The Worst Kind of Hero

Disorientation.

Several voices shouting, can't make them out yet, all of them sound familiar.

Bone-deep fatigue, though Yuuri knows passing out is not a good idea just now. Still, all his movements are so slow.

More shouting; maybe Conrad? The urgency sounds like him.

Too slow to turn. Something hits him hard in the shoulder and sends him sprawling face-first onto the ground. He tries to get up but a heavy weight covers his back. He feels it jerk and he fights the post-power-surge haze tooth and nail. Louder shouting, and maybe a horse? Swords clanging above his head while the weight shifts and moves -- is moved? -- off him.

Yuuri sits up carefully, shaking his head, hoping to finally focus. He rubs the back of his neck and his fingers come away red and sticky. But he's not hurt.

A harsh cough and more frantic yelling coming from all around him. He looks over to one side and sees Murata sitting beside him; facing him. His face is much paler than usual, and his glasses are missing.

"Alright, Shibuya?"

"Aa." Yuuri looks down at his fingers and then up at his friend's face. At his dark uniform jacket, where an even darker stain is spreading out from the left side of his chest.

Murata smiles. "Good."

Yuuri catches him as he pitches sideways and sees the arrow shaft protruding from his back. "M, Murata...?" His heart is beating too fast in his chest, it hurts and he can't breathe.

Dark hair tickles beneath his jaw as Murata rests his forehead on his shoulder. "Looks like I can... do the hero thing too, ne?"

"No..." a whimper and then Yuuri frantically looks around, looking for someone, anyone, to help. "You're not s'posed to be a hero, idiot..." Not the one who had made something of a science out of saving his own skin. That was the one he always knew would be there, because he always kept self-preservation high on his priority list.

Murata laughs and Yuuri feels his arms wrap tightly around his waist. "You made it look so worthwhile... had to give it a try." Yuuri takes hold of the arrow shaft and Murata flinches. "It's barbed," he murmurs. "Don't pull it."

The chaos around them has finally ebbed, though it's hard to tell where the others are. Hoofbeats are thundering in his direction, getting louder, and hope flutters painfully in Yuuri's heart. "I'll go get someone--"

"No." The arms tighten further around his waist. "Stay here?"

"But--"

"Please."

Yuuri's own jacket is getting sticky and damp, now. He can feel the warmth, then the chill, soaking through to his skin. He doesn't know if he can heal this much damage, doesn't know if he should, not with the arrow still inside. But he has to do something. A soft light shines along Murata's back as he summons his healing abilities. Murata's breath hitches after a moment, then Yuuri can hear his faint laugh.

"Stubborn."

"Shut up."

"Killing yourself to save me... kind of negates my heroic act... you know."

Tears sting Yuuri's eyes and he doesn't know if he wants to laugh or hit his friend. He does the first and saves the other for later. There will be a later, after all. "The last thing I need is another one of those."

The hoofbeats get louder and louder, and he feels Murata sigh against his neck. "Not enough time..."

"No!"

Murata's weight is getting heavier against him, and the grip around his waist weakens. "You'll... do fine, Shibuya... I always knew... you would."

"Murata!" Yuuri pulls away from his friend, holding him up by the shoulders as he shouts into his near-translucent face. "Don't you dare."

Murata smiles at him, heavy-lidded eyes full of a mix of calm and sympathy. His friend leans in close to brush a kiss over his cheek.

"Sorry, Shibuya."