He woke up with a sense of floating in his head and stomach and no idea about the time and place. The only memory he had so far was his death. He was sure he would be able to remember everything else later on, but something drew his attention more at the moment. Was this Heaven or Hell? Judging by the red skies above him, the second seemed a more logical option, but then again, everything was peaceful around. And he was alone, he felt that from the first moment. He tried to get up from the ground covered with grayish soil and felt something falling all over his back as he did so; right, he had long hair. Back then, when he was alive, they called him Deidara. After agreeing with himself about his identity, the man started to examine his surroundings. The irrealistic place resembled a huge desert, like the one he had crossed with his former partner, Sasori, on that certain mission when the roots of all the problems he ever had grew. The only differences were the colors and the pitch-black trees sprawled sparsely. When Deidara looked better, he spotted a bigger group of them. Should he walk there? Maybe he could find something less monotone... The dead artist forced himself to sit up, the feeling of dizziness still not going away. He leaned forward and positioned the weight of his body on his arms, trying to move his legs to the sides. His right knee was out of the way, but suddenly, exhaustion hit him and he fell back.
"Dammit..." he cussed silently. He could've shouted, if he wanted to, he realized. No one was going to hear anyway. Not being able to get up made Deidara feel pathetic. Even the fact that he could move or feel as dead was useless if he remained in the same damn place... He made a second attempt to stand, and this time, he coped with it quite nicely, finally taking a step. He stumbled a bit, but he was walking, and he didn't fall. Deidara looked at his feet, then his hands and body. He wore a plain, black cloak (where could it possibly come from?), but nothing was missing. He still had the two mouths on his hands, which had formed with a jutsu from a forbidden scroll he stole from Iwagakure five years ago. Really, how much time could have passed since he died? Did time even exsist here? The artist didn't try to answer those questions, like he was living a dream, where some things just didn't matter. His small steps didn't make any noise, in fact, he felt like a ghost. There was a small feeling of bitterness to it; the man wished he could see something slightly familiar to remind him of the human world, a construction, a written word or a face. It was almost like... Yes, this world resembled a genjutsu.
While taking his little 'trip', Deidara wondered if he was ever going to reach the forest. It was the only reference point he could see, but the more he moved, the further away it seemed. After a while, he started to gaze at the sky absentmindedly. The fast movements of the clouds were the most interesting thing around him. Not seeing what was in front of him, he crashed into a tree, falling down on the ground again. His nick was much better now, so he stood up right away, pleasedly seeing he had arrived. The wood was nothing special -just the same, black, seemingly dead trees-, but it was big. A lot bigger than it seemed from the point where Deidara had found himself. His face lightened up when he glimpsed at the gray, regural-shaped object 20-30 meters from him. It was a house! Even if it seemed empty, someone must have built it, so he wasn't the only living thing in this world after all... He moved closer to be able to examine the habitation. It wouldn't have caught the eye in the human world; an ordinary, small, oriental house with a few windows covered with gray rice paper, to boot, faded into the ambient perfectly. Deidara might not even have noticed it if it wasn't for the fact that there was one single house in the radius of 20 kilometers. He walked around all the building to find the door. It was on the opposite side, outside of the forest. The house stood at the margin of it. The artist slid the door open, not really caring about not bursting into unknown people's houses in his current position. The interior had two rooms, separated by another door, identical to the front one. The first had a small, black tea table and a pillow on the floor, the second a simple futon. And that was all. If there was a prize for the less-artistic design, this would certainly win it. The man, who had been standing in the doorway until now, entered completely, closing the door behind himself. As he explored the small space in the dim light, he noticed something he hadn't seen before. A small shelf with a single object on it; a vial with strange, honey-colored liquid in it. Deidara picked it up. He couldn't figure out what direction the light came from (there was only a huge, black sphere in the sky instead of the sun), but he held it over his head, shaking it and watching as small bubbles formed in the fluid. The thing slightly resembled those containers for eye medicine. He put the vial back on the shelf, not interested anymore. Then he decided to take a look at the other room. He opened the door, widening the beam of light in the completely dark space. There really was nothing aside from the grayish, dusty futon. But when the artist's eyes got used to the lack of light, they widened. A reddish-brown, drying stain decorated the floor made of some unknown, gray wood. Blood. And Deidara started to get scared. It was like one of those bad horror movies when a kid gets lost in an unkown world and after a long, paranoid trip where he always feels like someone's following him, he gets slaughtered down. The artist chuckled. He was already dead, so there was no danger.
He completely ignored the stain, now staring at the futon. It reminded him just how much he had already walked. Deidara yawned and quickly pondered: if someone found him here, it could only mean good, since he couldn't get killed; he had nothing to lose by sleeping in some stranger's ugly-ass house and letting his guard down. He pulled the blankets over him and fell into a deep sleep without dreams. He was so tired he didn't even notice that the sheets were still a bit warm.
Deidara's eyes opened when he heard the sliding sound of a door. The first thought coming to his mind was "Someone's here, I'm screwed!" A drop of sweat was dripping from his forehead and his heart beat faster (even though it should have stayed nice and quiet since the man was dead). He tried to calm down and remind himself that this was the afterworld, so he didn't need to be afraid. Fortunately, he had closed the door between the two rooms and the person (he could tell it was a human presence by the chakra) was still on the other side. He hadn't been spotted. Drawn by curiosity, the artist crawled towards the thin rice paper wall which divided him from the presence that could save him from his solitude. He moved the panel away, just a tiny bit, to inspect the person. A man with short, dark hair kneeled near the tea table, turning towards the front door, consequently showing his back to Deidara. He was panting heavily, like he had ran. The artist watched as he wiped away the sweat from his face (which he couldn't see) with the sleeve of his dark cloak. Since he was a sculptor, the blonde man could easily spot important details; that's why he noticed the symbol on the back of the stranger's clothing right away. It was also too bright-colored to pass unseen. But what intrigued Deidara deeply was the actual meaning of the the crest, picturing a fan with the upper part red and the lower part white. He couldn't believe what he had just seen: an Uchiha. Interesting... And there he thought that prick Itachi and his pathetic little brother he had killed with his masterpiece were the only ones left... He opened the door a little more to take a better look. The newly found member of the cursed family was still turning to the other side. Deidara first thought it could be Itachi with a new haircut, but the unknown man's build was different. He was more muscular (probably keener on taijutsu and ninjutsu) whereas the Weasel was slender and obviously a genjutsu-user. Deidara sighed. He was already analyzing him as his enemy; he apparently clung to his shinobi life even after death. Or maybe it was the guy's fault for being an Uchiha, those whom the blonde artist detested the most. But was it necessary to hold grudges even in Hell (or Heaven)? Either way, he didn't dare to just waltz out; it was still possible that this man was angrier at him than the contrary, considering that Deidara had killed the only successor of his family (even though he wasn't sure what to think after anoher Uchiha had suddenly popped out of nowhere). Then, he had to suppress the urge to facepalm. Of course, ANY Uchiha could be there, since that was the place where dead people went! He probably doesn't even know him.
Not having a second thought or a bad feeling about it, he stood up and walked out of his room; something he deeply, deeply regretted when he found himself held against a wall with two hands on his neck and a pair of mismatching eyes staring into his. Deidara couldn't speak, either because of the surprise or the stranger stifling him. Now he started to think that he went crazy instead of dying. The face he was forced to stare into wasn't especially ugly by itself, but half of it had odd furrows on it, somehow reminding of scars but still strangely-shaped. What was even more surprising were the sharingan in his right eye and the rinnegan in the left one. So, basically, this was an Uchiha bearing one of those horrible eyes Deidara hated more than any other bloodline limit, who also had the most powerful visual jutsu. The artist thanked his luck for not crossing paths with this fellow while he was alive; if he had, he was sure he would have died in a less-artistic way.
"What do we have here." an expression aiming to be a smirk crossed the half-ruined face of the owner of the house.
"Let go, un!" the blonde man finally managed to say, managing to pull the hands' hold a little wider.
"It is really you." the Uchiha finally let go and stepped backwards, letting Deidara fall on his knees coughing. What did that mean? That sounded just like that person knew him...
"How did you manage to get inside here?" he turned to the blonde artist again, with a death-glare.
"In-inside your house?" Deidara really couldn't say anything other than that. The chakra presence around him was so heavy it was hard to breathe.
"No. Inside my head."
"Your head? What?" the man on the floor furrowed his brows.
"You don't even know where you are?" he shaked his head. The dark haired stranger walked towards him again, leaning down slightly.
"Pathetic, I must say." Deidara's blue eyes widened. He had heard that somewhere before.
"Who are you?" the artist asked, regaining a bit of courage, constantly telling himself that his actions had, in fact, no consequences in this world.
"You don't even recognize me, Deidara? You intruded my inner world and you don't even recall who I am?" in the intense gaze of those terrific eyes, the smaller man started doubting himself and his memory.
"I've never seen your face before." Deidara stated. A dark chuckle came from the Uchiha who was still leaning down, supporting himself with a hand against the wall.
"Ah, right, you didn't, Senpai." said man just stared in front of himself, immobile like a statue. Life, no, death was mocking him. His lip trembled, not quite sure what he should feel right now.
"Yes, Deidara. I'm the one you mistreated during our partnership and the one you blew up along with yourself thinking an apology would be enough for killing someone."
"Are you dead too?" Deidara asked, finally able to force a sound out of his lips.
"Haha, you'd like that, wouldn't you? No, I'm alive, in fact." the man who turned out to be someone they called 'Tobi' back then, let out a small laughter, but there was no trace of happiness in it, just some dark, cruel amusement. The artist took this man as the proof that all Uchiha were the same. Nearly insane people who used their natural talent and power to the worst possible end and had no appreciation for art, nor other humans around them. The bestiality of either Itachi, Sasuke and Tobi utterly disgusted him. What spiritual depth did they all have? All they thought about was slaughtering, revenge and violence. Sure, his art was violent, too, but it had another reason to it. Well, if he put it like that, Tobi did also have his reasons to hold a grudge against him.
"I guess you'll never figure out where we are." the mentioned man said, bringing back Deidara's attention from his thoughts. He sat down by his small table in the meanwhile, motionless like everything else around.
"You said... This is your head, un."
"Known by the name of Tsukuyomi, indeed."
"I thought that was a genjutsu performed on other people with the..." there was no need to finish that sentence. Tobi didn't look at the other man once, a fact which Deidara was actually happy about.
"Since you're immortal right now and time works differently here, I guess I can take my time to explain. A regular genjutsu is an illusion, basically, but there are exceptions. The true power of the sharingan, which makes it one of the most dangerous eye techniques, is the Tsukuyomi itself. When the bearer of the Mangekyou sharingan casts the jutsu related to it, the victim is, in fact, transported into a different dimension temporarly, this explains the different sense of time, also. Every user has a Tsukuyomi of their own which reflects the subconscious of them. It's also reachable through meditation, something I have learned to do a long time ago. That's why your presence surprises me. Damn, if it were someone like Rin, I would even enjoy it, but why..." the blonde man saw his former partner making a pissed expression. He felt like a huge nuisance. Wait, why was that even a problem? Of course he'd be in the way in a world made for one person, he was now duplicating the population of Tobi's Tsukuyomi...
"Listen," Deidara started "I have no clue about how I ended up here. I only know I should be dead, and if this really is you subconscious, then I'm probably not the real me; just a replica in your head. So the only one who can explain all this, is you, Uchiha." the blonde stood up, pleased with the small speech he just made.
"You're not as stupid as your suicide technique, it seems." the dark haired man stated inconsiderately, still gazing at the wall at the other side instead of his conversating partner.
"Belittling my art like the other members of your family, huh? But I still killed mini-Itachi with it, un."
"You didn't" Deidara's face reddened with utter shock, having his provocation brushed off with that one, awful sentence. Was it possible that...?
"There's no way for him to dodge that attack. The explosion covered everything in a 10 km radius."
"He also travelled to another dimension with Orochimaru's jutsu, just to keep you updated with the news."
The bitterness and anger Deidara felt in that moment was beyond expression. He uncosciously started gritting his teeth, trying not to burst out in anger. His life was useless. His death was useless. And he was trapped forever in an Uchiha's inner world. He wanted to shout, to cry, to blow up everything around, including himself, and most of all, he wanted to kill this man, right now, since it was the only way to express the eternal hatred he had for every Uchiha who had ever lived on Earth. The smaller man jumped at the other, desperately punching, kicking, biting, scratching and tearing everything he could, which wasn't much, considering Tobi's strenght. Still, the anger unleashed some kind of brute force in him and in the end, he managed to claw at the unscarred part of his face, making a big, red bruise. After the struggle, the Uchiha succeeded to grab Deidara's wrists, who tried to stop him by biting him with his hand-mouths, and pinned him against the same wall as before.
"Stop dumping your problems on my family! Almost all of them were already dead when you even got to know us, and you don't even know who Itachi truly is! That superficiality... I cannot stand it!" but at the end of the phrase, Tobi let go of him once again. For a moment, he didn't look like the cruel, horrible man he was.
"The o-only thing I know about all of you damn Uchihas is your lack of respect. A-and beyond that point, I don't care who the hell you are, un." Deidara's voice was shaking and he didn't seemed completely convinced by the truthfullness of what he said.
"That's ironic, you just asked me who I was."
The blonde couldn't say anything, considering that Tobi was right.
"My name is Uchiha Obito." that didn't say much to the artist, who now slid down along the wall to sit on the floor and hold his face in both hands. He still couldn't believe what had happened. They stayed like that for minutes, like a still-life.
"Feeling meaningless, huh, Deidara? What are you going to do now? You can't even blow anything up without your clay. How powerless you are." said the man who turned out to be Obito, scratching his scalp lazily.
"What did I do to you to make this even worse?" the blonde man muttered from under the cover of his arms.
"Indeed, what? In the end it was nothing, but I knew exactly how much respect you had for me: none. What bothers me isn't merely the fact you would've killed me with your technique without hesitation, but that you did this while I was your partner. A powerful jutsu, the country, revenge, art... None of these are worth killing your comrade! Do you understand now?" Obito's explanation was long, but studdingly simple. So much, it woke a sense of guilt in Deidara to boot all the other negative feelings he was currently going through. A small tear formed in the artist's left eye, who immediately wiped it away, disgusted by his own reactions.
"Nevertheless, I cannot kill you now" the cruel Uchiha continued "You don't have any choice but stay here and coexist with me. I'll see what use I can put you to; I wonder if there's even any in a perfect world."
"I highly doubt the perfection of it..." Deidara commented below his breath. Obito didn't even react; he just stood up and entered the other room where the artist had been sleeping before and closed the door behind himself. The blonde waited a few seconds and sneaked out on tiptoe to the front door of the small building. When he finally got out, he started running the fastest he could, trying to get away from that devil of a man.