Asuma's POV, set during raid at festival
49. Alive
To hear that Kurenai was dying was a horror that couldn't completely wrap itself around Asuma's brain. He'd heard the words, of course, and he'd understood the implications. But it didn't seem real as he wrapped her bloody body in his arms and ran hell-for-leather away from the fighting. Kurenai, dying?
Impossible.
But the blood running down his arms, staining his vest and pants, said otherwise. He ran, his mind gone, his legs moving of their own volition. The sight of Shikamaru commanding the small camp of refugees threw it all into perspective, and he'd shoved her limp body at him, his brain already mush and incapable of rational thought.
She was taken from him, taken into the deep ranks of the injured and civilians, and he stood there, blank, as she disappeared from his view.
Shikamaru shoved him down, handed him a roll of bandages and someone's injured arm, and set him to the mindless task of wrapping a mild wound.
Three arms, two legs, and four torsos later, his mind jumped back into motion.
"Kurenai!" he screamed, jumping up and tearing through the camp. Shikamaru caught him, turned him around and shoved him towards a hastily erected tent. Asuma stepped in warily, his heart pounding in his ears. He saw the sheet pulled tightly over the nearest frame and dropped to his knees in disbelief.
"Kurenai…"
"Asuma?" The weak voice made him turn, and the sweaty, disheveled form of his lover lying flat on a bedroll behind Sakura and an exhausted nurse made him drop in amazement.
Kurenai sighed.
"Poor Asuma. Is he still alive?"
"How troublesome."