Twiceborn: Second Bloom | Alternate

Chapter Thirteen: Curious Uchihas and Irritated Senjus

Consciousness came back to her slowly, eyes cracking open slowly, wincing at the sheer light in the room. Wind blew through the open window, the breeze gentle, blocked by something on her face. Sakura sat up, heart pounding as she tried to recall exactly where the hell she was. Her heart pounded, teeth biting into her lip as the reality of the situation hit home. She'd watched her mother die last night... and she hadn't been able to do a damned thing. She pushed the tears back. She wasn't going to cry again... not until she was alone and in a safe location... where her sisters wouldn't be able to see her cry. She pushed the covers of the bed back, swinging her legs around to the side, blinking down at the bandages wrapped around her chest and shoulder – covering the wounds from the night before. She reached up for her hair, sighing in relief when she found it still safely secured in two messy plaits. Her Madara-ish hair was mostly safe – the top of her head was still as spiky and messy as per usual, but that was about it. The mask was still in place over the lower half of her face too, and Sakura was oddly alarmed at how many of her old sensei's habits she was seeming to pick up. The lateness definitely wouldn't be something she'd adopt. She couldn't afford to be late. Not again. Never again.

She sighed, running a hand down her arm, pausing at the little plaster covering the crook of her elbow. It certainly explained why she was feeling a lot better after only a few hours of rest. Narrowing her eyes, she padded towards the door, noting the fact her shoes had been removed. The wood flooring was smooth, not a single splinter in sight, so there were no worries about that. Instead, she was far more worried about how her siblings were fairing. Not to mention she needed to get Sora and Seiren in on the whole keep-the-sharingan-a-secret business. Especially since there was at least one Uchiha in the vicinity, provided Madara hadn't gone back to his home. Sakura assumed he didn't live with the Senju. He'd have probably blown up the house by then, if that were the case. Yawning, she pulled the door open, peering down the corridor, eyes widening when she was picked up off the ground. Two adult-sized hands hefted her up to eye level, a voice soon informing her of who exactly had picked her up. "I see you haven't managed to pull your stitches then," Tobirama said, turning her so she faced him, adjusting his hold so he wasn't putting any pressure on her freshly stitched shoulder.

"I'm not an idiot, you know," she grumbled, looking pointedly away from him as he carried her away from the room.

Tobirama sighed, walking towards the sounds of voices. "I've yet to see an evidence to the contrary," he said, opening the door, revealing four familiar brown-haired figures.

"Saku-nee!"

"Nee-chan!"

She glared up at Tobirama. "Put me down."

"They look like they're about to pounce, and need I remind you that you have stitches in," he said, staring down at her flatly. "I'd prefer not to have to redo them again, and I don't particularly want to get blood over the carpet... pure lands know you got enough on my desk as it is..."

"Rude," she muttered.

Izuna materialised behind her sisters – when and how he'd gotten there, Sakura didn't know – hooking a finger under each of the collars of their shirts, holding them back as Tobirama set her on the ground carefully. "Now, I know you munchkins all love your big sister a lot, but right now she's a bit injured... so keep the tackling and the tight crushing hugs to a minimum, OK?"

Seiren burst into tears, Sora looking guiltily at the floor, eyes watering. "Our fault..." they muttered. "Our fault nee-chan got hurt..."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Tobirama asked, staring between all the occupants of the room, as if one of the actual adults in the living space would have an answer to his question. Mito was sitting on the floor just behind her four siblings, evidently having just been interacting with the lot of them. Hashirama was sprawled out on the sofa beside his wife, looking between the situation at hand and the newspaper unfurled across his lap. Sakura glanced at the last occupant of the room, scowling at the spiky head of hair. Why did he have to be there too? She hated Uchiha Madara with a passion. It didn't matter he hadn't done anything to her in her new life, aside from be a minor annoyance. All that mattered were the memories his visage brought rushing back to the surface. Memories she'd rather bury in the deepest parts of her brain.