4. lean on me
Step by step, they carry on through the dwindling mist.
For a girl so thin, Sakura has surprising strength. Sasuke notices it the first time she punches Naruto in the face and he goes flying across the Academy's courtyard, but it's not until she has to carry his weight that it really matters.
He doesn't like it, of course. But Kakashi can barely stand on his two feet, and being carried by Naruto makes the bile rise up Sasuke's throat, so he allows her to sneak one arm under his, and pull him to his feet.
"Tell me if it hurts, Sasuke-kun," she says, a warbled whisper. "I-I'll take it easy."
Sakura's eyes are still pink around the edges. Come morning, they'll be swollen, and something inside him twists at the thought.
"I'm fine," he snaps, and looks away towards the bridge's end, towards Zabuza's and Haku's corpses.
Sakura doesn't flinch, this time. He supposes she is still reeling from the shock, or perhaps she is still far too relieved to care about the way he treats her.
Sasuke doesn't know how to feel about that.
"She's just glad to see you're alive," Kakashi says, kneeling down and touching the ground. His breath is ragged, but his eye is as sharp as ever. "You don't need to talk to her like that."
Sasuke tries his best to pretend he doesn't hear. He focuses instead on the lapping of the waves, coming and going, and on Naruto's faraway voice. He does not pay attention to Sakura's warmth, or the smell of her shampoo, or how damp her hand feels around his wrist.
He remembers the heat of a fever; the crunch of bone; the drying blood in Sakura's face. She smells of copper and dirt, even as he tries to angle his face away from the crook of her shoulder. It is the first time he ever sees the nape of her neck, left uncovered by choppy hair, and today it is mottled dark and purple.
He looks at it as she argues with Naruto, and her shoulders tense when she yells. She doesn't look like the girl he knows, like this. She doesn't look like the girl who carries around a mirror in her bag, like the girl who brushes her hair while Naruto and Sasuke spar in the sun. The only thing familiar about her is the warmth of her arm and the angle of her back.
"Right, Sasuke-kun?" Sakura asks, turning to him.
They're standing so close, like this, but she is irritated enough that she doesn't realize. He can see every bloodied line on her face, every rainbow of bruises. He can see the pink glisten of her teeth, and the swelling of her left eye.
Sasuke edges back his head, stomach burning, and glances at Naruto.
"Nn," he says, because it is easier than to admit he wasn't listening at all.
"Fine!" Naruto says, face twisted. Then it fades, and he sets a hand on his stomach. "It's not like I don't wanna eat, or anything…"
Sakura is looking at Naruto again, a complex expression on her face.
Sasuke's arm tenses around her shoulder, and her hand moves around his wrist, shifts his elbow for a better position. When did she get so used to carrying his weight?
"Let's go, then," Sasuke says, clipped, and pulls her along towards the river.
Sakura falls in step easily, her arm a firm curve around the end of his back, and it shouldn't feel so familiar. It shouldn't feel so right—
He shakes his head, curse mark flaring, and keeps walking.
The moon lies amidst the darkness, a silent witness. Sakura looks washed out in the light, as pale as her hair. The rims of her eyes are painted a stronger pink.
He doesn't let her fall forward. It would be easy to, but he supposes that would add insult to injury, and as much as Sakura is annoying, she doesn't deserve such a degree of pettiness. So he holds her up under her arms, keeping her upright, and crushed berries and peppermint toothpaste permeate the air.
Sasuke imagines her sneaking out of her room after dinner, breaking curfew to sit on a bench and hold her heart in her hands. He holds her closer, and her head lolls back on his shoulder, hair brushing against his cheek.
Is she still using conditioner? He can't tell. She smells the same, at least, and that is a comfort that shouldn't be one.
Her weight feels right, if too light, in his arms. Her shoulder blades dig into his chest when he maneuvers her into the closest bench, and if her mouth brushes against his jaw when he props her into the stone it is nothing but an accident. But it burns where it slides.
Sasuke lays her down. Her hair fans around her skull like a crown, and his finger brushes a lock away from her open mouth. The tears are still gleaming in her eyes, running across the fullness of her cheeks and nose, but now he puts his hands in his pockets and looks away. He has wasted enough time.
Eyes on the deserted gates, Sasuke takes a step, and then another, until Konoha is nothing but a dot in the distance.
The desert scorches around them.
Sakura's skin is blistered where the acid caught her; he can feel the chakra swirling under her muscle, straining to heal but pushing into Obito, instead. Willful as always.
She is heavier, now. A neat knot of muscle and precision. But when his arm catches her, she is limp, defenseless. Trusting, he assumes, even though all that came before should defy that expectation.
No; he overestimates himself. The sweat on her brow and the raggedness of her breath tell him it is not trust, but exhaustion. The energy in her is simply not enough to keep her straight and tense, and that is why she relaxes in his arms.
He looks at her for an eternity. Sakura's eyes, half-lidded, roll to meet his. There is a silence full of things he wishes he could say, but knows better than to try. I'm sorry, or, thank you , or, me too, I—
Her eyes are bright, glassy, until she blinks. Sasuke wonders when the sight of him will bring anything other than tears; if it ever will.
He steadies her, but remains expressionless. This is not a good time to act on this. He wonders if he will live to do so, and decides giving her anything now would be a low blow. Not the lowest, considering everything he's done, but still hard enough to leave a mark. And regenerating prowess notwithstanding, Sakura deserves better.
Sakura's eyes pull away first. The rest of her does so moments later, when her mitotic regeneration works its way through her bones, her channels. She slides out of his arm with a blank expression, and her fingers touch at her healing skin. Her blunt nails scrape across the place where his hand had been, mindless of the torn skin.
I'm sorry, he thinks, but turns to Obito instead.
Between him and Naruto, holding them both upright, Sakura walks without difficulty. It might be the lightest she has ever felt: despite the tear tracks on her face, the smile on her face is brighter than the sun.
Sasuke leans on her without shame, and they keep walking.