Archive of Our Own ^beta

The explosive residue burns into his nostrils, and it's his only relief over the dust and debris and stench of blood. There's a metal plank lodged in his gut, remnants of the mining rail that had been in these mountains. The little town's mining operations were cut short after it was found out they were selling their wares to other villages, opposing villages, after the old man layered the little folk with more taxes.

Greedy old coot.

The town wasn't even technically in Iwa territory but Õnoki wanted it to be, and so with little hassle the independent town had been taken underwing, and here Deidara was – bleeding out because the towns folk were upset at their new regime, which honestly, he couldn't blame them – which didn't make it any easier to stomach the entire grid in his liver.

He's probably going to die in the next few minutes, if he's lucky. If he isn't it'll be a few days before the blood loss takes him or the lack of fresh oxygen does.

But he can't even more his damn hands, and he has to feed his final masterpiece – if not, it'll be for nothing – he'll be for nothing – no one will ever experience his art again, fuck – he needs to move –

His left hand gives a lackluster jolt, the tongue inside lolls and Deidara feels the sweat like lighting a match on his forehead, as his jaw strains and clenches, and his body shudders beneath his will to move his damn fucking hands –

The world rumbles and debris shatters down and Deidara blacks out for a moment because when he comes to, there are voices, and hands inside his open wound and he gnashes at the faint scent of another's sweat above him and –

His chin is captured, held still, a thumb presses up against his mouth, and Deidara thrashes – "Please remain calm, Shinobi-san. You are being healed as we speak," a deep and smooth and emotionless voice intones, and Deidara peeks out an eye. It's bright from a skylight above and the glow of mint-green of healing chakra, and he blearily eyes his saviors.

The one healing him has pink hair and is barely out of the Academy, her hands shake above his wound but the prickle of healing organs and sinew and nerves is familiar so it could possibly check out, and the one holding his chin is –

Okay, so Deidara is a little out of it, a little starstruck because the dude is hot, and he licks the blood on his mouth because damn; and then he notices the Konoha headband and his insides freeze –

"Please do not struggle, Shinobi-san, I can and will knock you out - if you being awake proves to be more of a hazard then a benefit," the Konoha shinobi intones, and fuck – are they already experimenting on him, in the field? Not even taking him back to be all cushy in the depths of their hearths?

Deidara is still mostly paralyzed from blood loss but his teeth snap out, a cornered dog will take blood, "Don't fucking touch me, yeah!" his teeth sinks into the Konoha-nin's high-collared shirt, and the fabric rips into his mouth. The Konoha-nin sighs –

"We're trying to help you," the pink-haired child hotly tells him.

He sticks his tongue out at her because she's a kid and she'll understand that, " – into shackles, yeah? Well I ain't going dude!" she looks huffingly offended.

"Shinobi-chan is healing you," the Konoha-nin says, "And then we will leave you be."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" he hitches a laugh and winces as the pain in his abdomen returns. The good healing chakra is leaving him already and wow, it hurts, "Yeah, right. We're enemies and I'm – either leave me for dead or kill me, I'm not going to be no one's leverage, hm –" he juts out his jaw.

"Why would you be leverage?" the Konoha-nin politely asks, and Deidara scowls.

His eyes narrow and shoots back, "Why would you help an enemy, yeah?"

"We don't have to be enemies, y'know, Shinobi-san," the pink-haired shinobi chirps, her hands already squeezing his insides back into a semblance of normalcy, "Your internal anatomy is quiet different to the average shinobi's so I will need to focus," and with that pinkie shuts her eyes and focuses.

Deidara curls back a lip, "They really do raise you soft in Konoha, huh…" he scoffs, and he tries not to squirm. "I'm not going to be no experiment, you hear, yeah?" he should probably stop her, blow them all up – since his body is one live explosion and any complex organism is a potential match but he doesn't – he just sort of uncomfortably slouches.

He shouldn't let anyone outside of Iwa take a peek at his anatomy, his whole body is one forbidden Iwa modification after another, and since they don’t have the benefit of a lot of bloodline limits, their modifications are their treasure and the old man might kill Deidara himself if he learns Deidara just let an enemy take a peek but – eh –

The old man forced Deidara onto this stupid mission –

The Konoha-nin looks down upon him, and Deidara sneers back. The pink haired kid pokes at his stomach a little longer before opening her eyes and delights in poking him some more, "I did it, Sensei!" she beams at the Konoha-nin.

He smiles at the pink haired girl and Deidara's newly healed stomach flipflops so violently he nearly wants to refute her statement. "You did well, Shinobi-chan, please go find your teammates. I will be there shortly," he says, and the pink-haired girl importantly nods and stands to her feet.

Her little red dress is torn and smudged with dirt, and her eyes bright with achievement, so Deidara can't really muster up a sneer at the sincerity. Her head bows at Deidara, "Please do not partake in any strenuous activity for at least the next week, Shinobi-san. You should also see a healer if you feel discomfort in the affected region," she recites, then jumps out the hole and into the dimly lit cave above.

It's just him and the Konoha-nin now, and Deidara rolls his head round to better scowl at him, "So, you're killing me now, yeah?" he checks, now that the little pink haired brat is gone, it'd be time to treat the enemy like an enemy, even for a soft Konoha shinobi.

The Konoha-nin's hand glows and he lays it on Deidara's exposed stomach. It's a little enflamed and a lot tender, so he startles a little, as the mint-green lights up each individual dark lash on the Konoha-nin's closed eyes. He's breathtaking and Deidara's chest heaves a little. Better than dying alone surrounded by dirt, at least he can see a little beauty before –

"You should make a full recovery Shinobi-san," the Konoha-nin hums, and shifts his red stare to meet Deidara's, "Thank you for your cooperation." And then he stands, and something like panic takes Deidara's mouth, he still cannot move –

"Where the hell are you going, yeah?" The Konoha-nin steps over Deidara's knees for the skylight, and Deidara feels clamps tight around his wrists and thighs and knees but it doesn't make sense, nothing would hold in these crumbling walls, and wait, they weten't thereta second ago, he – " – and why the hell can't I move, huh?" he struggles tighter against the bonds, but they gleam dully at him.

The Konoha-nin smirks over his shoulder, a long drip of dark hair sways down his back, and Deidara wants his fist in it, "My genjustu will wear off in the next two hours, so please refrain from hurting yourself in that time." The Konoha-nin jumps into the cave above and disappears –

The reality of the situation smacks him upside the head. The red eyes, the headband, an Uchiha – and the restraints; he yanks at them, flickers his chakra, but they remain stubbornly present even though he knows the truth, and Deidara starts laughing because what a bastard – what art!

Before he even knew he was in danger it was already too late – in a single glance the asshole had already won – in a millisecond he has become a witness and is irrevocably changed – Deidara snickers to himself in the dim light, breathes in deep, exhilarated for the first time in a long while, and swears to himself "You'll witness my art next, yeah, Uchiha."

0o0

It's been three months since Itachi first saw the blond haired Iwa-nin, half-buried in rubble, bleeding out, and with a mulish ferocity that intrigued him. It seems fate leads them to be at death's door as they meet because Itachi's only has his arm in place by the numb hold of his other hand.

The snowflakes drift in deceptively delicate patterns and his knees ache as he tries to get them underneath himself. This is what he deserved for taking a solo ANBU mission after half a year of light duty, a somewhat vacation he had been advised to take, where he filled out paperwork and helped the Jounin Sensei's train Konoha's future generations.

He'd enjoyed it far too much, the simpler lifestyle, the idea that he wasn't about to die at each sign of vulnerability – it'd been a definite vacation for him – but he was of Konoha's elite, and his skills were best suited for Konoha's ANBU missions, assassinations and the like.

So here he attempts to stand, his elbow hanging by a few threads to his arm and the snow attempting to bury him beneath it, and then a smear of gold whistles past him and a low bemused chuckle sounds at his ear.

Itachi treats it to the kunai it deserves, and snow shifts beneath the Iwa-nin, and Itachi winces as he steadies his useless arm in his makeshift sling.

"That doesn’t look so good, yeah," the Iwa-nin huffs, and a sharp blue eye gleams at him. His golden hair wisps in the wind and the smirk is half-cocked, faintly dangerous and Itachi's insides squirm. He knows he's eyeing thethe Iwa- a little too hungrily. The Iwa-nin flips his kunai back into its pouch, "Let me return the favor, yeah –"

"What favor?" he monotones, behind his ANBU mask, because ANBU do not have favors from enemies, they do not feel things, or have needs or desires, they are tools serving Konoha –

The Iwa-nin scoffs and waves a gloved hand, his coat is thick fur and leather, boots built for the snowstorm about to settle in, and Itachi holds back a shudder beneath his too-thin long-sleeved. He'd lost his cloak in the avalanche that'd taken out the compound he'd been instructed to wipe out, with his low chakra and injury it's made regulating his chakra to heat himself up near impossible.

He feels feverish sweat drip onto his upper lip and he licks it off. The Iwa-nin steps forward and holds Itachi's good elbow firmly, he can almost feel the callouses through his shirt, "You're not fooling me again, Uchiha, yeah," and he licks his mouth a little hungrily, and Itachi swallows hard.

It has nothing to do with career ending wound, unfortunately.

The Iwa-nin tugs him forward, and Itachi's feet shuffle forward, and then he is following the Iwa-nin deeper into the snow, and he feels rather stupid – he's allowing an enemy to guide him to someplace unknown, when he's injured of all things – but he is still walking as delicate snowflakes land in the Iwa-nin's golden hair.

The Iwa-nin leads him to a cave, the entrance smaller than the inside, a smokeless fire blinks in and out, illuminating the craggily walls and the little belongings strewn about. The Iwa-nin has been here a while…

"Sit, Uchiha, huh," the Iwa-nin pushes Itachi towards a messy futon, and he holds back a pout as he gingerly sits, and the Iwa-nin busies with one of his scrolls. There is a puff of smoke and a hiss of approval, before the Iwa-nin crawls over and sets the bandages and tape and disinfectant down. "Show me the damage, Uchiha, yeah," he says.

The campfire flickers, warm gold illuminates the attractive plains of the Iwa-nin's face, his half-cocked smile, and Itachi's head tilts. The Iwa-nin rolls his eyes, "It's no fun to kill you like this, asshole," he scoffs and licks his mouth. Itachi blinks at him, and the Iwa-nin chuckles, "If I kill you it's going to be in a fair fight – my art against your art, yeah – not – not like this," his nose scrunches in distaste, and Itachi's objections crumble.

The Iwa-nin licks his mouth again, and Itachi follows it a little too closely, before he unzips his thick coat, throws it to dry beside the fire and shuffles closer on his knees to find Itachi's torn limb. His work is quick and his medical ninjutsu amateurish but Itachi's bones have been realigned, and the healing process has started, and the Iwa-nin tightly wraps it with deft hands.

Half way through the Iwa-nin threw his hair into a messy high ponytail, and Itachi spends a little time being distracted by his throat. It doesn't help that apparently, when he is deep in thought, the Iwa-nin sticks his tongue out.

Itachi must be more feverish than he realized, "There you go, asshole, huh," the Iwa-nin smiles at his handiwork, the campfire behind him illuminates the fine golden hairs around his head and on his jaw, and Itachi attempts a steadying breath.

He smells cold snow and burning wood and something combustible and the Iwa-nin's faint musk – it doesn’t help much. He nods his head, "Thank you Shinobi-san," and the Iwa-nin scoffs at him.

"The names Deidara, asshole – Shinobi-san –" he mocks with a chuckle, and Itachi is a little smitten at the nasally quality, " – you can take the mask off, yeah, I already know what you look like under there." From inside his backpack, Deidara removes a canteen of water and a few ration bars, "Eat up, yeah –" he chucks both at Itachi.

It's forbidden to remove an ANBU mask in field. It is also frowned upon to aid and receive aid from an enemy shinobi – unless explicitly actioned to do so by a superior – well, Itachi is his own superior inithe feild and he sees no real harm in it...

The only person that mught get hurt here is him or - or Deidara...

Itachi hides his ANBU mask in a side scroll. The fire feels nice against his bare face. Deidara is counting his supplies by the campfire. The man is, unfortunately, very attractive. Itachi drinks carefully from the canteen, "Itachi…" he says without preamble and Deidara grunts his head in faint acknowledgement, "…my name is Itachi Uchiha."

The grin Deidara shoots him is a little feral and Itachi's mouth unwittingly responds. Deidara plods onto the futon and Itachi's side is abruptly warm, "Where have I heard that name before, yeah?" he hums.

"The bingo book," Itachi offers, and Deidara waves an unbothered hand. Itachi's mouth twitches.

Deidara snaps his fingers, "The Holy Daikon!" Itachi flushes, it's been a few years since then and it hadn't been his finest moment. He hadn't known Iwa-nin travel so far into Hot Springs Country – "You ate 268 balls of dango in one sitting, yeah!"

His face flushes further but it doesn’t stop him from correcting, "286, actually." Deidara cackles. The sounds echo in the small cave and the wind howls outside, and Itachi holds back a pout, "In my defense I was recovering from severe chakra exhaustion."

Deidara loudly sniggers, and Itachi's mouth twitches. The silence is almost comfortable, "Is that why you didn't provide a last name, Deidara-san? Are you trying to avoid a similar revelation?" and Deidara waggles his brows at Itachi in answer.

"Wouldn't you like to know, yeah," Deidara huffs. Then his shoulders slouch a little, "I disowned myself actually, yeah, didn't want those bastards controlling me anymore, yeah – taking credit for my art you know," he shrugged.

He squinted up at Itachi and frowned, "Don't know why I'm telling you that, yeah."

"It's only fair after you learned my greatest secret," Itachi offered and Deidara sniggered. He really has a wonderful smile, and Itachi thumbs at his knuckles.

He wondered if disowning his clan would've lessened the burdens on his shoulders growing up. It would have made it difficult to see those he held dear, those he counted on to push himself forward, but the clan's expectations and wishes had always felt unbearably heavy –

"You're not too bad for a Konoha-nin," Deidara hummed, "But if you try to make me a friendship bracelet, I will blow you up, yeah."

"Not even if I include an Iwa charm on it?" Itachi offered.

Deidara barked a laugh, "Especially then, asshole, yeah." His mouth twitches and Itachi hums noncommittedly. The flames flickered at Deidara fiddles with the uneven seam of his trousers, exposing the strong bend of his ankle.

"You mentioned art...?" he asks in the silence. Itachi had never pursued those passions, he hadn't the time to want to growing up and the world felt a little too set in stone to pursue them now.

He enjoyed poetry, when he had the time but Shisui often complained that he chose subject matter too depressing to be considered a fun time. If he wanted to garner insights about death and war and destruction in his free hours then he –

"Yeah!" Deidara beamed, "Explosions, dude! They're the perfect artform, art is a single moment so charged it becomes…everything and then, in an instance, it's gone –" he gave a low, slightly crazed laugh. Itachi knows that it shouldn't warm him, this type of passion, but it does, and he feels glad that Deidara has found it.

"The millisecond realization that it's too late, yeah – that you're…tiny and there's nothing you can do but try to run from the inevitable, yeah –" he looks at Itachi then, sharp blues twinkling in crazed passion, " – art is life, yeah." Itachi cannot help himself from brushing back the curtain of blond to see him better.

He understands why Deidara is so passionate about his art, instead of allowing the fear to win, he'd turned it into his weapon and that takes more strength than Itachi ever had. He let fear control him for a long while, the fear of death and war, and Deidara refuses –

"You're beautiful," Itachi admires, and his breaths touches the faint freckles on Deidara's cheeks and nose, illuminated in the dim campfire.

Deidara blinks back into himself, cheeks flushed, and he knocks Itachi's hand away with a scoff, "Fuck off, yeah." Like Itachi hadn't meant it wholeheartedly, like it could've been a joke at his expense, and Itachi feels a little offended. Deidara eyes him, blues sharp and cheeks still flushed.

He then slouches hard against Itachi's side, face turned towards the campfire, as he takes some clay out of his pocket and fiddles with it. Itachi takes it for what it is, a chance to back down before they do anything foolish, they are enemies after all.

He still feels uniquely seen though, and exhausted, so he allows himself to relax further against Deidara, who grumbles a little and repositions his head so it's balanced on Itachi's shoulder. He doesn't find Itachi's eyes but he relaxes at each deep breath.

"You're really weird, Uchiha, yeah –" Deidara huffs. Itachi actually thinks Deidara's the first person to make sense in a long time. Deidara drags the futon's blanket, over his knees and onto Itachi's, " – you should rest, yeah."

The blanket is thick, cozy from body heat, and Deidara's knee bends to settle against Itachi's thigh. "I appreciate your assistance, Deidara-san," Itachi manages, feeling far more comfortable then he should in the field.

"Just returned the favor, Uchiha –" he scoffs and peers up at Itachi, blues defiant, " – no need to call me '-san' either, it feels weird, yeah…" The sculpture in his hand is slick with salvia, it looks a little like a weasel, and the teeth nibble at it to give it decorative ridges.

"You're very forward, Deidara –"

Deidara bubbles in laughter, "Oh, shut it, Uchiha, yeah." Itachi turns to the flames and hums a little, his smile pressed into Deidara's hair. It's thick and smells of campfire and snow, and that something organically combustible. Deidara fully relaxes with a deep breath.

Itachi falls asleep at some point, and he has a faint dream of a hand holding onto his, a pressure of lips on his palm, warmth soaking into his side, but when he fully awakens the storm has subsided, and the cave is empty apart from him on the abandoned futon.

Beside the dwindling fireplace a ration bar pins down a little note, informing him that Deidara stole Itachi's futon from his scroll in retaliation, and that his poetry taste needs work, alongside a face with its tongue sticking out, and Itachi is still smiling as he steps back into cold sunlight.