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Title: Soiled Like The Snow
Prompt: Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Winter Edition)

She has no clue how this happened.

One moment she's mumbling about the snow that falls from the sky so puffy and white, and the next moment she's rolling and injured within the snow staining it red. The heart that beats within her head as she sees the world spin is to remind her she's breathing even with deep tear of her skin. Finger seek to feel her side as the liquid so warm, and red continues to soil what she found so pretty.

She's not sure if she had woken up or never even had a moment of unconsciousness. She's not sure how long she's laid within the snow staring up at the sky that continues to allow these white magical balls of snow to fall from it so wonderfully. She's sure she's felt the earth shake a time or two. She's sure she's heard someone utter a jutsu or two, but she cannot focus on anything but the snow.

Her mind is numb, and she feels outside of her shell.
She's falling deeper within unconsciousness as her lids slowly raise and fall.
There's the smallest of wonder on if the snow is what's pulling her deeper within the darkness.

There's a jolt of eyes as she forces herself to focus and to not allow herself to become so accepting. She feels numb and the world may be spinning—but she's bleeding out. There's the glow of her hand as she presses it upon her side. She cannot remember who she had been talking with as she walked, but she's sure it was someone. She's sure it's someone important.

She's biting her tongue as the harsh breath she breaths creates puffs within the air that disappear far to soon. It hurts—this is painful. Whatever, or whoever has hurt her has done their best to shove her to the side. There's the deep breath she takes as she mends her flesh further determined to do what must be done. It doesn't lessen how much it hurts, and it doesn't lessen the thud of her heart against her chest as she curls upon her side pressing her face within the snow. It's cool compared to the warm blood she's spilled and it's what she hopes will make her world finally come to a stand still.

Her mind is numb—her body feels number.

She feels like an outsider to her own body, and yet even as the world continues it's slow turn she's pushing herself up from the wet snow she had tried to take in. Even has it floats down to her head she doesn't allow it to stop her. Her feet are harsh in the snow as she kicks off from it—there's two and it only takes one look of the red that glow in her direction to remind her where she is and what she had been doing.

She had been talking to him—she had been talking to Sasuke-kun.
They were traveling together as he sought atonement for his sins.

The shinobi that had dared to attack them has him moving, and has him attacking back. The sword within his hand chirps with the sounds of birds. She's rushing forward still not afraid of that sound as she once had been—they've moved passed that and she's moved passed the nightmares that came with that.

He had been in a darker place, and she had been desperate to save him from herself.

There's no missing how this shinobi has managed to escape the chidori intended, and there's no missing how this shinobi takes Sasuke to the ground. Each sound of him being smashed deeper within the ground is enough to pump her blood through her veins allowing her to find feeling within it once again. There's a rawness to the way this person fights—she too could fight like that, and it's with that thought that she pulls her leg back intending to hit just upon his head.

He's gone and she's hitting air. There's no missing the bruise upon his temple, and the odd angle his nose sits at as blood falls from his nose. He's coughing as he turns within himself trying to steady his breathing, and she's reaching to assist with his injuries. She's not expecting the hand that's grabbed her by the head and tossed her so carelessly against a near by tree that makes her back shoot with pain.

Her world spins more rabidly, and nausea fills her stomach. It begging for release at the base of her throat, and it's at the anger filled scream that hits her ears that she twists her head to allow it to fall against the snow. She needs to get up, and she needs to keep moving.

How much blood had she spilled well before now?
How much sweat had she given well before now?
How many tears had she shed well before now?

Her legs quake as she seeks to pull herself up using the trunk she had been thrown into as support. There's the flash of bright orange, and vibrant red that catches her attention within this world spinning so round. She's pushing herself off and moving forward as both men get further from her. Fingers run upon the back of her head feeling the liquid red she had yet to notice, and it's as she takes each step and increasing speed as she goes that she heals this wound she had neglected to feel. Her worlds starting to fall back into place, and starting to finally sit correctly within her view.

She's chasing after and it's only by gods grace that she's managed to dodge the kusanagi that flies passed her. Her hands are grabbing the explosive tags that hang upon her kunai. She's throwing and she's just a hair or two off her aim. She's managed to stop the bleeding from her head, and she's stopped the rapid spinning but it's going to take more time still for the world to settle correctly within her eyes.

She's quick to pull out the metal infused wire and even with shaky hands she's wrapping it around the kunai she has left. It's dangerous to keep her eyes off their enemy but she knows he'll want his sword.

The flick of her wrist comes that allows her to throw it far enough to wrap around the hilt. A yank of hand and the sound his Amaterasu fills the air. She's quick to spin and quick to turn with his sword finally within her hand. She's whipping her head to fast but it won't stop her from getting to him. He's on top of their enemy and his breathing is labored. Fingers immediately drop the sword, and go to his face to start her work.

He's covered within his sweat and blood. There's the glass over his eyes that dare to glow within the fall of the snow. Shaky hands come to rest upon her arms. She's pressing her thumbs against his nose prepared to align it back into place, and there's a squeeze of his hand that singles for her to do it. The painful sound that escapes him and the whip of his head comes. Those worn breaths continue to fill the snow with its white and she's uttering every apology she can.

Those fingers that press upon her arms are firmer and tighter as he brings her to him. He's uttering the smallest of pained whispers. It's here and now that she knows it's not the pain that had caused those eyes to glass over.

He's chanting it with succession, and panic laced desperation, "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay—"

He's not stopping as he pulls her tighter to him as if afraid to let her go. This force he's using hurts but it doesn't stop her hands from finding their place upon his back. She's answering every one of his chants with the promise she's fine. She's roughened, bruised, and bleed upon the snow but she's fine. She's all the things she needs to be here in this moment.

He had been panicking when she had been thrown and he had been desperate to eliminate the threat to find his way back to her. She's pressing him just as tight as he is to her and she's continuing to give her own chants back.

She's not sure how long it's taken for him to ease himself of this fear that had washed over him. She's not sure how long they whispered, and chanted back and forth amongst each other. All she knows is that there's the painful quake of her heart when she sees him so exhausted within his blood, sweat, and tears. She's as gentle as she can be as she heals his wounds, and she's so thankful she hadn't allowed herself to fall within the darkness. She hasn't bled out and turned his fear into a reality.

She pulls the glove from one set of fingers to let them run within his hair sticky with blood, and sweat that the snow continues to float down upon. She's brushing it off softly and reassuringly. She tries to give the most genuine of smiles as she sets to shove her fingers deep within her glove.

His fingers are hesitant as they trace the wound that she had healed as she lay within the slow. There's almost a ticklish sensation that comes as his fingers trail it, "Sakura."

"I'm okay, Sasuke-kun."

There's a moment of hesitation from him, and then he's finally relenting. He's kneeling down to grab a hold of the sword and slide it within it's sheath before grabbing a hold of her hand and pulling her behind him.

He's determined for them to make it to their next destination so they can properly attend to themselves, and she's not one to argue. There's nothing stopping her viridian from gazing upon this hand stained in blood—she wonders if it's his or the shinobi who had attacked them.

How much blood had he spilled well before now?
How much sweat had he given well before now?
How many tears had he shed well before now?

She knows she had given them all, and she knows this man before her has given just as much. It's obvious in how fear gripped a hold of his heart so easily. She hopes he doesn't have to give any more of his blood, sweat, and even more so his tears. She hopes she's never the one that makes him shed tears again.

He's shed far to many of those.
He's cried for far to many years.

He's like the snow—he's pure when you get down to his core.
—and just like with the snow today he's been soiled blood, sweat, and tears.