Chapter Text
[. . .]
"I exist for myself, and I'm fine with that."
[. . .]
Chapter 1
To Start Again
[. . .]
Haruno Sakura wakes up when she's six years old.
She's standing in the middle of a park with a convoluted stick in hand, poking at a floating piece of moss inside pond water. The air is baltic, hinting at winter just on the horizon, and she's bundled accordingly with merely a minor gelidity on her exposed hands. She blinks herself into coherency, drawing back from the lively liquid to slowly look down at her stubby, short, and not-at-all adult hands.
For a moment, she's confused.
Where's my ring? Is the first thing she asks herself, turning her tiny palms over in search of it. There's no sign of the ruby-like chakra of her husband, nor that of the metallic band that should be sitting snug on her ring finger.
Why are my hands so small? Is her second question minutes later, after she's done nothing but stare down at the unorthodox impression of reality that she has begun to assume is a dream because it's very abrupt from the fight she was just losing against an alien enemy. She takes careful consideration of every youthful line aligning the creasy regions of her freezing digits, growing more baffled when she acknowledges that she has hands akin to a toddler's rather than a woman's.
Curiously—and not quite there in the head that is hazardously questioning why she doesn't sense her daughter nor what's left of her friends anywhere—she bends forward to look at her rippling reflection in the water.
What stares back at her is her face with minor changes—her hair is a tint shade darker and her eyes slightly more narrow, with a particularly barren forehead. Most importantly, there's childish fat on her rosy cheeks and a more spheroidal facial structure that, again, corresponds to a toddler rather than a woman.
She blinks at her mirror image.
She's a kid.
She drops the stick to use that hand to horrifyingly pull at the extra, foreign flesh on her features, ignoring the lingering bark that chips off the more she probes.
Why is she a kid?
Her skin turns red from the pressure.
Where is the battlefield?
"Sakura!"
She doesn't jump when someone she doesn't recognize calls her name, but she does turn with rapt attention, keen on finding out who or what it is that's saying her name. Her questions don't cease their turmoil in her head despite the momentary distraction. Instead, more amasses like an infection when she takes in the burden of a brown and orange autumn.
It's supposed to be summer.
She sees an older boy with a shade of pink hair similar to hers running toward her, a sizable smile plastered wide and excitable on his spectacles-decorated countenance. He wears a long, black jacket over a verdant turtleneck tucked into formal, ironed dress pants. "Look!" He says when he finally stands in front of her not a second later from a long way distance, presenting her with both of his cupped hands holding an olive-umber amphibian.
A toad.
He's fast, she thinks with increasing bewilderment, meeting the taller boy's hazel eyes full of innocent anticipation unflinchingly. Her heart drops when she can't scratch any bits and pieces within her cranium as to who this might be. Who is this person?
Her gut rolls.
Where am I?
"Do you like it?" He prods as he shoves it closer to her face. "I found it on a bench by the fence near the entrance!" He quips, lightly pushing the unmoving and beady-eyed toad in one hand so that he can pet it with his other.
She stares down at the tiny creature, trying to uncover an answer to a face she has never seen.
Who are you?
"Do you think Dad will let us keep it?"
"No," Comes her fast answer, surprising herself. The boy doesn't look surprised at all. He's smiling at the croaking being with wonder, ignoring her. "He'll hate it," Her voice is high, whisper-like. Like a shy child. She doesn't know why she answered him with that. She doesn't know who his father is, nor what he acts like. She doesn't know... anything.
Who am I?
The question sounds sour.
I'm Sakura.
Haruno Sakura swallows in disbelief when the boy lowers the toad on the pond. "You're right," He hums, gleefully observing the minuscule amphibian hop away. "Having a pet toad takes a lot of responsibility. Do you think if we ask Dad for a frog instead, he'd let us?" He regards her again with that beaming grin that looks a bit like Naruto's when he's just been given a hefty bowl of pork ramen.
Bright, ecstatic, and brimming with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Although her mind has yet to go silent with its torturous realizations that are brimming with visions of her death she can't possibly believe, she answers calmly. "No, Jin. A snake might be better."
Jin?
Sakura looks away, back into the reflection. Fallen leaves float, taunting her.
That can't be me.
She's dead.
"Good idea!"
She's fucking dead, isn't she? She died.
"We should get the cute ones. With the red eyes and white scales?"
Her breathing goes shallow.
I'm dead.
"Maybe a King Cobra!"
Her ears muddle and her heart constricts. She raises her empty hand shakily, desperately searching for a ring that isn't there.
I remember punching the bones off this hand, Sakura internally dreads, and for a stagnant moment, a flickering image of shaky peripherals and agonizing pain squirting crimson streaks on a crater-filled ground flash by.
The enemy is gone.
So is she.
"A striped one sounds cool too. What do you think, Sakura?"
Her entire body goes numb.
"...Sakura?"
Her entire world goes dark.
[. . .]
"Sakura!" Shikamaru's shout is clear in the fields just as she's impaled through the neck with a spear.
The black markings of her Yin seal are quick to repair it as she latches onto the weapon fruitlessly, weakly. I'm not giving up, she snarls internally, increasing her strength as she chokes on her blood.
Her regeneration is precise. Absolute. She is Uchiha Sakura, Head of the Medical Ward of Konoha, the Strongest Kunoichi of her time.
None of those titles matter, in the end.
The tip of the spear extends to become an axe, cutting the remaining parts of her neck clean off.
She hears her daughter scream.
Her head rolls, throbbing on nothing.
She gazes at the Ōtsutsuki in the eye with promising bloodlust as the axe comes down to her forehead.
[. . .]
Sakura never wakes up from her dream.
She rouses with the same boy from before and an older man who glares at her from a mahogany door with notable worry in his eyes, keeping his distance from both of them. His wrinkles pronounce when she meets his gaze steadily, without a blink to soothe her dry eyes.
"Sakura, you're okay!" Jin, the boy with pink hair, with the toad, exclaims with teary-eyed relief. "I thought... You just passed out, out of nowhere!"
Sakura takes in his features again, calculating. His hazel eyes are covered with fretful moisture as his body hunches closer to her bedside, slouched with relief and concern. She doesn't dignify the boy with a response.
She's suddenly, very, very tired.
"It's okay," The boy goes on, grasping her pale, weak hand. He doesn't mind her silence. "I'll be here to take care of you, Sakura. I promise."
She closes her eyes in reprieve.
She died.
And she lives, again.
[. . .]
Every day after that one, Sakura is introduced to a new world unlike she has ever seen.
There are tall, mystical buildings that glitter underneath the hot rays of the sun and articulate, nostalgic places reminiscent of home. Of Konoha.
Every day after waking, Sakura struggles.
Adapting to someplace new while grieving her past is exceptionally hard, though if it were not for Jin, she might have succumbed to the pressures of the unbelievable concept of reincarnation. Jin, who is her older brother by eight years—does his best to cheer her up. He makes puerile jokes that bring no smile or laughter out of her, though he tries. He takes her outside regularly to observe more of a place unknown as the months continue, and she takes it all to mind, progressing and never letting go of her ninja-like habits.
It's nice of him.
She decides to reward him with a genuine smile one day when he gives her strawberry ice cream. The receiving elation and hug has her thinking that, maybe, reliving again is worth the trouble.
Maybe, she thinks wistfully as she grips an empty paper where her daughter and husband should be in the dead of night, I can do this again.
Come a year and she feels better enough to test her strengths. She endeavors to bubble up her powerful chakra source, feeling her forehead pulsate at every successful attempt she makes. When she manifests her strength in the middle of nowhere, far enough from her home while Jin and her working father—Wasuke is his name—are out, she's thankful to find that, though she is in a new body, this one still inhabits her previous efforts.
It's not the best, but it's not the worst. She's not in her prime years, so Sakura decides to practice all the jutsu she's written in a notebook Jin gifted to her for her birthday—still the damn same date—to recultivate the monstrous strength and ability of her old life.
When she jots down her findings, she hides the notebook underground, attaching an ember of chakra to it with light Fuinjutsu so that she can locate it easily if it gets lost. She changes its hiding place every week to keep her wits about her being in a foreign land.
It's a good move because she's found dogs digging around where she formerly secreted the notebook.
Another year goes by.
She spends her nights evolving her body and working on herself. She then spends her daytime hours attending school and making friends other than Jin who, in the end, cannot compare to any of her old ones.
It's for the best, she thinks as she comes home to an empty roof. I don't want to be reminded of what I don't have anymore. She takes out her homework and finishes it just as Jin and her father come home, praising her for her intellect.
Jin is kinder, more present, than her new father. This father isn't as dwelling as her past life's one, though he's more aloof. She finds she does not care because she doesn't think that a father who doesn't show affection would leave bento boxes for both his children in the raw hours of the morning. So Sakura adapts as the months go by. She decides to help her new family as much as they aid her by becoming the best daughter.
Not perfect, because she's far from it.
But she does her best and if her father is less apprehensive about her for it, then all the better.
She learns. She dedicates herself to belonging, even though it doesn't matter as much as she wants it to.
She recognizes this vacuity and lethargy hanging inside the marrow of her used bones.
Ino concluded that she had depression when Sasuke left her back in Konoha with baby Sarada.
"So that's it then?" Sakura mumbled, staring emptily at the table with vacant tea cups present before her. "He's gone and I relapse."
"I think you should find something else other than Sasuke that can make you happy, forehead," Her best friend advised, frowning. "Being co-dependent on Sasuke knowing how he is... isn't good. Like, at all."
"I know," Sakura sighed with resigned fatigue. "I know. I'm trying."
Ino tilted her head, eyeing the little girl in her arms. "It sounds selfish, but I'm glad you're trying. At least, for her," She nodded to Sarada's sleeping form. "She needs her mom now that her dad decides to be a jackass and leave."
Defending Sasuke was natural for her to do, but the argument died on her tongue because she was right. Sasuke was gone, again, and Sakura couldn't do anything about it. Except to care for the part of him he left behind, in her precious child.
Her engentado melancholy hanged laboriously, but she mustered the strength to straighten her back and give Ino a knowing smile. "You're right, pig."
Ino smirked back at her, waving her hand dismissively. "I always am."
It came back into this life. And this time around, all she has is the determination to see what this life has to offer for her.
After all, Sasuke always said that what he loved about her was her optimism.
I think I like my optimism too, Sasuke, she thinks with a prayer on her knees, hopeful and exhausted all the same.
She studies this world's history and finds many differences during school. Ultimately, the similarities that are of importance are that of war and bloodshed that she thinks she might never escape from.
That's okay, she thinks as she lays sprawled on the dirt, sweaty, panting, and bleeding. I'll protect myself better this time. I'll protect my family more.
And if she sees creatures of abominable, terrorizing nature that she uses as target practice, then nobody is wise to take notice of it.
They're everywhere.
They come in all shapes and sizes, often of horrifying proportions.
Some fly, some sit still, too fat to move.
Some follow her home, so she takes detours to stare at them long enough until they try to attack her.
Understanding them becomes too tiresome. She instead focuses on the erratic, uncoordinated strategy they use, and how she feels a different sort of consolation when she takes out her despair and rage onto them. Sometimes they come back. Other times they sizzle and pop into nonexistence, satisfying her craving for action. It's desperate attention she has become addicted to when she has time. These are the monsters that haunt me, she believes, so she makes it her mission to get rid of everyone she comes across.
Years go by, and in everyone, she feels less and less burdened with the weight of grief, in the place where love should have been.
She makes friends. They come and go.
She meets people in the street. They come and go.
She meets her reflection, uncovering the purple mark of her diamond by dispersing the henge that still works to hide who she is in a world so peculiar.
They think I'm weird, she muses with a slight humorous huff as she rubs the center of her temple. Nobody likes an invisible-fighting weirdo.
The monsters are invisible to the populace, she's come to find.
"I'm moving out," Jin tells her when she's ten years old, serious as can be.
She's cooking her father's favorite vegetables and steak when he lets the bomb drop. All Sakura can do is turn around and give him her attentive, blank, regard.
Sakura wants him to stay. "Okay. Do you need help with your belongings?" She asks instead.
She can't deny the bitter joy she feels when Jin's shoulders sag in relief. "Yes, please. If you don't mind?" He smiles broadly.
She finishes cooking, buys cardboard boxes (kills several monsters disturbing a small group of unknowing children in the restroom), and helps her brother gather his belongings when they get home from their brief shopping spree. She spends his last three days with him with light bickering back and forth, indulging in his comical observations more than she has in the last four years she's gotten to know him.
When the fourth day comes on a lounging Saturday, she stands next to her father waving Jin goodbye.
"I'll come visit!" He shouts while closing the trunk and turning to the side to reach for the driver's door.
"You better!" Her father snaps, forming his hand into a resolute fist. The crack in his voice is unmistakable.
Sakura doesn't point it out.
Jin gives them both one, last, longing look before getting into the car (an odd mechanical contraption she knows every part of due to her fascination with something so unique) and driving away.
So Sakura stays, cooking with her father the day the house feels a bit more empty.
"I'm glad you're here, Sakura-chan," Her father sulks, patting her head as he stirs the spicy soup around. "Screw that traitor brother of yours. Me and you will take over the world together instead, yeah?" He goads, sniffling.
Sakura pats her father's hand in return. He has a little more wrinkles than she remembers. "We will," She vows, and he smiles.
The next day goes the same.
She wakes up.
She goes to school.
She comes home.
She hangs out with her grumbling father.
And she sleeps.
Will I ever go back? She asks the day of her birthday, staring at the flickering candles with her father, her brother, and an additional member. A woman with short black hair and the most forgiving eyes.
Kaori, Jin supplied one wintery evening, introducing the healthy, happy woman with perfect skin to her.
I don't think I will, she surmises, closing her eyes and willing the stitches on the woman's forehead to go away just as she blows out the candles.
She's eleven, today.
[. . .]
Haruno Sakura, at the tender age of twelve, holds a bundle of pure joy and kindness in her arms.
"That's your little nephew, Yuuji!" Jin beams, rubbing the tears away from his eyes. He sniffles at the sight of her and his son, and Sakura thinks that this child wonder is just as beautiful as Sarada was when she held her. The face is so red, just like Sarada's was. He's relatively bigger than Sarada had been, though the baby smell is a little the same. Less strong than Sarada's.
At the reminder of her daughter, Sakura begins to cry.
"He's beautiful," She croaks, smiling brokenly up at her older brother who will never know of her sunken commitment to a dream life beyond this one. Of life long before, when she had lost it all and gained it all, just to lose it again.
She doesn't know why his smile mimics hers. "He is, isn't he?" He whispers, brushing a tiny lock of pink away from the baby's face. His finger lingers in place as the baby shifts with puffed cheeks in her arms, demanding freedom. The warmth and heaviness are almost condemning.
Sakura thinks this baby cannot compare to Sarada, but he doesn't have to.
She loves Yuuji already.
"Yeah," She snuggles into him, "He is."
[. . .]
Sakura is fifteen, grieving, and holding onto an innocent three-year-old Yuuji who hugs her with almighty strength.
"I knew there was something off," Her father hisses, running a devastated hand down his face. "I warned him! I fuckin' warned him and he didn't listen for shit!"
Sakura hears her father's ramblings, his frustrations, and his mourning for a son that could've prevented all of this if he had just stuck his head out of his crippling pumping organ and listened to them. She listens on with a heavy heart that squeezes another precious person inside to miss, clinging onto the baby boy who has no idea what is going on. He plays with Sakura's long hair in quiet burbles, marveling at the softness of it.
It was too late, she wants to tell her father. He was in love.
Because Haruno Sakura is the biggest fool of them all when it comes to love. She recognized the look her brother had when it came to his wife that seemed just a bit too odd for her tastes. She knows the yearning the heart bleeds for when it loves, and she knows it in her soul that her brother would not have given up on a woman he treasured more than life itself.
She knows, and she hates that she can understand him for it. Sasuke's face flashes through her head in bitter agony.
It was too late, brims at the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't say it.
Instead, Sakura grips onto Yuuji, of his future.
How will he do without a mother and father?
"Sakwa," Yuuji giggles, putting her hair in his mouth.
She gently pulls it away and lovingly caresses his head, closing her eyes in an attempt to keep useless tears at bay. There is no use for tears right now.
It doesn't matter, in the end, she knows. She has Yuuji. Her brother left behind someone else in his place, a memory that shouldn't have been. In her brother's damning home, she will care for Yuuji with all the devotion and adoration she has given Sarada, and then some. If her brother thinks he'll be forgiven for leaving this world just like that, then he's right. Because Sakura doesn't hate, nor does she hold a grudge.
Kind of like Sasuke, her mind quips without humor. Except the person was my brother, and I'm still a kid.
She understands.
And she knows that perhaps, as finifugal as it has become, she will protect Yuuji instead.
Because, unlike her brother, Sakura fights for what is left.
She fights and kills, and moves on.
A lesson Sasuke taught me, she thinks with resignation. One she had to learn in her past lifetime to benefit from in this one.
Her father storms off into his room, leaving her there.
The silence returns.
Yuuji's pumping heart echoes with promise.
I'll protect you, Yuuji.
Sakura stares down at the toddler in her arms and thinks, I'll kill the world for you.