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Covenant
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Synopsis: Everyone is dead or hunted. The Allies lost. The war is over.
Treacherous seal marring her neck as a collar, Madara parades her like a victory trophy.
And though he gave her to his patriarch—betrayed her in the worst of ways—
Here, in The End, Sasuke Uchiha is all Sakura has left.
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2:4. Silence
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THE CAPTIVE Allies were otherwise wholly ignored as the show dragged on another hour. Showman that he was, Madara strutted across the stage, drawing shouts of excitement and cries of anger at precisely the moments that called for it.
Completely unlike how the Kage had managed and interacted with their armies. The Kage would've never needed this ridiculous display to sustain loyalty within the ranks. The Kage were Kage because everyone already acknowledged them, and their respective shinobi thus granted them the power of authority.
Madara was the opposite. His unmatched strength provided him inherent power from the start. He'd needed to retroactively earn the acknowledgment of those who'd flocked to him for his dominance.
Sakura had always assumed people converged under him out of trepidation. From her new perspective, however—chained at his mercy, obliged witness to his propaganda—it wasn't difficult to see how the Uchiha patriarch maintained such an iron grip on his army.
Not only was he a dangerously and singularly gifted fighter, but he knew the right words to garner some level of loyalty beyond fear.
Those thousands who'd come to see this speech were eating from the palm of his hand. Every shinobi in the vast crowd appeared to honestly believe that Madara could grant them whatever they wanted.
Technically, if he succeeded in casting Infinite Tsukuyomi, he could. In theory.
Sakura wouldn't lie to herself: She'd considered the bliss Madara's jutsu offered more than once. More times than she'd ever admit, in fact. Anyone trapped in a war they never wanted, one that felt never-ending, could see the appeal of his promise.
And yet, in the end, she'd always fallen back to its futility. Infinite Tsukuyomi yielded nothing but dreams.
Its peace wouldn't be real. Nothing would change. The revival of loved ones they missed, the acquisition of power they longed for, the revenge fulfilled—all hollow fiction. No one inside the jutsu would find happiness. It couldn't revise the past nor alter the future. Those imprisoned within would die all the same, mindless and empty, never having moved past the point that left them hopeless enough to follow Madara in the first place.
An eternal wistful thought; nothing more, nothing less.
The dead should stay dead.
Madara's speech wasn't all grand schemes, world domination, and overt threats at those thinking to betray him. Gradually, it pivoted to praising those working on building the city. He issued orders to investigate specific areas. Bestowed verbal honors upon squads who'd tracked down and eradicated hidden Ally hideouts.
In front of so many enemies, Sakura couldn't do anything but mold her expression into stone at the last bit of news. No names of those killed were mentioned. A small mercy—she wasn't convinced her stoic facade could hold confronted with a name she recognized.
"If it were anyone important, he'd announce it," Omoi had whispered, loudly enough for all the captives to hear.
For it, a cloaked shinobi standing near Suigetsu sent a single bolt of lightning out of the tip of her finger to the top of Omoi's spine, knocking him out. Sakura thought the kunoichi granted him a blessing; she knew Omoi said it intending to encourage the Allies.
And he was right. Omoi was right.
If it were anyone of importance, Madara wouldn't keep that a secret.
He was right—but it was wrong. All of it was so wrong.
It was a sick, twisted feeling to hear news of murder and feel relieved that some rankless person was dead instead of someone of consequence.
People still died. People; with loved ones and ones who loved them. People who'd fought beside them for the past five, or two, or half a year. People with family, and friends, and lovers who might break over their deaths. Who'd inherit their dead loved one's unending war. People with names, even if they weren't considered important enough to name here. People even someone on this stage might deem worth the whole world.
But they'd never know, since Madara never said.
Those people were now forever reduced to fodder. Maybe they'd always been fodder. Maybe even she was, in the end.
After his performance, Madara didn't stick around.
As soon as the speech finished, he and half the shinobi standing behind the prisoners left, Sasuke included. She felt the absence of him instantly, as if she'd been thrown back into isolation in that damp, dark dungeon. That the seal thawed her limited chakra barrier so quickly, with such little contact, would've been problematic. If it mattered.
But it didn't. She found Ino—her singular goal. Once Ino was free, what the seal made her feel or think was trivial. She'd conceived no plans to live a minute past Ino's escape.
Not even the covenant's influence could rearrange her crumbling sanity into something worth saving.
Sakura stared at Ino, beseeching the woman's beautiful face to imprint itself on her brain forever. What if this is the last time? she couldn't help but think.
As the stadium cleared out, the eight Allies were left chained in their seats—zoo animals on display. Enemies ventured up to the podium to taunt them or laugh. Some shot jutsu their way, though one of the captors left behind to supervise brought an end to that with a clipped—Cut it out.
Akatsuchi and the two battered Kiri ninja jeered back like bored teenagers. Omoi never regained consciousness. The shinobi with the bleeding stump sniffed pitifully as the sky darkened.
Sakura's gaze drifted from the goosebumps splashed on Ino's bare thighs to the purpling horizon.
How was she going to get Ino out?
Trying to do so inside Earth Country would be difficult. She didn't have much intelligence on the safe houses within this country's borders because Iwa hadn't ever been a team player in the war. They'd rarely shared secrets, even those beneficial to the whole.
Though she wanted to do nothing more than fight her way out of her cuffs and free Ino this second, she wouldn't play her cards too soon. If she failed here, which was overwhelmingly likely, she'd probably lose out on all future opportunities.
From her and Sasuke's accommodations, they'd be leaving sooner than later. She just needed to bide more time—see where she and Ino would be taken once they left this place.
Madara was keen to keep them together for interrogation purposes, so she'd rely on that assumption for the time being. Once they were permanently based in the same location, the planning could commence.
With that thought, Sakura closed her eyes to the sneering enemies and fell into the mundane whispers of the people she'd only ever see again in memories and visions.
Sometimes their resurrection wasn't painful at all.
Sometimes she was playing cards with Tsunade, tying every hand until the Hokage gave up. She climbed trees with Naruto in the forests around their home for picnics in the treetops. She taught Sai how to dance formally beside a travel campfire as their teammates giggled at them.
Sometimes their sham presence was the only thing in the whole universe that kept her breathing.
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Eventually, one of the masked Akatsuki shook Omoi awake and ushered the eight of them through the base in a second procession. The moon had risen into the sky hours ago, so the unpaved streets were largely empty this time around. Sakura was in the back of the line, front stage to the shiver of Ino's shoulders and the stumbling of the one-armed shinobi as the chain linking his wrist cuff and ankle suppressor kept catching under his heel.
They were led into a central building, down staircases, into the dungeons carved from the deep earth. They passed a row of cages and found themselves shepherded into a large, barren chamber with hanging lights in each corner.
A textbook interrogation room.
Madara and who she could only guess were his top generals hemmed the back wall, decked out in their Akatsuki regalia and black, carved masks. Their paraders pushed the captive Allies into a line before them.
Nine shinobi stood behind Madara, one more than the number of prisoners. Beyond their height, it was impossible to deduce anything identifying about them. But there in the middle was a mask carved with a cat's face—and to his right, one etched like Haku's.
The seal on her neck pulsed gently as a heartbeat.
What was about to happen was obvious—what they'd been brought here for, apparent. The armless man was crying again. Sakura didn't dare peek left to Ino, worried she might lose composure if Ino looked anything but calm.
She'd never been physically tortured before.
"Welcome, Allies," said Madara.
"Thank you for having us," the Kiri man drawled back. In any other context, Sakura might've laughed at his audacity.
Madara merely smirked with apathy. "My pleasure. I'm sure you all know why you're here today?" His only response was the nervous shifting of weight. He continued: "As you heard earlier, I require some information. Should any of you decide to cooperate and give me what I ask, I can promise your immediate release and pardon. You'll be granted whatever you most desire, as I've promised the rest of my army."
In the hushed pause, a now-familiar sob rebounded on the walls. Akatsuchi quietly snapped once more.
"Mm, really? No takers? Your army lost. Your leaders are dead. No one is coming to save you, and there's no one left for you to save. I'm offering you an opportunity to keep your life."
"If there were truly no one left, you wouldn't keep us locked up," said Omoi suddenly. "That you're worried enough to ask us for information means we haven't yet lost as badly as you want us to think."
Omoi's words swelled hope inside her like a hot air balloon—as was his clear intention. She popped it a second later.
Hope was dangerous. A worthless consolation prize.
They'd lost. That's all there was to it. If Omoi wanted to pine over lost possibilities, he should do it alone. She'd live in reality, where the Allies were prisoners and runners and defeated.
"Suppose we'll start with you, then, since you've so much to say." Madara advanced on their group, pulling an iron-tipped whip out from under his robes. "Hidan, would you like to do the honors?"
Ino's body tensed. Sakura wished she could reach over and hold her hand.
A figure donning a mask carved with a skull moved away from the far wall, reaching to take the whip Madara offered him. "Gladly."
"Come forward, Kumo shinobi," Madara beckoned.
Sakura glanced down the line at Omoi, whose expression was hardened in resolve. If Ino was right, and his tongue was sealed, all the Allies had to worry about was how badly he'd be tortured in front of them.
"Wait!" The one-armed man stumbled out of line. "I'll talk! I'll talk first."
The remaining seven captives cursed as one. Akatsuchi's head tipped toward the ground in a slow shake.
"So eager. Worried someone else might claim the pardon?" Madara chuckled. "What can you tell me?"
The man lowered himself to the ground, taking a bowed position on his knees before the Uchiha patriarch. "W-what do you want t-to know?"
"Where are the safehouse locations in Earth Country?"
"...I d-don't…" His shoulders sank further. "I don't know."
Brows creasing, Sakura peeked back at Akatsuchi. Did the stuttering man intend to sell out secrets or not?
"You're from Iwa, aren't you?" Madara asked.
"Yes."
"What rank?"
"Classed Three."
Madara chuckled. "So you know nothing. You're useless to me. Why were you kept alive?"
"He's closely related to the woman who took over as Tsuchikage," came a woman's voice from the back wall. "I thought to save him when you ordered us to find leverage on the surviving guerillas."
Madara tapped his foot. "What's their relationship?"
"I heard that he's her mother's younger sibling."
"An uncle. Is that true, boy? Are you the Tsuchikage's uncle?"
"...Y-yes."
Reaching down, Madara gripped the man's chin, yanking his head up to study him. "You look much younger than that woman."
"My parents h-had me late…" His voice shook like a leaf in the wind. "My-my sister already… K-Kurotsuchi was in th-the Academy when I was born."
"How old are you?"
"Thirteen, s-sir."
Sakura's gut twisted with revulsion. Thirteen. A child. Someone had already tortured him. Someone had chopped off his arm—a child.
Her eyes drifted to Akatsuchi again; his hands fisted on the chain linking his cuffs.
It was an open secret that all five Allied armies and Madara recruited any shinobi willing to fight, regardless of age. Even Tsunade had fielded teenagers. Hell, she'd been a teenager when the war broke out.
But just because it was standard practice—just because it happened to her—didn't mean that Sakura agreed with it. Children weren't meant to witness war. An interrogation room was no place for a kid.
What kind of shinobi dismembered a chakra-suppressed 13-year-old?
She hadn't even noticed how young he was under all the dried blood and bruises on his face. Hadn't paid much attention to the sniffling shinobi—too annoyed at his lack of self-control, too focused on Ino to worry about anything else.
Yet Madara continued on, not the least bit phased by the boy's age. "So you want to give me information. What valuable information could you possibly have at your rank?"
"Um... Well, I—"
"Did the Tsuchikage escape unharmed?"
Even in the ten feet that separated them, Sakura could see the boy's Adam's apple bob. "I didn't see," he whispered.
Madara sneered, shoving the boy's head away. "Whip him."
Hidan quickly brought the cord down across the boy's hunched shoulders. Unwilling to stomach seeing such a young thing tortured, Sakura's gaze fell to her feet; though there was no blocking out the boy's echoing, pained scream.
"I'll give you only one more chance before killing you."
"I—I really don't know! I wasn't near Kurotsuchi when the fight was happening!" the boy cried.
He was lying. It was evident to the whole room. Despite his desire to stay alive as the weakest of all the captives, it seemed even he drew the line at blatantly betraying his own family. Sakura squeezed her eyes shut, mentally preparing to hear a child whipped to death.
"WAIT!" shouted the boy, fast and frightened. "Please, I—I did see the Kazekage! I swear it, I know he escaped."
"Treacherous little coward," spat Baki.
"Watch your tongue," Akatsuchi growled back. "He's only a kid."
Straightening his shoulders to his full height, Baki shrugged. "He's older than I was in my first war. He's old enough to know what he's doing."
"Where did he escape to?" asked Madara, ignoring the two fallen lieutenants' squabbles.
"He—was bleeding. From the chest. His sister was carrying him—she ran south, out o-over the sea."
"Who else did you see get away?"
"I don't…know their names."
Madara lifted his hand in Hidan's direction. The boy jumped—
"No, please! I can describe them! There was the guy who wore an eyepatch—the one who guarded the Mizukage. And—"
"Enough. It's clear your only value is as leverage." Madara leaned on one hip, scrutinizing the stooped body under him. "Do you at least know who's the highest-ranking shinobi in that line behind you?"
Ino shifted closer as Sakura gritted her teeth.
"I only—I only know one of the shinobi here. I've seen a few of the others. I don't—" The words twisted into a cry as the whip landed on the top of his skull. "The medic! The medic from Konoha—she was always a commander of any battle she was part of! Even when she came to fight with Iwa. Please—"
"Where was she stationed in the past year?"
"Konoha! Konoha base and—Kumo, I think. That's what I heard."
"Good boy." Grinning, Madara's stare found her. He had to already know she was the ranking shinobi here; any leader worth their weight knew the top commanders of their enemy. He'd asked merely to see if he could break the child. "Someone take him for healing, then put him in one of the cells outside."
A small-framed shinobi body flickered to the crying boy's side, hoisted him over a shoulder, and strode out of the room.
"Come, medic from Konoha," said Madara.
"You'll be okay," Ino reassured.
Stay calm, came a whisper.
Sakura lifted her head and marched forward. Laughter from under Hidan's mask tickled the air as he moved behind her, whip toting behind him.
"Happy to see your friend in good condition, I hope?"
"Good condition?" she parroted back.
Madara tilted his head. "Better than it could've been, kunoichi."
Glancing over Madara's rigid figure to the enemy line, she gazed straight into Sasuke's cat mask. You did this, she thought loudly. Are you happy?
She wasn't dumb. Sakura knew she'd been hearing his mental commands since Madara's show. Hopefully, he could hear her now.
If he did, he gave nothing away from his posture. It was enough to make her lip curl in anger.
Madara's purple regard trailed down the length of her. "Who released you from my Black Receivers?"
You don't know anything, shot through her thoughts, loud and clear, raising her brow in surprise as she studied the whiskers on Sasuke's mask. She didn't know anything. She'd passed out and awoken already captured—but why would Sasuke direct her to say something against Madara's wishes?
"I don't know anything," she repeated.
Not because he told her to. Simply because that was the truth—even if it weren't, she'd never give Madara intelligence. Ignorant of her reasoning, the seal still warmed and hummed through her chest as endorphins shot across her synapses for the roundabout obedience.
"Where did you take the jinchuriki's body?"
"I don't know."
"Who helped you get away?"
"I don't know."
Her sights flitted back to Madara at the same moment a flash of annoyance crossed his face.
"Whip her."
The metal tip slashed across her skin too fast to brace herself. A shout shot from her throat as the new wound pulsed. Taking a few quick breaths, she tried to resummon her lost poise. Being punctured in the adrenaline of battle was completely different than the kind of pain blooming over her back.
"Would Kakashi Hatake or Shikamaru Nara take over as Hokage in this situation?"
The question leeched into her brain. Sakura blinked, collecting her thoughts. Did Madara mean that both men were still alive?
...Or was he asking to confuse her? Like how he'd asked the Iwa boy who was highest ranked. Or as a test? Perhaps his purpose was to make her believe that they—
"Whip her."
This time she tensed every fiber in her body before the weapon found its mark on her spine. She managed not to make a sound as metal dug deep into muscle, knicking bone. Her jaw felt like it might crush itself.
"Where were Konoha shinobi ordered to withdraw if the army fell?"
"I don't know," she seethed through her teeth.
The whip lashed across her shoulders, welling hot water in her vision. Her knees shook with the strain of staying on her feet.
"How did the Allies learn of the coordinates?"
She glared at the floor, eyes burning. Here was her chance. If she was going down like this, she could bring Sasuke down with her right here. She hated him. She hated him.
She hated that she couldn't do it.
"No idea."
Hidan whipped her three times in rapid succession for that, finally bringing her to the floor. Fingernails digging into her palms, she braced her elbows on the stone, back throbbing in a piercing sort of ache she couldn't describe.
"You—from the Hozuki clan. Come forward," Madara commanded. Four footfalls bounced on the walls. Then a pair of sandaled toes landed in her periphery. "Do you know this medic?"
"No," the kunoichi admitted.
"Is she higher ranked than you?"
"Who knows?"
"Was the new Mizukage injured in the last battle?"
The woman shifted on her heels. "Didn't see."
A lie.
"Mm. You don't know this medic, so you won't mind her taking the punishment in your place, right?"
There was a slight hesitation, then a slow—"That's right."
Sakura wouldn't blame the woman. No one was eager to take a lash they didn't have to, and it was true they didn't know each other. Yet, when the whip landed hard on a wound it previously opened, Sakura couldn't dismiss the bubbling resentment rising within her. She bit her tongue on a whimper that nearly snuck out.
Injuries were far more intense without chakra naturally covering the damage and pain.
After questioning the Kiri kunoichi further without any success, Madara continued down the line of captives. He zeroed in on hideout locations. Evacuation routes. Safe houses. On the status of particular high-ranking shinobi. On the names of informants and where the Allies had gotten their intelligence in the past year.
No one gave any information away.
Sakura would've been proud of it, if every punishment for their feigned cluelessness wasn't inflicted on her in their stead. She wasn't sure what Madara hoped to achieve by singling her out when none but Ino were close enough with her to care.
Though by then, she wasn't sure of anything, save for the solid rock under her knees and the smell of blood in the air. Reality had deconstructed into nothing but near-unbearable pain.
Despite his earlier insistence, Madara didn't bother interrogating Omoi; however, he still called Ino out for two questions. Ino came forward, close enough that her calf brushed Sakura's upper arm. The soft touch of foreign skin had Sakura hissing through tears.
"Who gave you that seal?" Madara posed.
"I'll take my own punishment," declared Ino.
"That isn't what I asked."
"I don't know the answer to what you asked, and I couldn't answer even if I did."
"How convenient that not a single high-Classed shinobi here seems to know anything. Hand me the whip." At his leader's command, Hidan's boots stepped into place in front of her. "Now hold the medic up."
The next second, she was lifted from the ground by her armpits. The scream that tore out of her was more animal than human as her body moved against the open wound that was her entire back, vision black. Head lulling, Sakura tried to focus on the air as it pulled into her lungs and gasped out—otherwise, she'd faint. From pain or blood loss, she couldn't take this much longer suppressed as she was.
Pulling the leather of the whip through his fingers, Madara asked, "So you don't know who gave you that seal?"
Even through blurred sight, Sakura could see Ino staring at her slumped body in dread. "I don't—and I'll take the punishment for that."
"Yes, you will." The whip clinked the floor in a warning. "This is your punishment, young Yamanaka, so watch closely. Though I suggest you close your eyes, medic. Wouldn't want to blind you this early in our relationship."
Sakura didn't think twice. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself for the lashing—but when it slapped across the center of her breasts and down her stomach, it was impossible not to sob from the severe shock of pain.
She heard Ino's anguished—"Stop!"—half a second before the metal tip punched across her cheek, drilling straight through into her teeth, splitting open her lips. Nicking her collarbone on its way down.
Choking in pain, Sakura's swallow tasted metallic.
"How did the Allies know about the coordinates?"
Sakura didn't dare open her eyes. Don't tell, Ino. Please, she begged, knowing it would never reach the woman. The room was quiet as death for a moment.
"So you do know something," Madara observed. "Too bad for this one that you can't say."
Ducking her head down, prepared this time, the metal ripped into the side of her skull. Down her ear, into her shoulder. Whoever was holding her up released her without warning. She slapped back into the floor and lay there quivering and crying, hiding it as best she could behind a curtain of hair.
Blood poured from the head wound and slicked the stone, painting her face and hands the color of Akatsuki clouds.
She'd taken well over 20 lashings. Over 30. She'd stopped counting when Madara called Baki out of the line.
Too many. There was too much blood.
Without access to her chakra, this amount of physical trauma could truly kill her. She desperately needed healing. Her body was still weak, it couldn't withstand such punishment. At least two internal organs were damaged from the force and penetration of metal on skin.
Tears and blood dripped off the tip of her nose as she curled into herself on the cold rock. Ino was yelling something, the words nothing but senseless sound as they jumbled in her ears.
Breathe, Sakura. Focus on breathing, she heard like some faraway ghost. It'll be over soon.
LET IT BE OVER NOW! she prayed back, barely keeping her mind from falling into shock.
Let this end. Let Madara finally kill her. She was going to die in this room, carrying the weight of six other shinobi's silence. Finally. Finally—she could join Naruto and Tsunade. Join her parents. Join all the friends she couldn't save, all the—
"Sasuke and Orochimaru, stay. Everyone else is dismissed. Take your assigned captives away."
After a flurry of activity, an empty stillness settled in the cavern. All Sakura could manage was maintaining consciousness as the ground under her soaked in fluids.
"Should I call for a healer?" Orochimaru asked.
"Later. Let her feel the consequences of her and her Allies' decisions for now," said Madara.
"Very well."
"So, nephew. Are you feeling anything from the seal, seeing your betrothed bleeding out like this?"
"Don't call me that ridiculous term. She won't die, so it doesn't feel like anything." Sasuke's voice was close, as if he were standing beside her.
"Pity. I was hoping to see you panic a bit."
"Panic?" Sasuke scoffed. "You gave your word that I'd be the one to kill her, and you keep your word. That's what you ranted on about today, isn't it?"
"Of course," Madara answered smoothly, brushing off the insolence in Sasuke's tone. "As long you keep her alive and well enough for questioning, she's yours when the time comes. Though she's mine for now. Take her back to your base and wait for orders."
"She'll never survive a teleport that long in this condition. Perhaps you took it too far if you intended to let her live," said Orochimaru.
Madara smirked. "Too far? Don't be absurd. Sasuke can handle it from here. You're out of chances, so do care not to kill her. Come Orochimaru, let's go check on the samples."
Sure steps clicked on the stone floor. Then a door creaked open, and the Uchiha patriarch's domineering chakra lifted from the room.
"Shall I send a healer for her?" the Sannin asked again.
Sasuke's sandals were in her blood. "No. Leave us."
"Ha. As you wish. I'll be back in Kiri in two days."
The door shut as another body filed out of the room. He was knelt beside her as soon as it clicked closed, warm palm on the edge of her shoulder, gently nudging her to get up.
"Sakura. Look at me."
She wanted to. She hated that she wanted to.
The seal entreated her to obey quickly—as if promising that Sasuke could make everything okay. If she just looked up, he'd help her. If she looked into him, she'd find all the answers. He'd make everything make sense, and stop hurting, and right.
But that was a lie. That was just the seal—and she was weeping. Face torn and bleeding. Sakura wasn't ready to show this awful man such a miserably pathetic display.
What if he used it against her?
What if he criticized how weak she'd become?
He'd let this happen. He did this.
No. She wouldn't obey him. She couldn't look.
His touch disappeared briefly before his fingers found her chin. Curling under her jaw, he pressed up, tilting her head back to confront him anyway.
The cat-mask was abandoned by his feet. His sharingan was a bloody battlefield. As red as Tenten's smeared face. Crimson as Sai's ragged chest. An endless pool, deep as Tsunade's blood, dark as Naruto's punched stomach. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as steady as rain in August.
You did this, she thought again, broken and faint.
His lashes were so long—so black, sculpting his almond eyes into something otherworldly. Something Godly. His brow carved by the creator himself.
How deeply she wished she'd never met him. Wished she'd never even seen the last Uchiha heir. Craved that his name was meaningless to her—that his presence was nothing more than unwanted.
"Aa. Now stay quiet for a bit." As he spoke with thick fingers still fit under her jaw, his other hand lifted to cover her eyes. Entirely blocking her view.
Filling her vision with light green chakra.
With that, time slowed and sped up all at once.
His technique lacked finesse and speed. Not directed to specific areas or wounds, the jutsu was inefficient and wasteful. Even junior medics would've known to start with the internal mending and work out, rather than his method of superficially sealing the wounds and working in.
But none of that mattered.
Nothing mattered. The cosmos condensed into this bare cavern where Sasuke Uchiha was healing her.
It made no sense. It made no sense. It contradicted the past month and a half. Juxtaposed everything he'd said to and about her since she'd come into Madara's possession. Rejected what she'd experienced in the last battle.
Her arms shook with the realization. "Why?"
The salt of her tears stung less by the second as her cheeks wove themselves back together under his care.
"As Orochimaru said, you can't travel in this state."
That was true. But if that was his reasoning, he could've left her face slashed. He should've tended first to her back.
"But why are you—"
"Would you rather I bring a healer?" Though he asked, his chakra continued streaming into her as if he already knew she'd decline.
His inclination was correct. The thought of another enemy seeing her so defeated—some stranger coming to heal the damage on a master medic who couldn't heal themselves—prickled her pride enough to turn her stomach.
"No, but—"
"Then be quiet and let me work. If you want." She heard him faintly suck his teeth before adding under his breath, "You can be so annoying."
His hand remained curled over her eyes, keeping her sight blocked while he worked. Exhaustion was creeping through her, and soon she'd tipped her forehead into his palm.
Even if she hated him, Sakura realized that she didn't hate this. So long as he kept his cruel nature locked behind sealed lips and she couldn't see the wild anger surely devouring his expression.
Like this, this was…
Comforting.
And she wanted so badly to be comforted. Compared to the shredded macabre that mangled so much of her skin, his steady hands on her face and jaw felt so good. And Gods, how she just wanted to feel good again.
But this small warmth wouldn't confuse her.
She refused to allow his showing a scrap of humanity here to twist her brain into knots as it might've months ago.
As time ticked on, she decided that his actions were simply in furtherance of Madara's orders. It was the only reason that checked enough boxes to be logical. His leader needed her well enough to undergo more interrogations, and he'd given that responsibility to Sasuke.
It was precisely as Madara said in parting: You're out of chances, so do care not to kill her.
That's why he was doing this.
Of course, the seal likely slightly influenced him, too. Having struggled with their seal's effects long enough herself, she wouldn't discount the fact that he probably couldn't fully ignore its sway. At the least, she was relatively confident that so long as it graced his wrist, Sasuke couldn't truly let her die.
Though it appeared his covenant permitted almost anything below death.
When his hand fell from her face 20 minutes later—19 minutes and 30 seconds longer than it would've taken her—he didn't meet her eyes before ambling around to her back. She held her breath as instincts roared at her to turn around.
She wasn't sure if she could trust him: the main reason she was thrashed bloody in an enemy interrogation room in the first place. Although—he seemed willing to do as Madara commanded; and until Ino was safe, Sakura needed to stay healthy enough to be useful.
So when the silence dragged into minute two without a sign of him moving, she finally inquired, "...Are you going to heal my back or not?"
"I don't know if I can." His voice was low. "I think I'll need to bring in a medic."
It had to be even worse than it felt. The small healing he'd done on her head and chest had certainly eased a bit of the pain and cleared her mind enough to think.
"Don't. You were doing fine. If you don't know how to do something, ask and I can tell you."
Like teaching the new recruits, she thought. That's all this was. He was a new medic, and she was a seasoned commander, and all she was doing was showing him the ropes.
"I know how," he muttered.
Rather than be healed by scum she'd never met, it was best to take the scum she knew—so she couldn't let her emotions lash out in a rage that drove known scum away.
"Cut away my shirt and bindings first," she instructed, ignoring him. "It'll make things easier if the wounds are unobstructed. I don't think you're at the level to pull things out with the jutsu as you heal, or heal through them."
One soft sigh breezed cool on her wounds. Then—a kunai touched her back. Involuntarily, the product of 15 years of training, she tried to jump away. Pain flared immediately with the movement, and she bit back a curse as her back pulsated.
Relax, hummed the seal.
"Just to cut the clothes," Sasuke spoke aloud.
It'd be easier and less painful with scissors, she wanted to tell him. But she doubted Sasuke stored away medical scissors in his sealing scrolls as medics did.
Every nick of the kunai felt like she'd been ran through as he tore apart the scraps of her garments. It nearly knocked her out when he started peeling out parts of her bindings that'd dug into her exposed insides.
"The room is soundproof," he'd told her halfway through. "Shout if you need to. No one will hear."
"You'll hear," she snapped, high-pitched and shaky.
"I already do. I've heard you since the first lashing."
It hadn't taken any more prompting than that.
Sakura screamed. Every time the kunai dragged against tattered skin; each time he excavated fabric from her flesh. When he finally finished, she was nothing but quaking bones, her forehead engraved on the stone floor.
Scraps of bindings piled under her. The front of the shirt, mostly intact, fluttered to the ground—hanging to her from the long sleeves still warming her arms. Exposed, her breasts perked and pruned in the cold air.
She'd no mind to be prudish.
"I'll start now," Sasuke warned.
A ragged sob escaped her lungs as a medical jutsu touched the middle of her spine.
His healing was brute force. The severity of these wounds was so substantially worse than those she'd suffered in the front that it exacerbated the signs flagging Sasuke as a novice healer. Skin, bones, and organs patched themselves together with a painful lack of skill.
A fighter bludgeoning tiny, broken things back into places they no longer wished to be.
Despite this, his technique was technical enough that it mended everything requiring mending. His chakra control was precise enough that he could maintain control over his own even within her body and frozen pathways. Sakura doubted there'd be a single scar once it was complete.
He worked in silence. She quivered under him, praying he'd speed up.
Though at his snail's pace, if he intended to fix the whole of her back, she knew they'd be there another three hours at a minimum—and she suspected the weak handle she'd kept on consciousness would last only half as long.
lol to the where smut comment-read the room hahaha
I did get actually get a giggle from that
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THANK YOU! :)
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thanks for reading, as always.
and thanks to Leech for beta-reading