Strings of Detonation

Threads in the Fire

The storm had thinned to a steady drizzle by dawn, but the forest was thick with mist, every shadow a threat.

Deidara trudged beside Sasori, one arm held close to his chest. The bandage was clean, tight-but the injury still burned with every movement.

"Che. I'm fine, yeah," he muttered, even though no one had asked.

"You're slower," Sasori said flatly, his gaze fixed ahead. His puppet case shifted against his back, faint creaks carrying in the damp air.

"Slower doesn't mean useless," Deidara shot back, rolling clay between his fingers. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I can still fight."

"You can't fight recklessly."

Deidara opened his mouth to argue, but the words died as the air shifted-sharp, electric, wrong. He froze, every instinct screaming.

Figures emerged from the fog. Five. Six. More. Blades glinted, chakra flaring. The same masked shinobi from the night before-reinforcements.

"Persistent bastards," Deidara growled. Clay shaped swiftly in his palm, but the ache in his arm slowed him, fingers clumsy.

The enemy didn't wait. They charged.

Sasori's threads snapped forward, his puppets exploding out of their case in a blur of steel and wood. Limbs scythed through the fog, strings weaving a deadly cage.

Deidara hurled a clay bird, but the throw went wide. It detonated too far from the target, blasting bark and dirt instead of flesh. He cursed, trying to mold another, but his arm spasmed and the clay slipped from his grasp.

"Damn it-"

A blade slashed down toward him.

Sasori's puppet intercepted mid-swing, its arm locking against steel with a harsh screech. Another puppet lashed out, skewering the attacker before he could recover.

Deidara stumbled back, heart hammering. Sasori moved before he could even catch his breath, his voice sharp as a blade: "Stay behind me."

Deidara bristled, ready to snap back-but the words died when another enemy lunged, only to be shredded by threads that coiled tight and fast, snapping bone like brittle wood.

The fight was brutal. Deidara managed a few small detonations, enough to disorient, but it was Sasori who carried the battle-his puppets a storm of precise violence, his strings pulling enemies apart before they even realized they were caught.

When the last shinobi fell, silence rushed in with the mist.

Deidara slumped against a tree, panting, sweat plastering his hair to his face. His arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"Che... guess you saved my ass again, yeah." He tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway through. "Don't get used to it."

Sasori stood over him, his cloak spattered with blood, threads retracting one by one. His expression was unreadable. "You need to recover."

Deidara grinned weakly. "Worried about me, Danna?"

"No," Sasori said. Too quickly. Too flat.

But when Deidara's knees buckled as he tried to push himself up, Sasori's hand shot out instantly, steadying him.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that-Deidara leaning against him, smirking even through his exhaustion, Sasori's hand firm at his shoulder.

Then Sasori pulled back, almost abrupt. "We're leaving."

Deidara pushed off the tree with a shaky laugh. "Fine, fine. But admit it-without me, your little puppet show would get boring, yeah?"

Sasori didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the blood at Deidara's sleeve before he turned sharply, leading the way through the mist.

The silence that followed was heavier than the fog.