Take Me Away || itadei

Chapter 9: Blur/Mission

Deidara covered his mouth upon noticing the apparent smoke beginning to fill the cave. The smoke leaked from the cracks between the walls of the cave. By the time he noticed the smell and covered his mouth and nose, it had been too late.

Coughing, Deidara took one last breath and ripped a strip of cloth from his coat, tying it around his nostrils and mouth. His vision already clouded. Without vision, he leaned against the rocky sides of the cave, emitting his chakra through the walls to grasp a rough outline of what lies ahead and of another shinobi's chakra signature, wherever he may be. It had been an awfully long time since he'd been made this weak and vulnerable, a state he despised the most.

He could feel it. Deidara could feel it. His fingers roaming him, binding him and closing in on him; he could feel his smug face as he fell to the ground, his body unresponsive, semi-paralyzed.
The intoxicated gas began to disperse, allowing him the unwanted, privilege to see his killer. The one to finally end him and his miserable self of a shinobi, and now a failure as a member of one of the biggest and most dangerous S-rank missing-nin organisations in the entire world. How could he face Pain now? If he does make it back alive, how was he going to face him? What will become of him if he manages to return alive but the mission specifically given to him had to be aborted? He was sure, in fact, more than certain, his existence would mean nothing and be rid off of this world.

And no one would notice he was gone.

As many catastrophes as he could cause in a matter of seconds from his speciality of creating explosions in a manner of seconds, or minutes, he alone could be defeated by any shinobi stronger than him. And this, he knew. This, he'd been well acquainted with, but he would never admit his defeat. Never, not as long as there's a second chance.

In his last moments with his eyes half-closed, dazed, Deidara had barely the strength to pull himself up or grip his kunai properly; the weapon lay carelessly in his palm beside him. His legs had too, given up. Powerless. No more Deidara the 'Master of Art'. Ah, how he wished he could perform one more trick just to satisfy himself. But dreams could only go so far...

What were his dreams?

He doesn't know. It had been too long he's forgotten why he stole the scroll and fled his home in the first place.

Why he learnt the jutsu and terrorized small villages and earned quite a number of a bounty on his head. He'd forgotten his reason for living the life he lived before being led astray onto the path of joining Akatsuki. This organisation. The very same organisation and its people that stole his freedom, his dream he set sight on. Yet somehow, somewhere along the line, this very same organisation started feeling like home.

Since when did he feel such a connection?

He did not know. And he wishes not to know. Because overthinking now meant absolutely nothing when he was just another meaningless life.

The shinobi stood above him. Staring down at him with a glint in his eyes that Deidara himself knew very well what it meant. He followed his movements with his eyes, every limb no longer responding to his brain no matter how much he wanted to yell, perhaps, for help. If anyone could hear him at all. If he has a voice at all. If he could move his lips at all. But he knew better to do nothing because his attempts would be pointless. His struggles would delight the shinobi further, but he wasn't one to give in to someone so easily, even when facing Death.

And so, he watched. Watched with his big round eyes as the shinobi robbed him of his breath each time the kunai struck through his cloak and clothes and pierced into his skin. Watched as his very own blood spilled onto his face and small droplets spattered onto his lips. Never blinking. Tasting himself. Watched as the kunai disappeared and the shinobi morphed to two figures and they began a heated battle. Watched as he drew his last breath and feel himself sinking in a pool of absolute emptiness, surrounded by millions of hands grabbing onto his arms and legs, pulling him down with them. And him in the middle of the pool no longer having strength nor power to free himself from their grasp. 

And that was when Deidara had woken up. His wounds tended to. He received many stab wounds, most were to his left shoulder and a definite scar on his chest the shape of an 'x'. His torso too was ruined with bruises of apparent beatings perhaps shortly after he became unconscious.

-----

Deidara lunges himself towards Itachi with his fist aiming at his head, discarding the striking pain that shot up his arms when he raised the fist to attack the taller male. He clenches his jaw in both pain and anger, his eyes flaring red and brow furrowed. Itachi on the other hand stares back with a tiny glint that seems to almost have never appeared, but Deidara saw it. He caught on and knows what that look he has given means. And he hates it. He hates it. He despises that expression because he receives it every time back in Iwa.

"Why?" He exclaims, bringing his fist back to his side, his head down looking at the ground. "Why do you people look down on me? Every time I mess up, why do you give me that look? To mock my- my failure?"

He raises his head again, except this time, the fiery glare returns to his eyes. His face creases, distorting in a fit of rage. 

Itachi sighs heavily, pushing Deidara's uninjured shoulder to guide him back down to his leaf-made cushion to sleep for the night. He is in no mood to be fighting or verbally arguing with this kid younger than him by a few years. In fact, Itachi wants no involvement in any of the counterpart's personal life; however, that now appears to be impossible and the fact has only just dawned on him. Perhaps he only just realised he is the one who had dragged the boy to this stage in his life. Perhaps the realisation that he is responsible for Deidara's involvement with Akatsuki has just struck him when the other's voice seems so pained underneath the obvious hatred he bears. He is also responsible for keeping him alive. Pain's order, of course. Alive and well enough until they reach their hideout, and from then on, the decision is up to Pain and Itachi will no longer hold any responsibility for the boy's life.

He glances at his companion over his shoulder, seeing that he now lay on the cushion and eyes closed faced away from the small campfire he conjured Itachi proceeds to his own spot opposite him, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed. But he is not asleep. 

"Report to me." Pain's voice booms having noticed Itachi's presence in his office. He always seems to be found in his office or in the middle of his meditation in his room. The reason? Unknown. Only Konan seems to know but for one, she will never give an explanation. And if she doesn't know, asking Pain himself would never be considered a good idea; he prefers to keep himself private and will let any information out if he chooses to, otherwise, there is no point in asking. Akatsuki knows that and knows better than to disturb their leader.

Itachi reported his and Deidara's situation immediately after being told once. Throughout the report Pain hums and nods once in a while, not saying anything or showing his true reactions. Although, after the full report was given to him he gives one final order to Itachi. An order which, to his surprise, draws a slight reaction from the usually stoic man. A slip of thought crosses his mind, though on the surface his frown deepens. He would act on it later.

"Do not disappoint me, Itachi," he warns, narrowing his spiralled eyes without waiting for a response.

Itachi doesn't move, noting that this will possibly be one of those missions he may regret ever agreeing to, but of course, no one will hear his thoughts. They don't matter, after all.

Itachi opens his eyes to see himself back at the campsite; the fire flickering slowly, perhaps more wood or sticks should be collected before the fire settles down. Deidara on the other hand... Oh. Itachi stands abruptly from his cross-legged position on the ground, turning his head in all directions searching for a hint of blond. A sign of any sort that indicates a blond-haired shinobi's whereabouts. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he creates clones and positions each copy of himself in all directions while he himself sets off into the direction Deidara had previously been facing before he reported to Pain. Dammit, where did you run off to?

A/N: It's Christmas Eve here but doesn't matter - Merry Christmas to everyone, and I hope you all have a great holiday. Whether you only stay at home or go somewhere I hope you all have a nice break from 2018's difficult journey =)