Sasori looked into his grandmother's eyes as he leapt forward. Her eyes reflected the image of a broken man, one people would believe was lost to the world of insanity, had been picked out by the devil's hand before birth, to be one of the unlucky few destined to be born into sorrow, grown up in sorrow, and have a death filled of sorrow. Just the same way, he guessed his own eyes mirrored the emotion of the old, gray haired puppet master, that look that told him she knew the one truth, just as well as Sasori did. The truth that made their eyes fill with uncertainty, fear for what came next, and yet, understanding. It had already been decided. It had to be done.
There were lots of signs, clear as the daylight to a trained eye, and both of them knew. As a trained puppet master, there was no way he didn't notice them. He couldn't ignore them, but he couldn't follow them either. The slow creaking of old puppets' joints, the tiny motions of the wrinkled fingers, yellowing like old paper, the near-invisible, blue strings, it all seemed as noticeable, to him, as if she should have been waving her arms around like a maniac.
He knew they would come.
But, he repeated once more in his head as another glint of madness sprung from the impure eyes, it's time now. I won't fight it.
This was the eraser, thoroughly wiping over the sheet where all his sins were written down. There was still indents of the letters, chewed down corners and torn sides, but that wasn't more than he expected, was allowed to expect. Although it was blank to most people, he, the most feared puppet master in the world, could read those invisible letters.
What was his biggest sin, he wondered, previously written at that sheet of paper? Was it those families he'd killed back then? The parentless children? The shinobi he looked upon with blood staining his hands? It couldn't have been, he figured, because the so-called good guys killed too. They destroyed families, buildings, innocent peasants, although they would never admit to the accusations, but all the bad guys knew. Those like him, Sasori, were able to find the sins of people, though they didn't judge them. The good people were the judges and juries, not them.
So what was his sin? He had made himself puppet, defying every law of nature that existed, though, he didn't see the fault in that. How was that a bad thing? Why was he shunned? Sometimes, he'd felt so alone, so alone it hurt, and he didn't know why. The years, months, days, even seconds he'd been in the group Akatsuki, had all been counted, memorized, inspected, to find the one thing that was missing. He couldn't find it, and so, he gave up.
The other S-rank criminals had tried to cheer him up. At first, although it soon died down to only open invitations never used, they would ask him every week or so, if he wanted to join them and hit the town for a drink or some food. However cold-hearted outsiders might have thought the Akatsuki to be, they were human beings. They laughed at each other, told stories about missions or the funny noises heard last night, got angry when someone annoyed them, happy when something good happened, even cried when everything was too much to bear.
Sasori'd often been the one to lend his shoulder to shed the tears on. He wasn't much of a support, and didn't have the same insight as the other members that had emotions, showed emotions, either, but he gave the greatest advice, and listened when that was all one demanded of him.
But all of this made him want to find a shoulder of his own.
Itachi had often been the one to speak about love. How his mother would kiss him and Sasuke good night, his father would give them a careful smile and tell them he was proud of them. And there had been this girl; one Itachi had fallen for badly, if he remembered correctly. Like the greatest friend he had, even though he didn't know her that well, and like a sister through everything. Yet, more than all of that.
He'd left her and the love behind, though. Even worse, he'd killed both her and her family on the second mission he'd gotten in the Akatsuki. Sometimes, the Uchiha teenager had said, the pain was just unbearable, knowing he'd killed the only one he'd ever loved, and the only one that'd ever loved him back.
Itachi and Kisame found each other shortly after then, though, so the puppeteer guessed it didn't really matter anymore.
Kakuzu and Hidan, they'd been a strange duo from the very beginning. As soon as the latter was brought in, the former fell into chaos. Polar opposites, some would say. Alter egos, Sasori called them. They were like yin and yang, water and fire, but somehow, they seemed to fill each other's holes and faults, and even though this didn't mean they found harmony, a relationship started bounding between them. Weird how things turned out.
Now that he thought about it, Sasori realized that the noisy follower of Jashin had come into the Akatsuki right after his own new partner came, the replacement for Orochimaru. It had been a very bad time for anyone to come into the evil organization, as the order Sasori had developed, craved, was broken. Of course, Kakuzu got new partners all the time, but that had become a habit, something that eternally would go on. Eternally, eternal. The puppet master's very own word.
His partner had left. Sasori was alone. He'd left Sasori alone, breaking the continual routine of listening to others talk, working on his puppets and going out on missions. Before Orochimaru's leave, he could have listed each movement in the Akatsuki headquarters, by day, date, and time.
To make it all worse, the new partner was nothing like Orochimaru. A noisy, cocky, bold brat that seemed to have very different routines than everyone else. He didn't go to sleep at 11.58. He didn't sleep for exactly 7 hours. He didn't like miso ramen better than beef and seafood ramen.
What was worse, he didn't leave Sasori alone.
With constant nagging about his failed attempt at art, the constant need for attention, his whole attitude, Deidara from the village of Iwa had to be the worst partner the puppeteer had ever had. Although claiming to be an artist, the newest partner of Sasori's was a bomber. A bomber making bombs. A bomber making bombs, and believing those bombs to be art. How that was possible, even the old puppet was unable to answer to.
Orochimaru, having no other interest in his partner than asking him for a sedative, paralyzing or love potion from time to time- all of his subtle attempt at getting Itachi for himself failing- had agreed that Sasori's room was Sasori's room, they didn't have to meet besides of the missions, they didn't have anything in common, other than their partnership, and that thus, there was no reason for him to issue contact with the withdrawn puppet. This was highly appreciated, and it worked out too. Sasori was therefore left to his own business, just as Orochimaru to his.
But Deidara? No, Deidara just had to prove that his bombs were worthy of being called art, whenever he could, be it on a mission or in Sasori's room. Also, there were always questions. If it wasn't about the redhead's past, it was about the present. If it wasn't about his life as an Akatsuki member, it was about his private life. Did he eat? Where was his family? How did he grow up? Killing? Art? Entertainment?
When those questions were over with, the questions everyone wanted to be answered, the other questions, started. There were days between the questions, though, and the only reason Sasori bothered with answering them, was because they had already been partners for about a year or more. Also, the constant, unreasoned feeling of guilt wouldn't leave him when he pushed the man away.
His favourite item. The best smell. His opinion on art. Had he seen the sea before? How was life in Suna?
Some more months passed, and Deidara grew bolder.
How could he use his senses? Did he feel anything at all? Did he ever cry? Did he even have emotions?
'Do you want to love me?'
That last question had been the one that had changed his life, severely. It had been whispered between those full, rosy lips, into Sasori's ear, just the night the redhead decided he could as well lie down for once, try to experience this sleep the way the others did. It hadn't been particularly chilly, but, seeing as October just had started and the birds of the area took cover to other lands, there was a certain feeling of a slowly approaching autumn in the air. The moon hadn't been full, and yet, it lit up the sky with the help of the thousands of the children, borrowed from the sun. The blond had come into his room, god knew what he was thinking, and gently stroked the puppet's cheek. The shiver he gave and the question of Deidara's was all they needed for the very special relationship to start. 'I do,' had the answer been, and Sasori did.
He did want to cry.
He did want to feel.
He did want to be with Deidara.
As fate would have it, the great Sasori of the red sand did indeed want to love.
And now, here he stood, facing death by the hand of his own grandmother. His blonde lover had fled the scene, trying to protect him. The caring man had probably thought it through as he fought with the redhead, a rather common sight to affiliates. Running away from the stone hall, what would surely become Sasori's grave, he'd taken with him the Kyuubi, the most powerful of the great demons, and Kakashi, a man known for his great skills as a shinobi. They were the best of the attackers, and Deidara knew. Aside from that, Chiyo was a puppet master, a woman he should have no trouble defeating with his superior skills, and a young medical nin would be of no use to his untreatable, varied potions. The odds were on Sasori's side, made so by Deidara. This was why the redhead felt so guilty, so easily giving in to his emotions, the lithe hands that pulled him back, shoved him forward and denied him the choice of killing his beloved grandmother.
In a way, he guessed it was the blond's fault in the first place. Hadn't it been for him, he'd never have let anything get past that ice wall he'd built around himself. Yes, Sasori's new partner was indeed to blame. He'd surely been able to take down the copy nin, too, maybe outrun the kyuubi, if he hadn't insisted on leaving him with the weakest enemies, when Chiyo really was the worst opponent he could have ever gotten. Deidara had never before done such a thing, leaving Sasori with the weakest enemies. The terrorist must've had a plan, probably of eliminating the weakest enemies first, while he outran the toughest of them. I'm sorry, Deidara, Sasori apologized in his own mind, praying that it would somehow reach the man he loved, call through his mind and make him aware of the puppet master's death.
Surely, he was dying, but the Akatsuki's contract made him feel safe. Nothing would change when he was done. No one would miss him.
Everyone would lie.
iCreak… Creak…/i
Smiling a crooked smile, a sure sign of his insanity, Sasori realized his parents were there to take him away.
The joints of their artificial bodies sung him the most beautiful lullaby he'd ever heard. It was as if though they'd given him his innocence back and made him into a pure child, one that would not grow up with the same absence of his parents as Sasori, one that would surely become the next Kazekage and fight for the good of the people. The redhead as of today couldn't see what that "good of the people" was.
The cold swords of the finest metal available gently pierced his heart, bringing a soft, inaudible moan to his lips as a warm blanket of comfort wrapped around him, soothing him, putting him to a dream like state that made him aware of the pain, even though he couldn't really bring himself to feel it. It was a bit of a relief, to know that he was done, that he hadn't to do anything for anyone at any time, anymore. Nothing had to matter to him anymore, because there was nothing more to do. He was already dead; his life had already played itself before his eyes as so many people told him that it would.
Now remained the regrets.
His first regret was leaving Deidara. He wouldn't be selfish and tell someone to bring him a last message that would surely ruin his life, nor would he leave him a note to tell him he loved him still, as if though death did not matter, that death was a wall made out of paper, one that could be easily brought down. But, the brat would surely take on the battles ahead of him without the leadership of Sasori, and as an S-rank nin, the redhead couldn't imagine that he would be missed in anyone else's eyes. Even though the blond would, hopefully, miss him some, he would surely go on with life, maybe even find some other that he could share those amazingly beautiful moments he'd shared with Sasori. With two fingers, the puppet touched the ring on his thumb, twisting it around the wood with the tiniest of moments, loosening it a little, but not enough for it to fall off.
The second would be Chiyo. He was surely cold-hearted, Sasori, letting his grandmother who still seemed to bear a certain relation to him, kill him. He wondered what it felt like. Probably as if he'd killed his own parents, he guessed. He should have waited. Should have let that pink-haired girl find out how to kill him, take his heart, crush it 'till it wouldn't beat even one more time, or would granny prefer to hill her grandson herself, maybe? Perhaps she felt that she did the redhead a favour, saving him from his insanity, his grief, his emptiness, that monster he'd become? At the moment that ring loosened even more, although it still tightly embraced his finger, he was unsure if it maybe was a huge favour, after all.
The last regret, the third, the greatest, was not finishing off Orochimaru. Sasori'd never liked leaving unfinished business behind, and even in death, he knew that would haunt him. That pale man would pay for breaking his eternal ring. After meeting Deidara, the redhead was never able to call himself art again. The blonde had made Sasori's life as fleeting as his own, and hadn't that snake left, the puppet would still be in that circle of watching and working, watching and working. The ring loosened completely, and if Sasori hadn't kept it on by pressing his index finger against it, it would surely have fallen into the dark abyss that the cracks in the ground revealed.
And so, the seal of Sasori's lips loosened, and he spilled everything he knew, almost everything he knew, about Orochimaru. After his dead, maybe that creep would join him in the deepest pit hell could master up, and Sasori'd finally get a chance to make him pay properly.
Suddenly, a great strong feeling of fear embraced him with its sharp claws. An insanely strong urge to struggle against the binds of death ran through him, but he found himself unable to move. Everything was so blurry, but at the same time, every sense was strengthened tenfold. Every colour was shining at him, competing with each other to take up the larger part of Sasori's eyesight. Every stone slipping, foot moving, finger wiggling sounded like the book of his life being closed with power, hollow sounds that echoed inside the ghost walls that were there to trap in, and take his soul away. Every taste, the taste of blood in his mouth, and the dirt on his lips. Every smell that he never before had experienced; chakra in the air, chakra that was, eventually, let go of, and it was not until then he fell to the ground and his ring rolled away in meaningless, yet controlled circles, before lying still, silent and cold.
Where was the brat now? Hadn't he sworn to always be there? Fight away the fears when overwhelming feelings was all he knew? He wasn't supposed to die like that, was he? iI'm scared, Deidara, I'm scared!/i He yelled, pleading for his other half's warm arms' embrace. His words were soundless, though, and there was no hope. No one could hear him. Not the ground, not his parents, not his death dealers, and certainly, not his lover.
His one and only sin, was loving Deidara.
Though, as the darkness enveloped him in an eternal black world, it didn't matter.
