Death… He had long wondered what death was like. He knew the basics. You stop working, and your body crumples and withers. The light in one's eyes dim into nothingness and their breathing stills. Yes, he knew that much. But he had never really understood or experienced it for himself.

At least, not until now.

The empty darkness, the agonizing pain… It was all so horrible to comprehend. He was trapped, cold, alone and in pieces both mentally and physically. All he was left with was his thoughts; the idle pondering of a dying man. A man whom had been dying for almost a year now.

Everything hurt. His neck, the broken bone of his foot, the tear in his ribcage and the rotting of his lungs, he felt it all, but nothing hurt as much as his heart. His heart had become like that of a lost hope. It was depressing, and painful to endure and accept. He would be stuck in this abyss until death finally took him. When would he be drug to the horrible hell he had now confirmed would be his new home? The estimate was hard to make.

Religion had been questioned in his confinement. Did his god really love him? If he did, why was he still here? He had said his prayers two-fold times than normal. He even sacrificed the blood of innocents even more than that. He had never skipped his rituals, never forgot to thank the Lord for all that he had given him. But why was it now that he felt so forsaken? Why was he forsaken? All this time he thought all he had needed was his god… The crushing truth of not being loved by the idol of his life was almost too much to bear.

Sometimes he wondered if this was a test of his faith. After suffering this impending darkness, there would be a light. He would rejoin his Father in heaven. But that faith slowly began to slip away, as the days and nights stretched to almost three months. The redemption never came. Paradise never came.

He would question what went wrong in his life. How could he have been hated by the Lord? What happened? He didn't understand. Was it because he didn't kill enough? The only time he had failed was the last time. The reason he was down here was because of the big one that got away.

Or was it that he didn't kill the one's closer to him? Thoughts of his previous comrades drifted into his head as he considered their heathen ways. He had tried to redeem them with his long-winded preaching, but they wouldn't listen. Yet, none the less, he had tried, and that was all that mattered, was it not?

The man didn't know how long it had been since he had lost hope. He had decided to lose track of time. Doing so usually made things go faster, right? All that he wanted now was to stop existing. His meaningless stay in this hole was getting tiresome. He wanted to close his eyes and make all the pain go away forever. He wanted to become nothingness.

The want became a plead. A silent prayer for whatever god he had displeased to take him, and be done with it. Sometimes he'd try to scream. But he had not spoken in almost a year, and his voice could not speak. Only a cracked, growl seemed to ever leave his scarred lips.

Help.

Light. What was light? He tried to remember. It was bright, and comforting. Why was it comforting? It only illuminated the things around us. Why was that assuring to one's mind? Must we see to be reminded that we exist? He knew he existed even without the light and he hated every minute of it. He wanted nothing more than to let the darkness take him under its raven wing of death.

It was spring. He could tell by how soggy the ground had become. He could feel the patter of animals as they crossed over his long-forgotten grave. His birthday was in spring, the man noted grimly. Was it already passed? If it had, he felt no different. The emptiness would never leave, he had long ago decided.

Because of his musings, and pessimistic view of mortals and everything else, he had not expected to ever see the world above him again. So when the earth began to tremble, and the voices of two people drifted to his ears, his eyes flickered open and his mouth twitched. Who could be up there now? Had someone come to spit on him?

After a while, the voices grew closer. He paid close attention, finding this tone oddly familiar somehow.

Streams of thin sunlight began to poke through the cracks of the rocks that piled him into the earth. He squinted, gritting his teeth to the burning sensation. The rock covering his face began to shake, and it slowly lifted away, a dark silhouette standing at the edge of his hole. He tried to shout, but only a pitiful whimper, hoarse and dry, escaped.

"What a mess," the voice sighed. "How shall I fix it?"

He knew that voice, alright. A scowl formed as he realized who his savior was.

"Hidan… Can you hear me?"

He tried again to shout, a curse this time, but the cracked vocals only made a cough.

Fat vines wrapped around his head and other disembodied limbs, lifting him out towards the surface. He twitched, adjusting his sight to the light of day. Staring up at the large, two-toned Akatsuki, he swore in his head. Zetsu, you fucker… Don't you dare bring me back to that Akatsuki hell after all that's happened to me.

Without words, the plant-man began to piece him back together with a strange jutsu consisting of using the sap from the vines to glue him in place. The project took till sundown, and when most of his body was completed, Zetsu glued his head back onto his shoulders and leaned him against a large tree. The glittering gold eyes seemed pleased with their work.

"Rest… Your body will absorb that sap and use it to convert back to flesh." He dug through his red and black cloak, pulling out a packaged parcel. Stripping the cloth, he held the item to Hidan's mouth, murmuring in his darker voice, "Eat this… You need vitamins to regenerate."

He could barely comply, able to nibble slightly on the strange dumpling. After being accustomed to moving his jaw, he began taking large mouthfuls, coughing as he learned to swallow again. It was well into night when he began to feel better. Sore, but better. Zetsu reserved to talking to the broken man, even though he knew that no reply could be formulated.

"Our organization is going down. Lots of the others, besides you and your partner, have also fallen victim to the shinobi of loyal nations. Some of our own have fled out of fear, or spite. I do not blame them." He would continue telling stories of what he had missed through the night.

He told him of the organization's plummeting downfall. Told him how everyone had had died, included Pain. Deidara, Itachi, Kisame… They had all died as well. Konan had fled, and betrayed them. Tobi, Zetsu had revealed reluctantly, was really the ancient Uchiha Madara, whom had first founded the Akatsuki. The news of this made the man flinch and squirm in discomfort. That stupid swirl-faced idiot was the mastermind behind it all? It was hard to wrap one's mind around.

"Is your throat crushed?" Zetsu asked when he had ran out of things to say, curious of his inability to talk and swear as he was used to him doing.

Hidan shook his head.

A smirk flitted across the cannibals face. "Try speaking. You must regain your voice so I may tell you why I have come to get you."

Opening his mouth, he coughed again, trying to utter a word. He momentarily found his mind blank of any sort of response. He tried to say his own name, hoping to gain reassurance that he knew what it still was. Sputtering pitifully, he brushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth able to only get, "H…dan…"

"Keep trying," the Akatsuki encouraged, pouring some water down his parched throat.

Through the rest of the hours of that morning he practiced saying things. It only took a few minutes before he could say his own name and Zetsu's. By an hour's span, he could say short sentences.

"I hurt," he groaned, trying to roll his shoulders about and twitch his fingers. "Pain killer… you got one?"

Zetsu only fed him more of that dumpling stuff. After a while, Hidan began to refuse it.

"Stop. Taste's… like… shit."

"It will give you energy," Zetsu explained, pressing it to the man's mouth again. "You need it."

Again, he complied, but only for two more mouthfuls. He tried lifting his hand, wincing as pain came from the movement. Letting his limb fall back to the ground, he glared at the Akatsuki, hissing, "What… you want?" His voice was still hoarse, but interpretable.

Zetsu's face turned to serious and grave. "I was ordered to find your ring. We all thought you were dead. I had my doubts though. I've seen your kind before. You're not so easily eliminated."

Hidan glanced down to his hand to see that the ring on his finger was missing. Zetsu must've taken it off and broke the sealing jutsu on it while he was mending him together.

The other man continued, "I have… a favor to ask of you. In turn for me going out of my way to put you together, I need you to relay a message for me."

Hidan furrowed his brow and continued to scowl.

The cannibal sighed, "My previous partner in Akatsuki, from way before you came, is in danger. I have a scroll with the message I need to deliver inside. I want you to find her, and make sure she receives and obeys that letter's orders."

"Who… is she?" the man grunted. "…Name?"

The corner of Zetsu's mouth twitched. "Eomai… Her name is Eomai."

Hidan blinked, repeating softly, "Eom…ai."

"Correct," the cannibal mumbled softly. "I don't know where she could be, but I know she will be nowhere near the Land of Lightning, as it is her former home and she is not welcomed there. She shouldn't be near Kirigakure, as she is also wanted there as well. I can only think that her most likely place to be would be here in the Land of Fire, the Land of Winds, or Land of Earth. I know I'm asking much, but once you deliver the scroll, you're free. You are no more an Akatsuki. Do as you want."

Silence enveloped the two for a few, still moments. Free… Hidan hadn't been free in a long time. The word was like honey on his tongue and he couldn't help but utter it under his breath. A slow, satisfied smile settled on him as he entertained the thought of being free.

Naturally, he asked with a small cough, "What does… she look like?"

Zetsu closed his eyes, as if trying to manifest her with his thoughts. "She has pale blonde tresses and dark blue eyes… Her hair is shoulder-length and she is solemn and only talks when spoken to, or when the need to is dire. When she is angry, she will devastate and annihilate whatever it is that is upsetting her. Do not let that happen to you, or you'll be back where you were a day ago," he warned.

He contemplated the description and frowned. "Dis…tinguishing… marks?"

"None that are physical," the other answered. "That is the best I can offer you, as I have not seen her in many years." The pause came again and settled like a heavy blanket over one's head as both mulled over their problems. "I will teach you to walk. Come, on your feet now," the large Akatsuki instructed suddenly. "We will begin in steps."