"Knock, knock,"
Kakuzu got up from his chair with a creak.
"What is it?"
"Do you have a bandage?" Deidara held up the wide strip of fabric that was previously wrapped around his neck. Kakuzu eyed it suspiciously. That was definitely Hidan's. "This doesn't really suffice," the Iwa nin coughed. "I mean, it's probably more absorbent, but it doesn't really let my skin breath, you know?"
Kakuzu grunted and went back into his workroom. He opened a first-aid like box and extracted a roll of bandages. He would have given them to Hidan the night before, if the Jashinist had the brain to ask him more politely. "Take it,"
Deidara accepted it but stayed. Kakuzu's eyebrows raised beneath his mask. What else could he want?
"Do you know whose this is?"
Ah. Kakuzu nodded. "It belongs to the only person that cares about you," he said simply, and his tone indicated that this conversation was over. Deidara nodded in understanding.
"Thanks, un,"
Deidara headed back down the hallway and felt the dream try and creep into his head again like a thick, suffocating mist skulking behind an unsuspecting traveler. He pushed it aside almost angrily.
No, he said firmly to himself. Come to think of it, the hallway still looked the same as it had in that dream—but that dream wasn't real, Deidara thought. He dug his fingernails into the fabric and almost collided into a giant pole which had found itself impaled through each end of Hidan's doorframe.
What the?
Deidara ducked his head under the pole and looked into the room. Hidan was busy. Very busy. Blood was spouting from a wound in his forearm, like some gruesome fountain. But Hidan didn't seem to notice. Beneath his feet was a large black circle with a triangle inside—the dignified emblem of Jashinism. Deidara watched on, because Hidan hadn't noticed his presence yet. Around the circumference of the circle, sharp objects—glass shards, fragmented knife blades, among others—glittered forebodingly in the candle light. Hidan, with his bare hands, twisted a single broken knife blade out of its socket in the earth. Deidara winced a little despite himself. Hidan's hand immediately started bleeding, running down his hand and dripping off the end of the knife.
Doesn't he injure himself enough in battle? Deidara thought in disgust.
Hidan brought the blade up and sliced it diagonally across an old wound. It peeled open easily. It wasn't even time for his monthly sacrifice, but Hidan had wanted something—anything—to keep himself distracted. He didn't want to think about Deidara sleeping and recovering in the other room, and he didn't want to think about what Sasori had said. Besides, Jashin would probably greatly appreciate the early tribute. Hidan could see a chunk of splitting tendons, which meant he was probably near his bones. Not that he couldn't feel it already.
He looked around the area in front of him. He spotted a spike-edged shard and reached over to pull it out.
Deidara didn't want to watch. He slung the fabric over the pole in the door and walked away. It looked like a white flag, the symbol of submission.
Despite the scene he had just walked in upon, Deidara walked jauntily. He kept feeling the stitches on his neck, just to feel their bumpiness. He was still wondering what had had happened last night.
"Deidara,"
The blonde turned. Itachi was sitting on the couch next to the plant, seemingly staring into air. Deidara recalled that there used to be a TV or something across from the couch, but apparently someone had broken it (no one wanted to admit who had done it) and since then no one could be bothered to have it replaced.
Itachi wasn't looking at him, even though he was talking to him. Then he turned his head slowly. "We need to talk,"
Deidara fingered the stitches curiously. "Right,"
Aren't you gonna come closer? Itachi thought. …mmm…never mind then.
"If you were wondering what happened last night," the older Uchiha began, regretting every word he was saying. He didn't exactly owe Deidara an explanation. But he'd look like a retard if he clammed up now. Sasori, you're probably watching. Wait—heck, since when was he caught between the two of them, ever? This was just ridiculous. "Hidan saved you first,"
"Mmmm," Deidara hummed, because he already knew. Wait…'first'? What did that mean?
"I came later," Itachi continued. He looked at Deidara. "Surely you didn't think Hidan could fight off my brother,"
Deidara shrugged.
"Guess not, eh,"
Itachi blinked a few times. There was that thing about Deidara again. That thing where the Iwa nin looked positively fearless, like he was unafraid of everything. But then again, Itachi did catch him in a moment of weakness, that bad dream he'd woken up from. Itachi marveled at Deidara's ability to change attitudes so quickly and so calmly too. After all, like his choice in weapons, Deidara was known to be explosive. Probably because he was still going through the hormonal ups and downs of being a teenager.
"If you're done, I'm gonna leave, danna,"
Something ticked in Itachi when the word danna slipped coolly, casually from Deidara's mouth. He looked at Deidara for an expression, an indication of why he had just called Itachi what he did. But he had turned away, with his hand still around his throat, massaging it.
He's never called me that before.
"Well, well, well,"
Itachi looked up. He was right. Sasori was nearby.
"Looks like he's found me a replacement,"
"Don't take it personally, Sasori,"
"I wasn't about to," Sasori sniffed, even though they both knew equally well he was.
"He can call any of us danna. I'm sure he respects us all,"
Sasori laughed. It sounded hollow, funnily enough.
"That brat," he stopped laughing and growled. "He probably has let it get to his head that he was able to overcome me…but even in death, I refuse to relent,"
The phrase take it with you to the grave obviously didn't apply to Sasori. Itachi's eyes softened a little empathetically. He, too, understood the meaning of keeping up a reputation. He was only unsure of whether or not he would, like Sasori, pursue the matter even in death. Itachi may hold grudges, but he knew when to stop.
"Sasori…,"
"Do not pity me," Sasori snapped. "Don't feed his ego. You're just helping him grow that confidence if you are," Sasori rejected the word power in lieu of confidence. He didn't want to come across as bitterly jealous of Deidara's sudden growth. From a young age, Sasori had always been ferociously competitive, and if Deidara had something marvelous that Sasori didn't well he wasn't going to put up with that.
"Where do you think this came from, Sasori?"
"Hmph. Like I would know,"
"…," Itachi decided to change the subject.
"He's been having restless nights lately," the Uchiha looked at Sasori, ready to pitch the idea he'd been rolling around his head. "I think it's got something to do with you, don't you?"
Sasori smirked. Trust Itachi not to miss any details. It was, after all, the only thing he was capable of doing to get his revenge.
"Sasori…," Itachi said, his voice lower than usual. "What have you been doing?"
Sasori flicked a piece of ash from the back of his hand. It fluttered down to the ground and disappeared. "I simply unlocked a piece of memory Deidara had previously forgotten. And now he is welcoming this newfound memory in the form of dreams,"
"What memory?"
Sasori laughed again, this time shortly. "Why would I tell you?" his look intensified. "Why don't you ask him yourself? After all, I don't need to spoon-feed you like a baby brat. Deidara does that to you already, pulling you along on a leash," he accused. He turned his back to Itachi. "You'll like what you hear. I promise you, Itachi Uchiha,"