Captor

Three days. Amarah had managed to keep her composure for three days, going through the motions at work while harboring three traumatized children and their masked tormentor's threats. Each shift at Metropolitan General felt like walking through quicksand, her thoughts constantly drifting to the kids left alone in her house.

The pediatric ward was the worst. Every young patient reminded her of them – of Sasuke's fever that first night, of Naruto's too-quick healing that defied medical science, of Sakura's knowledge of pressure points that no twelve-year-old should possess.

"Dr. Kendrick?" 

Amarah startled, nearly dropping her patient charts. Dr. Chen, her department head, studied her with concern. "Sorry," Amarah said quickly. "Just tired."

"You've seemed distracted lately," Chen noted. "Is everything alright?"

The question – so normal, so caring – cracked something in Amarah's carefully maintained facade. Before she could stop herself, her hand shot out, grabbing Chen's wrist.

"I need help," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "There are children... he's hurting them. I can't—"

The words died in her throat as a familiar sensation washed over her – that bone-deep wrongness she'd come to associate with his presence. She yanked her hand back from Chen, but it was too late.

"Dr. Kendrick?" Chen frowned. "What children? Who's hurting them?"

"I... I'm sorry," Amarah stammered. "I'm not feeling well. I should go home."

She fled, ignoring Chen's calls after her. In the parking lot, she fumbled with her keys, hands shaking so badly she dropped them twice. When she finally got her car door open, he was sitting in the passenger seat.

"Drive," the masked man commanded. The children called him Madara when they thought Amarah couldn't hear them, speaking the name with a mixture of fear and hatred. Whether that was his real name or not, she doubted it mattered - monsters rarely needed names to inspire terror.

Amarah's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "Please," she whispered. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't tell her anything specific."

"Drive."

The ten-minute journey home felt like hours. Madara's presence filled the car like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe. When they pulled into her driveway, he finally spoke again.

"Inside."

The children were huddled on the couch, Naruto and Sasuke flanking Sakura protectively. Their eyes widened with horror when they saw the masked man marching Amarah through the door.

"I warned you," Madara said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I told you what would happen if you tried to contact anyone."

"Don't hurt them," Amarah pleaded. "Please, they're innocent in this."

"Innocent?" Obito laughed coldly. "These children are weapons. Tools. Their innocence died the moment they accepted their hitai-ate." He gestured at the headbands the children wore. "But you... you need to learn your place in this arrangement."

He moved faster than thought, grabbing her right arm. There was a moment of pressure, a sharp twist, and then—

CRACK.

Amarah's scream was cut short by Obito's other hand clamping over her mouth. Fire raced up her arm as broken bones ground against each other.

"No!" Sakura leapt forward, but Sasuke caught her arm, holding her back. "Please, we'll behave! We'll do whatever you want!"

"This isn't about you," Obito said coldly. "This is about consequences." He released Amarah, letting her crumple to the floor. "Fix it yourself, doctor. And remember – next time I won't be so gentle."

He vanished in that terrible spiral, leaving Amarah curled around her broken arm while three terrified children watched.

"Let me help," Sakura said immediately, moving toward her. "I know medical ninjutsu—"

"It's not working right," Sasuke reminded her sharply. "You'll make it worse."

"We need supplies," Amarah managed through gritted teeth. "First aid kit under the bathroom sink. And my phone – I need to call work, tell them..." She laughed hysterically. "Tell them I had an accident. Won't be in for a while."

Naruto darted for the bathroom while Sasuke retrieved her phone. Sakura knelt beside her, hands hovering uncertainly.

"I'm sorry," the girl whispered. "This is our fault. If we hadn't..."

"No," Amarah cut her off firmly, despite the pain making her vision blur. "This is his fault. Only his." She sucked in a sharp breath as Naruto returned with the first aid kit. "Okay. I'm going to talk you through this. First, we need to immobilize the arm."

The next hour was a haze of pain as Amarah guided the children through basic first aid. She called her department head, spinning a story about falling down stairs, apologizing profusely for running out earlier. Yes, she'd gone to the ER. No, she didn't need anyone to check on her. She had family helping.

The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.

By nightfall, her arm was properly splinted and the pain had dulled to a persistent throb thanks to prescription-strength ibuprofen. The children refused to leave her side, camping out in the living room despite her insistence that they use the beds.

"We protect each other," Naruto said firmly, repeating his words from that first night. "That includes you now."

Amarah wanted to protest that she was the adult, that she should be protecting them, but the words stuck in her throat. How could she protect anyone when she couldn't even protect herself?

"He's getting frustrated," Sasuke said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. "Something's not going according to his plan."

"The chakra here," Sakura agreed. "It's different. Wrong. Even he's having trouble maintaining certain jutsu."

"Good," Naruto growled. "Maybe if he gets weak enough, I can—"

"No," Amarah interrupted. "No heroics. Not yet." She shifted, wincing as the movement jostled her arm. "We need to be smart about this. Learn his patterns. Understand what he wants."

"What we need is to figure out how we got here," Sasuke said. "And why he was waiting for us."

"And why here?" Sakura added. "Why this world specifically? Why your house?" She looked at Amarah. "It can't be random."

Amarah had wondered the same thing. Why her? She was nobody special – just a third-year resident at a mid-sized hospital, living alone in a modest house inherited from her grandmother. Unless...

"The hospital," she said slowly. "I have access to medical supplies, equipment. Could that be why?"

"Maybe," Sasuke conceded. "But there are easier ways to get medical supplies. This feels... targeted."

A chill ran down Amarah's spine. Had she been chosen? Had her entire life been leading to this moment, this terrible intersection with powers beyond her understanding?

"We should sleep in shifts," Naruto suggested. "Two awake, two asleep. Just in case."

The other children nodded like this was perfectly normal, and Amarah felt her heart break a little more. What kind of world did they come from, where children knew combat sleep protocols?

"I'll take first watch with Sakura," Sasuke said. "You two sleep."

Amarah wanted to protest, to insist that children shouldn't have to stand guard, but exhaustion and pain were dragging her under. She felt small hands helping her into a more comfortable position on the couch, careful of her injured arm.

"Sleep," Sakura said softly. "We'll wake you if anything happens."

As Amarah drifted off, she heard the children whispering among themselves.

"—can't let him hurt her again—"

"—need to get stronger, figure out why our chakra—"

"—protect her, no matter what—"

Their words followed her into uneasy dreams, where red eyes watched from every shadow and children fought battles they couldn't possibly win. When she woke hours later to Naruto gently shaking her shoulder, her eyes were wet with tears she couldn't remember crying.

The boy pretended not to notice, just helped her sit up and brought her water and pain medication. In the dim light of early morning, she could see Sasuke and Sakura curled up together on the floor, finally sleeping.

"Why didn't you wake them to move to the beds?" she asked.

Naruto's expression was far too old for his young face. "We sleep better when we can see each other," he said simply. "Know everyone's safe."

Amarah's broken arm throbbed, a constant reminder that none of them were truly safe. But looking at these children – so young, so traumatized, yet so fiercely protective of each other and now her – she felt something crystallize in her chest.

She couldn't fight like they could. Couldn't use their mysterious chakra or perform their impossible techniques. But she was a doctor. She knew how to heal, how to nurture, how to protect in her own way.

Next time she attempted to get help, she would be smarter about it. More careful. She would learn from this failure, this pain. And somehow, some way, she would find a path to freedom for these children who had been forced to grow up too fast.

For now, though, she simply sat in the growing dawn light, letting Naruto lean against her uninjured side as they kept watch together, guardian and ward, each protecting the other in their own way.