Chapter One:

"Sensei, am I really just a tool?"

"All nins are tools, child."

"Sensei, are these tools too?"

"Yes, child."

"But…they don't want to hurt anyone, Sensei."

"I'm sorry, child. But as a nin, you must not show emotion. There are bad people out there that want to hurt you and your father."

"My father, Sensei? Why?"

"I do not know, child." The small boy looked at his hands sadly.

"Why is there war, Sensei?"

"War is caused by greed, pride, revenge and hate."

"Isn't it also caused by love?" The old man looked at the innocent soul before him. No, he wasn't innocent. He knew things beyond his young age. He could read your mind just by looking at your eyes. He knew things about war—unconsciously. Yet the boy strived for more knowledge.

"Child, not everything has a worldly answer. Besides, child, this knowledge will not last you forever."

"So, because nins will die…we must be stupid?" My, how that boy could twist his words so easily and fire them back at twice the speed.

"I am tired, child."

"I'm sorry, Sensei. I will go back home immediately." He inclined his head and ran out of the old house. As soon as the door shut, the old nin sighed and sat back in his chair with a creak. That boy was terribly energetic…he made the old feel young as long as he was around. His large blue eyes could change from a sweet, young shine to a solemn, grim pool. He resembled his mother so much it was uncanny. The golden hair that framed his face…that innocent smile, full of untold wisdom. He was terribly kind, to the elderly and young alike.

However, even though he was kind and gentle to everyone, the children pushed him away. Whenever he passed through the richer part of the village, he saw their comfortable, fine clothes and would look at his rags. He would see the boys and girls showing off their new moves, causing mini tremors in the area. Then he would look at his hands, and hide them in his armpits. One time he had run into a fine playground, waving his arms and smiling. The children mounted atop the slides and swings refused to let him play. They pushed him off of the swings and dragged him off the slide. They told him he didn't belong. They laughed at his hands.

He never strayed off course again. The only time he passed through those neighborhoods was to deliver a report to the Tsuchikage. Every time he would hug his sides, his eyes flitting from person to person. Although Sensei said it didn't matter, they teased him about his clothes and how 'unstylish' they were. He reported to the Tsuchikage, who would find the boy bruised, sore, and almost in tears. However, the child would refuse any treatment, deliver the report, collect the reward money and leave. Never had he seen such a determined boy before.

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"Father?"

"Yes, my son?" The boy shrunk from the large figure in the doorway.

"I…I have to run some errands for the elderly today."

"Again? You should rest…yes…"

"N-no…They need help, father."

"Then go!" The silhouette shrieked, producing a small object from the table beside it.

"Yes, father!" The boy screamed, jumping away from the doorway where a broken bottle now lay.

"Go! Get out! Now! I never want to see your dirty face again!"

"Yes, father!" Hot tears beat his eyelids, begging to be let out. His vision was distorted and blurry as he ran.

But as a nin, you must not show emotion… he tripped over a rock, and he scrambled to his feet frantically. He ran, using the alleys as his sanctuary. He soon exited the village. He scaled a mountain a short way, until he spotted a large crack. He slipped through it, until he reached a small cave. The tears still threatened to spill over. He allowed them to crawl from under his eyelids to spill over his face. He coughed, a little mixture of blood and spit. He didn't care. He screamed, long and loud, full of pain and hate. The pain and hate rebounded around him, danced around him and taunted him. A step made him whirl around to face the entrance where…

He stood.

The boy whimpered as the man stepped towards him with a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

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Slowly, the world became real again. He could feel his hands—and his wounds—again. He also could feel separate hands probing him for injuries. The hands hit a tender gash, and he flinched. He could feel cool hands caressing his heated face, relaxing him and allowing unconsciousness to claim him once again.

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He felt his bones mend as the foreign hands transferred chakra into his broken body. He didn't move, just laid there with his eyes closed and, for once in two years, rested peacefully.

One day he opened his eyes—he wanted to see his savior. However, all he saw was a form hidden by a cloak. But he could sense the kindness and the gentleness of this stranger.

"Little boy…What is your name?" A woman's voice. The boy looked away and said nothing. "Have you none?" Still, he stayed silent. "Or have you forgotten?" He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Gently, the figure smoothed his hair and bent down to his ear. "I haven't."

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Every day, the boy would visit the cave. The stranger would teach him more about the chakra system, how to focus the chakra and how to use it. This mysterious woman knew more than that old sensei. She knew how to turn his favorite clay figurines into beautiful art. The boy learned how to transfer his chakra into clay that his mouths sculpted. He made art daily.

Then He came back. He came into the cave with various weapons on him. The mysterious sensei dashed in front of the boy, shielding him from each heavy blow. The cloak slipped away from her face, exposing the kind and gentle features. The boy screamed, pushed her away. The dead can't come back. The dead can't come back. Then He stabbed a kunai into her chest. She lay on the ground, a pool of crimson surrounding her. He threw a kunai at the boy. She screamed for him to roll, drop, anything. The boy moved slightly, but too slow. He felt himself become numb in the left half of his face. His eye refused to move. He moved over to the boy, and pulled out the kunai.

The boy felt that.

She was killed with the very kunai that gouged out his eye. He begged for Him to stop…but He wouldn't…

He barely lived through the infection and fever, had He not implanted something cold and dead in place of his eye.

The only thing that was definite in the boy's mind was the last thing she—no, his mother—had said.

"Deidara."

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Art. That was what he wanted. He wanted art so badly.

He hadn't seen…hadn't felt art in so long.

He wanted to make art. He wanted a large, useful canvas where he could make the most beautiful artwork he had ever made. He had the canvas. He had the brush and paint. All he needed to do is to draw the outlines, then fill them in. Lowering his hand into a pack of clay he had hanging on his side, he sat on the ledge in front of his hidden cave. The outline. His hand-mouth chewed determinedly on the slick clay. Soon, a small bird emerged from the hand-mouth. It was perfectly sculpted, perfectly proportioned.

"You'll make beautiful art with me…" Deidara cooed to the small bird. He performed a hand seal, and it grew in size until it was twice as large as the boy. He fed his hands another glob of clay. In a minute, two new birds emerged from his palms. A step came from his left. He knew that He…no. He must not be scared of that man anymore. His father was there on his left, watching him create his brushes of art.

"What do you think you are doing, boy?" He did not answer. He had a name. He wouldn't answer to "boy".

He concentrated on making the one sculpture that he had been trying to perfect for weeks. His father stepped closer. Deidara did not flinch. Soon, a small strange bird appeared from his palms. He held it up to his father, just as he did when he was much younger, just learning the art of clay.

"Look, father," he said as nonchalantly as possible, "look. It's my specialty. I'll call it C-3." His father's eyes widened.

"You will not…!" By then, Deidara had leaped upon his airborne steed.

"Art is a bang!" He smiled as he threw the two birds down to his father. He executed a hand seal and both birds exploded immediately. When the smoke cleared, the boy could still see his father's mangled body. However, that man was still alive.

"Don't…don't! I'm sorry for what I have done…" The boy proceeded to take another small bird that had appeared from his palm. "Stop! Stop…Deidara!" The boy hesitated. But he had wanted to do this for a long while now. He threw the small bird down to his father and cried,

"Catch!" and released the bird. He was sure that man was dead. After a few minutes of flight, a large rock wall blocked their way. Deidara tsked. He directed the bird around the wall. Three more walls surrounded him, blocking his way out. He smirked and the bird started to ascend. However, as soon as they were level with the top of the rock wall, Deidara started to feel lightheaded and it was harder to breathe. Quickly, he warped the meaning of what was happening. They forced me up here so I would die slowly. They're wrong! He prepared his precious package. The great bird descended from the stifling clouds, hovering low.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

"Stop slackin'! The kid's gotta die!"

"Hurry up! Get the long-range specialist!" Deidara snickered at their frantic actions, at the chaos below. He was just out of reach, but could hear every word that was uttered.

"Yeah…A good canvas. If only they stayed still. It would make a more beautiful painting," He prepared his specialty. By then, they had brought out the long-range specialist. His eye widened. "Sensei?" The old man pretended not to notice.

Deidara's great steed circled the old man. Deidara became frantic. Surely…Surely Sensei would help him!

"Sensei!"

"You have done something horrible, child." The old man said quietly, as if scolding a child for stealing a cookie.

"Sensei!"

"I am very disappointed in you, child." He continued to ignore the child's cries.

"Sensei!"

"Why is there war, child? It is because of people like you." Sensei acknowledged Deidara's small presence.

"SENSEI!" Deidara shrieked as the old man executed hand seals to the point where Deidara could not follow his hands with his eye. That old man would pay. He would pay for not helping a child.

"Do not worry, child. You will see your father soon—"

"I HATE ALL OF YOU!" Deidara's eye acquired a maniacal gleam. The tuft of hair he had combed over his unnatural eye was swept aside from a passing wind. The old man's eyes widened considerably.

"What did you do, child…?" Deidara began to cough, blood trickling from his mouth. He was getting too worked up.

"Oh, I didn't do it, un," The boy snarled. "My father," he spat, "did this. He gouged out my eye! He killed Mother with that very tool that destroyed my eye!"

"What are you saying, child? Your mother was already—"

"No she wasn't!" He shrieked. "You just told me that to make me weak, then you could kill me, un!" Again, he coughed, drawing blood.

"Please, child, don't be—"

"Enough talk! Catch me if you can, un!" He laughed. His steed caught an air current, and then rose far above the town. The boy dropped his special paint onto the sprawling canvas. Fill in the lines. "Release!" He shrieked as he performed a hand seal. The bird expanded and descended slowly towards the silent village. Deidara watched in silent glee as the bird began to expand even more, emitting a great light. And then…

Ah.

Art.

Beautiful, precious art.

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Deidara relished the cool wind that played with his hair, letting him release his anger into the breeze. The bird flapped its great wings once, elevating it and its passenger another few yards. He felt calm and content. He thought back to what he had done a few hours ago.

He wasn't resentful of what he had created at all. The village should be grateful, being turned from an old, ugly village to a great masterpiece. This is how they show their appreciation… he thought bitterly as he examined a few deep gashes in his legs. He had stopped the bleeding for a while, but he needed to get to a stream. There wasn't many around Iwagakure—it was extremely dry there.

In a half hour the bird had alighted next to a river. It was a lazy one, moving slowly with gentle curves. He stripped to his underwear and stepped into the river. He emitted a low growl as the cold water swept over his wounds. It made tendrils of red twist and twirl in the water. His coughing fit had stopped a while ago after seeing such great art. Slowly he snapped off several thick, glossy leaves from the trees around him, relishing the cool water even if it stung his injuries. He pressed the leaves to his wounds, flinching as the juices flooded into his gashes. In another half hour, he bandaged his wounds with strips of cloth. He redressed soon after, mounting his airborne steed once again.

The next week was a blur. He caused a commotion because of his bird and his Iwagakure headband. From then on, Deidara destroyed his creation before he entered a village or any source of civilization. He stashed his headband in his pack, doing odd jobs and errands for various people. He earned enough money to buy new clothes, shoes and equipment. However, news of his greatest art had spread like wildfire, along with descriptions of the ten year-old boy. Now he had to take even greater precautions—destroy the bird and leave no evidence of clay, hide his hitai-ate where no eye could find it, hide his clay and henge before he encountered anyone. It was troublesome. But he knew if anyone saw his eye camera, the ANBU would be after him in a second's notice. So he had to henge, as if it were his sole purpose.

He just couldn't get anywhere near Konohagakure. The infamous Hyuuga clan, who was in possession of the Byakugan, resided there. They would see right through his henge.

Usually he walked through towns as a man, brown haired and green eyed, changing his hitai-ate every few days. Deidara didn't like being so generic, since it was terribly unartistic. However, he would rather risk unartisticness than the ANBU. For the time being, he was safe.

Or so he thought.

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My first Deidara fiction, and my first hopefully serious Naruto fiction. Enjoy!