A/N: Spontaneous. Been binging on Narusasusaku, such an underrated fandom. Now I need to attempt to purge it from my system some.
Sakura always felt the innate need to mend things. It was what made her so suited to be a medic nin, what created her initial infatuation with Sasuke. Now, it was what was the foundation of their relationship.
She would sit there in the dark, stitching them up. It was given that Sasuke was a mess, and finding all the different wounds was a challenge. He tried to deny it, but eventually gave in with a bit of prodding from Naruto and a flair of stubbornness from Sakura.
Shoving the pieces together, bandaging them, it did little. He would break easily, and never heal over exactly right. The scars were numerous, and his wounds had a tendency of reopening quickly with minor irritation.
It never bothered her. Rather, she felt reassured, when he came to her to get patched up. She was needed.
Naruto was more difficult. He wanted to be the support, their sunshine. Sasuke, however, grew tired of the forced smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes quickly. He was always the first to agitate the issue, until he would break and let them see.
Then, Sasuke would turn him over to Sakura who would quietly mend him. Sasuke simply watched, occasionally handing her the supplies she needed.
The Kyuubi couldn't fix everything, it comforted her, it comforted Sasuke. They'd sit there and piece him back together until the wound disappeared and everything was sparkling again.
No matter how much she wanted to, though, Sakura was horrible at mending herself. She would do a sloppy job stitching her lacerations back together, and they would only get infected.
The boys tended to panic. Naruto put on a strong face, told her everything would be alright. Sasuke ripped open the poor stitch work and Naruto took to cleansing the wound. She would sniffle, cling to them, then mumble about how she was such a baby.
They would stay quiet, only thinking about how she was too hard on herself. No matter what, though, they wouldn't vocalize it. They knew only too well that she wouldn't listen.
It took a while, and was a bit clumsy, but they bandaged her together. It would take time to heal, they knew, and they constantly checked and re-bandaged it until they were sure it was healed. She would clam up a bit, once it was, having recovered enough to feel like a failure for her poor work.
The feeling would pass on its own, because she knew that while they weren't as taken to fixing things, they still desired the feeling of her dependence when they put her back together.