Chapter Text
They say only the dead have seen the end of war—that it does not determine who is right, only who is left. And as the cacophony of battle roared in her ears, Sakura bitterly agreed.
The air reeked of blood and burning flesh, a suffocating mix of iron and smoke that clung to her lungs. Each step was deliberate, careful—one misstep and she’d crush the fingers of a fallen comrade or slip in an ever-growing pool of blood. She inhaled shallowly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
It was devastation.
Everywhere she looked, bodies littered the ruined earth—some twisted in unnatural angles, others torn apart as if monstrous hands had ripped them open. Shattered ribs jutted from collapsed chests, and intestines coiled from split bellies in tangled clumps on the ground. Faces frozen in terror, in agony, in their final gasps of life, unblinking eyes stared unseeing at the crimson sky.
A strangled gurgle to her left made her halt, she stumbled forward, dropping to her knees beside the broken body of a soldier, his clothing the familiar colors of a Suna nin. His hands grasping weakly at a wound that could no longer be closed. His lips moved soundlessly, blood bubbling at the corners, his wide eyes locked onto hers—pleading.
She reached for him with steady hands, her chakra flaring to life in a soft, green glow. But deep down, she knew. Knew that no matter how desperately she wanted to save him, no matter how fiercely her heart screamed at her to try, it would be futile.
To heal him would be to waste the precious chakra that could save others—those with a fighting chance. And the battle was not over. The enemy still lurked beyond the smoke and blood-soaked earth. She needed to be ready.
It was the grim reality of war.
Her logical mind understood the necessity of sacrifice. A single life weighed against many others. A cold, cruel equation. No matter how she ran it through her brain, her heart could not understand it, knowing did not make it hurt any less.
With slow, deliberate movements, she sank to her knees beside him, taking his trembling hand in her own. His fingers, slick with blood and cooling quickly, curled weakly around hers. She rubbed her thumb in slow, soothing circles over his bruised knuckles, her touch featherlight, offering him what little comfort she could.
A hum rose from her throat—a melody from childhood, soft and familiar, one her mother used to sing when the world was kinder. Her chakra pulsed gently, not to heal, but to ease his passing. A warmth in his final moments, a promise that he was not alone.
His ragged breathing slowed. The terror in his brown eyes ebbed, replaced by something softer. Acceptance. Gratitude.
A small squeeze of her hand.
Then nothing.
Sakura exhaled shakily, eyes slipping shut for the briefest moment, allowing herself that single second of grief before a hand settled on her shoulder—not forceful, not demanding, just present.
Kakashi.
Her sensei stood beside her, silent but understanding.
The battle was not over.
And there were so many more still waiting for help that might never come.
She folded the soldier’s hands gently against his chest, pressing them together as if in prayer. With a delicate touch, she smoothed her palm over his face, closing his unseeing eyes. A futile kindness amid so much cruelty.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled away, the warmth of his skin already fading.
Even as an experienced medic, death was never something she had grown numb to. It was far too intimate—far too personal.
She was the last face they saw, the final touch they felt before slipping into nothingness. A fleeting warmth in their final moments, a witness to their last breath.
No matter how many lives she fought to save, there were always those she couldn’t. Another failure under her name.
A gust of wind carried the acrid scent of charred flesh through the air, stinging her nose, but she didn’t flinch. She just stood there, motionless, staring down at the nameless man she could not save.
She let Kakashi pull her away, her feet moving on instinct, though her heart remained behind.
She appreciated him in moments like this, when words held no meaning, and silence carried more comfort than empty reassurances. The weight of his presence was enough.
As they walked, the chaos of battle faded into the background, the screams and clashing steel merging into a distant, indistinct roar. Smoke stung her eyes, the scent of blood and burnt earth thick in the air, but she barely registered any of it.
Not until she saw them.
Her gaze landed on Naruto first—his golden hair matted with sweat and grime, but his grin, as always, unwavering. Unshaken. A defiant beacon of light in this grey, crumbling world. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and offered him a small smile in return.
Veridian eyes clashed with obsidian, her heart clenched at the sight of him— Sasuke Uchiha—stoic, impassive, a living statue amidst the wreckage. Yet when his smoldering onyx eyes met hers, dark and unreadable, it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things.
To anyone else, he would seem perfectly unbothered, an unshaken force against the chaos around them. But she wasn’t just anyone.
She had known him too well, too deeply, for too long to be fooled by the mask he wore.
She exhaled softly, tearing her gaze away just long enough to give Kakashi a small pat on the back. He glanced down at her, his lone grey eye crinkling with a quiet smile—one she gratefully returned. No words were needed. He understood. With a small nod, he moved on to speak with Naruto.
Her attention returned to Sasuke.
This time, she moved toward him with the quiet confidence of someone who knew her worth, who knew her place in this world—not just as a medic, not just as a teammate, but as someone who had walked beside him through years of pain, growth, and survival.
She had once worn the title of his number one fan with pride, and time had not failed her.
The slightest furrow of his brow. The near-imperceptible tension in his jaw. Tells only she would notice.
He was in pain.
And she would always know.
For a moment, his gaze held hers—steady, unwavering—before he looked away, almost reluctantly.
Though he’d never say it aloud, there was unspoken gratitude in the quiet shift of his stance, in the way he subtly inched just a little closer, making it easier for her to reach him.
Sakura rolled her eyes, a small huff of exasperation escaping her lips. Some things never changed.
Without a word, she reached out, pressing her fingers against his forearm with deliberate ease. No real care, no softness—just the familiarity of someone who had done this too many times before. Warmth surged from her fingertips, her chakra flowing seamlessly into him, knitting together a cracked rib and soothing the deep ache of a bruised femur.
Sasuke said nothing.
But he didn’t pull away.
And for now, that was enough.
Her gaze shifted once more, this time to the fourth and newest addition to their team.
A face she had only recently come to know, hidden behind that garish orange mask, yet somehow not entirely unfamiliar.
Obito Uchiha.
Her sensei’s old teammate—the young boy in the picture neatly placed by Kakashi’s bedside, now a man marked by scars and stories untold.
A ghost of the past standing amidst the wreckage of the present. Once a hero, turned traitor, and now... an unexpected ally?
He was seated on the ground, comfortably situated between Naruto to his right and Kakashi to his left. Obito had slipped into their lives as effortlessly as he had into their formation—like a missing piece suddenly found. Literally. It wasn’t that they had forgotten the weight of his role in all of this or the scars of their past run-ins, but during the chaos, his presence was no longer such a foreign thing.
Sakura could see it in the way Naruto laughed a little too easily at Obito’s dry humor, how Sasuke’s usual cold distance softened in his kin’s presence.
Even Kakashi, though ever watchful, had allowed Obito’s place on their team, as if the years of separation had been nothing more than a passing shadow.
Obito was no longer the masked figure of mystery he once had been. He was a part of their team now. A complex, fractured part of it, but nonetheless, one of them. Thanks to Naruto’s inane ability to knock sense into even the most hard-headed ninja, the “talk-no jutsu” as Sai lovingly put it.
She watched him from beneath her pink lashes, tracing the scars that stretched along the left half of his body. He really should have been dead. The scientist in her itched to know how such a medical anomaly was possible—beyond the healing abilities of her own Byakugou no In. As she traced his features, Sakura couldn’t help the huff of exasperation that escaped her lips. The man was annoyingly handsome, despite the flaws that marred his once-perfect face. Scars and weariness only emphasized the sharpness of his features—strong cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and those deep, dark eyes that were all too familiar.
It was maddening how every Uchiha man seemed to be cursed with the same striking beauty. Even as time had hardened his features, the raw, rugged strength of his lineage was clear—Obito’s face was an unmistakable reflection of his clan.
Why was it that every Uchiha had to be so impossibly handsome?
As if he heard her thoughts, she felt his gaze settle on her, a silent pull that beckoned her closer. He gave a subtle motion, a quiet invitation for her to approach. Not that she needed his permission to join her own team, but something about him made her feel oddly more at ease observing from a distance. She had known him far less than the others, and in that uncertainty, a hesitance lingered—one she couldn’t quite shake.
But then, she realized with a jolt, she’d been staring—caught in the sharp lines of his face and the strange magnetism that radiated from him. A tinge of embarrassment crept up her neck as she quickly looked away with a pout. Of course, Obito seemed to notice, his lips tugging up at the corners and his mismatched eyes glinted knowingly.
“Smug bastard,” she grunted under her breath, moving closer until she plopped down in front of him, her foot brushing against Naruto’s sprawled-out form.
As she settled in, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness, Obito’s voice broke the silence.
“You know, you don’t have to look away so quickly. I don’t bite.”
The light teasing in his tone made her glance up, caught off guard by the soft gleam in his eyes. She almost rolled her eyes but stopped herself, wondering when exactly Obito had slipped so seamlessly into their group. Her teammates, oblivious to the exchange, continued chatting among themselves as if he’d always been a part of the team.
But then, just as quickly, the playfulness faded, replaced by a quiet, distant sadness.
“You remind me of someone,” he muttered quietly, almost to himself. “Someone I used to know... back before all this.”
Sakura’s brow furrowed, but before she could respond, he continued, his voice tinged with a sorrowful nostalgia. “Rin… she was like you in some ways. Caring in a way that made you forget the world was falling apart around you.”
The mention of Rin brought a wave of quiet sadness that settled in the air. To her left, Sakura could see Kakashi’s lazy demeanor shift into something a little sharper, his posture subtly more rigid. So, he was listening after all, she mused to herself.
Obito shift slightly, now favoring to lean back heavily into a small boulder behind him, revealing a vulnerability that she felt only she could sense in that moment. She said nothing, simply letting him speak, giving him the space he rarely took.
Obito’s purple eye darkened slightly, a heaviness weighing his words. “But… even she couldn’t escape the consequences of our choices. And now…” He paused, a flicker of determination crossing his face as he regained his composure. “Now I’ve chosen to fight for something better. To stop Madara, to stop the madness that took her from me. I won’t let it destroy more lives.”
There was an underlying anger there, but also a sense of resolve that had slowly but surely replaced the despair of the past. Obito shifted his gaze back to her, softer now. “I guess, in the end, we’re all cursed by fate. But we can choose to fight against it, right?”
Sakura said nothing for a moment, the weight of his words settling in her chest. She didn’t have the answers, but in that brief exchange, she understood something about him. Something that bound him to the rest of them, despite his past and the weight of the Uchiha curse.
Obito wasn’t supposed to be here, really. He had died long ago, a victim of fate and his choice to sacrifice himself to protect his loved ones. But somehow, through a twisted turn of events, he had been given a second chance at life, only to be manipulated by Madara into hating the very reality they all fought to protect. She may have been a little foggy on the specifics, but Sakura heard enough of the story to understand how much Obito’s choices had been shaped by loss, grief, and the poisonous influence of Madara, no, black Zetsu.
Kakashi’s rule—that no matter how far someone fell, no matter how dark their path became, he would protect them—had always stuck with her. “I’m not gonna let you die. I will protect you, even if you’re scum.” It had always seemed strange, that sentiment, but now it made sense. Obito, once a friend and teammate to Kakashi, had become the very thing that Kakashi had sworn to protect. Scum. Even after everything Obito had done—his choices, his rebellion against everything they held dear—Kakashi still held to that promise. That, Sakura realized, was the bond that connected them all. Kakashi, despite the betrayal, was committed to Obito’s redemption, just as much as the rest of them had chosen to fight for one another. Just as much as she and Naruto had fought for Sasuke
Here he was. Not as a villain bent on destruction, but as a broken man trying to redeem himself. Sakura had always known that people were shaped by their choices, but Obito’s choices had been clouded by loss, grief, and the manipulation of someone equally as broken. Despite that, the same blood ran through his veins as Kakashi, and the same fire burned within him that burned in them.
The Will of Fire.
Sakura glanced at the others. Kakashi, whose eyes had seen the same painful history, whose bond with Obito went deeper than words could explain. Naruto, who, despite everything, had found a way to believe in others, even those who had lost their way. And Sasuke, whose path was similarly shaped by loss and conflict, yet still, at the end, stood by their side.
They were all bound by the choices they made, by the pain they had endured, and by the unspoken understanding that, in the end, they were fighting for the same cause. Obito had been manipulated, lost to a bitter path for so long, but now, in the presence of those who had also suffered, he was learning to find his place again.
And in that moment, Sakura realized—this wasn’t just about fighting alongside Obito, it was about him finding redemption within the team. He wasn’t just an ally or a product of his past actions. He had chosen to fight with them, and they had chosen to fight with him. It wasn’t just about the past, it was about moving forward, together.
Obito had chosen them, just as much as they had chosen him. It wasn’t just about the past or the pain—it was about the future, and the fight they all shared. That was the thread that connected them, the silent bond that tied their destinies together.
What ties you, Sakura? a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. She paused, momentarily lost in thought, wondering how someone like her had become so entangled in this web of fate, surrounded by such powerful men. She had always been just an ordinary civilian girl, she wasn’t even supposed to make it past genin—yet here she was, standing side by side with shinobi who shaped the world.
Her mind wandered to her younger self, when she first dreamed of becoming strong, of finding her place among the greats. She had always been in the shadow of the men around her—Naruto, Sasuke, Kakashi, even Obito now—but somewhere along the way, she had found her own strength. It wasn’t something she had sought out, but perhaps, in the end, it was the bond between them all that had forged her path.
She had grown far beyond her initial doubts, and though she sometimes still felt out of place, she understood now. It was the choices they all made—their commitment to protect, to fight, to rise above their pasts—that had bound her to them. That was the real thread that connected her to this world of shinobi, and maybe, just maybe, it had always been her destiny.
Sakura grabbed the hand extended toward her, offering a quiet thanks to Sasuke as she adjusted her fingerless gloves. Madara's looming presence suffocated them, his chakra growing stronger, more frenzied. The reanimated Hokage had been holding him off—for now—but one by one, their chakra signatures were being snuffed out. Dead.
Well, dead-dead, re-dead? she thought, momentarily questioning herself.
Shaking her head, she steadied her stance, her resolve hardening as she stood shoulder to shoulder with her teammates. No, her family.
She couldn’t slack off now.
This was her destiny—her boys, her home.
And she’d be damned if she didn’t give this fight her all.
“Here he comes!” Kakashi shouted, and Sakura braced herself, the pounding of her heart thundering in her ears.
Then, nothing.