kiba laid all the blame on Shikamaru.
Warnings: Bah… I’m lame. No warnings here, really. Very gen.
Notes: For Prompt 7: Jealousy. Watch me while I am oh-so creative and title my ficcage with the drabble prompt. 800 or so words short. I like crit. Or any review, really.
The cold and wet nose was certainly not the first thing Shikamaru took note of; the pain in his side and chest took that prize, then the rough tree bark that dug into his back. In point of fact, he wasn’t even sure if he’d lost consciousness at all when he’d been hit. He remembered all too well the impact and the subsequent flying through the brush. There was a whine and a soft woof, and that nose was in his ear. He leaned away from it, hissing and nearly falling sideways.
“Akamaru, you’re hurting him.”
The big dog whined, and Shikamaru dared open an eye. Kiba stared back at him, dark eyes concerned and tattooed cheeks dimpled in a (very fake) smile. “You hurt?”
Chalk one up for stupid questions. Answering sarcastically would take too much effort. Shikamaru started to speak and quickly decided speaking at all was a little too troublesome for his tastes. Akamaru whined again, shifting his weight and lightly pressing a paw against Shikamaru’s knee. Shikamaru leaned his head back on the tree he sat against.
Sky. Clouds. Tree branches. All very nice and pretty and… he jerked forward, curling around all-too-tender ribs and hands closing around Kiba’s offending wrist. “You are not poking me.”
Kiba pulled his hand away, prying Shikamaru’s fingers off. “I was just making sure nothing was broken.”
Shikamaru leveled a glare at him. “Nothing’s broken.” Smashed, maybe. Crushed, tenderized, and a half a dozen other things, but not broken.
Kiba blinked and then pointed back the way he came. “Shikamaru, you got hit by a log.” He paused. “After I warned you about that trap.”
Shikamaru winced at that; Kiba had warned him about the old trap. While it hadn’t been set up especially for them - it seemed a forgotten battlefield from the ninja wars - their enemies had made use of the rotting rope. Shikamaru suspected he was only still breathing - with difficulty, but breathing nonetheless - because the wood had been rotting.
“You could have moved,” Kiba snapped.
Could have? Yes. Should have? No. Shikamaru opened his mouth to speak, but then reconsidered. He’s just wait until Kiba was done ranting. Akamaru curled up beside the chuunin, offering a much softer resting spot than the tree. Shikamaru gave him a grateful pat.
“Of all the things… Shikamaru, a log suspended on a rope? The hell were you thinking, just taking that? And you knew it was there! I thought you were smart, you idiot.”
Akamaru chuffed at him.
“What?” Kiba snapped.
Akamaru laid his head beside Shikamaru’s knee.
“You’re siding with him?” Kiba asked, slack-jawed. Akamaru whined. “Akamaru?” Kiba turned wide eyes onto Shikamaru. “What’d you do to him? Why’s he protecting you?”
Shikamaru watched him for a long moment before sighing lightly. “Because he’s smart enough to figure out that if I didn’t do what I did, we’d be in serious trouble right now.”
Kiba had the grace to look confused instead of offended. “Huh?”
Shikamaru sat up a little straighter, wincing and probing surreptitiously at his ribs. Nothing seemed out of place, but, hell, it hurt. “It was either take the log,” here he hissed, “or the both of us end up riddled with kunai. Or other unpleasant things.”
Kiba’s hands worked, gesturing inarticulately. “I’m not seeing that.”
“I’ll map it for you later. In color, even, if you’ll just not ask.” Talking hurt. Thinking was a pain. Explaining anything would be torture. Shikamaru leaned against the dog, resting his cheek against Akamaru’s shoulder.
Kiba watched for a second. “You sure nothing’s broken?”
“Don’t think so.”
“And you didn’t hit your head too hard?”
Shikamaru closed his eyes. “Barely tapped.” He knew where this was going, and he’d play along, if it got Kiba off his back.
There was a soft rustle of clothing as Kiba rose to his feet. Shikamaru cracked an eye open, grateful his companion was walking away. Sleep sounded too good to be true.
“I’ve some painkillers here. We’ll get them in you, and keep heading home.”
Shikamaru’s eyes flew open. What? Not sleeping? He narrowed his eyes, glaring at Kiba’s back. “What?”
“You need to get back to Konoha. Just in case.”
But… Akamaru was soft. Sleep. Sleep was good. Better than trying to travel while in pain.
He could refuse the painkillers, but, knowing Kiba, they’d be forced down his throat anyway. He could hold Kiba in his Kage Mane until he fell asleep. And then Kiba would wake him up and Shikamaru would stop him again and then Kiba would wake him up… and that would not be a circle to be caught in. Feigning unconsciousness wouldn’t really work since he’d just asserted that he was, in fact, not hurt too badly.
Shikamaru groaned as the full implication hit him: Kiba had just backed him into a corner. Kiba.
In a last ditch effort, Shikamaru tried the only thing left to him: childish petulance. “You’re just doing this because Akamaru likes me better.”
Kiba stopped rummaging in his bag, smiling to himself. He grabbed the painkillers and a canteen. Oh, he’d let Shikamaru rest.
After he’d stewed for a bit for stealing Akamaru’s affections so easily.
Title: Teacher
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: Asuma dearly hated some things about teaching.
Warnings: I’m still lame. No warnings.
Notes: For Prompt 5: Emotion. Very short, 200 and some words. I still like crit. I tried for a somewhat fatherly Asuma; I think I failed, but… that’s for the reader to decide.
Inevitably, in every shinobi’s training, there were bumps, bruises, broken bones and the occasional impaling. Asuma really wished his team would learn to avoid thrown kunai; the impalings were hell on a teacher’s heart. Asuma sighed as he knelt in front of his newest student. Twelve years old was too young; much too young, he thought, for this. He surveyed the bloody kunai on the ground, and the too-bloody wound marring Shikamaru’s upper arm, and snorted softly. The kid was trying his best to maintain that bored, arrogant look, and was failing miserably.
That arm had to hurt. Asuma pressed the clean cloth to it, mildly appalled that the blood started to soak through almost immediately.
He pulled Shikamaru to his feet and winced when the kid’s face went pale. He pulled Shikamaru’s uninjured hand around and clamped it on top of the bandage. “Hold that.” Asuma draped an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you taken care of, eh, kid?”
All the way from the training grounds to the hospital, Asuma fought the temptation to just carry his charge and whisper platitudes full of fake encouragement.
Shikamaru was going to be a ninja, after all. He had to learn that emotion was a weakness.
Asuma hated having to teach him that.
Title: Weakness
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: One did not retch in the Kazekage’s antique vase. Seriously. Gaara interacts with a concussed Shikamaru.
Warnings: Uh… snarky talk about vomit? Yeah, the crack kills.
Notes: For Prompt 10: Fight. I still like crit, even if this is a crackish attempt to put Gaara, of all people, into the comforter role. Yeah, I’m one of those people that takes prompts and cheerfully stomps all over expected inspiration. (Well, I try anyway. XD)
Temari really was a troublesome woman, but it was Gaara who, more often than not, tested Shikamaru’s patience. Temari, at least, knew when to back off. Gaara was still learning etiquette, and judging by the flat expression from the three pairs of swimming eyes staring down at him, he wasn’t learning it very quickly. Shikamaru stifled a groan; as Konoha’s liaison to Sand, he really couldn’t afford too many moments of weakness.
Getting hit over the head by…something; he couldn’t remember what… and being knocked unconscious was a stunning definition of weakness. Waking up to find oneself flat on one’s back and staring up at the Kazekage? That was weakness. Unable to focus? Weak.
His stomach was rebelling, too. He wondered, as his head swam painfully, just how weak it would look if he vomited on Gaara’s feet. That would be a great new low for a diplomatic trip.
Gaara knelt, resting his arms on his knees, and peered into Shikamaru’s face. “You hit your head.”
A part of him wanted to respond with a scathing remark about not doing it on purpose. Another part wanted to just groan and nod. Still a third wanted the earth to open up and swallow him on the spot. He almost asked Gaara to make his sand do just that, but then his stomach roiled again.
It never ceased to amaze him how much his stomach could protest a head injury.
“You’re bleeding.”
Gaara was astute. Wonder what he’d say when he vomited. Shikamaru swallowed uncomfortably and rolled onto his side.
Oh, moving was a mistake.
Oh, hell. He was going to lose this fight. Gaara moved away from him, and Shikamaru spared a (disjointed) grateful sigh that he was moving out of range. Gaara had once threatened to kill him; throwing up on him might push him into carrying out that threat.
There’s was a bit of shuffling, and Gaara’s feet moved back into view. The Sand nin crouched, head cocked and a vase clutched in his hands.
A pretty blue and green vase.
It looked antique. And expensive.
Gaara held it out to him. Shikamaru blinked.
“If you get sick,” Gaara offered.
Slowly, Shikamaru reached for it. Gaara accommodated his swimming vision by moving the vase into his hand. The Konoha chuunin pulled it toward him slowly, still somewhat unbelieving.
“You’ve been out for awhile now,” Gaara said in a low, flat voice. “The medic nins I called will be here soon.”
No. No way in hell. He was not going to start retching in front of the Kazekage, and most definitely not in one of his antique vases. Shikamaru breathed through his nose, swallowing compulsively. He blinked against the black spots in his vision, closed his eyes and swallowed again.
Don’t retch in the Kazekage’s vase.
“If anyone asks,” Gaara said, “I’ll tell them Kankarou got drunk early today.”
Well, this was new. Gaara, attempting to reassure someone. Shikamaru’s stomach rolled. He clamped his jaw shut. That was somewhat more disturbing than death threats.
Shikamaru suddenly wondered if not throwing up in the vase would be construed as some sort of insult.
Why did Tsunade-sama appoint him to this?
Oh, yeah. Apparently, he could get along with these people.
He gagged.
Oh, hell with it. Gaara only got along with them after he was beaten up, right? He could very well deal with vomit in his antique vase. Shikamaru gave in. It wasn’t worth fighting anymore.
Damn concussion. When could he sleep?
Title: Tremble
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: His hands had never stopped trembling.
Warnings: By now, you should know… character abuse. Yeah.
Notes: For Prompt 9: Fear. I still like crit. Or even acknowledgement that it was read. :3
Shikamaru had held her hand as tight as he dared, silent even as he put a hand against the wound on her neck. His hands had trembled even as Ino’s breathing slowed.
He had waited in the background when Asuma and Chouji had arrived, his hands covered in blood, and still shaking. Chouji said that he was nearly as pale as Ino. Shikamaru hadn’t bothered to try to correct him; Ino looked like death. Shikamaru was still living.
When they’d told him she would recover, he had looked down at hands still covered her blood. They had never stopped trembling.
Title: Care
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: He took care of them that night.
Warnings: Eh, none, really. Mindless semi-fluff.
Notes: For Prompt 3: Sick. I still like crit. And Team Ten rocks.
It was supposed to be a routine, stupid mission, but no one had planned for the team to contract some bug in the village they visited. When Asuma-sensei sneezed, Shikamaru had immediately known they were in for a troublesome trip home. When Ino started complaining of a headache, and Chouji of a stomachache, he knew he was in serious trouble.
They’d stopped to camp, and Asuma-sensei had been useless. Oh, sure, he’d pitched the large tent… but Shikamaru and Chouji had had to redo that once the support pole buckled. He’d started a fire, but Shikamaru ended up stomping out the grass around the fire pit before the whole forest went up in flames.
Then Ino had curled up in a little ball and cursed her very existence. Before long Chouji ran into the woods, a hand over his mouth. Shikamaru had exchanged a very put-upon look with Asuma and sighed heavily when his teacher only blinked back him, bleary eyes uncomprehending.
He went down to the nearby stream with two buckets. One, he handed off to Chouji in passing. The other was filled with cold water and he made a quick stop by Ino’s prone form and pressed a cool, damp cloth onto the back of her neck.
Shikamaru came to stand behind his seated teacher, nearly full bucket in his hand and briefly entertained the idea of just dumping the thing over Asuma’s head. Ultimately deciding that he really didn’t want to deal with the consequences, he instead sat the bucket down and held out a cup of water to Asuma.
“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Asuma hadn’t argued; he’d taken one look at Shikamaru and nodded, and settled everyone into their bedrolls.
Shikamaru had stayed up that night, keeping watch. Emptying Chouji’s bucket. Rewetting Ino’s cloth. Checking on Asuma’s fever.
When morning broke, he was still awake, and pleased that his teammates seemed better.
He almost didn’t mind the sudden fit of sneezing or the dull ache that had settled behind his eyes.
Crossposted to
10_hurt_comfort and
taegan_kel (personal writing journal)
Beware; the crack kills in one of these.
Title: Jealousy
Author: Kel (All hail the queen of creative titles… >_<)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: Akamaru had turned on him, and Kiba laid all the blame on Shikamaru.
Warnings: Bah… I’m lame. No warnings here, really. Very gen.
Notes: For Prompt 7: Jealousy. Watch me while I am oh-so creative and title my ficcage with the drabble prompt. 800 or so words short. I like crit. Or any review, really.
The cold and wet nose was certainly not the first thing Shikamaru took note of; the pain in his side and chest took that prize, then the rough tree bark that dug into his back. In point of fact, he wasn’t even sure if he’d lost consciousness at all when he’d been hit. He remembered all too well the impact and the subsequent flying through the brush. There was a whine and a soft woof, and that nose was in his ear. He leaned away from it, hissing and nearly falling sideways.
“Akamaru, you’re hurting him.”
The big dog whined, and Shikamaru dared open an eye. Kiba stared back at him, dark eyes concerned and tattooed cheeks dimpled in a (very fake) smile. “You hurt?”
Chalk one up for stupid questions. Answering sarcastically would take too much effort. Shikamaru started to speak and quickly decided speaking at all was a little too troublesome for his tastes. Akamaru whined again, shifting his weight and lightly pressing a paw against Shikamaru’s knee. Shikamaru leaned his head back on the tree he sat against.
Sky. Clouds. Tree branches. All very nice and pretty and… he jerked forward, curling around all-too-tender ribs and hands closing around Kiba’s offending wrist. “You are not poking me.”
Kiba pulled his hand away, prying Shikamaru’s fingers off. “I was just making sure nothing was broken.”
Shikamaru leveled a glare at him. “Nothing’s broken.” Smashed, maybe. Crushed, tenderized, and a half a dozen other things, but not broken.
Kiba blinked and then pointed back the way he came. “Shikamaru, you got hit by a log.” He paused. “After I warned you about that trap.”
Shikamaru winced at that; Kiba had warned him about the old trap. While it hadn’t been set up especially for them - it seemed a forgotten battlefield from the ninja wars - their enemies had made use of the rotting rope. Shikamaru suspected he was only still breathing - with difficulty, but breathing nonetheless - because the wood had been rotting.
“You could have moved,” Kiba snapped.
Could have? Yes. Should have? No. Shikamaru opened his mouth to speak, but then reconsidered. He’s just wait until Kiba was done ranting. Akamaru curled up beside the chuunin, offering a much softer resting spot than the tree. Shikamaru gave him a grateful pat.
“Of all the things… Shikamaru, a log suspended on a rope? The hell were you thinking, just taking that? And you knew it was there! I thought you were smart, you idiot.”
Akamaru chuffed at him.
“What?” Kiba snapped.
Akamaru laid his head beside Shikamaru’s knee.
“You’re siding with him?” Kiba asked, slack-jawed. Akamaru whined. “Akamaru?” Kiba turned wide eyes onto Shikamaru. “What’d you do to him? Why’s he protecting you?”
Shikamaru watched him for a long moment before sighing lightly. “Because he’s smart enough to figure out that if I didn’t do what I did, we’d be in serious trouble right now.”
Kiba had the grace to look confused instead of offended. “Huh?”
Shikamaru sat up a little straighter, wincing and probing surreptitiously at his ribs. Nothing seemed out of place, but, hell, it hurt. “It was either take the log,” here he hissed, “or the both of us end up riddled with kunai. Or other unpleasant things.”
Kiba’s hands worked, gesturing inarticulately. “I’m not seeing that.”
“I’ll map it for you later. In color, even, if you’ll just not ask.” Talking hurt. Thinking was a pain. Explaining anything would be torture. Shikamaru leaned against the dog, resting his cheek against Akamaru’s shoulder.
Kiba watched for a second. “You sure nothing’s broken?”
“Don’t think so.”
“And you didn’t hit your head too hard?”
Shikamaru closed his eyes. “Barely tapped.” He knew where this was going, and he’d play along, if it got Kiba off his back.
There was a soft rustle of clothing as Kiba rose to his feet. Shikamaru cracked an eye open, grateful his companion was walking away. Sleep sounded too good to be true.
“I’ve some painkillers here. We’ll get them in you, and keep heading home.”
Shikamaru’s eyes flew open. What? Not sleeping? He narrowed his eyes, glaring at Kiba’s back. “What?”
“You need to get back to Konoha. Just in case.”
But… Akamaru was soft. Sleep. Sleep was good. Better than trying to travel while in pain.
He could refuse the painkillers, but, knowing Kiba, they’d be forced down his throat anyway. He could hold Kiba in his Kage Mane until he fell asleep. And then Kiba would wake him up and Shikamaru would stop him again and then Kiba would wake him up… and that would not be a circle to be caught in. Feigning unconsciousness wouldn’t really work since he’d just asserted that he was, in fact, not hurt too badly.
Shikamaru groaned as the full implication hit him: Kiba had just backed him into a corner. Kiba.
In a last ditch effort, Shikamaru tried the only thing left to him: childish petulance. “You’re just doing this because Akamaru likes me better.”
Kiba stopped rummaging in his bag, smiling to himself. He grabbed the painkillers and a canteen. Oh, he’d let Shikamaru rest.
After he’d stewed for a bit for stealing Akamaru’s affections so easily.
Title: Teacher
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: Asuma dearly hated some things about teaching.
Warnings: I’m still lame. No warnings.
Notes: For Prompt 5: Emotion. Very short, 200 and some words. I still like crit. I tried for a somewhat fatherly Asuma; I think I failed, but… that’s for the reader to decide.
Inevitably, in every shinobi’s training, there were bumps, bruises, broken bones and the occasional impaling. Asuma really wished his team would learn to avoid thrown kunai; the impalings were hell on a teacher’s heart. Asuma sighed as he knelt in front of his newest student. Twelve years old was too young; much too young, he thought, for this. He surveyed the bloody kunai on the ground, and the too-bloody wound marring Shikamaru’s upper arm, and snorted softly. The kid was trying his best to maintain that bored, arrogant look, and was failing miserably.
That arm had to hurt. Asuma pressed the clean cloth to it, mildly appalled that the blood started to soak through almost immediately.
He pulled Shikamaru to his feet and winced when the kid’s face went pale. He pulled Shikamaru’s uninjured hand around and clamped it on top of the bandage. “Hold that.” Asuma draped an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you taken care of, eh, kid?”
All the way from the training grounds to the hospital, Asuma fought the temptation to just carry his charge and whisper platitudes full of fake encouragement.
Shikamaru was going to be a ninja, after all. He had to learn that emotion was a weakness.
Asuma hated having to teach him that.
Title: Weakness
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: One did not retch in the Kazekage’s antique vase. Seriously. Gaara interacts with a concussed Shikamaru.
Warnings: Uh… snarky talk about vomit? Yeah, the crack kills.
Notes: For Prompt 10: Fight. I still like crit, even if this is a crackish attempt to put Gaara, of all people, into the comforter role. Yeah, I’m one of those people that takes prompts and cheerfully stomps all over expected inspiration. (Well, I try anyway. XD)
Temari really was a troublesome woman, but it was Gaara who, more often than not, tested Shikamaru’s patience. Temari, at least, knew when to back off. Gaara was still learning etiquette, and judging by the flat expression from the three pairs of swimming eyes staring down at him, he wasn’t learning it very quickly. Shikamaru stifled a groan; as Konoha’s liaison to Sand, he really couldn’t afford too many moments of weakness.
Getting hit over the head by…something; he couldn’t remember what… and being knocked unconscious was a stunning definition of weakness. Waking up to find oneself flat on one’s back and staring up at the Kazekage? That was weakness. Unable to focus? Weak.
His stomach was rebelling, too. He wondered, as his head swam painfully, just how weak it would look if he vomited on Gaara’s feet. That would be a great new low for a diplomatic trip.
Gaara knelt, resting his arms on his knees, and peered into Shikamaru’s face. “You hit your head.”
A part of him wanted to respond with a scathing remark about not doing it on purpose. Another part wanted to just groan and nod. Still a third wanted the earth to open up and swallow him on the spot. He almost asked Gaara to make his sand do just that, but then his stomach roiled again.
It never ceased to amaze him how much his stomach could protest a head injury.
“You’re bleeding.”
Gaara was astute. Wonder what he’d say when he vomited. Shikamaru swallowed uncomfortably and rolled onto his side.
Oh, moving was a mistake.
Oh, hell. He was going to lose this fight. Gaara moved away from him, and Shikamaru spared a (disjointed) grateful sigh that he was moving out of range. Gaara had once threatened to kill him; throwing up on him might push him into carrying out that threat.
There’s was a bit of shuffling, and Gaara’s feet moved back into view. The Sand nin crouched, head cocked and a vase clutched in his hands.
A pretty blue and green vase.
It looked antique. And expensive.
Gaara held it out to him. Shikamaru blinked.
“If you get sick,” Gaara offered.
Slowly, Shikamaru reached for it. Gaara accommodated his swimming vision by moving the vase into his hand. The Konoha chuunin pulled it toward him slowly, still somewhat unbelieving.
“You’ve been out for awhile now,” Gaara said in a low, flat voice. “The medic nins I called will be here soon.”
No. No way in hell. He was not going to start retching in front of the Kazekage, and most definitely not in one of his antique vases. Shikamaru breathed through his nose, swallowing compulsively. He blinked against the black spots in his vision, closed his eyes and swallowed again.
Don’t retch in the Kazekage’s vase.
“If anyone asks,” Gaara said, “I’ll tell them Kankarou got drunk early today.”
Well, this was new. Gaara, attempting to reassure someone. Shikamaru’s stomach rolled. He clamped his jaw shut. That was somewhat more disturbing than death threats.
Shikamaru suddenly wondered if not throwing up in the vase would be construed as some sort of insult.
Why did Tsunade-sama appoint him to this?
Oh, yeah. Apparently, he could get along with these people.
He gagged.
Oh, hell with it. Gaara only got along with them after he was beaten up, right? He could very well deal with vomit in his antique vase. Shikamaru gave in. It wasn’t worth fighting anymore.
Damn concussion. When could he sleep?
Title: Tremble
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: His hands had never stopped trembling.
Warnings: By now, you should know… character abuse. Yeah.
Notes: For Prompt 9: Fear. I still like crit. Or even acknowledgement that it was read. :3
Shikamaru had held her hand as tight as he dared, silent even as he put a hand against the wound on her neck. His hands had trembled even as Ino’s breathing slowed.
He had waited in the background when Asuma and Chouji had arrived, his hands covered in blood, and still shaking. Chouji said that he was nearly as pale as Ino. Shikamaru hadn’t bothered to try to correct him; Ino looked like death. Shikamaru was still living.
When they’d told him she would recover, he had looked down at hands still covered her blood. They had never stopped trembling.
Title: Care
Author: Kel
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru
Summary: He took care of them that night.
Warnings: Eh, none, really. Mindless semi-fluff.
Notes: For Prompt 3: Sick. I still like crit. And Team Ten rocks.
It was supposed to be a routine, stupid mission, but no one had planned for the team to contract some bug in the village they visited. When Asuma-sensei sneezed, Shikamaru had immediately known they were in for a troublesome trip home. When Ino started complaining of a headache, and Chouji of a stomachache, he knew he was in serious trouble.
They’d stopped to camp, and Asuma-sensei had been useless. Oh, sure, he’d pitched the large tent… but Shikamaru and Chouji had had to redo that once the support pole buckled. He’d started a fire, but Shikamaru ended up stomping out the grass around the fire pit before the whole forest went up in flames.
Then Ino had curled up in a little ball and cursed her very existence. Before long Chouji ran into the woods, a hand over his mouth. Shikamaru had exchanged a very put-upon look with Asuma and sighed heavily when his teacher only blinked back him, bleary eyes uncomprehending.
He went down to the nearby stream with two buckets. One, he handed off to Chouji in passing. The other was filled with cold water and he made a quick stop by Ino’s prone form and pressed a cool, damp cloth onto the back of her neck.
Shikamaru came to stand behind his seated teacher, nearly full bucket in his hand and briefly entertained the idea of just dumping the thing over Asuma’s head. Ultimately deciding that he really didn’t want to deal with the consequences, he instead sat the bucket down and held out a cup of water to Asuma.
“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Asuma hadn’t argued; he’d taken one look at Shikamaru and nodded, and settled everyone into their bedrolls.
Shikamaru had stayed up that night, keeping watch. Emptying Chouji’s bucket. Rewetting Ino’s cloth. Checking on Asuma’s fever.
When morning broke, he was still awake, and pleased that his teammates seemed better.
He almost didn’t mind the sudden fit of sneezing or the dull ache that had settled behind his eyes.
Crossposted to
10_hurt_comfort and
taegan_kel (personal writing journal)