[Author's Note]

Here I am, with the last chapter before I go back to school. This is a very sad day. Let us have a moment of silence for the inevitable slowing of updates.
*moment of silence*
Moving on, words of thanks to all who review. Reviews are good for your health, and your locks. They're also good for, you know, the continuation of the story.
Unrelated: I've added Freud quotes to the beginnings of all the chapters. Check them out.
More so related:
I feel like I should tell you this fun fact: I have no clue what I'm going to write until I write it. I have only the vaguest idea of what's going to happen next. Seriously, I know about as much as you do, maybe less.

I should get to the chapter now; I hope you enjoy it! I had a really hard time getting it done.
Read and review!

So Help Me, Freud — Chapter 5

"Obviously one must hold oneself responsible for the evil impulses of one's dreams. In what other way can one deal with them? Unless the content of the dream rightly understood is inspired by alien spirits, it is part of my own being." —Sigmund Freud

Sasori woke up in a hot sweat, and that was the first problem. He had been sleeping.
The second problem was the hardness he could see beneath the sheets.

"Danna..."

The voice in his dream lingered in his mind. So did the image of Deidara beckoning him to follow him. And the feeling of Deidara's fingertips on his. And the torment he felt.
The dream had been a chase; every time he got close, the blonde would slip away, leaving the doctor with nothing but the sting of long hair that whipped his face when the boy turned away. Even after waking, that pain stayed.

"Come here, Danna."

Sasori shut his eyes tight, pressing the heels of his palms to them. Why was this happening? Why?

The red-haired man raked his fingers through his bedraggled locks, forcing himself out of bed and over to the bookshelf. He began rifling through the various books.

'The Interpretation of Dreams'

The psychologist gave a sigh of mild relief and pulled out the book.

"Oh, Freud," he breathed, switching on the lamp by his recliner. "Help me."

The redhead sat in his recliner for rest of the night, trying to bury himself in the words of his idol, but no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept slipping back.

"Come here, Danna." the voice purred again. The words were whispered in his ear, strands of blonde hair tickling his face. Sasori felt his heart beating in his chest, a gentle thudding audible. The young man before him reached up to stroke his face, slowly edging his danna against a wall.
"Deidara..." he breathed, hardly managing the words. He felt small tears forming in his eyes as he clenched them shut —he couldn't do this.
But he could.
This was wrong.
But it felt so right.

The doctor choked back a sob, biting his lip. Deidara's hands were on his wrists, pinning him to plaster, holding him in a gorgeous nightmare. He was tip-toeing the edge of sanity, and any move would knock him off.

Somewhere far away, a sound was softly moaned that sounded like his own. He could vaguely feel teeth grazing his neck, vaguely feel a throbbing pain in his abdomen. His body and mind weren't talking anymore.

"What's wrong, Danna?"

There it was again, a purr in his ear that made him tremble. He felt a whimper escape his lips. He felt a finger wipe away a tear.

"Stop..." he muttered, turning his head away. He couldn't face those bright blue eyes. "I can't..." His pain was obvious.

The teen took the redhead's jaw in his hand, moving him back to meet sky eyes.

"Can't what?" he whispered. Sasori sobbed.

"I can't...I can't..." the doctor's body was shaking against the blonde's arms. "I...love you..."

And that was where the dream had faded, twisting into the teen walking away and looking back from the doorway.

"I'm not gay."

Sasori slammed the book against his face, burying it in pages. Even his passion wasn't helping him now. Freud believed that dreams existed to give us what we cannot have in life, to give us pleasurable experiences. So why were his dreams giving him pain?

Deep inside, the redhead knew the answer, but he was repressing the knowledge at the moment. He was still grasping a shred of hope that perhaps he didn't know every word Freud ever said, and that maybe, just maybe, reading his wisdom would comfort him somehow. That was his logic as he made his way back to his bookshelf, selecting an essay.

'Beyond the Pleasure Principle'

Surely that would help. Freud wrote that to explain why nightmares existed.
But nevertheless, it did not...

"no lesson has been learnt from the old experience of these activities having led only to unpleasure. In spite of that, they are repeated, under pressure of a compulsion."

...it made things worse. There was no explanation for his dream, no explanation for his suffering. Freud's words only confirmed what he already knew. He could not be analyzed.

Sasori threw his head back in his chair, suppressed panic and anxiety bubbling to the surface. Quotes of his god slipped from his memory to taunt him.

"Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces."

It was true, but it hurt so bad...

"The goal towards which the pleasure principle impels us —becoming happy— is not attainable: yet we may not —nay, cannot— give up the efforts to come nearer to realization of it by some means or other."

So the other quote was a lie? What the hell?
Sasori's mind was cracking beyond repair, and he couldn't help but force back a tear as he grabbed at his scarlet hair. He was dying inside, and there no way to fix it. Even the Father himself hadn't overcome this challenge —what made him think he could? Had he ever truly believed he could stop his feelings?

"The ego is not master in its own house."

The doctor cracked a grin at his own stupidity as the words echoed through his head. Of course it wasn't. The id, the primal desires; those were who cracked the whip. They were the reason for his suffering. What if Deidara realized how he felt? What if he ruined everything? He would have defied his teacher, defied his laws, sinned in the face of his Father...

"A doctor should be opaque to his patients and, like a mirror, should show them nothing but what is shown to him."

He would have destroyed everything.

For the first time in history, Sasori didn't go to work. He stayed in his house, stayed in his chair; only basic human needs would drive him from it, and even those were neglected. He didn't eat. He didn't drink. He didn't sleep, he hardly blinked; he did nothing.
Nothing at all.
Even his mind was still as he receded into himself. He became a shell. He became empty. Life only clung to him by pulling him along on a string, a mere puppet in the show of reality.
Hours passed by him as he sat in his recliner, lamp on, though sun shone through his window.
His eyes were on the clock.
Unseeing.
His hand was on his chin.
Unmoving.
His heart was on the blonde.

Unbeating.

[Author's Note]

Thus we end on a sad note. Sasori isn't working. He's missing his appointments. Next time, we'll see what happens when Deidara sees that his danna isn't at the office.

All of the quotes, if you couldn't guess, are from Sigmund Freud. Dude had some great quotes.

Music Written To:

Beginning:
[One Headlight — The Wallflowers]

Beginning and Lower Middle:
[Die Another Day — Madonna (no surprise here)] The theme of this fic.

Upper Middle:
[Over and Over — Three Days Grace] Sasori's theme.

Very end:
[Imaginary — Evanescence] It fits so well. Go listen to it.

So, what did you think? I hope it came out okay. Review or your heart stops beating!
Ò_Ó
Actually, no. That'd be hard to enforce.

Review or recieve a random prior punishment!