Helix906

Manifestation

Part 26: The Consequences of Tardiness

❤️
#sarada #boruto

I love it

Part 13: A Token

(1/3)

There’s only one person she can blame for their current arrangement, who happens to be the man she’s about to see. She’s frothing mad by the time she gets to the door of the Hokage’s Office, stalking past the objections of the guards and into his office. The chaos of paper towers that always occupied the Hokage’s desk in Naruto’s day had been tamed by Shikamaru’s tenure in office. There’s a few neat piles in front of him as well as a computer screen, an overloaded tray of smoked cigarettes, and a coffee mug big enough to take a bath in. “Oh, Sarada—” Despite being told that she was supposed to visit him, he looks a bit surprised to see her so early. She marches up to her desk, planting her hands on its top. “This whole arrangement with Kawaki watching me isn’t working out. Tell him to cut it out.” Shikamaru reaches for his cigarettes, tapping one out of the packet. “I gave you both your orders.”

She hears a second response from him in her head, not directed at her. I thought you told her to yell at me about Boruto. I did, Inojin responds. Nice improvisation, Sarada. Ugh, fine. I can work with it. Keep yelling at me for a few minutes. “I’m serious,” she says, not sure if she’s playing along or venting her frustrations. “It’s counterproductive to my recovery. Bring someone else in to do it.” “There isn’t anyone else.” His lighter snicks as he holds it up to the end of his cigarette. “It’s just two weeks—” “Two weeks too long.” “If you haven’t noticed, I have more pressing things to be concerned with than your petty grievances.” Petty grievances. That’s a good one, Inojin adds. Sarada glares at Shikamaru as he puffs on his cigarette. I don’t like this arrangement.

Tough, he responds in her head. It’s our best chance to get you closer to Kawaki. He’d be suspicious otherwise. This way, he thinks he’s in control of your interactions. Take advantage of that. Don’t let the fact that you’re uncomfortable with it get in the way of your mission. Now, tell me that you proved that you don’t need supervision after the mission to the Sand. Sarada blinks. What? Just do it, Inojin adds. She straightens, placing her hands on her hips. “Then let me take care of myself. After what happened in the Sand, it should be clear enough that I don’t need anyone else telling me what to do.” Shikamaru leans back in his chair, sucking on the end of his cigarette while giving her a once-over, as if he’s sizing her up. “Do you know why you’re still a genin, Sarada?” “Because I don’t follow orders.”

The Hokage exhales a cloud of smoke. “No, that’s not it. And it’s not about your abilities or strength, either. It’s because a chunin is a leader. A genin is a leader. A Hokage is a leader. You? You haven’t proved you’re capable of leading anyone yet.” She hopes for some mental remark to follow, softening his words, but none comes. “Yes, sir,” she says after a moment of silence. “I have a diplomatic problem, though. Kankuro wanted me to extend his thanks to you in your role, helping to recover Shinki’s Thorn Soul Bulb. He called me last night to say that his nephew had been freed, and the Kazekage is now recovering in the hospital as well. That’s all thanks to you, Sarada.” Shikamaru reaches into his desk and pulls out a small box, placing it between them.” I can’t give you a promotion. That’d be irresponsible when I know you’re not up to the job. But I can’t let the work you did go unrecognized, either. So, I’m asking that you take this as a token of appreciation, both from our village and from the Sand. You may not be able to wear it now, but you’ll have it for a future in which you can.”

(2/3)

Sarada picks it up, mind reeling. “Thank you.” “Thank you,” Shikamaru says, turning back to his computer monitor. “You’re dismissed. I don’t expect I’ll be hearing any more complaints from you about Kawaki in the near future.” Sarada bows slightly, hurrying out of the office. Knowing that the Thorn Soul Bulb was supposed to free a person trapped in a divine tree and hearing that it had, without additional complications, were two different things. If it had worked for Shinki, that means it’d also work for her father. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sarada thought of what happened to Sasuke as her fault. She’d asked him to save Boruto, to become a rogue ninja once more, to abandon the village. Not only had he done all that for her, but he’d been willing to give up his life to protect Boruto. For her, not for anyone else.

That guilt was something she was just starting to grapple with, just like her conflict with Sumire, just like her desire to be Hokage, just like her feelings for Boruto. She’d been avoiding them because facing them head on would force her to grapple with the possibility that she might not succeed in her goals or save anyone she loved. But hearing that Shinki had been freed meant that Sasuke could be freed as well. She’s lost in thought by the time she gets to the bottom of the stairwell, not expecting to hear Inojin still in her head. Hey, did you look in the box yet? No, I— We were asked to give it to you. Go ahead, open it.

Sarada glances around, making sure she’s alone, then pulls the little wooden box out of her pocket and slides the lid back. Nestled on a little cushion is a little piece of metal shaped like the head of a bolt. She picks up the pin, turning it over in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the polished surface. Is this what I think it is? she asks Inojin, not realizing he’s no longer there to answer.

(3/3)

“For me, yeah. Sumire… She used to have bad dreams sometimes. Stuff about her childhood. She’d come over to sleep in my room, or I’d go to hers. But I’m not used to getting woken up by them myself.” “I know what that’s like.” Kawaki isn’t sure he’s ever had a good dream in his life. They’re all terrible, the past that haunts him creeping up even in the only place he ever finds peace. So, he decides to tell Sarada what he tells himself whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat. “Dreams are just our way of working through things. They can’t actually hurt you. Just remember, a nightmare is just processing reality. Reality itself is the real horror.” Sarada sits on her bed, staring at him, dumbfounded. “Anyway, sweet dreams,” he says, reaching over to flick off her lightswitch before closing the door.

(4/4)

One side of the room has an open closet displaying mostly black outfits, the other side has an alcove with a little makeshift office nestled into it in front of a large window looking out at the night sky. On the desk is the book she was reading last night, pages marked with little colored tabs, and a notebook full of neat handwriting. “He can’t be saved by some ninjutsu bullshit.” “Excuse me—” Kawaki jerks his chin towards the book. “It’s about sealing jutsu, right? If that could have gotten rid of Momoshiki, don’t you think Lord Seventh would have at least tried it?” “We don’t know what he did and didn’t try. It shouldn’t stop us from looking into other possibilities.” Her whisper is harsh, trying to broadcast her outrage as quietly as possible, given the other people sleeping in the house.

“Boruto is his son, Sarada. You don’t think he tried anything and everything in his power to stop Momoshiki from taking over? Just because this is the first time it’s bothering you—” He must have started leaning forward during their argument. Either that, or she took a step forward to get right in his face. “Oh, so let’s just kill him. That’s your plan. Kill him and tell Himawari what an awful person he is. That he murdered his parents. That he betrayed the village. You know he’s not guilty, but you just lie about it. To Himawari of all people.” He should have known she’d been a little more pissy at him than usual since that morning, but it was hard to tell when she was just generally disgruntled versus being riled up about something specific. It’s not his fault that her emotional range existed on a scale of annoyed to irate. “She should know the truth—” Sarada grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt; Kawaki grabs her wrist to keep her from shoving him backwards into the wall. “You’re telling her lies, bastard.”

“I’m telling her the truth in a way that she can understand.” Sarada tightens her grip on his shirt, he tightens his grip on her wrist. She looks him over, eyes blacker than the night sky outside. “You’re just upset that she doesn’t hate him because that means she doesn’t hate you.” Oh, bravo. Fantastic observation. Maybe she should look into a career as one of the counselors they keep trying to force him to see every time he goes in for a physical instead of being the next Hokage. “I don’t expect you to understand.” He uses her wrist to push her backwards, far enough that she’s forced to let go of his shirt before he releases her. “What I expect you to do is go the fuck to bed.” “Fine.” She spits out the first consonant as though there’s another single syllable f-word she’d like to say in response. She walks over to her bed and kicks off her slippers before sitting down on it. “Happy?”

“Eight to ten hours,” he reminds her. “Actual sleep, not reading stupid books.” Sarada tucks her legs beneath her, making no moves to actually lie down. “You act like I’m not sleeping to read instead of reading because I can’t sleep.” The idea of not being able to sleep is laughable to Kawaki. But, then it hits him. “Bad dreams?” Sarada picks at her comforter rather than look at him, probably in denial that she was talking to him about it in the first place. “Yeah.” “Are they new?” Kawaki has a pretty good idea of what might have happened to Sarada to stir up nightmares recently. Not that it’s something he hasn’t been dealing with for a while now.

(3/4)

He glares at it, as though glaring at it could make it go out, then heads for the kitchen, grabbing a prepackaged egg salad sandwich from the fridge. Girls stay out of the boys rooms, boys stay out of the girls rooms. It was a rule laid down by Shikamaru long ago, and a rule Kawaki lived by not out of compliance but because he had no desire to violate it. What the hell would he want in a girl’s room anyway? The only reason that he’d ever walked down that hallway in the first place was to get to the laundry area located outside their bath, and that was only on rare occasions when he returned from a mission gross enough that he didn’t want to leave his clothing in a hamper, stinking up his room.

Just yesterday, it would have been unthinkable for him to consider knocking on one of their doors, but as he’s hunched over the table, eating his sandwich, that’s exactly what he’s considering, and it seems like his only option, too. She’d fallen out of a fucking tree that morning like a bird having a heart attack. She’d worn herself out against orders. From the way she’d been grabbing her face, it had been easy enough to surmise that she’d used her Sharingan, too. And to what end? Annoying the shit out of him? And now, when she’s supposed to be sleeping, she’s up at—Kawaki pauses in his internal rant to check the clock of his shoulder—she’s up at a quarter after two in the fucking morning. His indignation carries him all the way to her room, his half-eaten sandwich left in the kitchen. At some point, she’d added a palm-sized Uchiha crest to the door, declaring it to be her own. That’s where he knocks, square in the middle of the red fan. Loud, but not loudly enough, he hopes, to wake either Daemon or Eida.

He hears nothing at first, making him wonder if she slept with the light on, and he’d never noticed before. What a shithead he’d be if he woke her in order to tell her to go to sleep. But before his mind wanders too far down that path, the latch turns and Sarada jerks open the door. Whatever annoyance she had at being interrupted magnifies tenfold when she sees that it’s him doing the interrupting. “What do you want?” The only thing intimidating about her is the murderous glare coming from behind her glasses. Beyond that, she’s wearing the same red robe she had on the previous evening, its belt haphazardly tied on the side as though she’d just thrown it on. Her hair is washed, but unstyled, lying flat in a kind of shaggy pixie cut. She’s wearing slippers. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Well, thanks for the heads up…” Sarcastic response delivered, she goes to shut the door.

Kawaki puts his hand in the door jam, knowing it’s going to hurt when it’s slammed on his fingers, but figuring it’s going to hurt less than a pot of hot coffee to the lap. She stops just short of closing the door on his hand, yanking it open wide this time, giving him a full view of her bedroom. If her bedroom is any indication, it’s clear that Sarada isn’t the one who decorated the downstairs bathroom. Her room is smaller than his, but still bigger than any of the bedrooms in the Uzumaki home. Its walls are a deep red, reminding him that Eida went through an interior design phase about a year ago and forced Sumire and Sarada to come along. There’s a black and white painting over her bed, something abstract, brushstrokes of gloopy paint evoking the feeling of leaves carried on the wind. Her bed is a futon on a platform, white mattress covered by a black comforter and a red blanket with matching square pillows. It appears made but mussed, sat on while not being slept in.

(2/4)

Part 12: Lies and Honesty

(1/4)

It’s just like Sarada to assume he wants to do anything he does. It’s like assuming he wants to breathe or eat or wake up in the morning. He does things because he has to, not because he gets another choice, which includes keeping Sarada from hurting herself. At least for now. While she’s coiling the rope, Kawaki is forced to consider the ramifications of her caving in: what’s the least problematic way to carry her? He suspects Boruto wouldn’t have given the matter a second thought, scooping her up in his arms and ferrying her across like some kind of comic book hero. He couldn’t do that, but he wasn’t about to toss her over his shoulder like a sack of rice, either, her ass in his face. His eyes drift over her, considering all the parts of her he doesn’t want to inadvertently touch, and there’s a heck of a lot of them. “What?” It’s not so much of a question than it is a demand that he stop staring, made as she glares at him from behind her glasses.

“Get on my back.” When she makes no moves to actually comply with his demand, Kawaki walks over and squats down, facing away from her. “On my back now. I won’t drop you.” She steps forward, sighing loudly as she loops her arms around his neck. Kawaki stands, lifting her off the ground before walking forward, stepping off the edge of the gorge and into open space. His Otsutuski powers take over, carrying him off the ground. He adjusts his orientation as they begin to float until his front is parallel with the ground below, and Sarada is lying on his back. “Any complaints?” There’s a pause indicating that she has lots of complaints, just not about her position on his back. “No.” “Good.” The moment he’s sure she’s secure, he wraps a hand around the arms encircling his neck to hold her in place before tearing off in the direction of the big house up on the hill at breakneck speed, ensuring that neither of them will have to spend more than a second longer than necessary in physical contact with one another.

(3/3)

“It’s a chakra injury, right?” This comes from Himawari who had come up behind him and isnow peering over his shoulder. “I can do a lot for physical healing, but not for that.” “It’s nothing.” She manages to stand, wincing as she does as though the daytime light is far too bright. “I just need some rest.” So that’s it. One little excursion, following him around as though she was the one ordered to keep an eye on him, rather than the other way around, and she’d already overdone it. “Good job, Himawari,” she manages, putting out her fist to the younger girl, a smile on her face. “Keep at it.” Himawari bumps it. “Thanks, Sarada.” She avoids Kawaki’s disapproving gaze entirely when she turns around, bounding up into the trees and disappearing. “You can go after her, you know,” Himawari says after watching him stare in the direction of where she’d gone.

“I should get you home safe.” This is met with a teenage sigh of exasperation. “I have the Hokage’s entire guard on the other side of the bridge to escort me back to Konoha. Make sure she gets home safe. If you don’t want to do it for her, at least you can do it for me. Please, big bro.” He catches up with her on the near side of the gorge, watching as she whirls a rope with a kunai round and round before sending it sailing across the deadly drop. The sharp point sinks into the dirt on the other side, but when Sarada yanks on it to test its strength, the kunai falls loose, swinging backwards to clatter against the other side. He watches in silence as she winds it back up, intent on another try. “Didn’t I tell you that you get hurt when you don’t listen?” “Oh, fuck off.”

Swearing wasn’t Sarada’s style. She usually lets her eyes say the profane rather than having it come out of her mouth. The fact that she had resorted to curse words is further proof that something isn’t right. Does he know how she’s feeling? Incompetent, underpowered, unprepared, capable of so much strength and restricted by circumstances beyond her control? Filled with anger at others, loathing herself for her own pathetic weakness? Sure he does. Will he tell her that? Hell, no. Empathy will get him about as far with Sarada as that first kunai throw got her. “I’ll take you home.” Sarada twists around, looking him up and down as though searching for any other option that isn’t flying. “Like hell you will.”

Instead, she tosses her kunai across the gorge. Maybe she’s even more tired now or maybe she’s mad enough at him to be distracted, but this time, the tip doesn’t even hit its mark, the flat of the blade colliding uselessly against the side before falling. Kawaki takes a step towards her. “I’m taking you home. Either you come willingly, or I’ll take you by force and tell Shikamaru that you’ve been using your Sharingan against orders.” Back still turned to him, Sarada snorts. “Is that an order from my captain or a threat?” “Both.” “I can just go back to the bridge and cross there. If the shinobi are gone—” “Sarada.” She turns around, her arms spread wide in an exasperated gesture. “Fine. Fucking fine. Whatever you want. That’s how you do everything anyway, isn’t it?”

(2/3)

Part 11: Undesired Consequences

(1/3)

The girl’s usual optimism is absent when she says it, like a wish whispered into the night instead of something she’s certain of. A moment later, Himawari blinks away her seriousness, looking back at Sarada with a smile on her face that might have been forced. “Anyway, big br—Kawaki. Kawaki is the best person to help me. He’s strong enough for me to take on without worrying about getting hurt, and he saw Papa work with Kurama a few times, so he can give me some pointers. Which is more than you’ll do, you lazy fox.” She glowers downward at her navel, giving her stomach an annoyed poke that gets no response. Kawaki taps his staff on the ground, annoyed. “Are you two done chatting yet?” “Sorry,” Himawari says, more to excuse herself to Sarada than in response to Kawaki. “We have to get back to it.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Sarada grabs Himawari’s shoulder, pulling her close enough to speak in her ear. “You can be mad that you can’t do more. You should be mad. Don’t let it make you feel helpless, do you understand me?. Don’t look away from it because you feel as though you can’t do anything. Let it fuel you.” Kawaki clears his throat at yet another interruption. “Thank you,” Himawari says, meeting Sarada’s gaze as she backs away, her Uzumaki eyes like those of her father and brother, ever hopeful and unwavering. “For the advice, and for understanding.”

(5/5)

Each word hits Sarada like a knife that hurts more than the pounding of her headache. Because how dare he. When he knows Naruto is alive, Hinata is alive. When he knows Boruto is innocent. If Himawari isn’t mad, Sarada is sure as hell happy to be mad for her. When she gets Kawaki alone again— The tails that had once pierced the sky blink as though weakening, the control Himawari has over them diminishing. The next time Kawaki strikes, his staff passes right through her hair. It’s only at the last second that he pulls the blow, stopping a fraction of a centimeter away from her cheekbone. “What went wrong that time?” Hima lets herself fall butt-first into the dirt, looking up at Kawaki with the same true-blue eyes she shares with Boruto. “That doesn’t make me mad.” “How can it not?” Kawaki pulls the staff back, planting one end in the dirt so he can lean on it. Himawari shakes her head. “Nope, I’m not having this conversation again with you.”

“Boruto killed your—” “I don’t want to hear it!” Her usually mild demeanor breaks, and orange light flaring in her eyes when she shouts at him. “What makes me mad is that there is an enemy threatening the village right now, killing people, hurting you, hurting him, and I’m ordered to be stuck in stupid Konoha when I could be helping people. I could be helping you. I wanted to go with Team 10—” “You are not allowed to leave the village,” he roars back at her, meeting her anger with his own as he bangs the end of his staff on the ground to punctuate each statement he makes. “You are going to stay here. In Konoha. Where you are safe. And you will always stay safe. That’s why you have to learn to defend yourself. To defend yourself, Himawari.” “I’d rather learn to fight,” she bites back. “You understand, don’t you… Sarada?” Busted. The moment Himawari activated Kurama’s powers, Sarada had been found out. Kawaki turns around just in time to see her drop from the tree, glaring at Sarada as she walks towards them. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you,” Himawari says, as though it’s the most obvious observation in the world to make. “I’m not,” Sarada says, her words colliding with the, “She’s not,” that comes out of Kawaki’s mouth. A stupid grin spreads out on Himawari’s face, not helping the headache that was growing inside Sarada’s skull one bit. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two in the same place.” Evasive social maneuvers are in order. “What are you doing?” she asks Himawari, ignoring Kawaki entirely. She’d known Kurama had been reborn in Himawari, but beyond her healing abilities, Sarada had yet to see it for herself. “Training!” Hima stands up, dusting off the seat of her pants. “Big bro—” “Don’t call me that,” Kawaki grumbles, almost like it’s an automatic response to hearing the name now, not really expecting her to obey. Hima looks at Sarada and rolls her eyes as if to say catch a load of this sour puss. “He’s helping me train.”

“Weren’t you training with Team 10?” Kawaki sighs audibly in response to her question, broadcasting his annoyance both at being interrupted in general and being interrupted by Sarada specifically. Himawari nods. “Yep, I was. But they’re out of the village for now—” “—and you probably would accidentally kill them,” Kawaki adds under his breath. Both girls seem to have come to a mutual agreement that Kawaki wasn’t a part of their conversation. “Except Inojin,” Sarada says, curious as to the arrangement that allowed him to stay in the village while the rest of his team was deployed. The smile that had been on Himawari’s face flinches at his mention. “Yeah, except him. Aunt Ino recommended another Yamanaka clan member who would complement their team dynamics for the time being. But… he’ll get better.”

(4/5)

Yes, actually. Next time you visit the medical clinic for a checkup, stop by Hokage tower to yell at Shikamaru like you usually do— I don’t yell at him— Yeah, whatever, Inojin doesn’t let her defend herself. He has something for you. Thanks. For what? Bothering you? he asks. Before she can respond, she feels the direct link dissolve, leaving her alone. Sarada slows in her progress, taking a moment to bound up the branches of a tall tree to survey her surroundings in hopes of seeing Kawaki, even if he’s just a small dot in the distance. No such luck, but at her new vantage point, she can now see the road winding out of the forest, leading to a rope bridge over a deep gorge. A light bulb clicks on in her head. That’s where she is, along the path to the restricted training grounds where Lord Seventh used to release Kurama during training drills for the village’s sealing team.

Certain that just a little use of her Sharingan can’t hurt, Sarada activates her doujutsu to take a closer look at her surroundings. Sure enough, she detects at least ten shinobi guards stationed in the shade of the trees to stop anyone from crossing the bridge. She only used it for a few seconds, but even as her red eyes fade back to black, the pressure that had been building up behind her eye socket blossoms into an exploding headache. Wincing, Sarada slaps a hand to her eye, pushing back on the pain. Once it fades to a dull throbbing, she decides she can continue, bypassing the bridge to cross farther down by means of a makeshift ropeline. The first time she actually tries to execute her mission is already feeling like a failure, or so she thinks as she winds up the rope again to return it to her bag. But before she can wallow in self pity, a violent explosion rocks the area, a loud crack followed by a gust of wind that blows her air back. Sarada looks up just in time to see one of Kurama’s bright orange tails lashing at the sky.

Instead of finding Kawaki with Naruto, Sarada finds him standing in the middle of a crater in front of Himawari, a long black metal staff in his hand. He looks down his nose at the girl, doubled over as she tries to catch her breath. “That was pathetic.” “Sorry, big bro!” Even from Sarada’s crouched position hidden leaves of a tree a few meters away, she can see Kawaki flinch at the name. “I can only really control it when I’m mad.” “Then you should learn to be mad,” he says, recovering his stoic mask before Himawari notices that it had slipped. “Let’s try again.”

She watches as the girl she remembers in diapers straightens, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before a glowing orange cloak envelops her. Tendrils of her black hair rise up like flames around her, dancing with the flow of chakra. The black markings on her cheek deepen, extending to her fox-like eyes, vertical pupils inlaid in brightly burning irises. For a second, it feels like those eyes flick toward Sarada, but they’re pulled back to Kawaki in order to defend herself. He comes at her, staff in hand, raining down a series of blows she deflects with the tails forming from her hair. “If you’re not mad, be mad,” he demands. The way he fights her without mercy reminds Sarada of the brutality with which her own father once trained her to improve her Sharingan. “Your father is dead. Your mother is dead. You were betrayed by an outsider who was shown nothing but kindness by your family. By the village. And he turned on you. All of you.”

(3/5)

He’d taken off heading west, away from the village and into the surrounding forest beyond. The trees give Sarada plenty of cover, but she has to stick to the lower branches to avoid being noticed. The chakra overexertion from the mission to the Sand, her injuries from that battle, the long days spent in bed—she can feel it all now while leaping from branch to branch. Her muscles are stiff, chakra control shaky. Pressure builds up behind her right eye, the start of a headache threatening to break through. Usually racing through the trees feels like freedom, but for the first time in years, it fails to come naturally. She has to pay attention each time she lands, each time she leaps forward again, exerting effort to coordinate her physical movements with her chakra flow. Hey, Sarada. Inojin’s voice lets itself into her head unannounced. Her foot skids as she loses control for a second, canting dangerously forward. Her arms whirl, keeping her balance as concentrates chakra to the souls of her feet, allowing gravity to take her forward until she’s hanging upside down on the underside of a big branch.

A little warning would be nice, she grumbles back to him. Sorry, I don’t come with a ringer, he replies, the sorry sounding not the least bit like an apology. It’s not like I don’t get interrupted every time Shikamaru reaches out. That’s all I have to do? Reach out? Sarada had been looped in on many interconnected telepathic transmissions in the past, but she hadn’t considered the logistics for the Yamanaka clan member who coordinated them. Yep. Think my name with intention, and I’ll respond. Anytime, anywhere within a 100 kilometer range of the village. Though, please don’t do it in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency. Gotcha. Balance restored, Sarada swings back up to the top of the branch and launches off again, heading in the general direction of where she’d last seen Kawaki. What do you need?

Tell me something you didn’t know yesterday. He can’t see the confused look on Sarada’s face, but she makes sure he can hear it in her response. What? You’re on an intelligence-gathering mission about Kawaki. What have you learned so far? Sarada racks her brain for something, anything. He wears purple boxers? Inojin’s tone drips with scandal. Sarada Uchiha. I don’t think Shikamaru expected you to go that far for the mission. Way to put it out all there for the sake of the village. Color me impressed. Oh, no. No, no, no. It wasn’t like that! Not at all! He chuckles, enjoying her panic. Sure it wasn’t. But I don’t think the color of his boxers is going to help find Lord Seventh.

Yeah, I know. After a moment, she asks, How much do you know? About Kawaki’s situation? About Lord Seventh? And about Boruto, too? Well… He pauses, thinking it over. I know what my memories tell me. And I know what Shikamaru has said. They conflict. So, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter either way. Doesn’t matter? Sarada can’t imagine taking such a causal view of such a serious situation. If I think about it too much, my mind rebels. If I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Treat it all as juicy gossip, and it works out. Gossip that you can’t tell anyone, right? She’s not quite sure what he means when he responds with a serious, Literally. Sarada notices a dirt path near the route she’s taking, one that seems familiar, even if she can’t put her finger on why she remembers it. Did you need something other than the color of Kawaki’s boxers?

(2/5)

Part 10: Discoveries

(1/5)

I have finished it 💆‍♀️

I only noticed because the fic above it had the name Ōtsutsuki in it before scrolling down and seeing the summary LOL 😂

Today I learned that Ōtsutsuki is misspelled in the summary of cast out by @cluelessasalways.bsky.social on ao3

@shearbolt.bsky.social I'm so sorry for fucking up your notifications but I firmly belive EVERYONE needs to read your work

Using her knife as a guide, Eida directs a clump of scrambled egg onto her fork, not looking up. “So, Sarada, how did Boruto make you love him?” She says like it’s no big deal, usual dinner table conversation, certainly not as if she expected Sarada to jolt upon hearing the question and drop the entire carafe of coffee onto Kawaki’s lap. “Fuck!” he screams, pushing himself back from the table as scalding liquid soaks through his pajama pants. He’s vaguely aware of Daemon’s laugh as he kicks off his pants to get the burning fabric away from his skin as fast as possible.

“I’m really sorry,” Sarada says from the opposite side of the door after handing him a dry pair of pants and underwear. Usually, girls used the downstairs toilet, boys the upstairs, and thank god for that, because Kawaki couldn’t imagine sitting down to shit every morning while staring at a pink and white sign on the door that read “Have a seat, sweet cheeks!” It’s just a shitter, he thinks to himself, slipping on his pants, wincing at the inflamed skin on his upper thigh where the coffee had landed. Who needs a fucking painting of flowers and a container of stinking potpourri and a bunch of lidded baskets on the shelf above the toilet that he wouldn’t even look in on a dare. No wonder Daemon walked all the way upstairs to use their toilet instead. “Are you okay?”

For someone who had given him so much shit, Sarada seems genuinely concerned. Or at least embarrassed. That she’d dropped an entire pot of coffee. On his crotch. Out of everyone in the house, he’s the least mad at her, though. Eida, who’d gone beet red the moment he was down to his boxers, staring down at him without moving an inch while her little brother laughed so hard, he almost puked. At least Sarada had gotten him a towel and ice. “It’s fine,” he grumbles. Okay, so his healing wasn’t fully operational, but he’s not going to go to old man Amado and drop trou. No way in hell was he having that bastard’s face inches away from his balls. “Do you need anything?”

Well, he needed some fucking breakfast because Daemon had surely eaten everything by now. Some coffee, too, beyond what he could wring out of his pajama pants. Mostly, though, he needed to be back in bed, which was the one thing he couldn’t do as he’d made some important promises he couldn’t renege on. Not this time, anyway. “Could you just leave me the fuck alone?” he asks, opening the door to find Sarada leaning on the opposite wall. The way she usually glares at him gives her the appearance of being several inches taller than she really is. But here in the hallway, somewhere between embarrassed and distressed, he’s reminded of how short she really is. It doesn’t suit her, looking small and ashamed. “And if you can’t do that, you could at least throw these in the fucking washer?” Without waiting for a response, he tosses his soaked pants at her face and leaves her standing there, exasperated with him once more.

(3/3)

However, in the four days since he’d gotten the greenlight from Amado to go back to the house, he’d learned their morning meal had devolved into a haphazard chaos of grab-what-you-can rather than a formal event. Cereal boxes sat open on the counter, dried splashes of milk on the table, a butter knife jammed into the toaster. It made sense, being that neither of the Kara siblings could cook (not that Kawaki could, either). That task had belonged to Sarada and Sumire, both of whom played a role in the house that was somewhere between Eida’s domestic companions and her handmaids. The moment he sniffs the air, he smells the smoky savoriness of frying bacon and the siren song of freshly-brewed coffee. He turns around, looking at the clock on the wall above the L-shaped dining table, displaying the unholy hour of seven-thirty-in-the-goddamned-fucking-morning, to where Sarada is busy in the kitchen beyond, a red apron covering her usual black romper and belt.

Kawaki registers a few things all at once. One, his plan to stay up and make sure Sarada was going to stay in her room all night failed when he fell asleep. Two, there was no fucking way in the world she’d actually slept for eight hours if she was now fixing breakfast. Three, it was before noon and, therefore, destined to be an awful day. Four, and most pressing at the moment, he needs to get to the table before Daemon lays waste to the bacon. With a groan, he gets up, unsure if the crick in his neck came from sleeping at an awkward angle on the couch, being ridden like a mechanical bull first thing in the morning, or his accidental attempt at self-strangulation. The pain is a little reminder that the nanomachines in this blood stream still aren’t working right, buzzing around in his body the way they’re supposed to, repairing small bits of damage before he can even feel it.

His annoyance only grows when he walks into the dining room where Eida is filling Daemon’s cup. The table is set. Coffee, juice, and milk all out. There’s a basket of assorted breads, some sliced cucumbers, a selection of pickles. A plate of peeled oranges stares him in the face, their surfaces stripped clean of pithy strings. No way she threw this together in a few minutes. Must have taken an hour. Minimum. He glances at the kitchen to find Sarada watching him over the edge of her coffee mug as she takes a sip, a smug look in her tired eyes. “Yo, where’s the grub!” Daemon demands, a fork in one hand, a knife in the other, as he bangs his fists on the table. Eida shushes him, placing a placating hand on his head between the ears on his hooded pajamas like her little brother was little more than a high-strung chihuahua. “Calm.”

More like a waitress than a roommate, Sarada comes out with a platter of bacon in one hand and a warmed plate of scrambled eggs in the other, retreating back to the kitchen to get individual salad bowls for each of them. Daemon starts piling bacon onto his plate the moment it hits the table, not even waiting for Sarada to hang up her apron before he starts eating. With the siblings sitting side-by-side and neither Mitsuki nor Sumire there to provide any buffer, Sarada takes a seat next to Kawaki, still nursing her coffee. As expected, there are only four strips of bacon left by the time Kawaki gets the platter. He takes three, passing what’s left (one) to Sarada. She sets it aside without serving herself, reaching past him for the carafe of coffee.

(2/3)

Part 9: The Worst Day Since Yesterday, Squared

(1/3)

He throws the empty container in the trash, banging the lid loud enough that she’ll hear it, flings the spoon in the sink, and pours himself a huge glass of water before drinking it with audible gulps. All that noise, and she’s still just sitting there, nose buried in her book. What a contrary bitch. Given no other option, he puts himself directly in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You wanted back on this mission, right?” From where he’s standing, he can read the title on the book’s spine: An Unabridged History of Sealing Jutsu by Uzumaki M. Great, nothing like being disobeyed in favor of a boring-ass book. Sarada looks up at him from above the rim of her gold-framed glasses. “I did.” “And you agreed to the recovery plan. That means sleeping.”

I did sleep.” “For 10 hours?” “For as long as I could.” Kawaki had come to cultivate a grudging respect for Shikamaru, a Hokage who did what had to be done rather than dicking around while everything just got worse. But with Sarada now looking at him with the exact same glare she used in the Hokage’s Office, Kawaki decides that Shikamaru might have a bit of a soft spot for her, because in his place, she’d have been demoted back to academy student faster than she could have said Hidden Leaf Village. “And how long was that?” Sarada shrugs. “Maybe an hour.” Perhaps a bit of Hinata had rubbed off on him, the way Kawaki instantly snaps his arm up, pointing his finger to the hallway down which the girls’ bedrooms were located. “Go to sleep now.” “You can’t make someone sleep,” she says, closing up her book.

Well, that was true. If Kawaki had that ability, he’d be upstairs right now, snoring away instead of arguing with her. “Go to bed, or first thing in the morning, I’m marching you back to the hospital and making you stay there.” When she doesn’t immediately get up, he adds, “I’ll tell your mom.” “Fine.” The way she says it, it’s clear that she doesn’t agree with him. It’s more of a “fuck you” than a “yes, sir.” Book in hand, she stands up, gives him one last sneer, and marches down the hallway in her bare feet, leaving Kawaki to stare at the Uchiha crest embroidered on the back of her robe. Kawaki flops down on the couch, shaking his head. Two more weeks. He has to live through two more weeks of this shit.

(3/3)

He flicks on the light and checks the clock. Just after one in the morning, which leaves open the possibility that he can get up, get a bite to eat, watch some stupid TV, and get back to sleep before dawn. His wrinkled sleeveless undershirt is on the chair that serves as his hamper. Beside it, Sarada’s recovery plan is on the table where he left it after reading, the creases in the paper smoothed out. All she really has to do is sleep more, do less, and not over-exert herself. And just for two weeks at that. It’s pretty similar to what Amado had told him to help his nanomachines repopulate his blood stream. Despite having given it to her straight in Hokage Tower, he has to admit that there is no reason why he needs to keep an eye on Sarada. Sakura’s orders weren’t anything she should be unable to handle herself. He throws on the white shirt and a pair of green pajama pants from the bottom drawer. The hallway is empty, the house quiet other than the perpetual hum of the high-tech ventilation system. There’s no good reason the first-floor lights should be on, but the glow reaching the top of the stairs tells a different story.

He would have turned back if his stomach hadn’t reminded him of the untouched order of curry takeout in the fridge. He’d been awake when the delivery order arrived, but there was no way in hell he was willingly going to sit down at a table with Sarada and Eida, not after witnessing the older girl extracting a coerced love confession out of Sarada. Why’d it matter so much to hear her say what everyone had known all along? His first steps down the stairs are silent, hoping he can sneak past whoever is awake and make it to the kitchen unseen. But the moment he can see Sarada, she’s already looking back at him. Her short, dark hair is tied away from her face in a red silk scarf that matches the red robe she’s wearing. It’s a short robe. Not as short as the shorts she usually wears, but short enough that he doesn’t look too long at the way she’s sitting with her legs folded beneath her, glasses on her nose and book in her hand. Whatever the hell she’s doing up, the one thing that’s clear is that she’s not following orders.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he says once he reaches the bottom of the stairs, muttering it as he walks past her on the way to the kitchen. “Is everything you say hypocritical?” It’s rare that the two of them are alone together, even rarer that one of them isn’t purposefully ignoring the other’s existence. Ignores her little dig at him. Let her squawk. She doesn’t understand; she’s never going to understand. It’s not worth starting a fight that might wake the cyborg siblings and ruin everyone’s night. “You have until the time I’m done eating to be back in your room.” She looks over her shoulder at him, scowling. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” “I’m your captain,” he shoots back from behind the refrigerator door.

As expected, that shuts her up. For all her grandstanding, Sarada respects that shinobi shit through and through, ranks, regulations, processes and procedures. Sure, she’ll rebel against Shikamaru, give him some lip every time she sees him, but she always stops just short of revolting completely, her idiotic belief in the shinobi system keeping her tethered like a dog on a chain. He tears through the cold curry, straight out of the container and into his mouth. Doesn’t bother to heat it up. Doesn’t bother to sit down. One of the perks of eating alone is there isn’t a chorus of girls judging his manners. Leaning on the sink in the kitchen, he can see through the dining room to the couches where Sarada still sits, turning another page in her book, unbothered. Kawaki’s used to going solo, to doing it alone. The only person he usually commands is Delta, who has the mouth of a harpy, the body of a sex doll, and the will of a wet noodle. No matter what words she says, Delta always obeys in the end. He hadn’t sought to be in charge of anyone, didn’t want it at all, and yet it bugs the shit out of him when he’s done eating, and she’s made no moves to leave the couch.

(2/3)

Part 8: One Night Down

(1/3)

There were moments when it felt as though her heart forgot to beat when she looked at him, when his intense blue gaze took her breath away, when being close to each other suddenly felt as though they were both too close and not close enough at the same time. Sarada gives Eida a sheepish shrug, as if to say, well, of course he does. But those moments hadn’t been as frequent as another stronger feeling. That when he was with her, Sarada was at peace. And protecting him was protecting a piece of her as well. Eida often came across as a calm, cool older woman, but when it came to love, it was as though her inner school girl was released. “I want to hear you say it!” “Say what?” “Say how you feel about him! I want the words from your own mouth!”

She almost balks. Almost says no. Sarada’s feelings are hers and hers alone. And she needs to talk to Sumire about them before she shares it with anyone else. She owes her friend that, at the very least. But could she defy Eida’s command? It’s just three little words. How bad could it be? Sarada looks down at her hands, still useless in her lap, not knowing what to do with themselves. “Yes, I love Boruto,” she says to Eida, to herself. Her confession is met with a high-pitched squeal as Eida surges forward. Daemon tumbles off her shoulders as she wraps Sarada in a tight, celebratory hug. Sarada returns the embrace (how could she not?), arms around Eida’s shoulders, cheek pressed against her cheek. And it’s only then, at her new vantage point, that she can see past Eida’s mass of looping hair to where Kawaki is halfway down the stairs, staring at the both of them.

3/3