Ratio – 4 (the best bit for sure) Hidan and the rest

"Is . . . is anybody home?" he croaked, voice no louder than a whisper as he looked up, confused as to whether he was alone in the room. His silvery hair was matted and tangled, strewn over the cushions of the sofa he hadn't moved from for nearly three days. Hidan's legs were sprawled over the end of the couch in his and Pein's shared apartment and his head was resting on flat threadbare pillows. He guessed his ginger friend was hanging around at the skatepark again today, having never got his promotion and then lost his job, Pein had given up. He was only 19 but already the world held little for him. At 18, Hidan was following in his footsteps.

"D- dei?" he called weakly, doubting whether his new room mate was home either. The blonde had moved in about two months ago – into a spare room, barely two weeks after Zetsu left . . .

Zetsu . . .

He'd avoided thinking about him, and he'd managed to get around talking about him, but every now and then Hidan's pink eyes closed in an attempt to better picture his friends face. The bright green hair, his confident eyes and the way he seemed to succeed at everything annoyed Hidan so much. Hidan recalled him posing on that last fateful day, that Monday morning when Zetsu had walked out of his life and towards a new future. A knowing pain began in the pit of his stomach, crawling round like a reptile inside him, spreading its numbness up his body and locking its icy tendrils around his heart. He wouldn't, he couldn't think about it anymore!

That only left one option.

He reached out, from his prone position on the sagging couch, towards the floor. His hand moved silently, stealthily through the still air creeping closer to its destination. With every millimetre it travelled, his mind spiralled back, remembering how this cycle began.

It had been Kisame who first suggested the idea, way back in'07. He was the one who first offered Hidan a place to hide and a solution to his pain. The summer sky had spun and faded at his first puff of the magical cigarette they shared, and the bright August sky had melted in front of his eyes like chocolate in the sun. He hadn't wanted to escape the world at first– only his own thoughts, and his own personal reality. In the beginning it had been fun, feeling pain both physical and mental just drop away like the countryside when seen from a rising aircraft. His worries, cares and fears were whisked away beautifully, but sadly only temporarily. Every time the haze of chemical happiness faded, he craved for it again and again. The light, brown powder, folded innocently up in squares of silver foil and sitting in his pocket felt like they could heal the world. Over time, he fell into a routine, every high was better than the last and though he hated to admit it, he couldn't get enough.

Gradually, his college grades worsened and his small 18 year old body weakened, until the day he realized he'd fallen hopelessly behind. There was no option but to give up, to hide himself away like a frightened animal in its shell. That was way back in December last year. Oh how little he'd done since then. Endless days staring at nothing but the ceiling, numb cold nights shivering alone on the couch, and worst of all watching his dreams fall away.

A sudden pang nagged at his heart as his fingers scraped the lid of the box his hand was searching for, Zetsu had just started out on a new adventure – but around the same time of year as Hidan had failed at his own. It stung, and it stung bitterly. The calendar on the wall read sometime in December, but Hidan paid no attention to the dates anymore, his diary was bare and so was his wallet. Every single last penny being given to Kisame, to give to the dude over the road, to get in return that beautiful feeling that swept his agony away.

And there it was, the cold plastic in his hand, filled inside with the dark liquid. He stared at it for a long moment, prolonging the anticipation, before roughly winding a belt around his arm and harshly tapping at it. It was, he found, becoming increasingly harder to find a vein. He didn't know why, but at the start it had been easy. He laughed ironically, right at the start he'd been smoking it, but as time went on, the crumbly brown powder hadn't been able to satisfy. Nothing could keep away the itching and the sickness for very long, and so just after his best friend's arrest, he'd switched. His thumb pressed down, and the contents of the needle disappeared, for a moment he simply lay there staring up at the white plaster above his aching head, and then it hit. It felt like he was falling, floating, gliding away, he had no sense of time passing and slowly his eyelids flickered closed. Drowsiness overtook him, and the quiet beating of his weak heart lulled him into unconsciousness.

Hours later, near on teatime, when other people his age were just pouring out of school gates, his friends returned. Deidara in the lead, carrying a stack of pizza boxes, though heaven knew how he could bear to eat more junk food after a days work at the local fast food restaurant. Pein slouched close behind with his skateboard over his shoulder, looking every bit the child he'd once been rather than the manager he'd tried to become. Konan tottered behind in a pair of heels that were far too high and a skirt that was far too short, her eyes were red and puffy – she'd been crying over Kisame, her boyfriend again. And lastly, closing the door on the cold chilling night, was Kakuzu, his tall figure towering over their heads. All four passed by the couch where Hidan lay unmoving, his blank eyes staring at nothing in particular, and his face registering a look of innocent release. A blanket was scrunched up at his feet, but his clothes were damp with sweat. He looked like death.

As always the group shuffled past, not saying a word or looking into his sunken dark rimmed eyes. As usual their hearts clenched in pity as they saw his chair against the wall, unused at the moment but seeming to leer and laugh at his immobile form. Kakuzu's back stiffened, he could sense the other's unease. Hidan made them feel uncomfortable. He'd told them about his friend's accident, sure, but it didn't make it any easier on them, when they came in to find him in one of his . . . fits.

It had been a few months ago, on a surprisingly warm may evening, when the group had been whole, and they were enjoying a night out in the summertime. The midges were out in their millions, and miles above so were the stars, a heady atmosphere of fun and freedom had settled over the 10 of them as they made their way out of the bar. And then it had happened. Hidan had been attacked and stabbed repeatedly. The blade had sliced at his heart and chest, and he'd almost died at the hands of a stranger. Kakuzu remembered the blood, redder and thicker than he'd evener imagined soaking into his clothes and hair as he'd held his friend, willing him to live. He remembered the sirens cutting through the still summer breeze, the flashing blue lights disturbing the ebb and flow of moonlight on Hidan's pale face. Worse still, the disinfected smell of the hospital where he'd lain for days as if he were dead.

After many weeks of doctors, tests and intensive care he'd pulled through, but his heart could never be the same. It was scarred and weak and the blood flow to his long pale legs was bad. He'd shed many tears in the dark hours of the night where no one would see, feeling the salty liquid dripping down onto thighs that could never clench another body between them, never feel a man's body between them.

By day he put on a facade, wore a metaphorical mask – letting his friends think he'd taken it all in his stride, the fact he'd never run again, never dance, hardly even walk. They thought he'd been coping, until this . . .

Kakuzu turned and gave his friend another look, his whole body was weak and languorous, his pupils small and his breathing shallow. He'd known about the drugs for a long time, and wished he'd done more before it was too late. These new drugs didn't mix well with what the doctor had already prescribed for his heart . . .

As if on cue, his small mouth opened and a slight groan forced through his clenched teeth. A faint hint of colour had risen to his sallow cheeks but the effect made him look sicker rather than transforming the deathly white into the pink of health. His hands balled into fists and his eyes squinted tighter, whether he was awake or not, Kakuzu wasn't sure. Somewhere in the albino man's head, the drugs were mixing, clashing with each other. It was a cold hard fact, one that could not be changed, that the heroin singing through his veins was destroying his sex drive. But, Kakuzu thought sadly, his legitimate meds clearly had the opposite effect. And therein lay the problem.

"Oh . . . god" he muttered, tossing his head from side to side as he felt his body heat up. Tingling fire raced down his spine, flaring deep inside and making him groan aloud. Slowly, waves of need rippled through him, sweat darkened the hair that lay across his forehead and his nails dug painfully into his palms. Kakuzu watched from behind the couch since his friends had long since disappeared into the next room, or possibly the next just to escape the sounds. Because they knew as well as him that this was simply the beginning, like the humming of the tracks as the train approaches, this was only an omen of things to come.

The pale hand still clutching the syringe fell to the floor, making a 'clink' as it hit the bare floorboards. Kakuzu tensed, he didn't like to imagine how often Hidan was using, or how much. That had always been Kisame's look out, but since he'd gone . . . everything had fallen to pieces.

"Urgh . . . fuck . . ." he moaned again, coming round and shifting his arms like dead weights. His fingers danced lightly over his burning skin, finding the waistband of his jeans then ramming straight into his pants. He just needed to relieve the pressure, the tension. He felt like he'd explode, he needed help with this, and fast. He could barely breathe; the air seemed thick and hot with his mad desire. He knew what he needed, but felt sure he was still alone in the flat. He simply lay trembling, unable to move, suffering through every second as his arousal climbed higher. His breaths became harsher, exiting his mouth hot on the heels of fresh grunts of frustration. He couldn't move his legs right now, but if he could they'd have been shaking. Finally his eyes flicked open, staring around the room in delirium and Kakuzu realized he'd almost left it too late. Hidan's eyes were spiralling, confused and lost, he needed help.

"It's all right, I'm here" he found himself saying in a heavy husky voice that sent Hidan's pulse soaring.

"K- k-" he gasped, clenching his hand around himself, "mmph, help me!" he cried

"Count" Kakuzu demanded with a bite of authority in his voice, and after a pause Hidan obeyed. It was a strategy they'd set up many months ago, to help Hidan cope in times like this where control was hard to keep for long. It helped focus his mind away from the lust, keep his heart from beating that much harder until the moment he could contain it no longer. The trouble was, he'd never made it further than five.

"One . . ." he began, and even that small utterance seemed to take all his strength, sap all his self control. His eyes rolled back and his hips began to rise, aching to press up against his lover. "Uh . . . T-t-two" he groaned, as Kakuzu slapped his hands away from himself and pressed down, holding his hips flat. He took several short rasping breaths and tried again, "Th . . . thr . . .thr – I can't! Kakuzu I can't" he choked, tears of frustration running down his burning cheeks.

From the state of him, Kakuzu could tell he was long overdue for his desired relief, and as much as he hated the part he had to play in this part of his friend's life, it wasn't without its benefits. Climbing back atop Hidan's hips, he glared down into the pink eyes bearing tiny pupils. He could feel the albino's stomach muscles clenching underneath his own legs, and could tell he was trying to contain his urges.

"Let it out, Hidan" he purred, leaning in closer and brushing his full lips against Hidan's bare neck. His skin flared up in heat at every point they touched, proving how receptive he was to the least touch from Kakuzu. His back arched up, pressing their chests together, and he had to bite his lips to stop from crying out. The heady mixed scent of sweat and man went straight to his groin, and his thin hand tightened, desperate to quiet the beast raging inside him.

"Now. . . Please. K- Ka . . . hn-" His voice was begging, the words having a dead edge of submission to them. Kakuzu finally gave in, realizing the time for games was over.

A second later Hidan let out a deep growl of pleasure – Kakuzu's fingers were finally inside. No more words were needed; two digits pushed slowly inside the soft warm flesh and Hidan groaned loud and long. Sweet spasms raced through his insides, and a glorious feeling began to wind its way up from below. He lay, immovable, as his legs were spread and Kakuzu moved. Something cold pressed against him, and he grunted in annoyance.

"I'm sorry Hidan," his gruff voice began hesitantly, "but you and I, I can't-"

Hidan understood. As much as his friend was here to help him, he wouldn't, couldn't get involved with him like that. Not a dirty addict like himself anyway. The drugs had brought him to his knees, and the line had to be drawn somewhere.

"kay" he muttered quietly, guiltily and with regret making every word taste bitter. Still he tensed as something was slowly pushed inside, too slowly to be called a thrust, which sent sparks tingling through his stomach and down his legs. Air rushed by his dry lips, hot and damp and carrying with it a gurgling moan. His muscles clenched as the foreign object was pulled free, then slammed back up hard and fast. Kakuzu's arm was strong from weightlifting, and the feeling he could produce in Hidan was so good he could almost cry.

They stayed together, skin on skin, until Hidan reached his peak and came, crying, into Kakuzu's waiting hand. Tears melted down his face as his hand was clasped in two larger, stronger ones. It was his fault he'd ended up like this, wilted and weak and numb, and he hated himself for it.

"You're gay, aren't you, Hidan" Kakuzu muttered, close to his ear. The question seemed absurd, ridiculous even given the circumstances. But deep inside he knew he'd have been panting, blushing, aching for a man above him even without the effects of the drugs. Kakuzu had finally realized it too, and carefully placed a kiss on the sweaty forehead of his friend.

He feared Hidan was beginning to think of him as some kind of lover, being as he was the one that always helped out and could always be relied upon for things like this. But a lover was not what Hidan saw him as. It was clear from the beginning, that Kakuzu was merely a tool, a cure to these fits Hidan found himself in. His heart belonged to no one, and sometimes he could guess how it felt to have nobody, how lonely that must be. Sometimes he could see the loneliness turning to hate inside Hidan's blood red eyes, and often when passion overtook the mind and hidden words and feelings escaped his scarred lips, sometimes a name would sparkle in the air between them, a name that hadn't been mentioned in this flat for near on 4 months now . . .

Little did Hidan know, the date was rushing ever closer to the day that man would return.

Silently Kakuzu left the room, not looking back on the pathetic form of his friend. He did not wish to look upon those dark rimmed eyes, the translucent skin and the figure wrapped in blankets anymore. Numbly, Hidan's light fingers found the lid of the box again, itching to rid himself of the shame, the dirt, the filth, he thrust a needle deep inside his arm. Slowly the colours of the room bled and swirled into each other, his head ached, and he was out before his hand had wrenched the point free of the vein.

He remained unconscious until dawn the next morning.

Just as the sun began to rise above the horizon, casting brilliant shades of vermillion and scarlet across the clouds, the rusted hinges of the flat door split the silence. The brittle plastic and wood creaked slightly as it opened, letting in a gust of freezing air that seemed to sweep around the room like an angry ghost. Morning smells blew into the room, exhaust fumes from cars carrying early commuters into the city, and beneath that, the earthy smell of recent rain.

Hesitantly, a head peered around the doorframe, scanning the dark depths of the room, nose wrinkling at the combined stink of old pizza and Pein's trainers. His hands clasped the crumbling wood; he could feel the mould soft and wet beneath his fingers and despaired at Pein and Hidan's lack of housekeeping. A siren wailed behind him, heading off into the rain swept distance to chase down some criminal, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

This city would surely be the end of him, before his return to sanctuary come January. He missed the delicate country mansion where he'd spent the first half of these holidays, the beautiful art deco that Sasori adorned the place with, and the rolling hills that provided the perfect background to conversation.

"I'm home" he sighed in a deadpan voice. Home to what he used to be, and painfully reminded of his roots. With a deep breath he crossed the threshold, new leather boots crunching on something encrusted on the tiles and designer Prada bag dumped on Pein's skateboard. The clock on the wall showed some time between 7 and 8 in the morning, its empty sound ticking through the smashed glass of its face, Zetsu grimaced, he'd caught the early train to get here and he was regretting it already.

"Anyone there?" he called out, more to reassure himself than out of any real hope that anyone was around. Pein would be at work of course, Hidan had hopefully got a job by now and the only other house he'd visited had been his own – with Deidara's car out of the driveway he'd assumed the blonde was out as well.

He took another hesitant step, wondering if it was rude to intrude after such a long absence, and then he heard it . . .

Voices, in a backroom. Talking, sounding worried. Deathbed voices. Somewhere distant a door slammed, the vibrations reaching through this thin walls and between his splayed fingers. The uncomfortable atmosphere seemed to get thicker the further he pushed into the clammy darkness, reaching a peak as he passed through the kitchen and the front door closed behind him, shutting off the semi-clean air and natural light. Cautiously he entered the thin hall where his nervous breaths bounced back off the plasterboard walls, seeming as loud as an orchestra, then finally pushed through into the lounge, where the scene unfolding met him with shock.

"Oh . . . Oh god" A feeble voiced called into the gloom, and four grim faces looked down in shame. Zetsu stood at the door for a second as if cemented in place, before Kakuzu spotted him and gravely shook his head whilst beckoning him closer.

Hidan was slouched on the sofa, deathly pale, with Pein stroking his head lightly, holding his hair back as . . .

"Kuz- I'm gonna be sick and it's your fau- arhh!" he groaned and was sick again into a bucket Konan was holding with disgust.

"What – what's going on?" he began, "Why aren't you guys at work or something . . .?" his voice trailed off as the truth hit, there was no work, there were no jobs to go to. His eyes flicked down to Hidan, who was panting wretchedly on the couch, his lips dry and scarred and his eyes screwed shut. He was suffering, but suffering with what?

"What's wrong with-" he began in a half whisper, but Kakuzu cut him short. His voice was stern and businesslike as usual,

"Zetsu I need you to do something" he started, noting the fearful look in his old friend's eyes. He had reason to be afraid, the same feeling was churning in Kakuzu's own stomach, a feeling which he'd later deny. It wasn't fair for him to be caught up in this, he'd started a new life and tried to get away from his past, but his past had pulled him back.

"I need you to take this, and go across the road-"

"But-"

"Take it!" Kakuzu growled, forcing a wad of notes into Zetsu's hand, and ignoring the widening of his eyes. He shuddered to think of the amount of overtime he'd had to work to get that amount of money in cash, but Hidan needed it, and he would have it no other way. Despite the illegality of the items the money would be used to buy, at least he'd acquired it in a lawful way. He'd have no guilty thoughts of theft hanging over his head.

"Go across the street, to the house with the green letterbox, and when the man answers the door, ask for Hidan's usual and give him the money" he said the words in a rush, in the hope that speed-talking would dim the terrible meaning behind the words. Somehow convince Zetsu that what he was being sent to retrieve was everyday groceries.

"I- I- what?" he spluttered, stumbling back towards the door with Kakuzu's hands firmly on his back, he tripped over the mat, forgetting to collect his bag and was soon back out in the chilling morning air. Newspaper pages blew around his legs and his hair flopped into his eyes, the rain was ruining his designer jacket and his hands shook with the cold. Nervously he looked down the metal staircase, where 4 floors below the street stretched out long and straight.

Annoyance flared briefly in his amber eyes, he'd only been at the flat about ten minutes and already he was running errands like some puppy on a leash. There hadn't even been a welcome for him, not even a note on the door. His annoyance however was swiftly chased away by fear,

His legs moved numbly, guiding him down the slippery metal steps, towards the unforgiving concrete, and towards the door. His heart beat rapidly against his chest with trepidation, his blood hummed in his ears, the money was crisp in his fingers because already he had an idea of what he was about to do.

Fists clenched tight with anger and fear, he rapped on the painted wood of the door, noticing it had no handle or knob with which it could be opened from the outside – strange. Little did he know that this house was not in fact, a house. It was what is commonly known as a 'hard front'. Behind the thick wood of the door were steel reinforcements, and although the windows might appear normal, they were actually bullet proof. The door might not even have been operable; it might have been welded shut, keeping the people inside for days at a time. Their sole purpose here was to sell, and remain anonymous, and for that reason Zetsu found himself having to kneel and speak through the letterbox the words Kakuzu had instructed him to say.

"I –er . .. I'm here for Hidan's usual?" he squeaked

"You don't sound like 'im" a gruff male voice answered, the tone gravelly and seeming to belong to a heavy smoker.

"He's . . .he's sick" Zetsu stuttered back, wishing this just to be over as quickly as possible

"That figures . . ." the voice replied, and Zetsu knew that if he could have seen the owner of the voice, he would have been shrugging. Not really bothered that one of his customers was ill, in fact, pretty much expecting it. That's when the truth clicked.

In return for the stash of banknotes, a small package was thrust back at him, by a hand he barely saw. And suddenly the flap was shut again, and subtly locked from the inside. His heart slowed slightly and he turned over the paper bag in his hands, daring not to open it, wishing not to know. This was Hidan's business, he noted with the mature respect he'd learnt from mixing in polite circles, he dared not intervene into the shady world his friend had immersed himself in.

The package never left his hands until he was back inside the thick stuffy air of the apartment,

"Got it?" Kakuzu asked gruffly, taking it from him gently and opening it with a slight rustle.

Zetsu remained silent, shocked and lost for words. He thought he knew what he'd just bought. Drugs. Was that why Hidan was sick? And had he just helped in making him sicker still?

On the couch, things were getting bad. Hidan's eyes were dry and stung, his throat burned from throwing up over and over again. He knew why, it had been a while since his last fix, and his body was demanding another. In this state, he could do nothing but sweat and shake and gasp for air, hoping and depending on the others to help him. His cheeks burned red, with desperation and shame. He heard Zetsu come in, and knew he was about to be saved, the horrible itch was about to be cured. People were murmuring, talking amongst themselves and he grew frustrated.

"Hurry up already!" he hissed, his voice coming out strained and quiet. His skin was covered in sweat, cold sweat and he shivered in earnest. Blinded by his addiction, he cried out over and over again, he'd never been so desperate,

"Kuzu . . . Zetsu . . . please!" he begged, heart crumbling. Shakes rocked his body, much as they had for the past four hours he'd been lying here. He knew about the sickness, he knew about the shivers, he'd had them often enough – missing a hit by even a few minutes was enough to trigger them. But this was different. This was like a living death.

"Sshh", a voice silenced his whimpering, and a cold hand came down on his forehead, calming him as a familiar sting broke the skin on his arm. He smiled, imagining the release already.

"That's . . . tha- . . . thank you" he managed. Pain and relief pulsed through him, and he let out a helpless sound of pleasure. Slowly the delicious feeling spread throughout his whole body until it felt like his head was no longer connected to his body. Again he was flying, flying away. . .