Chapter Text
Haruno Mebuki dies on March 28th, a prayer on her lips and a wish etched into her heart.
Her husband sobs and breaks apart, clutching at a cooling hand that hangs limply off the hospital bed. Blood drips in a rhythmic pattern against the lino floor, a cursed tap-tap-tapping that drills into his mind like a parasite. Haruno Kizashi kneels on the floor and cries into crimson hospital blankets, a row of nurses and doctors standing beyond the double doors like a funeral service.
He crumbles to pieces that day.
Then, seconds later, Kizashi puts himself back together again. He wraps large calloused hands around a tiny bundle of wet flesh, soft fabric, and pink hair, cradling her like she's the most precious gift he's ever seen. She doesn't cry, she doesn't open her eyes-- she just breathes. He whispers her name and a nurse quietly fills in the birth certificate.
Haruno Sakura is born on March 28th, as silent as the grave she left behind.
She doesn't get any louder when she grows up.
At three years old, Sakura clutches at her papa's pantleg, only ever peeking out at strangers once she's sure they're distracted. She spends most of her days like this- trailing after him like a lost and confused duckling, scuttling away from passersby and neighbors alike. Sometimes, she'll even clamber up his back and pretend to be asleep, wrapping her tiny arms around his head and burrowing her face deep in his familiar aubergine hair.
It smells like smoke and metal, like the lit forge in the back of their house. For some reason, it makes her feel safe.
Papa laughs when she tells him that.
His laugh is warm and rough but so, so lonely. It sounds like it's missing something; like there's an empty spot where something else should fit in, something soft and fluttery. She laughs too, high and bright, wondering if maybe the missing piece is herself. Seconds later, she falls back into silence.
It still feels empty. She wonders why.
When she's four, she goes to the playground.
Her papa isn't here today but that's okay, she's a big girl now that she can climb up the tiny kitchen stool by herself. Auntie Tsubaki's meant to be here even if she can't find her- she's probably playing hide and seek with the other adults. She does that a lot.
Sakura doesn't play in the sandbox. She doesn't like how it feels against her skin, all itchy and weird and gross, so she's sitting under a tree instead. It's a pretty tree with big green leaves and lots of dirt to play with, birds singing prettily in the swaying branches above her head. She likes to think that they're singing for her- like she's one of those princesses in the books, the ones with the animals and the princes and the long black hair.
She frowns and pokes at the dirt.
She wishes she had black hair. It's not as weird as pink and it's twice as pretty.
A cool breeze blows through the playground. Her nose twinges and she can't hold back the violent sneeze that erupts from her nose, a sudden chill wracking her back with a vengeance. There's no one left in the playground anymore, no one except for her and the birds.
Sakura shivers.
She hopes Auntie Tsubaki finishes playing with her friends soon.
She's five when she realizes that she's ugly.
Auntie Tsubaki isn't allowed to get with her to the playground anymore, but she's old enough to go by herself now. The other kids don't like her much, though.
They say that she looks funny and that she can't speak properly. They say that she's dirty and gross, and a whole other bunch of mean words that she doesn't like thinking about. And maybe they're right.
Hair that's a bright obnoxious pink, too-wide eyes that bulge out of her head, and a forehead that stretches on for miles and miles. Sakura smiles wide at the mirror, teeth and all, staring at her chubby cheeks marred with mud and dust. They threw mudballs at her today. If she doesn't think about it too hard, it's almost like they're playing with her.
She stops because her cheeks start hurting. She really does look ugly.
Sakura doesn't cry at the realization. She just goes into the bathroom to wash her face before running back towards her tree. It's verdant and beautiful even in the midst of autumn, a single splotch of green against a canvas of yellows and reds.
She sits at its base and weaves a crown of fallen leaves and daisies.
It's too cold for daisies to grow-- but Sakura doesn't know that. So she sits there and weaves, listening to the birds sing and the leaves rustle.
She doesn't know why she joins the Academy.
All the other kids are going into the Academy and training to be ninja and Sakura follows them because surely, surely at least one of them will talk to her if she goes. At least one of them will want to be her friend, and none of the mean kids like Ami or Toru will be in the Academy with her. She imagines what it'd be like to live a life without mud getting smeared in her hair, without getting poked by sticks and sneering kids.
It sounds nice.
Her papa is sad but proud when she tells him what she wants, and then the papers are filled out the next day. He spends the rest of the night pounding away at the forge, a rhythmic bang-bang-bang that echoes through the night.
She wonders why it sounds so sad.
She's seven when she loses her first spar.
Her opponent has golden hair and blue eyes, lips stretched up into a wide smile. She's cute and pretty and all the things she wished she was, and Sakura can do nothing but get swept up in the moment. Her back hurts from where she was thrown to the ground but someone's seeing her, someone's looking at her, and it's almost enough to make her cry.
The girl holds a hand out to her. "Nice job! Maybe you'll win next time, Sakura-san!"
Sakura grabs her hand. She's pulled to her feet seconds later, guided out of the arena by the girl's gentle nudges. She never wants to let go but the girl tugs her hand free anyway.
"See you around, Sakura-san!"
She tries to speak up, tries to say something-- anything at all. All that comes out is a weak smile and a single lonely, "bye, Ino-san."
She runs back to that same tree from years ago, listening to the pretty birds in the pretty leaves. Her hands shake and she pretends she isn't crying.
A leaf flutters down from the branches and lands on her wet cheeks. If she closes her eyes, it's almost as if someone's wiping her tears away.
It's nice.
She hates group assignments. All it does is remind her of how little she matters.
She hates being the last person chosen, and hates having to go up to the teacher and tell him she doesn't have a group. She hates that the other kids just look at her weirdly when the teacher asks the entire class if anyone wants her. She hates that the class stays quiet. She hates that she almost starts crying. She hates, hates, hates--
Sakura learns that she hates a lot of things that year.
Nothing changes when Hinata and Ino become best friends.
Sakura still sits alone in class, still eats alone at lunch, and still trains alone after school. Always and forever, so incredibly alone.
Over the years, Hinata's confidence blossoms into something quiet yet immovable. Her stutter is gone, replaced instead by a quiet wisp of a voice that could silence a whole room. She never falls in love with a boy, never chooses some crush over the girl that pulled her up when everything was crashing down. She becomes a force to be reckoned with- best in taijutsu and genjutsu, ninjutsu beaten only by Sasuke and Naruto, with her academic scores being only slightly below Sakura's own.
She doesn't know how to feel- so she sits on familiar grass under familiar leaves, listening to a familiar song and a familiar rustling.
And she weaves.
Sakura sits under her lonely, lonely tree on the day of graduation, listening to the birds sing prettily in the swaying branches above her, digging her fingers deep into the mud and soil at its base. Then, she tears up tufts of grass and daisies and weaves them into a pretty chain.
She hooks it over the lowest hanging branch when she finishes, dipping down into a deep bow. Hundreds of flower crowns hang from its great boughs, some made of daisies and others made of dandelions. They're all ones that she's made over the years, gifting it to the one thing that never let her be alone.
"Thank you."
The tree creaks. The birds sing. Somewhere over the horizon, an eagle screeches.
And, just like that, Sakura walks away to join Team Seven.