Freedom
I don't care that he's gone.
It doesn't matter that he's not coming back.
I don't begrudge him for dying because I know he went out like he always wanted.
True art . . . is a BANG!
I don't really hate him for going out with one of the most beautiful and fleeting explosions I've ever witnessed in my entire life. No, I'm not angry that he's left me all alone in this world and that there's nothing I can do to bring him back. Not even a body remains for me to turn into a puppet for my still growing collection. (Then again, part of me wouldn't like it if he was a puppet. It would seem so . . . fake and nowhere near as lively as the real man. Just a cheap imitation; a knock-off that pales in comparison to the original.)
His body didn't stand a chance against the destruction of his explosive clay, much less when his own body was the bomb. I can still remember that one important conversation we shared when we somehow ended up on the topic of how we would want to die (more specifically, how he wanted to die because I knew that I was practically immortal and would never succumb to Shinigami's cold embrace. I was only humoring him and he knew it but said it anyway).
"When I die, Sasori no Danna, it's going to be amazing!" he said with a large grin that was slightly crazed. His only visible blue eye glinted with some emotion I didn't want to identify, and so I ignored it and scoffed instead.
"Why on earth would you want to die, brat?" I asked disdainfully. "Have you finally lost it and turned suicidal?" Deep down, I hoped that wasn't the case because if the brat died then it would be too much of a hassle to get yet another partner and train them to get in sync with my unique battle style.
No. I wasn't at all worried for his well-being because I genuinely cared for him. (I wouldn't miss him if he were dead.)
He gave me a look that was halfway between a pout and a glare. No, I didn't possibly find it cute nor had to fight back the almost alien urge to smile. I just thought the brat could be sort of amusing at times, especially when he was living up to my nickname for him.
"Danna!" he whined childishly and I had to look away and focus back on fixing up Hiruko's damaged tail, lest I do something that I would probably regret. (Like smile at the brat and prove him right that I still had some remnants left over from my life as a human. I didn't want to give him yet more ammunition to tease me with.) "I may act crazy and insane but I'm not suicidal. I'm just going to do what any artist aspires and become my art, un! I'm gonna go out with a bang! Because that's what true art is!"
And ignoring the fact that something in my heart, the last remaining piece of my body that was still mortal, clenched painfully when the brat announced his plan to kill himself in a kamikaze attack, I let myself ignore that in favor of getting into yet another argument of what is the definition of true art. (That old argument was something of a comfort to me, and I knew it was the same for him. It was one of the few constants in our lives that we could always rely on to never change, no matter how many lives we took or how many times one of my puppets was broken or how often the brat was injured or not on our missions. He would never back down from his misled opinion that art was fleeting and I would never compromise that art was anything other than eternal. We knew each other's lines and would never improvise on our scripts because nothing needed to be changed. It was perfect just the way it was.)
Now as I sit alone on his bed, his clay sculptures all back to simple putty because the brat never let them stay in one piece so they would always remain fleeting like his art, I wish that he hadn't been such a fool. I wish that he hadn't been an idiot and decide to take on Orochimaru of all people, the traitor and my ex-partner. It didn't really matter that the damned brat had succeeded in killing the snake. (Indeed, Deidara had practically wiped out all of Otogakure with the range and power of his last and strongest attack. Leader hadn't been sure whether he was pleased with the brat's success or pissed off that he'd lost such a valuable pawn.) It doesn't even matter that the brat hasn't gotten his long-desired revenge on Itachi since the Uchiha's little brother hadn't been in Oto at the time of the annihilation.
Nothing matters to me anymore because Deidara is dead. He isn't coming back and I can no longer deny the fact that his death hurts more than anything I've ever felt, even more than when I discovered the truth of my parents' death several years after the fact.
I admit that I care for Deidara but he's already gone.
I'm an old fool. Why else would I be sitting on Deidara's empty bed, wanting to cry even though my puppet body can no longer do such mortal actions, and cursing everything from life to death to Deidara and mostly myself?
The truth is that despite how I tried fighting it, I had come to care for the blond bomber that had been my partner and perhaps even only true friend. (An even deeper truth that I still didn't want to admit to myself is that a part of me had wanted something much more meaningful with the brat, but that part is in the most excruciating pain now because that yearning was just that—an unfulfilled longing that would never be soothed.)
Deidara is gone and I'm left alone once again. Like how I'd been left waiting forever for my parents to return from that mission that resulted in their deaths and the beginning of the end of who I once was.
What are you going to do now, Danna, hmm?
I freeze and don't dare to look in the direction I hear that painfully familiar voice. The fear that if I look and discover that it had only been my imagination, that the owner of that voice wasn't really there and was merely a product of my developing insanity, was unbearable. I don't want to look because then the truth, whatever it may be, will become real.
Unbidden, my lips move on their own and my voice is forced out of my throat that would have been raw from pain had I still been human. "I don't know, brat," my voice says quietly. "I don't know what I'll do now that you're . . ." I trail off and close my dry eyes, unable to finish.
Because if I do, then I'll have to face the truth. And I'm not ready for that yet.
The air in the room is cold, freezing almost, but I can't tell because my body is no longer sensitive to the caress of the wind on my wooden skin. It's an almost bleak existence that I lead, but I never really noticed it because I was too distracted with the diversion of my partner. He held my attention like a vice, refusing to let go no matter how much I snapped at him to leave me alone.
The sound of something fluttering within the room cuts me off from that painful track of thought and I glance around for the source of the distraction. It takes me a moment to process what I'm seeing, but when I do I can't help but suck in air from shock.
There on the neatly made covers of my bed sits a familiar white substance molded into a shape I've seen for years. The clay bird is unmoving but its blank ivory eyes stare at me like a cat.
"I must be hallucinating," I say aloud, disbelief clear in my quiet voice. Because there is no way that the brat didn't destroy that bird like he did with the rest of his creations. As he always claimed, his art was meant to be fleeting. Existing for but a few precious moments where only a few people would see the beautiful creations before they exploded in an array of lights and sounds that were never the same. The beauty of the moment would forever embed the explosions in the witnesses' minds, a moment of magnificence forever left in mere remembrance.
And completely unexpected, the bird tilts its head as if it understands me. It's alive, I think, shocked, and then the thought registers and I hurriedly glance around for the presence my human heart longs for.
. . . The disappointment I feel when nobody is there in the room with me is almost enough to make me loathe how I'm acting. Like a helpless child searching for his parents. It's like before and I hate the parallelism.
A soft flutter of clay wings is all the warning I have before the ivory bird lands beside me on the brat's bed. It looks up at me with those dull, lifeless eyes and tilts its head once more. The bird unfurls its intricately detailed wings and flaps them once, twice, and then opens its slightly curved beak in a silent chirp.
"What could you possibly want with me?" I snap at it. My hand swats at it half-heartedly but of course the bird dodges it. A sigh of annoyance slips out of me almost against my will. It seems that even in death that damn brat still annoys me to no end. "Go away; I'm not your master."
Danna!
My teeth clench at the voice echoing in my head. "Dammit, brat! Leave me alone!" I snarl.
The bird chirps silently once more and then flies over to the closed window of my room. It pecks at the glass and glances back over to me with an obvious plea in its body language.
Please, Sasori no Danna? Just one more flight? The brat's voice asks from my memory. It's utterly ridiculous; no. It's completely insane. I'm hallucinating all of this right now—that clay bird isn't here, the brat's voice in my head is nothing but proof that the little sanity I had left is now gone, and I can't possibly be considering giving into this fucked up fantasy.
Against whatever good judgment I might have left, I find myself getting up from the cold bed and walking over to where the bird is perched on the windowsill. It silently chirps at me in what I take as gratitude and then it all but rockets out of the room when I throw open the window. My eyes track the small white bird's progress through the air, finally losing it as it does a reverse loop mid-air and disappears between the clouds that never seem to dissipate.
What do you hope to see standing there waiting? Do you really think the bird is coming back when it has finally found the freedom it longs for? Birds are never meant to be caged. They were given wings so they could fly above the clouds where humans could never reach them. They long for the freedom of the world above this one, and that bird is no different despite being made of earth, water, and chakra residue. It lives for its freedom and you gave it the chance to finally escape its cage.
Realization strikes me and my body freezes with it. "That bird . . ." I whisper faintly, collapsing to my knees as the energy to stand leaves me.
So you finally understand, Sasori no Danna?
"It was him. It was Deidara . . . my brat."
And far above the clouds where no mortal can ever hope to reach, a white bird soars freely with the wind underneath the sun, its ivory eyes slowly turning to the blue that matches the heavens.
At last, he is finally free. His master set him free!
AN: K'doke, so that's the last of the SasoDei 1shots I had finished. So now it's up to you readers to decide what happens next. Should I continue one of these or write something entirely new? PM any requests and I'll see what I can do. Oh, but I won't write any lemons. I'm not ready for that sort of thing yet . . .
Well, thanks for reading. I really appreciate it!
~amkay