Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The coffee maker died at 6 AM, which should have been Sakura's first sign that today would be a disaster.

By 6:15, she was running late for her shift at Konoha Memorial Hospital. By 6:30, she'd discovered her apartment had flooded—again—because the upstairs neighbor kept forgetting that modern plumbing required you to actually turn off the faucet. And by 7:00, she was standing in the hospital parking garage, staring at the mysterious golden seal that had appeared on her car's hood, while her phone buzzed with increasingly frantic messages from her supervisor.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Your first client session is scheduled for 8 AM. Please don't be late. They get... irritable.

Sakura deleted the message for the third time this week. She didn't have time for whatever scam this was. She had a double shift, back-to-back trauma cases, a research paper on innovative suturing techniques due by Friday, and she'd promised to cover Dr. Yamamoto's on-call hours because his daughter had a recital and Sakura couldn't remember the last time she'd said no to anyone about anything.

The last thing she needed was—

"Excuse me. Are you Sakura Haruno?"

She spun around. The man standing behind her shouldn't have been able to sneak up on anyone. He was tall, unnaturally pale, with long dark hair gathered into a neat ponytail, and eyes that seemed to swallow light. He wore a black cloak with red clouds that looked like it had been pulled from an anime convention.

"Look, I'm not interested in whatever you're selling," Sakura said, fumbling for her keys. Her hands trembled slightly—too much coffee, not enough sleep. The usual. "And I'm late for—"

"The Sage of Six Paths said you would help us." His voice was flat, emotionless. "You signed a contract."

Sakura froze. The memory surfaced like a half-forgotten nightmare: three weeks ago, exhausted after an intensive surgery followed by an emergency appendectomy and then a motorcycle accident victim who'd coded twice, she'd stumbled into what she thought was a 24-hour ramen shop. Instead, she'd found a wrinkly old man with a staff, concentric rings in his eyes, and an offer that seemed too good to be true.

Help eleven individuals transition to modern life. One year. Payment: ten million yen per month, plus full coverage of all personal debts.

She'd been delirious with exhaustion. She'd signed something. She'd thought it was a hallucination brought on by forty-three consecutive hours awake and the protein bars she'd eaten that might have been expired.

"Oh no," Sakura whispered. "Oh no, no, no—"

"My name is Itachi Uchiha," the man continued. "I am having difficulty with my 'smart phone.' The instructions say to download applications, but I cannot find the download anywhere in the physical device. I've opened it three times. There is nothing to download."

Sakura stared at him. "You... opened your phone?"

"Yes. With a kunai. Very carefully." He produced the device. The screen was shattered, the back panel hung loose, and something inside sparked ominously. "I believe I may have made an error."

Her phone buzzed again. Dr. Tsunade, the hospital director and her mentor—the woman who'd taken a chance on an overeager resident four years ago and was probably regretting it now.

TSUNADE: Where are you? We have a multi-vehicle pileup incoming. I need you here NOW.

Sakura's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She'd never missed a shift. Never. In four years, she'd worked through the flu, a sprained ankle, her grandmother's funeral. She'd published six papers, assisted on the hospital's most complex cases, volunteered for every holiday shift so her colleagues could see their families.

Her colleagues who had families. Lives. Hobbies.

When was the last time she'd done something that wasn't work? When was the last time she'd seen her friends? Did she even have friends anymore, or just coworkers who occasionally asked if she was okay when they caught her crying in the supply closet?

"Ms. Haruno?" Itachi tilted his head slightly. "You appear... distressed."

"I'm fine," she said automatically, the same lie she'd told Tsunade last month when her mentor had pulled her aside and said words like "burnout" and "sustainability" and "you're going to kill yourself at this rate."

Sakura had laughed it off. She was fine. She was helping people. Saving lives. That's what mattered. That's what had always mattered.

So why did her apartment look like a disaster zone? Why were there three weeks of laundry piled up, takeout containers forming an archaeological record of her declining food choices, and credit card statements she was too afraid to open?

Oh. Right.

Because four years ago, she'd signed a different contract—with Konoha Memorial Hospital. Prestige, opportunity, and student loans that would take thirty years to pay off on a normal salary. But if she worked enough hours, took enough shifts, proved she was indispensable...

Her phone buzzed again.

TSUNADE: Sakura. Answer me.

She looked at Itachi. At his shattered phone. At the golden seal on her car that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.

Ten million yen per month.

She did the math quickly—a skill honed by years of calculating drug dosages and surgical margins on no sleep. That was... that was more than she made in six months. That was her student loans, her mother's medical bills from last year's surgery, her flooded apartment's repairs, her car that needed new brakes, her—

"Ms. Haruno." Itachi's expression hadn't changed, but something in his voice had shifted. Almost... concerned? "When did you last sleep?"

"I don't—that's not—" Sakura ran a hand through her hair, which she'd forgotten to brush. Again. "I sleep. I sleep plenty. I'm a doctor, I know the importance of—"

"You're swaying."

She was. The parking garage tilted slightly, then righted itself.

Her phone rang. Tsunade, this time. Not a text.

Sakura stared at the screen. At the name of the woman who'd believed in her, who'd mentored her, who'd recently started looking at her with something that might have been worry or disappointment or both.

She thought about the last time she'd felt genuinely happy instead of grimly satisfied after a successful surgery. She thought about her mother's voice on the phone last week: "You sound tired, sweetheart. Are you taking care of yourself?"

She thought about the fact that she'd been so exhausted three weeks ago that she'd hallucinated an entire mystical contract negotiation, except apparently it hadn't been a hallucination, which meant her grip on reality was even more tenuous than she'd feared.

Sakura answered the phone. "Tsunade-shishou, I—"

"Don't." Tsunade's voice was sharp. "Don't apologize. Don't explain. Just tell me: are you okay?"

The question hit like a scalpel between her ribs.

"No," Sakura heard herself say. "No, I don't think I am."

Silence. Then: "Come to my office when you can. Not today. Tomorrow. We need to talk about your schedule, your caseload, and the fact that you've logged more hours than any surgeon on staff. By a lot."

"I can handle—"

"Sakura." Tsunade's voice softened. "You're one of the best surgeons I've ever trained. But you're going to burn out before you hit thirty-five if you don't learn to pace yourself. Take today. I'll cover your shift."

"But the pileup—"

"I've been doing this for thirty years. I think I can manage." A pause. "That's an order. Rest. Eat something that isn't from a vending machine. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

The line went dead.

Sakura stood in the parking garage, phone in hand, exhausted enough that she'd somehow agreed to a supernatural tech support contract and too proud to admit she might have made a massive mistake.

"So," Itachi said, still holding his destroyed phone. "Are you available to assist us?"

She should say no. She should go home, sleep for sixteen hours, and figure out how to untangle her life.

Instead, she thought about ten million yen per month. About paying off her debts. About maybe, maybe, having enough financial breathing room to actually take a day off without panicking about money.

About the fact that helping people—even frustrating, ancient, supernatural people—was the one thing she actually knew how to do.

"I need coffee first," Sakura said. "A lot of coffee. And you're going to explain to me exactly what I signed up for."

Itachi nodded solemnly. "We have coffee. Hidan attempted to brew it yesterday. The pot achieved sentience briefly before we subdued it."

"Of course it did."

By 8:30 AM, Sakura had stopped by a convenience store for coffee that definitely wouldn't achieve sentience, texted her mother a lie about being fine, and found herself in a surprisingly upscale apartment complex. The directory listed it as "Akatsuki Corporate Housing."

"Corporate?" she muttered, following Itachi into an elevator that played tinny versions of traditional Japanese folk songs.

"The Sage felt we needed a... 'brand identity.'" Itachi's face remained impassive. "Deidara designed our logo. It explodes."

"Of course it does."

The elevator doors opened to reveal chaos.

A blonde man—Deidara, presumably—was trying to use a microwave, which was currently shooting sparks and making sounds no appliance should make. A blue-skinned figure with what appeared to be gills was attempting to fill the bathtub by manually carrying water from the kitchen sink, one cup at a time. A man with orange hair and far too many piercings sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at a laptop with such intensity that Sakura worried he might set it on fire through sheer willpower alone.

"I require assistance," the orange-haired man announced without looking up. "This device claims I have 'seventeen viruses' and must 'call Microsoft immediately.' I have tried calling. Microsoft does not answer. I am considering destroying the laptop and everyone responsible for its creation."

"That's a pop-up scam," Sakura said faintly, her surgical training automatically cataloging details: multiple individuals in distress, hazardous environment, situation deteriorating rapidly. "Don't call the number. Just close the—"

"How does one 'close' a digital window?" He turned to face her, and Sakura's breath caught. His eyes were the same as the Sage's—concentric rings, ancient and utterly inhuman. "I have tried force. The window remains."

In the kitchen, the microwave exploded.

"ART IS AN EXPLOSION!" Deidara shrieked triumphantly.

Sakura pulled out her phone—her personal, non-shattered phone—and opened her notes app. Her hands shook slightly as she typed, the same methodical approach she used for patient charts:

Day 1 Client List:

• Itachi: Destroyed phone trying to find downloads inside hardware
• Pain/Nagato(?): Computer illiterate, possibly planning mass murder over pop-up ads
• Deidara: Weaponized microwave (security deposit, definitely not getting that back)
• Kisame: Doesn't understand modern plumbing

She looked up. "How many of you are there?"

"Eleven," Itachi confirmed. "Though Zetsu counts as two, technically. He argues with himself. Frequently."

"Of course he does."

Sakura closed her eyes. Her apartment was flooded. Her mentor thought she was burning out. Her career was built on a foundation of overwork and denial. And now she was apparently tech support for ancient supernatural beings who thought 'turning it off and on again' meant performing elaborate rituals.

But here was the thing: this mess? This chaos? She could handle this.

Multi-vehicle pileups, emergency surgeries, patients coding on the table—that was chaos too. And she was good at chaos. She was good at triaging, prioritizing, solving problems, helping people who needed her.

Even if those people were immortal and thought smartphones were haunted.

Maybe, and this was possibly the exhaustion talking, but maybe this ridiculous contract was exactly what she needed. A different kind of challenge. A forced break from the hospital. And enough money to finally, finally, get her financial life under control.

"Okay," she said, opening her eyes and straightening her shoulders. "Okay. Everyone stop touching things. We're going to start with the absolute basics. Does anyone know what 'Wi-Fi' is?"

Eleven pairs of eyes—some human, some decidedly not—stared at her blankly.

Pain raised his hand. "Is it a form of invisible lightning?"

Sakura opened her calculator app and did some quick math. Ten million yen per month. Times twelve months. Minus her debts...

She could do this. Probably. Maybe. If she survived the year, she might finally be able to figure out how to help herself while she was helping them.

"Close enough," she sighed, pulling out a notebook from her purse. "Let's start there. Can someone please tell me where the fire extinguisher is?"

"Fire extinguisher?" Kisame looked confused. "What is this 'extinguisher'?"

It was going to be a very long year. If Sakura could even survive the week. 

Chapter Text

The first rule of tech support, Sakura learned, was that the problem was always user error. The second rule was that ancient supernatural beings did not appreciate being told this.

"I am Pain," the orange-haired man declared, rising from his cross-legged position in front of the laptop. The pop-up ads continued to flash behind him, promising to increase things Sakura definitely didn't want to think about. "I have brought nations to their knees. I have reshaped the very concept of suffering. You're telling me I was defeated by... advertising?"

"Technically, you were defeated by not having AdBlock installed," Sakura said, pulling up a chair. Her coffee had gone cold, but she drank it anyway. Cold coffee was still coffee. "Here, let me—"

"I will do it myself." Pain's eyes—those concentric ringed eyes—narrowed. "Explain the process."

And that, Sakura realized over the next two hours, was going to be the real challenge. They didn't just want her to fix things. They wanted to understand.

Pain took forty-five minutes to grasp the concept of browser extensions. Not because he was stupid—his questions were oddly insightful, actually—but because he kept trying to apply divine metaphysics to computer programming.

"So the 'extension' exists within the browser, which exists within the computer, which exists within physical reality," he said slowly. "A nested hierarchy of existence. Like the six paths of—"

"It's more like... folders?" Sakura tried. "You know, those physical things where you put paper—"

Pain stared at her.

"You don't know what folders are, do you?"

"We kept our organizational documents on scrolls," Itachi supplied from the kitchen, where he was attempting to make tea. The kettle was screaming. So was something else, though Sakura couldn't identify what. "Categorized by seal type and threat level."

"Of course you did." Sakura rubbed her temples. "Okay. New plan. We're starting from the very, very beginning."

Day 1, Hour 3: Basic Vocabulary

Sakura stood in front of a whiteboard she'd found in a closet (along with three swords, a ceremonial mask, and what looked suspiciously like a human skull). She'd divided the Akatsuki into groups based on... well, based on who seemed least likely to accidentally commit property damage in the next five minutes.

Group A (The "Relatively Calm" Group):

• Itachi: Polite, patient, but disturbingly literal
• Sasori: Redheaded, quiet, taking meticulous notes with visible irritation
• Kakuzu: Old, grumpy, kept asking about "return on investment" for learning technology

Group B (The "Chaos Pending" Group):

• Deidara: Currently banned from the kitchen
• Hidan: Had tried to "sacrifice" the toaster to "Lord Jashin" for better bread
• Kisame: Genuinely trying his best but kept forgetting humans didn't live underwater

Group C (The "Special Attention Required" Group):

• Pain: Their apparent leader, intense, took everything as a philosophical challenge
• Konan: Pain's partner, blue hair, paper-based powers, surprisingly practical
• Zetsu: A plant person. Two personalities. Currently arguing with himself about whether electricity was "natural"
• Tobi: Wore an orange mask, spoke in third person, seemed deliberately annoying
• Obito: Also wore a mask (black), claimed to be different from Tobi, was "definitely not the same person"

"Wait," Sakura said, counting. "That's twelve people."

"Tobi and Obito are completely different individuals," Tobi said cheerfully. "Tobi is a good boy!"

"We know you're the same person," Sasori said without looking up from his notes. His voice was flat, bored. "This charade is tedious."

"TOBI IS INSULTED—"

"Moving on!" Sakura wrote "INTERNET" on the whiteboard in large letters. "The internet is a global network of connected computers that allows people to share information instantaneously across vast distances."

Kakuzu raised his hand. "How much does it cost?"

"Uh, we pay for internet service, so—"

"No. How much does the internet cost? Who owns it? What's the profit margin?"

"Nobody owns the internet, it's—"

"Impossible. Someone always owns the means of production." Kakuzu's eyes—green, with red sclera, very unsettling—gleamed. "Find me the owner. I wish to negotiate."

"You can't negotiate with the internet!"

"Everything is negotiable," Kakuzu said darkly.

Konan raised her hand. She'd been quiet until now, observing with an intensity that reminded Sakura of Tsunade evaluating a surgical candidate. "Is the internet alive?"

"No, it's—"

"But it grows, yes? It learns? It responds to stimuli?"

"Well, technically—"

"Then it has the properties of life." Konan folded her hands. "We should treat it with respect."

"Respect?" Hidan laughed. "It's a fucking machine! Machines don't need respect; they need proper sacrifice and—"

"Do NOT sacrifice anything to the internet," Sakura said quickly. "New rule. No sacrifices. To anything. Ever."

Hidan sulked.

Zetsu's white half spoke up. "But if the internet has the properties of life, and connects all of humanity, isn't it essentially a hive mind?"

"A corrupted hive mind," his black half added. "Look at what humans share on it. Violence. Ignorance. Cat pictures."

"I like the cat pictures," white Zetsu protested.

"You would."

"This is absurd," Sasori said suddenly, setting down his pen with deliberate precision. "We're wasting time on philosophical debates about whether technology has a soul. It doesn't. It's a tool. Teach us to use the tool so we can move on with our existence."

Sakura blinked. "I—yes. Thank you. That's actually—"

"Don't mistake efficiency for cooperation," Sasori continued, his brown eyes cold. "I'm documenting this process because I need to understand it. Not to help you teach these imbeciles."

"Hey!" Deidara protested. "Who are you calling an—"

"You. I'm calling you an imbecile. You destroyed a microwave within an hour of having access to it."

"It was ART—"

"It was incompetence."

Sakura took a long drink of cold coffee. "The internet is not alive, it's not a hive mind, and we are not philosophically analyzing it. We're learning how to use it."

"Finally," Sasori muttered. "Perhaps we can accomplish something before I expire from boredom. Oh wait. I can't expire. How inconvenient."

"But why?" Pain asked, ignoring Sasori's commentary. The question wasn't defiant—it was genuine. "We functioned for centuries without this technology. Why must we adapt to it now?"

Because the Sage is paying me ten million yen a month to make sure you do, Sakura thought. But she looked at Pain's face—young, despite those ancient eyes—and remembered what Tsunade had told her once: The best way to teach is to understand why the student needs to learn.

"Because the world changed," she said finally. "And you can either change with it or be left behind. Information, communication, connection—that's all on the internet now. If you want to exist in this world, you need to understand how it works."

Pain considered this. "Adaptation as survival. Acceptable."

"Fascinating," Sasori said, his tone suggesting it was anything but. "Can we proceed now, or shall we spend another twenty minutes justifying basic education?"

"Great. So let's start with—"

The fire alarm went off.

In the kitchen, Deidara stood next to the smoking remains of what had once been a toaster. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was grinning. "It was already broken when Tobi got here!"

"TOBI DIDN'T DO IT!"

"You're literally the same person!" Sasori snapped, finally showing genuine emotion—irritation. "This isn't clever. This isn't amusing. It's pathetic."

Sakura added a new note to her phone:

Additional Rules:

• No one touches kitchen appliances without supervision
• Especially not Deidara
• Or Tobi
• Or Obito
• (They're the same person but apparently we're pretending they're not)
• Keep Sasori away from the others when he's in a mood (always?)

Day 1, Hour 5: Practical Applications

After the fire department left (and after Sakura had to explain no, there was no actual emergency, yes, she was very sorry, no, she couldn't explain why there were eleven people living in a five-bedroom apartment), she decided to try a different approach.

Hands-on learning. Practical applications. Give them something they could actually use.

"Okay," she said, holding up her phone. "Everyone take out your phones."

Itachi produced his shattered device. Kisame pulled out something that looked like it had been underwater for several years (it probably had). Hidan's phone was covered in what Sakura desperately hoped was red paint. Kakuzu had three phones, all different brands. Deidara's phone case had "ART IS AN EXPLOSION" written on it in glitter pen.

Pain, Konan, and the Tobi/Obito situation had phones that seemed relatively intact.

Sasori pulled out a phone that looked pristine, top-of-the-line, and impeccably maintained. Of course it did.

Zetsu didn't have a phone. "We don't believe in cellular technology," both halves said in unison.

"Of course you don't." Sakura made a note to deal with that later. "Everyone with a working phone, open your messages app."

A pause.

"The little speech bubble icon," she clarified.

Clicking sounds. Frustrated muttering. Hidan turned his phone upside down. Kisame tapped his screen with way too much force.

"Got it," Konan said.

"This is remedial," Sasori added, already three steps ahead in the menu. "What's next?"

"I'm getting to it," Sakura said, trying not to sound defensive. "Okay, now we're going to practice sending texts. Type a message and send it to the person next to you."

More clicking. Concentration that seemed wildly disproportionate to the task.

Sakura's phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Sakura Haruno. This is Itachi Uchiha. I am successfully utilizing the messaging application. Please confirm receipt of this communication.

She smiled despite herself. At least someone was getting it.

Her phone buzzed again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: HIDAN HERE. THIS TECHNOLOGY IS BULLSHIT. JASHIN DEMANDS BLOOD SACRIFICE NOT THUMB TYPING.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hello, this is Kisame. I accidentally sent my previous message to someone called "Mom" in my contacts. Do you know who that is? They responded "wrong number sweetie" and now I'm concerned I've upset them.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Art is an explosion. Explosions are art. This technology is neither. 2/10. - Deidara

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Tobi thinks texting is fun! Tobi wants to send emojis! How does Tobi send emojis?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: This is Obito. I am not Tobi. We are different people. Stop spreading lies.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I've mastered this in four minutes. The interface is intuitive for anyone with basic pattern recognition. I fail to see why this requires instruction. - Sasori

Sakura's eye twitched.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Kakuzu here. I've researched cellular data plans and found seventeen ways your current provider is overcharging you. Switching carriers could save 3,000 yen monthly. I've taken the liberty of canceling your current plan.

"WHAT?" Sakura stared at her phone. "You can't just cancel my—"

"Already done," Kakuzu said, not looking up. "You'll thank me when you see the savings."

"I'm going to kill him," Sakura muttered. "I'm going to commit actual murder, and they're going to put me in prison, and I'll never pay off my student loans."

"That seems inefficient," Sasori said, still focused on his phone. "Prison would prevent you from fulfilling your contract obligations. The Sage would likely be displeased." He paused, then added with distinct disdain, "Though I question why he chose someone so easily flustered for this task."

Sakura looked at him. Really looked at him. He was young—or appeared young, anyway. Red hair, brown eyes, and an eerie stillness about him, like he forgot to breathe sometimes. Or chose not to.

"Are you... okay?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Sasori's eyes snapped to hers, cold and flat. "Define 'okay.'"

"Like... physically? Mentally? Do you need anything?"

"I don't require sustenance or rest," he said matter-of-factly. "I was converted into a human puppet decades ago. My body is largely synthetic." His expression didn't change, but his tone sharpened. "And before you start your medical assessment—don't. I'm not one of your patients. Don't waste time analyzing what you can't fix."

Sakura's doctor brain had already kicked into high gear despite the warning. "Synthetic? Like prosthetics? What about your organs? Your cardiovascular system? How do you—"

"I said don't." Sasori turned back to his phone, dismissing her entirely. "Your curiosity is irrelevant. Focus on your actual job."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Itachi cleared his throat gently. "Perhaps we should continue with the lesson?"

Right. Right. She was supposed to be teaching them about phones, not conducting intake examinations on supernatural beings with impossible physiology. The doctor in her filed it away: Sasori—possible puppet conversion, unclear biological status, extremely hostile to medical inquiry, follow up never because he'll probably kill me.

"Okay," she said, shaking off the tension. "Everyone successfully sent a text?"

A chorus of confirmations. Mostly.

"Great. Now let's talk about emojis."

"WHAT'S AN EMOJI?" Tobi shrieked with delight.

"A waste of data," Sasori muttered.

It was going to be a very, very long day.

Day 1, Hour 8: Dinner and Revelations

By evening, Sakura's voice was hoarse, her cold coffee had been replaced with cold tea (courtesy of Itachi, who'd finally figured out the kettle), and she'd successfully prevented three separate incidents of property damage.

They'd covered: texting, emojis (Sasori had refused to participate in that section), phone calls (Pain had been disturbed by the concept of ringtones), basic internet browsing (supervised), and email (Kakuzu had immediately signed up for seventeen cryptocurrency newsletters).

Konan had organized everything into a physical paper manual because "digital storage can be destroyed."

Kisame had asked thoughtful questions about underwater phone cases.

Hidan had been banned from internet access after trying to look up "ritual sacrifice suppliers near me."

Sasori had completed every exercise in half the time, made cutting remarks about the others' incompetence, and was currently reading what looked like advanced programming documentation he'd found on his own.

And Sakura had learned more about ancient supernatural beings than she'd ever wanted to know.

"So," she said, sitting on the floor because all the furniture was occupied, "how did you all... end up here? Working with the Sage?"

Silence.

Sasori didn't even look up from his reading. "Does it matter?"

"I'd like to understand—"

"You're here to teach us technology, not understand us," Sasori said, finally meeting her eyes. "The two are unrelated."

"Sasori," Konan said quietly. "She's trying to help."

"Is she?" Sasori's gaze was sharp, assessing. "Or is she here for the money? Let's not pretend this is altruism."

Sakura felt her face flush. "I—that's not—"

"It's fine," Sasori continued, tone still flat. "I prefer honest transactions to false sentiment. You're being paid. We're being rehabilitated. Everyone gets what they want."

"We didn't have much choice," Kisame said, breaking the tension with a rough, rumbling laugh. "It was this or..."

"Erasure," Pain finished quietly. "We were given an ultimatum. Integrate or be removed from existence entirely."

Sakura's stomach dropped. "The Sage threatened to kill you?"

"Not kill." Konan's voice was soft. "Erase. Unmake. As if we never existed at all."

"That's—" Sakura struggled for words. "That's horrible!"

"We've done horrible things," Sasori said simply, returning to his reading. "Perhaps we deserve it. Perhaps we don't. The evaluation is immaterial. We're here because the alternative is oblivion."

"Nobody deserves to be erased from existence!"

"How compassionate," Sasori said, and somehow made it sound like an insult. "Your moral outrage is noted. Does it change anything?"

"We've killed," Pain said, meeting her eyes. "Hundreds. Thousands. We pursued our vision of peace through violence. We failed. And in our failure, we became the very thing we sought to destroy."

The apartment fell silent. Even Tobi stopped fidgeting.

Sakura thought about the Sage's offer. The money. The vague instructions about "helping them transition" and "finding their humanity."

She'd thought this was just about teaching them technology. About integration. But this was rehabilitation. For people—beings—who'd committed atrocities.

"I don't—" She stopped, unsure what to say. "I'm not qualified for this. I'm a trauma surgeon, not a therapist. I can't—"

"We don't need therapy," Kakuzu said gruffly. "We need practical skills. You're teaching us those."

"Correct," Sasori added without looking up. "Your limitations are evident. Work within them."

"But—"

"You asked why we're here," Itachi said gently. "Now you know. Does it change anything?"

Did it?

Sakura looked around the apartment. At these eleven beings who could probably level a city if they wanted to. Who'd apparently done terrible things. Who were now sitting in a cramped apartment, struggling with smartphones and being defeated by pop-up ads.

Well. Most of them were struggling. Sasori had apparently already moved on to teaching himself coding.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I need to think about it."

Pain nodded. "That's honest. I appreciate honesty."

"As do I," Sasori said, finally closing his laptop. "Here's some more honesty: you're going to quit within a month. This situation is absurd, we're difficult at best, and you're already overwhelmed by your regular life. The only question is whether you'll admit it now or waste both our time pretending otherwise."

"Sasori—" Konan started.

"What? Am I wrong?" He looked at Sakura with something that might have been curiosity if it weren't so cold. "You can barely manage your own existence. Your apartment is flooded, you work too much, and you look like you haven't slept properly in weeks. Now you're supposed to rehabilitate eleven supernatural beings?" He made a dismissive gesture. "It's laughable."

Sakura felt something hot and sharp rise in her chest. Anger, maybe. Or shame. Or both.

"You're right," she said quietly. "My life is a mess. I am overwhelmed. I probably will fail at this." She stood up, meeting Sasori's cold gaze directly. "But I'm still here. And I'm still going to try. Because that's what I do. I show up. Even when it's hard. Even when I'm tired. Even when people like you tell me I'm going to fail."

Sasori's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Interest, perhaps. Or respect.

"We'll see," he said finally.

Her phone buzzed—her newly switched cellular plan, courtesy of Kakuzu's unauthorized interference.

TSUNADE: How are you feeling? Still want to talk tomorrow?

Sakura stared at the message. At her mentor who'd noticed she was drowning. At the hospital she'd devoted four years of her life to. At the career she'd built at the expense of everything else.

Then she looked at the Akatsuki. At Kisame, who'd apologized profusely for texting someone's mom. At Deidara, who was currently trying to make his phone case "more artistic" with a permanent marker. At Itachi, who'd thanked her three times for teaching him about downloads. At Sasori, who'd just called her out on every insecurity she had and was now watching her with calculating interest.

Monsters. Killers. Ancient supernatural beings.

Currently struggling with emojis.

Well. Most of them.

Yeah, Sakura texted back. Tomorrow works.

She pocketed her phone and stood up. "Okay. New plan. We're ordering dinner—I'll teach you about food delivery apps—and then we're setting up a schedule. If I'm doing this, we're doing this properly, that means structure, goals, and absolutely no more unauthorized phone plan cancellations."

She pointed at Kakuzu, who shrugged unapologetically.

"I saved you money."

"You're not wrong, but you're still banned from my account."

"Acceptable."

Konan raised her hand. "What's a food delivery app?"

And just like that, they were back to tech support. Sakura pulled out her laptop—her personal one, carefully guarded—and prepared for another lesson.

"This will take forever," Sasori said. "They're hopeless."

"Then feel free to teach yourself," Sakura shot back. "Since you're so far ahead."

"I intend to." He stood up, laptop in hand. "Call me when we're covering something that isn't remedial."

He disappeared into one of the bedrooms and closed the door.

Behind her, Zetsu's white half whispered, "I like her."

"She'll quit within a week," the black half replied.

"Want to bet on it?"

"We're the same person, you idiot."

"He's right though," Kisame said thoughtfully. "Sasori, I mean. This is hard for you."

Sakura smiled despite herself. "Yeah. It is. But like I said—I'm still here."

"Why?" Pain asked, genuinely curious.

Because she needed the money. Because she didn't know what else to do. Because maybe helping them was easier than helping herself.

"Because someone has to teach you about food delivery apps," Sakura said instead. "Now pay attention. This is important."

Maybe she could do this after all. Or maybe Sasori was right and she'd crash and burn within a month.

Either way, she was going to find out.

Chapter Text

Sakura woke up at 5 AM to seventeen missed calls from the hospital, forty-three text messages from the Akatsuki group chat she definitely hadn't created, and the dawning realization that she'd agreed to meet with Tsunade today while also somehow managing eleven supernatural beings who'd probably burned down the apartment building by now.

The group chat messages were... concerning.

TOBI (3:47 AM): TOBI FOUND THE EMOJIS!!!!! 😀😃😄😁😆😊☺️🤗

DEIDARA (3:48 AM): why are there no explosion emojis. this is discrimination against artists

HIDAN (3:52 AM): FOUND A KNIFE 🔪 JASHIN IS PLEASED

KAKUZU (4:15 AM): The monetary emoji options are limited and poorly designed. I'm writing a formal complaint.

ITACHI (4:23 AM): Kisame has discovered the fish emojis. He has been sending them for twenty minutes. Please advise.

KISAME (4:24 AM): 🐟🐠🐡🦈🐙🦑🦞🦀🐚

SASORI (4:31 AM): I've muted this conversation. Do not disturb me. I'm working on something actually productive.

Sakura stared at her phone screen, contemplating her life choices.

Her alarm hadn't even gone off yet. She had a meeting with Tsunade at 9 AM. And somehow, she needed to wrangle eleven beings who'd apparently discovered emojis in the middle of the night and decided to have a collective crisis about it.

She typed a response:

SAKURA: It's 5 AM. Why are you all awake? Do you people sleep?

ITACHI: Some of us don't require sleep.

HIDAN: Sleep is for the weak and Jashin's faithful never rest

KAKUZU: Sleep is inefficient. I've been researching investment opportunities.

DEIDARA: I was working on art and got distracted

ZETSU (WHITE): We were hungry

ZETSU (BLACK): You were hungry. I was trying to sleep.

ZETSU (WHITE): Same body, same hunger

ZETSU (BLACK): I hate you

Sakura closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then she gave up and dragged herself out of bed.

Coffee first. Then crisis management. Then her meeting with Tsunade where she'd have to explain why she'd called in sick yesterday for the first time in four years.

Her phone buzzed again.

KONAN: Good morning, Sakura. I apologize for the others. I've prepared a list of questions about emojis that we can address during today's lesson. I've organized them by priority and complexity.

At least someone was sane.

SAKURA: Thank you, Konan. I'll be there by 7:30.

PAIN: We'll be waiting. Itachi and I have been discussing the philosophical implications of emoji-based communication. It's quite fascinating.

Oh no.

Day 2, Hour 1: The Emoji Incident

Sakura arrived at the Akatsuki apartment with three large coffees, a box of convenience store pastries, and a migraine that was already forming behind her right eye.

The door opened before she could knock.

"Good morning, Sakura-san," Itachi said with a slight bow. He looked immaculate despite apparently not sleeping. "We've prepared the common area for today's lesson."

"Prepared" was a strong word.

The whiteboard from yesterday had been covered in emoji printouts—someone had literally printed out dozens of emojis and taped them to every available surface. Konan sat at the table with a color-coded spreadsheet. Pain stood by the window, looking contemplative. Kisame was scrolling through his phone with intense focus. Hidan was juggling—actually juggling—his phone between his hands while muttering something about sacrificial offerings.

Deidara had somehow acquired art supplies overnight and was sketching explosive devices with emoji faces.

Kakuzu had three laptops open and appeared to be running some kind of complex financial analysis.

Tobi/Obito—she still wasn't sure if they were pretending or if this was some kind of split personality situation—was wearing his orange mask and bouncing excitedly.

Zetsu sat in the corner, calmly eating what looked like a salad, both halves apparently in agreement for once.

And Sasori's bedroom door remained firmly closed.

"Okay," Sakura said slowly, setting down the coffee and pastries. "What... what happened here?"

"We had questions," Konan said calmly, sliding her spreadsheet across the table. "I've organized them by category. Would you like to start with the technical questions or the conceptual ones?"

Sakura looked at the spreadsheet. It had tabs. Multiple tabs. Color-coded. Cross-referenced.

"How long did this take you?"

"Four hours." Konan smiled slightly. "I don't sleep much."

"Apparently none of you do." Sakura grabbed a coffee and took a long drink. "Okay. Hit me. What are the questions?"

Tobi's hand shot up immediately. "TOBI HAS A QUESTION!"

"Go ahead, Tobi."

"What does the eggplant emoji mean? 🍆" Tobi tilted his masked head. "Tobi looked it up on the internet and found some very confusing explanations! Tobi thought it was just a vegetable!"

Sakura choked on her coffee.

"It is a vegetable," Itachi said, looking puzzled. "I don't understand the confusion."

"Oh, you sweet summer child," Sakura muttered. "Okay, so, the eggplant emoji has... multiple meanings depending on context—"

"DOES IT MEAN PENIS?" Hidan shouted from across the room. "Because the internet said it means penis!"

"HIDAN!"

"What? I'm just asking!"

Kisame raised his hand. "If we're discussing this, I have a related question. Why are there only certain skin tones available for the human emojis?" He held up his phone, showing the emoji selection screen. "There's white, yellow, brown, black... but no blue. I'm blue. Where's my representation?"

"That's... actually a valid point," Sakura admitted. "The emoji consortium doesn't have blue skin tone options because—"

"Discrimination," Kisame said sadly. "I knew it."

"It's not discrimination; it's just—"

"EXCUSE ME!" Deidara waved his hand aggressively. "More important question: where are the explosion emojis? There's fire 🔥, there's collision 💥, but where's the actual artistic explosion? This is bullshit! Art is an explosion and there's no proper representation!"

"There's literally an explosion emoji right there," Sakura pointed at his phone. "The collision symbol."

"That's not an explosion; that's an impact!" Deidara looked genuinely offended. "There's a difference! An explosion is art, beauty, the culmination of careful preparation and—"

"It's a cartoon image, Deidara."

"DON'T DISMISS MY ART!"

Kakuzu cleared his throat. "If we're discussing inadequate representation, the monetary emojis are severely limited. There's a dollar sign, money bags 💰, coins 🪙... but what about stock certificates? Bonds? Cryptocurrency? The financial world is complex and nuanced—"

"They're just emojis," Sakura said weakly.

"Just emojis?" Kakuzu's eyes narrowed. "These symbols represent the primary form of informal digital communication in the modern economy. If the financial instruments aren't properly represented, how can we expect—"

"I FOUND A KNIFE!" Hidan interrupted, holding up his phone triumphantly. "🔪 LOOK! IT'S PERFECT! I can send this to people before I sacrifice them! It's like a warning! Lord Jashin would approve!"

"You're not sacrificing anyone," Sakura said firmly. "And you're definitely not sending knife emojis as threats."

"Why not? It's just communication!"

"It's called harassment, Hidan."

"I have a question," Konan said, raising her hand politely. "Is there a process for petitioning the emoji consortium to add new emojis? I'd like to propose a series of origami-themed options. We have paper 📄 and generic folded items, but nothing specifically representing origami art forms like cranes, flowers, or—"

"That's... actually the most reasonable question so far," Sakura admitted. "Yes, there is a petition process, but it takes years and requires extensive documentation—"

"I can provide documentation," Konan said immediately, pulling out another spreadsheet. "I've already begun compiling usage statistics and cultural significance data."

"Of course you have."

Pain, who'd been silent until now, turned from the window. "I've been contemplating the nature of emoji communication with Itachi. It's fascinating, really. These symbols transcend language barriers, convey emotion through simplified visual representation, and create a universal vocabulary that spans cultures and generations."

"Yes," Itachi agreed, looking thoughtful. "In many ways, emojis represent humanity's attempt to return to pictographic communication, similar to ancient hieroglyphics or cuneiform. A full circle in linguistic evolution."

"Exactly," Pain continued, warming to the topic. "But what interests me is the emotional component. An emoji can convey feelings that words cannot. A simple 😊 contains nuance that 'I'm happy' lacks. It's... profound."

"It's a yellow circle with a smile," Sakura said.

"Is it?" Pain's ringed eyes focused on her. "Or is it humanity's acknowledgment that true emotion cannot be captured in language alone? That we need visual metaphors to bridge the gap between internal experience and external expression?"

Itachi nodded. "The emoji becomes a symbol of our limitations and our transcendence simultaneously."

"Oh my god," Sakura muttered. "You're having a philosophical crisis about emojis."

"Not a crisis," Pain corrected. "An exploration."

"We've been discussing it for three hours," Itachi added. "It's quite stimulating."

From the corner, Zetsu looked up from his salad. "You know," his white half said cheerfully, "I just think they're neat! 😊"

"Finally," Sakura said with relief. "Someone with a normal, sane reaction to—"

"Though I do wonder," the white half continued, "about the psychological implications of reducing complex human emotions to simplified visual representations and whether this represents an evolution or devolution of emotional intelligence."

"Never mind."

"Also," the black half added, "why is there no plant emoji that accurately represents our specific botanical structure? We're not a cactus 🌵 or a tree 🌳 or generic plant 🪴. We're a unique carnivorous plant hybrid with—"

"NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR PLANT CLASSIFICATION!" Sakura shouted.

Silence.

Everyone stared at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her temples. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's just... it's 7:45 AM and we've discussed penis vegetables, blue skin discrimination, explosion art, financial instrument representation, knife-based threats, origami petitions, and the philosophical nature of emotional communication. And I haven't even had my second coffee yet."

"You seem stressed," Konan observed. "Would you like some tea?"

"I need something stronger than tea."

A door opened. Sasori emerged from his bedroom, laptop in hand, looking annoyed. "Are you people still arguing about emojis? I've been listening through the wall and it's possibly the most inane conversation I've ever been forced to endure."

"Good morning to you too, Sasori," Sakura said tiredly.

"There's nothing good about it. You're wasting time on pictographic symbols while I've successfully taught myself Python, JavaScript, and the fundamentals of web development." He held up his laptop screen. "Look. I built a functional website in six hours. What have you accomplished?"

Sakura looked at the screen. It was... actually impressive. Clean design, proper formatting, functional navigation.

"That's... really good, actually."

"Of course it is. I'm not an idiot like—" He gestured vaguely at the others. "—some people. But I have questions about database management and backend infrastructure that are actually worthwhile discussing."

"Sasori-danna is so talented!" Deidara said with grudging admiration. "But talent without art is—"

"I don't care about your art philosophy." Sasori turned to Sakura. "Can we have an actual productive session, or are we wasting the entire day on emojis?"

"We're not wasting—" Sakura stopped herself. "You know what? Fine. Yes. Let's split up. Those who want to continue with emojis and basic phone features can work with Konan's spreadsheet. Those who are ready for more advanced topics can work with me and Sasori."

"I didn't agree to teach anyone," Sasori said flatly.

"You just said you wanted productive discussion. That means helping others reach your level so we can have that discussion."

Sasori stared at her for a long moment. "Fine. But I'm not coddling anyone. If they can't keep up, that's their problem."

"I'll keep up," Kakuzu said immediately, closing his laptops. "If this puppet-boy can learn web development in six hours, I can certainly—"

"Puppet-boy?" Sasori's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Did I stutter?"

"Okay!" Sakura said loudly, stepping between them. "Great! Wonderful! Team Advanced meets in the bedroom. Team Emoji continues here with Konan. Everyone stays calm and nobody kills anyone!"

"Yet," Hidan muttered.

"NOBODY KILLS ANYONE EVER, HIDAN."

Day 2, Hour 3: Advanced Class (AKA Sasori's Reign of Terror)

The "advanced" group ended up being Sasori, Kakuzu, Itachi, and—surprisingly—Pain.

"I want to understand the infrastructure," Pain explained. "If emojis represent the surface of communication, I want to understand the depth beneath them."

"Finally," Sasori said. "Someone with sense."

They crammed into Sasori's bedroom, which was immaculately organized. His laptop sat on a desk with perfect posture alignment. Reference books—where had he gotten reference books?—were stacked by size. Even his electrical cords were coiled with geometric precision.

"Okay," Sakura said, pulling up a chair. "Let's talk about—"

"I'll teach this section," Sasori interrupted. "You clearly don't have the technical depth."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a doctor, not a programmer. I've spent the last six hours deep in documentation and practical application. I'm more qualified." He opened his laptop. "Unless you want to argue about your credentials versus my actual demonstrated competency?"

Sakura wanted to argue. She really did. But he... wasn't wrong.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm supervising."

"How generous."

For the next two hours, Sakura watched Sasori transform into possibly the most condescending but effective teacher she'd ever seen. He explained HTML structure with brutal efficiency, critiqued their questions with surgical precision, and somehow made Kakuzu look uncertain for the first time since she'd met him.

"Your tag structure is sloppy," Sasori told Kakuzu. "Look at this nested div situation. It's functional but inelegant. Refactor it."

"I'm a seven-hundred-year-old financial expert," Kakuzu growled. "I don't need a child telling me—"

"Then code like you're seven hundred years old instead of seven minutes old. Again."

Kakuzu's eye twitched, but he redid the code.

Itachi, unsurprisingly, picked up everything immediately. His code was clean, thoughtful, well-commented.

"Acceptable," Sasori said, which Sakura was learning was high praise.

Pain struggled with syntax at first but approached each problem methodically. He treated coding like philosophy—breaking down each concept, examining it from multiple angles, rebuilding it with intention.

"Interesting approach," Sasori admitted. "Inefficient, but thorough."

"I prefer to understand completely rather than quickly," Pain replied.

"Both is better."

"Both is ideal. I'm being realistic."

Sasori almost smiled. Almost.

Sakura sat back, sipping her now-cold third coffee, and realized something: she wasn't actually needed here. Sasori was a better teacher than her—at least for this material. He was harsh, yes, but he was clear, knowledgeable, and oddly patient when someone asked intelligent questions.

He had no patience for stupidity but infinite patience for genuine curiosity.

"You're not stupid," she heard him tell Kakuzu. "You're thinking in financial systems when you should be thinking in logical structures. Stop trying to optimize before you understand. Master the basics, then optimize."

It was... kind of impressive, actually.

Her phone buzzed.

TSUNADE: Meeting in 30 minutes. Don't be late.

Shit.

"I have to go," Sakura said, standing up. "I have a meeting at the hospital. Sasori, can you—"

"Continue teaching? Obviously. I'm already doing it." He didn't look up from his screen. "Go. We're fine."

"Are you sure—"

"She asked if you're sure," Kakuzu said with a smirk. "Maybe she doesn't trust your teaching skills, puppet-boy."

"Call me that again and I'll debug your code by deleting all of it," Sasori said calmly. "And Sakura—" He finally looked up. "We don't need supervision. Go handle your actual life. This is under control."

Was it dismissal? Encouragement? She couldn't tell.

"Okay," she said. "I'll be back this afternoon. Text me if—"

"We know how to text now. That was literally yesterday's lesson. Leave."

Sakura grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

In the common room, the emoji group had apparently reached some kind of consensus. Konan had created a comprehensive emoji guide. Kisame was happily sending fish emojis to contacts he'd somehow acquired. Deidara was designing "better" explosion emojis on paper. Hidan had been convinced to stop sending knife emojis to random numbers.

Tobi waved enthusiastically. "Goodbye, Sakura-sensei! Tobi learned so much!"

"That's great, Tobi. Don't blow up anything while I'm gone."

"Tobi would NEVER—"

"You literally tried yesterday."

"That was Obito!"

Zetsu gave her a cheerful thumbs up from his corner. Both halves. Simultaneously. It was deeply unsettling.

And then she was out the door, racing to her car, trying to figure out how to explain to Tsunade that yes, she'd called in sick yesterday, and yes, she was technically working a second job now, and no, she couldn't explain what that job was because her clients were ancient supernatural beings who'd recently discovered emojis and one of them had learned web development in six hours out of spite.

Her life had become completely insane.

As she drove toward the hospital, she realized something: she'd just spent three hours with the Akatsuki and hadn't thought about her flooded apartment, her crushing debt, or her burnout once.

Maybe that was progress. Or maybe she was just trading one disaster for another.

Either way, she was about to find out.

Sakura arrived at Tsunade's office at 9:17 AM, out of breath, hair disheveled, and still wearing yesterday's wrinkled blouse because she'd forgotten to do laundry. Again.

The secretary, Shizune, gave her a sympathetic look. "She's waiting for you. Good luck."

That didn't bode well.

Sakura knocked on the heavy wooden door.

"Come in." Tsunade's voice was measured. Calm. That was worse than anger.

The office was exactly as Sakura remembered: floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with medical texts, framed certificates on the walls, a massive desk that somehow made even Tsunade's frame look imposing. The morning sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes in the air and highlighting the dark circles under Tsunade's eyes that matched Sakura's own.

Her mentor sat behind the desk, hands folded, expression unreadable.

"Sit."

Sakura sat.

Tsunade checked her watch, a pointed gesture. "You're seventeen minutes late."

"I know. I'm sorry. Traffic was—"

"Don't." Tsunade held up a hand. "Don't make excuses. Just tell me what's going on."

Sakura's carefully prepared explanation evaporated. "I... I had another commitment this morning."

"Another commitment." Tsunade's eyebrows rose. "The morning after you called in sick for the first time in four years. The morning of our scheduled meeting to discuss your wellbeing."

"I know how it looks—"

"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're either lying to me about being sick, or you're so burnt out that you can't even prioritize a conversation about your own health."

"I wasn't lying!" Sakura protested. "I mean, I was sick. Sort of. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and—"

"And yet here you are, late, looking worse than you did last week." Tsunade leaned forward. "Sakura. Talk to me. What's going on? And don't give me the 'I'm fine' speech. We both know that's bullshit."

Sakura opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I... I took another job."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"You took another job," Tsunade repeated slowly. "You're working—what, seventy-hour weeks here? You've published six papers in four years, you volunteer for every extra shift, you're on multiple research committees—and you took another job?"

"It's not like that—"

"Then what is it like?" Tsunade's voice rose slightly. "Because from here it looks like you're actively trying to kill yourself through overwork!"

"I needed the money!"

"YOU HAVE MONEY! You're a trauma surgeon at one of Tokyo's best hospitals! You make a good salary!"

"It's not enough!" Sakura's voice cracked. "It's not—Tsunade-shishou, you don't understand. My student loans are crushing me. My mother had surgery last year and insurance didn't cover everything. My apartment flooded and my landlord is threatening to sue because apparently the damage is somehow my fault even though I was at the hospital when it happened. My car needs repairs I can't afford. I haven't bought new clothes in two years. I eat convenience store food because I don't have time to cook and can barely afford groceries anyway. And everyone keeps telling me I should be grateful because I'm a doctor and doctors make good money but I don't feel like I make good money because it all just... disappears!"

She was breathing hard now, hands shaking.

Tsunade's expression had shifted from stern to concerned. "Sakura—"

"And yes, I know I work too much! I know that! But how else am I supposed to pay for everything? If I don't take the extra shifts, I can't make the loan payments. If I can't make the loan payments, I default, and if I default, then what was the point of all of this?" She gestured wildly at the office, the hospital, everything. "What was the point of med school and residency and working myself to death if I just end up drowning in debt anyway?"

"So you took another job," Tsunade said quietly. "To make more money."

"Yes! It pays really well, and it's flexible, and I thought—" Sakura laughed, a hollow, slightly hysterical sound. "I thought I could handle it. I thought I could just... add one more thing to the pile. Because I always handle it, right? That's what I do. I'm Sakura Haruno, I can handle anything, I never complain, I never say no—"

"Sakura." Tsunade's voice was firm but gentle. "Stop. Just... stop for a second and breathe."

Sakura realized she was crying. When had she started crying? She tried to wipe her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept coming, hot and angry and exhausted.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be—this is unprofessional—"

"Fuck professional." Tsunade came around the desk and pulled a chair up next to Sakura's, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "You're not just my employee, Sakura. You're my student. I've watched you grow from an eager resident into one of the best surgeons I've ever trained. I've also watched you slowly burn yourself out because you think you have to be perfect all the time."

"I don't think I'm perfect—"

"No, you think you need to be perfect. There's a difference." Tsunade handed her a box of tissues. "You think if you just work hard enough, if you just take enough shifts, publish enough papers, help enough people, somehow it'll all balance out. The debt will disappear, the stress will disappear, and you'll finally be able to breathe."

Sakura blew her nose, not trusting herself to speak.

"But that's not how it works," Tsunade continued. "The goalpost keeps moving. There's always another shift, another paper, another emergency. Now you've added another job to the mix, which means you're working yourself from two directions instead of one."

"But the money—"

"How much is this new job paying you?"

Sakura hesitated. "It's... it's a lot."

"How much?"

"Ten million yen. Per month."

Tsunade's eyes widened. "Ten million—" She stopped. Stared at Sakura. "That's... that's not a normal salary. What kind of job pays ten million yen per month?"

"It's complicated—"

"Sakura." Tsunade's voice turned sharp. "Is this legal?"

"Yes! It's completely legal! It's just... unusual."

"Unusual how? Because that kind of money for 'flexible hours' sounds like—"

"It's not illegal!" Sakura said quickly. "I promise it's not. It's just... I'm helping some people adjust to modern life. Teaching them technology and life skills. That's it."

Tsunade looked skeptical. "People who can afford to pay you ten million yen per month for tech support?"

"They're... wealthy. Very wealthy. And very out of touch with modern society." That was technically true. "Look, I know it sounds weird, but it's legitimate. I have a contract and everything."

"A contract you signed while delirious after a long shift?"

Sakura winced. Tsunade knew her too well.

"Sakura." Tsunade rubbed her temples. "I'm not going to tell you what to do with your life. You're an adult—you're thirty-three years old, for god's sake. You can make your own decisions. But I need you to really think about what you're doing here. You're juggling two high-demand jobs, you're clearly not sleeping, you're not eating properly, and you just had a breakdown in my office."

"I'm fine—"

"You're not fine! Look at yourself!" Tsunade pulled out her phone and turned on the camera, holding it up like a mirror.

Sakura barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Hair a mess. Skin pale. She looked... hollow. She looked older than thirty-three. She looked like she'd aged a decade in the last four years.

"When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?" Tsunade asked softly. "Not because you had to, not because someone needed you, not because it would look good on your CV. When was the last time you were actually happy?"

Sakura opened her mouth to answer and realized she couldn't. She couldn't remember.

"I don't... I don't know."

"That's what I thought." Tsunade pocketed her phone. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to take a leave of absence."

"What? No! I can't—"

"Yes, you can. Two weeks, paid. I'm not asking, Sakura. I'm telling you as both your supervisor and your mentor. You need to step back, evaluate your situation, and make some real decisions about your life."

"But the patients—"

"Will be fine. We have other surgeons. Good surgeons. The hospital will not collapse without you for two weeks." Tsunade's expression softened. "I know you think you're indispensable. I know you think if you stop moving, everything will fall apart. But you're wrong. The only thing that's falling apart is you."

Sakura felt something crack inside her chest. "I don't know how to stop," she whispered. "If I stop, then I have to think about everything. About how much I hate my apartment and how I never see my friends anymore and how I can't remember the last time I felt anything other than tired. And that's... that's scary."

"I know." Tsunade put a hand on Sakura's shoulder. "But you can't run forever. Trust me, I've tried. Eventually, your body makes the decision for you, and it's never pretty. I learned that the hard way when I was about your age."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Take the two weeks. Keep the tech support job if you want—clearly you need the money, and if it's as flexible as you say, it might actually be better for you than the hospital right now. But I want you to really think about what you want your life to look like. Not what you think it should look like, not what will pay off your loans fastest, but what will actually make you happy."

"Happiness seems like a luxury I can't afford."

"Happiness is a necessity you can't afford to ignore." Tsunade squeezed her shoulder. "You're thirty-three years old, Sakura. You should be building a life, not just surviving one. You should be thinking about what you want for the next thirty years, not just the next thirty days."

Sakura laughed wetly. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm fifty-eight and I've made every mistake you're currently making." Tsunade smiled sadly. "I'm trying to save you from repeating them. I burned out at thirty-five. Took me years to recover. I don't want that for you."

"I don't want it either," Sakura admitted. "I'm just... I'm so tired, Tsunade-shishou. I'm so, so tired."

"Then rest. For real this time. No hospital, no guilt, no thinking about what you 'should' be doing. Just rest. Figure out what you actually want. And then we'll talk about how to make that happen."

"Okay." Sakura nodded, feeling strangely light. Like something heavy had been lifted off her shoulders. "Okay. Two weeks."

"Two weeks," Tsunade confirmed. "And Sakura? I want you to see someone. A therapist. I'll send you some recommendations."

"I don't need—"

"That wasn't a suggestion." Tsunade's voice was firm but kind. "You're dealing with burnout, financial stress, and clearly some unresolved issues about self-worth. A therapist can help with that. Will you at least consider it?"

Sakura thought about the Akatsuki. About Pain asking philosophical questions about emojis. About Sasori teaching himself to code out of spite. About Kisame apologizing to strangers' mothers. About eleven beings who'd committed atrocities and were now learning how to text.

If they could change, maybe she could too.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Yeah, I'll consider it."

"Good." Tsunade stood up, helping Sakura to her feet. "Now go home. Actually home, not to your second job. Eat something that isn't from a convenience store. Sleep. And tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, start thinking about what you want your life to look like a year from now."

Sakura nodded, grabbing her bag. She made it to the door before stopping. "Tsunade-shishou?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For not giving up on me."

Tsunade smiled—a real smile, warm and genuine. "Never. You're too brilliant to give up on. Even if you're also a stubborn idiot sometimes."

"I learned from the best."

"Get out of my office, brat."

Sakura left, closing the door softly behind her.

The hospital hallway stretched out in front of her—familiar, comfortable, suffocating. She'd spent four years walking these halls, living in these halls, slowly losing herself in these halls.

Maybe it was time to find herself somewhere else.

Her phone buzzed.

SASORI: Kakuzu broke his code. He's blaming the laptop. Come back and tell him he's an idiot.

KAKUZU: The laptop is clearly malfunctioning. This is not user error.

ITACHI: It's user error.

PAIN: I've been contemplating the existential implications of debugging. Is correcting errors in code a metaphor for correcting errors in oneself?

KISAME: Guys I accidentally texted that nice mom again and now she's asking if I'm okay. What do I tell her?

DEIDARA: I DESIGNED A BETTER EXPLOSION EMOJI! 💥✨🎨

HIDAN: That's not an explosion that's just random symbols you fucking hack

KONAN: Please stop arguing in the group chat. I'm trying to organize my origami petition.

TOBI: TOBI IS HAVING FUN! 😊😊😊

ZETSU (WHITE): Should we order lunch?

ZETSU (BLACK): We just ate.

ZETSU (WHITE): I'm hungry again.

Sakura stared at her phone, at the absolute chaos unfolding in real-time, and felt something unexpected:

She laughed.

It was a real laugh, not the hollow, exhausted thing from earlier. These ridiculous, powerful, ancient beings who were currently having a meltdown over coding errors and emoji design and accidental text messages to strangers.

They were a mess. But they were her mess now.

And maybe—just maybe—that wasn't such a bad thing.

She typed a response:

SAKURA: On my way. Nobody break anything else before I get there. And Kisame, just tell her you're fine and apologize for the confusion.

KISAME: Thank you! You're very wise!

SASORI: She's not wise. She's just the only one with basic social skills.

SAKURA: I saw that, Sasori.

SASORI: Good. It was meant to be seen.

Sakura pocketed her phone and headed for the parking garage. Two weeks leave. Time to figure out her life. Time to rest. Time to teach eleven supernatural beings how to function in modern society without destroying everything they touched.

It was going to be a disaster. But at least it was her disaster.

For the first time in a long time, that felt like progress.

Chapter Text

Sakura arrived back at the Akatsuki apartment to find the front door propped open with what looked suspiciously like a ceremonial sword.

"Hello?" she called out, stepping inside cautiously. "Why is the door—"

"SAKURA-SENSEI!" Tobi bounced into view, still wearing his orange mask. "Tobi is so happy you're back! We ordered lunch! ALL BY OURSELVES!"

"You... ordered lunch?"

"Through an app!" Konan appeared from the kitchen, looking genuinely pleased. "We used the food delivery service you mentioned yesterday. It was surprisingly intuitive once we understood the interface."

Sakura blinked. "You actually... successfully... ordered food?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Sasori emerged from his bedroom, laptop under one arm. "We're not completely incompetent. Just mostly incompetent." He gestured vaguely at the others.

"Hey!" Deidara protested from the couch, where he was surrounded by what appeared to be origami cranes. "I helped!"

"You tried to tip the delivery driver in explosive clay sculptures," Konan said dryly. "That's not helping."

"Art is always helpful!"

Sakura looked around the apartment. It was... surprisingly intact. The whiteboard still had emoji printouts on it. The kitchen showed no signs of fire or explosion. There were multiple takeout bags on the dining table, neatly organized with labels.

"Did you..." Sakura approached the table slowly, like she might spook them. "Did you label the food by person?"

"Of course," Itachi said, appearing from the direction of the bedrooms. "It seemed efficient. We each ordered what we wanted, and Konan created a system to prevent confusion."

Each bag had a name written in neat handwriting: Itachi, Pain, Konan, Kisame, Kakuzu, Hidan, Deidara, Zetsu, Tobi, Obito, Sasori.

"There are twelve bags," Sakura observed.

"Tobi and Obito are DIFFERENT PEOPLE," Tobi insisted.

"We're humoring them," Sasori muttered. "It's easier than arguing."

Sakura picked up one of the bags—Kisame's—and peered inside. Sushi. Obviously. The next bag, Hidan's, contained what looked like an alarming amount of meat. Deidara's had artistic-looking bento boxes. Kakuzu's was from the cheapest restaurant available, despite the fact that someone else was clearly paying.

"Wait," Sakura said. "Who paid for this?"

Silence.

"Kakuzu handled the transaction," Itachi said carefully.

"I used your credit card," Kakuzu said, completely shameless. "It was already saved in the app from when you demonstrated the ordering process yesterday."

"You—" Sakura took a deep breath. "You used my credit card. To order lunch for eleven—sorry, twelve—people."

"Technically thirteen, if you count both halves of Zetsu as separate entities," Zetsu's black half said.

"We don't," said the white half.

"Fourteen if we're including you," Pain added, gesturing to a bag labeled 'Sakura.' "We ordered for you as well. You mentioned you eat convenience store food frequently. This seemed healthier."

Sakura opened the bag with her name on it. Katsudon from a nice restaurant. Her favorite. How did they—

"You mentioned it yesterday," Konan said, reading her expression. "When you were explaining food preferences and dietary restrictions. You said katsudon was your comfort food but you rarely had time to get the good kind."

"I..." Sakura felt something warm and unexpected bloom in her chest. "You remembered that?"

"We remember everything," Pain said simply. "It's both a blessing and a curse."

"Mostly a curse," Hidan added, sprawling on the couch next to Deidara's crane collection. "You ever try to forget centuries of trauma? Can't do it. Stuck in my head forever like a bad fucking song."

"Anyway," Kakuzu continued, "the total was 23,000 yen. Very reasonable for fourteen people. I found a promotional code that saved us 2,000 yen. You're welcome."

"You used my credit card without permission!"

"You left it saved in the app. That implies consent."

"That's not how consent works!"

"Isn't it?" Kakuzu tilted his head. "Interesting. I'll make a note for future reference."

Sakura rubbed her temples. "Okay. New rule. Nobody uses my credit card without asking first. Even if it's saved. Even if you think I've given implicit consent. Just... ask."

"Acceptable," Kakuzu said. "Should I add your credit card information to my financial tracking spreadsheet? I'm monitoring your expenditures and I've found several areas where you could optimize—"

"Absolutely not!"

"Your loss. You're hemorrhaging money on unnecessary subscriptions."

"How do you even—never mind. I don't want to know." Sakura grabbed the bag with her name on it and sat down at the table. The smell of katsudon hit her, and her stomach reminded her that she'd skipped breakfast. And dinner last night. And probably lunch the day before.

When had she last eaten a real meal?

"You should eat," Itachi said gently, taking a seat across from her with his own order—something simple, rice and grilled fish. "You look... tired."

"I'm always tired."

"More than usual," Konan observed, sitting down with her lunch. "Did your meeting not go well?"

Sakura paused, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "How did you know I had a meeting?"

"You mentioned it yesterday. At the hospital. With someone named Tsunade." Konan's expression was kind. "You seemed anxious about it."

Had she mentioned that? Sakura couldn't remember. Everything from the last few days was blurring together.

"It went... okay, I think." Sakura took a bite of katsudon. It was delicious. Actually, genuinely delicious. When was the last time she'd tasted her food instead of just mechanically consuming it? "She gave me two weeks leave."

"Leave?" Pain looked up from his own lunch—a simple vegetable dish. "Forced or voluntary?"

"Forced. She thinks I'm burning out."

"Are you?" Sasori asked, not looking up from his laptop. He was eating with one hand while typing with the other, which seemed both impressive and deeply unhealthy.

"Probably," Sakura admitted. She was too tired to lie. "I worked seventy-hour weeks for four years. I can't remember the last time I had a day off. Or saw my friends. Or did anything that wasn't work-related."

"That's stupid," Hidan said bluntly. "Why would you do that to yourself?"

"Money. Debt. The usual reasons."

"Ah." Kakuzu nodded knowingly. "Financial desperation. I understand. I once worked for seventy years straight to pay off a territorial dispute. Lost three partners in the process."

"You... lost partners?"

"They died. Occupational hazard." He said it so matter-of-factly that Sakura didn't know how to respond.

"That's horrible."

"That's life," Kakuzu shrugged. "Or was life. Past tense. Now I'm here, learning about food delivery apps and using someone else's credit card."

"Speaking of the app," Kisame raised his hand, "I have a question about the rating system. I gave our delivery driver five stars, but I'm not sure if that's appropriate? He seemed nervous when he saw me."

"You're seven feet tall and blue," Sasori said flatly. "Of course he was nervous."

"I smiled at him!"

"You have shark teeth. That doesn't help."

"Oh." Kisame looked genuinely distressed. "Should I have tipped more? Would that have made it better?"

"You tipped fine," Sakura assured him. "Five stars is perfect. Don't worry about it."

"But he seemed scared—"

"Everyone's scared of you, Kisame," Hidan said. "That's just your face. Accept it and move on."

"That's not helpful, Hidan," Konan chided.

"It's honest."

"Honesty without kindness is just cruelty."

"Good. Cruelty is efficient."

Sakura took another bite of katsudon, watching the exchange. They bickered like... well, like family. Dysfunctional, supernaturally powered, emotionally traumatized family, but family nonetheless.

"So," Deidara said, carefully folding another crane, "if you have two weeks off from your hospital job, does that mean you'll be here more? Teaching us stuff?"

"I... guess so?" Sakura hadn't thought about it. "I mean, that's what you're paying me for."

"Excellent!" Tobi clapped his hands. "Tobi wants to learn about social media! Twitter! Instagram! TikTok!"

"Absolutely not," Sakura said immediately. "You're not ready for social media."

"Why not?"

"Because you're—" She gestured vaguely at all of them. "—you. You'd cause an international incident within hours."

"I resent that," Pain said. "We're perfectly capable of appropriate online behavior."

"You threatened to destroy Microsoft yesterday because of a pop-up ad."

"That was a measured response to a legitimate threat."

"It was a scam website!"

"Exactly. A threat."

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay. New plan. We're going to spend the next two weeks on basic digital literacy. No social media until you can prove you understand internet safety, digital footprints, and the concept of 'thinking before you post.'"

"I already understand those concepts," Sasori said, still typing. "I've been researching."

"Of course you have."

"I've also been researching you."

Sakura's chopsticks froze halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"

"Not in a creepy way," Sasori clarified, though his tone suggested he didn't actually care if it was creepy or not. "I was curious about your background. Dr. Sakura Haruno, trauma surgeon, graduated top of her class from Konoha Medical University, published six papers in four years, known for taking on the most complex cases." He finally looked up. "You're impressive. On paper."

"Uh... thanks?"

"But you're also working yourself to death, drowning in debt, and apparently have no personal life whatsoever. Which raises the question: why did the Sage choose you?" Sasori's brown eyes were calculating. "What makes you qualified to rehabilitate us?"

The table went quiet.

"I don't know," Sakura admitted. "Honestly, I have no idea. I'm not a therapist. I'm not a social worker. I'm just a surgeon who's good at dealing with emergencies and apparently bad at managing her own life."

"Maybe that's why," Itachi said thoughtfully. "You understand struggle. You understand what it's like to be trapped by circumstances beyond your control."

"I'm not trapped—"

"Aren't you?" Pain's ringed eyes focused on her. "You work constantly to pay off debt. You can't afford to stop. You've sacrificed your health, your relationships, your happiness. How is that different from imprisonment?"

Sakura opened her mouth to argue and found she couldn't.

"The Sage told me I have a power to heal," she said finally. "That you—all of you—can't grasp what I have. Something about my humanity." She laughed bitterly. "Which is ironic, because I feel like I've lost most of mine."

"Then perhaps," Konan said gently, "you're meant to find it again. While helping us find ours."

"That's very poetic, but I don't think that's how rehabilitation works."

"Doesn't it?" Pain leaned back in his chair. "Growth through teaching. Healing through helping. Understanding yourself by understanding others." He smiled slightly. "It's not so different from medicine, is it? You can't heal others if you don't understand the disease."

"Are you comparing yourselves to a disease?"

"We're comparing ourselves to patients," Itachi corrected. "And you're the surgeon. But even surgeons need care sometimes."

Sakura looked around the table. At these eleven—twelve—whatever—beings who'd successfully ordered lunch, remembered her favorite food, and were now having a philosophical discussion about mutual healing.

"You're all insane," she said.

"Probably," Hidan agreed cheerfully. "But we ordered food through an app! That's progress!"

"And we didn't burn down the apartment," Kisame added.

"The bar is so low it's underground," Sasori muttered.

"But we cleared it!" Deidara grinned. "That's what matters!"

Sakura felt something in her chest loosen. Just a little. "Yeah," she said. "I guess it is."

She took another bite of katsudon. It was good. Really good. For the first time in months—maybe years—she was actually present enough to enjoy it.

"Okay," she said. "After lunch, we're doing internet safety training. And someone needs to explain to me how you managed to order food without destroying anything."

"Konan supervised," Itachi said.

"I created a checklist," Konan added, pulling out a laminated card. "Step by step instructions with visual aids."

"You laminated it?"

"I found a laminator in the storage closet. It seemed practical."

Of course she did.

"Also," Kakuzu added, "I've set up a shared expense tracking system. I'll send you the login information. This way, you can monitor all purchases and approve or deny charges in real-time."

"That's... actually helpful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You owe me 23,000 yen for lunch."

"You used MY credit card!"

"Which means you owe yourself 23,000 yen. I'm simply facilitating the accounting."

Sakura dropped her head to the table with a thunk.

Behind her, Zetsu's white half whispered, "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," the black half replied. "This is just her normal state now."

"Poor thing."

"She chose this."

"Did she though?"

Sakura lifted her head. "I can hear you."

"We know," both halves said in unison.

She looked at her katsudon. At the careful label with her name. At the group of supernatural beings who'd somehow remembered her favorite food and ordered it for her without being asked.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

"Okay," she said, straightening up. "Internet safety training. Starting now. Everyone finish your lunch and meet me at the whiteboard in ten minutes."

"What about me?" Sasori asked. "I already know this material."

"Then you can help teach it. Consider it practice for when you inevitably become condescending about everyone else's lack of knowledge."

"I'm not condescending. I'm accurate."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"Ten minutes, Sasori."

He sighed but closed his laptop. "Fine. But I'm adding 'forced educational labor' to my list of grievances about this entire situation."

"You have a list?"

"I have several lists. All cross-referenced and prioritized."

"Of course you do."

Sakura finished her katsudon, feeling more grounded than she had in days. Two weeks off. Eleven—twelve—whatever—supernatural beings to teach. Maybe, just maybe, something to learn from them too.

It was going to be chaotic. But at least the chaos came with lunch.

Internet Safety (Or: How to Not Become a Meme)

Ten minutes later, everyone was assembled in the common room. Sakura stood at the whiteboard, marker in hand, while the Akatsuki arranged themselves in a semi-circle. Konan sat front and center with a fresh notebook. Pain sat beside her, looking contemplative. Itachi had chosen a seat near the window, serene as always. Kisame sat cross-legged on the floor because the chairs were too small.

Hidan sprawled on the couch, feet up. Deidara perched on the armrest, unable to sit still. Kakuzu had positioned himself near a power outlet with all three laptops open. Zetsu occupied a corner, both halves watching with unnerving intensity.

Tobi bounced in his seat. Obito sat perfectly still, arms crossed, mask tilted in what might have been irritation.

And Sasori leaned against the wall, laptop balanced on one arm, the very picture of bored superiority.

"Okay," Sakura began, writing "INTERNET SAFETY" in large letters. "We're going to cover the basics. And by basics, I mean the things that keep you from accidentally becoming international criminals or viral memes."

"What's a meme?" Kisame asked, raising his hand politely.

"We'll get to that. First rule of internet safety: Never share personal information with strangers."

"Define personal information," Pain said immediately.

"Name, address, phone number, financial details, anything that could identify you or be used against you."

"What about our nature?" Konan asked. "Should we not mention that we're supernatural beings?"

Sakura paused. "That... is an excellent point. Yes. Definitely don't mention that. In fact, let's add that to the list." She wrote "Don't reveal supernatural status" under the main heading.

"What if someone asks directly?" Itachi inquired.

"Lie."

"Isn't lying unethical?"

"Lying to protect yourself online is called privacy, not unethical behavior." Sakura added another note. "Which brings me to rule two: Not everyone online is who they say they are. People can pretend to be anyone."

"Like Tobi and Obito," Zetsu's black half muttered.

"WE ARE DIFFERENT PEOPLE!" both masked individuals shouted in unison, then glared at each other.

"Sure you are," Sasori said flatly. "Anyway, this is obvious. Online anonymity allows for deception. It's basic operational security. Why are we spending time on this?"

"Because some people—" Sakura looked pointedly at Kisame, "—apologize to strangers' mothers and worry about making delivery drivers comfortable."

"That's just being polite!" Kisame protested.

"It's also providing personal information about your emotional state and creating a digital trail of your interactions," Sasori countered. "Every text, every search, every click is data. Data that can be tracked, analyzed, and used."

"Okay, thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sasori." Sakura wrote "Digital Footprint" on the board. "But he's right. Everything you do online leaves a trace. Which is why you need to think before you post, send, or search anything."

"I've been thinking," Kakuzu said, not looking up from his laptops. "And I've concluded that the internet is essentially an unregulated marketplace of information where the product is human attention and the currency is engagement."

"That's... actually surprisingly accurate."

"Which means we are the product." Kakuzu finally looked up. "Our data, our attention, our behavior patterns—all being sold to advertisers and aggregated for profit. This is exploitation on a massive scale."

"Yes, welcome to late-stage capitalism. Moving on—"

"How is this legal?" Kakuzu's eyes had taken on a dangerous gleam. "Who profits from this system? Can we dismantle it?"

"We're not dismantling capitalism today, Kakuzu."

"Why not? It seems inefficient and exploitative."

"It is, but that's not our problem right now. Our problem is making sure none of you accidentally dox yourselves or join a cult."

"Join a cult?" Hidan perked up. "Can you do that online? How does that work?"

"NO. We're not discussing how to join online cults!"

"But you brought it up—"

"As an example of what NOT to do!" Sakura took a breath. "Okay. Let's try a different approach. I'm going to give you scenarios, and you tell me what's safe and what's not. Ready?"

Reluctant nods.

"Scenario one: Someone in an online forum asks for your address to send you a gift. What do you do?"

"Provide a PO box," Kakuzu said immediately. "Never your actual residence."

"Correct. Scenario two: You see a post that makes you angry. Do you respond?"

"Yes," Hidan said. "With graphic descriptions of what I'd do to them."

"NO. Absolutely not. That's harassment and potentially illegal."

"But they're wrong."

"Being wrong online is not a crime. Threatening them is."

"What if they're really wrong?"

"Still no, Hidan."

"This is bullshit. What's the point of the internet if you can't threaten people who deserve it?"

"The internet is not for threatening people!" Sakura wrote "NO THREATS" in large letters. "This is a firm rule. No threatening language, no violent imagery, no detailed descriptions of harm. Nothing that could be interpreted as a genuine threat."

"Even if it's clearly hypothetical?" Pain asked.

"Even then. Context doesn't always translate online. Something that seems obvious to you might read very differently to someone else."

"Interesting," Pain mused. "So communication online is inherently more prone to misinterpretation than face-to-face interaction."

"Exactly. Which is why you need to be extra careful about tone and word choice."

"What about emojis?" Konan asked. "Don't they help convey tone?"

"They can, but they can also make things worse. For example—" Sakura pulled out her phone. "If someone sends you 💀, what does that mean?"

Silence.

"Death?" Itachi ventured.

"Literal death threat?" Hidan added hopefully.

"No! It means 'I'm laughing so hard I'm dead.' It's slang."

"That makes no sense," Sasori said. "The skull emoji literally represents death."

"Welcome to internet culture, where nothing means what it actually means."

Zetsu's white half raised a hand. "So how do we know what anything means?"

"Context. Experience. And when in doubt, ask." Sakura added "EMOJI MEANINGS VARY" to the board. "Which brings me to another point: internet culture has its own language. Memes, slang, abbreviations. You need to learn these before you start interacting online."

"I've been researching memes," Sasori said, pulling up something on his laptop. "They're essentially cultural information transmitted through imitation and variation. Visual jokes with shared context."

"That's... actually a good definition."

"Of course it is. I've read seventeen academic papers on memetic theory in the last six hours."

"Why?"

"Because if I'm going to exist in this era, I'm going to understand it completely. Superficial knowledge is worthless."

Sakura stared at him. "You read seventeen academic papers about memes?"

"And four books about internet culture, three documentaries about social media's psychological impact, and multiple forum discussions about online community dynamics." Sasori's expression remained neutral. "Was I supposed to approach this half-heartedly?"

"I—no, I guess not."

"Then why do you seem surprised?"

"Because you're taking meme education more seriously than most college students take their actual education."

"Most college students are idiots," Sasori said dismissively. "Anyway, I have questions about irony poisoning and post-ironic sincerity. The cultural shift seems significant but poorly documented."

"I don't even know what those words mean in that order."

"Exactly my point. You're teaching us internet safety, but you lack the theoretical framework to explain the deeper cultural mechanics. This is why I prefer self-directed learning."

"Okay, new rule: Sasori stops making everyone else feel stupid."

"I'm not making anyone feel stupid. I'm simply demonstrating the difference between competent research and surface-level knowledge."

"Same thing!"

"It's really not."

"Can we get back to the scenarios?" Konan interjected diplomatically. "I have questions about phishing."

"Thank you, Konan. Yes." Sakura turned back to the board, trying to ignore Sasori's smug expression. "Phishing is when someone tries to trick you into giving them information or money by pretending to be a legitimate source."

"Like the pop-up ads," Pain said, understanding dawning. "The false Microsoft warnings."

"Exactly. They prey on fear and urgency. 'Act now or your computer will explode' type messages."

"My computer should explode though," Deidara said. "That would be art."

"Your computer should not explode. Scenario three: You get an email saying you've won a million dollars, but you need to pay a processing fee first. What do you do?"

"Pay the fee and collect the million," Kakuzu said.

"NO!"

"Why not? The return on investment is excellent."

"Because it's a SCAM! You didn't win anything! They're trying to steal your processing fee!"

Kakuzu frowned. "How do you know it's a scam?"

"Because legitimate lotteries don't ask winners to pay fees upfront. That's not how it works."

"But what if this one does?"

"It doesn't! None of them do! That's the scam!" Sakura added "IF IT SOUNDS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE, IT IS" to the board.

"Seems cynical," Kisame observed.

"It's realistic. The internet is full of people trying to scam you, hack you, or trick you into doing something harmful. You need to assume everything is suspicious until proven otherwise."

"So trust no one," Pain summarized.

"Online? Basically yes."

"That seems lonely."

Sakura paused. "It... yeah. It kind of is. But it's also safe."

"Is safety worth loneliness?" Pain's ringed eyes were distant. "That's a question I've grappled with for centuries. I'm not sure I've found a good answer."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

"Moving on," Sakura said, clearing her throat. "Let's talk about passwords. Everyone needs strong, unique passwords for every account. No reusing passwords, no simple patterns, no personal information."

"I've implemented a password management system," Sasori announced. "Randomly generated 32-character strings with special characters, numbers, and mixed case. Stored in an encrypted database with two-factor authentication."

"That's... actually perfect. Everyone should do that."

"I did it for everyone already." Sasori pulled up a document. "I've created accounts for each of you with secure passwords. You'll need to memorize them or use the password manager I've set up."

"You created accounts for us?" Konan looked uncertain. "Without asking?"

"You would have created weak passwords based on personal information. This is more efficient."

"It's also invasive," Itachi pointed out.

"Efficiency often is." Sasori shrugged. "You're welcome to change your passwords after the fact. Just make sure they're actually secure."

"What's my password?" Hidan asked.

Sasori rattled off a string of characters. "h$K9mP#vL2qR@xN8jT&wC4fB^eY6aS1d"

"How the fuck am I supposed to remember that?"

"That's what the password manager is for. Did you listen to anything I just said?"

"I stopped listening when you started talking."

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, Sasori, while I appreciate the initiative, you can't just create accounts for people without their consent."

"Why not? It's objectively better than what they would have done."

"Because it's their choice! Autonomy matters!"

"Does it? They have centuries of combined experience, yet somehow I trust none of them to create a secure password."

"He's not wrong," Kakuzu admitted. "I was going to use 'money123.'"

"SEE?" Sasori gestured triumphantly.

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"It makes it necessary."

Sakura counted to ten. "Fine. You can help them set up secure passwords. But they choose their own, and you don't keep copies."

"That defeats the purpose of centralized security management."

"Tough. That's how consent works."

Sasori sighed dramatically. "Fine. But when they inevitably get hacked because they chose 'password' as their password, don't blame me."

"I wasn't going to choose password," Hidan protested. "I was going to use 'JashinRules666.'"

"Which is somehow worse," Sasori muttered.

"How is honoring my lord worse than—"

"Because it contains personal information, a predictable pattern, and no special characters. It would take approximately four seconds to crack!"

"You don't know that!"

"I literally do. I tested it. Four point three seconds with a basic brute force algorithm."

Hidan looked offended. "You tried to hack me?"

"I tried to hack everyone. You were all pathetically easy."

"SASORI!" Sakura said.

"What? You should thank me. Better I discover the vulnerability than an actual threat."

"You are an actual threat!"

"I'm your instructor now, apparently. Try to keep up."

Sakura wrote "STRONG PASSWORDS - ASK SASORI" on the board with perhaps more force than necessary. "Moving on before I lose my mind. Let's talk about what you should and shouldn't post online."

"Nothing," Sasori said immediately. "Post nothing. Maximum security."

"That's not realistic. People use social media to connect, share experiences—"

"Share personal data that can be aggregated, analyzed, and weaponized. Yes. Sounds wonderful."

"You're paranoid."

"I'm realistic. You're naive."

"I'm trying to teach them how to function in modern society, which includes social media!"

"Then you're teaching them how to be exploited. Congratulations."

"Okay, you know what?" Sakura pointed at Sasori. "You're banned from talking for the next ten minutes."

"You can't ban me from—"

"BANNED. Ten minutes. Silent."

Sasori's eyes narrowed, but he closed his mouth and returned to his laptop, typing aggressively.

"Thank you," Sakura said. "Now, let's discuss—"

Her phone buzzed. Then everyone's phones buzzed simultaneously.

SASORI: This is a clear violation of free speech. I'm documenting this for my grievance list.

"Are you texting your complaints to the group chat?" Sakura asked.

SASORI: I'm not talking. I'm texting. You didn't ban texting.

"I'm banning texting now!"

SASORI: Too late. The message is already sent. You can't retroactively apply rules. That's authoritarian.

"I HATE YOU!"

SASORI: Noted and irrelevant.

Itachi cleared his throat gently. "Perhaps we should take a short break?"

Sakura looked around. Kisame was trying not to laugh. Konan was diplomatically studying her notes. Pain looked vaguely amused. Hidan was openly cackling. Deidara was taking notes, probably for art purposes. Kakuzu had returned to his laptops, unbothered. Zetsu was whispering to himself. Tobi was bouncing excitedly while Obito sat perfectly still, somehow both the same person and completely different energy.

"Yes," Sakura said weakly. "Let's take a break. Fifteen minutes. Nobody hack anyone, nobody threaten anyone, nobody create any accounts without permission."

"Can I create accounts WITH permission?" Sasori asked out loud, apparently deciding his ban was over.

"It's been thirty seconds!"

"Your arbitrary time limit is meaningless. But I'll take that as a yes."

He was already pulling up account creation pages before Sakura could respond.

She slumped into a chair, exhausted. They'd covered maybe twenty percent of what she'd planned, and somehow Sasori had taken over half the lesson while simultaneously being banned from speaking.

This was going to be a long two weeks.

As she watched them during the break—Kisame showing Konan something on his phone, Itachi patiently explaining something to Pain, even Hidan and Deidara having a relatively civil conversation about artistic expression in digital media—she realized something.

They were learning. Chaotically, frustratingly, but genuinely learning.

And maybe that was enough.

SASORI: Break's over. Back to work. I have twelve more topics to cover and you're wasting time feeling sentimental.

"HOW DID YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING?"

SASORI: Your face. You have an obvious expression when you're having feelings. It's very predictable.

"I'm going to kill him," Sakura muttered.

"Get in line," Hidan called out.

"No murder during class!" Konan said firmly.

Zetsu's white half whispered, "This is the best entertainment we've had in decades."

"Agreed," said the black half.

Sakura pulled up the next slide on internet safety, pointedly ignoring the text messages still coming through from Sasori's "educational commentary."

Two weeks. She could survive two weeks.

Probably.

Maybe.

If Sasori didn't drive her to homicide first.

Chapter Text

Day one of forced leave. Sakura woke up at 5 AM out of pure habit.

She lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling of her still-slightly-damp apartment, waiting for the panic to set in. The guilt. The urgent need to check her phone for emergency calls, to plan her route to the hospital, to mentally prepare for whatever trauma would come through the doors.

But there was nothing. No shift to rush to. No surgeries scheduled. No patients depending on her.

Just... silence.

It felt wrong. Empty.

Her phone buzzed.

KONAN (5:14 AM): Good morning, Sakura. I hope you slept well. We're having a group discussion about cloud storage at 8 AM if you'd like to join us. Breakfast will be provided.

ITACHI (5:15 AM): Kisame has questions about online gaming. He discovered something called "Minecraft" and is now philosophically troubled by the concept of mining virtual resources.

KISAME (5:16 AM): Is it ethical to mine diamonds that don't really exist? What is the value of virtual labor? I'm having a crisis.

HIDAN (5:23 AM): I found a website about Lord Jashin. Turns out there are other worshippers online! I've been invited to a forum! This is the best day of my immortal life!

SAKURA (5:24 AM): HIDAN DO NOT JOIN ANY FORUMS WITHOUT SUPERVISION

HIDAN (5:24 AM): too late lol

Sakura threw off her covers and grabbed her laptop.

Day 3, Morning: Crisis Management

"Okay, what did you do?" Sakura burst into the Akatsuki apartment at 6:30 AM, laptop bag in hand, still in her pajamas with a jacket thrown over them.

Hidan looked up from his phone, grinning. "I made friends!"

"You joined a cult forum."

"It's not a cult, it's a religious community—"

"Hidan, you literally sacrifice people to your god. That's a cult."

"Lord Jashin is NOT—"

"What did you post?" Sakura sat down next to him, pulling up the forum on her laptop. "Show me. Now."

Hidan handed over his phone. Sakura scrolled through his posts with mounting horror.

HIDAN_666: hey fellow believers! new to online worship. been doing this for centuries but never had internet access before. whats the best way to livestream a sacrifice? asking for a friend

HIDAN_666: also im immortal lol. jashin blessed me personally. anyone else immortal here or just me?

HIDAN_666: why does everyone keep saying 'this is a role-play forum'? im not role-playing. this is my actual life

"Oh my god."

"Lord Jashin, actually," Hidan corrected.

"You told them you're immortal!"

"I am immortal!"

"YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL PEOPLE THAT!"

"Why not? We're all Jashin worshippers; they get it!"

Sakura scrolled further. Multiple users had flagged his posts. Several thought he was joking. One moderator had sent him a warning about "staying in character."

"Okay." Sakura took a breath. "Okay. This is... fixable. Probably. You're going to delete all these posts, leave the forum, and never join another online community without asking me first."

"But I made a friend! Look!" Hidan pointed to a message. "User 'SacrificeKing88' invited me to a private chat! He wants to know my techniques!"

"That's either a cop or another unhinged person. Either way, you're not talking to them."

"This is religious discrimination!"

"This is me saving you from a federal investigation!"

Itachi appeared in the doorway, looking apologetic. "I tried to stop him. He was very insistent."

"It's fine." Sakura rubbed her temples. "It's fine. This is fine. Where's Sasori?"

"His room. He's been coding for nine hours straight."

"Has he eaten?"

"No."

"Has he slept?"

"Unknown."

"Of course." Sakura stood up. "Okay. Everyone else better not have joined any forums, posted anything identifying, or committed any cybersecurity violations in the last—" She checked her watch. "—twelve hours since I left."

Silence.

"What did you do?"

"Technically," Kakuzu said, emerging from the kitchen with coffee, "I didn't violate any laws. I simply identified several cryptocurrency opportunities and made some strategic investments."

"With whose money?"

"Yours. But don't worry, I'm tracking it. You'll get your share of the profits."

"KAKUZU!"

"It's called portfolio diversification. You should be thanking me."

"I should be calling the police!"

"And tell them what? That your financial advisor made you money?" Kakuzu sipped his coffee. "Good luck with that."

"You're not my financial advisor!"

"I am now. I've prepared a comprehensive report on your spending habits. Would you like to review it?"

"NO!"

"Your loss. You're hemorrhaging money on unused subscriptions. Did you know you're still paying for a gym membership from 2019?"

Sakura opened her mouth. Closed it. "I... forgot about that."

"Obviously. That's why you need me." Kakuzu pulled out a tablet. "I've also consolidated your student loans, negotiated better interest rates with three of your creditors, and identified four tax deductions you missed last year."

"You... what?"

"You have terrible financial management. It was painful to observe. I fixed it." He handed her the tablet. "Review these documents and sign where indicated. I've already saved you 3.2 million yen over the next five years."

Sakura stared at the documents. They were... comprehensive. Professional. Actually helpful.

"This is... this is really good work, Kakuzu."

"Of course it is. Money is my specialization." He refilled his coffee. "Unlike some people—" He glanced toward Hidan. "—I actually know what I'm doing."

"Hey, I know what I'm doing!" Hidan shouted.

"You told the internet you're an immortal cult member!"

"Religious community member!"

Sakura sat down heavily. "It's 6:45 AM. I've been awake for two hours. I've already dealt with a cybersecurity incident and unauthorized financial management."

"Would you like breakfast?" Konan appeared with a plate of eggs and toast. "I learned to use the stove. Itachi supervised."

"You... made me breakfast?"

"You looked tired yesterday. I thought you might need proper nutrition." Konan set the plate down gently. "Is this acceptable?"

Sakura looked at the perfectly cooked eggs, the evenly toasted bread, the small side of fruit that she definitely didn't have in her own apartment.

"This is..." Her voice cracked slightly. "This is really kind. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Konan smiled. "We're learning from you. It seems appropriate to care for you in return."

Day 3, Afternoon: New Routines

By noon, Sakura had: deleted Hidan's forum account, reviewed Kakuzu's financial documents (and signed them, because he really had saved her a fortune), helped Kisame understand the philosophical implications of Minecraft (yes, virtual labor has value; no, mining fake diamonds isn't unethical), and convinced Tobi that he could not, in fact, start a YouTube channel.

Now she sat in the Akatsuki apartment's common room, laptop open, ostensibly reviewing the cloud storage lesson plan Konan had prepared.

Instead, she was staring at her empty calendar.

For four years, her calendar had been a nightmare of color-coded chaos. Red for surgeries. Blue for research. Green for conferences. Yellow for on-call shifts. Every hour accounted for, scheduled, optimized.

Now it was just... blank. Two weeks of nothing.

It felt like staring into a void.

"You look troubled," Pain observed. He'd been sitting quietly by the window for the past hour, reading something on a tablet Sasori had set up for him.

"I'm fine."

"You've been staring at your screen without moving for seventeen minutes. That's not fine."

Sakura closed her laptop. "I don't know what to do with myself. I've spent four years running from crisis to crisis. Now there's no crisis. Just... time."

"And that frightens you."

"Shouldn't it? I mean, what kind of person doesn't know how to handle free time?"

"Someone who's been surviving instead of living," Pain said quietly. "I understand that feeling. After everything I did—all the violence, all the pain I caused—when it finally stopped, the silence was deafening. I didn't know who I was without the mission."

"What did you do?"

"I existed. Badly, at first. The Sage found us—all of us—and we were given a choice. Cease to exist or learn to live." He looked out the window. "I'm still learning."

"How long have you been... here? Doing this?"

"Four months before you arrived. We had a different instructor initially. She quit after two weeks."

"What happened?"

"Deidara exploded her car."

"Of course he did."

"It was an accident. Mostly." Pain smiled slightly. "You're doing better than she did. You haven't quit yet."

"Yet being the operative word."

"But you're still here. That means something."

Sakura thought about her apartment. The flooding she'd been avoiding dealing with. The laundry piled up. The loneliness she'd been too busy to acknowledge.

"I don't have anywhere else to be," she admitted. "For the first time in four years, I don't have anywhere I'm supposed to be. And it's terrifying."

"Then perhaps this is where you're meant to be. At least for now."

Before Sakura could respond, there was a crash from Sasori's room, followed by creative cursing.

"I'M FINE," Sasori shouted. "THE LAPTOP FELL. IT'S FINE. EVERYTHING'S FINE."

"Have you eaten today?" Sakura called back.

"THAT'S IRRELEVANT!"

"Have you slept?"

"SLEEP IS INEFFICIENT!"

Sakura looked at Pain. "Should I be worried?"

"He does this. He gets fixated on a project and forgets he has a body. Or had a body. The puppet thing makes it confusing."

"He still needs basic maintenance, puppet or not."

"Good luck explaining that to him."

Sakura stood up and knocked on Sasori's door. "I'm coming in."

"NO—"

She opened the door anyway.

Sasori's room was exactly as organized as she'd expected, but now the desk was covered in papers, three monitors were running different code windows, and Sasori himself looked... well, he looked the same as always, but there was a manic energy to his movements that seemed concerning.

"What are you working on?"

"A database management system for the Sage's rehabilitation program. If I'm stuck in this ridiculous situation, I might as well optimize it." He didn't look up from his screen. "Did you know he has forty-seven other beings in similar programs across different regions? And there's no centralized tracking system? It's chaos. I'm fixing it."

"Sasori, when was the last time you stopped working?"

"Irrelevant."

"It's not irrelevant. Even you need breaks."

"I'm a puppet. I don't need—"

"You're not just a puppet. You're a person. And people need rest, even if their bodies are unconventional." Sakura sat down on the edge of his bed, uninvited. "Take a break. Eat something. Your brain still works like a brain, doesn't it?"

"Approximately." Sasori finally looked at her. "Why do you care?"

"Because I'm a doctor. It's literally my job to care about people's health."

"You're on leave. This isn't your job."

"Old habits." She pulled out her phone. "I'm ordering lunch. What do you want?"

"I don't—"

"What do you want, Sasori?"

He stared at her for a long moment. "Something with ginger. I can still taste, somewhat. Ginger is... acceptable."

"Ginger it is." She pulled up the food delivery app. "And you're taking a mandatory one-hour break to eat and decompress."

"I don't decompress."

"You're learning."

"I don't want to learn that."

"Too bad. Part of the modern life experience is recognizing when you need a break and taking one." She placed the order. "Thirty minutes. Then you're eating lunch with everyone else like a normal person."

"I'm not a normal person."

"None of us are. We're eating lunch anyway."

Sasori looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he saved his work and closed his laptop. "Fine. One hour. Then I'm returning to work."

"Deal."

Day 3, Evening: Small Moments

Dinner happened accidentally.

Sakura had planned to go home—her actual home—but somehow she'd stayed through the cloud storage lesson (Konan's presentation was genuinely impressive), then through lunch, then through Deidara's rant about digital art versus physical art, and suddenly it was 7 PM and everyone was ordering dinner again.

"You should stay," Itachi said simply. "You're already here."

She was tired. And her apartment was depressing. And these people—these strange, powerful, traumatized people—actually seemed to want her around.

So she stayed.

They ordered from four different restaurants because no one could agree on cuisine. Kakuzu complained about the cost while simultaneously adding extra items to his order. Hidan demanded meat. Kisame wanted sushi. Deidara wanted "something artistic." Konan ordered systematically, organizing everyone's preferences into a spreadsheet.

Sasori emerged from his room, looking slightly less manic after having decompressed and taking lunch with them. Sakura was pleased to see him join for dinner.

"Did you sleep?" Sakura asked.

"No. But I thought about sleeping. That counts."

"That doesn't count."

"Close enough."

They ate in the common room, spread across various furniture, the TV playing some nature documentary that Zetsu had chosen. It was chaotic and loud and nothing like the silent dinners Sakura usually ate alone in her apartment.

"This is nice," Kisame said suddenly. "Having everyone together. Sharing a meal. It's very... human."

"We're not human," Zetsu's black half reminded him.

"But we're acting like it," the white half added. "Isn't that the point?"

"Is it?" Pain looked thoughtful. "I'm still not entirely sure what the Sage wants from us. Humanity? Redemption? Simply to be less dangerous?"

"Maybe all of it," Konan suggested. "Or maybe he just wants us to stop being miserable."

"I'm not miserable," Hidan protested.

"You literally worship pain and suffering," Itachi pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm happy about it!"

"That's not the argument you think it is," Sasori muttered.

Sakura listened to them bicker and laugh and argue, and felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest. Something warm and light and strange.

She pulled out her phone and looked at her calendar again. Two weeks of blank space. Two weeks that had felt like a prison sentence this morning.

Now... now they felt like possibility.

TSUNADE (7:43 PM): How are you doing? Resting? Taking care of yourself?

Sakura looked around the room. At Kisame explaining ocean currents to a fascinated Tobi. At Kakuzu reviewing financial reports. At Deidara and Sasori having a heated debate about the definition of art. At Konan organizing receipts. At Pain and Itachi having a quiet philosophical discussion. At Hidan throwing food at Zetsu, who was catching it with disturbing precision.

SAKURA: Yeah. I think I am.

TSUNADE: Good. Proud of you, kid.

Sakura pocketed her phone and grabbed another piece of sushi from Kisame's order (with permission).

For the first time in years, she wasn't thinking about work. She wasn't planning her next surgery or stressing about her next shift or mentally cataloging everything she needed to do. She was just... here. Present. Existing in this moment with these ridiculous beings who were learning to be human while she was learning to be alive.

"Sakura-sensei!" Tobi waved enthusiastically. "Come settle an argument! Tobi says goldfish crackers are better than actual goldfish! Kisame disagrees!"

"That's because goldfish crackers aren't even fish!" Kisame protested.

"But they're shaped like fish!"

"THAT DOESN'T MAKE THEM FISH!"

Sakura laughed—a real, genuine laugh that surprised her.

"Okay, let's break this down systematically..."

Two weeks suddenly didn't seem like enough time at all.

Chapter Text

Sakura woke up feeling warm.

Not unpleasantly so—just a gentle heat that made her want to stay in bed a little longer. She ignored it, chalking it up to her apartment's temperamental heating system finally working for once. She got ready on autopilot: shower, clothes, the drive to the Akatsuki apartment that was becoming routine.

Day two of forced leave. Day four of teaching supernatural beings about modern technology.

Day four of actually feeling like she had a purpose that didn't involve other people's blood on her hands.

"Good morning," Konan greeted her at the door with a warm smile and a plate. "I made eggs again. And toast. You said you liked it last time."

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." Konan's expression was gentle but firm. "You take care of us. We should take care of you."

Sakura accepted the plate, something warm blooming in her chest that had nothing to do with her elevated temperature. "Thank you."

She ate while reviewing today's lesson plan: online privacy settings, social media basics (theoretical only—no one was getting actual accounts yet), and digital etiquette. Should be fairly straightforward.

Should be.

Day 4, Hour 2: The Lesson

"Okay," Sakura said, standing at the whiteboard with marker in hand. "Today we're covering privacy settings. This is crucial because—"

"Because corporations harvest our data for profit," Kakuzu interrupted. "We established this already."

"Yes, but—"

"And because digital footprints can be weaponized," Sasori added from his usual position against the wall. "Also previously established."

"I know, but we need to discuss—"

"The specific mechanisms of privacy invasion and how to mitigate them," Sasori continued. "Which I've already researched. I can teach this section if you'd like."

Sakura's head throbbed. Just a little. Probably caffeine withdrawal. She'd forgotten her coffee this morning. "No, I've got it. Just—everyone please let me finish a sentence."

"You're flushed," Itachi observed quietly. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fine." The words came automatically. "Just warm. Can someone open a window?"

Kisame moved to crack open a window, his large frame surprisingly graceful. Cool air filtered in, but it didn't help much. If anything, it made Sakura more aware of how hot she felt.

Dehydrated. Probably dehydrated. When had she last drunk water?

"Privacy settings," she continued, writing on the board. Her handwriting looked messier than usual. "Every platform has different options, but the basics are—"

"Why do they make it so complicated?" Hidan complained. "Just give me one button that says 'fuck off' and let me click it."

"Language," Konan chided.

"What? It's efficient!"

"It's crude."

"It's honest!"

"Can we focus?" Sakura's voice came out sharper than intended. The throbbing in her head was getting worse. Definitely dehydration. Maybe she should have drunk something besides coffee for the past three days. "Please."

Silence. Everyone looked at her.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Just... let's get through this, okay?"

She turned back to the board and immediately forgot what she was going to write. Privacy settings. Right. Facebook? No, they didn't have Facebook accounts. Theoretical privacy settings. General concepts.

Why was the board moving?

"Sakura?" Konan's voice sounded distant. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine. Just hungry probably. Breakfast was—breakfast was good, thank you, but maybe I need more—" The words weren't coming out right. Her tongue felt thick.

"You're swaying," Itachi said, standing up.

"No, I'm not. I'm just—" Sakura put a hand on the whiteboard to steady herself. When did it start tilting? "I'm fine. We need to cover privacy settings and then digital etiquette and—"

"Sakura, sit down," Pain said. Not a suggestion. A command.

"I don't need to sit. I need to teach. You're paying me to—"

"We're paying you to help us," Konan interrupted gently. "Not to work yourself sick."

"I'm not sick. I'm just—"

The room tilted sharply. Or maybe she tilted. It was hard to tell.

"—warm," she finished weakly.

Sasori pushed off from the wall, moving closer. "Your face is flushed. Your pupils are slightly dilated. You're exhibiting signs of fever. When did symptoms start?"

"I don't have a fever. I'm a doctor, I'd know if I had a—"

"When did symptoms start?" Sasori repeated, more forcefully.

"This morning. But it's not—I'm just warm, and maybe dehydrated, and I forgot coffee, so—"

"You forgot coffee?" Kakuzu looked genuinely alarmed. "You never forget coffee."

"I forgot this morning. It's not a big deal. I just need—"

What did she need? Water. Food. To sit down. To stop feeling like the floor was becoming the ceiling.

"Sakura." Itachi was suddenly right next to her, hand hovering near her elbow. "Please sit down."

"I'm fine," she insisted, but her voice sounded wrong even to her own ears. Distant. Muffled.

The bickering started again. Or maybe it had never stopped. Hidan saying something crude. Deidara arguing about something. Kisame's deep voice asking a question. Zetsu's dual tones overlapping. Too much noise. Too many voices.

"Can everyone just be quiet?" Sakura snapped, louder than intended. "I'm trying to teach and you won't stop talking and I can't—I can't—"

The migraine hit like a hammer.

She heard Sasori saying something. His tone was sharp, critical, probably complaining about her methodology or her organizational skills or—

But she couldn't make out the words. Just noise. Just static.

The whiteboard was definitely moving now. Tilting. Spinning.

The floor rushed up to meet her.

Darkness.

Not the peaceful kind. The kind that came with vertigo and nausea and the distant awareness that something was wrong.

Voices. Lots of voices. Overlapping. Urgent.

"—catch her—"

"—I've got her—"

"—she's burning up—"

"—told you she looked sick—"

"—shut up, this isn't the time—"

"—get water—"

"—no, medical attention—"

"—I am TRYING to assess her but you're all CROWDING—"

That last voice was Sasori. Definitely Sasori. Sharp and irritated and somehow cutting through the fog.

Sakura tried to open her eyes. Couldn't. Too heavy.

"—pulse is elevated—"

"—get a cold compress—"

"—someone call an ambulance—"

"NO." That was Pain's voice. Commanding. Final. "No hospitals. No authorities. We can't risk—"

"She needs medical attention!" Konan's voice, unusually sharp.

"I know!" Pain sounded frustrated. Scared, even. "But we can't—if they ask questions—if they find out about us—"

"Fuck your secrecy!" Hidan shouted. "She's dying!"

"She's not dying," Sasori snapped. "She has a fever. Probably influenza. Stop being dramatic."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm checking her symptoms, you imbecile. Now everyone GET BACK and give me space to work."

Sakura wanted to tell them she was fine. That she was a doctor and could handle this. That they didn't need to panic.

But the darkness pulled her back under before she could form the words.

The moment Sakura's eyes rolled back and her knees buckled, chaos erupted.

Itachi caught her before she hit the ground, moving with inhuman speed. "I have her."

"What's wrong with her?" Kisame loomed over them, his massive frame blocking the light. "Is she—did we—"

"Move." Sasori shoved past him, dropping to his knees beside Itachi. His hands moved with clinical precision—checking her pulse, her temperature, her breathing. "She's feverish. Approximately 39 degrees, maybe higher. Elevated heart rate. Shallow breathing."

"That's bad, right?" Tobi's voice was uncharacteristically serious. "That sounds bad!"

"It's not ideal," Sasori muttered, pulling out his phone. He'd downloaded several medical reference apps in the past week. "Symptoms consistent with influenza or similar viral infection. Possibly exacerbated by exhaustion and dehydration."

"In NORMAL PERSON WORDS," Hidan demanded.

"She's sick and she's been ignoring it," Sasori translated sharply. "Konan, get cold water and clean cloths. Kakuzu, check her medical history—she probably has it saved somewhere in her phone. Kisame, clear the couch. Everyone else, stop hovering and give us SPACE."

For once, they listened.

Itachi carefully lifted Sakura and carried her to the couch that Kisame had hastily cleared of debris. She was small in his arms, fragile in a way that felt fundamentally wrong. Sakura was strong, capable, always moving, always working.

Seeing her unconscious was disturbing.

"Should we call the Sage?" Konan asked, returning with a bowl of cold water and several clean towels.

"No," Pain said firmly. "Not yet. If she's simply ill, involving him would be excessive. And possibly dangerous for her."

"Dangerous how?"

"The Sage's methods of healing are... intense. For someone already weakened..." Pain trailed off, his ringed eyes troubled. "Let's exhaust conventional options first."

Sasori pressed a damp cloth to Sakura's forehead. Her face was flushed, skin hot to the touch. "She's been working herself to exhaustion even on forced leave. Probably sleeping poorly. Not eating enough—"

"She ate breakfast," Konan protested. "I made sure of it."

"One meal doesn't fix weeks of malnutrition," Sasori said bluntly. "Look at her. She's too thin, too pale. Dark circles under her eyes. Classic signs of burnout and physical depletion."

"We should have noticed," Itachi said quietly. "We've been so focused on our own adaptation that we didn't see—"

"Don't." Deidara's voice was unusually serious. "Don't do that guilt thing. She's good at hiding it, yeah. I've been watching her. She smiles and acts fine, but..." He gestured helplessly. "Artists notice details. She's been barely holding it together."

"Since when are you observant?" Hidan asked.

"Since always, asshole. Just because I like explosions doesn't mean I'm blind."

Zetsu's white half spoke up. "We should have fed her more."

"We offered food constantly," the black half countered.

"But we didn't make her eat. We should have made her eat."

"You can't force someone to take care of themselves."

"We should have tried harder."

Kakuzu returned with Sakura's phone unlocked. "She has her medical records saved in a health app. No known allergies. No chronic conditions. Up to date on vaccinations. Last physical exam was—" He paused. "—three years ago."

"Three years?" Konan looked shocked. "But she's a doctor. Doesn't she—"

"She works at a hospital," Sasori interrupted. "She knows what she should do. That doesn't mean she does it. Medical professionals are notoriously terrible at their own self-care."

Sakura stirred slightly, making a small sound of distress.

"Sakura?" Itachi leaned closer. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered but didn't open. "...fine... 'm fine..."

"You're very clearly not fine," Sasori said. "You have a fever of at least 39 degrees and you just fainted. That's the opposite of fine."

"...need to teach... lesson..."

"The lesson can wait," Pain said firmly. "You need to rest."

"...paying me..." Her words were slurred, barely coherent. "...supposed to work..."

"Not when you're ill," Konan said gently, adjusting the cold compress. "Rest. We'll handle things."

"...can't... responsibility..."

"Your responsibility right now is to not die," Hidan said bluntly. "So shut up and let us help."

Sakura's face scrunched up, and for a horrible moment, Itachi thought she might cry. But she just shook her head weakly and sank back into unconsciousness.

"Okay," Pain said, taking command of the situation. "Here's what we're doing. Sasori, you're monitoring her condition. Konan, you're assisting. Itachi, contact the Sage—tell him what's happening but emphasize we have it under control. Everyone else, research what we need to care for someone with influenza."

"I already know," Sasori said, pulling up a medical website. "Hydration, rest, fever management, and time. It's not complicated. Just tedious."

"Then we do tedious," Pain said. "She's been taking care of us for days. Now we take care of her."

"Agreed," Kakuzu said, surprising everyone. "She fixed my financial system. I owe her competent care."

"She remembered my fish emojis," Kisame added softly.

"She didn't run away when I explained my art," Deidara said.

"She stopped me from joining that forum," Hidan muttered. "Probably saved me from a federal investigation."

"She stayed," Konan said simply. "When the last instructor quit after two weeks, Sakura stayed. Even when we're difficult. Even when we're impossible. She stayed."

The room fell quiet.

On the couch, Sakura shivered despite her fever. Itachi carefully pulled a blanket over her, tucking it gently around her small frame.

"She stayed," he echoed. "So we stay too."

"Until she's better," Pain agreed.

"Until she's better," the others chorused.

Sasori was already pulling up treatment protocols, muttering about proper fluid intake and fever reduction strategies.

Konan was organizing a care schedule, because of course she was.

And eleven—no, twelve—ancient supernatural beings who'd spent centuries being dangerous, powerful, and isolated, settled in to do the most human thing possible:

Take care of someone who needed them.

It was 2 AM when Sakura started talking in her sleep.

Sasori noticed first. He'd been sitting in the corner of the common room with his laptop, ostensibly monitoring her condition but mostly just working on code because sitting idle made him feel like his circuits were shorting out. Her fever had dropped slightly—38.5 degrees now—but she was still unconscious, still pale, still worryingly fragile.

Then she made a sound. Small. Distressed.

"No," she mumbled, so quiet he almost missed it. "No, please, I can't—"

Sasori looked up from his screen.

Sakura's face was scrunched up, eyebrows drawn together. Her hands clutched the blanket. Another mumble, words he couldn't make out.

"Interesting," he said aloud, standing up and moving closer.

"What's interesting?" Pain emerged from the hallway. He'd been meditating—or whatever he did instead of sleeping. "Is she worse?"

"No. She's dreaming." Sasori tilted his head, studying her face. "She's upset about something."

"Dreams." Pain moved to stand beside him, looking down at Sakura with those ancient ringed eyes. "I'd almost forgotten what that was like."

"You used to dream?"

"Before... everything. Yes. When I was still human enough to sleep properly." Pain's expression was distant. "They stopped making sense after a while. Just fragments. Pain. Loss. The same scenes over and over."

"Sounds tedious."

"It was." Pain looked at Sakura. "I wonder what she dreams about."

As if in answer, Sakura's breathing hitched. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I tried... couldn't save..."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Guilt dreams," Sasori observed clinically. "Common among medical professionals. Obsessive rumination about patients they've lost."

"How do you know that?"

"I read about it. Psychology of healthcare workers. High rates of PTSD, depression, anxiety—all related to their work." Sasori adjusted her blanket with surprising gentleness. "They save people but they also watch people die. Apparently, they dream about the ones they couldn't save."

"That sounds like torture," Pain said quietly.

"That’s life."

3 AM: The Gallery of Witnesses

By 3 AM, word had spread. Itachi arrived first, drawn by quiet voices. Then Konan, who'd been organizing medical supplies in the kitchen. Then Kisame, with an armful of blankets and pillows. Kakuzu wandered in from wherever he'd been calculating profit margins. Deidara appeared, looking rumpled and half-asleep—proof that some of them could still manage something resembling rest.

Hidan stumbled in last, looking annoyed. "Why is everyone awake? Did she die?"

"No," Konan said sharply. "She's dreaming."

"Dreaming?" Hidan peered at Sakura. "So what? People dream."

"We don't," Itachi said softly. "Not anymore. Not really."

"I dream," Zetsu's white half piped up from the doorway.

"You have weird plant nightmares about photosynthesis," the black half countered. "That doesn't count."

"It counts to me!"

"Shh," Konan hushed them. "Listen."

Sakura's lips moved, words barely audible. "...sixteen-year-old... motorcycle accident... coding... couldn't... too much blood... so much blood..."

Her hand twitched, fingers moving like she was reaching for something. Or someone.

"...should have been faster... should have seen the internal bleeding... my fault... all my fault..."

"It's not your fault," Kisame said automatically, then looked embarrassed when everyone stared at him. "What? She sounds upset. Someone should tell her it's not her fault."

"She can't hear you," Sasori said. "She's unconscious and feverish. Her brain is processing trauma memories, probably exacerbated by physical stress and—"

"Does everything have to be a lecture?" Hidan interrupted.

"Does everything you say have to be stupid?"

"Both of you, quiet," Pain commanded. "She's still talking."

"...Tsunade said I work too much... but if I don't work, who saves them? Who... who..." Sakura's face twisted. "...so tired... can't stop... can't... if I stop, they die..."

"Oh," Konan breathed. "Oh, that's—"

"Heartbreaking," Itachi finished. "She thinks she's the only thing standing between life and death."

"Isn't she, though?" Deidara asked. "I mean, she's a surgeon. People literally live or die based on her work, yeah."

"She's one person," Konan protested. "One person can't save everyone."

"Someone should tell her that," Kisame said.

"I don't think she'd believe it," Pain said quietly. "I recognize that kind of thinking. That desperate conviction that if you just work harder, sacrifice more, push further—you can prevent all the suffering. Fix everything. Save everyone."

His ringed eyes were distant. "It's the same thinking that led me to try to bring peace through pain. The belief that if I just did enough, controlled enough, hurt enough people—I could end all war."

"How'd that work out for you?" Hidan asked.

"Spectacularly poorly." Pain's smile was bitter. "Which is why I recognize it in her. She's trying to save the world one surgery at a time. And it's destroying her."

Sakura whimpered, a small sound of pure distress. "...not enough... never enough... fail everyone... failed..."

"Someone make her stop," Zetsu's white half pleaded. "She sounds so sad."

"You can't stop dreams," Sasori said. "They're subconscious processing. You have to let them run their course."

"That's cruel."

"That's biology."

"Can we wake her up?" Kisame asked. "Gently?"

"Bad idea," Kakuzu spoke up for the first time. "I read about this. Waking someone from a fever dream can be disorienting. Potentially harmful."

"You read about fever dreams?"

"I've been researching her condition. Obviously. I don't leave projects half-finished." Kakuzu crossed his arms. "Besides, she fixed my financial systems. The least I can do is ensure she doesn't die on our couch."

"How sentimental," Sasori drawled.

"Fuck off."

"Both of you, quiet," Konan hissed. "She's saying something else."

They all leaned in, a circle of supernatural beings clustered around one unconscious human woman, trying to understand what haunted her.

"...mother called... said I sound tired..." Sakura's voice was barely a whisper now. "...told her I'm fine... always fine... can't tell her... can't worry her... she has enough problems... medical bills... my fault... if I'd been there..."

"What medical bills?" Itachi asked.

Sasori was already pulling up Sakura's phone—he'd reset the password earlier, claiming it was for "security optimization." He scrolled quickly. "Her mother had surgery last year. Looks like... complications. Extended hospital stay. Insurance denied several claims."

"How much?" Kakuzu demanded.

"Four million yen."

Silence.

"That's why she works so much," Konan said slowly. "She's not just paying her own debts. She's paying her mother's too."

"And her flooded apartment repairs," Sasori added, still scrolling. "And her car maintenance. And twelve different creditors who send her increasingly aggressive payment reminders." He looked up. "She's drowning in debt. Literally drowning."

"So she took our job," Pain said. "Ten million yen per month. Probably seemed like a miracle."

"Or a lifeline," Itachi murmured.

Sakura's breathing changed, becoming more rapid. Distressed. "...can't do this anymore... so tired... want to quit... but can't... can't let them down... can't let anyone down... have to be strong... have to be perfect... have to..."

Her voice broke. "...just want to rest... just want... want..."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Oh, fuck," Hidan said quietly. "She's crying."

"Don't just stand there," Zetsu's black half snapped. "Do something!"

"Like what?" the white half asked helplessly.

"I don't know! You're the one who wants to help!"

Konan moved first. She sat on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle Sakura, and gently took her hand. "You can rest," she said softly. "You're allowed to rest."

"She can't hear you," Sasori reminded her.

"I don't care. I'm saying it anyway." Konan squeezed Sakura's hand. "You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to save everyone. You're allowed to be tired."

Sakura's face relaxed slightly, just a fraction.

"Keep talking," Itachi said. "I think it's helping."

Konan continued, her voice low and soothing. "You've done enough. More than enough. You can stop now. We've got you. We're not going anywhere."

"You stayed for us," Kisame added quietly. "So we're staying for you."

"You fixed my finances," Kakuzu said gruffly. "Now we're fixing yours."

"You didn't run away when I was annoying," Deidara added. "So we're not running away now, yeah."

"You stopped me from doing something stupid online," Hidan admitted. "I owe you for that. So I'm here."

One by one, they spoke. Quiet affirmations. Simple truths.

Pain knelt down beside the couch, eye level with Sakura's sleeping face. "You taught us about emojis and Wi-Fi and food delivery apps. But you also taught us something else. You taught us that caring for someone doesn't make you weak. That helping others isn't a transaction. That sometimes, the most human thing you can do is simply... stay."

His voice softened. "So we're staying. Until you're better. Probably after that too. Because apparently, that's what family does."

The word hung in the air. Family.

"We're her family?" Tobi's voice came from the hallway. He and Obito had been watching from a distance. "Tobi likes that! Family is good!"

"We're not—" Sasori started to object, then stopped. "Actually. I suppose we are, functionally speaking."

"Don't make it weird by analyzing it," Hidan muttered.

"Everything's weird. That's just reality."

Sakura's breathing had evened out. Her face was peaceful now, relaxed. The tears had stopped.

"She's sleeping deeper," Sasori observed. "Fever's still present but stable. She should wake naturally in a few hours."

"Good," Pain said, standing. "Then we wait."

"I'll take the next watch," Itachi volunteered.

"I'll bring tea," Konan said.

"I'll research fever reduction techniques," Kakuzu added.

"I'll stay because I've got nothing better to do," Hidan said.

"You all realize this is inefficient," Sasori pointed out. "She doesn't need twelve people watching her sleep."

"Eleven," everyone corrected automatically.

"Tobi and Obito are DIFFERENT—"

"We know, Tobi."

Sasori sighed. "Fine. Eleven people is still excessive for basic medical monitoring."

"Maybe," Pain said. "But we're not here because it's efficient. We're here because she stayed for us when she didn't have to. The least we can do is stay for her."

"Sentiment," Sasori muttered. "Inefficient, emotional sentiment."

But he didn't leave. He went back to his corner with his laptop, monitoring her vitals every fifteen minutes like clockwork.

Whether because of sentiment or not, she'd taught him about taking breaks and hadn't mocked him when he almost destroyed his computer out of manic frustration. She'd ordered him a lunch filled with minced ginger even though she probably wanted to strangle him dead. She'd stayed when the last instructor quit.

Sasori was many things—cold, analytical, impatient—but he wasn't ungrateful.

So he stayed.

They all stayed.

Watching over one exhausted surgeon who'd forgotten how to let people care for her.

Teaching her, without words, that she wasn't alone anymore.

Even if it took her a while to believe it.

Sakura became aware of consciousness slowly, like surfacing from deep water.

First came sensation: softness beneath her (a couch?), warmth (blankets), a dull ache behind her eyes (migraine aftermath). Then sound: quiet breathing, the subtle shift of fabric, someone typing on a keyboard, the distant hum of traffic outside.

Then smell: tea, something medicinal, and... was that soup?

She tried to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.

"She's waking up." Konan's voice, soft and close.

"Finally," Sasori said from somewhere to her left. "She's been unconscious for seven hours. I was beginning to consider more aggressive intervention."

"You were not going to intervene aggressively," Itachi's calm voice countered. "We discussed this."

"I said consider. Reading comprehension, Itachi."

Sakura managed to crack her eyes open. The light was dim—late afternoon, maybe? The curtains were drawn. And surrounding the couch where she lay were...

All of them.

Every single one.

Konan sat closest, perched on the edge of the couch with a damp cloth in hand. Itachi stood behind her, arms crossed, expression gentle. Sasori leaned against the wall with his laptop, but his eyes were on her, assessing. Pain sat in a chair he'd pulled up, elbows on his knees, watching her with those ringed eyes. Kisame was on the floor, too large for most furniture. Kakuzu had claimed the other chair, three laptops balanced precariously on his lap. Deidara sprawled on the floor near Kisame, sketching something. Hidan sat backward on a dining chair, chin on the backrest. Zetsu occupied a corner, both halves alert. Tobi and Obito stood near the doorway, the former bouncing slightly, the latter perfectly still.

They were all here.

All of them.

Waiting.

"Hey," Sakura croaked, her voice rough. "What... happened?"

"You fainted during the lesson," Konan said gently, offering her a glass of water with a straw. "You've been unconscious for seven hours. You have influenza and a fever of 38.2 degrees. Down from 39.5."

Sakura accepted the water gratefully, taking small sips. Her throat was raw. "I... I fainted?"

"Collapsed, technically," Sasori corrected. "Itachi caught you before you hit the floor. Impressive reflexes, actually."

"You scared us," Kisame said quietly. "We didn't know what to do."

"I knew what to do," Sasori interjected. "Everyone else panicked."

"I didn't panic," Hidan protested. "I just thought you were dying."

"That's panicking, you idiot."

"Is not!"

"Enough," Pain said mildly. "Sakura doesn't need to hear you two bicker right now." He turned to her. "How are you feeling?"

Sakura took mental inventory. Headache, yes. Body aches, definitely. Exhausted, absolutely. But the room wasn't spinning anymore. That was progress.

"Better," she admitted. "Still feel like garbage, but... better."

"Good." Konan placed a hand on her forehead, checking her temperature the old-fashioned way. "Still warm, but not dangerously so. You need to rest. And eat. And stay hydrated."

"I need to—" Sakura started to sit up, then immediately regretted it as the room tilted. "Okay, maybe I need to lie down."

"Yes," Sasori said flatly. "That's what 'rest' means. Horizontal position, minimal movement, extended duration."

"I was going to teach you about—"

"We don't care about the lesson," Itachi interrupted gently. "We care that you're unwell."

"But you're paying me to—"

"We're paying you to help us adapt to modern life," Pain said. "Not to work yourself to death. There's a distinction."

Sakura looked around at all of them, at their faces, so different—human and inhuman, young and old, concerned and calculating—but all focused on her.

"You all... stayed?" The words came out smaller than she intended.

"Of course we stayed," Konan said, as if it were obvious. "Where else would we go?"

"I don't know, anywhere? Your rooms? Out? You don't need to..." Sakura gestured weakly. "...babysit me."

"We're not babysitting," Kakuzu said. "We're monitoring your condition and ensuring your continued survival. It's practical."

"I researched influenza care protocols," Kisame added. "Did you know you're supposed to drink at least two liters of water per day when you're sick? I've been tracking your fluid intake." He held up a small notebook. "You've had 400 milliliters so far. You need 1,600 more."

"I made soup," Konan said. "Well, Itachi made soup. I supervised and organized the ingredients. It's chicken and vegetable. Very nutritious."

"I've been monitoring your temperature every thirty minutes," Sasori added. "And logging your symptoms. You talk in your sleep, by the way. Quite a lot."

Sakura's face flushed—and not from the fever. "I... what did I say?"

"Mostly medical terminology and apologies," Itachi said diplomatically. "You seemed to be reliving past surgeries."

"Oh god." Sakura covered her face with her hands. "That's embarrassing."

"It's not embarrassing," Pain said. "It's informative. You carry a great deal of guilt about patients you couldn't save."

"I..." Sakura didn't know what to say to that. "I'm a trauma surgeon. People die. That's part of the job."

"But you take it personally," Konan observed. "Every loss. Every complication. You think it's your fault."

"Sometimes it is my fault."

"And sometimes it's not," Itachi countered gently. "But you blame yourself regardless."

Sakura looked away. "Can we not psychoanalyze me while I'm sick?"

"Why not?" Sasori asked. "You're a captive audience. Seems efficient."

"Sasori," Konan chided.

"What? I'm being honest."

"Honesty without compassion is just cruelty."

"You keep saying that. I keep disagreeing."

Despite everything, Sakura felt a smile tug at her lips. "You guys are ridiculous."

"We prefer 'eccentric,'" Deidara said, not looking up from his sketch. "Ridiculous sounds so negative, yeah."

"You are negative," Hidan pointed out. "You literally tried to blow up the kitchen."

"That was ONE TIME!"

"It was three times."

"Art requires experimentation!"

Sakura laughed, then immediately regretted it as her ribs protested. "Ow."

"Don't laugh," Sasori ordered. "Your body is fighting an infection. Laughing requires muscular engagement that diverts resources from immune function."

"Are you seriously telling me not to laugh for medical reasons?"

"Yes."

"That's the most Sasori thing I've ever heard."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"I'm choosing to interpret it as one."

Sakura shook her head, then realized something. "What time is it? I need to—" She reached for her phone, which was on the coffee table. Kakuzu intercepted it.

"It's 4:37 PM," he said. "And you don't need to do anything. I've already handled your immediate financial obligations. You have no urgent appointments. Your hospital leave is documented and approved. You have no emergencies requiring your attention."

"But—"

"No buts." Kakuzu's red-green eyes were firm. "I've managed your affairs. Everything is handled. Your only job right now is to recover."

Sakura stared at him. "You... managed my affairs?"

"Someone had to. You're clearly incapable of basic self-care." He pulled up a spreadsheet on one of his laptops. "I've reorganized your finances, contacted your creditors, negotiated payment extensions, and consolidated your high-interest debts into a single lower-interest loan. You're welcome."

"I... you..." Sakura didn't know whether to be grateful or horrified. "You can't just—"

"I can and I did. It needed doing." Kakuzu shrugged. "You fixed my understanding of modern economics. I fixed your financial disaster. We're even."

"That's not how—"

"It is now."

Sakura looked to Pain for help. He just smiled slightly. "Don't fight it. When Kakuzu decides to help, resistance is futile."

"But my finances are private—"

"Were private," Sasori corrected. "Now they're optimized. Accept it and move on."

Sakura wanted to argue. Should argue. But she was so tired, and her head hurt, and honestly? Having someone else handle things—even without permission—felt like a weight lifting off her chest.

"Thank you," she said finally, quietly. "That's... that's really kind of you, Kakuzu."

He looked uncomfortable. "It's not kind. It's practical. Can't have our instructor dying of stress-induced illness before she finishes teaching us."

"Sure," Sakura said, smiling. "Practical."

"It is!"

"We believe you," Konan said diplomatically, though her expression suggested she didn't.

Tobi suddenly bounced forward. "Tobi helped too! Tobi researched sick-person care on the internet! Did you know you're supposed to get lots of rest and drink fluids and eat nutritious foods?"

"That's... very basic medical advice, Tobi."

"But Tobi researched it himself! Tobi is learning!" He sounded so proud that Sakura couldn't help but smile.

"You did great, Tobi."

"Tobi is the best helper!"

"Tobi did the bare minimum," Obito muttered from the doorway.

"Obito is just jealous because Obito didn't help as much as Tobi!"

"We're the same person, you idiot—"

"DIFFERENT PEOPLE!"

Sakura laughed again, wincing. "Okay, okay. No more laughing. Sasori says it's bad for my immune function."

"Exactly," Sasori said. "Finally, someone listens to me."

"We always listen to you," Itachi said. "We just choose to ignore you approximately seventy percent of the time."

"That's not listening, that's selective hearing."

"Semantics."

Sakura lay back against the pillows, feeling the exhaustion pulling at her again. But this time, it wasn't the panicky exhaustion of too much work and not enough time. It was just... tiredness. The regular kind. The kind that came from being sick and needing rest.

"I don't understand," she said quietly. "Why did you all stay? You could have just called an ambulance. Or the Sage. Or... anything. Why sit here for seven hours watching me sleep?"

Silence.

Then Pain spoke, his voice gentle. "Because you stayed for us."

"That's different. I'm being paid—"

"It's not about payment," Konan interrupted. "You could have quit after the first day. Deidara exploded a microwave, Hidan tried to join a cult, Sasori was insufferable—"

"I'm always insufferable," Sasori interjected. "That's not unique to day one."

"—and you stayed anyway," Konan continued. "Not because you had to. Because you wanted to help."

"You fed me breakfast," Sakura protested weakly. "You remembered my favorite food. You've been... kind. All of you. In your own weird ways."

"Exactly," Kisame said, his sharp-toothed smile surprisingly gentle. "We've been kind to you. And you've been kind to us. That's what people do. They take care of each other."

"Is that what we are?" Sakura asked. "People taking care of each other?"

"I believe the term is 'friends,'" Itachi offered.

"Or family," Zetsu's white half suggested.

"Friends sounds less complicated," the black half countered.

"Family sounds more accurate," Pain said. "We're bound together by circumstance, yes. But also by choice. By choosing to stay when things get difficult. By choosing to care when it would be easier not to."

He leaned forward, ringed eyes intense but kind. "You've been alone for a long time, Sakura. Working yourself to exhaustion with no one to catch you when you fall. But you're not alone anymore. Whether you like it or not—"

"We're stuck with you," Hidan finished. "And you're stuck with us."

"That's a terrible sales pitch," Deidara commented.

"But accurate," Sasori added.

Sakura felt something hot behind her eyes. Not fever. Tears. Actual tears.

"I don't cry," she said, even as her vision blurred. "I don't—I'm a surgeon, I don't—"

"You're human," Konan said gently, taking her hand. "Humans cry. It's normal."

"It's weak—"

"It's not weak," Pain said firmly. "I spent decades believing emotions were weakness. That caring was weakness. That connection was weakness. I was wrong. Spectacularly, catastrophically wrong."

His expression softened. "Strength isn't about never breaking. It's about letting yourself break in front of people who will help put you back together."

And that—that was too much.

Sakura cried.

Not the quiet, controlled tears she'd shed in hospital supply closets. Full, messy, exhausted crying. The kind that came from years of holding everything together, from being strong for everyone else, from forgetting what it felt like to be cared for.

Konan stayed close, holding her hand. Itachi appeared with tissues. Kisame made worried sounds. Even Sasori stopped typing on his laptop.

"This is normal," he announced clinically. "Emotional release is a healthy response to extended stress and suppressed feelings. Let it happen."

"Thanks for the medical analysis," Sakura choked out between sobs.

"You're welcome."

Eventually, the tears slowed. Sakura wiped her face, feeling embarrassed and raw and strangely lighter.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "That was—"

"Human," Konan finished. "That was human. And perfectly acceptable."

"Also probably therapeutic," Kakuzu added. "Crying reduces stress hormones. It's efficient."

"Please stop analyzing my crying."

"Can't. It's interesting."

"Kakuzu," Pain said warningly.

"Fine." Kakuzu returned to his laptops, though Sakura could see him making notes. Probably about stress hormone reduction. Great.

"You should eat," Itachi said, appearing with a bowl of soup. "And drink more water. Kisame is very concerned about your hydration levels."

"I am!" Kisame held up his notebook again. "You're at 600 milliliters now, counting the tears. Still need 1,400 more."

"Did you just... calculate the volume of my tears?"

"I estimated based on average tear production during extended crying episodes. Approximately 200 milliliters."

"That's horrifying and sweet at the same time."

"I'm complex," Kisame said proudly.

Sakura accepted the soup bowl from Itachi. It smelled amazing. When had she last had homemade soup? When had anyone made her soup?

She couldn't remember.

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking around at all of them. "For staying. For caring. For... this. All of this."

"You're welcome," Konan said simply.

"Now eat," Sasori ordered. "Your body needs nutrients to fight the infection."

"And drink water!" Kisame added.

"And rest after," Itachi said.

"And don't even think about working," Pain commanded.

"You're all very bossy," Sakura observed, taking a spoonful of soup.

"We learned from the best," Deidara said with a grin.

Sakura, despite everything—the fever, the exhaustion, the embarrassment of crying in front of everyone—smiled.

Because for the first time in four years, she wasn't alone. She had eleven—twelve, technically—ridiculous, powerful, caring, impossible beings who'd chosen to stay. Who'd taught her, without meaning to, what it felt like to be cared for. Who'd reminded her that being human meant letting people help you.

Even if those people were ancient supernatural entities who argued about emoji philosophy and couldn't use microwaves.

"Okay," she said, taking another spoonful of soup. "I'll rest. Tomorrow, we're covering digital etiquette."

"Tomorrow you're resting more," Sasori said flatly.

"But—"

"Non-negotiable. You need at least three days of rest to fully recover. I've researched this extensively."

"Of course you have."

"Someone has to be responsible."

"That's rich coming from you," Hidan muttered.

And as they bickered around her—familiar, comfortable, chaotic—Sakura ate her soup and thought that maybe, just maybe, forced medical leave was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Even if it came with a side of influenza and twelve overbearing supernatural caretakers.

Chapter Text

Sakura woke up on day two of her illness thinking she felt better. This was her first mistake.

Her second mistake was trying to stand up.

The world tilted violently. Her legs turned to jelly. She found herself clutching the arm of the couch for dear life while her vision tunneled and her body informed her, in no uncertain terms, that she was not better.

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "Okay. This is fine. This is normal. Influenza has a relapse period. I know this. I'm a doctor. I know—"

Her knees buckled.

"Nope." Strong hands caught her—Itachi, somehow already there. When had he gotten there? "Back to the couch."

"I need to—"

"Lie down. You need to lie down." His voice was gentle but firm. "Sasori predicted this would happen."

"Sasori predicted—"

"Day two relapse. He made a chart." Itachi carefully guided her back to horizontal. "He's been researching influenza progression patterns. Apparently, patients often feel improved on day two before the fever spikes again."

"That's—" Sakura tried to argue, but a wave of exhaustion hit her like a physical force. "—accurate, actually."

"I know. He's very smug about it."

As if summoned, Sasori appeared in the doorway with his laptop. "Her fever's back, isn't it?"

"How did you—"

"I heard her trying to stand. Foolish." He approached, pulled out a digital thermometer from seemingly nowhere, and checked her temperature with clinical efficiency. "38.9 degrees. Higher than yesterday evening. Predictable."

"I'm fine," Sakura protested weakly.

"You're objectively not fine. You can barely stand. That's the opposite of fine." Sasori made a note on his laptop. "Konan, she needs fluids. Itachi, adjust the pillows for optimal breathing. Someone inform Pain that we're implementing the day-two care protocol."

"We have a protocol?" Sakura asked.

"Of course we have a protocol. Did you think we'd approach your care haphazardly?" Sasori looked offended. "I spent six hours last night creating a comprehensive treatment timeline with contingencies for various progression scenarios."

"You spent six hours—"

"Yes. It was fascinating research, actually. Influenza virus behavior is quite complex. The way it hijacks cellular machinery to replicate is almost elegant. From an engineering perspective—"

"Sasori," Itachi interrupted gently. "Perhaps save the virology lecture for when she's not actively suffering."

"She's a medical professional. She'd appreciate—"

"Later."

Sasori huffed but closed his laptop. "Fine. I'm documenting this for future discussion."

Konan arrived with water and what looked like a protein shake. "Good morning, Sakura. How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a truck."

"That's consistent with day-two symptoms," Konan said, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Increased body aches, renewed fever spike, fatigue. All normal, according to our research."

"Our research?"

"We've all been reading about influenza." Konan held up her phone, which had at least fifteen browser tabs open. "Kisame found several medical journals. Kakuzu accessed some CDC databases—"

"How did Kakuzu access CDC databases?"

"It's better not to ask," Itachi murmured.

"—and I've been organizing the information into actionable care steps." Konan produced a laminated sheet. "We have hourly temperature checks, fluid intake goals, medication schedule, and rest intervals."

Sakura stared at the laminated care plan. It was color-coded. With charts. And footnotes.

"This is..." She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "This is the most organized care plan I've ever seen."

"Thank you." Konan smiled. "I find that structure helps in crisis situations."

"This isn't a crisis—"

"You collapsed yesterday. You're feverish and weakened. Your body is fighting a significant viral infection." Pain appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "That qualifies as a crisis."

"It's just the flu—"

"Which kills thousands of people annually," Sasori interjected. "Particularly those who are already weakened by chronic stress and poor self-care. Which describes you perfectly."

"Wow. Comforting."

"I'm not here to comfort. I'm here to ensure you don't die on our couch and ruin the upholstery."

"Sasori," Konan said warningly.

"What? I'm being practical."

"You're being an ass," Hidan announced, wandering in with a cup of something steaming. "Here. Itachi made ginger tea. Said it helps with nausea."

Sakura accepted the cup carefully. "I'm not nauseous."

"Yet," Sasori said. "Nausea typically develops in the afternoon of day two. Around 2 PM, based on symptom progression patterns."

"Are you seriously predicting when I'll be nauseous?"

"Yes. I've created a comprehensive symptom timeline." He pulled up a graph on his laptop. "See? Temperature spikes at 9 AM, plateaus until noon, then climbs again. Nausea onset at 2 PM. Peak discomfort at 4 PM. Secondary fever spike at 7 PM—"

"This is creepy," Sakura said.

"This is thorough," Sasori corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there though?"

Kisame ducked through the doorway—literally ducked, because he was too tall for normal doorframes. "Good morning, Sakura! How's your hydration level? You need to drink at least 250 milliliters every hour to maintain optimal—"

"Kisame has become obsessed with your fluid intake," Itachi explained quietly. "We tried to redirect him. It didn't work."

"I'm not obsessed. I'm conscientious." Kisame held up his notebook, which now had graphs. "See? Yesterday you averaged 187 milliliters per hour. That's 63 milliliters below target. Today we need to improve that metric."

"You made a graph of my water consumption?"

"I made several graphs. Would you like to see the one tracking your sleep cycles?"

"No. No, I really wouldn't."

"But it's very informative! You have a REM disruption pattern consistent with—"

"Kisame," Pain said firmly. "Maybe give Sakura some space."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Kisame looked genuinely apologetic. "I just want to help."

He looked so earnest, so concerned, that Sakura couldn't help but soften. "I know. Thank you. The graphs are... very detailed."

"Really?" Kisame brightened. "I worked hard on them!"

"They're excessive," Sasori muttered. "But technically accurate."

"Coming from you, that's a compliment."

"It wasn't meant as one."

Deidara wandered in, looking bleary. "Is she dying? Hidan said she was dying."

"I said she LOOKED like she was dying," Hidan corrected. "There's a difference?"

"Not a big one!"

"I'm not dying," Sakura said tiredly. "I'm just sick."

"You look terrible," Deidara observed with his usual tact. "No offense."

"Some offense taken."

"But like, in an artistic way? The fevered aesthetic? Very consumptive heroine, very 19th century—"

"Are you seriously analyzing my illness as an aesthetic?"

"I'm an artist. I analyze everything as an aesthetic."

"He sketched you yesterday," Hidan volunteered. "While you were unconscious. Super creepy."

"It wasn't creepy! It was a documentary! Art preserves moments of—"

"Creepy," Kisame agreed.

"You're all terrible," Deidara pouted.

Kakuzu appeared, somehow managing to carry three laptops despite having only two hands. "Good morning. Your fever is up, I see. That's unfortunate but expected. I've adjusted our care budget accordingly—"

"We have a care budget?"

"Of course. Medical supplies, nutritional supplements, increased utility costs from keeping the apartment warm, opportunity costs from diverted attention—" Kakuzu pulled up a spreadsheet. "We're currently at 47,000 yen for your care. Very reasonable, all things considered."

"You're tracking how much it costs to take care of me?"

"Obviously. How else would I optimize resource allocation?"

Sakura stared at him. "That's... I don't know if that's sweet or horrifying."

"It's practical," Kakuzu said. "Don't worry—I'm not billing you. This falls under 'collaborative household expenses.'"

"We're not a household—"

"Aren't we?" Pain leaned against the doorframe. "We live together, eat together, and take care of each other. That sounds like a household to me."

"You all live here. I just work here."

"You've slept here two nights in a row," Konan pointed out gently. "And you haven't been to your apartment since you got sick."

"That's because I can't drive—"

"And because your apartment is depressing," Hidan added. "You said so yourself. Yesterday. While you were feverish and rambling."

Sakura's face flushed—and not from fever. "I said that out loud?"

"You said a lot of things out loud," Itachi said diplomatically. "Most of it was medical terminology and guilt spirals."

"Oh god."

"Don't be embarrassed," Konan soothed. "Fever delirium is normal. Honestly, most of what you said was heartbreaking, not embarrassing."

"That's not better!"

"Actually, it helped us understand you better," Pain said. "Your fears. Your burdens. The weight you carry."

Sakura pulled the blanket over her face. "Can we not psychoanalyze my fever dreams?"

"Too late," Sasori said. "I've already compiled a preliminary psychological profile based on your verbal patterns during illness."

"SASORI!"

"What? The data was available. It seemed wasteful not to analyze it."

"That's a violation of privacy!"

"You were shouting your traumas in our living room. That's public domain."

"That's not how public domain works!"

"Isn't it though?"

Zetsu's white half poked through the doorway. "Is she yelling because she feels better or worse?"

"Worse," the black half said. "Definitely worse. Healthy people don't yell from under blankets."

"Should we get the thermometer?"

"Sasori already checked. 38.9 degrees."

"That's bad, right?"

"Not terrible. But not good."

"So medium bad?"

"Yes. Medium bad."

Sakura pulled the blanket down enough to glare at them. "I can hear you."

"We know," both halves said in unison. "We're not whispering."

"You're all impossible."

"We prefer 'thorough,'" Konan said with a small smile. "Now drink your tea before it gets cold. And the protein shake. You need calories."

"I'm not hungry."

"Irrelevant," Sasori said. "Your body requires fuel to fight the infection. Appetite suppression is a common symptom but shouldn't dictate nutritional intake."

"I'll eat later—"

"You'll eat now," Pain said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Small amounts, frequently. That's what the research recommends."

Sakura looked around at all of them—these ancient, powerful beings who'd somehow transformed into an overprotective care team. Kisame with his hydration graphs. Konan with her laminated schedules. Sasori with his symptom predictions. Kakuzu with his budget tracking. All of them hovering, concerned, determined.

It was overwhelming. And touching. And deeply weird.

"Fine," she conceded. "I'll drink the protein shake. But I'm not eating solid food yet."

"Progress," Konan said, satisfied.

"You're all hovering," Sakura added. "It's making me anxious."

"Should we leave?" Kisame asked, looking worried.

"Not leave. Just... give me some space? Maybe not all twelve of you in the room at once?"

"Eleven," everyone chorused automatically.

"TOBI AND OBITO ARE DIFFERENT—"

"We know, Tobi!" came from somewhere down the hall.

Sasori consulted his laptop. "Optimal sick-room occupancy is two to three people. Reduces stress while maintaining adequate monitoring capability."

"Of course you've researched optimal sick-room occupancy."

"I research everything. It's called being thorough."

"It's called being obsessive."

"Semantics."

Pain made a decision. "Konan and Itachi will stay. Everyone else, give her space. We'll rotate every two hours."

"I want the 2 PM shift," Sasori said. "That's when the nausea hits. I want to observe—"

"You want to observe me being nauseous?"

"For documentation purposes."

"You're never allowed near me when I'm nauseous."

"Your loss. I've prepared anti-nausea protocols—"

"Sasori, out," Pain said firmly.

Grumbling, the group dispersed. Kakuzu went to track expenses. Kisame took his graphs to update them. Hidan wandered off muttering about making more tea. Deidara retreated to sketch. Zetsu disappeared to wherever plant people go. Tobi and Obito argued about whose turn it was to do... something.

Finally, it was just Konan and Itachi.

The room felt calmer. Quieter.

"Better?" Konan asked gently.

"Yeah," Sakura admitted. "Sorry. I'm not used to... this."

"People caring for you?"

"People hovering over me like I'm made of glass."

"You kind of are right now," Itachi observed. "Glass that recently shattered and is being carefully held together."

"That's a depressing metaphor."

"But accurate."

Sakura sipped her protein shake. It tasted like chalk and berries and regret. "How long do I have to do this?"

"The care plan estimates three to five days for full recovery," Konan said, consulting her laminated sheet. "Assuming no complications."

"And if there are complications?"

"Then we adapt." Konan's expression was calm. "That's what families do. They adapt."

There was that word again. Family.

Sakura was too tired to argue about it.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Three to five days. I can do that."

"You don't have a choice," Itachi said with gentle humor. "We've already blocked your phone. You're not working. You're not leaving. You're recovering whether you like it or not."

"You blocked my phone?"

"Sasori did. He said it was 'for your own good.'"

"I'm going to kill him."

"Add it to the list," Konan said. "Several of us have threatened to kill him at various points. He keeps a ranking."

"Of course he does."

Outside, Sakura could hear the others moving around. Kakuzu arguing with someone about expense optimization. Kisame asking questions about hydration. Hidan's crude laughter. Deidara's enthusiastic voice explaining something about art.

Normal sounds. Household sounds.

Family sounds.

Sakura closed her eyes, the protein shake warming in her hands, and thought that maybe—just maybe—being stuck here for a few days wasn't the worst thing that could happen.

Even if Sasori was tracking her nausea patterns.

"Wake me if my fever spikes," she murmured.

"We'll wake you in two hours for a temperature check and hydration," Konan said. "Sleep well."

Surrounded by the sounds of her strange, impossible, caring makeshift family, Sakura did.

Sakura woke to the sensation of water dripping onto her face.

For a disoriented moment, still half-caught in fever dreams, she thought she was back in her apartment. The flooding. The leak from upstairs. Her stupid neighbor who kept forgetting to turn off the tap and now the ceiling was dripping and she'd have to deal with the landlord and—

Wait.

She opened her eyes.

Zetsu's face—both halves—loomed directly above her, maybe six inches from her nose. His hand was positioned over her forehead, water dripping steadily from his fingers onto her face.

"What," Sakura said slowly, "are you doing?"

"Hydrating you," Zetsu's white half said cheerfully, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"You looked dehydrated," the black half added. "Plants need water. So do humans. Same principle."

"I'm not a plant—"

"All living things require hydration," the white half continued, oblivious. "We're just being efficient!"

Another drop of water hit her directly in the eye.

"Zetsu," Sakura said, with as much patience as she could muster while feverish and being watered like a houseplant, "I appreciate the thought, but humans don't absorb water through their skin. I need to drink it."

"Oh." Both halves looked genuinely confused. "But that seems inefficient."

"That's how mammalian biology works."

"Weird."

"Very weird," the black half agreed.

"Can you—" Sakura gently pushed Zetsu's hand away from her face. "—stop dripping on me, please?"

"But you're not properly hydrated!"

"I'll drink water. The normal way. With my mouth."

"If you insist," the white half said, sounding disappointed. "We were just trying to help."

"I know. Thank you for the water. Even if it was... topically applied." Sakura wiped her wet face with her hand, grimacing. Her hair was damp. Her pillow was damp. Everything was damp.

Just like her stupid apartment with its stupid flooding and her stupid neighbor who couldn't figure out how taps worked and—

"My apartment," she muttered, the thought crystallizing through her fever haze. "The flooding. My landlord. He was threatening to sue me for water damage even though it wasn't my fault—"

"Already handled," Kakuzu said from his position in the nearby chair. He hadn't moved from his laptop fortress in what was probably hours. "I tried to stop the plant monster from waterboarding you, by the way. It didn't listen."

"We're not a monster," Zetsu protested.

"You were dripping water on an unconscious person's face. That's objectively monstrous behavior."

"It's plant care!"

"She's not a plant."

"Guys," Sakura interrupted weakly. "Kakuzu, what do you mean 'already handled'?"

Kakuzu pulled up a new window on one of his laptops, turning the screen so she could see. "Your landlord, Tanaka Hiroshi, was threatening legal action for water damage totaling 800,000 yen. I reviewed your lease, the building's maintenance records, and the incident reports."

"How did you get—"

"Not important. What matters is that I've documented seventeen separate maintenance violations on the landlord's part, including the faulty plumbing that caused your flooding. I sent him a comprehensive legal analysis demonstrating that any lawsuit he filed would not only fail but would result in significant liability for him under tenant protection laws."

Sakura blinked, trying to process this through her fever fog. "You... you threatened my landlord?"

"I presented him with facts and legal precedent. That's not threatening. That's negotiating." Kakuzu's expression was satisfaction. "He's agreed to repair all water damage at no cost to you, provide two months of rent reduction for your inconvenience, and has formally withdrawn any threat of legal action."

"He what?"

"He also apologized. Profusely." Kakuzu showed her an email chain. "See? Very apologetic. I may have implied that I was your attorney and that we were considering counter-litigation for harassment and negligence."

"You impersonated a lawyer?"

"I didn't impersonate anyone. I simply didn't correct his assumption." Kakuzu shrugged. "Technically, I have more legal and financial knowledge than most attorneys anyway. It's not fraud if I'm more qualified than the real thing."

"That's definitely fraud—"

"Semantics." Kakuzu waved dismissively. "Point is, your apartment situation is resolved. Your landlord is covering repairs, you're getting rent reduction, and he's too afraid of litigation to bother you again. You're welcome."

Sakura stared at him. Her wet face. Her wet hair. The email chain showing her landlord's panicked, apologetic messages.

"I don't know whether to thank you or report you to the bar association."

"I'm not a member of the bar association, so that would be ineffective." Kakuzu returned to his other screens. "Besides, he was exploiting you. Someone had to intervene."

"By pretending to be my lawyer."

"By protecting your interests. The method is irrelevant if the outcome is successful."

"That's not how ethics work."

"Isn't it though?"

Zetsu's white half leaned in again. "Are you sure you don't want more water? You still look dry."

"I'm fine, Zetsu. Really."

"But your skin—"

"Is supposed to be dry. Humans aren't meant to be damp."

"That's so weird," both halves muttered in unison.

Sakura closed her eyes, trying to reconcile the fact that she'd woken up being watered like a fern and now her housing crisis was somehow resolved through what was definitely illegal impersonation of an attorney.

Her life had become so surreal.

"Thank you," she said finally, opening her eyes to look at Kakuzu. "For handling the landlord situation. Even if your methods were... questionable."

"My methods are always questionable. That's what makes them effective." Kakuzu didn't look up from his screens. "And you're welcome. Though I should mention I've also been reviewing your apartment lease. Your rent is 35% above market rate for that area and size. I recommend relocating when your lease expires in four months."

"I can't afford to relocate. Moving costs, deposits—"

"Already calculated. With your salary from this job plus your hospital income—assuming you don't die from overwork—you could afford a better apartment in a better neighborhood. I've identified three optimal options. Would you like to review them?"

"I'm sick."

"That doesn't affect your housing needs. Actually, this apartment has better air quality than yours. And superior plumbing that doesn't leak on you." Kakuzu finally looked at her. "Just think about it. I'll send you the comparison spreadsheet."

"Of course you made a spreadsheet."

"I make spreadsheets for everything. It's called being organized."

"It's called being obsessive," Zetsu's black half observed.

"You literally just tried to water a human," Kakuzu shot back. "You don't get to judge anyone's behavior."

"We were helping!"

"You were being weird."

"Same thing!"

Sakura let them bicker, too tired to intervene. She wiped her face again—still damp—and thought about her apartment. The flooding. The angry landlord who'd blamed her for plumbing problems that weren't her fault. The stress of potential lawsuits on top of everything else.

And now it was just... handled.

By a centuries-old supernatural entity who'd learned modern contract law in less than a week and had absolutely no qualms about impersonating attorneys.

"Kakuzu?" she said quietly.

"Yes?"

"How did you learn all this? The legal stuff, the tenant rights, the negotiation tactics?"

"I've been alive for a very long time. Legal systems change, but the fundamentals of leverage and negotiation remain constant." He adjusted his screens. "Also I spent twelve hours last night reading Japanese tenant law, property regulations, and consumer protection statutes. Your situation was straightforward once I understood the framework."

"You spent twelve hours reading law for me?"

"I spent twelve hours reading law because your situation was interesting. The fact that it helped you was simply efficient use of acquired knowledge."

"Sure," Sakura said, smiling slightly despite her fever. "Efficient."

"It was!"

"We believe you," Zetsu's white half said, clearly not believing him.

Kakuzu grumbled something about being unappreciated, but Sakura noticed he looked pleased.

She settled back against her pillows—damp, but she was too tired to care—and let her eyes close again.

Her apartment was being fixed. Her landlord was apologizing. Her impossible plant-person caretaker had tried to water her. Her even more impossible financial advisor had committed what was definitely fraud to protect her.

This was her life now.

Somehow, despite the fever and the dampness and the absolute absurdity of it all…She didn't hate it.

"Kakuzu?" she murmured, already drifting back toward sleep.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. Really. For everything."

A pause. Then, gruffly: "You're welcome."

"And Zetsu?"

"Yes?" both halves answered.

"Next time I need hydration, just bring me a glass of water. Please."

"But that's so boring!"

"Boring is fine. Boring is good."

"If you insist," the white half sighed. "But we still think our method was more efficient."

"It really wasn't," Kakuzu muttered.

As Sakura drifted back to sleep, she heard them continue to bicker—about hydration methods, about efficiency, about the proper care and watering of humans—and thought that this strange, chaotic, caring household might be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Even if it came with unconventional plant-based medical care.

The 2 PM Shift

Sakura woke to the sound of arguing.

This was becoming a pattern.

"I'm just saying, theoretically—"

"No."

"But THEORETICALLY—"

"Absolutely not."

"You're not even letting me finish!"

"Because I know where this is going, and the answer is no."

Sakura opened her eyes to find Hidan, Deidara, and Kisame arranged around her couch like the world's strangest care team. Deidara sat cross-legged on the floor with a sketchpad, pencil moving rapidly. Kisame occupied his usual spot on the floor—too big for furniture—holding what looked like a new notebook. Hidan sprawled in a chair, feet propped on the coffee table, looking entirely too contemplative for someone who worshipped a god of pain and destruction.

"What's going on?" Sakura asked, her voice still rough.

"Oh good, you're awake!" Kisame brightened immediately, flipping open his notebook. "It's 2:17 PM. Your last temperature check was at 12:15PM, reading 38.6 degrees. You're due for another check in forty-three minutes, but if you're experiencing any discomfort or symptoms—"

"I'm fine. What were you arguing about?"

"Nothing," Kisame said quickly.

"Hidan wants to sacrifice you to Lord Jashin," Deidara said without looking up from his sketch. "Kisame is being reasonable for once and saying no, yeah."

"I DIDN'T SAY I WANTED TO—" Hidan protested. "I said theoretically—"

"Hidan," Kisame said with impressive patience, "please do not theoretically consider sacrificing our instructor."

"I wasn't going to actually DO it!"

"The fact that you're thinking about it at all is concerning."

"I think about sacrificing everyone! It's just what I do! Doesn't mean I act on it!"

Sakura blinked, still processing. "So... you're thinking about sacrificing me. But not actually doing it."

"Exactly!" Hidan sat up, looking vindicated. "See? She gets it!"

"I'm not sure I get it."

"It's like—okay, so Lord Jashin values worthy sacrifices, right? And I was lying here, bored as fuck because Kisame won't let me look at my phone—"

"You were banned from internet access," Kisame interjected. "For everyone's safety."

"—and I started thinking about what makes a sacrifice worthy. And you—" Hidan pointed at Sakura. "—you're like, objectively exceptional."

"That's... nice?"

"No, listen! You're a surgeon, right? You save lives. Literally hold people's hearts in your hands and fix them. That's insane! That's power! Life and death at your fingertips!" Hidan's eyes gleamed with genuine enthusiasm. "And you work yourself to exhaustion doing it. Total dedication. No fear. Just pure commitment to your purpose."

"I have plenty of fear—"

"Plus you're handling all of us—" Hidan gestured around. "—without running away or having a breakdown. Do you know how rare that is? The last instructor quit after Deidara exploded her car!"

"It was an accident, yeah!" Deidara called out.

"Was it though?"

"Mostly an accident!"

Hidan continued, warming to his topic. "You're doing all this while drowning in debt, dealing with a shitty apartment, burning yourself out—but you keep going. That's not weakness. That's fucking strength. That's devotion. That's exactly the kind of quality Lord Jashin values!"

"So your logic is that I'd make a good sacrifice because I'm a good person?" Sakura asked slowly.

"YES! See? You understand!"

"That's horrible logic!"

"How is it horrible? Lord Jashin deserves the best! Sacrificing some random asshole off the street would be insulting! But someone like you—dedicated, strong, resilient—that's a worthy offering!"

"HIDAN," Kisame said loudly. "Stop explaining your sacrifice theology to the sick woman."

"I'm just saying she'd be appreciated! It's a compliment!"

"It's really not."

"Lord Jashin would be so pleased with someone like her! She's a blessing, not just some simple sacrifice!"

Sakura stared at him. "Did you just... call me a blessing while explaining why I'd be a good sacrifice?"

"Yeah?" Hidan looked confused. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is you're talking about killing me!"

"Theoretically! I specifically said theoretically!"

"That doesn't make it better!"

"Sure it does! Thinking about something isn't the same as doing it! Kisame thinks about eating fish all the time, but he doesn't eat every fish he sees!"

"That's a terrible comparison," Kisame muttered.

"It's an accurate comparison!"

Deidara looked up from his sketch. "For what it's worth, I also think you're exceptional, yeah. But for artistic reasons, not murderous ones."

"That's only slightly more comforting," Sakura said weakly.

"You have really interesting bone structure. The way exhaustion sits on your face—it's very authentic. Raw." Deidara tilted his head, studying her. "Most people hide their tiredness. You wear it like... like evidence. Proof of survival."

"Are you analyzing my face?"

"I've been drawing you for two days." Deidara held up his sketchpad. "Want to see?"

"I'm not sure I do."

"Too bad. I'm showing you anyway." He flipped through pages. Dozens of sketches. Sakura sleeping. Sakura feverish. Sakura crying yesterday. Sakura's hands clutching the blanket. Close-ups of her face, her expressions, the dark circles under her eyes.

They were... beautiful. And heartbreaking. Raw, like he'd said.

"That's..." Sakura didn't know what to say. "That's really good."

"Thanks. Art is about capturing truth, yeah. Your truth is exhaustion and strength existing in the same space. It's compelling." Deidara went back to his current sketch. "Also you're interesting to draw when you're sick. More vulnerable. Less guarded."

"Should I be concerned that you're all obsessed with me?"

"We're not obsessed," Kisame said quickly. "We're... invested. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes. Obsession is unhealthy. Investment is... caring." Kisame looked down at his notebook. "You've been taking care of us. Teaching us things. Being patient even when we're difficult. That's not nothing. That's significant."

"So significant she'd make a perfect sacrifice," Hidan added.

"HIDAN."

"WHAT? I'm just saying—"

"Stop saying!"

Sakura laughed—then immediately regretted it as her ribs protested and her head throbbed. "Ow."

Instantly, all three of them were alert. Kisame pulled out a thermometer. Deidara set aside his sketchpad. Even Hidan sat up straighter.

"Pain level?" Kisame asked, already scanning her face for signs of distress.

"Just a headache. I'm fine."

"That's not fine. That's a symptom." Kisame made a note. "Sasori said headaches typically worsen around 2 PM on day two. He was right again. He's going to be insufferable about this."

"He's always insufferable," Deidara muttered.

"True."

"Can I have water?" Sakura asked.

"Already prepared." Kisame produced a glass with a straw, perfectly positioned for easy drinking. "Room temperature, as recommended for fever patients. 250 milliliters. This will bring you to 1,750 milliliters for the day, which is approaching but not yet meeting your target—"

"Kisame."

"Right. Sorry. Here." He helped her sit up enough to drink, supporting her shoulders with surprising gentleness for someone so large.

The water helped. Sakura lay back down, feeling wrung out just from that small effort.

"You really do look terrible," Hidan observed. "No offense."

"Some offense taken."

"But like, in a way that proves you're human? Like, you work yourself to death helping others, and now you're down for the count because you forgot to take care of yourself." Hidan's expression was oddly thoughtful. "That's very mortal of you. Very... real."

"As opposed to?"

"Us. We're not real like you are. We're powerful, yeah, but we're not... connected to things the same way." He gestured vaguely. "We can't die—well, we can, but it's complicated. We don't get sick. Don't really need food or sleep. We exist, but we don't really live, you know?"

"But you do," Kisame added quietly. "You live. You work and stress and worry and care too much. You have problems—debt, shitty apartments, burnout. Normal human problems. Real problems."

"And you're still here," Deidara said, still sketching. "Despite all of it. That's what makes you interesting, yeah. Not because you're perfect. Because you're real."

Sakura felt something tighten in her chest. "I'm not that interesting. I'm just... tired. And sick. And drowning in responsibilities."

"That's interesting," Hidan insisted. "Way more interesting than immortal beings who've forgotten what it's like to struggle. You remind us what it means to be alive. To actually have stakes. To matter."

"Which is why you'd make a great sacrifice," he added, as if this was a logical conclusion.

"And we're back to that."

"I'm just being honest!"

"Please stop being honest about wanting to sacrifice me."

"THEORETICALLY sacrifice you—"

"Still not better!"

Kisame sighed, the sound rumbling through his massive chest. "What Hidan is trying to say—badly—is that you're important to us. Not as a sacrifice. As a person. As our instructor. As... someone we care about."

"We don't want you dead," Deidara clarified. "We want you alive and healthy and not working yourself into an early grave, yeah."

"Could've led with that," Sakura muttered.

"Where's the fun in that?" Hidan grinned. "But seriously—and I'm being serious now, not theoretical—you're good people, Sakura. Better than you think. And Lord Jashin values good people."

"That's almost sweet."

"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation."

"Your reputation is being a chaotic murder cultist."

"Exactly. Can't have people thinking I'm going soft."

Sakura closed her eyes, exhausted from the conversation but also oddly comforted. These ridiculous beings—one who thought about sacrificing her (theoretically), one who'd been sketching her vulnerability for two days, and one who tracked her hydration like a research project—cared about her.

In their own deeply weird ways, they cared.

"Okay," she murmured. "New rule. No more theoretical sacrifice talk. It's creepy."

"Fair," Hidan conceded. "Can I theoretically talk about sacrificing other people?"

"As long as it's not me."

"Deal."

"And Deidara?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I see the sketches again? Later, when I'm feeling better?"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"And Kisame?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for caring about my hydration. Even if it's obsessive."

"It's not obsessive! It's—"

"We know," Hidan and Deidara chorused. "It's conscientious."

"It is!"

Sakura smiled, drifting back toward sleep. "You're all ridiculous."

"We prefer 'dedicated,'" Kisame said.

"Or 'passionate,'" Deidara added.

"Or 'blessed by Lord Jashin with exceptional judgment,'" Hidan contributed.

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

As they continued to bicker quietly around her, Sakura thought that being sick wasn't so bad when you had people—beings—who cared enough to argue about your theoretical sacrifice value while tracking your hydration and sketching your exhaustion.

It was weird.

But it was also kind of perfect.

Chapter Text

Day three of being sick dawned with clarity instead of fog.

Sakura woke slowly, naturally, without the disorienting haze of fever. Her head didn't pound. Her body didn't ache like she'd been hit by a truck. She felt... tired, yes. Weak, certainly. But better.

Actually better this time.

She opened her eyes to find pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The apartment was quiet, or quieter than usual. She could hear someone moving in the kitchen, the soft clink of dishes. The distant sound of typing (Sasori, probably, always working).

"Good morning," Itachi's voice came from nearby. He sat in a chair by the window, a book in his lap. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Sakura said, pleased to find her voice sounded almost normal. "Actually better. Not fake better."

"Your fever broke around 3 AM," Itachi said. "Pain and I were on watch. You slept through it, which is good. Your body needed the rest."

"You've been here all night?"

"We've been rotating shifts. This is normal."

Sakura tried to sit up, and while it took effort, the world didn't tilt. Progress. "You don't have to keep watching me. I'm clearly improving."

"We know but we're watching anyway." Itachi's expression was gentle. "Would you like tea? Water? Konan made breakfast, though you should start with something light."

"Tea sounds good."

Itachi moved with quiet grace to the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming cup. He helped her adjust the pillows so she could sit more comfortably, then settled back into his chair.

"Thank you," Sakura said, accepting the cup. The warmth felt good in her hands. "For everything. The care, the watching, the... all of it."

"You're welcome." Itachi returned to his book—something old, leather-bound. "Though we should be thanking you. You've been patient with us. More patient than we deserve."

"You're not that bad."

"Hidan theoretically considered sacrificing you yesterday."

"Theoretically," Sakura emphasized. "In his own weird way, it was almost sweet. He called me a blessing."

"High praise from someone whose religion centers on pain and death." Itachi's lips quirked slightly. "Though he's not wrong. You have been something of a blessing."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Sakura sipped her tea. Itachi read his book. The morning light grew stronger, warmer.

"Can I ask you something?" Sakura said finally.

"Of course."

"How did you all end up here? With the Sage? You mentioned before that you were given a choice—integrate or be erased. What did you do? What made you..." She struggled for the right words. "...need rehabilitation?"

Itachi was quiet for a long moment. His dark eyes turned distant, looking at something far beyond the apartment walls.

"That's a complicated question," he said finally.

"I'm genuinely curious. You don't have to tell me if—"

"No." Itachi closed his book, setting it aside. "You should know. You're caring for us, teaching us. You deserve to understand what we are. What I am."

He looked at her directly, and Sakura saw something ancient and painful in his gaze.

"I killed my entire clan," he said simply. "Every member. Men, women, children, seniors. I slaughtered them all in a single night."

Sakura's breath caught. She'd known they'd done terrible things—they'd said as much—but hearing it stated so plainly, so calmly...

"Why?" she asked. That seemed like the only question that mattered.

"To save my little brother, to save the village I loved."

Itachi stood, moving to the window. His posture was relaxed, but Sakura could see the tension in his shoulders. The weight of old grief.

"My clan—the Uchiha—were planning a coup. They felt marginalized, disrespected by the village leadership. They weren't wrong. The village was pushing them aside, treating them as threats rather than allies. Their solution was violence. Civil war. They would have torn the village apart, and other nations would have exploited the chaos. Thousands would have died."

He paused, fingers touching the window frame. "I was given a choice by the village leadership. Help them eliminate the threat, or watch the Uchiha be destroyed anyway—including my younger brother, Sasuke. An innocent child who had nothing to do with any of it."

"That's not a choice," Sakura said quietly. "That's coercion."

"Yes." Itachi's voice was hollow. "I made it anyway. I killed everyone—my parents, my relatives, my friends—and made myself the villain. I let Sasuke believe I did it out of malice, out of cruelty, so he wouldn't carry the burden of knowing the truth. So he could hate me instead of the village. So he could live."

Sakura's throat tightened. "Itachi..."

"I thought I was protecting him. I thought if I became the monster he needed to hate, he could build a life in the village I'd saved. I thought my sacrifice meant something." His reflection in the window looked like a ghost. "I was wrong."

"What happened?"

"The village—specifically a man named Danzo, one of the village elders—decided Sasuke was too dangerous. Too much potential power. The Sharingan eyes we Uchiha possessed were valuable, you see. Powerful. Danzo collected powerful things."

Itachi's voice remained calm, but Sakura heard the rage underneath. Cold. Controlled. Devastating.

"Danzo killed my brother. Harvested his eyes for his own use. Sasuke was fifteen years old. He'd done nothing wrong except exist as an Uchiha. Danzo murdered him like he was collecting specimens."

"Oh god," Sakura whispered.

"When I learned what happened—" Itachi turned to face her, and his eyes were terrible. "—I destroyed everything. Not in passion. Not in rage. In calculation. In perfect, methodical precision."

"I killed Danzo. I killed every person who'd known about the order and done nothing. I released every classified document the village possessed—military strategies, spy networks, political secrets—to every enemy nation. I dismantled decades of careful intelligence work in a single night."

His expression was empty. Haunted. "The Hidden Leaf Village fell within a year. Internal conflicts, external invasions, political collapse. I stood in the ruins of everything I'd once tried to protect and felt... nothing. Just emptiness. Sasuke was dead. The village was destroyed. My sacrifice was meaningless."

The room was silent except for the distant sounds of the others elsewhere in the apartment.

"That's when the Sage found me," Itachi continued quietly. "Standing in the wreckage of my own revenge. He told me I could cease to exist—finally rest—or I could try to understand what it means to be human. To live with what I'd done and perhaps, eventually, become something other than a weapon."

"So you chose to live."

"I chose to try." Itachi returned to his chair, looking older somehow. "Some days I'm not sure I made the right choice. Living with these memories, this guilt... erasure would have been easier."

"But you're here," Sakura said. "Learning about emojis and cloud storage and how to order takeout. That has to mean something."

"Does it?" Itachi's smile was sad. "What meaning is there in a monster learning to use a smartphone?"

"You're not a monster."

"I killed my entire family."

"To save your brother. To prevent a war."

"And then I destroyed a village when my brother died anyway. Thousands died because of my actions. How is that not monstrous?"

Sakura set down her tea cup, choosing her words carefully. "I'm a surgeon. I see people at their worst—broken, bleeding, dying. I've learned that people are rarely just one thing. They're not just good or bad, hero or monster. They're complicated. They make impossible choices in impossible situations and then have to live with the consequences."

She met his eyes. "You made terrible choices. You did terrible things. You did them trying to protect someone you loved. That doesn't erase the harm. But it doesn't make you only a monster either."

"A monster who loved," Itachi said. "Is that any different from a monster who didn't?"

"Yes. Because a monster who loved can learn to be human again. A monster who didn't... probably can't."

Itachi was quiet for a long time. Then: "You're very kind, Sakura. Kinder than I deserve."

"Kindness isn't about deserving. It's about choosing to see people as more than their worst moments."

"Even when their worst moments include genocide?"

"Even then." She picked up her tea again. "Though for the record, I think the people who put you in that position—who made a teenage boy choose between mass murder or watching his family die—are the real monsters."

"They're dead now. I killed them."

"Good," Sakura said, and meant it.

Itachi looked surprised. "Do you approve of revenge?"

"I approve of accountability. Those people destroyed your life, destroyed your family, and then destroyed your brother. They deserved what they got." She paused. "Though I'm guessing that didn't make you feel better."

"No," Itachi admitted. "It didn't. Revenge is... hollow. It doesn't bring anyone back. Doesn't fix anything. Just creates more emptiness."

"That's what everyone says about revenge. That it's hollow, meaningless, that it doesn't help." Sakura thought about her own life—the exhaustion, the burnout, the endless work that never seemed to matter. "Sometimes I think the emptiness comes from the loss, not the revenge. You'd feel hollow regardless because your brother is gone. At least this way, the people responsible paid for it."

"A practical view of vengeance."

"I'm a practical person." She smiled slightly. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing better than you give yourself credit for."

"How so?"

"You're here. You're trying. You're learning to exist in a world where you're not a weapon or a villain. You read books by the window and make tea and watch over sick instructors all night." She gestured around. "That's not nothing. That's choosing to be human when it would be easier to be empty."

Itachi's expression softened. "When did you become wise?"

"I'm not wise. I'm just tired and feverish and apparently prone to philosophical discussions at 8 AM."

"It's 9:30 AM, actually."

"Close enough."

The door to the common room opened. Pain entered, carrying what looked like a tray with breakfast—toast, eggs, fruit. Simple, gentle food.

"Good morning," he said, his ringed eyes moving between them. "I see you're awake and conversing. That's a good sign. How's the fever?"

"Broken," Itachi reported. "She's coherent and philosophical."

"Philosophical?" Pain raised an eyebrow.

"We were discussing the nature of monstrosity and redemption," Sakura said. "You know. Normal sick-day conversation."

"Ah." Pain set the tray down within her reach. "Then you've told her."

"I told her," Itachi confirmed.

Pain looked at Sakura, his ancient eyes assessing. "So? Are you afraid of us now? Understanding the depths of what we've done?"

Sakura considered this. She should be afraid, probably. These were beings who'd committed atrocities, who'd killed thousands, who had the power to do so again.

She looked at Itachi, who'd spent all night watching over her, who made tea and read books and carried the weight of impossible choices. Then she looked at Pain, who'd brought her breakfast, who asked philosophical questions about emojis, who'd organized everyone into care shifts.

"No," she said honestly. "I'm not afraid."

"Why not?" Pain seemed genuinely curious.

"Because you're here, aren't you? Trying to be better. Learning to be human. If you were still monsters—just monsters—you wouldn't bother." She picked up a piece of toast. "Monsters don't make breakfast for their sick instructor."

"Perhaps we're just good at pretending," Pain suggested.

"For three days straight? While I was unconscious and vulnerable? If you were going to do something terrible, you had plenty of opportunities." Sakura took a bite of toast. "I think you're trying. Really trying. That matters more than what you used to be."

Pain exchanged a glance with Itachi. Something passed between them—understanding, perhaps. Relief.

"You're remarkably trusting," Pain said.

"Or remarkably stupid," Itachi added, but there was warmth in his voice.

"Probably both," Sakura agreed. "I'm a surgeon. I'm used to holding people's hearts in my hands and trusting that I can fix them. This isn't that different."

"We're not patients," Pain pointed out.

"Aren't you? The Sage sent you here to heal. To recover. To become whole again." She looked between them. "You sound like patients to me."

"And you're our doctor?" Itachi asked.

"I'm your tech support," Sakura corrected. "But apparently, I'm also accidentally functioning as your therapist, your life coach, and your weird found family member. So we're all adapting here."

Pain smiled—a real smile, not the serious expression he usually wore. "Found family. I like that term."

"Konan used it first."

"She's wise."

"She's organized," Itachi said. "There's a difference."

"Both, probably."

They sat together in the morning light, the three of them, sharing breakfast and comfortable silence. Outside, Sakura could hear the others starting to wake up. Hidan's loud cursing. Deidara's enthusiastic voice. Kisame asking about something. The normal chaos of the household beginning.

"Thank you, Itachi," Sakura said quietly. "For trusting me with your story."

"Thank you for not running away screaming," Itachi replied.

"I'm too tired to run."

"Convenient."

"Very."

Pain stood, collecting the empty dishes. "I'll let the others know you're improving. They've been worried. Sasori's been checking his symptom timeline every hour and getting increasingly frustrated that you're not following his predicted schedule."

"I'm ruining his data?"

"Severely. He's having to recalculate all his projections." Pain looked amused. "It's good for him. He's too used to being right."

After Pain left, Sakura and Itachi sat together a while longer. The morning was peaceful. Calm. The kind of quiet that came after storms, when everything had been said and nothing needed to be added.

"Sakura?" Itachi said finally.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For listening. For not judging. For..." He trailed off, searching for words. "For seeing me as more than my worst choices."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

"Trust is difficult for me. For all of us, really. We've been betrayed too many times."

"I know." Sakura pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere. Even knowing what you did. Especially knowing what you did."

"Why especially?"

"Because now I understand why you're here. What you're fighting for. It's not just about learning technology or integrating into society. It's about learning to be more than what you were made to be. More than what trauma and impossible choices turned you into."

She met his dark eyes steadily. "That's something I understand. Because I'm doing the same thing. Learning to be more than just a surgeon who works herself to death. More than just debt and exhaustion and survival."

"We're all learning together, then."

"Yeah," Sakura said. "I guess we are."

Outside, someone (Deidara, probably) shouted something about art. Someone else (definitely Hidan) told him to shut the fuck up. Kisame's deep voice asked about breakfast. The normal, chaotic sounds of family.

Their strange, broken, healing family.

Sakura, sitting in the morning light with a man who'd committed genocide and found no peace in revenge, thought that maybe this was what redemption looked like.

Not forgiveness. Not erasure of the past. Just the daily choice to be better. To care for each other. To keep trying. Even when trying hurt.

Especially when trying hurt.

Because that's what being human meant.

By noon, Sakura had managed to shower (with Konan stationed outside the bathroom door "just in case"), eat a full meal (under Kisame's careful supervision and hydration tracking), and was sitting upright on the couch without feeling like the world was spinning.

She felt human again. Tired, yes. Still weak. But human.

"I'm ready to get back to work," she announced to the room at large.

Sasori looked up from his laptop, his expression flat. "No."

"I'm feeling better—"

"Your fever broke approximately fourteen hours ago. Full recovery from influenza takes five to seven days. You're on day three. Ergo, you're not recovered."

"I know my own body—"

"Your track record with self-assessment is abysmal," Sasori said, pulling up a document. "You worked yourself into burnout for four years without recognizing it. You ignored early illness symptoms until you collapsed. You consistently prioritize work over health. I'm not trusting your judgment on your recovery status."

Sakura opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He... wasn't wrong.

"Okay, but I'm objectively better. My fever's gone. I can stand without getting dizzy. I ate a full meal. I'm coherent and alert."

"Temporary improvement," Sasori said dismissively. "Day three often shows false recovery before a potential secondary fever spike. I've documented this extensively."

"But I don't have a secondary fever—"

"Yet."

"Sasori, I'm a doctor—"

"Which should make you more aware of proper recovery protocols, not less." He closed his laptop with deliberate precision. "You're not teaching today. Tomorrow is also questionable. We'll reassess on day five based on sustained symptom improvement and—"

"I'm fine!" Sakura stood up to prove her point.

The world tilted. Just slightly. Just enough.

Sasori was there immediately, hand on her elbow, steadying her with surprising gentleness. "You were saying?"

"That was just... I stood up too fast."

"That was orthostatic hypotension from three days of bedrest and insufficient recovery time." He guided her back to sitting. "Your body is still weak. Your cardiovascular system hasn't fully readjusted. This is exactly why you need more rest."

Sakura wanted to argue, but he was right. Again. Damn him.

"I hate this," she muttered. "I hate being useless."

"You're not useless. You're recovering. There's a difference." Sasori returned to his chair, reopening his laptop. "Though your inability to distinguish between the two is diagnostically concerning."

"Are you psychoanalyzing me?"

"I'm observing patterns. You equate rest with uselessness, which suggests deeply ingrained productivity anxiety likely stemming from—"

"Okay, we're not doing this."

"—your medical training, student debt burden, and probable childhood messaging about self-worth being tied to achievement."

"Seriously, we're not—"

"I've made notes. Would you like to see them?"

"Absolutely not."

"Your loss." Sasori pulled up what looked like an actual psychological profile. With citations. "I've been reading about burnout psychology. It's quite fascinating. The way it distorts perception of self-worth, creates compulsive work patterns, prevents proper rest—"

"Can you stop analyzing me?"

"Can you stop being a textbook case?"

Sakura glared at him. He stared back, completely unbothered.

"You're insufferable," she said.

"You've mentioned. Multiple times. I'm documenting the frequency of that particular criticism. You average 3.7 instances per day."

"You're tracking how often I call you insufferable?"

"I'm tracking all interpersonal patterns. It's good data." He made a note. "That's 3.8 now, by the way."

Despite herself, Sakura laughed. Then winced as her ribs protested. "Ow."

"Don't laugh. Your intercostal muscles are still weakened from coughing. Laughing causes pain which you then suppress, creating a cycle of—"

"I get it."

"Do you? Because you keep doing things that compromise your recovery."

Sakura studied him. This strange, puppet-bodied being who'd spent three days monitoring her symptoms with obsessive precision. Who'd predicted her fever patterns. Who'd created care protocols and research documents and psychological profiles.

Who was now looking at her with those calculating brown eyes, simultaneously annoyed and concerned.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked quietly.

Sasori's expression flickered. "I don't."

"You've been tracking my symptoms for three days."

"That's just observation. Scientific interest."

"You created a comprehensive care protocol."

"Efficiency. Someone had to organize things."

"You researched burnout psychology and made notes about my self-worth issues."

"Intellectual curiosity. Nothing more."

"Sasori—"

"I don't care," he said firmly, but something in his voice was off. Defensive. "I'm simply ensuring you don't die on our couch because that would be inconvenient and would disrupt my research timeline."

Sakura smiled, the kind of smile that came from recognizing someone's walls. "Sure. That's definitely the only reason."

"It is."

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"I believe you."

"You're humoring me."

"Little bit."

Sasori's jaw tightened. He returned to his laptop, typing aggressively. "You're annoying."

"You've mentioned. Multiple times. Should I track the frequency?"

"Don't."

Sakura could see the way his fingers moved just slightly too fast on the keyboard. The way he wouldn't quite meet her eyes. She smiled again, softer this time. "Thank you, Sasori. For taking care of me. Even if it was just for scientific observation and research purposes."

"It was."

"I know."

"I'm serious."

"Me too."

They sat in silence for a moment. Sasori typed. Sakura rested. Outside, someone (Hidan) was arguing with someone else (Deidara, probably) about something that involved the words "artistic integrity" and "fucking nonsense."

"You bounced back faster than my projections indicated," Sasori said suddenly, not looking up from his screen. "That's... unexpected."

"Magic of the human body," Sakura said with a small smile. "We're resilient. Adaptive. Sometimes we surprise ourselves."

"Bodies aren't magic. They're biological systems with predictable patterns."

"Usually predictable but humans are complicated. We're not just data points and symptom timelines."

Sasori finally looked at her, and his expression was strange. Frustrated. Almost... wistful? "No. I suppose you're not."

Sakura found herself curious—genuinely curious—about this being who'd spent three days caring for her with clinical precision while insisting he didn't care at all. This puppet-man who understood biological systems but seemed perpetually surprised by human complexity.

"What were you like?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Before. When you were... fully human."

Sasori's entire body went still. The kind of stillness that was unnatural, mechanical. A puppet forgetting to breathe because puppets didn't need to.

"That's not relevant," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"I'm just curious—"

"Don't be." He closed his laptop with a sharp click. "That person doesn't exist anymore. There's no point discussing him."

"But you were human once. You had to be, to become—"

"I said don't." Sasori stood abruptly. "Your curiosity is troublesome. I don't want anything to do with it. Especially directed toward me."

His brown eyes were cold now. Defensive. The walls were back up, higher than before.

"I'm sorry," Sakura said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"You never mean to but you do anyway." Sasori picked up his laptop. "That's what humans do. They pry. They want to understand. They think connection requires excavating every painful memory."

"That's not—"

"Rest. Hydrate. Don't attempt any physical activity beyond basic self-care. I'll be in my room if you develop any concerning symptoms." His voice was clinical again. Professional. Empty of anything personal. "Which you won't, because you're recovering normally now, despite deviating from my predictions."

He turned toward his room.

"Sasori—"

"Don't," he said without turning around. "Whatever you're about to say—some kind sentiment about how I'm more than my past, or how it's okay to share, or how opening up helps healing—just don't. I've heard it all from the Sage. I don't need to hear it from you either."

He paused in the doorway, his back still to her. "You look at me like I'm someone to be understood. Someone to be saved. I'm not. I'm a puppet who used to be human and chose to stop being human because being human is pointless. That's all there is to know."

"I don't think that's all—"

"It is." He finally turned, and his expression was cold. Closed off. "I take care of you because it's interesting. Because your physiology is compelling. Because having a live subject to observe provides data I can't get from research alone. Not because I care. Not because we're friends. Not because I want you to pry into my history."

The words were meant to hurt. Meant to push her away. They did hurt. A little.

But Sakura was a surgeon. She'd spent years learning to read what bodies weren't saying. To see the pain hidden beneath protective mechanisms.

Right now, she saw fear.

"Okay," she said gently. "I won't ask again. I'm sorry for overstepping."

Sasori searched her face, clearly expecting an argument. When he didn't find one, something flickered across his expression. Confusion. Maybe disappointment or anger.

"Good," he said finally. "Don't."

He disappeared into his room. The door closed with a soft click.

Sakura sat on the couch, alone, thinking about puppets and walls and the ways people protected themselves from pain by insisting they didn't feel anything at all. Thinking about how Sasori had spent three days creating care protocols and symptom timelines and psychological profiles. How he'd checked her temperature every thirty minutes. Made sure she was hydrated. Predicted her symptom patterns with obsessive precision. How he'd steadied her when she swayed. Called her judgment abysmal while making sure she rested. Documented everything because documentation meant caring without having to admit he cared.

"You're a terrible liar, Sasori," she murmured to the empty room.

From behind his closed door, she heard the aggressive sound of typing. Working. Retreating into data and code and anything that didn't require emotional vulnerability.

She smiled despite herself.

Three days ago, she'd collapsed from overwork and burnout. Three days ago, she'd been drowning in debt and exhaustion and loneliness.

Now she was sitting on a couch, recovering from the flu, while a puppet-man who claimed not to care had spent seventy-two hours monitoring every aspect of her health with scientific devotion.

Her life had become so wonderfully, impossibly strange. She wouldn't change it for anything.

Even if some members of her found family were still figuring out that caring about people was allowed.

He'd get there eventually. They all would. After all, they had time. And surprisingly good healthcare protocols, courtesy of one very thorough, very caring, very much in denial puppet-man.

Sakura closed her eyes, pulled her blanket closer, and let herself rest as ordered. By someone who definitely didn't care. At all. Sure.