The forest outside Konoha didn't feel like the Forest of Death.
It felt worse.
The Forest of Death had walls. Signs. Rules pretending to be safety. Proctors who would pretend not to care while still watching to make sure you didn't actually die (most of the time).
This forest had nothing.
Just trees that didn't care who you were, and a wind that carried smoke from the village like a finger wagging in your face.
You left your home burning, it whispered. Better make it worth it.
Naruto ran anyway.
Pakkun's little legs ate the ground like he'd been born angry.
"Left," the dog snapped, nose down. "No—left, you human brick. Your feet smell like panic and ramen. Stop stepping where I'm sniffing."
Naruto wanted to argue. Naruto always wanted to argue.
But the air ahead had started to feel… thick.
Not humid-thick. Not fog-thick.
Chakra-thick.
A pressure in the air like someone had put a hand over Naruto's mouth and pushed.
He burst through underbrush and into a clearing—
—and the world stopped being "mission" and turned into "my body is warning me."
Sasuke was there.
Down on one knee, one hand braced on the ground like he was holding himself together by force of hate alone. His sleeve was torn. Blood had soaked the cloth dark around his shoulder and collarbone. His breathing was sharp and controlled in that way that didn't mean calm.
It meant pain was eating him and he refused to let it show teeth.
And in front of him—
Gaara.
Not fully changed. Not yet.
But wrong in a way Naruto's skin understood before his brain could explain it.
Sand clung to Gaara's body like wet clay instead of armor. It wasn't swirling and pretty and defensive like it had been in the arena.
It was building.
Layer after layer, heavy and obscene, like the outline of a cocoon forming around a kid who shouldn't have been able to stand under that weight.
Gaara's breathing was the worst part.
Wet. Off rhythm. Too deep—like he was dragging air through someone else's throat.
Naruto swallowed hard.
Sasuke's head jerked toward him.
For half a second, relief flickered—small, involuntary, instantly strangled. Sasuke's face hardened again like relief was a weakness he refused to own.
"You're late," Sasuke spat.
Naruto almost laughed. It came out as a harsh breath.
"I ran as fast as I could, you jerk!"
Pakkun trotted into the clearing behind Naruto, took one look at the sand-cocoon, and immediately looked like he regretted every life choice that had led him here.
"…Great," the dog muttered. "Perfect. Wonderful. I love it when you kids find the world's worst problems and then sprint directly into them."
Gaara's head tilted.
His eyes found Sasuke—
—and then Naruto.
A smile tried to happen and failed, like his face didn't remember how to do it.
"More," Gaara said.
The voice was Gaara's.
And it wasn't.
There was something under it. Older. Hungry. Like an animal speaking through a cracked mask.
Naruto's stomach turned.
Sasuke shifted, trying to push up from his knee. His arm trembled—just standing there.
Naruto saw it.
Sasuke had done something big. Something that cost too much. Something his body was now punishing him for.
And Gaara… Gaara was doing something worse.
Sand shifted.
Not in a wave.
In a surge.
A tail-shaped lash unfurled from the cocoon's side—sand compressing into a thick, whipping curve that moved like it had muscle under it.
It snapped.
The trees behind Sasuke exploded into splinters.
Bark and dust hit Naruto's face like thrown gravel.
Naruto flinched.
Sasuke didn't.
He just stared—calculation in his eyes, the look he got when he realized a problem wasn't going to be solved with the tools he had.
"Sasuke!" Naruto barked, because his brain couldn't handle the image of him kneeling there and being hit.
Sasuke's voice came out flat. "Don't get in the way."
Naruto made a sound that wasn't a word.
"Don't get in the— are you—?!"
Another bulge in the cocoon.
Something pressed from the inside like it wanted out.
Then a massive limb—half-formed—thrust outward.
Not a hand.
A paw.
Too big. Too wrong.
Five blunt digits. The suggestion of nails.
It slammed into the ground.
The impact traveled up Naruto's legs.
The earth didn't shake like an earthquake.
It shuddered like a living thing gagging.
Naruto's breath hitched.
And something inside him—deep, sealed, mean—stirred like it had heard its rival's name.
Heat crawled up the back of Naruto's throat.
A low pressure behind his ribs.
Not words.
Not yet.
Just presence.
Just the sensation of a cage rattling because something outside had growled.
Naruto clenched his fists until his nails bit skin.
"Gaara!" he shouted, because shouting was the only thing he knew how to do when the world got too big. "STOP!"
Gaara's head snapped toward him.
For a second—just a second—Naruto saw a kid in there.
Pale. Cracked. Lonely in a way Naruto recognized so hard it made his chest ache.
Then the sand shifted again and drowned him.
"Stop?" Gaara echoed, and the older voice bled through like oil. "Why would I stop… when I'm awake?"
The tail lashed again.
Naruto ducked. The air above him screamed. A tree to his left vanished into a spray of shredded wood.
Pakkun yelped and dove behind Naruto's leg like he'd decided this was an acceptable time to be small.
Sasuke forced himself up, staggering, catching his balance with pure spite.
He moved between Naruto and Gaara like he could still be a wall.
Naruto's eyes widened.
"You're hurt—!"
"I know," Sasuke snapped.
Then, like the truth slipped out before he could shove it back down his throat:
"I can't do it alone."
The words hung there, ugly and honest.
Naruto blinked.
Sasuke—Sasuke—saying that out loud was like a kunai hitting stone and sparking.
Naruto didn't tease him.
There wasn't room for it.
"Cool," Naruto said, voice rough, planting his feet in the churned dirt. "Then don't."
Sasuke's eyes flicked to him—sharp, startled, like he'd expected Naruto to gloat.
Naruto didn't.
Naruto stared at Gaara and felt his own insides snarl back.
Because Gaara wasn't just "enemy."
Gaara was that feeling. The one Naruto spent his entire life trying not to become.
The cocoon bulged again.
Gaara's outline distorted—shoulders widening, posture changing, sand thickening into something that looked less like armor and more like skin.
Naruto swallowed hard.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a warning sign that had learned how to breathe.
And then—
"SASUKE!"
A voice cut through the pressure, bright and sharp.
Sylvie burst into the clearing like she'd sprinted until her lungs begged for mercy. Glasses slightly askew. Hair damp with sweat. Her face went still the second she saw Sasuke's blood, then moved again like she'd forced herself back into her body.
Pakkun trotted after her, tongue lolling, looking deeply offended to be in the middle of whatever this was.
Sylvie's eyes flicked from Sasuke to Gaara—
—and Naruto watched her whole expression change.
Not fear.
Recognition.
The kind you get when your body goes: This is bigger than you, and it does not care.
She swallowed hard anyway and stepped in.
"Okay," she said, breathless. "Okay, that's— that's bad."
"Great observational skills!" Naruto yelled, because yelling kept him from thinking too hard.
Sylvie didn't even look at him.
Her gaze tracked the tail. The paw. The way the sand moved like muscle.
Her hands were already digging into her pouch—paper, ink, brush.
Naruto felt a spike of relief so sharp it almost hurt.
Not because Sylvie had magic answers.
Because she moved when things got impossible.
She didn't freeze.
Gaara's head turned slightly.
His eyes caught on Sylvie.
For a heartbeat, Naruto saw something in Gaara's expression that wasn't just hunger.
Curiosity.
Like the monster inside him had smelled something unfamiliar.
Then the sand surged—
—and the clearing tried to become a grave.
Naruto snapped into motion.
"Sylvie—!" he started.
Sylvie dropped to one knee and slapped paper onto the ground like she was staking a claim.
Not a fancy seal. Not a miracle.
A ring.
Naruto recognized it because he'd seen her do it a hundred times for small stuff—kunai, fireballs, "please don't let this hallway become a death trap."
Her brush dragged fast. Imperfect.
Circle. Anchors. Three quick marks.
It flared.
A faint shimmer in the air—like heat haze deciding it wanted to be solid.
"DOWN!" Sylvie shouted, and Naruto obeyed without thinking.
A chunk of shredded tree came flying like a club.
The barrier caught it—barely—deflected it sideways instead of letting it take Naruto's head off.
The impact rattled Naruto's teeth.
Sylvie's hands spasmed.
For half a second, Naruto thought, holy crap, it worked—
Then Gaara's chakra surged again.
Not a tail this time.
A pulse.
The cocoon bulged and the air went heavy.
Sylvie's barrier ring didn't "break."
It shattered.
The shimmer cracked like glass and vanished, and Sylvie made a sound through her teeth like pain had bitten her skull.
Naruto's stomach dropped.
If Sylvie couldn't hold it—
If Sasuke couldn't finish it—
Then it was on Naruto.
It was always on Naruto when the adults weren't there.
Naruto stared at Gaara.
Gaara stared back.
And Naruto felt that hot pressure inside him press against his ribs again like a thing waking up to the smell of blood.
Not Gaara's blood.
Naruto's.
Naruto took one step forward.
Sasuke's hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't be stupid," Sasuke hissed.
Naruto looked at him.
Sasuke's eyes were furious—not at Naruto, not really.
At the situation.
At the fact that he couldn't do it alone.
At the fact that Naruto might do something reckless and die and then Sasuke would have to live with it.
Naruto's jaw clenched.
"I'm always stupid," Naruto said, voice low. "That's why I'm still alive."
Then he yanked his sleeve free and stepped into the clearing.
"Gaara!" Naruto shouted again, but this time the sound changed.
It wasn't just yelling.
It was calling.
"I know what you are!" Naruto barked, and he didn't mean Shukaku, not really. He meant Gaara. The kid under the sand. The kid under the monster. The kid under the word weapon.
"I know what it's like when everyone looks at you like you're a mistake!" Naruto's voice cracked and he didn't care. "Like you're dangerous just for existing! Like you're supposed to be alone!"
Gaara's breathing hitched.
For half a heartbeat, the sand hesitated.
Just a stutter.
A gap.
Naruto took it.
He charged.
No clever feint.
No strategy.
Just Naruto, sprinting straight at something that could crush him, because sometimes the only way to beat a nightmare was to punch it in the face until it remembered it was real.
He hit Gaara with a headbutt.
Solid.
Brutal.
Human.
The sound was sickening—bone on bone.
Gaara's head snapped back.
The cocoon shuddered.
And for one blinking moment—
the sand loosened.
Gaara blinked.
The kid came back, confused and stunned, like he'd been yanked awake from a bad dream.
Naruto stood there breathing hard, forehead already swelling, eyes fierce and wet in a way that wasn't tears yet but could become them.
"I fight to protect my precious people," Naruto said, voice lower now. Not a speech. Not a performance. A vow. "I'm not gonna let you hurt them. I'm not gonna let you hurt yourself just because you think you have to."
Gaara's mouth opened.
Something older inside him snarled.
The sand tried to surge again—
—and Naruto's hand dropped to the summoning scroll like it was the only door left in the world.
He bit his thumb.
Blood welled, bright and real against all that sand.
He slammed his palm down.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
Smoke exploded outward like the forest had coughed.
The ground trembled.
Trees shook.
Something enormous took shape in the clearing—massive, looming, the kind of presence that made everything else feel small.
When the smoke thinned, a giant toad sat there like a mountain that had decided to be offended.
Gamabunta.
He blinked once, slow and disdainful, then looked down at Naruto like Naruto was a bug that had crawled onto his skin.
"The hell is this?" the toad rumbled.
Naruto didn't flinch.
"It's a problem!" Naruto yelled back, because yelling was what he did when gods looked at him. "And you're gonna help me fix it!"
Gamabunta's gaze slid to Gaara.
To the sand-cocoon.
To the half-formed paw.
To the tail twitching like a threat.
The toad's expression shifted—not fear.
Annoyed respect.
"Kid," Gamabunta said, voice like gravel, "you've got a talent for finding the worst possible company."
Naruto swallowed, chest heaving, eyes locked on Gaara as the sand started to thicken again.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
The first thing I felt was the chakra.
Not "big."
Not "strong."
Wrong.
Gaara's chakra was sand in my mouth.
Gritty. Dry. Abrasive, like it wanted to strip my tongue raw and call it purification.
And under that, something older.
Not a person.
A pressure.
A weight with teeth.
Naruto's chakra flared in response—hot orange-red with a black edge, like a bonfire choking on tar. It wasn't even him, not fully. It was the thing inside him waking up because it heard a rival breathing.
Two beasts.
Two cages.
Two kids standing between them like tissue paper.
My chakra sense was screaming color and texture into my skull like someone had wired my nerves directly into a thunderstorm.
I forced myself to inhale through my nose, because if I breathed through my mouth I was going to taste that grit until I threw up.
Sasuke was bleeding.
Not catastrophic.
But enough.
Enough that the blood soaked his sleeve and made his collarbone look bruised.
He was upright purely out of spite.
Naruto was planted in front of him like a human shield who hadn't realized he'd become one.
Gaara was halfway inside a cocoon that looked like wet clay pretending to be skin.
And then the sand moved, and I learned something humiliating in real time:
My paper tricks were not built for gods.
I dropped to one knee and slapped paper into the dirt anyway.
Because "not built for this" didn't mean "do nothing."
A Barrier Ring—cheap and quick. Circle. Anchors. Three marks.
Bind. Push. Redirect.
It flared.
A shimmer in the air like heat haze trying to pretend it had bones.
"DOWN!" I shouted, because I didn't care about pride.
A chunk of shattered wood came flying like a club.
The barrier caught it long enough to deflect.
The impact rattled my teeth.
Pain sparked behind my eyes like a match struck too close.
For half a second, I thought: It worked.
Then Gaara's chakra pulsed.
Not an attack.
A presence flexing.
My barrier didn't crack like a normal seal would.
It shattered like glass.
Backlash punched straight through my skull.
My vision went white around the edges.
My stomach flipped.
Copper flooded my mouth.
I gagged, swallowed it, and refused to become a person about it.
There wasn't time to be fragile.
The lesson hit immediate and cruel:
Barrier tags were great for kunai.
Great for fireballs.
Great for the small violence humans did to each other.
This was not human violence.
This was a tailed beast pressing its forehead to reality and asking it to move.
And my paper circle had the audacity to say no.
So the world laughed and crushed it.
I swayed, catching myself with one hand in the dirt.
My fingers tingled—numb and prickly at the same time.
Migraine bloom. That awful flower of pain opening behind my eyes.
If I pushed again, I'd go down.
If I went down, I'd be dead weight.
So I didn't push again.
I crawled backward toward Sasuke, slapped my palm against his sleeve, and felt blood slick my fingertips.
"Hold still," I hissed.
Sasuke's head snapped toward me, eyes sharp even through pain.
"I'm fine," he lied.
"Sure," I said, voice thin. "And I'm the Hokage."
I fed chakra into the wound carefully—bare minimum. Stop the bleeding. Stabilize. Just enough to keep him from collapsing from blood loss on top of everything else.
He flinched anyway.
Not because it hurt.
Because being helped did.
Because needing anything felt like an insult to his bones.
I hated that I understood that instinct.
Naruto shouted Gaara's name again and again like repetition could pull someone back from the inside.
Gaara answered, and for a second it wasn't even one voice.
It was Gaara and something else, talking through him like a ventriloquist act made of nightmares.
"I can't sleep," Gaara said, and the older voice under it purred, satisfied. "So you'll sleep instead."
The half-formed paw slammed down again, closer this time.
The earth jumped under us.
My vision pulsed.
And then something colder brushed the edge of my senses—
Not like a hand.
Like moonlight suddenly deciding it had attention.
That distant, sharp presence again. A thread of awareness from somewhere too far to name, too old to feel human.
It didn't speak.
It just noticed.
Like something on the moon turning its face toward a flare.
My stomach lurched.
Naruto's chakra flared hotter.
Kurama pressed against his ribs from the inside like an animal trying to shove its way through bone.
I wanted to grab Naruto's sleeve and yank him back.
I wanted to do a thousand things.
Instead I watched him step forward.
Not because he was the strongest.
Because he was the stupidest kind of brave.
Because he meant it.
He spoke, and his voice changed the air.
Not with power.
With honesty.
"I know what it's like when everyone looks at you like you're a weapon," Naruto shouted. "Like you're a mistake! Like you're supposed to be alone!"
Gaara's breathing hitched.
The sand hesitated.
Just… a stutter.
A gap.
Naruto took it and charged.
A headbutt.
The sound made my stomach flip again—too human, too real, too intimate for something this monstrous.
Gaara blinked.
And in that blink, the kid came back.
Confused.
Stunned.
Almost hurt.
Naruto stood there with a swelling forehead and a vow in his throat, saying things that were too true to be safe.
For a moment, the monster inside Gaara didn't know what to do with being seen.
Then the older voice snarled and the sand tried to surge again—
—and Naruto's hand dropped to the summoning scroll like instinct.
He bit his thumb.
Blood welled bright and alive.
He slammed his palm down.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
Smoke exploded outward.
The ground trembled.
Trees shook.
And something enormous took shape in the clearing, the kind of presence that made my lungs forget how to be arrogant.
When the smoke cleared, a giant toad sat there like a mountain that had decided to be offended.
Gamabunta looked down at Naruto like Naruto was an insect with an attitude problem.
Then Gamabunta looked at Gaara's half-formed nightmare.
His expression shifted—annoyed respect, the exact face of a creature realizing this wasn't going to be boring.
"Kid," the toad rumbled, "you've got a talent for finding the worst possible company."
Naruto didn't blink.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
Between Fox and Tanuki, the forest held its breath.
Gaara's sand thickened again—hungrier now, angrier, the thing inside him realizing the fight had just grown teeth.
My migraine pulsed like a second heartbeat.
I braced a hand in the dirt and forced myself upright anyway, because if I collapsed now, I'd never forgive myself.
Naruto stepped forward.
Gamabunta shifted his weight like a mountain adjusting.
Sasuke drew a shaky breath behind me, stubborn enough to stay standing.
And Gaara—Gaara's cocoon creaked and bulged like something inside was trying to be born with violence.
The next phase began.