The annoying blaring wouldn't let up and Hidan lashed out. Needless to say, and unfortunately for Tsunade who'd gifted him with it, his alarm clock had been sacrificed to Jashin-sama. Hidan sighed and looked at the pile of springs and miscellaneous pieces of metal that had once been his devoted, and severely abused, clock. Just perfect. How the fuck am I supposed to explain that to Tsunade?
Well, he could always lie and say it had gotten busted in a scuffle between him and his father. Hidan shook his head and got out of bed, wincing as his injuries made themselves known. He might have been a great many things, but he wasn't a liar, at least not when it came to his family. He sighed again and gathered up the remnants of his clock, depositing them in his bag. Hell, maybe Dei or Sasori can use the scraps for something. And maybe fix my shoulder while they're at it.
Limited to the use of only one arm, Hidan was running late when he made it to the school, consequently missing any chance to talk Tobi or Deidara. It was luck or kismet or a whatever the fuck one wanted to term it when he looked up from his jog to see familiar red hair and dark eyes. Sasori looked over him with oddly penetrating, knowledgeable eyes, taking in his injured limb held close to his body.
Hidan straightened up and presented his arm. It was impossible for silence with Sasori to be uncomfortable: there was no judgment in the dark eyes, no blame when the other person couldn't find words to speak, no vaulted expectation that had to be filled. His silence spoke more strongly and gave greater, unconditional support, than any talk Hidan had ever experienced.
The strain on Hidan's face was all the testament that he had, words held too much power for him, made things too real. Showing even that weakness was almost too much, but the unflinching strength that the redhead exuded was a balm on the less physical hurts, seeing the lack of disgust or contempt when he needed help, when cloth moved and bruises played peek-a-boo or a dark splotch on his cloak left crimson smears from a brushing contact.
Sasori made a minute motion to indicate Hidan's problem, "Dislocation?"
"Yeah, think you can pop it back in?"
The redhead nodded, as Hidan had known he would, carefully holding the wounded appendage. Dark eyes stared into his with utter calm, helping him find his own, easing the rhythm of his racing heart and ragged breathing. Once sufficiently sure that Hidan was ready, Sasori switched his gaze to the arm in his surprisingly gentle grip, "On three." the emotionless voice intoned.
Hidan took a deep breath and nodded, looking away, "Got it."
"One. Two." Snap!
Hidan's breath caught in his throat at the exquisite agony that raced up his arm, through his brain, and partly down his spine; and in that instant his Sasori friendship compass swung unerringly to absolute hatred. It faded almost instantly, replaced with gratitude, as the feeling in his shoulder went from an excruciating burn to a dull throbbing. Hidan breathed through the remaining pain as it faded to a tolerable level, casting a glance at the puppeteer that said everything he couldn't bring himself to say aloud. Thank you, Sasori, my friend.
The redhead's unfathomable dark eyes warmed with their own silent message. Of course. Always.
Hidan turned away first, "Better get inside, or you'll be late. I know how much you hate to-"
"Keep others waiting."
When he turned around a few minutes later, the shorter male was gone. Odd, that Sasori had an aura that made him seem to take up more space than he did, Hidan never thought of the difference in their height when he was around the other, it just didn't seem relevant. Maybe because with him, it just wasn't.
Mindful of his still-injured arm, he swung his back pack up on his good shoulder and headed into the school.
Hidan sat through the torture of his Human Relations' class like a criminal waiting for the guilty verdict they just knew was imminent, the furious glares of his 'partner' boring into the side of his skull not helping in the slightest. He honestly wasn't even listening as the remaining poor, unfortunate bastards (of which, he was of the opinion, he was the poorest and most unfortunate, being stuck with Kakuzu) were assigned their respective ball-and-chains for the next two weeks and twenty-four hours. He was brought out of his reverie as a stack of papers was slapped on his desk without even the generic 'take one and pass it onward' for the school reject. Lovely, and a glorious 'fuck you' right back at'cha, bastard. he thought, returning the glare three-fold.
Looking down at what was conceivably a secondary part of the assignment, he took a sheet and shoved the remaining papers into the hands of the snooty bitch that sat directly behind him without even looking back. His eyes widened at the completely idiotic survey on the page. What the hell? I thought this was Human Relations, not fucking Creative Writing. His wandering attention (he blamed bloodloss) was partially drawn back to the boring monologing of Asuma-sensei, something about testing to see if they knew what it was to relate to others in a 'healthy way' by completing this far-fetched little quiz.
Hidan sighed in aggravation at losing that precious additional hour-and-a-half of sleep he usually got in Study Hall, this asinine test was likely going to cost him all of it. And quite frankly, he suspected this torture had been contrived especially for him, and he was going to fucking flunk and probably end up in therapy or some shit. Time to face facts. Well-adjusted: I ain't. Fan-fucking-tastic.
He plopped his cheek on his hand, idly doodling with his finger on the twenty-question page, once again hearing the voice of his teacher fade into a monotone buzz at the edge of his attention. Slowly, going over the questions in his head, a growing smirk formed on Hidan's face while his finger played over the blank, fill-in lines. Ah, what the fuck. Like I always say, if you're going to fail, the least you can do is fail spectacularly.
He pulled a pencil from his desk and started making little erasable notations near especially interesting questions, said distraction successfully keeping him entertained for the remainder of class until it was time to pack up and get his (cringe) 'fowl' demon spawn. The white egg was plopped in his hand with a stern, seemingly already admonishing, look. Hidan contemplated the little oblong thing and gave serious consideration to dropping it on the floor and flunking out of the project right then and there.
It would mean freedom, not being tied to Kakuzu for the next three-hundred and sixty hours, but was it worth the beating it would earn him for defaulting the miser's grade? He shook his head, both at the ridiculousness of this assignment and in answer to his internal question. No, because Kakuzu was a big fucker, and every bit of it muscle, and he wouldn't come at Hidan alone, he'd most likely be angry enough to corner him with Kisame and Zetsu at the very least, and three-on-one were odds he wasn't willing to take in his current condition.
So he accepted the package of hand warmers like he was a little kid on a cold bus that needed a warmy-pack, activating one of the stupid things and carefully nestling it in his bag with the wannabe omelet. Some of the more moronic assholes made snickering comments about 'like mother like kid', 'it looks just like you: white and ugly!', and 'ha! always knew you were hatched from an egg!'. Hidan ground his teeth and ignored them, swiping the paper from his desk and stalking out to his next class, denying the very existence of his bastardly 'spouse'.
Hidan took the paper he'd written in Study Hall and shoved it against the miser's chest, "Here, my half of the report's done for whenever the fuck you get around to yours."
Kakuzu took the crinkled sheet before it fell and glared at him, "Why are you giving it to me?"
Already turned away, Hidan looked back over his shoulder, "Hell if I know whether I'll be in school or ditching that day, and it's in my ass's best interest to not piss you off by ruining your money-whore dreams of getting into the best fucking school by having a diminished grade." And with that, he was gone off to his next class.
He stared down at the paper the arrogant snowflake had fobbed off on him with a scowl. Well, it' in my possession now, might as well read over it to see what needs changed. Because the albino had been right about one thing, Kakuzu wasn't going to risk a bad test score denying him entry to the collage of his choice.
He glared at the ridiculous questions they'd come up with, that he'd have to answer as well.
1. How did you and your partner meet/get together?
Drunken celebration in Vegas, woke up married and with a Nicaraguan kid and no memory of the night before.
2. How is your married life?
Don't have one. We are (fucking regretfully, right?) divorced: the bastard remembered our anniversary, he just didn't want to waste any money on it. I pay weekly alimony and he gets the brat every other week and on weekends; because that's the only way he'd agree to it because kids are too expensive and so he wouldn't have to pay child-support.
3. What is one personal thing you know about your partner?
See question 2.
There was a stickynote at the bottom of the page with more writing. I fucking hate apricots, and my favorite word is 'massacre'.
"The paper you wrote wasn't deficient."
Hidan rolled magenta orbs. Duh. Anti-social, yes. Oblivious? Not. "Gee, and you came all the way to this side of the school to tell me that, huh? Thanks, but I don't know if anyone's told you, I have eyes."
"Whatever, Snowflake." the miser snarled as he shoved Hidan against the wall and stalked off.
"Ah!" he sucked air through his teeth and held still. Mortherfuckingdamnit OWW! Son. Of. A. Bitch! Ah, did he have to hit the fucking shoulder?
Kakuzu's fuming over his idiot partner lasted all through his last time block until Itachi stopped him outside his locker after final bell. The long haired Uchiha held out a small, folded slip of paper to him, "We are now even."
The masked teen took the slip, opening it right there and reading over the information he'd demanded, the password to that curiosity-inducing chat room. He put the slip in his pocket and went back to putting his things away, paying it no mind when the Uchiha left.
If on the odd chance it didn't work, Itachi would still owe him. But the family that had literally built the police force in Konoha and still initiated almost every member by having them try out for the force rarely failed at gaining any information they set out after. Just hope whatever I find is worth the favor I paid for it.
Hidan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Deidara noticed the uncommon motion, "What's wrong, un?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Just thinking. You know, a couple hundred years ago, whites thought it was a bad thing to be too black, now here I am present day... Not possible to be more white, and I'm the outcast."
At home, Hidan got dinner ready and flipped through his homework until his computer dinged with an alert. He tossed the textbook he was reading aside and got up. That's odd, didn't think Tobi or Dei would be on tonight. The others only rarely logged on on thursdays, too busy with the homework assignments they were given on tuesday and ignored in favor of his visits. He sat at the computer, opened the message window, and stared in surprised disbelief at the unfamiliar name that awaited him.
Curious, he got more comfortable and logged into the chat room.
BloodRedBeliever has logged on.
StitchedTogether has logged on.
BloodRedBeliever: Who the fuck are you?
StitchedTogether: Are you BloodRedBeliever?
BloodRedBeliever: Dude, do you see the fucking screen name that appears at the head of every post?!
StitchedTogether: Are you the one with a journal?
BloodRedBeliever: You're the one that found my mother fucking poem, ain't ya? Figures I'd drop it in the most fucking incriminating place in a five-mile radius.
StitchedTogether: It's not half bad.
BloodRedBeliever: So, what are you going to do about it? Turn me in to the school counselor? The police? The funny farm?
StitchedTogether: I'd have to know your real-life name to do that, dumbass.
BloodRedBeliever: Don't call me that! I get enough of that shit through the day if you hadn't fucking figured it out!
StitchedTogether: ...Sorry.
BloodRedBeliever: Sure you are.
StitchedTogether: I mean it.
BloodRedBeliever: Forgive me if I have trust issues.
StitchedTogether: Can't blame you.
BloodRedBeliever: Sure you can. Watch. "It's your mother fucking fault!" See? Not hard.
StitchedTogether: ...
BloodRedBeliever: It's called a sense of humor: get one.
StitchedTogether: How can you possibly be flippant about this?
BloodRedBeliever: It's either laugh or cry. I'm not much of a crier.
StitchedTogether: I find that surprising.
BloodRedBeliever: I'm sure there's loads of ways I could surprise you, you don't know a fucking thing about me.
StitchedTogether: I know you were sodomized, and can apparently write poetry.
BloodRedBeliever: ...I'm waiting for you to ask me to marry you. I won't accept anything less than ten carets, amethyst and sapphire set in a silver ring in tasteful baguettes.
StitchedTogether: Screw you!
BloodRedBeliever: There we go! Had to get past the awkward silence and pity stages.
StitchedTogether: You're seriously fucked up.
BloodRedBeliever: At least twice a week.
StitchedTogether: So what's your story?
BloodRedBeliever: Why the fuck should I tell you anything?
StitchedTogether: Anonymity is a lovely thing.
BloodRedBeliever: ...Fine.
BloodRedBeliever: Boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl have brat, boy starts drinking and cheats on girl with slut, gets girl pregnant again, and beats both girl and brat until girl drives car off cliff at sixty miles per hour. Just your regular average family.
StitchedTogether: That sounds like your parents' story, not yours.
BloodRedBeliever: Right. Volume two: Slut leaves boy well on his way to drinking himself to death (If only), boy gets pissed and takes it out on brat, repeatedly beating the shit out of brat, then boy decides that isn't enough since he isn't getting any and proceeds to molest brat. Brat becomes pathetic little angst-ridden bastard and starts cutting. The mother fucking end.
StitchedTogether: Wow, your life has been shit.
BloodRedBeliever: Why thank you, I've always thought so myself. Ahh, it's nice to be vindicated.
StitchedTogether: Do you ever stop with the sarcasm and jokes?
BloodRedBeliever: Let me think about it. *Nods sagely.* Yeah, sure, uh-huh.
StitchedTogether: So that's a "no" then.
BloodRedBeliever: Wow, deductive skills. Don't see that every day anymore.
StitchedTogether: You're such a frustrating smartass!
BloodRedBeliever: *Gasp!* Excuse me while I go crawl in a corner and sob. Deal with it, you're the fucker that broke into this private chat room just to get my damn life story.
StitchedTogether: Just making sure you don't do something stupid like try and kill yourself.
BloodRedBeliever: Don't worry: I'm far more likely to do something stupid and kill someone else.
StitchedTogether: A little seriousness would be greatly appreciated.
BloodRedBeliever: Dude, if you thought that was in any way lacking conviction, you need to go back over the reason you came here in the first place.
StitchedTogether: Need any help disposing of the body?
BloodRedBeliever: ...Seriously? Thanks, man, really, but I've got it covered.
StitchedTogether: Let me know if you change your mind, I have connections.
BloodRedBeliever: While tempting that might be, it'd be incriminating to do it over the computer.
StitchedTogether: Phone? Gimme your number?
BloodRedBeliever: ...Are you hitting on me? If you have some freaky fetish for victims, look elsewhere.
StitchedTogether: Coming from the person waiting with baited breath for me to pop the question. No. On the other hand, I'm male.
BloodRedBeliever: Good to know. Fuck, got to go.
StitchedTogether: Same time tomorrow?
BloodRedBeliever: I don't know, we'll have to see.
BloodRedBeliever has logged off.
StitchedTogether has logged off.
Hidan closed out the chat when he heard the sound of the car pulling into the driveway. He hadn't gotten in any undue trouble, so as long as his father hadn't had a particularly unpleasant day, he should be able to get through the night relatively unscathed. Getting up to check on the meal, he cast one last glance towards the desktop. Huh, life just got a little more interesting.