The rain had started without warning.
It poured over Konoha in relentless sheets, blurring the streets into mirrors of gray and silver. Sakura stood at the hospital window, hands braced against the glass, unmoving. She had been there for hours—long enough for worry to turn into something sharper, something closer to fear.
Naruto was late.
Not "Hokage-late."
Not "held up by paperwork" late.
This was the kind of late that crawled under her skin.
"Still no word?" Shizune asked quietly behind her.
Sakura shook her head. Her voice refused to come when she tried to answer.
The mission had been simple on paper—containment, negotiation, intimidation if necessary. Naruto hadn't even looked concerned when he'd left that morning. He'd kissed her forehead, smiled that soft smile meant only for her, and promised—
I'll be back before dinner.
Sakura hated promises.
The doors burst open.
ANBU flooded the corridor, moving fast, urgent.
And then—
Naruto.
Carried.
Unconscious.
Blood everywhere.
Sakura moved before anyone could speak.
"Get him to Trauma One. Now."
Her voice was steel, but her hands shook as they cut away his cloak, his shirt, the layers between her and the truth. There was too much damage—chakra exhaustion pushed far beyond safety, internal injuries that made her stomach drop.
This wasn't a battle wound.
This was sacrifice.
"Why?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "Why do you always give everything?"
She poured chakra into him until her vision blurred, until her arms burned, until tears fell freely onto his chest.
"Don't you dare," she choked. "Don't you dare leave me after everything we've built."
Hours passed.
Maybe days.
She never left his side.