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The first time Sarada’s father is home — really, truly home — she wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of screams.
It’s a horrible, tortured sound, the likes of which she’s never heard before, even from one of Boruto’s stupid video games. It also unmistakably belongs to her father — she can tell the moment the noise registers in her brain, even though she’s only just begun to know him. Sarada is still half-asleep, but she’s a kunoichi above all else, and her body springs into action far before her mind does, leading her sprinting down the hallway to the source of her dad’s anguished cries.
She arrives at the scene of the biggest mess their house has ever seen. Pillows are scattered on the floor, there’s a decent-sized hole in the wall, and the broken shards of a knocked-over lamp gleam in the moonlight that filters through their window. Her father is on his knees, face buried in his hand as his shoulders shake with sobs, and her mother is by his side, rubbing soothing circles into his back.
It puts a strange feeling in her, an anxious, painful twisting in her stomach at the sight of her parents so vulnerable. She’d thought the fight with Shin had been bad enough, but in a way, this is almost worse. Shinobi are expected to make mistakes in a fight, get injured, need help, but in the privacy of their own bedroom, it's a different story. None of the literature at the Academy had ever mentioned the possibility of something like this, one of Konoha’s best falling when they aren’t even on the battlefield.
“Papa?” she whispers, in spite of the Better Sarada inside her head telling her to stay quiet and run back in the other direction. This feels like a private moment, something she shouldn’t be witnessing, but it’s also impossible to leave when her dad looks so in need of comfort.
“Sarada.” Her father whips around at the sound of her voice, eyes searching for her in the dim light, and she can’t help the tiny, satisfied thrill that runs through her at that.
Her burst of joy is quickly tempered when she steps into the room and finds her father’s gaze blazing ruby red. Sharingan red.
“Sarada, go back to your room—” her mother begins, but all Sarada can focus on are the tears staining her father’s cheeks. She’s never seen him cry before, didn’t know he was even capable of crying. All her life, her father has been this mysterious hero, off to save Konoha with his never-ending missions, and now he’s finally home, and he’s losing his mind on the bedroom floor.
Is this her fault, somehow? Is she, perhaps, the reason he’s stayed away so long?
“Papa, what’s wrong?” she asks, stepping towards her father. Tears well in her eyes, unbidden and most certainly unwanted, but she can’t stop them. Her Sharingan flickers to life, painting her surroundings in a tint of red, and it’s normally something she’d be proud of, a hallmark of her Uchiha heritage, but in this moment, Sarada hates it. She hates the way it makes her mother flinch, much as she tries to hide it; she hates the thought that it might resemble anything like the expression of sheer desolation her father currently sports. She hates that it makes anyone think of pain, and she hates that in spite of all that, she loves it anyway. It’s too much a reminder of her father for Sarada to truly despise it.
Instead of responding to her, her father turns away, hiding his face. “Sakura,” he murmurs, and though he doesn’t say anything else, her mother seems to understand well enough what he wants. She glances at Sarada, wearing the look she usually reserves for serious operations at the hospital, and points to the hallway.
“Go back to your room, Sarada. Now, please.”
The firmness of her tone makes it clear that there is no alternative option, and Sarada simply nods in reply, swallowing back the lump in her throat. Even as she backs away, it’s hard to take her eyes off her parents, her father still looking so broken on the floor, her mother guarding him closely. There must be something she can do to fix this, has to be, but they obviously don’t agree. It’s a special kind of infuriating, this feeling.
Her mother closes the door behind her.
Sarada isn’t even halfway down the hallway when she hears her father begin to speak. She only catches a snippet of it, something like “Should’ve saved him,” but it’s enough to thoroughly break her heart.
She sees through a haze of red until sleep finally pulls her away.
•••
Her father isn’t there when Sarada wakes up the next morning, but her mother is. She sits her down to a breakfast of salmon and rice, even makes her a cup of her favorite black tea, but nothing can shake the sour mood that Sarada is in. A black cloud has settled over her, her mind replaying the events of last night over and over again, and she desperately wishes the Sharingan didn’t come with such a picture-perfect memory. Those moments are ones she’d very much like to forget.
Finally, her mother sets down her cup of tea and speaks up. “I know what happened with your dad must have been scary. I’m sorry for that, Sarada. You’re more precious to us than anything else, and we would never want to frighten you.” She pauses. “But…”
"Lemme guess — you’re gonna tell me that I should just ask Papa when I’m older.” A bratty whine is probably creeping into her words, and Sarada knows how stupid it must sound, how much like Boruto she must sound. Still, that small, vengeful part of her wants to give her mom a hard time, wants to be a little bratty, because nothing is ever straightforward and honest with her family, and she’s so tired of it. For once, she’d just like to know a little bit about her father.
Her mother lets out a sigh. “I see you’ve inherited both your father’s and my own sharp tongue,” she says, smiling. “But you’re right, Sarada. Part of what happened to your dad last night involves a past that only he should tell you about, and right now may not be the best time. However, there are a few things I can tell you.”
Sarada abandons the piece of salmon she’d had halfway to her mouth, letting her chopsticks drop to her plate with a clatter. “Really?” she cries, uncaring of the almost childish excitement she’s radiating. It’s not that she’s happy to learn about her father’s pain; it’s more that, for so long, she’s been denied all but the tiniest morsels of information about her dad and his past, and now, she’s finally about to learn something. The anticipation is nearly overwhelming.
Her mother nods. “I know it must be frustrating to know so little about your own father, but you have to believe me when I tell you it’s for the best, dear. I know you’ll understand one day, especially when you have little ones of your own,” she says, eyes sparkling.
“I know, I know. You always say that,” Sarada grumbles.
“I say it because it’s true, my love. What is also true is that your father had a very difficult childhood,” her mother says, growing solemn. “He had many people who loved him, but he lost a great deal of them. That kind of sadness can ruin even the greatest shinobi. The Hokage is one of the few reasons why your father is still here today, in spite of all that.”
She must be talking about the massacre — that’s why all of Papa’s family was crossed out on the chart in the library, Sarada thinks. “Is that why he was so upset last night?”
Her mother hesitates, then nods. “That’s part of it, yes. You’re going to hate this answer, but he and I both agree the other part should be saved for when you’re older.”
“When will I be old enough?”
“Ask again when you’re a chūnin, and maybe you’ll get the answer you’re hoping for,” her mother chuckles.
“But—”
Her mom reaches over and pokes her on the forehead, and Sarada knows the conversation is over.
•••
Her father leaves that afternoon, and for a while, things are peaceful (or, at least, as peaceful as life with her teammates can be). The one or two times that her dad stays overnight don’t seem to be plagued by the same issues he had that first night, and the business of missions and her studies allow her curiosity about his past to fade into the background. She wheedles for information from her mother every so often, but that all-consuming motivation to unveil the truth has disappeared. Sarada doesn’t know if it’s just that her father’s gone again, and with him, the air of mystery surrounding his past, or if she’s simply too exhausted to care as much as she did before.
It’s an unexpected change, but as time goes by, there are plenty of those to keep up with. Boruto and Mitsuki grow taller, tall enough that they start to tease her about the difference in height. Inojin, Shikadai, and Chōchō have made huge strides in mastering the first of their respective clans’ special jutsus. Their first round of chūnin exams are interrupted by monsters unlike any she’s seen before, and she swears she watches the Hokage sacrifice himself, but they all somehow make it out okay, if a little worse for wear. They learn. They grow. According to her mother, they mature, though some of Boruto’s actions make that declaration questionable. And Sarada, she grows out her hair, long enough that it hangs down into her face and absolutely demands to be put in a ponytail. She does it on a whim, after seeing an old photo of her mother around the time of her chūnin exams, just as full of life as she is now, but in a different way. Something about her mom’s smile in that picture makes Sarada think there was a time where she didn’t know the heavy burden of a secret, or at least, not as she does now. It’s an easy smile, bright and pure. Her mother’s smiles are still beautiful, but more often than not, they’re tinged with something bittersweet. Sarada doesn’t need her Sharingan to be able to tell that.
She wants that for herself. She wants to look as though she hasn’t got a care in the world, as though she doesn’t miss her father desperately every second of every day, as though there’s not a part of her that resents everything she is and everything she won’t be. So she grows it out, even as she realizes she’s just playing pretend, and she keeps it, because it brings a smile to her mother’s face. It’s a pain, but Auntie Ino shows her how to put it up in a proper ponytail, and over time, Sarada adjusts. It’s a part of her identity, now, and more important than she lets on (though she does turn positively murderous every time Boruto tugs on it).
Her hair is nearly halfway down her back by the time her father returns to spend the night again. He tells her he’s staying for a while, to see her through her second chūnin exams, and Sarada doesn’t bother to hide the grin on her face when she finds out. She doesn’t stop to consider the possible consequences of such a long stay.
Reality hits her in the face soon enough, a blow any halfway-decent kunoichi should have seen coming from a mile away. The morning of her first round of exams, she sleeps through her alarm and has to get ready with only a few minutes to spare. Her ponytail, usually high and neat, is low and sagging today, and pieces of it have escaped, hanging in loose tendrils at her temples. She doesn’t have time to stop and fix it, though, forcing herself to push through the irritation of blowing hair out of her face as she races down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She’ll grab a piece of toast and go, hurry to meet up with Boruto and Mitsuki, talk things over—
She doesn’t get that far, though. Her father stops her as she races into the kitchen, feet skidding against the floor. “Sarada,” he greets, back turned to her as he reads the newspaper from his seat at the table. “You’re in a hurry.”
“Running late,” she shoots back, half-panting as she pops a piece of bread in the toaster. “But I’m guessing you already knew that. Are you coming to the first round of exams?”
He shakes his head, setting the paper down and turning to face her. “No, I—” He stops abruptly, sentence trailing off, and all thoughts of toast evacuate as Sarada watches her father’s face flicker with some untold emotion. It might be sadness, or shock, or anger, or any combination of the three — she still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of deciphering her dad’s expressions yet.
Whatever he’s feeling, it’s clear that he’s fighting some sort of war with himself. Sarada hears the sharp intake of breath, sees the way his features draw tight and thin, can’t miss the obvious tension radiating off of him. And there she is, feeling twelve years old and helpless again, knowing so little about her own father yet wanting to know so much more.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” It’s a question she likely won’t get a truthful answer to, but she has to try anyway. She needs him to know she cares. She wishes there could be a better way for her to show that.
The smallest smile in the world appears on her father’s face, reminiscent of the smirk Sarada has seen him sport in battle, but when he raises his gaze to meet hers, she’s glad to see that his eye is dark, not a hint of Sharingan there. “Nothing’s wrong, Sarada,” he tells her. “You just look so much like him.” There’s a trace of sadness in his tone, and it’s the first time in so long that she’s heard her father’s voice betray any emotion. It makes her think of that terrible night again, chest growing tight at the memories. The toaster dings behind her, but Sarada feels a million miles away, her view narrowing down to her father and their kitchen table.
“Like who?” she asks.
Her father’s smile disappears as quickly as it came. “Itachi,” he breathes. The name lights something up in Sarada’s brain, makes her think back to a moment at the hideout with her father’s old teammates, the mention of a “late brother”...
That’s right. Itachi is — would’ve been her uncle.
The questions rush to the front of her mind so quickly, she can barely process them all, save for the one nagging at her the most — why do you never talk about him? But before she gets the chance to speak, her father gets up from the table, standing so quickly that he nearly knocks his chair over. She’s never seen him move this haphazardly before, but she’s also never seen him with the strange expression he’s wearing right now.
“I have to go,” he says, fastening his cloak and heading for the door. “I have a meeting with the Hokage, and I can’t be late.”
All Sarada can do is watch his figure disappear into the morning sunlight and wonder what the hell is going on.
•••
She should be training, preparing for the next round of her exams, practicing the careful art of using her Sharingan without wearing herself out. Sarada is well aware of all this. For the millionth time, though, her curiosity wins out anyway.
She is tired of being kept from the truth. What’s the point of having a Sharingan if so much of her family’s history still lies in darkness? She is tired of the whispers from the shopkeepers, the talk of “reviving the clan” that somehow only pops up when her parents are around, the way her friends’ parents never meet her eyes when talk of ancestry or family is brought up. Her instructors at the academy know she’s not stupid, yet they acted as though she was too dumb to realize what was going on when her history class conveniently skipped over any mention of the Uchiha clan after the Third Shinobi World War. She has seen her family’s name scratched out in the textbooks, all surely under the guise of protecting her — but why? Why does her village seem to believe that simple information can do so much harm?
She should have grandparents, a grandmother whose house she can visit after training every day, a grandfather to give her wise advice when she’s feeling down. She should have an uncle who will sneak her out to buy dango even when her mom says she’s had too many sweets, cousins to train with and fight with and just be a kid with. She should have a whole, complete family, something more than just an overworked mother and a father who’s never home, but she doesn’t.
Sarada believes she’s earned the right to know why.
She asks around, thinking maybe she’ll get someone to crack if she pushes enough, but her efforts prove futile. Boruto and Mitsuki just act confused when she brings up the topic of her family. Inojin and Shikadai appear to know something, based off of how awkward and squirmy they get, but they staunchly refuse to tell her anything, playing dumb as best as they can. The adults freeze her out, too, in spite of Sarada’s best sad-puppy face yet. She even tries the Hokage, attempting to pry for information from her teammate’s father more than polite conversation probably allows for, but all she succeeds in doing is making the both of them sad. The moment Lord Seventh looks at her with pity in his eyes, Sarada knows she’s failed.
She quickly learns that human interaction isn’t going to get her anywhere. But if people can’t be relied upon, Sarada is confident in the one method she can trust — her books, or, rather, the village of Konoha’s books. Her friends and parents may not choose to divulge the answers, but the Konoha Archive Library has to. A physical copy of her clan’s history will not lie to her like they do.
The climb up the mountain is long and difficult, even for someone as in shape as she is, and Sarada’s not sure if it’s the lack of oxygen or the adrenaline that has her heart racing as she approaches the library’s doors. This library will hold the key to everything her father has tried so desperately to keep locked away — she just has to hope and pray the archives won’t restrict data like the regular library had —
She’s jolted out of her thoughts by the press of a hand clamping down on her shoulder. Sarada’s Sharingan flickers to life, and she doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s her father holding her back. “Let me go,” she hisses, taken aback by the sudden rage boiling in her veins. She’s come so far, fought so hard for this opportunity, and here he is, determined to make sure she never finds out the truth — and for what?
“You won’t find the information you’re seeking in there. Naruto ordered it restricted many years ago. Only the Hokage himself can access it.” Her father speaks evenly and coolly, sharply contrasting the inferno that wants to consume Sarada. She is so angry, and so ready to fight that she can no longer tell if it’s her Sharingan or her fury that’s making her see in such brilliant scarlet.
“Why?” she bites out, holding back a frustrated sob. “Why don’t you want me to know anything about your family, our family? I’m not a little kid anymore, you don’t have to keep lying to me!”
“Calm down, Sarada, and watch your tone—”
“No!” she shouts, wrenching out of her father’s grasp and finally turning to look at him. It’s maddening, how still his face is, how little he seems to care, even now. How is it that he maintains this facade so well, when she’s crumbling in front of him, and yet he breaks in the middle of the night, when everything is fine?
“Sarada—” Her father steps towards her, and Sarada takes two steps back.
“I’m supposed to have a family,” she says, voice thick with tears, chest heaving. “I’ve read the charts in the general library. I’m supposed to have an uncle named Itachi, and a grandfather and grandmother named Fugaku and Mikoto, and a cousin named Shisui, and I don’t have any of that. All I have is you, and Mama, and a bunch of people who won’t tell me anything. Everyone else is dead, and nobody will tell me what happened to them! Not even you, who should miss them more than anyone, who should want to keep their legacy alive! Instead, you just sit there and pretend like nothing ever happened, as though you’re not letting their names die with them!”
Tears are streaming freely down her cheeks now, and she is definitely causing a scene, but Sarada doesn’t have it in her to care. And her father, he just stares at her, calmly analyzing the shaking finger she’s pointed at him, and he — he chuckles.
“Naruto warned me this might happen,” he says. “You’re so much like your mother, it’s almost frightening.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Come with me.”
And she doesn’t want to come with him, really, not when she knows it’s just going to lead to another excuse for hiding the truth, another forehead poke and more promises of “Maybe another time” or “I’ll tell you when you’re older”. But there are people coming out of the library, staring at her, and her vision is getting a little blurry, her Sharingan failing her, and she’s just so tired. It’s like all of the angry energy seeps out of her in that moment, replaced by sheer exhaustion, and Sarada can’t find the strength to fight anymore. Maybe another time, she thinks to herself, holding back a weary laugh.
So she takes her father’s hand, and she doesn’t ask where they’ll go.
•••
He takes her to a cliff by the sea, where all they can hear is the quiet murmur of the waves crashing beneath them, where all they can see is the sparkle of the autumn sun reflecting off the water. There’s a singular bench for them to sit on, and though it pains her, Sarada keeps her distance from her father, scooting to the end opposite him. She doesn’t want to be hugged and mollified with a rare show of affection, even though he probably wouldn’t do that. More than anything, she wants to go home, where she can deal with the emotional ramifications of accepting she’ll never know anything about her extended family in private. Her father doesn’t seem ready for that, though.
They sit in silence for a while, her father’s chin resting in his hand as he stares at the water before them, Sarada still wiping the tears from her face. She wonders why he brought her here, or why he’s even trying at all. There’s probably a million different missions he could be out on right now, or a thousand different techniques he could be teaching Boruto, but instead, he’s wasting his time here. It’s the most nonsensical thing she’s ever known her father to do.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when he finally breaks the quiet that’s settled over them. “I know you’re angry, and you can be angry with me if you want. I would only ask that you spare your mother from your anger, and anyone else who hasn’t given you the answers you want; they’ve only done what I’ve always asked them to do.”
“Why would you ask that of them?” she says quietly. “What could you need to hide me from that badly?” Her father is still staring out to sea, features deceptively impassive, but it’s impossible to miss the hitch in his breath at her words.
“There’s a lot of pain in my family’s history,” he says after a beat. “To subject you to that at such a young age didn’t feel right. Your mother thought you’d be better off knowing the truth, or at least a simpler version of it, but I didn’t want you to bear the burden of that knowledge yet. I thought it would prevent you from truly being a child. So I spoke with Naruto and convinced him to take measures to keep that history a secret, especially once he became Hokage.”
“Are you ever going to tell me?” She hates the tears that are blurring her vision again, but she’s helpless against them, the frustration of the last few years too powerful. “You and Mom keep saying you’ll tell me when I’m older, but how old is old enough?”
Her father takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I can tell you the essence of it now. The smaller details can wait until after your exams are completed, at least. I don’t want to distract you too much from your studies.”
She nods, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest. Now that the moment she’s waited so long for is here, now that she’s about to find out what happened to her father’s family, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She folds her hands in her lap and prays she doesn’t do anything to make her father regret telling her.
“The Uchiha clan has always had a complicated relationship with Konohagakure,” her father begins. Sarada can see his hand shaking ever so slightly. “After the Third Shinobi World War, that relationship deteriorated rapidly. Those in charge of the village didn’t trust my clan, and we were forced to move to the outskirts of Konoha and were kept under constant surveillance. My father was head of the Uchiha and he, along with the rest of the clan, didn’t like this.”
“I wouldn’t like that, either,” she mutters under her breath. The ghost of a smile passes over her father’s face at the remark.
“The clan schemed to overthrow those in power,” he continues, “using our combined resources as Konoha’s police force and wielders of the Sharingan. My older brother and our cousin, however, were both best friends and powerful members of the Anbu special ops force; they were ordered to betray our clan and stop the coup d’etat. They had a plan to do so, using my cousin’s special genjutsu, but a member of Konoha’s leadership wanted the power of the Sharingan for himself and decided to steal my cousin’s eyes.”
Sarada inhales sharply, a wave of nausea hitting her at the notion of stealing someone’s eyes. Her father nods. “That’s the thing about power — when you want it badly enough, it makes you do terrible things,” he says, voice low and grim. “He was only able to steal one of my cousin’s eyes before he was able to escape, with my brother’s help. But my cousin knew that his other eye was at risk, so he gave it to my brother for safekeeping before jumping into the Naka River.”
She wants to gasp at the awful revelation, but instead, Sarada steels herself and asks a question. “Your cousin and your brother — was that Shisui and Itachi?”
Her father raises a brow. “Sometimes I forget how clever you are,” he murmurs. “Yes, Itachi was my brother, and Shisui my cousin.”
“What did your brother do with Shisui’s eye?” she questions, a million different scenes playing out in her head, all of them equally terrible.
“He put it away for safekeeping. Shisui didn’t care what he did with it, so long as he kept it away from those who would only use it for more power. But part of Shisui’s plan was that, in dying before my brother’s eyes, he would unlock Itachi’s Mangekyo Sharingan, to prepare him for the fight ahead,” her father says, face even paler than usual. “Of course, that same man who had wanted Shisui’s Sharingan convinced my brother that the coup was unstoppable, and that he only had two choices — watch our entire clan die when the coup inevitably failed, or kill everyone to stop the coup, except for me.”
It’s clear now, why her father hadn’t wanted her to know all this. The world is spinning around her as she processes what she’s just been told. “So he—”
“He went with the latter option,” her father confirms, voice catching. “He loved me too much to let me die, and Itachi felt it best to make certain he saved my life instead of sparing the clan and leaving it up to fate. After he had completed his mission, he was forced to leave me and the village behind. Konoha had to label him a rogue ninja; they couldn’t let the real reason behind Itachi’s actions get out, or I would have suffered the consequences.”
“So Uncle Itachi killed almost all of his family and friends to save you, and to keep peace in the village?” The words she’s saying barely even feel real, and the sensation in her chest as her father nods ‘yes’ is worse. The horror of it all is almost paralyzing, and in this moment, she is glad that she hadn’t learned the truth from someone else. Who knows what she would have been told? Would they have said her uncle was a terrorist, or that her family died for nothing? Sarada doesn’t want to find out; the real truth is devastating enough.
“Sarada? Are you alright?” Her father’s voice shakes her out of her thoughts, and she realizes he must have been trying to ask her something.
“Yes, Dad. I was just thinking…” She pauses, unsure of the effect this will have on her father, praying it’s a positive one. “I would’ve liked to meet Uncle Itachi. He sounds really brave.”
Her father’s face falls, and for a second, Sarada worries she’s ruined everything.
Then he leans forward and wraps her in a hug, and she knows everything will be okay.
“You know, Sarada, I think he would’ve liked to meet you, too.”
•••
The first conversation with her father seems to open up a floodgate — or, at least, a floodgate by Uchiha standards. Little by little, her dad reveals more details about his family, dropping them out of nowhere and often catching Sarada utterly off-guard. He makes sure she knows that Itachi was brave, but also so young, and that he made many mistakes in his life because of his desperate desire for peace. He tells her that Shisui would have loved her, would have enjoyed teaching her not just about genjutsu and all the risks accompanying it, but about wit and friendship, too. Most of all, her father’s quiet sorrow and his extensive efforts to hide it serve as a reminder of the consequences of a brave choice, the impact that choices like that can have on those left behind. It’s a lesson Sarada is glad she didn’t have to learn on the battlefield.
Her father stays longer and longer each visit. By his third visit home, her mom is comfortable enough in his being home when she returns that she volunteers for shifts at the hospital, shifts she would’ve dropped before. It’s nice, experiencing a semblance of how a normal family lives. Sarada only wishes she could have experienced it earlier.
On her father’s next visit, her mother gets assigned a graveyard shift. “I’ll have to drop it,” she says on the morning of his arrival. They’re waiting at the front gate to Konoha; her father should be here soon.
“Why?” Sarada asks, watching the tree line for that familiar figure to appear. “We’ll be fine for a night. I thought you were still monitoring that little kid.”
“Well, yes, but — I don’t know, what if something happens—” The hesitation is written all over her mother’s features, and Sarada knows what has to be bothering her. She’s worried about the night terrors, if Sarada will be able to calm her father down enough before she gets home.
“Mom.” She places a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I’ve got it covered.”
Three years ago, her mother would never have believed her. Today, though, she does.
So she and her father end up on the couch, watching some stupid movie Lord Seventh apparently recommended, even though she knows her dad usually doesn’t have the patience to sit through anything longer than a twenty-minute TV episode. They’re both full from the meal her mother had cooked before leaving, her obvious attempt at an apology (for what, exactly, Sarada doesn’t know), and it doesn’t take them long to drift off into sleep.
Screams pierce her dreams, and Sarada’s Sharingan activates the moment her eyes open. Just like that awful night so long ago, her father is screaming, hunched over on the floor as he begs someone she can’t see to “Stop, please, stop, don’t do it".
She’s at his side in an instant, trying desperately to think back to what her mother had done to snap him out of it. “Dad, it’s me,” she says, “it’s okay. Don’t be scared, everything’s alright.” She reaches for his arm, but her father glares at her in blazing red, and she pulls back, too scared of making things worse.
“You should’ve killed me, too,” he hisses, eyes fixed on something that’s not really there. “You should’ve known I would be too powerless to help you. Instead, you left me to suffer.”
Who does he think he’s talking to? Sarada racks her brain for any possible enemies her father could be referring to, but she can’t think of anyone who has willingly spared him before, who would intentionally leave him behind—
Then it hits her. Her father is dreaming about his brother. He thinks Itachi is in the room with him, and she hates to think of what he must be reliving.
“Dad,” she says gently, placing a hand on his back, “it’s me, Sarada, and Uncle Itachi doesn’t want you to suffer anymore. He loves you. He’s trying to save you, okay? But you have to remember, or it’s not going to work. Itachi loves you.”
Her father lets out a shuddering breath, and when he looks at her again, his Sharingan is gone, the purple of his Rinnegan the only color in his face. “Sarada,” he whispers. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t need to say anything back; instead, she leads her dad to the kitchen table and makes them tea, trying to calm her racing heart. As they sip from their cups, he explains to her what he sees — his older brother, showing him the death of their parents, telling him that they’ll fight again when he’s stronger. Sometimes, he relives the death of his brother, circumstances he still hasn’t fully relayed to her yet, and wonders if he can save him, tries to but never succeeds. In the worst nightmares, he watches Sarada and her mother — well, her father doesn’t finish that sentence, but she can guess well enough what he sees.
Her heart aches, knowing what her father goes through, but in a way, she’s glad to know. Before, her father never would have told her any of this, but things are different now, somehow, and maybe she can help. At the very least, her mother won’t have to bear the burden of being the only person who can help him.
They talk for hours, and Sarada only realizes how much time has passed when her mother walks through the front door, face drawn and weary. “Sarada! What are you doing up at this hour?” she scolds, arching a brow when she sees her husband is up as well. “And Sasuke, why did you let her stay up this late? You know she has training tomorrow — or, well, today.”
Her father opens his mouth to explain, but Sarada doesn’t let him, shooting him a wink when her mother isn’t looking. “Sorry, Mom,” she says, grinning mischievously. “I just had a craving for black tea, and I woke Dad up when the kettle whistled. I’ll go to bed now.”
After all, what her mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
•••
The next time Sarada and her father go to the cliff by the sea, she is officially a chunin, and this time, the visit is at her suggestion.
“I really should be getting back to the office,” her father says, though he doesn’t tear his gaze from the water. “Is there a reason you brought me here, Sarada? Planning to try out your fireball jutsu on a bigger target?”
The teasing lilt in his voice is something she’s not familiar with, but she more than welcomes it, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You just seemed like you needed a break. And I know this is one of your favorite spots, so…”
Her father seems surprised. “I’m impressed you remembered.”
“Well, there’s more than one way to say ‘I love you’, y’know. Remembering stuff is apparently the Uchiha way of saying it,” she says, shrugging. It’s meant to be a casual remark, nothing meaningful or serious, but something about it makes her father’s face light up.
“It’s true that Uchiha have never been great about expressing their affection, and I know I don’t say it enough. It’s hard for men like me. But never doubt that I love you, Sarada,” he says, and she’s taken aback by the fierceness of his tone. “I will love you always.”
“Always?” she jokes, but her father couldn’t be more serious.
“Always. Just as Itachi loved me, and as my parents loved us. There is nothing you could do that would make me love you any less.”
It’s the first time her father has said these words to her, but Sarada knows he means them. It’s so obvious, in the protective arm he wraps around her, the glimmer in his eyes.
And, she realizes, it’s the most rewarding truth she’s heard yet.