So this was the end, wasn't it? An early death had never occurred to her before, perhaps because she had always been sheltered as such. Death seemed like such a foreign thing because, even though her mind had matured from a few years ago, that same childish disbelief of the 'end' still continued to carry with her. Few people at even her age were able to comprehend the meaning of 'death'. What was it, really? It was some sort of conclusion to life. Shinobi were trained to not fear what it meant to die. After all, they were warriors of their village; they were sacrifices and they were proud of it. No one really understood what it really meant to be a shinobi of Konohagakure in the beginning. In the Academy it had been strictly glory and jutsus, the occasional spar and the frequent written tests. You couldn't be taught many things. Instead, you had to learn them through experience. Not everyone was meant to be a shinobi after all. Those who feared what it meant to die could never become successful in the protection of their village. Those who couldn't bring themselves to let others die would not be able to either. Emotions had absolutely no use and meant to be abandoned. Blood was expected to be shed. Murders were meant to be committed. What else were shinobi, anyway? They were tools for the village; human weapons. This was the textbook description and it was the one that many lived by—including her father.
It was such a harsh definition and in this moment where she lay in the sand that would no doubtfully crush her into merely organs, blood and a mess of bones, she now understood what it really meant. Hinata also could comprehend why everyone had said she wasn't meant to be a shinobi. It was true—it was so true. Missions ended with failure because she had hesitated to finish off an enemy shinobi; complications were made because she hadn't been able to carry out her duty. However, she had always expected that through hard work she could get better. Her eyes were opening now. She hadn't ever been meant to become "that" type of shinobi.
As a shinobi, she had certainly always been a failure. In fact, she still was a failure. Determination or not, perhaps there were some things that simply weren't meant to be. The only reason she had not feared death before was not because she understood her purpose fully; it was because she didn't understand the meaning at all. It was her own foolishness that shielded her from many things. While being the heir of the Hyuuga clan gave her many responsibilities and hardships, it also created chances of leniency. This was undeniable. She had had many more chances than any other person had had. This was simply just another one of them.
But there was realization in this moment. Did anything matter anymore? There was no fear in her eyes—perhaps disappointment, yes, but she wasn't scared. Death was the worse thing she could receive right now and each path she could think of led down the same road. Dying had always been in her future since the day she was born; it would simply just occur faster. The sand continued to cover her body, crawling inch by inch and enveloping her even more. While before it had been simply a thin layer, now she could start to feel the sinking weight of it all. Just from the sheer mass of it she could feel her lungs struggling harder to receive oxygen and the dull ache from the rest of her muscles seemed to reach a peak and a stand still. Perhaps the circulation had been cut off or perhaps her body simply didn't care anymore. The broken arm did not throb anymore and she could feel the grainy sand enter a few of the wounds that she had on her body. It began to sting but the feeling eventually dulled in a few seconds. She wasn't petrified anymore—she simply just could not move. The blood loss continued to affect her head and the shinobi who was inches away from killing her was all she could manage to focus on now. His appearance appeared to her in a slight blur and his stony features were too detailed for her to make out. She could only actually make out the distinction between the pale color of his face, his hair and his strikingly colored eyes. Her eyes widened in their strain before relaxing to their normal sizes. In her whole career as a shinobi, this was probably as close as she could get to become a great one. While she had not been able to stop the destruction that happened here, the death, the blood, she had been able to, just for a little while, create an opportunity for others to flee to some form of safety. Even if she had only been able to do it in such a crude way as using her own body as a distraction, it had worked. Something she had done had worked.
To keep herself from blacking out she continued to struggle to make out his facial expressions. Crudely, she assumed that he was keeping a straight expression. Was he still angry, she wondered, or was he feeling a sense of satisfaction that now he held her very life and existence in his grasp? Now it occurred to her that he might have had the right to feel distaste towards her. How many promises had she made? She could remember the unspoken ones she had made but was that really all? Had her attempts to be kind caused more harm than good? Maybe her compassion had been unwanted, causing false hope or some forgotten memory to resurface. What had he felt, she wondered, when he had first seen her enter the cell he had resided in? She had been so nervous and frightened that she had barely been able to say anything at all. Her nerves had been skittish and the ominous look that he had held on his face just caused her frantic nature to show even more. There had been distaste on his part and there had been fear from hers. Gradually she had learned to not judge and had tentatively reached out towards him. Why towards him? The answer still eluded her but maybe it was because she had seen him at the Chuunin Exam. He had been at the peak of his power then and the sand had been horribly menacing. He was someone to be frightened of and as she compared this image to the one of him as he lay in his cell, it was almost identical. Even caged an aura of raw surging energy surrounded him. Even with the chakra limiter she had felt something there. It wasn't like anything she had felt before—it had been much more sinister, even without using her Byakugan to see it. But there was also something else and it was that that had made her really think. Because no one could really be a 'monster', no matter what he or she had done. There would always be a human part even if it were hidden in the shadows of something else. Always.
The sand continued to go around her and she felt it creeping up her neck. She attempted to intake a breath but found it difficult to. She felt the odd sensation at the back of her head and she did not need eyes to know that she was fully enveloped, save for her face. The only liberty she had now was to speak and to see and even her sight was wavering back and forth. She stopped breathing in the uneasy anticipation of it all. Hinata stared back at him, waiting for the sudden pressure to harden around her and then for nothingness. One second past and another and another and yet nothing was happening. Her death hadn't come; she was still very much alive. She couldn't make out his expression and as a result did not know what to expect. No one spoke and there was only silence. It was uncomfortable and her breath relaxed. Confusion etched itself onto her pale face and her eyes widened momentarily. She had been ready for that split moment of pain before she became a bloody heap on the ground. She had already become accustomed to the seemingly obvious fact that he hated her and wanted her dead. So why was he…?
"Gaara-san…" she began softly, the pain of her body coming back to her. With most of her senses blocked, her only luxury was her speech. "Why do you hesitate?" If she had been the source of anger for this rampage, she had already been prepared to give him her life to feel at ease—because that was the only thing she would have been able to do for him.
Hinata couldn't form a logical opinion for what happened next. She could hear the air slicing but couldn't quite comprehend what it was. The only movement she could catch was the person who held her prisoner's and her sight cleared as he saw his sudden movement. Instinctively she winced, waiting for the pressure, but soon she discovered that the action had been because of the strange sound she had heard just moments earlier. She didn't even see a figure approach and when the boy fell towards the ground, it left her dazed and puzzled to why he had done that. Squeezing her eyes together to try to gather her thoughts, she blinked them open quickly, finally able to survey the scene clearly.
"Gaara-san?!" It came out as a shout and as a subconscious reaction. Even when he had been poised to kill her, her indulgent compassion pulled through once again. Though she could not see his figure anymore from her position she could tell there was a confrontation from the resounding footsteps that caused the ground to tremble at impact. She vaguely heard shouts but her common sense was already scattered. She saw his figure rise once again and after a while his gaze landed on hers once again. She felt some strange relief that he was alright, something that a shinobi should not feel towards, effectively, an enemy who seemed to be bent on destroying the village. It had been naïve, but the girl had thought that if it was her death that would end his bloodlust, he would escape after he had done away with her and, perhaps, find some happiness somewhere else. Even now as she remembered the wreckage and the screaming and the murder, she did not want him to die. She did not want him to return to the prison like that again.
How foolish.
The sand hardened from the shell it created and as it did, it fell to the ground at her sides. Her body instinctively took this chance to clear her lungs and she coughed violently, the sudden ability to breathe easily once again causing her chest to shudder up and down as she took each breath. She ignored the pain that came from her rib and gave another cough. She brought a hand to her mouth and, with wide eyes, realized that driblets of blood were coming out and littering her palm. She gave a groan, her temple throbbing as she lay flat on her back, the sky now the only image she saw. Though there was plenty of noise as the shinobi surrounding the area attempted to give chase as the prisoner escaped, Hinata could not hear a sound. The only thing was a pulsing ringing that pierced her. She attempted to sit up but as she pressed one hand to the ground, Hinata gave a sharp cry as she realized that that was the arm she had broken. She brought it up to her quickly, cradling it with her good hand. Blood sprayed onto her jacket, the gashes on her arm flowing now that they did not have the pressure of the sand to keep them sealed. Her eyes squinted shut, detecting the voice of her father as he gave orders. Of course he would be here—he was one of Konoha's finest shinobi. She curled her unbroken leg towards her, shame filling her as she got a better view of the wreckage and a few corpses that would be impossible to identify. There would be families who would never be able to find their son, daughter or parent's body.
All this because of her—because of her own foolish promises and ideals. Because she had hurt him.
Using her good leg and her one good arm, she pushed herself up to her feet but promptly fell over immediately back towards the ground. Again she tried and this time she managed to stay on her feet, the broken leg uselessly dragging behind her. Hinata attempted to put pressure on it but fell down once again to the rubble, skinning her palm in the process.
'I have to find him. Before they do.