[Author's Note]

Um, to start this off, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to be working on Enigma these past few days. Sadly, that was not the case.
You see, I was flying home from my dad's house last Sunday, and it's not a long flight (only an hour). I originally intended on writing more GaaLee music drabbles, but I just couldn't get anything going for them...I just can't write really sad stuff for them, and I've already written to most of the happy/upbeat songs I have for them. So I decided that I'd start some music drabbles for my other boys: Sasori and Deidara.

I did not write drabbles.

No, instead of writing some little drabbles, I ended up writing a full-fledged chapter of what seems to be a multi-chaptered AU fic. That's what I've been doing. Sue me*.

So, instead of Enigma, GaaLee drabbles, or SasoDei drabbles, I'm bringing you the first chapter of my new fic, "So Help Me, Freud". I blame Madonna entirely, but I'll explain that later. I should probably finish up my intro and get to the fic right now.

So yeah, finishing up. This fic is currently T or something, BUT I DO NOT PROMISE THAT IT WILL STAY THAT WAY. If you plan on staying with this (and hopefully I stay with it too..), you should absolutely prepare yourself for an M rating.

Furthermore, this is my first SasoDei fanfiction. First one. If you read this and don't give me some sort of feedback, I will hunt you down and punch you in the face**. So please, please review. I'm begging here.

Enjoy this. I hope you like it. I don't own Kishimoto's characters.

So Help Me, Freud — Chapter One

"We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love." —Sigmund Freud

Sasori sat at his desk, clutching at his vibrant red hair. This was so wrong. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Well!?" he shouted at the ceiling. "What is your problem with me!?"

Sasori stared angrily at the ceiling for a few moments before letting his head slam down on the table. He was yelling at a deity he didn't believe in.

"Oh, Freud..." he pleaded to the empty room. "Analyze this. Surely this is explainable..."

Sasori rarely indulged in any of the behaviors he was exhibiting. He didn't have arguments with himself; he didn't talk to non-existent deities or men that had long since been dead. It was very uncharacteristic of him; he was certain he was going insane.

And it was ALL that little blonde's fault.

Akasuna no Sasori was a psychologist —he loved the human mind. It was a pristine masterpiece of nature, full of miraculous feats and mysteries. There was always something new to learn from it, a new ability to be discovered, a relic of ancient times to be unearthed. It was eternal art, a masterpiece that never stopped growing.
Truly, Psychology was Sasori's passion, as well as his religion and life. To him, Sigmund Freud was a god. He was the Father of Psychology, the Maker of all its foundations. Sasori had vowed to spend his life following the man's teachings.
And up to this point, he'd done a damn good job of it. He was always the first one in the office each day, always the last one to leave. His assistants actually worried about him —as far as they knew, he didn't sleep.
And they were right; he didn't. Somehow, he had been able to transcend the limits of the very thing he revolved around. But he tried to keep that to himself. He wouldn't be able to continue in his profession if all of his colleagues were studying him.
Sadly though, his love of the subject was what doomed him. He knew very well that there was no syndrome for what he experiencing. No therapy, no cure... He knew that his pleas to Freud were in vain. Hell, if the famed neurologist did analyze him, he'd probably just tell him that he was one sick puppy. Or perhaps a total idiot. Maybe both.

Sasori continued to bang his head against his desk, knowing full well that he was damaging brain cells. Perhaps that was his goal: to beat the issue out of his head.
Oh, who was he kidding...that was foolish too. He'd probably have to upgrade to a sledgehammer before he could manage that much memory loss, and he honestly wasn't even sure that would work. Sleep deprivation certainly had no effect. Maybe Itachi was right...maybe he wasn't human.
Itachi was the only colleague that Sasori actually respected and looked up to. The man was a true genius, and he excelled at his job. There was no keeping secrets from him either; he could really get in your head. He was practically hypnotic —even the ANBU used him. He was so good at what he did that he had a bounty on his head in several countries.

Sasori found him terrifying.

Despite that however, Itachi was the only one that knew the secrets about Sasori. He hadn't willingly revealed them of course...but Itachi had sworn himself to secrecy. No matter how scary Itachi may be, he kept his word and was very trustworthy. He was Sasori's only friend.

The red-haired man threw himself back in his chair, unintentionally rolling himself into a wall. Certainly, if he should be having these thoughts at all, they should be about Itachi, not him...
Sasori slammed his palms into his face as images of his young patient flooded his brain. His long golden hair, his bright blue eyes...

Oh man, he should not be feeling like this.

The young man, Deidara, had been one of Sasori's patients for years now: longer than anyone else he had ever treated. He had a ton of issues... ADHD, a speech impediment, mood disorders, and an obsession with explosives, as if that wasn't enough. Despite this however, Deidara was a sweet kid, and Sasori saw him frequently —as many as three times a week.
The two of them were fairly close, and Sasori knew that Deidara looked up to him and needed him. The kid had no parents, and was always on the brink of expulsion several years ago. He had no money —Sasori saw him for free— and no home, always staying with a friend. He was very grateful to the redhead for all that he did for him.
Indeed, Sasori did a lot for Deidara: he saw him for free, paid for his medications, and had even been known to give him money for food when things got really rough. He gave the blonde his personal phone number (making him one of three people to have it), and occasionally he would have him over for lunch. They would make things together, both of them having a love for the arts. They had different views on the subject, and preferred different media (Sasori liked to build things, Deidara was a sculptor), but they still had a great time when Sasori dragged himself away from the office long enough to buy some materials and invite him over.
Yes, Deidara definitely looked up to his doctor, affectionately calling him "Sasori no danna" rather than "Dr. Akasuna" as his other patients did. They were both on very good terms with each other.

And Sasori was about to fuck it all up.

Perhaps he really shouldn't be surprised that he had begun to feel this way, considering how close they were...but that didn't change the fact that he was almost twice the blonde's age. Sure, he didn't look it —but he was thirty-five. Deidara was nineteen, and his patient. At the most, he might have developed fatherly feelings for the boy, but that wasn't the case. He had considered himself a mentor for Deidara, helping him get through high school...and now he found himself loving the young man. Loving him in a way he shouldn't.

Sasori slunk down in his chair, looking up at the clock on the wall. 5:47. People would be coming in to work soon.
He let out a long sigh, collapsing on his desk.

"Sigmund Freud," he muttered through his arms. "Help me."

I wrote this to three songs. So as a small addition, and an explanation of why this is Madonna's fault, I will give you the songs.

For the first few hours of writing:
[Madonna — Die Another Day]

Next hour or two:
[Korn — Freak On A Leash]

The rest:
[Gary Jules — Mad World]

*Please do not actually sue me. For any reason.

**I probably won't punch you in the face, but please review anyway.