Written for a prompt on naruto_meme, the anonymous writing meme on LJ.

Updated 22 April 2020.

.

.

.

.

.

Sakumo ducks.

Poison, his nose tells him, even as a swiftly-executed Shunshin brings him out of the attacking range.

His team has the sense to dodge, scatter, and get the hell out of there until everything blows over. They are no pushovers, of course, and they do have their pride as shinobi, but they are not fools. Only a fool would stand in the way of someone strong enough to pose a threat to the White Fang of Konoha.

Poison, wood, and that odd, nearly-scentless oil which Suna's puppeteers like to use to maintain their weapons of choice.

"You're Chiyo of Suna, aren't you?" he asks, and adds mildly, "Tsunade-san has been complaining about your latest challenge for quite some time."

The kunoichi's response is a buzzsaw-wielding puppet to his face, which slices cleanly through a log.

"This is not a mission, I assume," his Kage Bunshin remarks, while the real Sakumo quietly draws his blade. "A personal grudge, then."

"You killed my son and his wife," Chiyo snarls. "I'll kill you, White Fang of Konoha!"

He grits his teeth, suppressing a white-hot surge of anger. Two puppets attack him this time, and he breaks them both with slightly excessive force.

"In case you have not noticed, we are in a war," Sakumo snaps back, struggling to keep his voice level. "It happens. My wife was a member of the platoon which fell victim to your poison gas."

Chiyo smiles bitterly, with a touch of vicious, vindictive satisfaction. "Oh, that Slug girl couldn't fix it in time, then?" Something in her expression shifts, and she directs a glare of cold, furious grief at him.

"My grandson constantly asks when they're coming home."

Sakumo pauses. "Hm. I'm sorry for that, I suppose." It is quietly sincere, yet unyielding.

"You know damn well," the enraged woman hisses, "That I'll only accept an apology like that from your corpse."

She flings a storage scroll open, and Sakumo narrows his eyes. He recognizes those seals, and what they mean for the battle.

The ten puppets of Chikamatsu.

.

Sakumo swears, in the midst of chaos multiplied by ten, as a senbon grazes his arm. There is no ignoring the numbness which is already spreading, even from such a shallow cut.

(He realizes that he needs to end this or he may die, and his mind reminds him – of Konoha's gates, solid and welcoming, home – of Kakashi, who looks so much like him even at the tender age of four – of his wife, smiling as he returns from a mission – of Kakashi, yet again, staring expectantly down at him with feet firmly stuck to the underside of a branch – of Kakashi playing with the dogs, running all over the house while his exasperated but amused mother calls after him – of his hand on his son's silver hair, as both of them stare at a gravestone – of a hint of white chakra from his tiny son—)

The pure white blade slashes through the air, five puppets and an arm come crashing to the ground, and Sakumo knows it is as good as over.

.

"But I cannot do that," he tells her afterwards, with the half-ruined remains of her ten puppets (Ten, a part of his mind mutters incredulously. I'm lucky to even be alive.) scattered about in the newly-created plane of desolation. "Because I, too, happen to have a son of my own. And I will return to him today. Sorry about that."

(And if he allows himself to be chivalrous and lets the grandmother live, it's just Jiraiya's influence rubbing off on him... in a good way, for once.)

.

One of his team members scoffs, quietly, and tells him he's too soft.

Sakumo blinks wearily, a bitter smile on his lips, and murmurs—

"Hmm, you said something?"

He stares dully at the woman's severed right arm lying on the bloodstained sands, ignoring the irritated man. Sakumo thinks, briefly, of how there is no way he could have won without disabling half her puppets in that one slice.

The White Fang of Konoha flicks the blood off his chakra blade, and turns to leave. He is very much aware of the slow-acting poison in his veins, but Tsunade's newest antidote – which Jiraiya forced him to carry with him at all times – is enough to stall it until he gets medical treatment.

The woman is a puppeteer and a medic-nin. She is likely to survive, his years of experience tell him, but by the time she is ready for combat again... the war would be over by then.

Should be over, he tells himself.

He (desperately) hopes so, for all their sakes.

.

But for now, he just wants to go home.