Strings of Detonation

Fragile Things

The storm hadn't broken. It raged on outside the cave, drowning the forest in water and thunder. Inside, the air felt thick, heavy with the smell of smoke and blood.

Deidara stirred, groaning as he tried to sit up. His arm throbbed beneath the makeshift bandage, clay still crusted to his fingers. "Tch. Damn storm... damn ambush... I hate caves."

Sasori's voice came from the shadows, calm as ever. "Stay still. You'll tear the wound."

Deidara blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Sasori was seated a few feet away, tools laid out neatly beside him. His puppet loomed silently in the corner, its glassy eyes reflecting the faint flicker of lightning from outside.

"You've been watching me sleep, yeah?" Deidara smirked, though it was weaker than usual. "Creepy, even for you, Danna."

Sasori didn't rise to the bait. He crossed the space between them without a word, crouching low. "Let me see your arm."

Deidara hesitated, then extended it with a theatrical sigh. "Careful. Artists are delicate."

The glare Sasori gave him should've been enough to shut him up. Should've.

But then Sasori's hands-strangely human, precise yet unexpectedly gentle-peeled back the bandage. Deidara hissed as the cloth stuck to the wound, his smirk faltering for real this time.

"Hold still," Sasori ordered. His tone was clipped, but quieter than usual. Almost... careful.

Deidara studied him in the flickering light, watching the way Sasori's brow furrowed, the way his touch adjusted minutely to avoid unnecessary pain.

"Y'know," Deidara said softly, voice lacking its usual mocking edge, "you could've let me bleed out. Saved yourself the headache."

Sasori didn't look up. "I don't discard useful tools."

Deidara barked out a laugh, but it came out more breath than sound. "Tools, huh. That's what I am to you."

"You said it yourself," Sasori replied. He tightened the bandage, not meeting his eyes.

For once, Deidara didn't argue. He let the silence stretch, broken only by the storm outside and the faint rasp of cloth against skin.

When Sasori finally sat back, Deidara flexed his fingers experimentally. The bandage was tight, steady, almost professional.

"Not bad, Danna," he muttered. "Maybe you missed your calling. Puppet master slash battlefield medic."

Sasori ignored him, beginning to gather his tools. But Deidara caught the faintest twitch of his lips-so subtle it might've been imagined.

The storm growled louder, shaking the cave walls.

Deidara leaned back against the stone, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. "Don't get too comfortable, yeah. Whoever sent those guys... they'll send more."

Sasori's hands paused for half a beat before resuming. "I know."

Something in his voice-low, almost imperceptible-sent a shiver down Deidara's spine.

He drifted off soon after, clay still clenched loosely in his palm. Sasori remained where he was, gaze lingering longer than it should have. Watching the steady rise and fall of Deidara's chest, the way his hair clung damply to his face, the faint smear of ash still staining his jaw.

Fragile. Human. Impermanent.

Sasori told himself he only stayed awake to monitor for more chakra signatures. But when thunder split the sky and Deidara stirred in his sleep, Sasori's fingers brushed the handle of his puppet case-not for the enemy.

For him.