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"Just So You Know, I Still Hate You (A Lot)" - Sasuke + Deidara (AU) [5/5]
Title: “Just So You Know, I Still Hate You (A Lot).” [5/5]
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alory_shannon
Genre: Gen.Some might say slight crack. Rendered AU now, thanks to recent chapters, but eh.
Rating: T.
Pairing: None. You don’t like that, too bad. Go write your own fanfic. But I can assure you I won’t be reading it. ^^
Characters Featured: Sasuke, Deidara.
Summary: A few months after Akatsuki is defeated, Sasuke is captured by Cloud-nin and thrown into prison…and who happens to be in the next cell over comes as a pretty big surprise.
A/N: …FINALLY. Had this half-done for MONTHS, but just couldn’t finish it somehow.But lol I am so proud of me for finishing a multichapter story that isn’t just a drabble collection even if it took MUCH longer than it really should’ve orz.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
--
The daily exercise regimen he’d forced himself to follow while imprisoned had kept him in better shape than he should have been in, but malnutrition, low chakra levels, and the constant cold had still left Sasuke considerably weaker than normal. This, coupled with the unfamiliar, difficult-to-maneuver terrain and the now sporadic rather than constant snowstorms, made it fairly easy for the Kumo-nin to catch up to him.
There must have been an outpost or something nearby that he didn’t know about, but then again, the visibility is so poor that he could’ve passed within ten feet of it and never been the wiser. He doesn’t dare use his Sharingan either, at least not at first, but when he starts thinking that maybe he’s passed that exact same rock twice before, they snap on instantly.
And that is what saves him from the squad of Kumo-nin coming up fast behind him.
Still, he is sorely outnumbered--there are ten of them, all jounin by the focused look of their chakra--and while he could have taken them all easily under better circumstances, his own chakra levels are getting dangerously low. He’s already slipping almost every other step, exhausted from the hours he’s spent fighting his way through these snowy mountains, and it’s more luck (or maybe the powerful combination of adrenaline and desperation) than skill that allows him to keep his attackers at bay. He manages to hold his own, but he isn’t taking any of them out, and he knows he has to and fast, because this can’t last—
A staccato series of explosions, entirely unexpected, send him flying a good thirty metres, and he skids downhill on his back for at least another ten before quickly flipping himself to his feet, sword held at the ready. However, there is no trace of any of the Kumo-nin’s chakra signatures (not that he’d expected there to be), and when he re-crosses those forty metres, he finds nothing but large, charred craters with a few tongues of flame flickering along their bottoms; already the snow is moving to reclaim those bits of ground, implacably coating the still-steaming earth until there is no heat left to melt it away.
And Sasuke briefly directs narrowed eyes upwards, already knowing and not liking it one bit. Yes, he thinks as he turns and starts off again, death might very well have been preferable to what he knows is coming.
He waits to resheathe his sword until he can sense the prickle of the other shinobi’s chakra--a pointed movement roughly equivalent to a slap in the face, though really it’s a calculated move: pressing the blade’s edge against the inside of the sheath while he draws it will almost double the speed of his swing, and he’ll need to be that fast if he ends up having to fight this particular battle right here and right now.
The snow is falling softly now, and silent, so there is nothing to cover the sound of approaching wings or muffle the brazenly irritating, all-too-familiar voice calling out to him:
“Not even a ‘thank you’? Maybe I should’ve just let them kill you, yeah.”
Sasuke doesn’t have to say a word; the expression of mingled disbelief and suspicion (mostly suspicion) he turns skyward is sufficient to communicate his mistrust for Deidara’s reasons for saving him. The blonde reads that mistrust easily, offering a rather unpleasant smile in return.
“You’re the last one with those eyes, right? So I’m the one who’s gonna kill you, not anyone else, yeah.”
Sasuke tenses, eyes narrowing even further, knuckles flaring white on his sword hilt.
Deidara’s grin widens at that, and he gives a low chuckle. “Heh, you don’t have anything to worry about right now. Neither of us is in any shape for a good fight--a few months in prison can really take the edge off your skills--so for now, I’ll have to take a rain cheque, yeah.” He gives Sasuke that mildly unsettling evaluating stare, eyes going cold and analytical; after a moment he seems to come to some sort of decision, and brings the bird down lower, just within jumping range, raising an eyebrow in invitation.
Once more Sasuke starts to turn away, only to find himself looking down at dozens and dozens of tiny clay insects milling around on the ground surrounding him.
“Then again, if you’re just gonna be full of yourself like that…” Deidara begins, casually folding one hand into a seal that Sasuke knows very well by now, and the Uchiha snorts, narrowly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. In an instant he’s leaped aboard the clay bird and seated himself as far away from the blonde shinobi as possible (which isn’t very, considering the size of the thing, but that half-metre of space is a welcome one in Sasuke’s eyes). Deidara just chuckles again and sends the bird winging off through the chilly mountain air, inwardly musing on whether the younger man will cave after an hour or so and move a bit closer for warmth’s sake and ultimately deciding that he won’t.
Which is a good thing, really--after all this, killing the kid by pushing him off the bird would be pretty anticlimactic.
--
A few hours of travel prove him right, but also find them both utterly numb with the cold. Even Deidara’s previous semi-immunity seems to have failed, if the violent shudders wracking his body are any indication. But if he’s waiting for Sasuke to give in and ask him to stop, he finally realises that he’s going to be disappointed; and though it feels a little like admitting a weakness or being the first to blink or look away in a staring contest, eventually Deidara lands them at the mouth of an icicle-encrusted cave, and the way they both stumble those few feet into the cavern and out of the wind has little to do with the almost-hip-deep snow and plenty to do with their muscles being half-frozen into a seated position.
Through an uncommon stroke of luck (for Deidara, not Sasuke, who tends to be too lucky for his own good, or so Deidara thinks), it turns out that the cave must be an emergency shelter of sorts for the Kumo-nin: there’s decent-sized pile of neatly stacked firewood, some thermal blankets, and some emergency rations—tea and rice and some pots to cook both in. Sasuke falls to building a fire, survival being a larger factor than pride, while Deidara immediately claims all the blankets for himself, though by the time Sasuke has the fire going, he’s apparently warmed up enough to discard half of them, leaving them strewn around the cave at random.
Sasuke’s eye twitches at the mess, but it’s not his cave and he refuses to pick up after this jackass any more than he has to; he takes the nearest of the blankets (the one with the least snow on it) and ignores the rest, putting a snow-filled pot over the little fire to melt.
Would that the artist’s other actions were as easy to ignore.
“Make some tea, too, yeah,” he says, kicking the metal tin in Sasuke’s direction, obviously an order rather than a request. Sasuke only just keeps the tin from skittering into the fire, turning his head and spitting Deidara with an even glare, but the blonde just turns his nose up haughtily, unrepentant as ever. “You’re Akatsuki now, right? Well I’m your senpai, so you’re the one who has to do the menial tasks like that. And I don’t feel like cooking right now, even if I’d probably be better at it than you, hmm.” He stretches out on his back, blankets all but abandoned, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “Wake me up when it’s ready.”
He’s not Akatsuki (neither of them is anymore), but Sasuke knows that saying so wouldn’t be worth the effort; he snorts quietly as he dumps the rice into the boiling water, annoyed in that flatly bored way the blonde hates so much. ‘Tobi’ might’ve scraped and begged and pandered to Deidara’s superiority complex (or at least seemed to at their first meeting—he’s still not entirely sure what Madara was playing at there), but Sasuke intends to do no such thing. If the other missing nin wants any food or tea, he’ll have to wake up and get it on his own.
But apparently the blonde wasn’t really sleeping, because the instant after the tea kettle whistles, he’s crouched by the fire, using the end of his sleeve to hold the hot metal as he fills his cup. Sasuke manages to get his half of the rice while the other shinobi is busy dumping most of their sugar into his tea, and after obtaining his own cup of tea, retreats to a far corner of the cave, not minding the cold so long as it will grant him some distance from the blonde. Deidara must sense this however, because he soon drags his pile of blankets over towards Sasuke and settles in—not close, exactly, but much nearer than the Uchiha had in mind.
But even though the proximity is somewhat taxing, it would have been bearable but for what happens next.
Deidara rolls over onto his side, looks Sasuke full in the face, and starts talking. And his first question is almost enough to send Sasuke pelting back towards the prison complex:
“So, where are we going now?”
We? Sasuke barely keeps from growling, though he’s sure his glare gets that message across just as clearly as if he’d actually said the word aloud. Yet somehow Deidara seems oblivious to it, and starts listing off various cities and other possible interesting locations, and while going anywhere with this psychopathic nightmare of a shinobi is the last thing he really wants to do, Sasuke can’t help but feel responsible for Deidara’s freedom. Responsibility is a new idea, at least this sort of responsibility, but it was passed like a torch and it burns within him now, unable to be ignored. And the fact of the matter is, Deidara needs someone around to keep him in check--someone more powerful than he is, or at least an even match, someone who can, and will, take him out if need be. Possibly even permanently.
The idea of taking a life isn’t at all daunting to Sasuke anymore. He’s older, more jaded. He’s known both sides of death now, and seeing your best friend’s blood on your hands while he’s lying still and broken on the ground before you changes things. Changes you.
Especially when you also know that it was undeniably, incontestably, inescapably your fault.
Deidara still hasn’t shut up (now he’s going on about some mysterious country in the lands beyond Mist-nin territory, somewhere far across the sea), and Sasuke feels an unexpected pang when he looks over at him. There are plenty of differences, worlds and universes of them, but with his hair cut shorter, and both brilliantly blue eyes visible, and his mouth constantly moving, there are still enough similarities for the brief sideways glimpses Sasuke keeps catching out of the corner of his eyes to be painful.
He can’t face that even now, can’t accept it; closing his eyes, he turns his head away and tries to find sleep.
Only to find himself being jabbed in the ribs with his own (sheathed) sword less than a minute later.
“Hey, I’m talking to you, yeah! Don’t ignore me!”
Perhaps, Sasuke thinks with a sinking feeling of resignation as he snatches his sword away and glowers at a widely-grinning Deidara, he is simply fated (or maybe doomed would be a more fitting term) to be partnered with loud, obnoxious blue-eyed blondes.
--
It comes as something of a shock to both of them when they get far enough south to discover that while they had been battling their way through fierce snowstorms in the distant north, the rest of the world was enjoying a hot, lazy summer.
So hot and lazy, in fact, that they are soon forced to abandon their coats and cold-weather gear--Akatsuki cloaks included, since they’re both smarter than that and neither wants anything more to do with Akatsuki anyway. Sasuke burns the discarded items to hide the physical proof of their passage; before he can protest, Deidara throws the Uchiha’s Oto belt on the fire too, something that irritates Sasuke for days afterwards, since his pants were just a bit loose and the belt was more functional than fashionable.
They ditch the bird when they see a good-sized town on the horizon, walking the rest of the way like normal travelers; and surprisingly enough, they blend in—wagons and caravans crowd the roads leading into the town, and people on foot are flocking there as well. From snatches of overheard conversation, it soon becomes clear that tomorrow is the start of Obon, and the town they’re heading toward is known for holding an expansive three-day-festival.
It’s late afternoon when they finally walk through the city gates, and it’s been a while since either has been in a city or town without having to worry about being seen and recognised, though it doesn’t take them long to get their bearings. Deidara immediately buys some yakitori, and wanders down the street munching it contentedly, not offering to share either the food or the money he bought it with, which is annoying, but not exactly cruel since they’d still had some supplies leftover from the cave in Kumo and had already eaten breakfast that morning. Talking around a mouthful of chicken, Deidara suggests that they look for an inn. He’d consistently picked the pockets of all the guards they’d killed as they broke out of prison, and he knows he has more than enough to pay for a stay in a fairly nice inn for a few days. Sasuke had seen him rifling through pockets and such, but he hadn’t even thought about it; practical as he generally was, money had never really been much of a concern for him.
They spend the next hour being jostled through busy streets, searching in vain for a marginally respectable-looking place, then any place at all, that doesn’t have its NO VACANCY sign in the window already. The only one they can find is a bit dingy-looking, and its paintjob has obviously seen its share of sun and the elements, but both shinobi have seen and stayed in places that looked far worse, so they wordlessly agree to give it a try.
The inside is a little cramped but also somewhat less dingy, and the skinny slip of a man at the front counter who is obviously the innkeeper has a sly, pinched cast to his face that his greasy smile does not improve upon. Deidara narrows his eyes, apparently taking an instant dislike to the man, then entertains himself by drawing on the grimy windows.
“Two rooms,” he says over his shoulder, and then he all but stops listening, since in his mind that’s the end of the conversation. He knows this type--the innkeeper will claim there’s only a single room left every time anyone asks for a room, and will jack up the price since most of the other places are already full--and he also knows that all that type really needs is the right sort of persuasion.
“So sorry,” the innkeeper gushes, a blatantly false apology, “but we only have one room left—” his beady eyes dart back and forth between Sasuke and Deidara, as if trying to determine something “—but it’s got a double-size bed, so if you don’t mind—”
“We do, actually,” Deidara drawls, dragging a nail across the glass with a nerve-gratingly high-pitched screech, an edge of menace in his grin, which is really more a baring of teeth than anything. “So you’d better figure something out fast, or we’ll do a lot more than just mind, yeah.” He treats the innkeeper to another moment of that eerie too-wide grin, then turns his attention back to the windows.
The man looks at Sasuke dubiously, but his gaze is quickly brought back to Deidara when the sound of shattering glass tears through the air. The nearest window is in pieces on the floor, and the blonde looks more than a little self-satisfied.
“Oops,” he says with that same grin, then his eyes move to the next pane consideringly.
The innkeeper’s expression slackens in something like horrified disbelief, and that, coupled with a sort of desperation, is the look he turns on Sasuke. But if he’s looking for reassurance, he won’t be getting any from the Uchiha.
“Give us a room with two beds, or you won’t have any rooms left…or any inn, either,” he says calmly, as if it wasn’t a threat at all even though it absolutely is.
It’s a reasonable compromise, asking for a single room but two beds, but even then, the innkeeper wavers, forcing Sasuke to give one finally nudge.
“He’s a demolitions expert,” he says in his usual coldly collected manner as another window cracks and the innkeeper’s gaze returns to the wickedly smirking blonde lurking behind him. “And if you can tell there used to be a building there, he says the explosion wasn’t big enough.”
The innkeeper goes pasty white, and fumbles with his ledger and a room key. “Room 31, top floor!” he sputters, shoving the key at Sasuke and wincing as something else shatters--the glass in a picture frame in the lobby. Deidara is there in a flash, scooping up the key and scattering a few coins across the counter, making the man scrabble for them.
“Such service,” the blonde chuckles mostly to himself as he takes the stairs two at a time.
The instant they reach their room, even before the door is fully closed behind them, Deidara kicks off his sandals, strips off his shirt, and flops down on the bed closer to the window. Sasuke looks at him with disgust when he almost immediately starts to snore.
By the time Sasuke himself is ready for bed half an hour later, the blonde has kicked the extra blankets off the foot of the bed and twisted himself up in the single sheet, a flimsy cocoon which does nothing to muffle the piercing snores still rattling in and out of him. Sasuke glowers at him, weighing the level of inexplicably associated guilt against his bone-deep longing for a good night’s sleep in a warm, comfortable bed and ultimately (but grudgingly) deciding that suffocating Deidara with his pillow isn’t worth it. Instead, he buries his head under his own pillow, though it’s a good half hour at least before he stops tossing and turning and sleep finds him at long last.
Once his breathing finally evens out, the snoring abruptly stops, two blue eyes snapping open and to the side. Stretching luxuriously, Deidara grins to himself, straightening his blankets and settling down into them before dropping into a deep, exhausted sleep, traces of an impish little smile still lingering in the slight curve of his mouth.
--
Both are beyond exhausted, and they sleep until late afternoon of the next day. Sasuke blearily comes to, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the sounds of the festival-goers outside, and slowly piecing together where he is, and why he is where he is. He’s halfway up and into the nearest corner, sword in hand, when the bathroom door swings open, but he relaxes again (mostly) when he realises it’s only Deidara, wrapped in about three towels.
“Finally decided to wake up, hmm?” the blonde says with a grin on seeing him standing there. Sasuke rolls his eyes and looks away as Deidara practically bounds across the room, losing one towel completely and loosening the other two dangerously, dropping to one knee to dig into a bag sitting at the foot of his bed.
“Here,” he says after a minute or so of rummaging, and tosses a wad of messily-folded dark blue-checkered fabric at Sasuke’s face. Sasuke snatches it out of the air well before it can make contact, shaking it out and blinking with slight surprise on finding himself holding a decent-looking yukata.
“Hope it’s boring enough for you,” Deidara says, lobbing a wine-red obi at him as well before turning his attention on smoothing out and getting into his own yukata, which is electric blue with a pattern of what looks like some sort of bird in orange and yellow, his own obi a vivid orange to match. Even in the dim light, Sasuke’s eyes sting a little looking at it, and he heaves an irritated little sigh because he knows he’s going to have to put up with looking at it all evening, because leaving Deidara alone in a crowded area like this would be a recipe for disaster. At least they don’t have worry about blending in--the place is full to bursting with travelers and people from out-of-town, and he and Deidara are hardly likely to be the flashiest or strangest-looking people out there tonight.
By the end of the night, Sasuke is surprised to find that he’s had a moderately good time, in spite of his own reticent nature and Deidara’s seemingly limitless energy. Again he feels that uncomfortable pang as he’s dragged from booth to booth, often forced to hold their food and delegated to carry things like the little bag with a turtle in it that Deidara won from one of the many games stalls; the last time he’d been to a festival like this, another blonde had done the dragging, and Sasuke indulges in a bit more than his share of sake that night to take the edge off those memories and maybe to help him pretend that they aren’t memories at all. But when that leaves him looking for a glimpse of pink hair in the surrounding crowd before he catches himself, he doesn’t drink another drop for the rest of the night.
They don’t ever discuss it aloud, but they decide to stay there for the full three days of the festival through a silent sort of mutual consent. It’s the perfect cover, since the crowds will definitely hide them during their stay, and during their departure as well, and truthfully both know that they need the time to recover from their prison ordeal. So for those three days, they sleep most of the day, relax in the hot springs during the evening, and attend the festival at night.
It’s approaching midnight on the third day, and Deidara’s cheeks are just as flushed with alcohol as Sasuke’s were that first night, though the blonde only seems more hyperactively obnoxious because of it. As they pause on a street corner to wolf down some excellent takoyaki, the blonde artist leans in to dig a sharp elbow into Sasuke’s side. “C’mon, c’mon, you haven’t done anything tonight! Give something a try, yeah! Or aren’t you good at anything other than acting superior and being a self-important jackass?”
Sasuke ignores the prodding, both verbal and physical, neatly finishing his food and disposing of the garbage, then (more or less) patiently waiting for Deidara to do the same. The blonde shoves his last three takoyaki into his mouth all at once, carelessly tossing his trash to the side, then once again he’s towing Sasuke along through the crowd after him—which abruptly switches to Deidara shoving Sasuke forward and then fading back into the crowd with a snicker. Sasuke gives an irritated huff at his childish behaviour, too busy scanning the faces surrounding him in an attempt to locate the current bane of his existence to notice much else; his search is interrupted by the thunder of taiko drums, and as the long looping line of people he’s standing with start…dancing.
It’s the Bon Odori, which is fairly easy and vaguely the same regardless of where it’s performed, and his Sharingan make learning the particulars of this region’s version effortless. And he actually goes along with it, because it’s really not that bad, because of the traditional meaning behind it, because he has had a cup or two of sake and is feeling a bit mellow, and because lots of people are watching and there’s simply no graceful way to leave in the middle of the dance. He hasn’t participated in a Bon festival dance since he was a child, not since the loss of his family, and there is something nostalgic, something peaceful and reassuring in the simple, nonsensical-feeling movements. By the end of it, there is something very much like the vague memory of a smile on the last Uchiha’s face.
…And by the end of it, he’s certain that he’s lost track of Deidara for good. Which isn’t a wholly bad thing, really: it allows him to walk at his own pace for once, enables him to soak in his surroundings and pay attention to something other than keeping someone else out of trouble. He starts to notice more and more people carrying paper lanterns and heading towards the nearby river for the tōrō nagashi ceremony, and though he’s drifting in the same direction, he slows a bit, knowing that technically it would be a waste of money to buy one of his own, but feeling very much like he owes it to him to honour his sacrifice in every way possible.
He’s still deliberating when a small child comes up to him, shoving something into his hands--“You danced really good, stranger-san!”--and Sasuke finds himself holding one of those paper lanterns: a white one. The child is gone before he can say a word, either in thanks (unlikely) or in question (how did the boy know?), but later, when he lights it and almost tenderly places it on the water, there’s no doubt in his heart or his mind who it’s for or why it had come to him, seemingly by chance.
But after everything that’s happened to him over his nineteen years, Uchiha Sasuke is starting to believe that there’s really no such thing as chance, especially when certain fox-faced blondes were concerned.
The riverbank had already been packed, making it nearly impossible to get down to the water; after a quick glance around, Sasuke had simply teleported to the other side of the sizeable waterway, then walked downstream until the hum of the crowd faded to a muted buzz. Now he sits on his own in the dark, watching the lantern he’d lit drift away, that flame that had been so bright and warm and immediate soon nothing more than a wavering flicker in the distance.
He hears a sandal intentionally scuff along a patch of dirt, and in his peripheral vision, he can see Deidara sitting on his heels a hundred metres or so down the bank, the glow of those hundreds of little fires on the water making his eyes gleam with a spark of that manic light Sasuke knows all too well. But surprisingly enough, the blonde seems content with merely looking on, and (unsurprisingly) amusing himself by sinking the odd lantern with a rock or a tiny clay creature.
He picks targets well clear of the lantern Sasuke released, however, and the Uchiha wonders how intentional that is; when Deidara turns a brief but unexpectedly serious stare his way, he pretends not to notice, but he has his answer, and abruptly he gets to his feet. His lantern has melded into the glow of the others, unrecognizable amongst its fellows, and Sasuke looks at the cluster of warm, buttery yellow lights for the space of a dozen heartbeats before slowly, purposefully turning and making his way back to the inn, making the journey entirely on foot this time.
Deidara doesn’t follow him right away; he lingers, sinking a few more of the delicate little lanterns and admiring the spectacle they all make skimming along the surface of the river. It’s a beautiful thing, because they’re lovely to look upon but are so fragile, so easily destroyed, their flames so fleeting. Memento mori, he thinks to himself with a tightly vicious little smile as he sends another tiny paper boat to the bottom of the river. Remember you must die.
He won’t forget. He never has really, but that remembrance comes even easier these days, every time he brushes a hand over a patch of still-scarred skin, every time the wind touches his hair and the expected weight and tug isn’t there, every time the chill of evening can find no place to settle into his bones.
That Uchiha brat won’t forget either, he thinks suddenly, and though even a passing consideration of his current travelling companion irks him a bit (makes him long to wrap his strong artist’s fingers around that pretty, too-pale throat or else just shake him until that huge stick shoved six feet up his ass works its way free), he can feel a sort of resonance there between them that goes deeper than simply being shinobi or missing nin or even prodigies. The way he’d carried and released that lantern like it was a part of himself, the way his attention had lingered on it, watching it out of sight like a parent or lover would their treasured child or their cherished sweetheart; there is a knowledge of death there, an acceptance tempered not with fear, but with equanimity. The way he’d let himself relax into the Bon Odori dance, which Deidara had thought would make him angry and uncomfortable for the rest of the night, but instead had shown that even he could occasionally put something else before his own personal pride and let himself have something that could almost be considered fun.
And while the artist is sure that he’ll never really like the stuck-up bastard, there is perhaps the barest scrap of regard buried in the vindictive curiosity, bloodlust, and constant impulse to irritate the hell out of him whenever possible. Nothing has changed--Deidara still wants nothing more than to see that fear in those red, red eyes again before turning the last Uchiha into a glorious work of Art, nothing more than to shatter that implacable façade and see him cry and beg and plead for his life--but at the same time, in a way, everything has changed.
And that’s what makes life worth living.
With a smirk, the blonde teleports away, already snickering to himself inwardly over the projected look of confusion then disgust that will wash over the Uchiha’s face on finding that Deidara short-sheeted his bed while he was in the bathroom earlier, leaving the paper lanterns to swirl and drift along in their danse macabre, hundreds of tiny beacons to guide the lost back to where they now belong: wandering, transitory escorts for the eternal.
He teleports directly back their room, amused but somehow not surprised to find that he beat Sasuke back; but when he turns around, for a moment he can only stare, transfixed on finding that even from their room at the inn, the glow from the river is still visible over the nearby rooftops.
--
They leave the morning after the festival ends, once again going on foot for a while and mingling with the crowd on the off chance that any Kumo-nin might have tracked them this far. Regardless of who leads, the other is always just a half-step behind, their reasons vastly different but the results of them more or less the same. Neither really has anywhere to go, or any particular destination in mind, but as they continue to wander, they slowly realise that despite how little they like each other, their differing talents and skill sets mean that they do work well together, and the odd jobs they take to earn a little money here and there always end in success, even if Deidara has to go blow things up to let off some steam afterward and Sasuke grinds his teeth throughout the entire task.
There is also the fact that neither truly likes being alone. There is no one waiting for either of them, and both know in their heart of hearts that if they go their own separate ways, they will be condemning themselves to lives of solitude, even if their ultimate destination turns out to be the biggest, busiest city. They are each all that the other has left of the past, and while they are equally glad to be done with that past, they are also equally bound to it: one more thing they will never forget. And while it is not a warm, comfortable bond, irritated resignation edging on grudging respect but not quite touching mutual trust, it is far better than nothing.
The city where they end up is large but a bit run-down, on the border between the Land of Earth and Waterfall Country. They didn’t intend to stay for good, simply looking for a place to stop for a week or two, but the odd jobs kept coming, and before they knew it, they’d all but settled in permanently. Sasuke accepts simple chores like working in gardens and cleaning out storerooms, Deidara takes on courier jobs that let him get out and stretch his wings (both literally and figuratively), but for the most part they work together on retrieval jobs, drug busts, and the odd assassination, though those are rare and only taken on if the target is far, far away from their current place of residence.
In the beginning, Deidara is still looking to kill Sasuke the first chance he gets; but every time he thinks he’s found the perfect time, something comes up or he finds an excuse to put it off just a little longer. There’s still something more there, more to see, more to learn, and killing the brat before he’s figured it all out would be a waste, because there’s an art to his very existence, something that has nothing to do with bloodlines and winning the genetic lottery and those eyes. For his part, Sasuke has reconciled himself to the fact that, until one of them dies, he’s going to be stuck with the blonde. That nagging sense of responsibility won’t let him simply leave; he has to stay close to monitor the other shinobi’s actions and hopefully, ultimately temper Deidara’s destructive habits somewhat.
A year passes, then another, and still neither moves on; neither makes any attempt to upset the subtle but increasingly substantial connection between them. And while it’s not what either would call friendship (nothing like most would call friendship, in fact), that’s precisely what it is, though either or both would sooner die denying it than admit as much.
But though they tend to ignore the minor things, the little problems that are annoying but not life-threatening, that doesn’t stop them from looking out for each other when they really have to. Still, sometimes they think that dying might actually be preferable to accepting the help of the other shinobi.
Deidara is thinking just that as he struggles to wrap a particularly nasty kunai wound on the back of his upper arm. He’d much rather bleed out than ask for assistance from Uchiha Sasuke, but thankfully, he doesn’t need to ask.
Sasuke takes stock of the situation the instant he enters the room, and he steps closer after only the briefest pause. He doesn’t say a word as he firmly takes the bandages from the blonde’s fumbling grasp, and since the injury is more on the underside of the arm, it’s something of an awkward angle, so with great dignity and not the slightest sense of submission, he kneels beside Deidara’s chair. He makes a quick, thorough job of it, not lingering with the barest shade of compassion or slowing to prevent or ease the unavoidable pain that binding up a wound always brings, but he’s not recklessly fast or in any way sloppy either. The instant he’s done he rises and moves away, washing his hands even though they aren’t bloodied, and turns to leave again without so much as glancing at Deidara’s face even once to see how he’s taking the pain.
Deidara moves his arm in a circle, testing the bandage, then scowling at it: further proof that all things change. Still scowling, he raises his gaze to settle on Sasuke’s back, right between his shoulderblades, his mouth quirking with a challenging smile that, while still feral and fierce, has somehow lost some of its heat and viciousness. His tone still carries them though, defiance in the face of the consideration but never-quite-concern Sasuke consistently grants him these days.
“…You know I’m still gonna kill you one day, yeah?”
Sasuke pauses with his hand on the door, then glances back over his shoulder at him; if Deidara didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw the faintest of smiles lingering around the last Uchiha’s mouth before he turned his head away again.
“Yeah...I know.”
Author:
alory_shannonGenre: Gen.
Rating: T.
Pairing: None. You don’t like that, too bad. Go write your own fanfic. But I can assure you I won’t be reading it. ^^
Characters Featured: Sasuke, Deidara.
Summary: A few months after Akatsuki is defeated, Sasuke is captured by Cloud-nin and thrown into prison…and who happens to be in the next cell over comes as a pretty big surprise.
A/N: …FINALLY. Had this half-done for MONTHS, but just couldn’t finish it somehow.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
--
The daily exercise regimen he’d forced himself to follow while imprisoned had kept him in better shape than he should have been in, but malnutrition, low chakra levels, and the constant cold had still left Sasuke considerably weaker than normal. This, coupled with the unfamiliar, difficult-to-maneuver terrain and the now sporadic rather than constant snowstorms, made it fairly easy for the Kumo-nin to catch up to him.
There must have been an outpost or something nearby that he didn’t know about, but then again, the visibility is so poor that he could’ve passed within ten feet of it and never been the wiser. He doesn’t dare use his Sharingan either, at least not at first, but when he starts thinking that maybe he’s passed that exact same rock twice before, they snap on instantly.
And that is what saves him from the squad of Kumo-nin coming up fast behind him.
Still, he is sorely outnumbered--there are ten of them, all jounin by the focused look of their chakra--and while he could have taken them all easily under better circumstances, his own chakra levels are getting dangerously low. He’s already slipping almost every other step, exhausted from the hours he’s spent fighting his way through these snowy mountains, and it’s more luck (or maybe the powerful combination of adrenaline and desperation) than skill that allows him to keep his attackers at bay. He manages to hold his own, but he isn’t taking any of them out, and he knows he has to and fast, because this can’t last—
A staccato series of explosions, entirely unexpected, send him flying a good thirty metres, and he skids downhill on his back for at least another ten before quickly flipping himself to his feet, sword held at the ready. However, there is no trace of any of the Kumo-nin’s chakra signatures (not that he’d expected there to be), and when he re-crosses those forty metres, he finds nothing but large, charred craters with a few tongues of flame flickering along their bottoms; already the snow is moving to reclaim those bits of ground, implacably coating the still-steaming earth until there is no heat left to melt it away.
And Sasuke briefly directs narrowed eyes upwards, already knowing and not liking it one bit. Yes, he thinks as he turns and starts off again, death might very well have been preferable to what he knows is coming.
He waits to resheathe his sword until he can sense the prickle of the other shinobi’s chakra--a pointed movement roughly equivalent to a slap in the face, though really it’s a calculated move: pressing the blade’s edge against the inside of the sheath while he draws it will almost double the speed of his swing, and he’ll need to be that fast if he ends up having to fight this particular battle right here and right now.
The snow is falling softly now, and silent, so there is nothing to cover the sound of approaching wings or muffle the brazenly irritating, all-too-familiar voice calling out to him:
“Not even a ‘thank you’? Maybe I should’ve just let them kill you, yeah.”
Sasuke doesn’t have to say a word; the expression of mingled disbelief and suspicion (mostly suspicion) he turns skyward is sufficient to communicate his mistrust for Deidara’s reasons for saving him. The blonde reads that mistrust easily, offering a rather unpleasant smile in return.
“You’re the last one with those eyes, right? So I’m the one who’s gonna kill you, not anyone else, yeah.”
Sasuke tenses, eyes narrowing even further, knuckles flaring white on his sword hilt.
Deidara’s grin widens at that, and he gives a low chuckle. “Heh, you don’t have anything to worry about right now. Neither of us is in any shape for a good fight--a few months in prison can really take the edge off your skills--so for now, I’ll have to take a rain cheque, yeah.” He gives Sasuke that mildly unsettling evaluating stare, eyes going cold and analytical; after a moment he seems to come to some sort of decision, and brings the bird down lower, just within jumping range, raising an eyebrow in invitation.
Once more Sasuke starts to turn away, only to find himself looking down at dozens and dozens of tiny clay insects milling around on the ground surrounding him.
“Then again, if you’re just gonna be full of yourself like that…” Deidara begins, casually folding one hand into a seal that Sasuke knows very well by now, and the Uchiha snorts, narrowly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. In an instant he’s leaped aboard the clay bird and seated himself as far away from the blonde shinobi as possible (which isn’t very, considering the size of the thing, but that half-metre of space is a welcome one in Sasuke’s eyes). Deidara just chuckles again and sends the bird winging off through the chilly mountain air, inwardly musing on whether the younger man will cave after an hour or so and move a bit closer for warmth’s sake and ultimately deciding that he won’t.
Which is a good thing, really--after all this, killing the kid by pushing him off the bird would be pretty anticlimactic.
--
A few hours of travel prove him right, but also find them both utterly numb with the cold. Even Deidara’s previous semi-immunity seems to have failed, if the violent shudders wracking his body are any indication. But if he’s waiting for Sasuke to give in and ask him to stop, he finally realises that he’s going to be disappointed; and though it feels a little like admitting a weakness or being the first to blink or look away in a staring contest, eventually Deidara lands them at the mouth of an icicle-encrusted cave, and the way they both stumble those few feet into the cavern and out of the wind has little to do with the almost-hip-deep snow and plenty to do with their muscles being half-frozen into a seated position.
Through an uncommon stroke of luck (for Deidara, not Sasuke, who tends to be too lucky for his own good, or so Deidara thinks), it turns out that the cave must be an emergency shelter of sorts for the Kumo-nin: there’s decent-sized pile of neatly stacked firewood, some thermal blankets, and some emergency rations—tea and rice and some pots to cook both in. Sasuke falls to building a fire, survival being a larger factor than pride, while Deidara immediately claims all the blankets for himself, though by the time Sasuke has the fire going, he’s apparently warmed up enough to discard half of them, leaving them strewn around the cave at random.
Sasuke’s eye twitches at the mess, but it’s not his cave and he refuses to pick up after this jackass any more than he has to; he takes the nearest of the blankets (the one with the least snow on it) and ignores the rest, putting a snow-filled pot over the little fire to melt.
Would that the artist’s other actions were as easy to ignore.
“Make some tea, too, yeah,” he says, kicking the metal tin in Sasuke’s direction, obviously an order rather than a request. Sasuke only just keeps the tin from skittering into the fire, turning his head and spitting Deidara with an even glare, but the blonde just turns his nose up haughtily, unrepentant as ever. “You’re Akatsuki now, right? Well I’m your senpai, so you’re the one who has to do the menial tasks like that. And I don’t feel like cooking right now, even if I’d probably be better at it than you, hmm.” He stretches out on his back, blankets all but abandoned, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “Wake me up when it’s ready.”
He’s not Akatsuki (neither of them is anymore), but Sasuke knows that saying so wouldn’t be worth the effort; he snorts quietly as he dumps the rice into the boiling water, annoyed in that flatly bored way the blonde hates so much. ‘Tobi’ might’ve scraped and begged and pandered to Deidara’s superiority complex (or at least seemed to at their first meeting—he’s still not entirely sure what Madara was playing at there), but Sasuke intends to do no such thing. If the other missing nin wants any food or tea, he’ll have to wake up and get it on his own.
But apparently the blonde wasn’t really sleeping, because the instant after the tea kettle whistles, he’s crouched by the fire, using the end of his sleeve to hold the hot metal as he fills his cup. Sasuke manages to get his half of the rice while the other shinobi is busy dumping most of their sugar into his tea, and after obtaining his own cup of tea, retreats to a far corner of the cave, not minding the cold so long as it will grant him some distance from the blonde. Deidara must sense this however, because he soon drags his pile of blankets over towards Sasuke and settles in—not close, exactly, but much nearer than the Uchiha had in mind.
But even though the proximity is somewhat taxing, it would have been bearable but for what happens next.
Deidara rolls over onto his side, looks Sasuke full in the face, and starts talking. And his first question is almost enough to send Sasuke pelting back towards the prison complex:
“So, where are we going now?”
We? Sasuke barely keeps from growling, though he’s sure his glare gets that message across just as clearly as if he’d actually said the word aloud. Yet somehow Deidara seems oblivious to it, and starts listing off various cities and other possible interesting locations, and while going anywhere with this psychopathic nightmare of a shinobi is the last thing he really wants to do, Sasuke can’t help but feel responsible for Deidara’s freedom. Responsibility is a new idea, at least this sort of responsibility, but it was passed like a torch and it burns within him now, unable to be ignored. And the fact of the matter is, Deidara needs someone around to keep him in check--someone more powerful than he is, or at least an even match, someone who can, and will, take him out if need be. Possibly even permanently.
The idea of taking a life isn’t at all daunting to Sasuke anymore. He’s older, more jaded. He’s known both sides of death now, and seeing your best friend’s blood on your hands while he’s lying still and broken on the ground before you changes things. Changes you.
Especially when you also know that it was undeniably, incontestably, inescapably your fault.
Deidara still hasn’t shut up (now he’s going on about some mysterious country in the lands beyond Mist-nin territory, somewhere far across the sea), and Sasuke feels an unexpected pang when he looks over at him. There are plenty of differences, worlds and universes of them, but with his hair cut shorter, and both brilliantly blue eyes visible, and his mouth constantly moving, there are still enough similarities for the brief sideways glimpses Sasuke keeps catching out of the corner of his eyes to be painful.
He can’t face that even now, can’t accept it; closing his eyes, he turns his head away and tries to find sleep.
Only to find himself being jabbed in the ribs with his own (sheathed) sword less than a minute later.
“Hey, I’m talking to you, yeah! Don’t ignore me!”
Perhaps, Sasuke thinks with a sinking feeling of resignation as he snatches his sword away and glowers at a widely-grinning Deidara, he is simply fated (or maybe doomed would be a more fitting term) to be partnered with loud, obnoxious blue-eyed blondes.
--
It comes as something of a shock to both of them when they get far enough south to discover that while they had been battling their way through fierce snowstorms in the distant north, the rest of the world was enjoying a hot, lazy summer.
So hot and lazy, in fact, that they are soon forced to abandon their coats and cold-weather gear--Akatsuki cloaks included, since they’re both smarter than that and neither wants anything more to do with Akatsuki anyway. Sasuke burns the discarded items to hide the physical proof of their passage; before he can protest, Deidara throws the Uchiha’s Oto belt on the fire too, something that irritates Sasuke for days afterwards, since his pants were just a bit loose and the belt was more functional than fashionable.
They ditch the bird when they see a good-sized town on the horizon, walking the rest of the way like normal travelers; and surprisingly enough, they blend in—wagons and caravans crowd the roads leading into the town, and people on foot are flocking there as well. From snatches of overheard conversation, it soon becomes clear that tomorrow is the start of Obon, and the town they’re heading toward is known for holding an expansive three-day-festival.
It’s late afternoon when they finally walk through the city gates, and it’s been a while since either has been in a city or town without having to worry about being seen and recognised, though it doesn’t take them long to get their bearings. Deidara immediately buys some yakitori, and wanders down the street munching it contentedly, not offering to share either the food or the money he bought it with, which is annoying, but not exactly cruel since they’d still had some supplies leftover from the cave in Kumo and had already eaten breakfast that morning. Talking around a mouthful of chicken, Deidara suggests that they look for an inn. He’d consistently picked the pockets of all the guards they’d killed as they broke out of prison, and he knows he has more than enough to pay for a stay in a fairly nice inn for a few days. Sasuke had seen him rifling through pockets and such, but he hadn’t even thought about it; practical as he generally was, money had never really been much of a concern for him.
They spend the next hour being jostled through busy streets, searching in vain for a marginally respectable-looking place, then any place at all, that doesn’t have its NO VACANCY sign in the window already. The only one they can find is a bit dingy-looking, and its paintjob has obviously seen its share of sun and the elements, but both shinobi have seen and stayed in places that looked far worse, so they wordlessly agree to give it a try.
The inside is a little cramped but also somewhat less dingy, and the skinny slip of a man at the front counter who is obviously the innkeeper has a sly, pinched cast to his face that his greasy smile does not improve upon. Deidara narrows his eyes, apparently taking an instant dislike to the man, then entertains himself by drawing on the grimy windows.
“Two rooms,” he says over his shoulder, and then he all but stops listening, since in his mind that’s the end of the conversation. He knows this type--the innkeeper will claim there’s only a single room left every time anyone asks for a room, and will jack up the price since most of the other places are already full--and he also knows that all that type really needs is the right sort of persuasion.
“So sorry,” the innkeeper gushes, a blatantly false apology, “but we only have one room left—” his beady eyes dart back and forth between Sasuke and Deidara, as if trying to determine something “—but it’s got a double-size bed, so if you don’t mind—”
“We do, actually,” Deidara drawls, dragging a nail across the glass with a nerve-gratingly high-pitched screech, an edge of menace in his grin, which is really more a baring of teeth than anything. “So you’d better figure something out fast, or we’ll do a lot more than just mind, yeah.” He treats the innkeeper to another moment of that eerie too-wide grin, then turns his attention back to the windows.
The man looks at Sasuke dubiously, but his gaze is quickly brought back to Deidara when the sound of shattering glass tears through the air. The nearest window is in pieces on the floor, and the blonde looks more than a little self-satisfied.
“Oops,” he says with that same grin, then his eyes move to the next pane consideringly.
The innkeeper’s expression slackens in something like horrified disbelief, and that, coupled with a sort of desperation, is the look he turns on Sasuke. But if he’s looking for reassurance, he won’t be getting any from the Uchiha.
“Give us a room with two beds, or you won’t have any rooms left…or any inn, either,” he says calmly, as if it wasn’t a threat at all even though it absolutely is.
It’s a reasonable compromise, asking for a single room but two beds, but even then, the innkeeper wavers, forcing Sasuke to give one finally nudge.
“He’s a demolitions expert,” he says in his usual coldly collected manner as another window cracks and the innkeeper’s gaze returns to the wickedly smirking blonde lurking behind him. “And if you can tell there used to be a building there, he says the explosion wasn’t big enough.”
The innkeeper goes pasty white, and fumbles with his ledger and a room key. “Room 31, top floor!” he sputters, shoving the key at Sasuke and wincing as something else shatters--the glass in a picture frame in the lobby. Deidara is there in a flash, scooping up the key and scattering a few coins across the counter, making the man scrabble for them.
“Such service,” the blonde chuckles mostly to himself as he takes the stairs two at a time.
The instant they reach their room, even before the door is fully closed behind them, Deidara kicks off his sandals, strips off his shirt, and flops down on the bed closer to the window. Sasuke looks at him with disgust when he almost immediately starts to snore.
By the time Sasuke himself is ready for bed half an hour later, the blonde has kicked the extra blankets off the foot of the bed and twisted himself up in the single sheet, a flimsy cocoon which does nothing to muffle the piercing snores still rattling in and out of him. Sasuke glowers at him, weighing the level of inexplicably associated guilt against his bone-deep longing for a good night’s sleep in a warm, comfortable bed and ultimately (but grudgingly) deciding that suffocating Deidara with his pillow isn’t worth it. Instead, he buries his head under his own pillow, though it’s a good half hour at least before he stops tossing and turning and sleep finds him at long last.
Once his breathing finally evens out, the snoring abruptly stops, two blue eyes snapping open and to the side. Stretching luxuriously, Deidara grins to himself, straightening his blankets and settling down into them before dropping into a deep, exhausted sleep, traces of an impish little smile still lingering in the slight curve of his mouth.
--
Both are beyond exhausted, and they sleep until late afternoon of the next day. Sasuke blearily comes to, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the sounds of the festival-goers outside, and slowly piecing together where he is, and why he is where he is. He’s halfway up and into the nearest corner, sword in hand, when the bathroom door swings open, but he relaxes again (mostly) when he realises it’s only Deidara, wrapped in about three towels.
“Finally decided to wake up, hmm?” the blonde says with a grin on seeing him standing there. Sasuke rolls his eyes and looks away as Deidara practically bounds across the room, losing one towel completely and loosening the other two dangerously, dropping to one knee to dig into a bag sitting at the foot of his bed.
“Here,” he says after a minute or so of rummaging, and tosses a wad of messily-folded dark blue-checkered fabric at Sasuke’s face. Sasuke snatches it out of the air well before it can make contact, shaking it out and blinking with slight surprise on finding himself holding a decent-looking yukata.
“Hope it’s boring enough for you,” Deidara says, lobbing a wine-red obi at him as well before turning his attention on smoothing out and getting into his own yukata, which is electric blue with a pattern of what looks like some sort of bird in orange and yellow, his own obi a vivid orange to match. Even in the dim light, Sasuke’s eyes sting a little looking at it, and he heaves an irritated little sigh because he knows he’s going to have to put up with looking at it all evening, because leaving Deidara alone in a crowded area like this would be a recipe for disaster. At least they don’t have worry about blending in--the place is full to bursting with travelers and people from out-of-town, and he and Deidara are hardly likely to be the flashiest or strangest-looking people out there tonight.
By the end of the night, Sasuke is surprised to find that he’s had a moderately good time, in spite of his own reticent nature and Deidara’s seemingly limitless energy. Again he feels that uncomfortable pang as he’s dragged from booth to booth, often forced to hold their food and delegated to carry things like the little bag with a turtle in it that Deidara won from one of the many games stalls; the last time he’d been to a festival like this, another blonde had done the dragging, and Sasuke indulges in a bit more than his share of sake that night to take the edge off those memories and maybe to help him pretend that they aren’t memories at all. But when that leaves him looking for a glimpse of pink hair in the surrounding crowd before he catches himself, he doesn’t drink another drop for the rest of the night.
They don’t ever discuss it aloud, but they decide to stay there for the full three days of the festival through a silent sort of mutual consent. It’s the perfect cover, since the crowds will definitely hide them during their stay, and during their departure as well, and truthfully both know that they need the time to recover from their prison ordeal. So for those three days, they sleep most of the day, relax in the hot springs during the evening, and attend the festival at night.
It’s approaching midnight on the third day, and Deidara’s cheeks are just as flushed with alcohol as Sasuke’s were that first night, though the blonde only seems more hyperactively obnoxious because of it. As they pause on a street corner to wolf down some excellent takoyaki, the blonde artist leans in to dig a sharp elbow into Sasuke’s side. “C’mon, c’mon, you haven’t done anything tonight! Give something a try, yeah! Or aren’t you good at anything other than acting superior and being a self-important jackass?”
Sasuke ignores the prodding, both verbal and physical, neatly finishing his food and disposing of the garbage, then (more or less) patiently waiting for Deidara to do the same. The blonde shoves his last three takoyaki into his mouth all at once, carelessly tossing his trash to the side, then once again he’s towing Sasuke along through the crowd after him—which abruptly switches to Deidara shoving Sasuke forward and then fading back into the crowd with a snicker. Sasuke gives an irritated huff at his childish behaviour, too busy scanning the faces surrounding him in an attempt to locate the current bane of his existence to notice much else; his search is interrupted by the thunder of taiko drums, and as the long looping line of people he’s standing with start…dancing.
It’s the Bon Odori, which is fairly easy and vaguely the same regardless of where it’s performed, and his Sharingan make learning the particulars of this region’s version effortless. And he actually goes along with it, because it’s really not that bad, because of the traditional meaning behind it, because he has had a cup or two of sake and is feeling a bit mellow, and because lots of people are watching and there’s simply no graceful way to leave in the middle of the dance. He hasn’t participated in a Bon festival dance since he was a child, not since the loss of his family, and there is something nostalgic, something peaceful and reassuring in the simple, nonsensical-feeling movements. By the end of it, there is something very much like the vague memory of a smile on the last Uchiha’s face.
…And by the end of it, he’s certain that he’s lost track of Deidara for good. Which isn’t a wholly bad thing, really: it allows him to walk at his own pace for once, enables him to soak in his surroundings and pay attention to something other than keeping someone else out of trouble. He starts to notice more and more people carrying paper lanterns and heading towards the nearby river for the tōrō nagashi ceremony, and though he’s drifting in the same direction, he slows a bit, knowing that technically it would be a waste of money to buy one of his own, but feeling very much like he owes it to him to honour his sacrifice in every way possible.
He’s still deliberating when a small child comes up to him, shoving something into his hands--“You danced really good, stranger-san!”--and Sasuke finds himself holding one of those paper lanterns: a white one. The child is gone before he can say a word, either in thanks (unlikely) or in question (how did the boy know?), but later, when he lights it and almost tenderly places it on the water, there’s no doubt in his heart or his mind who it’s for or why it had come to him, seemingly by chance.
But after everything that’s happened to him over his nineteen years, Uchiha Sasuke is starting to believe that there’s really no such thing as chance, especially when certain fox-faced blondes were concerned.
The riverbank had already been packed, making it nearly impossible to get down to the water; after a quick glance around, Sasuke had simply teleported to the other side of the sizeable waterway, then walked downstream until the hum of the crowd faded to a muted buzz. Now he sits on his own in the dark, watching the lantern he’d lit drift away, that flame that had been so bright and warm and immediate soon nothing more than a wavering flicker in the distance.
He hears a sandal intentionally scuff along a patch of dirt, and in his peripheral vision, he can see Deidara sitting on his heels a hundred metres or so down the bank, the glow of those hundreds of little fires on the water making his eyes gleam with a spark of that manic light Sasuke knows all too well. But surprisingly enough, the blonde seems content with merely looking on, and (unsurprisingly) amusing himself by sinking the odd lantern with a rock or a tiny clay creature.
He picks targets well clear of the lantern Sasuke released, however, and the Uchiha wonders how intentional that is; when Deidara turns a brief but unexpectedly serious stare his way, he pretends not to notice, but he has his answer, and abruptly he gets to his feet. His lantern has melded into the glow of the others, unrecognizable amongst its fellows, and Sasuke looks at the cluster of warm, buttery yellow lights for the space of a dozen heartbeats before slowly, purposefully turning and making his way back to the inn, making the journey entirely on foot this time.
Deidara doesn’t follow him right away; he lingers, sinking a few more of the delicate little lanterns and admiring the spectacle they all make skimming along the surface of the river. It’s a beautiful thing, because they’re lovely to look upon but are so fragile, so easily destroyed, their flames so fleeting. Memento mori, he thinks to himself with a tightly vicious little smile as he sends another tiny paper boat to the bottom of the river. Remember you must die.
He won’t forget. He never has really, but that remembrance comes even easier these days, every time he brushes a hand over a patch of still-scarred skin, every time the wind touches his hair and the expected weight and tug isn’t there, every time the chill of evening can find no place to settle into his bones.
That Uchiha brat won’t forget either, he thinks suddenly, and though even a passing consideration of his current travelling companion irks him a bit (makes him long to wrap his strong artist’s fingers around that pretty, too-pale throat or else just shake him until that huge stick shoved six feet up his ass works its way free), he can feel a sort of resonance there between them that goes deeper than simply being shinobi or missing nin or even prodigies. The way he’d carried and released that lantern like it was a part of himself, the way his attention had lingered on it, watching it out of sight like a parent or lover would their treasured child or their cherished sweetheart; there is a knowledge of death there, an acceptance tempered not with fear, but with equanimity. The way he’d let himself relax into the Bon Odori dance, which Deidara had thought would make him angry and uncomfortable for the rest of the night, but instead had shown that even he could occasionally put something else before his own personal pride and let himself have something that could almost be considered fun.
And while the artist is sure that he’ll never really like the stuck-up bastard, there is perhaps the barest scrap of regard buried in the vindictive curiosity, bloodlust, and constant impulse to irritate the hell out of him whenever possible. Nothing has changed--Deidara still wants nothing more than to see that fear in those red, red eyes again before turning the last Uchiha into a glorious work of Art, nothing more than to shatter that implacable façade and see him cry and beg and plead for his life--but at the same time, in a way, everything has changed.
And that’s what makes life worth living.
With a smirk, the blonde teleports away, already snickering to himself inwardly over the projected look of confusion then disgust that will wash over the Uchiha’s face on finding that Deidara short-sheeted his bed while he was in the bathroom earlier, leaving the paper lanterns to swirl and drift along in their danse macabre, hundreds of tiny beacons to guide the lost back to where they now belong: wandering, transitory escorts for the eternal.
He teleports directly back their room, amused but somehow not surprised to find that he beat Sasuke back; but when he turns around, for a moment he can only stare, transfixed on finding that even from their room at the inn, the glow from the river is still visible over the nearby rooftops.
--
They leave the morning after the festival ends, once again going on foot for a while and mingling with the crowd on the off chance that any Kumo-nin might have tracked them this far. Regardless of who leads, the other is always just a half-step behind, their reasons vastly different but the results of them more or less the same. Neither really has anywhere to go, or any particular destination in mind, but as they continue to wander, they slowly realise that despite how little they like each other, their differing talents and skill sets mean that they do work well together, and the odd jobs they take to earn a little money here and there always end in success, even if Deidara has to go blow things up to let off some steam afterward and Sasuke grinds his teeth throughout the entire task.
There is also the fact that neither truly likes being alone. There is no one waiting for either of them, and both know in their heart of hearts that if they go their own separate ways, they will be condemning themselves to lives of solitude, even if their ultimate destination turns out to be the biggest, busiest city. They are each all that the other has left of the past, and while they are equally glad to be done with that past, they are also equally bound to it: one more thing they will never forget. And while it is not a warm, comfortable bond, irritated resignation edging on grudging respect but not quite touching mutual trust, it is far better than nothing.
The city where they end up is large but a bit run-down, on the border between the Land of Earth and Waterfall Country. They didn’t intend to stay for good, simply looking for a place to stop for a week or two, but the odd jobs kept coming, and before they knew it, they’d all but settled in permanently. Sasuke accepts simple chores like working in gardens and cleaning out storerooms, Deidara takes on courier jobs that let him get out and stretch his wings (both literally and figuratively), but for the most part they work together on retrieval jobs, drug busts, and the odd assassination, though those are rare and only taken on if the target is far, far away from their current place of residence.
In the beginning, Deidara is still looking to kill Sasuke the first chance he gets; but every time he thinks he’s found the perfect time, something comes up or he finds an excuse to put it off just a little longer. There’s still something more there, more to see, more to learn, and killing the brat before he’s figured it all out would be a waste, because there’s an art to his very existence, something that has nothing to do with bloodlines and winning the genetic lottery and those eyes. For his part, Sasuke has reconciled himself to the fact that, until one of them dies, he’s going to be stuck with the blonde. That nagging sense of responsibility won’t let him simply leave; he has to stay close to monitor the other shinobi’s actions and hopefully, ultimately temper Deidara’s destructive habits somewhat.
A year passes, then another, and still neither moves on; neither makes any attempt to upset the subtle but increasingly substantial connection between them. And while it’s not what either would call friendship (nothing like most would call friendship, in fact), that’s precisely what it is, though either or both would sooner die denying it than admit as much.
But though they tend to ignore the minor things, the little problems that are annoying but not life-threatening, that doesn’t stop them from looking out for each other when they really have to. Still, sometimes they think that dying might actually be preferable to accepting the help of the other shinobi.
Deidara is thinking just that as he struggles to wrap a particularly nasty kunai wound on the back of his upper arm. He’d much rather bleed out than ask for assistance from Uchiha Sasuke, but thankfully, he doesn’t need to ask.
Sasuke takes stock of the situation the instant he enters the room, and he steps closer after only the briefest pause. He doesn’t say a word as he firmly takes the bandages from the blonde’s fumbling grasp, and since the injury is more on the underside of the arm, it’s something of an awkward angle, so with great dignity and not the slightest sense of submission, he kneels beside Deidara’s chair. He makes a quick, thorough job of it, not lingering with the barest shade of compassion or slowing to prevent or ease the unavoidable pain that binding up a wound always brings, but he’s not recklessly fast or in any way sloppy either. The instant he’s done he rises and moves away, washing his hands even though they aren’t bloodied, and turns to leave again without so much as glancing at Deidara’s face even once to see how he’s taking the pain.
Deidara moves his arm in a circle, testing the bandage, then scowling at it: further proof that all things change. Still scowling, he raises his gaze to settle on Sasuke’s back, right between his shoulderblades, his mouth quirking with a challenging smile that, while still feral and fierce, has somehow lost some of its heat and viciousness. His tone still carries them though, defiance in the face of the consideration but never-quite-concern Sasuke consistently grants him these days.
“…You know I’m still gonna kill you one day, yeah?”
Sasuke pauses with his hand on the door, then glances back over his shoulder at him; if Deidara didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw the faintest of smiles lingering around the last Uchiha’s mouth before he turned his head away again.
“Yeah...I know.”