A/N: Hello! Thank you everyone for your patience as I worked on this pivotal chapter. This chapter has taken me the better part of two years to write simply because of the subject matter and the amount of research I put into it in order to be medically correct as possible.
Please understand I wrote anything medical as accurately as possible. I have referenced a couple of medical professionals in my life for accuracy checks. This is a work of fiction based off of a fictional world, so please understand that it won't all be perfect and other factors do come into play as well.
Please read with caution because this chapter is extremely graphic. Please reference the trigger warnings before reading.
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Attempted suicide.
-Graphic descriptions of blood, self-inflicted injuries, general gore, and the aftermath.
-Graphic descriptions of medical trauma.
-Graphic descriptions of how a life-threatening injury was inflicted.
-Graphic descriptions of an unsterilized major surgery.
-Severe mental and physical trauma.
-Drugs (both medical and criminal).
These are the top ones that come to mind, but like I mentioned above- PLEASE read with caution. I'm sorry if I forgot any triggers. If there is a major one, please send me a private message and I can easily update the list above.
This is an emotionally draining chapter.
Please enjoy my labor of love.
Tay
"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."
— Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Chapter 16
Sakura walked as fast as she could toward home, her pulse thundering in her ears. The weight of what she'd just done pressed heavily on her chest, making her breaths feel shallow, her steps unsteady. Any second now, she expected an ANBU to materialize from the shadows, seize her by the arm, and drag her away.
'I can't believe I did that.' The thought repeated over and over as she rounded the corner toward Kakashi's apartment block. 'Tsunade will kill me if they figure out what I did.'
But what choice did she have? Kakashi was running out of time, and no one else was fighting to save him. If she had to break a hundred more laws to do it, she would. If it meant destroying her own future to pull him back from the edge, she wouldn't hesitate.
— One Hour Earlier —
Sakura entered the Hokage Tower with the ease of someone who belonged there, though her stomach churned with unease. She kept her movements casual, her expression open, and as she turned the corner toward the mission archives, she reached into her bag, fingers curling around the small tin of cupcakes.
The chuunin guard stationed outside her destination sat up as she approached, his face brightening.
"Hello there, Sakura-san!" he greeted cheerfully, standing to acknowledge her. "What brings you here so late?"
She smiled, lifting the tin slightly in explanation. She'd rehearsed this lie a hundred times, molding it into something seamless, effortless.
"I just had dinner with Hokage-sama," she said smoothly. "I ended up with extra cupcakes, so I'm trying to get rid of them before I head home. Would you like one?"
His eyes lit up, his grin boyish and unguarded. "Seriously? Yeah, sure!"
Sakura flipped open the lid, letting him grab one. "They're mint chocolate with crushed peppermint sprinkles," she added lightly as he took a huge bite.
His hum of delight was muffled by the mouthful of cake. "It's delicious!"
Sakura watched as he devoured the rest in just two more bites, then instinctively folded the liner in his fingers. When she held out the tin, he tossed the wrapper inside without thinking.
"Thank you, Sakura-san! You're amazing at baking."
She smiled again, but this time, it didn't quite reach her eyes. She hated this. Hated that he was so trusting, so unaware. He never even considered that someone like her—a friend, a comrade—would do something like this to him.
A yawn overtook him suddenly, and he covered his mouth, blinking rapidly.
"I—I'm so sorry," he muttered through another yawn. "Must be really tired. These night shifts are real—" His words slurred, his body swaying as he sank back into his chair.
Sakura kept her expression calm, reassuring, though her heart was pounding. Had she used too much? She had measured everything carefully, calculated the exact dosage to avoid harm, but doubt clawed at the edges of her mind. She couldn't afford to make mistakes. Not with medicine. Not with people's lives.
"You must get bored sitting here alone all night," she said softly, watching his eyelids flutter.
"Yeah, I… sometimes take little naps some nigh—" His head dipped forward. His breathing evened out.
Sakura remained still, watching, waiting. One more deep breath, then another. His chest rose and fell steadily.
'He's out.'
She swallowed back the guilt and forced herself into motion, slipping past him and into the mission archives.
The room was simple—rows upon rows of meticulously kept reports, the written history of every mission since the village's reconstruction.
She worked quickly, scanning labels, searching for the one file that had changed Kakashi's life forever. When she finally found it, a sharp pang shot through her chest.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the folder. Photographs slipped into view. She forced herself to look.
'Oh, Kakashi…'
The autopsy images of Gijin's body were clinical, detached, but no amount of sterilization could erase the horror of it. His head was cleanly separated from his shoulders. He had been so young. Younger than her.
She bit down hard on her lip, pushing back the lump rising in her throat.
'He was just a kid.'
Kakashi had told her about this day. Had let his voice waver, just for a moment, when he spoke of it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then forced herself to keep going. Emotions wouldn't save him. Answers would.
Flipping through the rest of the report, she noted the reference number and scanned the shelves until she found a corresponding box. Her heart pounded as she pulled it down, rifling through files, chasing a thread, a pattern, a connection—
A way to find the monster responsible for this.
Her hands clenched around the papers.
'Where are you, you sick son of a bitch?'
— End Flashback —
Even though guilt twisted in her gut for drugging a fellow shinobi and breaking into a secured archive, Sakura had no time to dwell on it. She had what she needed. The next step in her personal mission would hopefully begin at dawn.
"I'm getting closer to resolving this, Kakashi…" she whispered, breathless, as she took the stairs two at a time, rushing toward his door.
She fished out the key with trembling fingers, hastily unlocking it. The apartment was steeped in darkness, save for the weak flickering glow seeping from the cracked bathroom door. A sliver of dread lanced through her chest.
She toed off her sandals, dropped her bag, and was halfway through shrugging off her jacket when she called out.
"Kakashi, I'm hom—"
A gut-wrenching scream—low, raw, and agonized—ripped through the silence.
Her brain barely registered the sound before her body moved. She was across the room in a heartbeat, slamming the bathroom door open.
The world turned red.
"Kakashi!" she shrieked, the word strangled in her throat.
He was in the tub, slumped against the cold porcelain, his arm a mangled mess of flesh and flowing crimson. Blood soaked his skin, staining everything it in shades of death. The sharp metallic scent invaded her nose, thick and suffocating.
"No, no, no—fuck, no!" she sobbed, launching herself toward him. Her hands found his arm, slick with warmth, fingers slipping against the deep, gaping wound.
A low moan rumbled from his throat, barely conscious, barely present.
Her chakra flared to life, green light pooling between her palms as she pressed down on the wound, desperate to slow the catastrophic blood loss. But it was too much. The sheer volume pouring from his arm sent panic clawing up her spine.
"Tourniquet—shit, I need a tourniquet," she choked out, eyes darting wildly.
The kunai. It lay discarded in his lap, glistening wet. A fresh wave of nausea threatened to overtake her, but she forced it down. She wrenched it away, barely aware of the pained noise Kakashi made as she tore a strip from a nearby towel.
She wrapped it around his upper arm, just above the wound, pulling it so tight that his body jerked. Another strangled moan left his lips, but he was too weak to fight her.
"You fucking idiot," she rasped through gritted teeth, knotting the fabric, wrenching it tighter still. "You goddamn fucking idiot…"
Her chakra pulsed over the wound again, but it wasn't enough. The cut was too deep, too jagged, running from the base of his wrist up to the crook of his elbow. At least nine inches long—maybe more. Severed veins, torn muscle.
She needed help.
"Fuck, Kakashi, fuck." she cried out in between sobs as she tried to think of what to do next, "Why?"
Her hands flew through a sequence of seals, fingers shaking but precise. She bit into her already bloodied thumb, swiped it across the bathroom floor, and summoned.
A burst of smoke filled the cramped space.
"Sakura-sama!" Katsuyu's voice rang through the haze, calm but urgent.
"Katsuyu-sama, please—help me!" Her voice broke as she lifted the small slug, placing her atop Kakashi's ruined arm. "He's cut himself—badly. I can't stop the bleed."
Katsuyu wasted no time. Sakura poured more chakra into her own efforts, her hands trembling as she worked in tandem with the summon.
Minutes passed in frantic, methodical precision. Then—
"Sakura-sama," Katsuyu spoke gravely, "Kakashi-san has lost a critical amount of blood. He requires a transfusion immediately."
Sakura swallowed against the lump in her throat, bile burning at the back of her tongue. Her gaze darted to his face—pale, clammy, lips parted as he hovered on the edge of consciousness. His breathing was slow. Too slow.
Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. She had no time to ask why. No time to question if it was his own will or the genjutsu driving him to this.
All that mattered was keeping him alive.
She pressed her forehead to his damp, cooling skin, voice barely above a whisper.
"I won't let you die like this."
A pained breath ghosted from his lips as his head lolled to the side. His mouth moved, but no sound came.
"Kakashi." Her voice cracked as she poured another surge of chakra into her trembling hands. "Kakashi, can you hear me?"
His eyelids flickered, barely conscious, slipping deeper into the shock his body could no longer fight. The blood loss was too severe. He was fading.
No.
She forced herself to breathe, sucking in two desperate gulps of air before turning to Katsuyu.
"Katsuyu—please, numb the area." Her voice wavered between sobs as she pulled back, her hands slick with blood. "I need to get blood in him—now."
"Yes, ma'am." The slug immediately complied, sending soothing chakra into the mangled flesh, slowing the destruction even as blood continued to seep through.
Sakura wrenched the soaked towel from the floor and scrubbed her hands clean enough to move. She bolted from the bathroom, skidding across the wooden floor as she snatched up her bag. Ripping it open, she dug frantically for the scroll, her fingers trembling as she unfurled it.
"Come on, come on, where the fuck is it—"
A sharp flick of her wrist, a series of seals, and—
Poof!
The scroll expelled three sealed blood bags, each marked with an unmistakable O.
"His blood type is O," she choked out, already searching for supplies. IV tubing. A needle. Sterilization was a luxury she didn't have—her hands weren't clean enough, the bathroom wasn't sterile, but if she wasted time, he'd die before she had a chance to worry about sepsis.
Her movements were sharp, efficient, practiced through countless field emergencies. The needle slipped beneath the skin of his right arm, hitting the vein with ease despite her shaking hands.
She stood on unsteady legs, yanking the shower rod free of its curtain before hanging the bag high. Gravity would have to do. Dropping back to her knees, she checked the flow—watched deep red drip steadily into his failing body.
It wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
Sakura's throat tightened. "I have three more bags of O-negative if it comes to that." If it could buy her time, she'd drain herself dry if she had to since she had the same type he did. "We need to slow the bleeding more."
She grabbed the bloodied kunai with a fresh wave of nausea, tearing two more strips from the ruined towel, securing them tightly over the original tourniquet.
Her chest seized as she looked down at him—at his slack, lifeless face.
"You fucking idiot," she sobbed, her vision swimming. "How could you?"
Her hands were already moving, assessing the damage, pressing deep into the wound despite the unnatural slickness of muscle and split tendons beneath her fingers.
And then—
"Saku…ra…"
Her breath caught.
She looked up and found him barely clinging to consciousness, his head tilted weakly toward her, lids half-mast. His eyes, once sharp and silver, were sunken, glassy, swimming with something dark. Something heavy.
Pain.
Her stomach twisted as fresh tears burned down her cheeks. "Why?" she whispered, her voice splintering.
A ghost of a smirk. A breath too shallow to be real.
"Just… leave."
Something inside her snapped.
Her palm connected with his face before she could stop herself, a wet slap against bloodstained skin. His head rocked to the side, but he barely reacted.
"Shut the fuck up," she snarled between broken sobs. "Just shut the fuck up!"
Her body trembled as she knelt beside him, hands clenched into shaking fists. Her tears dripped into the mess of red between them.
He was slipping through her fingers. She was losing him.
And she wasn't strong enough to stop it.
Sakura sniffled sharply, wiping the back of her arm across her wet face before turning to Katsuyu. Her voice was hoarse, breathless, but she forced the words out.
"Katsuyu-sama…" she whispered through quick, shallow breaths. "What type of damage remains?"
She forced her focus onto the scroll in front of her, already calculating what she'd need.
"I've successfully cauterized the ulnar artery and am finishing on the radial," Katsuyu reported. "He cut at an angle and severed both. Major repairs can wait, but I've already sealed the smaller vessels to slow seepage and unnecessary loss."
Sakura's jaw tightened.
He hadn't hesitated.
Every shinobi knew the fastest way to kill—where to sever, how deep to cut. Kakashi knew what he was doing when he took the kunai to his arm. He'd aimed for the fastest way out.
The bile in her throat burned.
"He's severely damaged nearly all of the superficial, intermediate, and deep muscle layers. The tendons are partially severed too."
Her fingers trembled as she unrolled more of the scroll, pulling out surgical supplies. He needed extensive repairs—now.
"How deep?" Her voice was tight. "We need to start reattaching before necrosis sets in."
"Deep enough to score both the radius and ulna."
Her breath caught.
Sakura's head snapped up, her stomach twisting violently. Bone.
He had cut through muscle, through tendons, through everything—right down to the fucking bone. He hadn't held back. This wasn't hesitation. This wasn't a cry for help. If she had been even two minutes later, she would have walked into a corpse instead of this barely breathing wreck of a man.
She turned her head sharply, and her eyes locked onto Kakashi's.
Somehow—somehow—he was still conscious. His head rested against the shower wall, his expression slack but watching her.
Her chest squeezed so tightly she thought she might choke on it.
"Kakashi…" Her voice broke, fury and grief twisting together, suffocating her.
She wanted to hit him.
She wanted to shake him, scream at him, hurt him for doing this to himself—for doing this to her.
But she understood.
He had held himself together for so long, had carried the weight of every failure, every death, every shattered piece of himself, until his knees had finally buckled.
He had nothing left.
And now it was her turn to be strong.
His lips parted, his breath barely a whisper. "I'm sorry…"
She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her temples before dropping them. "Don't apologize."
Instead, she grabbed her stethoscope, pressing it to his chest. His heart hammered too fast beneath his ribs, erratic and weak, his lungs struggling against the weight of blood loss and shock.
Too fast. Too weak. Too close.
"Sakura-sama, his blood bag needs to be changed."
She threw the stethoscope around her neck, stood, and swapped out the empty bag with another. The deep red fluid began to drip steadily into his arm. Not fast enough, but it would have to do.
Her hands worked on autopilot as she rummaged through her supplies. A preloaded syringe, a small brown bottle, a clear vial, sterile gauze. Her fingers brushed against a towel—not soaked in blood—and she quickly folded it, setting it on the edge of the tub.
She didn't even look at him when she spoke.
"I'm giving you morphine. I need to start repairs."
If he objected, she didn't care. He didn't have a choice.
Katsuyu shifted as Sakura lifted Kakashi's ravaged arm, laying it gently on the folded towel. His flesh was a ruin—jagged, uneven, tissue curling away from where the kunai had sliced too deep, too deliberately.
Sakura grabbed the saline solution and poured. A diluted river of red cascaded down his arm, swirling through the streaks of blood already smeared across the porcelain before disappearing down the drain. Kakashi flinched. His breath hitched, a sharp hiss slipping from his lips. The morphine hadn't fully kicked in yet.
She didn't care.
She soaked a gauze pad in saline and wiped, stripping away the congealed blood and grime in slow, forceful swipes. Tissue was exposed beneath the mess—raw, mangled muscle glistening under the bathroom's harsh yellow light.
Her hands were steady. Her stomach was not.
This should never have happened.
She switched to betadine, saturating the wound with deep orange-brown streaks, ensuring the disinfectant reached every torn, shredded inch of him. This wasn't sterile. Not even close. But she had to work with what she had.
And then it was time.
Setting down the gauze, she reached for her surgical tools. The familiar weight of the needle driver and forceps grounded her.
Deep breath.
No hesitation.
Go.
For the next hour, she and Katsuyu worked in grim, focused silence.
It was worse than she'd feared.
The damage was catastrophic. Severed arteries aside, he had shredded his own arm, carving through muscle, tendons, and stabilizing structures with surgical precision. The gaping wound had split muscle bellies apart, fibers curling uselessly at the edges. She had to rebuild him, layer by layer, suturing together individual strands of muscle, ensuring alignment so they wouldn't scar into useless knots.
Halfway through, she had to pause—his blood pressure had dropped dangerously low. She scrambled to change out his last blood bag, watching, waiting, praying for his vitals to stabilize before returning to her work.
When she finally wove the last suture, she pulled the thread taut, tied it off, and cut.
A strangled mix of a sigh and a sob tore from her throat as she sat back on her heels, her body trembling.
She turned to Kakashi.
His head had lolled to the side, his breathing slow and even. The morphine had taken hold, sedating him into merciful unconsciousness. Good.
Her gaze dropped lower.
And darkness swallowed her whole.
The tub, the walls—everything—was soaked in blood.
Scarlet streaked across the once-white porcelain in smeared, hand-shaped stains. It dripped down the outer edges of the tub, pooling onto the floor, sinking into the fibers of discarded towels. Bloody fingerprints trailed across the tile, left behind in her frantic, desperate movements.
She hadn't even noticed.
And then she saw herself.
Her arms were drenched to the elbows in drying, cracking layers of red. Her clothes were ruined, saturated in the thick, metallic-smelling filth of what she had tried so desperately to keep inside of him.
The coppery stench clogged her throat, sickly sweet with the scent of congealing blood.
Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into the filth coating her palms.
He had almost died.
He had done this to himself.
The sheer, devastating reality of it hit her all at once.
She had fought so hard, but there were no guarantees. No way to know if the nerve damage was too severe, if the blood loss had already caused irreversible damage, if his hand would ever work again.
She pressed her lips together and forced her focus back onto him. His arm still rested limply on the now blood-soaked towel, his skin pale beneath the stark contrast of her stitches. They were tight. Thorough. The kind of stitches meant to ensure she would never have to see the inside of his arm again.
Her hands moved on autopilot, retrieving supplies from her scroll. She wrapped his arm, covering the jagged, brutalized flesh beneath pristine white bandages. Covering the damage.
She removed the IV catheter, pressed a cotton pad to the puncture site, and secured it with surgical tape. The last bead of blood disappeared beneath the dressing.
It's done.
He's still alive.
A quiet voice pulled her from the fog of her thoughts.
"Sakura-sama…"
She turned, meeting Katsuyu's gentle gaze.
"He's stable. His blood pressure is low, but holding. Oxygen levels are within normal range. No fever or early signs of infection."
Sakura exhaled slowly, her body sagging with exhaustion.
For now, he was safe.
But the next few days would be critical. She had just performed emergency trauma surgery in a filthy, blood-soaked bathroom, and all she could do now was pray that he wouldn't develop sepsis. Pray that his tissues wouldn't die from the trauma. Pray that, somehow, he would still have the use of his hand.
And pray that he wouldn't try again.
Her throat burned.
"…Thank you, Katsuyu-sama." Her voice was quiet, hoarse. "Thank you for helping me save him."
The slug inclined her head. "I am always available for you, Sakura-sama."
Sakura swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
There was one last thing she needed.
"Please… don't tell anyone. Let this stay between us."
A long pause. Then—a nod.
And then Katsuyu was gone, vanishing in a quiet poof of smoke.
Sakura let out a long, shuddering breath.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she turned back to Kakashi, her fingers trembling as she reached out, brushing sweat-damp, blood-matted hair from his forehead. He didn't stir.
Her vision blurred.
She had to move. Had to keep going.
The trauma of what had just happened clawed at the edges of her mind, but she shoved it down. He was still drenched in blood—his skin, his clothes, his hair, the entire room bearing witness to what he had done.
And so was she.
Her hands were still sticky with half-dried blood, her skin caked in it up to her elbows. The bathroom reeked of copper, the sickly-sweet scent clinging to the back of her throat.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to move.
She gathered the used medical supplies first, tossing blood-soaked gauze, suture packaging, and the empty IV bag into the trash can. Too full. She forced the lid down anyway, then pushed to her feet, moving to the vanity.
The moment her hands hit the faucet; she scrubbed. Hard. The water ran red.
She lathered soap over her arms, fingers scraping at the filth, nails dragging against her own skin as she tried to wash away the evidence.
She turned the water hotter. Still, it didn't feel clean.
A breath hitched in her chest, but she forced it down, yanking a hand towel from the rack and drying herself off before stripping out of her ruined clothes. The fabric peeled away from her skin, stiff with drying blood. She barely noticed.
She stepped into the bedroom, grabbed the first clothes she could—loose shorts, a T-shirt that didn't matter—and pulled them on before making her way to the kitchen.
She grabbed two trash bags, cleaner, and a roll of paper towels. Then she went back.
Back to him.
Kakashi's face was slack, his breathing even, but too shallow. His body was pale, damp, lifeless in the tub, his injured arm wrapped loosely in a towel, pressed close to his side.
For a fleeting moment, she thought of what she would have walked into if she had been just a little too late.
Her stomach twisted violently. She forced herself to work. She tossed her bloodied clothes into one bag, stuffing the soaked towels in after them. The second bag held the last remnants of the night's disaster—anything disposable, anything that had touched his blood.
Then she grabbed the cleaner and set to work cleaning around the tub.
It was futile. No amount of scrubbing would erase the deep red stains that had seeped into the tile grout. The bathroom would always hold this moment.
Sakura clenched her jaw and moved on.
She unsealed a pair of surgical scissors from her scroll and knelt beside him. The fabric of his sweatpants was stiff, clinging to his legs where the blood had dried. There was no saving them.
With careful, precise cuts, she peeled him out of his own ruin.
Sakura sliced through his shirt next, the fabric falling away to reveal far too much bloodstained skin. She left his boxers for now. He'd already lost so much, and dignity was something she could spare him.
She took a fresh towel, wrapped it securely around his bandaged arm to protect the wound, and turned the water on.
The tub filled slowly, warm water rushing past his feet, rising around his legs, washing away the worst of the blood.
Then, a noise. A low groan.
"Sakura…" His voice was raw, thick with pain.
He tried to move.
Sakura reacted instantly, hands on his shoulders, pushing him back gently but firmly.
"Don't move." Her voice was quick, sharp, urgent. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm just cleaning you up."
She felt him resist—weakly. His body was sluggish, uncoordinated, but still fighting her.
God, he was still fighting.
Slowly, his eyes cracked open.
Unfocused. Dazed. Two cloudy grey irises found her through the haze of pain and medication.
She held his gaze, her own breath caught in her chest.
What the hell was she supposed to say to him now?
His ears rang.
Loud. Too loud.
Everything around him felt wrong.
His chest ached—like he had been hollowed out, like something heavy was pressing against him, keeping him pinned beneath the weight of his own body. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, every inhale setting off a chain reaction of dull, searing pain radiating from somewhere he couldn't yet identify.
His thoughts were sluggish. Heavy.
Something was wrong.
His eyes cracked open, but the world blurred at the edges, a swirl of muted colors and indistinct shapes. Everything felt distant, detached, unreal.
Then—movement.
A shadow shifted in front of him. Small hands—warm, familiar—pressed against his shoulders, anchoring him to something solid.
He flinched.
"Kakashi," a voice—her voice—cut through the fog, thin and desperate. "Calm down. Just breathe."
He struggled against her grip, trying to lift himself, to move, to understand. But the moment he shifted, agony exploded through him like fire, white-hot and suffocating. His stomach lurched. His limbs trembled. What the hell was happening?
The breath he sucked in felt like shattered glass.
Sakura pushed harder, keeping him down. "Kakashi, stop—just stop. You're okay. You're safe. Just stay still."
His pulse pounded, too fast, too erratic. The rush of blood in his ears drowned out her words. He tried again—tried to sit up, tried to fight past the disorientation, but his body was weak, wrong. The world spun violently, and nausea clawed up his throat.
Something wet—warm—dripped down his skin.
His gaze darted downward.
And everything stopped.
Blood.
Everywhere.
It coated his chest in deep, rusted streaks, smeared across his arms, clung to his skin in sickly, sticky patches. The water pooling at his legs was tainted red. His clothes were gone—cut away, discarded, ruined.
His vision tunneled. His breath caught, then hitched, then broke.
What the fuck—
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. He jerked his head up too fast, too violently. Pain cracked through his skull, and the shock of it made him choke on his own breath. He coughed—hard—and the force sent a fresh ripple of pain through his limbs.
What happened?
What did I do?
He barely registered the way Sakura's hands flew to his face, grasping his cheeks, forcing his gaze to hers. "Look at me."
His breath was coming too fast, too shallow, like he couldn't get enough air.
Not enough air. Not enough air.
His body felt wrong. His muscles trembled, his skin burned, his vision blurred again at the edges.
"Sakura," he choked out, his voice hoarse, strained. His throat felt raw, torn apart, ruined. "I… I don't know what's going on."
Sakura's expression cracked.
For a fraction of a second, she looked as lost as he felt.
Then she steeled herself. "You don't remember?"
He tried to shake his head but barely managed a shallow, broken movement against her palms.
His body was shutting down.
His left arm seized violently. Pain burst through him in sharp, white-hot waves. He gasped, curling into himself on instinct.
Then—the towel. The blood stained cloth wrapped around his left arm.
The pressure. The ache. The wound beneath it.
His stomach plummeted. His breath hitched. His hands trembled. His lungs locked tight.
No. No, no, no—
"Why is my arm wrapped?" His voice barely came out—a ghost of sound.
Sakura hesitated. The tiniest fraction of a pause, but he saw it. "Kakashi…"
Her thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, and only then did he realize—he was crying.
He was crying.
He never cried. But the tears wouldn't stop. They wouldn't stop.
The last thing he remembered was her leaving for work. And then—nothing.
Nothing.
The next thing he knew, he was here—drenched in blood, gutted, broken, barely breathing.
"Sakura… please." His voice cracked. His body shook. A sob wrenched free from his throat, ugly and unrestrained.
Sakura's own breath broke. Her grip on his face tightened, then softened.
"You tried killing yourself."
The words hit like a knife to the chest. He stopped breathing. Everything in his body collapsed inward. He couldn't speak. Couldn't think.
He hadn't wanted to wake up.
But now he had. And Sakura—Sakura had found him.
She was still talking, still holding him, still trying to keep him together when he had already come apart.
He didn't deserve this.
Didn't deserve the way she looked at him with so much grief, so much raw emotion. Didn't deserve the way she clutched at him, the way she pulled him into an embrace and let him fall apart in her arms.
Didn't deserve to feel this safe when all he had wanted was to disappear.
But she was here. And she was crying, too.
He wrapped his right arm around her as tightly as he could, burying his face into her shoulder, letting his body shake, break, unravel. Just held on.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
When they finally pulled apart, his vision was still blurred, his body still trembling, his mind still fractured. He watched Sakura reach for a washcloth, soak it under the faucet, and start to gently, carefully clean him. He knew this wasn't a wound she could heal with her hands.
She worked silently, running the cloth over his chest, his arms, all the places he had destroyed.
She leaned him forward to wash his back, the water rinsing away what remained of his lowest moment.
Then she sat back on her heels, fingers trembling. The sight of her as she clenched and unclenched her hands a few times before finally meeting his gaze again.
Her eyes were still red.
Still devastated.
"I heard you scream," she whispered. "I thought I lost you."
Kakashi let the words sink in.
He let himself see what she had seen. Let himself imagine what she had walked into.
And for the first time, he felt true guilt—not because he had tried to die, but because she had been the one to find him. Because she had been the one to save him.
His throat was raw, his mouth parched. His body ached in ways he had never felt before—deep, sharp pain radiating from his left arm, a cold numbness settling into his extremities. His heart pounded, uneven and weak, struggling to circulate the blood he had nearly lost too much of. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a shuddering effort, his ribs aching as though he had been crushed beneath a landslide.
His mind was a battlefield, fragmented memories clawing at the edges of his consciousness.
The room had been quiet. Too quiet.
He remembered sitting on the bed, staring at the kunai in his hand. The metal had gleamed under the dim light, sharp and familiar. He had held it in so many ways before—on the battlefield, in training, at the throats of enemies. But this time, it had been different. This time, the enemy had been himself.
A whisper in the back of his mind, insidious and coaxing.
'They don't need you anymore.'
He had barely felt the first cut.
The second had been deeper. The third, deeper still.
Then—blackness.
Now, he was here. Alive. Because of her.
His throat closed, a choked sound escaping his lips. He forced his gaze downward and saw the thick bandages wrapped around his left forearm, stark white against his pale, blood-drained skin. A tremor passed through his fingers as he flexed them, a dull, pulling pain shooting up to his elbow. His stomach churned.
"What did I do?" he whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in his skull.
Silence.
When she didn't answer, he looked up, only to find her staring at the floor, eyes empty, face pale. She looked eerily similar to how she had after the war—hollowed out by something only she could see. Something he had done to her.
"God… What did I do?"
Sakura exhaled shakily, and when she lifted her head, her green eyes were filled with something unbearable. She started, then faltered. "You took a kunai to your forearm."
Kakashi swallowed hard. He already knew that. He needed more. He needed to know exactly how much damage he had done.
Sakura hesitated before continuing. "You sliced from the base of your wrist all the way to the crook of your elbow. You cut so deep that you left permanent marks on your bones."
His breath hitched. His vision swam, and suddenly the pain in his arm was sharper, more defined. The edges of his mind curled inward, suffocating, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a vice.
"You sliced through basically everything, Kakashi," she murmured, her voice hollow. "Blood vessels, major arteries, muscle, and tendons. There was so much blood."
Blood.
His ears started ringing. The walls of the room shifted. His chest seized; the air was refusing to fill his lungs properly.
Blood on his hands. Blood soaking into the earth. A girl's body crumpled, his Chidori buried in her chest. Rin.
No, no, no—
He gasped, his body jerking involuntarily. The pain was instant and blinding, exploding through his left arm like fire. He gagged, bile rising, his head spinning as vertigo pulled him under. The room blurred, reality flickering between past and present.
"Kakashi!" Hands on his face. Warm, grounding. Sakura.
He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly to push back the memories. His breathing came in rapid, uneven gasps. His chest ached from the force of it, each inhale like dragging shattered glass through his ribs.
"Sakura," he rasped, "I—I don't—"
"I thought I had lost you!" The anguish in her voice was like a kunai to the chest.
He looked at her then, really looked at her. Her shoulders trembled, her hands gripping his face as if afraid he might slip away again. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her lips pressed together so tightly they had gone white.
He had done this. To her.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered again, voice barely holding together. "I was so angry and so devastated that I couldn't save you in time."
His stomach twisted. He had nearly broken her. And the worst part was—he hadn't even meant to.
Her fingers brushed against his bandaged forearm, featherlight, as though she couldn't bear to put any pressure on it. "If I hadn't had my scroll of supplies, you would have died. Katsuyu barely managed to help me staunch the blood flow from the severed arteries. I used two bags of blood just trying to keep you from bleeding out. I had to perform major surgery on you, Kakashi."
A fresh wave of nausea surged through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, shame burning in his chest. Field surgery. She had performed battlefield-level treatment. For him. Because he had put her in that position.
"I don't know how it's going to heal," she admitted, her voice growing tight. "We can go to the hos—"
"No." His voice was hoarse, desperate. "No hospitals. No one can know."
Sakura inhaled sharply, but after a long moment, she sighed in defeat.
Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating.
Pain.
That was the first thing Kakashi registered. A deep, searing agony radiating from his left arm, crawling up his shoulder and down to his fingertips, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The second thing he noticed was the crushing weight in his chest, different from the physical pain, heavier somehow, as though something inside him had caved in.
Then, finally, her voice.
"I can't leave you alone anymore," Sakura whispered, each word deliberate, weighed down by something enormous. "The risk… it's too high. If I leave tomorrow morning, who knows what will happen?"
Her voice cracked, and when Kakashi forced himself to focus, he saw the way she braced herself—shoulders squared, hands curled into fists at her sides. As if she were holding herself together by sheer will alone.
"I don't… I can't come home to find your body. It will destroy me, Kakashi."
A sharp breath hitched in his throat. A fresh kind of pain sliced through him, deeper than the one in his arm.
He had almost destroyed her.
And yet, she was still here.
He tried to move—to reach for her, to offer some kind of reassurance—but his body refused to cooperate. His limbs felt like dead weight, too drained, too weak. The realization made his stomach churn. He had never felt like this before, this helpless. His body had been through hell, but this—this was different.
For the first time in his life, Kakashi Hatake had no idea how to fix what he had broken.
His vision blurred for a moment as his mind replayed what little he could recall—scattered pieces of memory, fragments of something dark and relentless. The voice had been there, clawing at the edges of his sanity, whispering, then shouting, then screaming until it drowned out everything else.
"Do it. No one's coming. She left you."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"It's time. You should have died a long time ago."
He couldn't remember picking up the kunai. Couldn't remember the exact moment he'd given in. But he remembered the fear—the way it had clutched at his ribs when he'd realized he was losing the fight. He had been waiting for her, hoping, praying that she would get home before it was too late. But she hadn't. And the voice… the voice had won.
He forced his eyes open and found her staring at him, watching him unravel in real-time.
"I don't remember much after you left this morning," he admitted hoarsely. His voice felt foreign, rough with exhaustion and strain. "I didn't sleep long. I remember the voice… It started talking and never stopped. It just kept… going. I held on as long as I could, but it was like it knew. It knew you were gone."
Sakura turned away, rummaging through drawers, stripping out of her bloodstained clothes, pulling on fresh ones. He should have looked away, given her privacy, but he couldn't stop watching her—watching the way her movements were sharp, controlled, too precise. She was trying to keep herself together.
"I remember it telling me to 'do it' over and over," he continued, his voice barely more than a breath. "I fought it. I swear I did. But it just… it wouldn't stop."
Silence stretched between them. Then—
"Oh, Kakashi…"
Her voice was soft. Strained.
He barely registered the warmth of her fingers against his cheek until she gently urged him to look up.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," she whispered. "I was trying to get information, trying to help."
He swallowed. His throat felt tight, raw, like he'd been screaming.
"This isn't your fault, Sakura," he murmured. He reached up with his good hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, giving the smallest squeeze. "Don't blame yourself for not being back sooner."
She exhaled sharply, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue. But instead, she let out a slow breath, pressing her lips together, and nodded.
She was carrying everything. She had been carrying everything for so long, and now he'd put even more weight on her shoulders.
Sakura moved closer, kneeling in front of him, positioning herself between his legs. When she reached up and cupped his face with both hands, he nearly collapsed into the touch. He was so cold. Blood loss, he realized distantly. He must have lost a significant amount. His skin was clammy, his extremities numb, his body weak. He shouldn't have survived a wound like this.
He only had because of her.
"Please…" she breathed. "Just give me a little more time. I'm so close. I was in the mission archives today, trying to find the patterns. I read through hundreds of reports as fast as I could so I could get back here to you." Her voice wavered, but she pushed forward. "I'm trying to make the connections, trying to find a way to break this genjutsu."
She pressed her forehead to his, and he shuddered at the warmth of it.
"To free you."
Something in his chest cracked wide open.
He wanted to hold her. Wanted to pull her close, to ground himself in the solid weight of her presence. But the moment he tried to move, his body betrayed him. The instant he flexed his left arm, agony lanced up his entire side, a deep, searing burn that made his breath catch and his stomach lurch.
A broken sound escaped his throat as he instinctively tried to curl in on himself, but his limbs were sluggish, unresponsive.
Warm hands caught his shoulders, steadying him before he could fold in on himself completely.
"Kakashi, stop—don't move." Her voice was firm, but underneath it was a tremor of fear.
He clenched his teeth, sucking in shallow breaths through his nose, fighting the nausea rolling in his gut. His fingers twitched uselessly at his side. He felt useless. Weak. The same kind of weakness he had felt all those years ago, watching Rin die by his own hand.
He felt the blood on his skin again—not his own, but hers. The way it had soaked into the earth beneath him, the way it had stained his hands, his arms, his face. His stomach twisted violently.
He could smell it. Iron-heavy, suffocating, inescapable—
"Kakashi, breathe."
A warm hand pressed against his cheek, forcing his gaze back to her.
He hadn't realized his breathing had gone shallow, or that his body had started to tremble. His vision swam, but slowly—slowly—her face came back into focus.
He swallowed, his throat painfully tight.
"I—" His voice broke.
"I know," Sakura murmured. "I know."
He closed his eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath.
For the first time in a long, long time, he wasn't sure if he would survive this.
But he knew—without a doubt—that if she left, he wouldn't.
And maybe, that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Fear shot through Sakura's body like ice water as Kakashi pitched forward, his weight slumping into her. She barely managed to keep him upright, bracing her arms against his trembling shoulders. His head dropped against the crook of her neck, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.
'Shit.'
He was worse than she thought.
"Kakashi!" she gasped, her voice sharp with concern. "Please be careful. Don't try using your left arm." She tightened her hold on him, steadying his body against hers. "You did so much damage—nerve trauma, muscle tears, vascular compromise. Everything is at risk."
She felt the smallest nod against her collarbone, the heat of his breath ghosting over her skin as he struggled to regain control. His whole body was trembling—whether from blood loss, exhaustion, or the aftershocks of pain, she wasn't sure. Likely all three.
Her mind was already working, calculating the next steps:
'His blood pressure is dangerously low, his skin is cool to the touch, and his extremities are clammy. Hypovolemic shock? Possible. Infection risk? High. Chakra depletion? Significant.'
The realization only tightened the coil of anxiety in her stomach.
"I need to get you pain medication and antibiotics," she said quickly, her voice gentler now, steady despite the fear twisting inside her. "Can you sit up on your own?"
Another small nod against her neck. He inhaled shakily—one, two, three long breaths—before she felt his muscles tense. Slowly, he pulled himself back, his arms limp in his lap, his expression tight with barely contained agony.
Sakura kept her hands on his shoulders, grounding him, monitoring the tension in his muscles, the erratic flutter of his pulse beneath her fingertips. He looked wrecked. His skin had gone pale beneath the dried blood, his lips nearly colorless, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the fine tremor in the muscles.
She swallowed hard, fingers instinctively sliding from his shoulders to his neck, her touch featherlight. Carefully, deliberately, she let her nails scratch lightly against the sensitive skin there, tracing the lines of tension. The reaction was immediate—his body shivered beneath her touch, a small shudder rippling down his spine.
Good. She needed him here. Present. Not lost in pain.
Hooded gray eyes lifted to meet hers, raw and searching.
Sakura knelt beside him on the bed, shifting her weight as she pressed two fingers to the pulse point on his right wrist. His heart rate was still elevated—too high for her liking—but at least it was steady. He was pale, his skin cold, the telltale signs of significant blood loss. She needed to work quickly.
With efficiency, she removed the soiled bandages with a light and delicate touch. Her heart clenched, but she forced her hands to remain steady as she carefully unwrapped them, taking stock of the damage.
"I'm going to start with your brachial artery," she murmured, mostly to keep him informed but also to keep herself grounded. "There was too much vascular damage. Even with clotting, I don't trust the integrity of the smaller vessels."
She summoned her chakra, letting it pool into her hands, then gently placed them over his wounded arm. The skin beneath her fingers was unnaturally cool, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from her healing jutsu. She focused on the deeper layers first, seeking out the microtears in the muscle fibers, the frayed edges of blood vessels that hadn't fully sealed.
Slowly, she guided her chakra into the tissue, knitting together the arterial walls, reinforcing them so they wouldn't rupture under pressure. It was delicate work—too much force, and she could cause an aneurysm; too little, and the wound would fail to heal properly. She regulated her chakra flow, pulse by pulse, ensuring proper blood circulation while easing the inflammation that had already set in.
Kakashi exhaled a quiet sound—halfway between relief and exhaustion.
"You're doing good," she murmured, moving her focus to the surrounding muscle tissue. "Try to relax. I know it hurts."
He didn't reply, but she felt the minute shift in his breathing, the tension in his body giving way just slightly beneath her hands.
Layer by layer, she worked. She mended the torn fascia, stimulated cell regeneration in the severed muscle fibers, and dissolved the microscopic blood clots that had formed as a result of the trauma. The worst of the damage—structurally, at least—was now under control, but she could already see the bruising that would spread beneath his skin. His body had been pushed to its absolute limit.
Ten minutes passed before she finally eased back, dispelling the glow of her jutsu with a slow exhale.
"That should help with the pain," she said, brushing damp hair from his forehead. "You need fluids. I'll get you some water and pain medication."
Kakashi blinked at her, sluggishly, his breath evening out. "You should rest too," he murmured.
She offered a soft, weary smile. "Soon."
She helped him shift properly onto the mattress. Sakura reached for the small supply kit she had left beside the bed, quickly pulling out the pain medication and antibiotics. Kakashi was still awake, barely, his breathing slow but his awareness sharp enough that she knew he would fight her on taking anything if she didn't insist.
"You need these," she said softly, shaking two pills into her palm. "They'll help with the pain and keep infection from setting in."
His eyelids fluttered, sluggish, but he managed to tilt his head toward her. "Don't like pain meds," he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion.
"I know," she replied, unfazed. "But I also know what untreated nerve inflammation looks like, and I'd rather not watch you suffer through it."
His lips twitched—almost a smirk, if he weren't so drained—but he didn't argue further. He parted his lips just enough for her to place the pills on his tongue, and she carefully lifted a cup of water to his lips. He swallowed with some effort, but she could already see the tension in his jaw loosening as the medication began its slow march through his system.
"Good," she murmured, brushing damp hair back from his temple. "Just a little longer, then you can sleep."
His eyes had already started to drift shut when she reached for the bandages.
The previous dressings had soaked through, dark crimson bleeding into the once-white gauze.
The muscle tissue was still raw, but the fresh healing session had reduced some of the inflammation. The torn vessels had been reinforced, preventing further hemorrhaging, and there was no immediate sign of secondary infection.
Still, the wound needed to be protected.
She reached for a fresh roll of gauze, her hands moving with precision as she wrapped his arm in clean, sterile layers. She secured it in place, ensuring enough compression to prevent excess swelling without restricting circulation.
"There," she whispered, exhaling slowly as she finished. "That should hold for the night."
Kakashi made a vague sound of acknowledgment—too exhausted to fully respond, but aware enough that she knew he was listening.
She hesitated for only a moment before leaning down, pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple.
"I'm going to take a quick shower," she murmured against his skin. "I'll be right back. Get some rest."
His breathing hitched just slightly, and for a fleeting second, his fingers twitched against the blankets—like he wanted to reach for her, but didn't have the strength.
She wished she could stay, but she needed to wash away the blood, the sweat, the fear that still clung to her skin like a second layer.
Sakura pulled back, offering him one last glance before slipping away toward the bathroom.
The second she stepped inside, the scent of blood hit her like a physical force. The air was thick with it, metallic and clinging to her skin, her clothes. The floor was streaked with dark stains, dried in uneven patterns where it had seeped into the cracks. She had cleaned the best she could, but it felt like she had done nothing.
Her stomach twisted.
Sakura forced herself to move. She turned on the shower, letting the water run hot, then peeled off her third pair of bloodstained clothes, tossing them into the corner. When she stepped under the stream, the heat stung against her over sensitized skin.
She pressed her palms to the tiled wall, hanging her head as the water ran with the faintest red down the drain. The last remnants of his blood that had stained her skin leaving her.
She had almost lost him.
For a brief, horrible moment, she let herself feel it—the fear, the anguish, the sheer helplessness of knowing she had come so close to walking into a scene she would never recover from.
Her throat ached, but she swallowed it down. He needed her strength.
After scrubbing herself clean, she quickly wrapped herself in one of the last towels that she hadn't ruined and stepped back into the bedroom.
Kakashi had fallen asleep. His breathing was deep, slow, his body still curled slightly in on itself, as if his subconscious still expected to endure pain.
Sakura moved with quiet precision.
After she quickly dressed in one of his shirts and a fresh pair of panties, she went straight to his bedside table. Opening the drawer to find a kunai tucked beneath a folded mission report. She took it.
Then, she moved to his gear, checking every pocket, every strap. Three more kunai. Two shuriken. The small blade he always kept strapped to his calf. She remembered the shoebox of weapons under his bed and quickly retrieved them.
Every weapon, every possible means of harm, she gathered into a small pile. Then, with practiced ease, she pulled a sealing scroll from her own bag, unrolled it across the floor, and pressed her hand to its surface. A soft glow pulsed as the weapons disappeared into the ink-lined script, locked away beyond his reach.
She would keep them safe. For now.
Finally, she exhaled and turned back toward the bed.
Kakashi hadn't stirred.
She slid under the blankets beside him, close but not touching, and let herself breathe.
Her throat tightened. She had spent so long trying to hold herself together, trying to be strong for him, but looking at him now—at the broken exhaustion in his eyes—something inside her cracked.
Before she could stop herself, she leaned in, pressing the faintest, whisper-soft kiss against his shoulder. A promise. A vow.
"I love you, Kakashi," she murmured, her voice fierce with conviction. "This is my vow to you. I will never abandon you. I will fix this. I will help you. And when this is over, I will still be here."
For a moment, he didn't reply but she felt him shift. She looked up and found as he just stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, ever so slightly, he beckoned her to lean in. She did as he pressed his lips to hers—not with desperation, not with urgency, but with something far deeper. It was slow, careful, weighted with meaning.
'We will get through this. We are not easily defeated.'
The thought settled in her chest, solid and certain.
Reluctantly, she broke the kiss, drawing back just enough to study his face again. His breath was still uneven, his body still trembling, but there was something in his gaze now—clarity.
She exhaled, centering herself. She had a job to do.
"I need you to trust me, okay?"
A long pause. Then—
"I do," Kakashi murmured, his voice hoarse. "I always have."
Sakura swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and nodded.
She reached for his hand beneath the blankets, lacing her fingers through his—not to ground him, not to steady him, but simply to hold on. His grip was weak but certain, a silent acceptance of everything she had just promised him.
The weight of the night settled around them, thick and heavy, but it no longer felt suffocating. The ghosts of pain and exhaustion lingered in the air, but they were no longer alone beneath their weight.
She let her eyes drift shut, listening to the slow, steady cadence of his breathing, matching her own to its rhythm.
Tomorrow would come with its battles, its burdens, its wounds still waiting to be mended.
But for now—just for this moment—he was here. He was alive. And she was with him.
And that was enough.
A/N: There's not much to say as we end this chapter. What you just read is probably upsetting. We'll have to see what the next chapter holds for our couple as everything has come to a crashing halt and Sakura must reevaluate everything in order to not only protect Kakashi but protect herself as well.
As always, please leave a comment/review and let me know what you think! I appreciate any and all feedback.
If any of you need to talk, be it about the chapter/story or about yourself, my messages are always open, and I will ALWAYS reply. Every single one of you mean the world to me and I wouldn't be here writing if it wasn't for dedicated readers like you.
"It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone."
— John Steinbeck
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