Chapter Text
Deidara stared at the distant sky where the bat had vanished, watching for a long time before finally moving.
He returned to a small hidden cave to retrieve his clothes. The moment he pulled his shirt over his head, exhaustion caught up with him. Mental and physical. he dropped to the ground and fell asleep almost instantly.
He woke to a hollow growl in his stomach. The sun was still high above, but already beginning to slip west. He’d slept past noon.
Time to find food.
Despite all the rumors about werewolves, Deidara didn’t enjoy eating human flesh or even raw meat. He preferred roasted rabbit, thank you very much.
After eating a deer, he wandered through the forest without much direction. His feet moved, but his mind didn’t know where it wanted to go. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with those horrible bodies just yet.
He drifted deeper than usual. The forest felt... different.
Then he saw it: a narrow path winding between two trees he didn’t recognize. Strange. He thought he knew every inch of this place.
He stepped onto the road.
All the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. This wasn’t just some old trail. Something about it felt veiled. Ancient. Alive.
Excitement prickled under his skin. Without thinking, he followed it. At the end of the path, Deidara saw it: a magnificent structure rising from the woods.
A castle.
Judging by the vines snaking up its outer walls, it had been abandoned for years. But that same feeling from earlier returned. The strange awareness in his bones.
This place wasn’t meant to be found.
He slipped past the rusted gate and stepped inside. The air was still and heavy. Most of the sunlight was blocked by thick, drawn curtains, leaving the grand halls cloaked in shadow. Deidara paused, letting his eyes adjust.
Dust and cobwebs blanketed every surface. Occasionally, a rat skittered across the floor near the walls. He wandered through a few rooms. The kitchen, the library, what looked like guest chambers. All dusty, but otherwise intact. Like they’d simply been... forgotten.
He was starting to feel disappointed. There was nothing exciting here. Just old silence and stale air. It was probably sunset by now. He didn’t want to waste the rest of his night walking through a relic.
Then he noticed a narrow door, half-hidden behind a stone archway. It led downward. The dungeon. And it wasn’t locked. His heartbeat picked up. Step by step, he descended. That tingling sensation returned. Stronger this time.
He wasn’t alone.
The chamber at the bottom was vast and cold. At its center sat a single object: a coffin, beautifully carved. Its lid had been pushed open.
Rising from within, like a scene from a painting, was none other than the vampire himself.
Sasori.
Deidara crossed his arms and grinned. “Good evening, Sasori no Danna.”
*
Sasori was fully aware the moment that werewolf stepped into his castle. He had put a great deal of effort into weaving ancient magic so that, aside from vampires, no one could find this place. Clearly, the spell wasn’t working well .
He had assumed Deidara would just leave. But after sniffing around, the mutt had to come down here and disturb Sasori’s peace—what little peace there was. His last dream had already been filled with a certain werewolf and the scent of his blood.
He looked at Deidara, unimpressed.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to enter someone’s room uninvited?”
Deidara rolled his eyes. “Why do you care anyway? You’re the one living in an abandoned castle.”
“First of all, I have standards. I don’t run around like a savage. Secondly, I don’t live here. I sleep here because it’s convenient.”
He should’ve just thrown him out instead of explaining himself. Another sign he was going soft.
Deidara didn’t reply. He just stared at Sasori with alarming intensity. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, closing the distance, and raised his hand above their heads.
“I am really taller than you!”
“…!”
Sasori slapped his hand away. “I stopped growing at seventeen. Hardly a win to be an inch taller.”
“I’m seventeen now, which means I might end up even taller than you, hm!”
He resisted the urge to hit him. Ignoring that smug face entirely, he left to hunt alone.
When he returned, Deidara was nowhere to be seen. He felt relaxed, and definitely not the slightest bit disappointed.
But the next day, Deidara came back. He wandered around the rooms, claiming that since Sasori didn’t live here, he might as well make use of the abandoned place himself.
*
Sasori had thought about forcing Deidara out many times.
But he didn’t do it when he saw Deidara busy decorating a guest room with a variety of colorful feathers.
He didn’t do it when Deidara gathered logs and stacked them in the fireplace.
And he certainly didn’t do it when, just before sunrise, Deidara curled up on an old couch and fell sound asleep.
If he couldn’t kill him or kick him out, maybe he should leave. It wasn’t like he only had one place to rest during the day. But he stayed. Day after day.
Deidara liked to talk, more precisely, he liked talking to Sasori. Most of the time, he did all the talking. Sasori had assumed they’d have nothing in common: not their age, not their habits, not even their species. But Deidara didn’t seem to care. He just rambled on about anything he wanted to share, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“The most thrilling part of killing,” Deidara said once, “is that moment when they realize they’re about to die. Hm.”
“Wrong,” Sasori replied. “The highest form of killing is when the victim never realizes at all.”
“Danna, the life—the fear, the horror of losing it—that’s the beauty of it!”
“No. The best death is quiet. Let them feel nothing while losing everything. That’s the true art.”
The conversations always ended the same way: The two of them disagreeing entirely.
Not many people dared to argue with Sasori. He’d expected to feel irritated by it, but instead, he found himself enjoying the way Deidara spoke. Full of movement, eyes bright with excitement… Somehow, it didn’t matter what they were talking about at all.
Maybe it had simply been too long since he’d held a real conversation with someone who wasn’t a meal. Or maybe, after spending so many years alone, away from his own kind, he’d begun to find the werewolf’s presence… pleasant.
*
Deidara loved transforming into a wolf. This form was powerful, more lethal. He could run through the forest, bring down larger prey, and howl all night just for the rush of adrenaline. And maybe, just maybe, he liked showing Sasori how capable he was.
He’d called Sasori Danna with sarcasm at first. But the more he got to know him, the more he felt just how powerful Sasori truly was. Now he said it with real respect. It also made him feel like they shared something…something Sasori didn’t have with anyone else.
Sometimes, Sasori would hunt with him. The forest was big enough—there were always adventurers, hunters, or fools who thought they were prepared. Sasori never interfered when Deidara made a kill, and Deidara watched Sasori’s murders in return.
“You’re still small for a werewolf,” Sasori would remark. “But I can see your speed has improved.”
He definitely didn’t want to wag his tail.
Even though Sasori’s style was the opposite of his, Deidara still preferred him over his pack. His own kind killed on impulse. They never understood why he loved it, and that was why he left them. But Sasori did. Sasori didn’t kill just to feed. He also took pleasure in it.
He also like to stay in his humanoid form. This way he could talk to Sasori. Deidara liked talking about life and death with him. Sasori always disagreed with his views, but that only made it more interesting. He found himself looking forward to their arguments. Even in silence, when he lay sprawled on the old couch and Sasori sat reading beside him, he felt something settle.
He just liked being near the vampire.
Lately, he realized he wanted something else.
He wanted to be closer to the vampire.
He wanted to know more of him.
He wanted to impress him, the same way Sasori’s power had once impressed him.
He wanted... more.
But Sasori had never shown much interest in him. He’d once said he stayed in this castle only because it was closest to the forest. He had lived in other countries for years before returning here. Would he leave again someday? Would he take Deidara with him?
Well, Deidara wasn’t the type to dwell on possibilities. He’d enjoy the moment and make the most of it. Even if some part of him wanted to hold on tighter than he should.
*
Sasori still went out alone from time to time, looking for better blood than what those ugly hunters could offer.
Tonight was just like any other. He would go to town, make a quick kill, have a decent dinner, then return to the castle—and Deidara.
Return. Interesting.
Over the past months, Deidara had become something (someone) he wanted to return to.
He had thought he merely tolerated the werewolf. But truth was… he liked him. Maybe more than liked. If, in the beginning, he’d considered killing him, now whenever Deidara got hurt in a fight, he felt a strange, unwelcome urge to help.
He liked his laughter and his energy. He liked watching him transform, and thought both forms were beautiful, though he’d never said so aloud. And lately, he’d started catching himself lingering too long on Deidara’s bare body before tossing him clothes after a shift.
There was a moment once, while watching the light fade from a dying human, when he thought: It’s fortunate Deidara has the same lifespan as me.
But… what did Deidara think?
He was young, and he was a werewolf. He seemed to like that castle enough to stay this long. But would he grow bored and leave one day? What about his pack?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Sasori decided not to think about it.
He lured a boy into a dark alley. It was surprising to find someone like this wandering the red-light district at night. He didn’t smell like drugs or sex. Usually, this type would be home by now…
But Sasori wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The sooner he fed, the sooner he could return. His thoughts drifted back to a certain blond—
“NOW!”
A gunshot.
Sasori ducked. A silver bullet tore through the air. More came. A group of hunters had surrounded him.
His eyes darkened. So the boy had been bait. And in a place like this, with so many shadows and alleys, Sasori had let his guard down.
He looked up. Hunters on rooftops too. Flying wouldn’t help.
It looked like the government and the churches had gotten involved this time. Normally, he would avoid feeding in the same area too many times, but lately, he’d stayed in that forest, which meant using the same nearby cities. They must’ve been planning this carefully for a while.
Bullets still rained down. He grabbed the boy and used him as a shield. As expected, the firing stopped. The attackers hesitated.
“How cruel of you,” Sasori said coldly. “Using children as bait just to catch me?”
The boy stood motionless beside him, still under hypnosis. Sasori could end him instantly.
“It’s for the greater good! And you don’t get to talk about cruelty!” A pastor shouted. He stood behind the front line, holding a silver cross. He looked important... familiar. The schoolboy’s father?
“Don’t let him get to you!” another voice rang out. “We’ve talked about this. Sacrifices are necessary, if it saves more children in the future!”
Tch. The boy shield was useless now. Sasori still didn’t agree with Deidara’s view on killing, but tonight… he’d have to act like him.
He offered them a wicked smile, then sliced the boy’s throat open.
“Let’s end this quickly, shall we?”
*
Sasori went out for dinner, but didn’t come back before dawn.
Maybe he’d gone too far and decided to stay in the city instead? Deidara thought so, anyway, and went to sleep that morning, planning to laugh at him when he returned.
But Sasori didn’t come back that night. Or the next. Deidara started getting nervous. Did something happen? Sasori might’ve been strong, but he was alone.
He ran across the forest, searching for any trace of the vampire. When that failed, he turned toward the city. He wandered through alleys, school grounds, street corners, just anywhere women or children tended to gather. Still no sign.
Just as he was about to give up and try the next town, two men walked past him.
“—that fucking vampire.” one of them said.
Deidara stopped them. “Hey. What about a vampire? Did you see one?”
They gave him a wary look.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No. Just… passing through.”
“Then you’re lucky. A vampire showed up three nights ago, killed a bunch of people.”
“Right. A traveler got involved and died too. Real mess.”
He hadn’t met any other vampires besides Sasori, but still, he had to be sure. “What did he look like?”
“Why do you wanna know?”
“To… make sure I can recognize one if I see him again.”
“I heard he had red hair. Like fire.”
“Looked pretty young too,” the other added. “But don’t worry, someone said he flew off. Probably moved to another city.”
Flew off. Just like that? Deidara stared at them. Should he follow? Go to that city and find him? But… what if Sasori didn’t want to be found?
He walked with the men a little longer, pretending to listen, but the words barely landed. By the time he returned to the castle, something in him felt both heavy and hollow. He hadn’t expected Sasori to leave without saying anything.
He sat in the living room, staring at the chair where Sasori always read. It had only been three days, but he already missed the soft sound of fingers turning pages. The faint scent of old blood and ash.
Then he heard it. The familiar flap of wings.He bolted upright, sprinting down the hall toward one specific room. The only one with the window always left open. The one a certain vampire always flew in through.
*
Sasori was badly injured.
His skin pale from blood loss, his body torn and burned. He managed to kill most of them and escaped into the sewers before sunrise. He hated it down there, but he had to drank rat blood to regain strength.
He made his way deeper, until he was sure no one could find him. It seemed he wouldn’t make it back tonight… maybe not for several days. Would Deidara still be there? Or would he get bored and decide to leave? With those thoughts lingering in his mind, Sasori passed out.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before he woke again. Still weak but strong enough to fly.
He returned to the castle.
When he flew through the window, the room was empty. Of course it was, what had he expected—he heard hurried footsteps. Deidara rushed in.
“Sasori!”
Sasori might’ve scolded him for the lack of respect… if he weren’t so exhausted, and if the wave of relief hadn’t hit him all at once. Then he saw the panic in Deidara’s eyes, like he was the one who needed help.
“What happened?!”
Deidara caught him by the arm.
“Hunters…” Sasori forced the words out. “Take me to my coffin…”
Thankfully, Deidara didn’t press for more. He helped Sasori down to the dungeon, promised to fetch some blood, and hurried out.
Sasori closed his eyes. Here, at least, he felt safe. The vampire wards wrapped around the castle, the healing enchantments of his coffin… and Deidara’s presence.
He drifted in and out of sleep. Once, he felt warm blood on his tongue. At first it was bitter. Animal ones. Then came something sweeter, familiar. The taste he hadn’t had since—
“Stop. You’ve lost too much blood.”
“Don’t worry,” Deidara murmured. “I know my limit. It’s faster than hunting for enough animals anyway.”
Sasori made a mental note to scold the werewolf later for being reckless. But right now, he didn’t have the strength to resist the sweetness.
Silence fell again.
Then, a soft whisper:
“I was looking for you. Thought you’d had enough and left…”
Sasori pushed himself to open his eyes. Deidara's face wasn’t wearing its usual carefree look. He looked almost sad.
“You should be happy. You’d own this castle all to yourself.”
Deidara frowned. “I only stayed here because you’re here.”
Something in Sasori’s chest tightened, then, a quiet worry he hadn’t even realized he was carrying lift all at once.
“Well. I’m back now.”
“Don’t do that again,” Deidara muttered. “Like… dying somewhere I can’t find you.”
A faint smile tugged at Sasori’s lips. “You should have more faith in me. I’m your superior, remember?”
“If you die, then you’re not.”
“…I won’t die before you. That, I can tell you.”
Deidara hesitated. “Promise?”
Childish. Sasori really wanted to lift a hand to flick his forehead, or pinch his cheek. Instead, he breathed out, “Promise.”
“Okay. Then rest. I’ll stay here.”
“There’s nothing more you can do,” Sasori said, voice low. “You should go.”
“Forget it. I’m not leaving. You hear me?” He reached out and placed a hand over Sasori’s. His palm was warm, calloused from battles, scarred in places, and yet careful now.
Sasori let his fingers curl around it gently. For once, the darkness didn’t feel cold. It felt like falling into an embrace.