Chapter Text
“I’d realised back in Wave that you were probably insane,” Zabuza calls out as he approaches the edge of the cliff the Leaf-nin is perched on, “but I never thought you’d actually turn traitor, too.”
The boy, a stark reminder of what Haku could have become if Zabuza had been less indulgent, doesn’t even raise his gaze from his sketchbook when he replies: “My kage knows I am here.”
Zabuza snorts, moving to stand next to the teen, anchoring his feet to the ground with chakra, far less willing to trust than Haku. “And you and I both know that if Mei offered you the headband tomorrow, you’d take it in a heartbeat.”
“I wouldn’t.” the boy replies, his pencil never faltering in what Zabuza belatedly realises is an impressively accurate rendition of Kiri’s skyline. Then, the boy pauses, and his next words are more pointed, for all that his tone doesn’t change: “If Haku offered to leave the Mist together, however, then yes, I wouldn’t think twice about ‘turning traitor’, as you say.”
Zabuza’s Kubikiribocho is on the back of the teen’s neck before he even realises he’s moved, “I’ll gut you if you so much as put that thought in his head.”
The boy laughs, seemingly heedless of the Executioner’s blade scraping the skin on his nape, but his words are damning: “You’re too slow, Zabuza-san.”
Haku is too fond of him to point it out, too devoted to even imply he could be better at something than Zabuza. But his Leaf shadow has no such compunctions, and Zabuza doesn’t know when the boy had gotten his measure, but he hates that he’s not wrong.
Even Ao had said that the kid can match Haku for speed, and Haku has been faster than Zabuza since his age had entered double-digits.
“Did you really leave the Leaf for Haku?” Zabuza asks instead, voicing the question Mei had demanded they find the answer to, because it seems unfathomable that a child of Leaf, a child of peace, could have voluntarily come to Chigiri for a teenage crush.
“I left the Leaf for many reasons.” The boy replies easily, his hand never ceasing its movement across the page even when Zabuza takes back Kubikiribocho. “Haku was one of them.”
Zabuza snorts at the non-answer, wondering who’d taught the brat politics. “What reasons could a talented teenage brat have to leave the tree-huggers?”
The kid’s hand stills, and those endlessly empty eyes finally rise to meet Zabuza’s, and the expression in them is chilling.
“Corruption has deep roots, Zabuza-san.” the boy murmurs, none of that earlier flippant attitude to be found in his demeanour now. “Especially in Villages which have spent decades pretending to be something they are not.”
Zabuza spends a few seconds parsing through the words, then huffs.
“Roots, huh?” he mutters, thinking back to Ao’s report on what he’d found in Leaf, and what – or rather, who – had been rather conspicuously missing. “So the rumours were true.”
It’s a statement not a question - he doesn’t want to let the kid know that he’s hunting for information, but Sai still shrugs.
“Why are you here, Zabuza-san?” he asks bluntly, pencil resuming its movement across the paper, and Zabuza can’t fight the spark of amusement he feels at the fearless way the boy addresses him.
“I read the reports. From the missions you’ve ran for Mei.” He allows, because unlike many in Kiri, the kid’s fearlessness isn’t fake. He genuinely doesn’t fear him, and that is something that merits a reward, no matter how insane. “Your skillset complements Haku’s.”
Instead of reacting to the backhand compliment, the kid’s only response is a quiet: “I am aware.”
If he had been part of what Zabuza is suspecting he’d been involved in, then he should already know what Zabuza’s about to say, but he feels compelled to remind him anyway:
“The missions you’ll be assigned if you partner with him – you won’t build a name on them.”
Zabuza had not been so blind as to not notice Haku’s desires, nor what his charge has made a point of training since he returned from the Leaf.
“I neither need nor want a name.” Sai replies, and that checks out as far as Zabuza’s recent realisation as to the boy’s likely origins goes.
“Then what do you want?” he finds himself asking, and this time, the response takes a bit longer to come.
“An outlet.” The teen reveals, closing his sketchbook and sealing it away. “And space to grow.”
Zabuza bares his teeth in a grin that the kid clearly notices but hardly reacts to. ‘Space to grow’? And he came to Kiri? Those Leaf-nin really are insane.
“Free from expectations?” Zabuza asks instead of voicing his thoughts, parroting what Haku had said to him when he’d come to request a temporary termination of their partnership.
“Something like that.” the Leaf kid agrees, studying Zabuza thoughtfully, and Zabuza almost wants to ask what he sees.
“You and Haku are really too alike.” He declares after a few seconds of silence, meeting the kid’s gaze with his own sharp one. “I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen to you if you betray him.”
At that, bafflingly, the boy laughs, eyes closing with the force of it.
“Shovel talk duly received, Zabuza-san.”
The boy is long gone by the time the kunai Zabuza throws buries itself into the rock where he’d been sitting.
“You’ve been working hard.” Shin comments as he straightens out from their latest bout, and Sasuke can’t help the twinge of annoyance he feels at the fact that Shin isn’t even slightly out of breath, while he is panting and red-faced.
“You’re leaving.” He spits between breaths, sheathing his sword in favour of resting both hands above his knees and leaning over in an attempt to catch his breath. “I want to learn as much as I can before that.”
He’s not looking at Shin as he speaks, doesn’t want the teen to see his face as he says the words they’ve both been circling around, not sure what expression the other would find there.
So he misses the moment Shin covers the distance between them, but somehow manages not to jump at the steady hand that lands between his shoulder blades, grounding and comforting and pacifying at once.
“I meant to talk to you about that.” Shin sighs, though he waits for Sasuke to straighten before he continues. “I am going to ask my master to take over your training. Hayate-shishou and his fiancée are probably the closest to true kenjutsu masters you’ll get this far from Kiri. They’ll be good for you.”
Sasuke doesn’t comment on how odd it is to hear Shin speak about someone with audible respect. He also doesn’t voice the pathetic ‘but I wanted you’ that sits on the tip of his tongue, more than aware that it wouldn’t change anything.
It’s like Neji said: nothing he could do would matter. Shin and Shisui have already decided. Them letting him know ahead of time was a courtesy, not a sign that he could change their minds.
The best Sasuke could do was make the most of the time he still had with them.
“Hn.” He hums instead of acknowledging Shin’s words in any other way, not trusting his voice not to betray him.
Shin sighs then, something torn between resigned and reluctantly amused, and before Sasuke knows it, he’s being reeled in, his forehead meeting Shin’s clavicle, the hand that had been on his upper back sliding to his nape, while Shin’s other arm winds around his waist.
It’s a loose hold, for all that Sasuke feels like he can’t breathe for the first few seconds, nothing like the desperate embrace Shin had pulled him into when he’d saved him from Kankuro.
Sasuke could get out of it if he so wanted.
He finds very quickly that he doesn’t want to.
The moment Sasuke’s shoulders release their tension, Shin’s hand slips from his neck and tangles in his hair instead, pressing Sasuke’s face more firmly against his chest, the arm around his waist tightening, and Sasuke-
-oh.
Sasuke is crying.
As soon as the realisation hits him, he tries to pull back, but Shin doesn’t let him, his hold firm. So Sasuke gives in.
He wraps his own arms around Shin’s torso, his grip desperate, and presses his mouth to the fabric above the top of Shin’s chest armour to muffle the sob that rips out of him.
He feels Shin’s sigh ruffle his hair, then there’s a moment of weightlessness, then vertigo, and suddenly Sasuke can no longer feel the heat of the sun on his arms, nor hear the bustling of the street that had been near the training ground Shin had reserved for them.
“I took us further into the forest.” Shin murmurs into Sasuke’s hair, his grip never loosening, yet the implication of his words clear.
And Sasuke- Sasuke doesn’t want to be grateful, not when Shin is the reason he’s crying in the first place, but this- this is what he’ll miss the most.
The wordless understanding.
When he finally cries himself out, he collapses against Shin, nearly boneless, but Shin supports his weight like it’s nothing, his hand sliding back down to the nape of Sasuke’s neck and squeezing, the pressure grounding.
“Shisui said,” Sasuke finally mutters, his voice quiet, the spot on Shin’s chest he’d had his face pressed into wet with tears and snot and saliva where it brushes his cheek, “that I don’t have to carry the weight of our Clan name by myself.”
Shin tenses then, brief but unmistakeable, before he sighs, and the hand that had been on Sasuke’s nape shifts to his collarbone, gently pushing him away from Shin’s chest.
When Sasuke allows the movement, blinking up at Shin tiredly, the teen meets his gaze, expression unexpectedly unreadable. Sasuke lets Shin study him, surrenders himself to those bottomless grey eyes, lets them pry him apart and make sense of things even Sasuke hasn’t fully realised yet.
Then, Shin nods, serious but open, and murmurs: “That’s right.”
And Sasuke- Sasuke feels like a boy again, but he can’t help the feeble; “What…What did he mean?” that escapes him.
Shin seems to consider his words, then offers a blunt; “By adding you to his Clan Compound’s wards, Kakashi recognised you as a Hatake.”
When Sasuke startles, Shin just grins at him, but it’s softer than Sasuke is used to.
“You could do the same.” Shin continues, as if he hadn’t just turned Sasuke’s perception of the last six months on its head. “Give those you care about the protection of your Clan name. Share the burden of the Uchiha legacy with others.”
Shin pauses then, but when Sasuke remains silent, he prompts, oddly gentle; “Or…”
And Sasuke knows what he’s getting at, knows the only other possible thing that Shin could be implying, but it takes him a few seconds to push the words out. “Or I could renounce the name.”
“Yes.”
“Dissolve the Uchiha Clan.” Sasuke murmurs, not sure if it’s to Shin or if he’s thinking out loud, giving voice to the thoughts he’d never dared seriously entertain much less speak aloud before. “Turn the Compound into- into something useful.”
Shin places a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder until Sasuke snaps out of his head and glances at him, and the grin Shin shoots him is sharp and full of teeth.
“You’re the de facto Clan Head, Sasuke.” He tells Sasuke bluntly, and the words nearly don’t make Sasuke flinch anymore.
Nearly.
“You could raze the Compound to the ground if you so wished, and no one could stop you.”
Sasuke exhales, and they both ignore the way his voice hitches when he asks; “What would you do?”
Shin laughs then, short and startled, and his words, when they come, are dripping with disdain.
“I claimed my Clan name only to turn around and spit on its legacy.” He says simply, and Sasuke winces at the matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t think I’m the best person to ask.”
But Sasuke- Sasuke has learnt over the time he’s spent with the other teen that sometimes, all he needs is a little patience. So he sets his jaw and raises an eyebrow and simply…waits Shin out.
When Shin realises what he’s doing, he laughs again, but it’s more genuine than before, and he reaches out and ruffles Sasuke’s hair, which Sasuke pretends to be annoyed by.
“God, you’re stubborn.” Shin chuckles, but it’s entertained rather than annoyed.
Then, he sighs and sobers somewhat, expression growing marginally more serious as he regards Sasuke.
“I think that every end is a new beginning.” He murmurs, and Sasuke’s breath catches, not missing the weight behind the seemingly simple words. Still, he’s not prepared for Shin to ask: “Do you know who you would like to be, if you weren’t an Uchiha?”
And though he feels thrown by the question, though he knows that he would have dug his heels in and bared his teeth if he’d been asked the same when he’d been fresh from the Academy, though he knows that there isn’t a single other person alive who would dare ask him something like this, Sasuke also knows his answer.
“Yes.”
And Shin, it seems, knew his answer even before Sasuke himself, because he just smiles, and the hand he still has on Sasuke’s shoulder squeezes briefly.
“Then let’s go to the Hokage, hm?”
Genma stands outside of the Hatake Compound, half-resolute, half-anxious, Yugao’s shouted accusations echoing in his mind.
“She might not want to talk to you.” Kakashi warns him quietly, having come over the moment Genma triggered the wards, though the Copy-nin doesn’t sound particularly concerned by that possibility.
“Gotta try.” Genma mutters back, trying not to wince as he remembers how childish he’s been.
“Hm.” Kakashi hums, then turns to lead him through the overgrown woodland and towards the house itself. “Start with the apology, then explain.”
Genma nearly stumbles, shooting Kakashi’s back an incredulous look, not quite able to believe his ears. Did he really just hear Hatake Kakashi, asshole-extraordinaire, advising him to apologise?
“Since when do you have social skills?” Genma can’t help but ask, the less-than-kind question slipping out before he could bite it back.
“Had them for a while, just rarely bothered to use them.” Kakashi shoots back, unconcerned by Genma’s rudeness, not even deigning to turn around, and Genma barely restrains the urge to gape.
“What changed?” he asks, and Kakashi snorts, but the response he gives is a dry drawl.
“I opened my old Compound to my three orphaned students and ANBU kouhai.”
Genma absorbs that piece of information, reads between the lines and into what that fact implies about the leaps and bounds Kakashi has made in healing since he got his genin team.
The genin team that recently splintered, losing a member to Kirigakure, of all places.
“How have you been?” Genma asks, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the genuine concern from his voice.
“How do you think?” Kakashi huffs, turning to shoot Genma an unimpressed look.
“And- and Sakura?”
“Somehow worse.” Kakashi sighs, moving to open the front door right as Genma feels himself lose the last of his nerve.
“Maybe it’s not a good time-” he begins, but Kakashi cuts him off with a sharp “-Sakura!” that makes Genma jump.
“Inside voice, tai-” comes the snide retort, accompanied by Sakura’s feet thundering down the stairs, not bothering to quiet her steps, more relaxed in Kakashi’s home than she’d been in her own apartment the one time Genma had visited, though her words die in her throat when she reaches the bottom of the stairs and spots Genma standing behind Kakashi in the entryway.
Genma spends just enough time gathering his words to watch Sakura shoot Kakashi a betrayed glare, before he steps closer to the threshold, though still not through, the wards too strong, and speaks.
“I’m sorry.” He breathes, the words rushing out of him, suddenly desperate to get them out before Sakura wizens up and turns her back on him the way he’d done to her. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”
He can tell that Sakura hadn’t expected to hear those words from him, but she’s too good of an actress to let her reaction show, narrowing her eyes at him instead, face smoothing of all other expression.
“What are you sorry for?” she asks flatly, and suddenly, Genma can see exactly how Kakashi could’ve been made to use his meagre social skills after more than two decades of pretending they didn’t exist.
“I didn’t realise that you didn’t know who Bat was to me.” Genma explains, resisting the urge to shoot Kakashi a look to check whether now is the right moment for the explanation. “I thought you’d found out I was the one who told Kakashi to get you off Wolf’s team and you were- lashing out. Getting back at me.”
Sakura exhales, and though it’s difficult to assign emotion to a breath, Genma can’t help but feel like it sounds…relieved, if annoyed.
“I wasn’t.” she says simply, and Genma nods.
“I know that now.” he admits, stifling a wince at the memory of Yugao making him aware of that fact. “So I’m sorry for avoiding you. And for what I said in the hospital.”
Sakura studies him for a beat, face expressionless, before something behind her eyes seems to crack a little, the tension around them softening.
“I’m sorry if Bat’s demotion hurt you.” she allows, her words measured, holding Genma’s gaze, letting him see the honesty of the words. “But I am not sorry for what I did.”
Genma takes a breath, holds it, and lets it out, reminding himself that he is used to this sort of ruthlessness, that the apology is already more than he expected.
“That’s fair.” He manages, and Sakura smiles then, fond and bittersweet.
“It’s not.” She corrects, not quite sad, but softer than she’d been when she’d first laid eyes on Genma. “But it’s all I can give you.”
Genma sighs, trying to bite down the instinctive smile that threatens to pull at his lips. “I appreciate the honesty.”
Sakura’s face spasms then, expression crumbling, and there’s hurt in her eyes when she next speaks.
“I trusted you, Genma.” She murmurs, and Genma tries not to wince at the past tense. “I enjoyed- being around you. Making poisons. Bullying Kakashi.”
They both ignore Kakashi’s quiet ‘hey!’.
“I did, too.” Genma admits, trying to ignore the fact that Kakashi is still right there. “We can- build back up to that. If you want.”
“I do.” Sakura confirms, and Genma takes the win for what it is. “Eventually. But for now, can you- Can I have a hug?”
The relieved sigh that escapes him is far from subtle, but mercifully, neither Sakura nor Kakashi comment on it.
“Come here, kid.” He says simply, stepping past Kakashi and opening up his arms, letting out a winded ‘oof’ when Sakura almost barrels into him.
The girl doesn’t quite melt into the embrace once his arms close around her, but some of the tension leaves her shoulders, and that’s better than Genma had dared hope for.
It’s not full forgiveness, not yet, but it’s a start.
It had taken Kakashi two hours to convince Yamato to agree to the assistant sensei position, and an extra thirty minutes to convince him to come to Iwa.
Genma had congratulated him for having lasted as long as he had, while Yugao had offered him a consoling pat on the back when she’d heard, more than familiar with Kakashi’s particular brand of nonsense.
The Godaime’s explanation that she allowed Kakashi the assignment partly so that he would be able to restrain Naruto should the boy lose control, and partly so that he would have the time to teach Kakashi’s current assistant sensei the Mokuton, had soothed some of Yamato’s ruffled feathers, assuring him that he’d earned the post and wasn’t just being gifted a role he didn’t deserve because Kakashi was fond of him and there was nobody left in the Village who could realistically tell the Copy-nin ‘no’ and have him listen.
So Yamato accepted his assignment and headed to the training grounds for the time Kakashi had indicated, surprised to find the man already there, sitting cross-legged on the ground, signature book in hand, his pink-haired assistant draped over his shoulders like an overgrown housecat or an odd shawl.
Either the girl is a particularly good actress, which Yamato wouldn’t rule out considering her upbringing, or she trusts Kakashi enough to fall asleep fully in his presence.
Yamato spends all of three seconds weighing up the pros and cons of making his presence known but ultimately decides against approaching the two, blending half into one of the trees and opting to observe instead, curious to see what he might gleam of the group’s dynamics.
And curious to see Kakashi with a bunch of subordinates who are not ANBU recruits.
“Sasuke, Kaka-sensei’s on time.” The Uzumaki stage-whispers when he and the Uchiha stroll into the clearing ten minutes later and promptly freeze, both eyeing Kakashi suspiciously. “D’you think baa-chan threatened him?”
The Uchiha huffs, and Yamato is relieved to see that there’s no immediate resemblance to Itachi in the boy’s face and demeanour, despite their close relation.
“I think there’s some other person or responsibility that he’s avoiding so he came here.” The teen mutters, not even trying to hide what he is saying from Kakashi.
“Oh yeah, nobody’s gonna think he’s actually where he’s supposed to be!” the Uzumaki chortles, approaching the spot where Kakashi’s sitting, and it’s a staggeringly accurate summary of what dealing with the Copy-nin is like.
“Is the peanut gallery quite done?” Kakashi grouches, but even Yamato can tell that there’s no heat in the jab. “There’s been some changes to our team, and with the Chunin Exams coming up, I thought it’d be best to give you as much time as possible to get used to those changes.”
The boys settle down on the ground opposite Kakashi, clearly sensing that Kakashi has more to say, but it’s the Uchiha who prompts him first.
“Can we even participate in the exams as a team of two?” he asks with a frown, and Yamato can see the contours of Kakashi’s grin even from as far as he’s standing.
“No.” Kakashi replies cheerfully, “But you will not be a team of two.”
It is then that the girl draped over his shoulders stirs, stands, and stretches, the motions almost cat-like, before settling at Kakashi’s side and pinning the boys with a small smile and a gaze far more alert than should’ve been possible for someone who’d seemingly just woken up from a deep sleep.
The Uzumaki puts it together first. “You don’t mean- Sakura-sensei?”
Kakashi huffas a laugh then, nudging the girl with an elbow to push her closer to the boys.
“She is, technically, the same age as you.” he points out simply, and Yamato doesn’t need to know the boys as well as Kakashi knows them to see that neither of them are convinced.
“You want her to pretend to be our teammate.” The Uchiha concludes, frowning fully now as he glances from the girl to Kakashi. “No offense, but nobody will believe that someone like her is a genin.”
“Sakura’s specialisation is infiltration.” Kakashi points out smoothly, and Yamato wonders why the girl is allowing the Copy-nin to speak for her. From what Yamato had gathered of her in their brief encounters, she’s hardly the type to need someone to fight her battles.
The Uchiha, it seems, is thinking along the same tracks as Yamato, because he abandons his line of questioning with Kakashi and turns to the girl instead.
“I get why he wants you to do this,” he says, pointing at Kakashi as if there was anybody else he could be talking about, “but what do you get out of playing-genin for a month?”
The girl hums then, tired but undeniably fond, but her answer, when she gives it, sends a shiver down Yamato’s spine.
“I sustained serious damage to my chakra coils during the Invasion.” She reveals matter-of-factly, and it seems that at least the Uchiha knows the significance of such an injury, because the boy’s eyes widen. “I can’t run my usual missions until that damage heals, and my skills with the handicap would either brand me a taijutsu specialist, or, in Kakashi’s words, ‘an overpowered genin with shit chakra control’.”
Yamato sighs, not even able to muster up any surprise at Kakashi’s trademark bluntness. Nor, it seems, can his other kouhai, because the girl only laughs at the indignant look the Uzumaki throws at Kakashi and finishes;
“As for what I get for coming with you- honestly?” she drawls, exchanging a weighted look with Kakashi. “A paid vacation.”
“So you get an ANBU-level bodyguard to babysit us through the whole thing, you get a vacation from your usual missions, and we get to take the Chunin Exams six months earlier than the other Rookies.” The Uchiha summarises dryly, pointing first at Kakashi then at his assistant, and the girl huffs a laugh, nodding.
“That’s about the gist of it.”
“Then what’s the problem?” The Uzumaki demands, looking between his teammates and sensei with a frown, which Kakashi meets with his trademark bullshit grin.
“The problem is whether you two can learn to work together with my darling kouhai as your teammate.” Kakashi remarks, “And do it in six weeks, rather than six months.”
The girl frowns then, turning from the Uchiha to Kakashi, eyebrow raised, expression suspicious.
“There’s over two months left until the Exams.” She says slowly, and the grin Kakashi levels at her can only be described as 'shit-eating'.
“The Exams, yes.” He agrees glibly. “But I want to run bootcamp 2.0 with the boys beforehand, while you’ll have carpentry lessons with Tenzo.”
At that, the Uzumaki shudders, and Yamato stifles a laugh. “Not another bootcamp! Kaka-sensei, please!”
“Have you ever been to Iwa?” Kakashi asks, but even Yamato can tell its rhetorical. “Its climate and soil are far less forgiving than Konoha’s. I want you to be prepared, so we’re going to be exploiting our newly-reformed alliance with Suna and running missions around the Land of Wind to get you used to navigating a tundra and teach you how to not go crazy after days in the desert. How’s that sound?”
The three teens look at each other, expressions a mix of amusement and apprehension, but it’s the Uzumaki who finally replies: “…Scary.”
“Most Iwa-nin are.” Kakashi agrees with a shrug, and the girl huffs, a mix of exasperated and reluctantly amused before she turns to address the boys.
“Then there’s the fact that we won’t be well-received, as Konoha-nin.”
The Uchiha frowns then, staring at the girl for a few seconds before realisation dawns.
“The Yondaime.” He breathes, and Yamato can’t help the eyebrow-raise at the instinctive ‘Good, Sasuke, well done’ the girl directs at the Uchiha. It seems it's not just the boys who'll benefit from the time to get used to the new dynamics.
“Should Naruto dye his hair?” The Uchiha asks then, and at the Uzumaki’s confused noise, he adds an absentminded; “You look like your dad, idiot.”
Yamato sees the exact moment Kakashi and his kouhai register the words and freeze.
The girl recovers first, managing a stilted, “…Could you repeat that, Sasuke?”
“We found pictures. In the house.” The Uchiha explains haltingly, as if having realised his blunder, but he stubbornly refuses to backtrack. “Of the Yondaime when he was younger. He was your sensei, wasn’t he?”
Yamato cringes at the Uchiha’s directness, but what he isn’t expecting is for the girl to step between Kakashi and the Uchiha and tug the man down to her level, effectively blocking Kakashi’s view of his student.
Nor is he expecting the next words that leave the girl’s mouth: “You don’t have to stay. I can tell them myself.”
The kindness of the offer seems to shake Kakashi out of whatever memory he’d fallen into and he blinks a few times, then shakes his head as if to clear it before shooting the girl a look that Yamato can’t read.
His voice is stable when he replies, “I think I’ve been running from the past long enough, hm?” but neither Yamato nor, it seems, the girl, miss the brief tremble to his hands.
“Kakashi.” the girl scolds, but Kakashi waves her off, seemingly recovered.
“I’ll be alright, kouhai.” He placates, then glances right at where Yamato is still hiding, and Yamato has the sinking realisation that both Kakashi and the girl knew he was there from the start. “Go learn some carpentry. You’ll need the help, too.”
The girl studies Kakashi for a few seconds, then sighs, and she walks off with a wave to the boys and doesn’t stop until she’s by Yamato’s side.
Yamato turns, leading them both away from the remnants of Team Seven and deeper into the forest, and it’s not until he’s sure that even Kakashi’s heightened hearing can’t catch the words that he speaks.
“You’ve been good for him.”
“We’ve been good for each other.” The girl replies immediately, no hesitation to the words, though she switches tracks tellingly quick. “How have you been, Yamato-san?”
“Being in the Village again has been…an adjustment.” Yamato allows, because if his protégé-to-be is anything like Kakashi, getting information out of her will have to be a give-and-take. “Walking freely in the street is a privilege I’ll never take for granted, I’ll tell you that.”
“I know what you mean.” The girl sighs, a small, wry smile playing around her lips, and for the first time, Yamato realises that she does know, probably better than almost anybody, what he means.
“How do you feel about your new assignment?” he asks then, and the girl hums.
“It’s like Sasuke said; I can see the logic of it.” she murmurs, looking almost lost in thought, so Yamato pushes his luck and presses.
“And personally? Does it feel like a regression?”
This time, she slants him a look to let him know he’s pushed too far, and her answer, when it comes, is direct but guarded. “What are you digging for, Yamato-san?”
Realising that he’s treading dangerous waters, Yamato opts for honesty. “I was approached by a rather protective Yamanaka as soon as my new assignment was made public.”
“Ah. Of course.” The girl laughs, startled and all the more genuine for it. “What did senpai have to say?”
“Many things.” Yamato allows, wondering at how the girl came to call her psychiatrist ‘senpai’. “But mostly that I should head to Psych at some point for some tips on dealing with ‘Team Trauma’.”
“That’s sound advice.” The girl chuckles, then tilts her head. “Although, for the record, we’re doing much better than could be expected, considering.”
“He said that, too.” Yamato grouches, the light scowl that settles on his face not completely fake, and the girl rewards the show of emotion with another breathless laugh. “Anything you want me to know before we start on this apprenticeship?”
The girl sobers then, and when she speaks, her words come slower, more measured.
“I- some people have said that I hold myself to impossible standards.” She begins, and Yamato has a guess as to who that might’ve been. “I don’t always…realise I’m doing it.”
“I’ve known Kakashi for more than half my life.” Yamato replies, aiming for as close to reassuring as he can manage and not sure how well he lands. “I know how to handle that.”
The girl offers him a smile then, and though it doesn’t reach her eyes, Yamato can tell she appreciates the comfort.
“You probably recall that I can’t properly externalise chakra in my current condition.” She carries on, a non-sequitur, but Yamato does his best to follow. “But internal manipulation, for whatever reason, is fine.”
“I remember.”
“Well, I’m a medic.” The girl concludes, pausing her stride to make eye-contact when she hammers her point home. “A medic with loose morals, a ROOT upbringing, and a handicap that terrifies me.”
A shiver runs down Yamato’s spine, and he has to swallow before he replies: “Warning received.”
They fall into silence then, resuming their walk through the woods before the girl speaks up thoughtfully: “Anything you’d like me to know?”
Yamato’s answer is immediate, instinctive, “Don’t ask me about Orochimaru.”
To her credit, the girl doesn’t even hesitate to agree, “Yes, sir.”
They come to a stop in a little clearing Yamato remembered being not too far from Kakashi’s favoured training ground, and he turns to the girl with what he hopes is an encouraging look.
“Now, considering who is on your team, I think there is one technique I ought to teach you before all others.” He knows the girl understands what he’s alluding to by the way her eyes brighten and her expression grows serious, and he can’t help the jab that follows: “I think we’d all prefer if you were not tempted to use unfiltered Natural energy ever again.”
“That was one time, and a last resort!”
Yamato smiles and graciously doesn’t comment on the unexpectedly childish retort, too busy with trying not to let the memory of a much younger Kakashi with the same excuses overwhelm him.
The Yamanaka had been right: it wouldn’t be the kids who would prove a challenge with this assignment.
It would be the ghosts.
“Any thoughts, kouhai?” Kakashi asks once he and Sakura have settled into their respective ends of the couch, two days after Sakura’s official reassignment as his student.
He doesn’t worry about being overheard since Naruto and Sasuke are dead to the world in their respective rooms, having needed to be carried in by him and Sakura. Even Naruto’s Kyuubi-enhanced stamina had given out after the full day of physical training Kakashi had subjected the trio to, and he’s willing to bet that the only reason Sakura remains standing is sheer stubbornness.
“Many, taicho.” Sakura replies honestly, shooting him a look that might’ve been scathing if she wasn’t so tired. “Any in particular you want to know?”
“How do you feel about your assignment?” Kakashi repeats Tenzo’s question, having been told by the other that Sakura had dodged it when he’d been the one to ask.
“It’s weird.” Sakura replies immediately, and the complete lack of hesitation startles a laugh out of him, while the proof that Sakura trusts him warms his chest. “Yeah yeah. I’m sure you weren’t too thrilled about being put on a genin team after being an assistant to a jounin either.”
Kakashi’s laugh cuts off when the words register and make his breath catch in his throat.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that before.” He admits quietly, viewing Sakura’s not-so-subtle anxiety over her reassignment in a new light.
“Sorry.” Sakura immediately apologises, the word no less genuine for the flat tone it’s delivered in, but Kakashi shakes his head.
“No, it’s…” he tries to find the words, because while he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, he knows it’s not hurt or offended. “I just hadn’t realised the parallel.”
They lapse into silence then, but it’s easy, comfortable, and he can tell Sakura doesn’t want to break it.
But break it she does.
“Do you have any thoughts?” she asks, and though she copies his wording, there’s an insecure undertone to the question that makes him realise that she’s after a specific answer.
“For me, it’s weird how weird it isn’t.” he admits, and the prospect of being honest in front of the other girl no longer makes him want to run. “You fit in well with them.”
“I was your assistant for half a year.” Sakura points out, but her voice is oddly neutral, as if she’s playing devil’s advocate more than voicing her actual thoughts.
“It’s more than that.” Kakashi corrects, searching for the right words. “You balance them.”
He doesn’t miss the flinch he earns from Sakura at that, but instead of pushing for an explanation, he switches tracks. “You would’ve been in their graduating class if you’d attended the Academy, no?”
“Most likely.” Again that neutral tone, but there’s more of an inflection on the words this time, as if she’s curious why he’s asking but doesn’t want to ask.
“I miss Sai. He worked well with the boys.” Kakashi assures her, proud of himself for not stumbling on Sai’s name. “But you fit in a way I’m not sure I can explain.”
Sakura turns to him then, her earlier mask of neutrality abandoned, the frown on her face tinged with disbelief and a fair dose of insecurity and what to Kakashi looks like an almost desperate hope.
“You’re saying my not-demotion was fate?” she demands, and Kakashi knows by now that the seeming aggression of the words is there to hide something else.
“Sasuke’s Hyuuga would probably say that, but I’ve never been a fan of the term.” He allows, vague on purpose, but he’s determined for Sakura to ask instead of putting words he didn’t say in his mouth.
“What are you saying then, Kakashi?” she finally asks, simultaneously hopeful and afraid of his answer, and Kakashi doesn’t hesitate to voice the thought that has been bouncing around his brain since he watched Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura work their way through the first teamwork exercise he’d thrown at them:
“I’m saying that I think this can work.”
A week later, Sakura stands by the gates out of the Village, a pack on her back, Sasuke and Naruto on one side, Kakashi and Yamato on the other.
Sasuke had told her the two nights ago that Shisui had come by when she’d been out training with Yamato. According to Sasuke, by the time Team Seven returns from this training trip, Shin and Shisui will be gone, and newly-branded missing-nin, at that.
Sakura hasn’t said goodbye to either of them.
Her conversation with Kakashi from the previous week still plagues her at times, the words ‘this can work’ echoing in her mind on loop, though she’s not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse.
She’s not sure what she’s feeling most of the time. Not at Shin and Shisui’s imminent departure, not at her lessons with Yamato, not at the prospect of being Kakashi’s student once more.
She’d said as much to Inosuke when she saw him the previous evening, and Inosuke, expression unreadable even to her, for once, had simply instructed her to get some sleep and let him know once she figures it out.
So Sakura’s been trying.
And the more she tries, the more she can’t tamp down on the growing seed of optimism she feels whenever she looks at her team.
Because Kakashi is right.
She hadn’t fit into Team Seven the first time – she’d been chosen as the ‘balance’, as ‘the kunoichi’, as the brainiac to match Sasuke’s genius and compensate for Naruto’s lack of book smarts. But she hadn’t understood the boys, hadn’t known trauma when she’d been fresh from the Academy, hadn’t been willing to put in the hours to make herself into a kunoichi in more than name, hadn’t known what the world out there would be like, much less the shinobi world.
But she knows now.
She has the skills, she has the knowledge, she has the experience and the understanding of what Naruto and Sasuke and Kakashi have gone through, and how it has shaped them as people.
And her boys – they’re not the same as they were in her first life, either. It had been incredibly arrogant of her to assume that only she would have changed, especially with all the changes she’s had a hand in putting in place.
Naruto is more balanced, his seal still unaltered, slower to anger and strike without thinking, but the optimism and sheer belief that had characterised the Naruto of her memories is still there at his core.
Yet this Naruto wears muted colours, compensates for the calmer palette with outrageous cuts and patterns that Sakura is certain would have made the Ino and Sai of her time embarrassed and proud in equal measure. This Naruto has a home he can come back to, not a mouldy apartment, and the simple joy on his face whenever he steps over the threshold and one of them calls back ‘okaeri’ never ceases to make Sakura’s heart twist in her chest. This Naruto never has to worry about where he’s getting his next meal from, never has to worry about paying for his shinobi tools, can wave the Hatake name in the face of ignorant civilians when he’s out shopping and know that he will not be denied.
Sasuke, too, is less sharp around the edges, less mercurial. Sakura doesn’t want to say ‘less traumatised’, because this Sasuke still lost almost his entire Clan, but she can see the benefit that learning the truth has had on him. This Sasuke has had a cousin come back to life and into his life, has a mentor who doesn’t coddle him, has a friend who understands his loss better than almost anyone else in the Village. This Sasuke is a part of the Village in a way her Sasuke hadn’t been, and Sakura reaps the benefits of this change every day that she interacts with the boy.
Kakashi, too, for all that they’d chafed at the edges at first, is different to the man Sakura had known in her first life. At first, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from viewing their relationship through the prism of disappointment and they’d both gotten cut on each other’s sharp edges, Kakashi’s not yet sanded down, while hers borne out of years of war and ROOT. She’d projected all of her disappointed ambitions onto a Kakashi who was even younger than the one who’d taken on Team Seven, yet who already had more experience in the field than Sakura had in both of her lives combined, and then had been surprised when they’d clashed. Yet Kakashi has grown and changed just as much as Sakura has since their first meeting in this life, and the mere fact that he’s opened his childhood home to his students is testament to that.
Sakura in her first life hadn’t even known that Kakashi had a Compound. Sakura in this life calls the Hatake Compound a home.
Not all is perfect, but things are the closest to perfect she can remember them being since she’d opened her eyes to a second chance, almost ten years ago.
Yes, Sai is in Kiri. But judging by the message in the ink-mouse she’d found in her room three days ago, he is happy, and Sakura can’t begrudge him that happiness, not when it had been her goal for so many years.
Yes, Shin and Shisui will be missing-nin, will be in the heart of one of the most dangerous organisations to have ever existed, but Sakura can’t help but feel like they will thrive. She can see now that Shin isn’t meant for peace-time, isn’t suited for the standard roster, and, in the few times she’s seen him after the Invasion, has been much happier with Shisui at his side than he’d ever been alone.
She can admit to having many complicated feelings about her brothers, but their happiness will always be her priority in this life.
And Sakura herself, in the universe’s greatest cosmic joke, is right back where she’d started her shinobi journey all those years ago.
Back on Team Seven, back with Kakashi as her sensei, with Yamato as his assistant, with Sasuke and Naruto as her teammates.
It sounds absurd. She’s sure that if someone had told her when she was in ROOT that one day, she’d be on Team Seven and happy about it, she’d have told them to get their head checked.
It’s why she’d hesitated to agree to Kakashi’s proposal at first –she hadn’t been sure if she could handle going back to calling the man ‘sensei’ instead of ‘taicho’, and treating Naruto and Sasuke like teammates, like equals, instead of children under her care.
It should have felt like regression. She’d thought that it would.
But it doesn’t.
Instead, it makes her feel like the past decade has been worth it.
With a laugh, Sakura realises that, in what is probably the biggest irony of both of her lives, being back on Team Seven feels like coming home.