Chapter Text
Yamanaka Ino fell on October 10th, during the last battle of the Fourth Shinobi War. A katana through the heart, meant for her teammate Shikamaru. There was no moment of inflection, acknowledgment of what she was about to do. Chakra exhausted and depleted of all weapons, she didn’t regret bodily intercepting the fatal blow aimed at her brother in all but blood. Though she did regret being the cause of the grief-stricken horror etched into his features upon realisation of what had happened.
The blonde Kunoichi barely felt the katana rip out of her torso to deflect a hit from an enraged Kiba who had witnessed the event. Her body was going into shock she supposed distantly. Nor could she remember the fall to the ground, only that she was now cradled in Shikamaru’s hold. His tears, she could feel. Cool, cleansing, leaving trails of ivory along her otherwise sweat and grime stained skin. He was begging her to heal herself, desperately forcing chakra he didn't have through his charred coils for a shadow stasis jutsu. A technique Shikamaru had used countless times. A technique that had saved hundreds of loves. A technique that failed him now.
She didn’t have to read his mind to know that he was blaming himself. And that wouldn’t do. The Yamanaka mustered the energy to bare her teeth at him, pearly whites stained with crimson.
“O-oi Shika, y-you better not be...turning my b-badassery into some...some macho self-flag...flagellating bullshit." She managed to choke out, lungs spasming as they flooded with blood. It probably would have been incredibly agonising if she hadn't already dissociated from the pain. “I’m a g-grown ass women and...and if I decide I want t-to throw myself onto a sword, i-it’s because I w-want to, not because...of anyone else, y-you misogynistic p-prick.”
She was gasping by the end of her tirade, but that didn’t stop her from pinning the familiar menacing glare on her team mate. The young man managed a sorrowful chuckle, smoothing a hand over her forehead and pushing away strands of blood-stained platinum hair. Leaning down, a feather light kiss was pressed onto her brow, lingering for a second to convey all the emotions she could read from him as easy as breathing. Pain-torment-devastation-love-desperation-acceptance-goodbye. He always had been rather good at compartmentalising Ino mused idly. .
“Troublesome Woman.”
“L-love you to b-bastard.”
Moments away from death, when the resounding echos of cheers signifying their victory reached her ears, Ino could only dully appreciate her bad luck of having been fatally wounded mere minutes beforehand. She knew she had been onto something when she drunkenly confessed to Hinata and Forehead one girls night that there was some force that seemed determined to fuck her over everytime a major event occurred in her life. Whether her sudden morbid humour was a product of her jaded lifestyle or blood loss she wasn't certain. Probably the latter- Ino had always had a higher regard for life then most of her comrades. At least she now knew all her precious people would be safe. Naruto would ensure that.
Ino smiled softly, she could say many things about the boy, not all of which postitive. But there was no doubt about it that he held a certain light that was such a rarity amongst shinobi that he must be something special. Something that draws the dark and broken like a moth to a flame. Not the most typical therapy but she couldn't argue with the results.
One last thought crossed her mind, before she drifted away to the pure lands, to see her father, Shikaku-Ojisan, Asuma-Sensei and all the other hero's who died for their own precious people.
Happy Birthday Naruto.
...
Nine months later, Fallon O’Daire was born.