Kill Your Heroes

-Chapter Six-

Thanatophobia (Part II)

Somehow Sakura got herself upright, the first two steps an agony in her knees that relaxed just a fraction as she yanked a gasping Tazuna to his feet. She set her weight against his and he stumbled forward and she snapped at him, "Keep going," setting him in the direction of the pilothouse opposite the way the third enemy she'd spotted was coming around.

The urgency wasn't lost on him and he lurched forward, smoothing out into a run that still seeming teeth-grindingly slow as he caught his breath. Sakura didn't dare look back, but she didn't need to. She could hear their footsteps, hard and heavy against the deck, far too close for comfort.

She'd gotten a glance at them as they'd flown over, one a great, thick-necked bull of a man, more fat than muscle, with heavy mane of hair. His companion had been more wiry, his hair—a deep shade of green—pulled back into a long ponytail. The latter had worn a sword, but she couldn't remember any visible weaponry on the former.

Her shoulders were tense with the anticipation of a kunai, but it never came. Projectile weapons like kunai and shuriken apparently took too much dexterity and practice for the like of this little contingent of Gatō's thugs, or maybe they just didn't favor them, but there were three of them and she'd be just as dead if one of them managed to bash her head hard enough against the windows of the pilothouse.

It was the footsteps of the fat man that gained on her first, strangely enough, and she felt her heart shudder as something caught at the tips of her hair.

Grasping hands.

She'd come even with the mast and now she caught it with both hands, using it to shift directions far more quickly than he could. Her momentum swung her out of reach and the way she'd shoved off meant that she could swing her legs up and plant them solidly in his back. She'd meant to do something else then, something that didn't commit her entirely to the strike with another pursuer only feet away, but one hand was slick with blood from where the cable had torn into her hand, the other was slick with nervous sweat, and one wrist was weaker than it should have been.

The mast slid from beneath her fingers and she came down on top of her enemy. He went to shove himself up, but she leapt forward, twisting her fingers in his hair and brought his face down against the deck with all the strength of desperation.

Once, twice, he went limp, three-and there was suddenly a cold weight on her shoulder that made her release her victim instantly. Very slowly, carefully, she turned her head until her peripheral vision brought into focus exactly what she'd feared.

The blade wasn't well-maintained. It was freckled with rust and dull enough it would have earned him a tongue-lashing at the Academy, but here in the real world, she was learning that it didn't take perfectly maintained weapons to kill someone.

"I think," he said in a tone heavy with menace, "that's enough of that, you little bitch." The sword was resting on her shoulder, angled slightly so that the tip was over the region of her sternum. For now, the edge was straight down, like a dog with its teeth resting lightly against the skin, but it wouldn't take any time at all to twist his and take off her head. Even as she thought that, he put a little more pressure on the blade and it parted the fabric of her dress and bit into her skin.

Her eyes flicked reflexively to Tazuna.

She'd hoped—she didn't even know what she'd hoped, but Tazuna was poised with his back against the rail, almost as if he'd intended to jump and take his chances in the water. But he hadn't made it and if he'd been any slower at getting his hand up, the wire currently pulled taut around his neck would have killed him. It was being wound up with agonizing slowness by a man whose grin was a clear testament that he wasn't entirely disappointed by these few seconds more of pain and fear.

He wasn't watching her at all.

And Sakura knew what she had to do. There was an instant where she did not want to, where she absolutely did not want to be the hero, because she was a shinobi and shinobi heroes ended up with their names carved on lonely stone, but training, conscience, something spurred her forward.

Her hand dipped toward her kunai pouch and before her captor could do more than snarl a single syllable and press down harder on his sword, two kunai were sent on an unerring path straight into the other man's ribs, a third flying wide. Tazuna didn't hesitate, shoving forward with one hand to loosen the wire, the other fist flying forward with work-hardened strength to smash into his attacker's face. The man crumpled.

Sakura saw none of this.

She didn't even have time to see if her aim was true. Instead, almost as soon as she'd released—she wasn't good enough to blind throw, even at that distance—she'd let herself fall back, the angle of her collarbone keeping the sword from being easily turned to her throat. If he'd been putting less pressure downward, if he'd turned the sword more initially, or thought to disengage, she'd have been dead. As it was, he tore up a flap of skin and flesh as the sword grated across bone, but as soon as she judged the angle good enough, Sakura launched herself backwards into him.

He flung his arms wide as he stumbled back and as soon as Sakura could scramble forward out of reach, she turned on him, kunai in each hand. He snarled and lunged forward and Sakura went to dodge, her feet tangling on the legs of the unconscious man.

She fell heavily, one kunai skittering away and only barely shoved herself out of range of a powerful overhead swing that would have split her back open like a rotted log. Her hands smacked against the angled plane of the pilothouse windows and she spun herself to the side, eyes barely catching the flash of steel that was the evidence of another thrust.

Her breathing was ragged, her knees burned, and she was absolutely certain that she couldn't keep up this pace, but somehow the terrible dance continued as she used the mast to avoid the next stroke, the steel ringing out with an ugly tone that marked it as badly forged.

As if that mattered.

It grew harder to dodge as she grew more tired, until one thrust almost connected, the blade whistling between her arm and ribs. What came next was instinctive. She clamped her arm down hard, trapping the blade flat and almost harmless in its stillness. It cut, but the blade was dull enough that without real force behind it, it did not cut deeply.

She wretched herself and the sword to one side, tearing it from her enemy's hands. As he lunged forward, she took her one kunai and drove it deep, which left her inside the circle of his arms like some mockery of an embrace. Shifting her weight, setting herself low, ignoring his hands, which tried to pull it back out, and she gave everything she had into driving the kunai up. She trembled as she took on more of his weight, the blade sinking in deeper, ripping as it went.

Liquid far more rank and fouler than blood ran down the handle of her kunai, traveled the path of her forearms, dripped off her elbows. Stomach wounds weren't instantly fatal, but they were extremely painful. Which only meant that while his struggles were weak, it seemed to take a very long time for his weight to drape itself limply across her.

Some part of her was aware she should have pulled away sooner, dealt with the third man still there, but she was very, very tired. She'd committed almost everything she had to that one strike. So it was that she stumbled ungracefully back, letting him fall to the deck with a dull, meaty thud.

Sakura was slow to regain her balance and every breath brought with it a smell that made her want to retch, but she finally turned to see what was next. And she had to blink twice to understand that what was next wasn't going to be a fight, because Tazuna had tied up the third man with his own wire and left him to bleed while he'd sheltered in the pilothouse. He waved vigorously at her through the glass, then gestured for her to come inside.

Sakura nodded slowly, but before she went, she checked the pulse of the heavier man who'd been the first enemy down. His pulse was very sluggish but present, so she cut up his shirt into makeshift bindings and left him where he lay. About midway to the pilothouse, she was suddenly struck with the impression that the deck was vibrating, but as they drew away from the bridge, she understood that it wasn't her imagination. For all that it had sails, this yacht also had a motor.

Tazuna grinned at her as she came inside the pilothouse. "Trust Gatō not to let a little thing like favorable winds get in his way," he crowed. Then he frowned. "Kid, you look like you're either going to fall over or throw up. Sit down."

Sakura did so gratefully, but that only gave her the opportunity to see exactly how nasty the sword wound over her collarbone was. There was a ragged flap of skin where it was basically filleted, perhaps two inches wide at the collarbone and tapering to a more shallow gash down over the inner side of her right breast. And the whole thing was bleeding freely, which might have explained why she felt so sick. It made her even more sick to look at it and when she first touched it, to try and stop the bleeding, she spilled the contents off her stomach across the gleaming hardwood. Tazuna didn't even flinch, just glanced worriedly at her while he piloted them away from the bridge, eventually coming to dock at the harbor.

"Can you make it?" Tazuna asked her, leaning down with his hands on his thighs.

Sakura nodded, not taking her hand from where it was holding a scavenged wad of material in place. The pain was bad, but not impossible. She felt less likely to faint and she'd finished with her dry heaves before Tazuna had left to moor the yacht. So she carefully came to her feet, trying not to jostle anything. Her badly bruised knees had stiffened a little while she sat, so her gait was awkward, but she made it to land and somehow, as slow and hobbling as the journey was, they eventually returned to the bridge to find that the situation had been decidedly resolved in their favor.

Sasuke-kun looked battered, but Sakura was deeply relieved to find that everyone had survived. Naruto was looking unusually melancholy, but he brightened when he happened to glance over and notice her approach.

"Sakura-chan!" he said, galloping toward her, his expression going from pleased to worried to something else entirely as he came closer. His nose wrinkled up. "Ugh, what's that smell?" he complained. "Did you fall into a sewer?"

Some part of her knew he didn't mean anything by it. It was just Naruto's way to blurt out almost every thought in his head at the instant it occurred to him and even she knew what she smelt like. But there was something absolutely filthy crusted up her arms and she was worn raw and now, finally, it was safe to feel. The flashpoint of her temper exploded and it was only when Kakashi-sensei's hand settled over her wrist like a shackle and he said sharply, "Sakura," that she realized she had been about to hit Naruto. Not like she usually struck at him, but a real, true blow.

Sakura sagged in Kakashi-sensei's grip and the tears began to spill over, turning quickly into gasping sobs because she couldn't breathe through her nose at all.

She was dimly aware of Naruto sort of fluttering uselessly, going "Eh, eh, Sakura-chan? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," and rambling on and on until Kakashi-sensei intervened.

"Naruto, give us some space," he ordered and the blond genin reluctantly complied. Kakashi-sensei stepped in front of her, providing a kind of shield she was grateful for, because though most of the crowd was occupied in dealing with Gatō's goons, who had apparently surrendered, Gatō himself nowhere in sight, or in a self-congratulatory sort of mood, she felt like people were staring. "How bad is it, Sakura-chan?" Kakashi-sensei asked her gently.

"My nose," she said, "and here," she brought the hand that wasn't clutching at her makeshift bandage up to cover the other one.

Kakashi-sensei reached forward very slowly and pulled down her scarf, necessary because she'd tucked her chin into the hollow of her throat. Sakura still shied away a little at the contact. "You definitely broke it," Kakashi-sensei confirmed. "Luckily, we're somewhere where we can have it set well and you'll be good as new soon. Let's see the other one."

Sakura tried to pull the cloth away, but the clotting blood made it pull flesh too, which started the whole thing to bleeding again. Kakashi-sensei frowned, glancing over his shoulder at something. "Sakura, I need to stay here until all of Gatō's men are secured. If I send Sasuke and Naruto with you, do you think you can make it to the clinic?"

Sakura stared down at her feet, where her toenail polish was so chipped and cracked. Compared to everywhere else, it didn't look too bad, though there was still discomfort from two very hard landings that seemed to increase and reverberate with every step. "...yes."

"That's a good girl," Kakashi-sensei said, putting one hand very, very gently on her head. "The doctor's here, so I'll send her to meet the three of you. Naruto will be okay, I think, but make sure Sasuke lets himself be examined."

Sakura made a vague noise of agreement before turning and sort of shambling in the right direction. Before she'd gone far she paused and turned back. "There's three on the yacht. Gatō's men, " she clarified. "Two were alive. One...isn't."

Kakashi-sensei nodded and, feeling reassured that Tazuna and those men were no longer her responsibility, Sakura began the long, painful second leg of her journey. Coming up from the harbor had been bad. It was worse now that Naruto jogged up alongside her, shooting her looks that mingled worry and curiosity. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out Sasuke-kun trailing slightly behind, but her world had become an increasingly narrow tunnel that eventually went entirely dark. Her last sensation was pitching forward toward the road and arms that caught her none-too-gently.