Chapter four, right on schedule! XD Oh, am I good or WHAT?!

Haha….yeah. I totally botched up Hidan's history, hopefully this chappy makes up for it, and if it doesn't, maybe chapter 5 will. I dun know at this point in time.

On another note, the title of this chapter shows how much of a Sumtard (Sum 41) I am. I loved their newest CD, and the title of the song "Dear Father" fit so well with this chapter that it was embarrassing.


Hidan ran. There was no other way to put it. He smacked his feet into the gray, asphalt-covered ground alternatively, propelling himself down the almost endless city streets. Although the night's cold temperature stung at his skin, he kept on going. And going. And going. To where, he didn't know. He just wanted to get away.

He found himself in one of the city's small playgrounds, the one near his elementary school, when he finally came to his senses. Relieved, in a way, he headed toward the once-tall slide, which was now only a few feet over his head, and situated himself at the top. Here, he could be alone. No crazy Jashinist hunter, no Kakuzu, no anything. Just him and his thoughts.

Hidan looked down at the unchanging park scenery, bathed in a rather eerie dim light that brought back fond memories of when he first came to Burbank. It was here, in the very spot that he was sitting in, that he met Deidara and thus made the boy one of his best friends. On the first day of fourth grade, when he had just moved to the Californian city, he sat on top of the slide during recess, much like what he was doing now. Deidara had begun yelling at him to get off, and that he wanted a turn, and lots of other stuff, but Hidan had refused to move. Frustrated, the blond tried climbing up the chute to get to the peak, but the white-haired boy had refused to let him up once again. Sliding back down, Dei persisted, and soon the two had made a game of it. Though trivial, it was fun at the time, and soon they became inseparable. Almost, anyways.

Glancing up at the moon, a smile stretched across Hidan's once fear-stricken face. It was a full moon; all the rocks, craters, and basins that adorned the rock-in-the-sky were fully visible. Big, pretty and illuminating. Not only that, but it made his hair shine brightly with the silver radiance. His and his dad's…

"Hey, Dad, your hair's all shiny!" a six-year-old Hidan exclaimed as he took a walk with his father one night. Clouds had departed the sky that evening, leaving the moon open for lighting the grassy scenery.

His dad, who was aware of this, smiled. "Ha, I know. It's the full moon, see?" he asked, pointing up to the huge silver disk in the inky blackness. "The light from it makes my hair really reflective."

The little kid stared in awe. "The moon can do that?" he inquired incredulously, gaping upwards.

"Well, of course." Chuckling, he plated with Hidan's loose, stringy hair, the exact same hue as his own. "You know, your hair is shiny, too."

Hidan beamed largely. "Really? Can I see?"

Laughing a bit more, his dad led him down the dirt path that led to their Jashin shrine home. "Maybe next time," he promised. "Right now, I know a little boy who really needs to get his sleep."

"Hey! I'm not little!"

Ah, what a fond memory. When it came to his father, all Hidan had were good notions and connotations. Since he never really met his mom, his father was his sole parental figure, and because of that, his hero. His dad had always treated him with kindness, respect, and a subordinate-yet-equal attitude, which Hidan loved and missed. Though DeAnn was somewhat the same, always asking his opinions on things and taking them into consideration, it would never be the same. No one could replace his father.

Hidan's dad had bee a Jashin priest, ergo he (Hidan) had lived in a Jashin shrine for most of his early life. He guessed that this was why he was so committed to his religion, and why he was so offended when people took their god's name in vain. Religious things should be regarded as sacred and honorable, he thought, and therefore people should treat them as so. However, in today's sacrilegious society, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

His life had been perfect for the first seven years- loving father, safe environment, the works. So, naturally, when things fell apart, Hidan felt the repercussions extremely hard. And how existence as he knew it crumbled-

He shook his head to prevent from reminiscing. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think about it, ever. Never, ever, ever. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, the exact same images flooded his mind all the same…

Hidan stood in horror at the gruesome scene in front of him. Bodies, everywhere. No one moving, no one breathing. Blood spilled everywhere, painting the once-green grass a sickly shade of maroon. It almost stung his eyes. Whoever those guys were, they sure didn't leave a job unfinished.

Weaving through the battle site, he choked as he recognized the people on the ground. Countless priests and priestesses. Dead. Murdered. How wrong was that? You don't just go around killing infantry. It's just wasn't done.

He almost threw up when he got to the far end of the landscape. Laying there, white hair strewn about and with several deep cuts in the face, it was borderline impossible to tell who it was. But he knew; only two people at this temple had that shade of hair color.

Kneeling down, his voice cracked with sadness as he spoke. "D-Dad?" he asked innocently. "Dad, are you…okay?"

No answer, so Hidan tried again. "Dad, you know it's not good to perform rituals out in the open. Come on, wake up so we can go inside and finish it."

His father's body lay there, unmoving. No flitter of the eyelids, no rising of the chest, and no response. He knew what this meant, but refused to believe it. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. "Dad," he insisted, shaking his parent's shoulder. "Dad, come on! Wake up! Come on, wake up…" the little boy said, beginning to sob. "Wake up…"

Hidan took a deep breath when the recollection ended. How he hated that day. The day it all came crashing down. The day his life changed, indefinitely, forever. Hugging his knees, he laid his head down as tears trickled down his face. No matter what he did, he always wound up crying after that particular story. Maybe it reopened an emotional wound, or maybe he was still grieving. He didn't know; he didn't care. All he wanted was for the pain to stop. For things to go back to the way they were. For everything to agree with him again.

After a few minutes of controlled crying, he regained himself and slid down the slide. DeAnn would expect him home soon, under the impression that he was working on a project at Kakuzu's house. Since there was no way he was going to tell her about this little scenario and have to explain his entire history, he made haste in going home.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What the hell?!" Kakuzu demanded, after Hidan had left his house safely. "Okay, I know for a fact that you're not supposed to point guns at house guests, especially when said house guests are unarmed themselves!"

Kakuzu's dad picked his gun off the floor and hit his son on the head with the heel of his hand. "It doesn't matter if they're house guests or not," he said, outwardly irritated. "A Jashinist's a Jashinist, and they're all the same-"

"How do you know that?!" the boy yelled out, crossing his arms and glaring at his dad. "You don't know anything about Hidan! He could be a saint!"

"Kakuzu," the patriarch rumbled, towering over him as to strike fear, "you should feel the same way I do. Like you said, you're the victim."

Kakuzu rolled his eyes. His dad always stood over him when trying to be persuasive. It didn't work nowadays, since he had developed a sense of rebellion, as all teenagers do. "You're right," he agreed, "I am the victim. But that doesn't mean that I should go around blowing the heads off every Jashinist I encounter. Those people may have been a minority division or whatever. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Never judge a book by its cover?'"

His dad slapped his forehead. "You don't get it," he said, dragging his hand down his face. "All Jashinists are like that because it's what makes them Jashinists. It's their religion, Kakuzu. They worship death, suffering, and mutilation, and they're always trying to impose their beliefs on others because it's what their sect tells them to do. And-"

"There's no way to be completely sure!" the son protested, moving his arms around as he talked. "I'll have you know that Hidan hasn't said one word to me about his religion, and I doubt he ever will! I'm telling you, he's just a normal kid with normal likes and dislikes who just happens to be part of an underground religion. There's nothing dangerous about-"

"Shut. Up," his father commanded. Gesturing towards the staircase, he barked another order. "Go to your room."

Kakuzu shot his dad a dirty look before obliging. As much as he hated to, he had to follow his father's instructions. In this household, his word was law.

Slamming his bedroom door shut and throwing himself onto his bed, Kakuzu groaned. Ever since his parents had divorced, his dad had been oversensitive and paranoid about a lot of things. What he didn't get, though, was that Kakuzu didn't need all the extra protection and paranoia. He was thirteen and able to keep himself out of trouble better than most kids his age. It seemed that his father would never quite get it.

Sighing, he rolled over to face the wall and began to ponder something else. Why was he so protective of Hidan? Because it was the right thing to do. No one should get shot out of bigotry. But, no, that wasn't it. When he had been arguing with his dad, another sentiment was present. Something pushing his to defend the young cult member and make sure that he would go unharmed.

Shrugging it off, Kakuzu rolled over again and fell asleep. Some things are better thought about in daylight.


No cliffie this time. Sorry, guys. (Yeah, right. We all know that cliffhangers are the fanfiction reader's worst enemy.)

Uh, not much to say with this one, except that unencouraged authors do not write. Get it?