Shikamaru is, for some reason, horizontal again. Except this time, it's not just his ear that's wet. He comes to with a sharp breath—one that nearly cracks his own airway—and finds himself peering up at the white streaks in the blue sky, faint and filtered through another layer.
His heart steadies to a lull. Temari is by his side, and Neji is steps away but upright. Both of them seem back to normal. The fleeting thought he'd set aside in lieu for more important matters returns in that moment. He was the only one that hadn't been afflicted. Why? They had changed positions several times, poked and prodded the walls at each their own discretion, and yet, he remained conscious throughout.
There's nothing particularly special about him. He doesn't have a Kekkei Genkai like Neji, nor does he possess Temari's prowess or Gaara's beast. Most of his life, he has spent taking naps, feeding deer, doing the least amount of work possible so he can live happily and peacefully and ...
Shikamaru's eyes find the side of Neji's face, stoic again. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn't seen Neji smile in all the years he's known him—at least, not in the way he smiled when he was afflicted. Neji had looked and sounded at peace. Was that it? Admittedly, Shikamaru hadn't been paying attention; he'd always assumed that Neji, being the calm, cool-headed genius that he is, had everything under control, that he's fine. But is that true? He's heard talk about the Hyuuga's branches, how Hinata's part of the main lineage while Neji's exists to serve them. Having to deal with that must be troubling ...
And if he's thinking along the right lines ...
Shikamaru sits up. A battle between giants set the centre stage, and from the looks of it, the sea creature is at the sand beast's whim. He wonders, albeit briefly, if this has anything to do with Temari's troubles. Temari comes along as headstrong, fearless, and fiercely independent—but how much of that is her and not who she has to be? He doesn't know much about her. How she grew up, what she finds peace in, who she is when she's not looking out for others. It's something Shikamaru hadn't realized until now, but the entire time they were under, Temari was the one who took care of them.
The shore's sand tucks into his palm. It's colder than usual.
Gaara, too. He's wrong about Gaara, too. The image of his sand crushing Lee's leg had been burned into his memory, and while Shikamaru remained cordial as international relations dictate, he was still wary. But when the water rose, it was Gaara's sand that kept them dry and grounded in place. He doesn't know much about the guy either, but he knows Naruto. And if they're any alike, it's no wonder that Gaara's the only one he couldn't save.
We have to wake him up, Temari had said. But what if Gaara doesn't want to wake? What if whatever he's seeing or feeling or hearing is better than what's real?
"The two of you grew up in the same house, right?" His gaze remains on the tailed beast, even though he directs his question at Temari.
Then, he begins to hum. Softly, at first. It's the same tune as the one Temari had hummed when she was afflicted.
"You were humming that when you went under. I don't know what it means, but you looked at peace." Shikamaru catches a glimpse of red hair peeking out from the beast. He hopes he's right about this because there's no way any of them could fight it. "Maybe he knows it, too. If we all sing it, he'll hear us."
