Ok, this is the LONGEST chapter I have typed in a LONG time. Awesome! Lol. Ok.

SPECIAL NOTE!!: In this chapter, there is a bit more 'canon' (If you could call it that...) anime stuff going on. This is Deidara, remember. He likes to make bombs and blow things up. And he has mouths in the palms of his hands. Eventually, I'll get around to extracting him from his home situation.

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Naruto. It is the property of Masashi Kishimoto. Deidara's father is my own invention, a reincarnation of every sexually abused child's personal demon. The characters may not be real, but as much as we wish to ignore the fact, the situation IS real. There are children, some no older than a few months all the way up to young adults who are beaten and abused by others. Behind closed doors, in an alley, in the picture-perfect happy family. Everywhere. This is reality. It could have been you. If you yourself derive pleasure by abusing children, I hope your carcass rots and you are forsaken by every person you have ever known. I am not allowed to give names, but many of the events in this story are true (although not all to one case), based off of events that happened to several people I know. In a way, this is their story. They wanted to let the world know, for you to see things through your own eyes what life can be like. Some small parts are made up, but none of it is exaggereated. Then, other parts are purely Deidara.

Just remember. This story is bad, but in truth, it is nowhere near the lowest of the low.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

Carry That Weight

You get used to a certain amount of pain in your life, especially if you have lived with it for a long time. You numb yourself so that it doesn't hurt as bad, even if it doesn't make the pain any less real. There are different pains of the body and soul that seem natural after a time. And when they are gone, you find yourself wondering much like how you find out how after replacing a pair of old boots you've worn for long years that your feet weren't supposed to hurt that way. These pains have become so much a part of your everyday life, that its hard to see yourself living without them. Only the new aches stand out, whether emotional or physical. This is how people like Deidara live.

Deidara gripped the cover of his math text and held it until his knuckles showed white, and then some. It wasn't any far leap of knowledge to see that he was displeased at something. At what, it was hard to tell. His dull blond bangs hung over his entire face, covering any expression he might have had, although there was a certain trembling that spoke of quivering lips and unshed tears. But when you hide yourself away in a corner and pray to be invisible, it comes true. Nobody can quite see an individual like this, who wishes to be unseen. Seeing something insignificant, eyes of the normal populace pass right over these fleshen ghosts, a speck of sand on the floor of a room.

Silently, as roll call was taken, Deidara gripped the cover with hands that seemed they would break at the joints if he could put just another ounce of pressure. Finally, as if coming to an abrupt halt, the trembling ceased. It could take place at another time. Now was the time for being 'normal'. As his name was called, Deidara answered with his typical quiet 'here' and released his book. The cover was slightly warped. Quietly, he adjusted his fingerless gloves.

It was several minutes of staring at nothing later that the assignment was passed out, and Deidara had something diverting to do. His eyes landed on the white sheet through a curtain of hair. Matrices. Easy stuff for some, a greater struggle for Deidara. Thankfully, with a formula from the back of the book and a mathematical calculator, things were resolved fairly simply. Minutes before the bell, Deidara was again sitting motionlessly, staring sightlessly at nothing in particular. This was a favorite habit of his, caused by a certain peculiar numbness he had cultivated over the years. It wasn't right that he should be able to escape feeling one thing without being able to feel the others, but there is always a price for blocking something out. Especially now, when his heart was so sore. In this numbness, the world is there, but one ceases to feel it. Words spoken are monotonous, and heard things have a distant dreamlike quality, like voices distorted through water. Touch is much like the sensation of a needle pushing through flesh after being administered a heavy anesthetic, only a vague tugging. Nothing seems real in a place so distant from reality.

A moment of owlish blinking broke the spell, and it was several moments before Deidara registered that the bell had rung. Slowly, he rose and gathered his books before leaving, his footsteps like walking with legs made from air. He continued on his way, down through a maze of hallways in this state, letting instinct guide him in directions. It was only a few minutes, seemingly an instant, and he was in his next class. There was a vague impression of traversing some long, crowded place full of static noise and pressing bodies, but it was brushed aside.

Blinking again, Deidara shook his head and let his mind wander back to reality. Skipping through lessons, even as such, would only lead to worse grades and worser consequences. Now he was in Literature, a fairly easy class so long as you read the stories and paid attention to the lectures.

Currently, his teacher was preparing to take up the books that he had lent out three weeks before. Deidara went over and laid his copy on the top of the counter and went to sit down in the corner seat. The other students began walking in in twos and threes and sitting in their usual desks, quiet chatter filling his ears with useless nothings. As the bell rang again, order fell into place and there was momentary quiet. With the cessation of voices came the ring of well placed steps as the teacher walked around gathering books.

The lesson began shortly, and minds were busied. Abstractly, Deidara wondered whether or not his father would be home when school let out. If he wasn't, that gave Deidara a chance to relax, for even a short while. However, it was rare that Tenkimaru worked late on Wednesdays. The man was more likely to be at home waiting for him. Turning to look out the window on the far side of the room, Deidara sighed. Another day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX Three Weeks Later XXXXXXXXXXXX

Deidara brushed his hair back behind his ear so that it was out of his face and tried once again to extract the sodden blanket from the grips of the washing machine. A few tugs reveal the fruitless nature of that tactic, so he leant over the edge of the machine and began unwrapping the blanket manually. Finally, a sharp tug brought the blanket out of the appliance where it was immediately transferred to the dryer. Now that the blanket was out, Deidara could take out the rest of the clothes in the washer and put them in the dryer.

One hand rubbed his stomach where he had had to put his weight on it to lean over the washer. The other popped a dryer sheet in after the clothes and slammed the door shut. Now that the other infernal machine was running, Deidara could cut down to the grocery store to buy food. Odd that his father would not let him eat half the time, and yet let him out to buy groceries. Albeit, he was expected to return the exact change to his father, along with the receipt to insure he was being truthful.

He walked into the kitchen and angrily snatched the fifty off the magnetic clip on the refrigerator. He was halfway to the store when he noticed there was a note with it. Flipping to it, he read it while standing at the bus stop.

Dei-chan,

Get yourself a little treat. You deserve it. You've been a good boy. Mommy would have been proud.

It disgusted Deidara that his father would write to him the same way he spoke to him, like a very small child, but it was always the same. He crumpled the note and threw it in the nearest garbage can with a sneer. The bus drove up then and he climbed aboard after everyone else, throwing a handful of change into the coin slot and getting a transfer slip. The ride was quiet, as buses on this side of town tended to be. The bus stopped a few times, and a weight settled beside Deidara.

Glancing up, he quickly locked his eyes on his knees and kept them there. A slight chuckle from beside him told him how much this amused his bench partner. A single look into those same red eyes from three weeks before was enough to keep his eyes firmly downwards, excepting a glance up every time the bus stopped to see if it was his stop yet. It frustrated him every time they stopped that the red-eyed murderer hadn't gotten off yet, and there were only three more stops left, and that Deidara's was the last one.

Unknowingly, the glare he was directing at his knees had become scorching as Deidara mulled over everything that had happened this past week, and the week before that, and his entire life. Finally, the bus stopped at its last stop, and Deidara got up. The man - Itachi if he remembered correctly - was in his path, as the blond had been in the window seat, and Deidara sent that scorching glare right at him when he looked up. It was entirely unconscious, and he wasn't even aware how much hate and disgust was radiating from his eyes when he did it.

--------change POV…kinda….

Slowly, Itachi's eyebrow rose. The young man expected him to move, did he? Well, it was their stop. So, Itachi stood and moved down the isle towards the exit, feeling the boy's glare on the backs of his knees as he walked. It was amusing, really. The boy had been so timid when he first sat down next to him, and he was still holding onto his fearful posture and actions, but his eyes were positively burning.

It was somehow evident that the majority of that gaze was not directed at him, but at something else in the boy's life. There was great hate there, a lividness unmatched by any Itachi had ever seen. He saw murder in those eyes. Someone would be dying soon.

Tilting his head in speculation, Itachi walked off to his own destination, wondering if there might be something gained in having the boy watched.

--------Okk, back to normal….

As weeks and months and years had crept by, Deidara had been changing. It went unnoticed by all, sliding through the cracks of his mind and taking hold like a virus, rooting itself firmly wherever it could gain hold. It was the symptom of too much pressure on the mind, too much weight on the emotions, and too much harm to the body. Slowly, like the roots of a tree growing up through a sidewalk, Deidara's dam was cracking. The blistering stare he directed at the shop fronts located along the street was only the barest clue of how deep those fractures went.

Dragging his mind back to where it was supposed to be, Deidara's glare faded to his usual timid glances. He sped up his pace, walking towards the grocery store a block away. He reached it and grabbed a cart from the front before wheeling towards the dried good section and pulling out his shopping list. A glance at the list, and he began to shop.

Twenty minutes later, and he was checking out. He had already piled all his groceries up when the cashier turned to him and gave him an odd look. Shrugging, the woman rung him up and told him the amount. It was only six dollars and twenty nine cents shy of the fifty dollars he had been given. Holding the bill out, he waited for his change. Taking it and his receipt, he grabbed his bags and went out the door.

The bad thing was, it was hard for him to carry such heavy stuff for very long. He was almost to the bus stop when he remembered he was supposed to get himself something. Looking back the way he had come, and then down at the bags in his hands, he decided going back was not an option. Especially since it was already just past dark. His father would probably become extremely irate if Deidara didn't get himself something, since he had been given express permission to do so. So instead, he glanced around his immediate area and spotted a bakery and sweets shop. A sign in the window advertised a special deal this week. Buy one thing, and get two things of equal or lesser value free. Gathering his bags, he went inside and was immediately drawn to the smell of fresh dango. He set his bags down at the foot of the counter and asked if the deal applied to dango. It did.

He reached the bus stop with only minutes to spare, and pulled out one of his dango kebab thingies while he waited. Other people were already waiting, but he ignored them. The bus pulled up, and he stuffed the dango back in its folded wrap of paper and shoved it in a bag before climbing in and giving the driver his transfer slip. He took the same seat he had taken on the ride there and settled his bags at his feet before pulling out his dango and ducking his head so the driver wouldn't see.

A weight settled itself beside him and he glanced up through his blond bangs. Coincidence or not, this was getting creepy. It was almost like the guy was following him. Glancing back down, his eyes drifted over just in time to see a pair of fingers pluck the topmost ball of dango off of his kebab. Snapping his head up in a rare show of indignant distress, Deidara watched as the dumpling disappeared into Itachi's mouth.

It was only then that Itachi let his eyes glide down and to the side to look at the blond lad's pouting, distressed face. For a moment, the boy refused to meet his eyes, but then, pulling his dango closer to himself, he glared up through his bangs.

"That was my dango," Deidara spoke monotonously.

"I am aware of that." Was the reply before Itachi's hand reached out to grab another tasty dumpling. He was spited when the skewer was jerked out of his reach. Somehow, with just this small bit of interaction, Deidara lost some of his fear and purposely irked somebody who he knew was a murderer. He wasn't afraid. Death could certainly be no worse than the life he held. Deidara gave Itachi another glare for good measure before taking a bite of the dango himself. Meanwhile, Itachi watched him blankly.

"Please."

"What?" Deidara looked over, shocked, and completely forgot to be the least bit timid. He was not used to having people ask him nicely for things, much less seasoned criminals.

"May I please have some of your dango?" Came the request again. Dumbfounded, Deidara let the man take another dumpling. "Thank you."

"Uh…" Just then, the bus stopped and they both glanced up at the digital readout. It was Deidara's stop, and so it seemed, Itachi's. Itachi got up and headed for the doors, and Deidara followed with all of his grocery bags, dango once again tucked into a bag. Deidara had only just stepped off of the buss when a hand grabbed half of his bags. He spun around, not sure what to do, but oddly relaxed when he noticed it was Itachi. Although he frowned somewhat when he noticed Itachi had already found the dango. Deidara wasn't exactly sure what to do about this turn of events, so he huffed and took a few experimental steps away from the bus stop. Itachi followed, dango in one hand.

Shaking his head, Deidara set out towards his house. Footsteps followed behind. It was the weirdest feeling, having a murderer follow you home while carrying your groceries. And strangely, Deidara could care less, so long as his father didn't find out he had help. They walked in silence until they reached where they were supposed to turn onto Deidara's street. The blond boy glanced at his house, and all the blood rushed from his face. No only was his father home, but several of the man's friends were there with him, told by all the cars parked in the driveway.

In an instant, Deidara had reverted back to his quiet, fearful self. He glanced with scared, wide eyes at the house several times before grabbing his bags from Itachi. The man only stared. Not caring, Deidara turned to his house and swallowed hard, walking towards it with all the appearances of walking straight into hell. He only glanced back once, barely registering Itachi's look of speculation before snapping his wide eyed gaze on his house. He could only hope the man was sober.

Deidara stepped up to the door, listening quietly for a minute before turning the handle and dragging himself in. His head was down, gaze averted to the floor, and bangs covering his face, pretending for all the world that he was not in that house at that moment. He closed the door softly and walked past the living room to the kitchen. As he passed the living room, he heard the sounds of drunken laughter and gulped. The rattle of poker chips only made his stomach drop further, and the rattle of dice in their leather cups made him nauseous

Trying his best to be as quiet as possible, he began putting away groceries. He was almost done when he heard footsteps behind him. Instinctively, Deidara stiffened. He smelt the man before he felt the hand grasp his arm, the stench of beer making him gag.

"Why don't you make us something to eat, Dei-chan?" His father's painful grip on his arm eased, and Deidara turned slightly towards him.

"What would you like, father?" Deidara's voice was quiet, trembling. The man seemed to think for a moment.

"Sandwiches. Bologna and cheese. And where's those damned receipts, boy?" the man was gruff, but he wasn't behaving as horribly as he could have. There had been other nights that Deidara didn't even want to think about. Wordlessly, Deidara pulled out the receipts from the grocery store and the shop he had bought the dango at and handed them over. Then he pulled out the last of the money and handed it over, counting to make sure he had gotten every last penny. His father read over the receipts and counted the money before grunting.

"Don't be long with the food." Then he walked back into the living room. Waiting until he hear the chorus of calls from the living room, Deidara collapsed back against the counter and let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He laid there for a short moment, getting his feet back under him, and then he got to work making the sandwiches. He could only hope the rest of the night stayed this docile and that he would get out of this safely. He could only hope.