Dreams of the Past

Second Chances

Kakashi's childhood home was not what Sakura expected. Not that she was sure what she had expected. But the main house on a large, empty clan property was not it. Clearly, at some point the Hatake's were many and important. Before the Second Shinobi War had decimated them.

It was sad.

What would Kakashi have been like if he'd grown up a major clan brat? If there had been aunties and uncles and cousins. Had his father been the head of the family? Was that why only he had survived the war? Would Kakashi have been more like Shikamaru? Quiet, reserved, almost frighteningly intelligent but softer and more friendly without so much pain and loss?

While he would never have the large clan, if they could save his father he would at least have him.

Kakashi knocked on the door and waited, his entire body rigid beside her. Deciding they might as well commit—even if it was suddenly awkward now that they were married—and wanting to remind him that she was with him, Sakura looped her arm around his. His sigh was jerky as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

After a reasonable amount of time with no answer, Kakashi tried again. When still no one answered, Sakura began to grow uneasy. He had been sure Sakumo would be there. Not currently being sent out on missions and with few remaining friends, his father barely left. "Did you get a chance to ask your grandmother what the date was?"

Before she could reply that no, she had not thought to do that, a panicked sounding yipping suddenly started from inside, growing rapidly closer. When it got to the other side of the door, Kakashi crouched. "Pakkun? What's the matter, boy?" He frowned, listening to the pups frantic barking turn to whimpering before standing and forcing the door open.

"Shit."

Heart in her throat, Sakura followed Kakashi through the house, the little ninken at their heels. She did not pay much attention to the rooms they passed through except to notice they were all dark. Not a single light was on in the whole place.

Abruptly Kakashi slid to a stop, throwing a door open but not going inside. He stood frozen, fists clenched and staring into the room. Oh no. "Karasu—" Standing on her tiptoes, Sakura peeked around him. His father lay on the floor in the middle of the room, blade in hand as he bled out. She gasped. They were too late. Then the crumpled heap that was his father made a choked, gurgling sound, one of his hands moving towards Pakkun who had squeezed between Kakashi's legs and into the room. He was still alive. "Move, dammit!"

Shoving Kakashi aside, Sakura dashed into the room, dropping to her knees by his side. There was so much blood, still leaking from the massive, jagged wound in his gut. Pulling chakra to her hands, she set to work putting him back together. "Shit!" He had torn clean through muscle, his mangled viscera beginning to slip out onto the floor. You can do this, Sakura. She worked fast, reknitting the damaged organs and cut arteries. Shit! There's so much blood, too much.

Bloodstained hands limply tried to push her away, a shattered, barely audible voice pleaded with her to stop, to just let him die.

Fury burned through Sakura then, replacing the fear and worry in a single hot flash. How dare he. She was going to save this selfish piece of shit, and then she was going to smack some fucking sense into him. "No. You don't get to die. You're not doing this to your son."

Kakashi was there somewhere, and distantly she could hear Pakkun's anxious whimpering, but she ignored them both. The only thing she cared about was saving this man.

Sweat ran down her neck and pooled uncomfortably between her breasts, but finally she sat back on her heels. She had done everything she could. "Karasu?"