Two bleary-eyed chuunin guards at Konoha's southern gates—Hijiri Shimon and Akimichi Makaro—sat up straight at the sight of the group slowly making their way up to the check-in station. The early morning skies were at their darkest and there wasn't a single star in the sky. Light poured from the lanterns that hung at the station and the three piked up down the path, and when the figures close in, the guards could at least calm at the sight of what appeared to be a weary team of teens and their animal companion. Maybe chuunin by their age and state of dress.

And honestly, this team looked terrible. The canine stalking in the front had mats in his fur, some of those white hairs stained a sickening green. It was a hulking mass of a beast that stood maybe three feet tall from paw to shoulder, and if it ever poised on its hind legs there was a very real thought that it could reach six feet.

(The Green River had been aptly named from its ungodly amounts of algae to the aquatic plants that littered the river bed. It only took a quick soak and the few minutes of slathering crushed plant matter all over his body for it all to stick.)

Next to it was the shortest of the group: a brown-haired boy with a grimace on his lips, wrinkled tags on his ears, a smattering of cuts littering one side of his body, and his mesh shirt torn at the chest. He was wild around the eyes, dark irises darting back and forth until it landed on the guards with an almost unnatural precision like a hunter searching out its prey.

(Lightning Country was covered in hills and mountains and cliffs. A quick tumble down one was enough to dishevel, but a couple more brought out a battered look that could be mistaken for battle-worn.)

In the middle was another boy with dark glasses over his eyes that had orange rims one of the guards could have sworn was familiar. Mud smeared all over his heavy fern green jacket and his black pants and the bandage wrapped around his thigh was spotting red. His limp wasn't noticeable, not really, but it was there.

(A month cutting himself up in a cell on his own made him used to certain types of pain. It wasn't hard to dig a kunai into his own thigh and carry on like it hurt when it didn't. And if he made sure to track through patches of mud and dispel his chakra through his colony, no one said anything about it.)

And bringing up the rear was the tallest of them—a girl with pink hair and leather pauldrons that stayed fastened on her shoulders. A sword swung at her hip, as does a chain of rusting kusari-fundo, and a red rope is wound diagonally over her chest. Dried blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth and it was hard not to notice the distinct lack of half an arm.

(The blood was easy. A few nicks here and there, one trip down the side of a cliff, and a couple of trudges through thorned bushes were enough. There was no need to excess more injuries when she knew they would all focus on the arm she no longer had.)

Shimon and Makaro stood when the team finally stopped in front of them, the glow of the lanterns lighting up their faces with heavy shadows.

"N-Name and registration, please," Makaro requested. He nearly flinched when the first boy's glare landed on him.

"Inuzuka Kiba. Chuunin. Shinobi ID: oh-one-two-six-two-oh. Ninken companion: Akamaru."

Shimon's eyes flashed in recognition as he pulled out a book and searched.

Then, the next boy. "Aburame Shino. Chuunin." He observed Shimon's nervous page flipping. "Shinobi ID: zero-one-two-six-one-eight."

Last, the girl, who inclined her head down at them. "Sakura, no surname. Chuunin. Shinobi ID: zero-one-two-six-oh-one."

Shimon turned to somewhere in the second half of the book, gulped, and raised his head. His long brown bangs brushed against his face. "You're all supposed to be... dead."

And Kiba cracked the widest grin.

"Ya' hear that?" He nudged Sakura, fangs bright in the yellow gleam of lit wicks. "They listed us as dead." He barked a laugh drained of all its humor and dropped a fist on the desk. Shimon and Makaro grabbed their weapons, but that didn't stop him from leaning forward despite the threat of injury. If anything, he looked a little excited. "Look. We've had a long few days tryna make it here and honestly, we've had a long year and a half or whatever the hell it was of us 'bein' dead.' And I know there's this process and all these questions we gotta answer..." He sighed, but the grin was still plastered on his face. "Let's just make it easier for all of us and get on with it, yeah?"

"Get on with what?" Makaro bit, eyes narrowed and his stance ready to pounce at any second.

"Whatever interrogation you have for us. Why? It's standard procedure of any Konoha shinobi to be admitted through the security measures required of those who have been off the grid for six months or more." Shino raised one of his brows, as if to challenge them. "Unless things have changed. I suppose over a year of being away some things are bound to be different, after all."

Some of his kikai crawled along the skin of his cheek, and Shimon pressed his lips together—at least that was further proof that this was the supposed dead heir of Aburame Shibi.

Akamaru's growl snapped him out of his thoughts, and he took a quick step away from those sharp teeth.

"No, nothing has changed," Shimon said. Sakura hasn't said a word since her introduction, merely watching the conversation with a cold gaze that flickered with the lantern light. He would like nothing more than to look away from that piercing stare, but he figured it far more polite to meet her eyes instead of staring at her left arm bandaged at the elbow instead.

Up close, he recognized her. He'd seen her once or twice outside the Intelligence Building and she'd been friends with Aoba.

And the way he remembered her, she'd been in use of both arms.

"Then you'll comply and allow yourselves to be escorted to the T&I Building?" Makaro questioned firmly.

"Sure," Kiba grinned, and Makaro's really starting to hate that look. "But we haven't been out of Konoha long 'nough to forget where it is, so you don't need ta' lead the way."

:: ::

Tsunade tapped her fingers against her bicep as she stared at the team in the interrogation room who all sat around the same metal table, wrists and ankles shackled with the chains melded into the ground as they waited silently for their verdict.

Behind the one way glass, she frowned. "What do you have for me, Morino?"

"We questioned them each individually and their stories matched, for the most part. Got some parts mixed up by days or hours, but that's to be expected. They also fill in pretty much all the gaps their leader's mission report had," Ibiki said, reading through the case file in his hands. "They were sent on their mission, got caught by the Coliseum, and participated in the battles for a month and a half."

"The Coliseum? You mean the one where all those stuffy rich pricks were dog-fighting shinobi and no one could find out where it was until the whole island burned down?"

"The one and only. A massive break out is what caused that fire and they were able to escape on a boat that took them up to Lightning. Their team leader had been with them at the Coliseum, but after was where they split due to an attack by Lightning's border patrol." Inside the room, Kiba dropped his head into his palm and closed his eyes with a tired sigh. Shino kept his arms on the table as he stared at a dent in the metal and across from him, Sakura scratches Akamaru's ears. "Kumogakure took them prisoner for almost a year and half."

"Really?" Tsuande had met A once or twice when she still wandered around the nations looking for decent gambling halls and drunk her nights away. He was one of those tough guys she'd helped when no other subordinate could heal one of his shinobi; then, her hemophobia had been at its peak. "And they got out?"

Ibiki huffed. "That's what I said. But they'd made friends with one of the guards and she helped them get out before they got sent to the chopping block. We grilled them for twelve hours—no lies detected, no mind tampering, no seals to worry about." He snapped the file shut. "Actually, we had to grill the Inuzuka a little longer about the seals he had. The one on his shoulder has simple summoning properties and chakra storage mechanisms, and the ones on his ears help him hear."

"Alright, the kid's got auditory stabilizers. How'd he get them?"

"Claims he made them himself."

"And did he?"

"Yamanaka gave him a test sheet to gauge his competence," he said. Kiba's head slipped out his hand and would have smacked against the table if Shino hadn't reached out to pillow his fall. Ibiki looked on in disbelief. "Turns out you can learn a few things being kept so long in enemy territory."

Tsunade continued to tap her fingers against her arm, and thinks. She'd heard of them—how could she not? In the first week of their KIA declaration the heads of both the Aburame and Inuzuka clan, respectively, shouldered their way into her office to demand another search. But there were rules to this sort of business; if a shinobi didn't report back to their village within three months of their return date, which they hadn't, an investigation would be launched.

In the first search, two teams of jounin-lead chuunin had scoured the reported area of the mission: the southern ports and Nagi Island with intense scrutiny around Sachiko Village. They questioned Mayor Hano Sakiko and her wife and learned the team had planned to get themselves kidnapped to gain firsthand account of these kidnappers and what they wanted. The Mayor had been against the plan and she couldn't stop them.

Then three days later, they were gone, and she hadn't seen or heard from any of them since.

Tsunade scowled, wondering how the team leader even allowed a plan like this. Allowing the entire team to get captured by enemy forces for infiltration purposes? At least one of them should've stayed out of the infiltration team and followed at a distance so there could be an outside source that watched the proceedings and call backup if needed.

But she would admit getting caught by those who ran the Coliseum made sense. Traffickers employed by the establishment were best at disappearing and staying hidden when they didn't want to be found. So those teams kept looking, and any team sent around the area were encouraged to keep an eye out for anything strange. But nothing turned up.

After a month, Inuzuka Kiba, Akamaru, Aburame Shino, and Sakura were marked MIA with a Presumed Deceased status but were still kept on the casual watch list.

And when six months came around the corner and there was no sign for Team Eight for miles and miles after their leader had turned up empty handed, their files were released to the public and every single person who'd seen it had known they were dead.

'But apparently,' Tsunade thought as she unfolded her arms to prop a hand on her hip, 'this team just can't run out of luck.'

She strode into the room, Ibiki close behind.

"So," she started as she glanced at the teens at the table. Shino didn't move his head at her entrance but she was sure his eye had tracked her the moment she'd made herself known. Kiba sighed and slumped back, pulling his lips up in a tired smile that was most definitely forced as Akamaru straightened into a rigid posture. Sakura planted her hand on the table and turned so her left side faced the back of the chair. "Yuuhi Kurenai's Team Eight."

They nodded their heads in unison and said nothing. Tsunade cocked a brow.

"You've all been gone a long time. My name is Senju Tsunade, your Godaime Hokage. I trust you understand your situation and the process it will take to fully integrate you back into active forces." She paused. "That is, if you still want to participate as active forces. If you so choose, you may be re-assigned as in-village employees or resign your shinobi status all together to continue your lives as civilians. There will be no shame in that decision." Hazel eyes flickered to the identical bands on Kiba's forearms. "It may be expected due to the nature of your disappearance."

"There's no need for that, Godaime-sama," Sakura said, and Tsunade took a moment to take in the girl's appearance. Prisoner identification on her right arm, her left ending at the elbow, a tattoo along her cheekbone that looks like something she'd both seen once before and was altogether unfamiliar. Her short hair left the view of the mouse brand on her neck and Tsunade had to applaud their desire to continue their service after all of that. "We'll be available as able-bodied shinobi at your earliest convenience."

That got two raised, incredulous brows from Ibiki.

Tsunade glanced at the two boys on the other side of the table. "She speaks for the rest of you?"

"Yes, Godaime-sama," they chorused. She pursed her lips.

For all she knew, this could be a front. After a month and a half at the godforsaken Coliseum and a year and a half locked away by one of Konoha's worst enemies, they should've come back one of two ways: broken and empty with a thousand yard stare, or nervous and flinching and unsteady from the months they hadn't seen the sun.

But this team was nothing like that. This green nosed, inexperienced, barely chuunin team should've come back quaking. But Shino was expressionless. Sakura was cold. Kiba was bored out of his mind.

Shino shifted his arm, his coat sleeve shifting up and exposing the pale white lines that mottled all the skin around the brown bands that marked him.

Her eyes narrowed. "Proceed, Morino."

"The vetting process will be finished within the week, and until then you'll be kept in a holding cell," he informed the room. "After that you may return to your homes. Another week, and once you pass physical examinations, you'll be cleared to have your names back on the active duty roster. Any problems with that arrangement?"

Kiba smiled slightly. "Nah," he said, and his eyes lit with a touch of morbid humor. "We're kinda used ta' tradin' one cell for another."

Ibiki snorted as he made a few notes on the top of the case file, very clearly dismissing the chunnin as any sort of threat. But Tsunade didn't cast her gaze away, not for a second, and watched the humor leak from Kiba's eyes as they were overshadowed by that Inuzuka wildness—something she'd seen in the members of the clan more often than not.

Perhaps she was wrong, then. Shinobi didn't come back from torture like that one of two ways, rather, there were three.

Broken and empty with a thousand yard stare. Nervous and flinching and unsteady because the months they hadn't seen the sun.

Or they came back not thinking to live, but to survive.

As she and Ibiki left the cell, she stopped in the doorway and took one last look into the room. Kiba yawned, Shino drummed his fingers against the table, Sakura shifted back so her left side was exposed again, and Akamaru lowered his chin back onto Sakura's lap.

All of their eyes were still on her.

"Welcome back to Konoha, Team Eight," she said. She took hold of the handle and wondered how from everything she'd ever heard about them, no one said they'd be like this. "Let's hope you don't get yourselves into anymore trouble this time around."

The door shut with a clang.

:: ::

Izumo blinked down at a page in the southern gate sign in book, dated about a week ago during the graveyard shift. He blinked again. And again. Then pulled the book closer to his face and re-read the entry ten more times before Kotetsu took notice and looked up from the documents he was proofreading.

"What, the newbies filled out the form wrong?" he asked. He turned back to his paper for a few seconds, but the lack of a response had his head twisting back to his partner. Izumo still stared at the same page, rubbed his eyes, and pulled the book close then far, and then he practically slumped in his seat. "... Izumo?"

"This entry, it's... uh, I don't know how true this is, but..."

"Oh come on, I'm on the edge of my seat."

"About a gate entry?" a new voice inquires. Familiar. Quiet. Older. Younger. Dead. "Is this all you've been up to since we've been gone?"

Kotetsu had to give himself credit. He didn't even scream.

Izumo, on the other hand, had been leaning his chair back on two legs when he saw her, shrieked, and fell over in what must've been the funniest puddle of chuunin he'd seen all day.

But he didn't laugh. Because his heart was pounding a mile a minute as he looked into a face he hadn't seen in so long, a face shadowed by the sun as a pair of green eyes met his. They were the same, but not—the same chill around the iris and darker than he last saw, but they were lighter, too. Burdened, but alive. Alive.

"Sakura?" he whispered. And when the corner of her lips quirk, some of the weight on Kotetsu's shoulders fell off as he jumped to his feet and knocked her side.

"What the hell, when did you get so tall?" he demanded. The top of his head barely reached the tip of her nose as she threw her right arm over his shoulders. "Fuck I actually gotta crane my neck to look up at you—how's the weather up there, by the way? Holy shit."

It wasn't just her height he noticed—it was really everything else. The kusari-fundo at her hip was obviously misused and neglected though he knew she would never willingly let her weapons get close to that state. The tattoo—man, there was really a tattoo on her face, wasn't there—was a blue that made her eyes look endless; but none of that could compare to her left arm.

A left arm she only had half of now, and an arm he desperately tried not to stare at.

Kotetsu held onto her forearm, afraid that if he let go she'd fade away like a memory. "Where have you been?"

"Koinobori Island for a month and a half," she answered. Her voice was deeper. "Then Kumo for the rest."

"Kumo got you?" he asked, a pinch in his voice as he sighed wearily. "How did you guys make it out?"

"We got lucky."

Izumo watched his partner's face crumple at the line, something he didn't understand no matter how much he would think on it later. But it hurt to see that wretched expression, and the last time it'd been there had been at the beginnings of Kotetsu's realization that Sakura and her team were gone.

He cleared his throat and glanced back down at the book. "Sakura-san, it says here you were signed in a week ago?"

Her gaze moved to him and her eyes were just as cold as they were when she left. "We've just been released from T&I after being vetted and cleared to be re-integrated into the village." She smiled slightly, politely. "I was passing by and thought I'd say hello."

"So what are you gonna do now?" Kotetsu questioned.

"Kiba and Shino are making their visits and I wanted to check up on my apartment, go through my things, see what I need to buy and if my funds have been safe." She tipped her head to the side. "Only if my apartment is still rented out under my name."

"I'll go with you," he volunteered immediately, and he looked at Izumo with those imploring eyes that Izumo waved off almost instantly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll cover for you. But only this time because it's important," he sighed, but he regarded Sakura kindly. "It's nice to have you back."

She said nothing and offered that same smile before her and Kotetsu headed down the street. Slightly. Politely.

When she turned he saw a brand in the shape of a mouse on the back of her neck, old and scar white.

'... Unlucky Eight, huh?'

:: ::

The path Shino took to the Aburame Complex was one he followed mostly on muscle memory. Every now and then he'd see a stand he didn't recognize or advertisements he couldn't recall, and even once he passed a park he knew for sure hadn't been part of the district at least a year and a half ago.

But he reminded himself that half the village had been razed to the ground before they'd gone on that mission. Things were bound to be different.

Along in his musings he spotted a figure peering through a shop window, older with longer hair and a trusty bag of chips in their hands. And when that person turned at the deliberate sound Shino made with his next step, they nearly fumbled their snack bag and completely missed their mouth when they went to crunch on another chip.

"Shi-Shino?!"

"Good afternoon, Chouji," Shino greeted. His fellow year mate gaped at him like a fish gaped in air. "How have you been?"

"I—I—How have I been? How have you been?" Choji closed the gap between them and offered both a wide smile and a firm handshake. "I, well, we all thought you were..." he trailed off meaningfully.

"Ah, yes. I'd heard of the status my team and I were given, but it's in the process of being remedied as we speak." Shino tilted his head. "But I've been well enough. I'm not dead—though if I were, perhaps I would have more of a crick in my neck." And Chouji blinked, because that was kind of a long sentence for an Aburame and he just said a... joke? He'd never heard Shino tell a joke, like, ever. "I'm on my way to visit my father."

"Oh man, I almost forgot about Shibi-sama. After your team got declared MIA: Presumed Deceased, he didn't, um, take it well."

Shino frowned guiltily and the Akimichi quickly raised both hands and stammered nervously. "N-Not that it was your fault you disappeared or anything, er—"

"No, it's alright. I imagine he would have been... upset, at my absence. Do you happen to know if he's in?"

"I think so? He and Dad were talking over some things a few hours ago and he'd mentioned something about heading back home to finish a report for Hokage-sama."

"Hm. Thank you."

Chouji couldn't help but feel his surprise climb up a few notches. They didn't really know each other well and probably only talked because of their statuses as heirs to noble clans. He wouldn't call them friends, acquaintances maybe, but they had different interests, different views, were kids with not enough in common to even sit in the same sandbox. Pleasantries were always the end of their conversations, so exchanging more than two sentences with each other was... something.

"I'll be on my way, then." Shino tipped his head, and it was odd to see the bottom half of his face with no high collar to obscure it. "I'll see you later?"

Chouji beamed. "Yeah! I'll see you around."

When Shino quirked a small smile of his own and headed to his family's complex, Chouji immediately turned towards the Nara Compound.

He's got to tell Shikamaru about this.

:: ::

Shino stepped into an empty house.

For the first time in so long, he allowed all his kikai to pour from his body and re-familiarize themselves with the house as he walked into the living room.

The couches were in different places and the table that used to be behind the longest one was not pushed up against the wall with the window. The vase that always had some sort of red flower that never dried had slightly wilting statices drooping off the sides. The kitchen was the same with its dark brown cupboards and white granite countertops, but the pots that used to hang on the left wall had been moved to the right and the green towels that hung on the oven handle were gray.

He unzipped his jacket and placed it over one of the chairs at the dining table. Which used to be a reddish brown cherrywood but was now replaced with some darker color. Walnut? Brown mahogany? It looked a bit like the desk back in C's office and that for sure was oak with an espresso wood stain, and he only knew that much because he'd spent hours listening to R's whining about how C was so nitpicky about his desks...

Shino pulled down the long sleeves of his black turtleneck and turned his gaze to the beams on the ceiling. At least those hadn't changed, still overrun by the insect colonies he used to count when he was younger even if they seemed to have flourished under his father's care. Reds and greens and oranges and yellows dot and converge around the wood like moving decor, and he begrudgingly admitted that even Kumo couldn't have shown a grander display of the like.

He stood below the beam with the collection of Greta Oto and extended his hand.

One of the butterflies came to land on his finger.

"You colony has nearly tripled. It seems you've been doing well."

Then, there was a shift. He paused.

"I thought it would make you happy to see them grow," a new voice said, soft and wavering and broken, but doused in a hopeful tone Shino didn't miss. He let the insect flutter back up to its perch. "Your butterflies. They were all I had left of you."

Shino turned.

His father stood at the entrance of the dining room, the front door behind him open and a trail of dirt leading up to the soles of his sandals. He was breathing quicker than normal, taking in short puffs of air like he'd come running from the other side of the village.

Shibi took one, hesitant step forward. When his son didn't disappear from his eyes—didn't disappear like all the times he did in his nightmares—he took one more step, then another, and another, until he was within arms' reach and held his son's face in his hands.

And Shibi only stared for a moment. His son was warm. Alive. Taller. His hair was so much longer that it's all tied up in a bun. His jawline was more defined. His glasses were the same, but it was no secret that they shielded an eye more different than anything else that could have changed about them.

His son was back.

And Shibi already knew he'd never be the same boy that left a year and a half ago.

"Thank you for taking care of them," Shino said in a voice that sounded too different to his ears.

"Of course." Shibi's eyes welled with tears as he brought his son into his arms and cried, silent and unrelenting.

He didn't notice that Shino was tense all the while.

And he doesn't notice that even when the arms wrap around him to return the embrace, the boy's face didn't change save for the slight softening of his brow.

(Team Eight was forged in prisons and permanence as a pack that would always survive.)

((A small part of Shino would always hate himself for never being able to acknowledge his father as part of his pack.))

:: ::

Kiba tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and glanced up at Konoha's skies. They were so... blue. Kind of unnaturally blue. Maybe it was from being in Kumo for so long and being accustomed to the whites and pales and grays of their sky that he'd forgotten the colors of his own village, but he wouldn't blame himself for the loss of memory.

Konoha didn't hold a special place in his heart like Kumo. Konoha might have raised him and never taken him prisoner, but they'd done far worse than tattoos and shackles could ever bring.

Akamaru barked, and Kiba huffed. "Yeah," he said. "'Course the clouds're better over there. If they weren't, why would they be named after them?"

At the clatter of opening doors, they lower their heads away from the sky. Students flooded out the Academy for the day, shouting and shoving each other as they ran. Kiba pushed himself off the tree he'd propped himself against and strode past the students, Akamaru stalking behind him like a calculated shadow.

When he reached one of the classrooms, he leaned against the door jamb and watched the student frowning in front of Iruka's desk.

"So if i just show my work on the next quiz—"

"You'll get full credit," Iruka smiled. But it was short-lived when it wobbled and fell and he sighed at the puppy dog eyes his student gave him. Kiba almost laughed. "Okay, how about this? I'll let you off the hook this time, but you better show your work next assignment or all those points are coming off!"

The kid grinned and ran towards the door. "Thanks, Iruka-sensei!" She barely managed to pull herself back from running straight into Kiba and Akamaru. "'Scuse me. Also, your dog's really cool!"

Akamaru's tail wagged and Kiba playfully nudged his head and leaned back into the hall to call out to her. "Hey! If you tell 'im stuff like that he'll get a stuffy head!" He smiled at her giggling and went back into the classroom.

Iruka had moved, standing just to the side of his desk with wide, disbelieving eyes. An ashen hue drew out the color of his face and he said nothing, a knuckle-white grip on the edge of wood.

Akamaru plowed forward, the great hulking mass he was, and reared up to plant his forelimbs on Iruka's shoulders as he leaned into him with an enthused bark. Iruka stumbled a bit at the weight, and after a moment his shocked mask fell away into delight. He grinned and stretched an arm to pat Akamaru's head.

Kiba hopped up on the corner of the desk. "Iruka-sensei, you look old!"

Iruka laughed. A real one from deep in his belly that burst past his throat and nearly brought tears to his eyes. "Just the stress. Can't get enough of it, it seems."

One look at Kiba's fanged grin made so many emotions well up at the same time that he didn't know what to do with them. Grief. Loss. Happiness. Relief. His student was back, whole, maybe a smidge taller and his hair even unruly—and somehow, he was almost a whole other person without the Inuzuka red on his face. His jacket wasn't that signature gray with the fur-lined hood, but a thinner black with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows to show the brown bands that wrapped his forearms.

But once his gaze landed on the seal paper dangling from his ears, he recognized them for what they were, and worried.

And Kiba was having none of it.

"It happened 'bout a year ago," he said with a dismissive wave. "An accident. No one's fault. And I fixed it up just fine so it's like it didn't even happen."

"... A year, huh."

And it felt so, so long ago.

"Yeah, when we were in prison."

"Prison?!"

"Ha, yeah. There's a lot ta' catch up on, I guess." Kiba shrugs. "You got time?"

At the mention of prison, Iruka had been watching his face very carefully. Prison in an established enemy country could have only brought on endless hours of torture and suffering. It would've left open wounds on the mind and a thoroughly broken will, but Iruka saw none of that. A cloudiness hadn't swarmed his eyes. A tenseness didn't grab hold of his muscles.

Instead, the word spilled off his tongue as if he spoke of work or an errand despite the veiled darkness in his eyes that lurked even from the moment before he stepped foot in the classroom. It was a bit too... steady for Iruka's liking, but maybe that was the change.

No broken mind. No weary will.

Just the price of a jaded shinobi.

"Of course," Iruka answered. "But I'm a little hungry. Why don't we talk at the takoyaki stand? My treat."

"Takoyaki? Hell yeah!"

Six sealing books lay strewn on Iruka's classroom desk.

The Block Theory, Intermediates of Multi-layer Seals, Fundamentals of Stacked Linkages, The Evens Algorithm, Through Another Ink Medium, Applications of the Curved and Pointed End.

(Later, Iruka would write a note to remind himself to return them to the library. He wouldn't need to check them out again.)

:: ::

Kotetsu's arms were filled with grocery bags while a bundle of new clothes dangled from Sakura's right hand to replace the ones she knew she'd outgrown. They hung around the front off the landlord as he dug through his horribly disorganized drawers as he spoke as much as he could in as little breaths as possible.

"As you know, young miss, shinobi live under different rules for paying rent due to the likes of your missions. If they're off on long term ones it's expected for payment to come through automatic pay mailed in by bank clerks, for associates to come in to complete it for you, or for said shinobi to pay many months in advance should they know how long they'd be gone." He threw a stack of wrinkled paper over his shoulder and onto the floor, completely ignoring Kotetsu's raised brow. "You paid three months in advance and you were gone—good lord, a year and a half? Well of course there's circumstantial things that come up on your missions, whatever they may be, that may prevent you from returning. I just about terminated your lease before a nice fellow came in to pay off your monthly rent anonymously. How lucky!"

"Anonymously?" Sakura inquired. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

The landlord pulled out his drawer and simply emptied all the contents onto the floor. She didn't blink, and Kotetsu dropped his face into the grocery bags and sighed. "Yes, well, I'd asked for at least a pen name to sign off where the payments are coming from. Wisteria, he said, though I couldn't tell you why he'd given such an odd name, but I gave up on trying to understand you shinobi long ago." He dumped a second drawer out onto the floor. "But as long as the rent gets paid I have no complaints. The way he pays, well, it's the same way your neighbor's is! That boy up there has been gone nearly as long as you and he's lucky enough to have the late Sandaime-sama's funds keeping his lease in accordance with his will, may his soul rest in peace."

Now that was news. Sarutobi Hiruzen was paying off Naruto's rent? How thoughtful.

"Aha!" The landlord finally dug up a set of crinkled sheets he passed over to Sakura and she took it easily, ignoring the lasting gaze on her left side. "Here you are, young miss. Records and receipts of the payments made under your name and a form of transfer back to your own funds. Still have your key? I'm sure I have a spare for you somewhere around here..."

"Thank you, but I still have it," she answered as she glanced at the mess on the ground. "Have a nice rest of your day, sir."

"Yes, yes, you as well, dear. Just be sure to turn in those forms by the end of the week," the landlord called out to them as they leave the office.

Kotetsu followed Sakura up the stairs to her apartment. "That guy's... fun."

"His apartments work with the orphanage and house any that gain shinobi status. He may be a bit screw loose, but he does enough good work." She placed a hand on the front of her door and flashed her chakra to open it.

"Neat trick."

"Better security than keys," she shrugged and pushed through. As Kotetsu entered after her and scruffed his sandals against the doormat, he turned a curious eye around the apartment.

Not gonna lie, it was pretty shitty. An uneven paint job, chipped doorways, plastic chairs and tables—

But, someone's been visiting enough to make sure dust didn't collect and kept the place as decent as it could get.

Kotetsu set the groceries on the cheap collapsible table as Sakura went to leave her clothes in the room down the hall. A quick look around the kitchen and down the hall threw him off. The whole place was... impersonal. Small, plain. Somehow matching Sakura and her moments of aloofness but jarring against the softness he knew she was capable of.

There was no dirt, no charm, no color.

When she returned, those leather pauldrons that hugged her shoulders and the kunai pouch around her thigh was absent as well as the gear around her forearm.

Thick dark bands wound twice around the wrist and once near the elbow. He didn't ask about them.

But Sakura must have noticed something, because as she started to store the groceries, she spoke. "Catatumbo Penitentiary's hospitality," she explained. "You had to distinguish your prisoners somehow and this was the easiest."

"It's permanent?"

"Mm."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She shut the fridge with a light tap and met his eyes over her shoulder. "It doesn't bother me."

That was one of the things he didn't understand.

Why doesn't that bother her?

He frowned and glanced at her left arm, thinking to how many looks they'd gotten, mostly from civilians, as he accompanied her on her shopping trip and her stop at the bank. And she'd taken it all in stride—face blank, actions relaxed, eyes unreadable.

Suddenly she raised her left arm, cleanly cut off at the elbow.

"Catatumbo didn't do this, if you were curious." Oh. "It was my own fault. I'd gotten..." Her lips quirked into a humorless smile as she searched for the right word, "careless." With all her food items now properly stored, she moved back down the hall, Kotetsu trailing after. "Is there anything else you want to do today? I have nothing else to do until a couple hours from now."

She entered her room and he stopped at the entrance, the sight that greeted him catching him by surprise; the floor was covered in old cushions and saggy beanbags, all mismatched and worn and a complete clash against the emptiness of the rest of the apartment.

'Guess I spoke too soon,' Kotetsu thought.

Behind her bed hung four handwritten scrolls with phrases he didn't recognize.

Sakura ripped down the leftmost one, rolled it up, and stored it in one of the drawers at her desk.

Kotetsu didn't ask about this one either.

And she didn't give him an answer.

:: ::

Hana walked into the house only to freeze at the sight of a huge white dog laying on the floor as its tail lazily brushed the ground and its head faced away from the door. But as the Haimaru burst in from behind her with inquiring growls and demands, the foreign dog turned to them and got up to its feet.

The dog was fucking enormous. Bigger than any of the Haimaru or Kuromaru.

But its face. Its vaguely familiar scent. It's...

"Aka... maru?"

Akamaru gave a semblance of a smile and barked.

Hana's body moved before her mind could catch up and when it did she was in the midst of diving for the dog and enveloping him in a hug. Once the scent recognition registered, the Haimaru piled atop them, nosing their baby pack dog's fur and lapping at his face. Akamaru barked and rolled onto his side, his ears flopping back like a halo—but he didn't loll out his tongue.

That wasn't new, though, he hadn't lolled out his tongue for any of them to see since a little after Team Eight became Team Eight, and it was probably more of a personality quirk than anything, so Hana kept her questions to herself. As she hoisted herself up to dismantle her limbs from the heap of fur, her eyes landed on Akamaru's splayed ears.

She blinked.

Tattoos were uncommon in Konoha, but not so much for the Inuzuka. There were of course the red marks on their cheeks that signified a coming of age in the clan, and if they so chose, they could have other tattoos along their body normally done in a traditional Inuzuka red.

Their canine companions usually opted out of the process.

Except for Akamaru, it seemed.

The tattoos on his left ear had to be symbolics of his team. The bug she guessed was Shino and the cherry blossom Sakura, but the seal-covered senbon... was that meant to be Kiba? How? She didn't think a senbon was his weapon of choice and she wasn't well-read enough in seal work to even begin to decipher the meaning in Akamaru's ears.

But the design on the right...

Hana shot to a crouch. Wait, Kiba—

"Aw, why the hell're you back so early? We were gonna do, like, a surprise reveal and everything!" Five heads snapped up towards the stairs and to Kiba who walked down them as he toweled his hair dry. "I was gonna blow up some balloons, maybe jump out at you from behind a corner, then—ACK!"

The towel flopped over his head and eyes as Hana barreled into him, her shoulder catching his stomach when she hefted him into the air and spun him around. Her heart hammered in her throat and her head dizzied—Kiba, her stupid baby brother she thought she lost to blades and jutsu and left dead in a nameless field was whining in her arms the same dumb way she was so used to hearing.

She felt his skin and bones and almost burst into tears on the spot.

Kiba was back. He was home. And his body wasn't in a scroll meant to be prepared for burial.

"What the hell's goin' on in here?!"

Hana's spinning went into a grinding halt, a body still over her shoulder.

Tsume tapped her foot in the entryway of their house. A deep frown pulled her lips down and Kuromaru silently observed the scene from her side. Hana dropped her brother onto his feet and turned towards the front of the house as he yanked the towel off his head.

He met his mother's wide eyes.

And watched as she curled a few fingers in front of her. "Kai."

Kiba's brows furrowed. "Mom—"

"Don't come any closer," she growled. Kiba held up both hands, both palms facing outward. His face drew itself a careful blank and Akamaru slunk onto his feet, silent and careful as he prepared to lunge. "I don't know what fucking game you're playing here—"

"Tsume," Kuromaru warned.

"No, I'm not falling for this again—"

"Mom." Hana inched her way in front of her brother. "It's him."

"It's not," Tsume denied vehemently. "I already went through this once on the field from that genjutsu that fucking Iwa-nin thought they could pull on me, but no." Kuromaru kept a paw crossed over her calf to at least hinder her if she decided to run a warpath, and he studied Kiba's face from behind Hana's bulk.

"Step away and I'll deal with him."

"I won't."

There wasn't a sniff of panic in his stance as he continued to stand there, arms outstretched and features calm. Taller, broader, cheeks bare of red paint. He simply observed the confrontation with shadowed eyes that held a considering light and when that gaze flickered to meet Kuromaru's he flashed his fangs, and Kuromaru understood.

It was him. Older, wilder, but undoubtedly him.

Kiba looked back to face his mother.

"When you first introduced me to Akamaru, we didn't like each other that much. He peed on my sandals like a dumb lil' punk," he started as he shouldered the gazes of his mother, his sister, and all the ninken. "I think I was like seven or somethin' when you met Sakura for the first time. On the roof of that arcade? You chased us 'cause you thought we were ditchin'."

Tsume's hands begun to quiver.

"Uh... right in the beginnin' of us bein' genin, I totally punched a mirror and you got so mad you made me clean the whole kitchen. You know how long it took to pull the oven back, scrub it all down, then push it back? Akamaru had a grease stain on his forehead for a week!"

"W-Was that what it was?" Hana questioned uncertainly, eyes never leaving Tsume's frozen form.

"Yeah, we ended up having to use Shino's kikai to eat the stain off. Real A+ service by the way. Would recommend." The humorous lilt to his tone dropped off and his hands are still in the air, fingers splayed and above his head. "Sorry it took us so long to find our way back, Ma. We got kinda lost along the way."

It was that that broke the dam around Tsume's heart. Because Kiba hadn't called her Ma since he was six and chubby-cheeked ready for his first day at the Academy. And it was that same day that he'd come back in the afternoon, disgruntled that they didn't learn any 'real' shinobi stuff and wouldn't for a long time. At dinner he'd called her mom and she felt a small pang in her chest that six year old Kiba made the same decision all kids eventually made: that it was time to act like you're all grown up.

Tsume's hand shot past Hana and grabbed the front of Kiba's shirt to drag him forward into her arms and squeezed.

Hana sagged in boneless relief and the click click click of nails on wood filled the house as five grown nin-dogs bounded around them.

Kiba's back.

And she didn't want to let go.

:: ::

"I intend to pay a visit to Aoba-sensei, if you don't mind," Shino said from his spot at the dinner table. He and his father had been talking for the better part of an hour with him outlining his experiences at the Coliseum and eventually Catatumbo. He never mentioned Oosuna Nezumi or any of their Kumo comrades by name or what they'd done, never spoke of the boat towards Lightning or the hours spent wrist-deep in surgeries under bright yellow lights, never once brought up the way Kumo treated them the way villages ought to treat their own shinobi.

As if he knew what that felt like.

"Aoba," Shibi repeated, more to himself as he rifled through his memory for a name. "Ah, yes, the one from the Intelligence Division."

"If he's kept his same shift from a year and a half ago, then it should be ending fairly soon." Shino slipped off the chair and headed towards the door as he slid on his green jacket. He bent to pick up his sandals. "I shouldn't be too long, either. It's..." He trailed off. "Is it almost seven now?"

Shibi glanced at the clock. "It's... only three."

"Hm." He'd have to re-adjust to the time zone changes soon. "Then I should return well before nightfall."

He opened the front door to Sakura standing at the entrance, and Shibi unconsciously sat straighter.

She was quite tall and not quite whole, but one thing that surprised him the most at her appearance was that none of his kikai had come to alert him of the visitor. Of course she has been here before and had already been deigned as a non-threat due to her being on his son's team, but it was strict protocol to alert him of all arrivals to the clan complex.

And he hadn't noticed her. Not her chakra, not her presence.

Though Shino had. And by the expectant look on her face, he'd known she was coming.

"Good afternoon, Shibi-sama," she greeted with a polite dip. He nodded her way.

"Sakura-san. I am pleased to see your safe return."

'Pleased might not be the right word for it,' Shibi thought guiltily as her gaze moved back to his son. He certainly held no desire for any harm to come to Shino's teammates, but there would always be that small part of him that blamed them for why Shino had changed so much. For better or for worse, he had yet to decide.

But he spied the genuine smile on Shino's lips and the way both he and Sakura eased in each other's bubbles.

The door shut, and Shibi sighed.

:: ::

"Yamashiro!" someone called, and Aoba looked up from the papers he was organizing at the filing cabinet. "Hurry up and scram! You're getting picked up from school!"

The newbies in the division glanced up at the jibe, but quickly resumed their work with a shrug or shake of their head. Whatever that was about was none of their business.

The ones who'd been a part of the department for the better of at least two years, however, let those words sink in before rolling their chairs to get a better peek at Aoba, peering as his expression blanked before he jumped up from his own seat—nearly tripping over a leg in the process, and ran out of his station.

His colleagues watched on as he passed the check-in post and subsequently forgetting to punch out his time card. But the division associate closest to it simply pushes their chair back and processed his card for him, unconcerned, especially after an elated exclamation resounded on the floor.

"Um, is there something up with Yamashiro-senpai?" Fumio, a chuunin who started working there almost a full month ago whispered as he leaned around his desk.

"Means either his old student or one of his friends came to see him. Or both," Kameko, a senior member, whispered back. "Kids, the both of them. Thought we lost them about a year and a half ago."

"Mission gone wrong?"

"What other way do we go?"

Kameko vaguely remembered the days Aoba came into work after his lunch break with the food he'd taken untouched. Sometimes he'd get other coworkers to take it off his hands, laughing about how he wasn't hungry or he'd gotten too much to eat.

She knew better, though. The way he stopped talking about that pink girl and his Aburame student, and they way she never glimpsed them around anymore.

And by the time she'd gotten around to finding out what really happened to them through their published status, she'd grimaced before she'd gone about the rest of their day.

There was a reason shinobi retired by thirty. Because by then, you'd either be dead or dying, and bright-eyed youths that perished on the field only ever eventually became a statistic.

:: ::

Just outside the doors of the Intelligence Building, Aoba let out a disbelieving laugh as he greeted Sakura and Shino with a quick hug each.

"When did you get back?"

"A week ago, though we've just finished the vetting process and were allowed back into the village," Shino answered. He smiled at the man's joy; real and tangible and something for them.

It warmed him.

"Sorry we're late," Sakura apologized, a bit of a joking lilt to her lips. "There were more stops in the road back than we anticipated."

Aoba laughed again, though it strained a little more against his throat. "Those stops can be a little tricky sometimes, but—what matters is that you came back," he said. His shoulders slump in relief and he breathed out. "Safe and sound."

They ambled down one of the roads away from the Intelligence Building, a teen on either side of the jounin as they chatted amongst themselves. Or, rather, it was Aoba's bundle of nerves that had him rambling about random things they'd missed when they were gone.

"—but, ah, there's another tournament in a couple weeks that you guys should see. Um, hopefully you'll stay in Konoha longer this time, right?" he joked. "A-Anyway, the—"

He missed the way Shino and Sakura exchanged glances.

:: ::

Sakura, Kiba, Shino, and Akamaru stood under the gleam of a streetlight an hour or so after evening fell. They kept no visible weapons on their persons and stared down the apartment complex with the dark red doors.

The first apartment they'd visited had been empty—that or the person they visited didn't answer the door knowing it'd be them. And if the latter were really the case, then ouch. The thought stung more than they cared to admit but it wouldn't have been unexpected. Not everyone could've been happy with the stint they'd pulled.

Kiba yawned. "Fuck. It's like, three in the morning over there."

"Quickest way to get over travel lag is to stay up at least thirty six hours and wake up when you need to," Sakura said. She met the piercing glare Shino aimed her way.

"That's not healthy."

"But it's quick."

"At least the light's on up there, huh," Kiba murmured. The window he searched out had a faint curtained glow, and it was definitely the right unit based on the address he managed to snatch from a few well-placed questions from other shinobi. "Someone's gotta be home or they're drainin' their energy bill. Wasteful."

Akamaru woofed a question.

"Uh... I think he'd be happy to see us?" He looked to his friends. "I dunno. Whattya' guys think?"

"If he doesn't want to see us, fine. Why? It won't be our concern anymore."

"Damn. Cold-blooded."

"A year and a half is a long time. Especially when you learn to live without someone." Kiba started the short walk to the complex while Sakura brought up the rear, and Shino continued to speak from his position between them. Akamaru trailed along the left side of the formation. "If it would be easier for us to keep out of his life, I would not fault him. We bring too much trouble wherever we go."

The blunt admission wasn't a new one—they all understood it, they all took it to heart.

Team Eight was a lot of things and a problem was among the highest on the list; their curiosity led them to Danzo, their defiance unleashed Sai, their circumstance stuck them in the Coliseum, and their attachment brought trouble to everyone in Kumo who ever gave them the time of day.

'We weren't worth goin' behind the Raikage's back,' was the passing thought through Kiba's head as they ascended the steps to the third floor. 'Not worth lettin' us go. Not worth givin' us another chance.'

Door number three-oh-five was identical to the other lines of doors, clean and crisp without a chip in the paint. Akamaru glanced up nervously at the rest of his pack as he waited by the railing, body angled to charge to whoever answered the door. Shino's kikai shifted beneath his skin and Sakura's hand laid at the hilt of the katana on her hip.

Kiba raised a hand and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Half a second after that, it shut in their faces with a resounding SMACK.

"Um." Kiba scratched the back of his head, disappointment bounding around his stomach. "I guess it could've been worse."

:: ::

Tenzo's hands shook as sweat pooled into his palms and onto the metal door knob and he pressed his forehead against the wood. What was that. Who were they. They couldn't—no. They'd been dead for over a year. The search parties yielded nothing and he tried and tried, by god he tried to put his mind to rest. He tried to get past those sleepless nights. He tried to get past that suffocating guilt.

He tried to accept it. He couldn't.

And now they were knocking at his door? Ghosts didn't knock. Or was he hallucinating? Or—

Tenzo stood back straight and yanked the door back. No one was there—

He stepped out of his apartment, bare feet against the concrete walkway as he leaned over the railing and spotted them walking down the stairs, talking quietly amongst themselves. Sakura looked up first—she always did—and he tossed himself over the rail and directly in their path. He probably looked half mad to them the way he took the time to stare down each and every one of them, how he gawked at how different they were and just how much they hadn't changed.

"I'm sorry," he told them. "About everything. I didn't..."

Kiba, who'd positioned himself in front of the group to take the brunt of a first blow, lowered his fists and retracted his sharp nails. To the side, Akamaru's lips dropped back over sharp teeth. Behind him, Shino tucked his kunai back into his sleeve and Sakura relinquished her hold on her katana.

"Why are you apologizin'?" Kiba asked, and when Tenzo looked back to his face he noted the genuine confusion in his eyes.

"You—Your mission, everyone thought you were dead and I-I—"

"Being gone as long as we were, there is no one to blame but ourselves," Shino said. And Tenzo held the dull throb in his chest because he knew they wouldn't lie about that. The teen's tone quieted. "You look well, Tenzo-san. I hope we haven't disturbed you."

"Disturbed...?" The ex-ROOT huffed a short laugh as he pressed his palms to his eyes. All that time away, all that time who-knows-where suffering who-knows-what and they were worried about bothering him.

He sniffed and dropped his hands. Shino's face drew into its usual blankness, Kiba watched on with sharp eyes, and Sakura stood at both their shoulders a head taller at the very least.

They were weary. Cold. Carried too much on shoulders not meant to carry the weight of the world.

Just like the old Team Eight.

Tenzo offered a wobbly smile. "Would you all like to come in for some tea?"

It was silent the trip back up the stairs and to door three-oh-five left cracked open from Tenzo's haste. The promise of tea was an attractive prospect of a quiet night filled with stories told thousands of times by that point full of cut details and redacted names.

But.

As they stepped inside the apartment, someone was standing a few paces away from the door. Waiting.

Sakura steeled her nerves and bobbed her head once when her friends couldn't bring themselves to form their words. "Sensei."

Red eyes were blown wide through her curtain of dark, damp hair. She was dressed in a pair of loose pajama bottoms and what looked to be one of Tenzo's shirts as her hands froze half outstretched before her.

Complete silence reigned for what felt like an eternity.

Then Kurenai burst into tears.

:: ::

There was a body in the middle of the corridor.

Wounds weeping, armor cracked, curled in on itself into a loose ball as their consciousness paddled in and out of awareness. Every so often someone would pass through the hallway, side-stepping the red puddles and not sparing a single glance at the limbs bent the way they weren't supposed to.

-You are not comrades. You deserve this punishment. You have failed your mission.-

The body can't help but tense when a pair of feet walk too close to their face. They were simply a pawn, but they'd let the kunai cut too deep. They only needed to complete simple tasks, but they had failed this one because they'd let themselves be too swayed by emotion. By feeling.

"They are not comrades," they whispered, ripping the blood dripping from the corner of their mouth. "I deserve this punishment. I have failed my mission."

-You are a tool.-

"I am a tool."

-You are a pawn.-

"I am a pawn."

Another pair of feet flicker in the peripheral and their muscles involuntarily run taut beneath pale skin. Closer, closer, closer, until the blurred sight of sandals stopped just short of a particular spit-up of blood and mucus and phlegm.

A gloved hand slipped beneath their head and tilted it up. Swimming vision, dark halls, bright lights, then the shadowed image of a Monkey mask—blank, stoic, porcelain.

"Lion," Monkey spoke. "You are reaching completion of your Cognitive Re-evaluation. What have you learned in this opportunity Danzo-sama has extended for you?"

Lion held no hesitation.

"I have failed my mission. I deserve this punishment. There is no room for error. Should there ever be another instance where I have failed my mission, there will be no place for me here; I will dispose of myself properly."

Monkey let go of their face and stood, ignoring the sound of bone clattering against ground. "Collect yourself and report to Danzo-sama within twenty-four hours. Another mission will be assigned to you."

"Order received. Compliance understood."

Monkey didn't linger and simply continued down the hall as if they hadn't stopped in the first place.

They leave a broken body in the middle of the corridor.

-You do not have a name.-

:: ::

It was deep in the night when Kuromaru strode out for some air and spotted Akamaru alone on the porch, head tilted up towards the sky. The pup and his partner had come back quite late to an anxious Tsume sat in the dining room doing a poor job of pretending to play a card game while awaiting their return. And once they finally came back, they'd been more somber than when they left, more subdued and more quiet and the family had written it off as the year worn fatigue finally rearing its long face.

Sometimes Kuromaru wondered why humans tried to seek the easiest explanations rather than the honest ones.

"You should be resting up inside," Kuromaru said as he took a seat beside the white canine. "You've had a long day."

"I'll have a long day tomorrow," Akamaru replied softly. "And the day after that, and the day after that. Losing hours, gaining hours... it doesn't matter to me. I'll still wake. I'll still live the day."

"It would be easier on your mind."

"I think I'll need more sleep for something like that."

Kuromaru turned his head to peer closer at the pup's face.

Once the rush of the reunion had settled and they'd all made sure that he and Kiba wouldn't suddenly disappear again, Akamaru had slipped away from all the fuss and the noise to take some solace at first in the living room before slinking off outside where no one could see him. Hana had tried to follow and see if anything was wrong, but Kiba was quick to stop her.

"He just need to be alone sometimes," he'd said. "He'll go to Shino or Sakura sometimes too, so if he's missing he's probably with one a' them."

Which in itself was already so odd, because since when had the Inuzuka ninken ever chosen to spend so much time with people other than their partners? A clan member and their canine acted as a single functioning unit where one simply didn't exist without the other, and there was always this sort of bond that no one outside the clan could never truly emulate.

"You look like you have something to ask," Akamaru said. He turned away from the stars and met his elder's gaze, his own dark eyes piercing in the low light of the night sky.

"Not much of a question, really. More that I'm... concerned. I haven't seen you in a year and a half." Kuromaru stood on all four paws. "I don't expect to fully understand the hardships you've endured or the types of things you've had to witness in your time out in the field, but I want you to answer me honestly."

Akamaru inclined his head.

"You and Kiba... are you happy to be home?"

And this young pup, this ninken no older than fourteen summers who used to ditch Academy classes and loved tracking dirt into the house simply smiled, the corners of his jaw stretching just enough to show the whites of his teeth.

"Home," he repeated, "I never left it."

He pushed himself up to his feet, stretched, and trotted back inside the house.

"You should rest up, Kuro-sama," Akamaru woofed lowly from somewhere inside. And for the oddest reason, something in the pit of Kuromaru's stomach unsettled. "You've had a long day." 

:: ::

And we end with some awesome fanart by vixenelli!

SteeleBarz!

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