Author's Note: I hereby commence my second story. I'll be working on this and "Identity of Love and Sand" at the same time. I hope those of you who appreciate Gaara will appreciate my efforts. Shikadai will appear in the story but with a much lesser role. Naruto will have a much more prominent role in this story than the other one; however, understand that what he and Gaara share is simply pure friendship.

This story contains much more angst and slightly disturbing themes than the other one. Don't start screaming at me when things get intense.

I hope to make new friends and enemies in the reviews section. Let me know what you think, and what needs cleaning up, suggestions, etc. If you can't help but praise me nonstop, I don't mind that either.

Welcome to the mysterious landscape that is the inside of Gaara's mind.

Chapter 1—The Sand Spirit

Few are able to appreciate the vast Wind Country. There are varying perspectives of it for those who have visited it, but most of those views touch upon the desert's bare, arid features, its blistering days and freezing nights, the less than ideal survival conditions, and the sand in every direction, which mocks man and his weakness as he is tortured to death in a sandy prison thousands of miles wide, until he becomes nothing more than swirling grains in a sandstorm.

Sabaku no Gaara could well understand these sentiments. Unlike the lush forests of the Fire Country, whose dangers were well concealed from the naked eye by its towering trees, colorful flowers, and chirping birds and other small wildlife, the Wind Country landscape was bare and uniform, and its perils were blatantly obvious to any one who encountered it.

Nevertheless, Gaara couldn't help but love the desert. Konoha forests were beautiful on the outside, but those who were experienced knew of its hazards. Suna deserts seemed treacherous on the outside, but those who were experienced, like Gaara, could appreciate its beauty. To him, the sand was an ocean of gold that met boldly with the striking, cloudless blue desert sky in an impressive 360-degree horizon. The brilliant sun radiated its light upon the infinite grains of sand, turning them into sparkling hues of silver, bronze, purples, blue, red, and yellows.

The desert's beauty lay in its self-preservation, as well: if the trees of a Fire Country forest were knocked down, it would take years for them to regrow and return to their original state, if ever. On the other hand, one could dig away at the desert sands for an eternity, and nothing would really ever change. Change, in itself, was a part of the desert's eternity, as the sand dunes were constantly shifted under the influence of the wind.

To Gaara, the desert was home.

Gaara was a child of the desert. However, the title was not unique to him: after all, Kankuro was also a child of the desert, Temari was a child of the desert, Baki was a child of the desert; hell, Matsuri and Sari were children of the desert, everyone in the whole Wind Country were children of the desert.

But it was obvious that the one who led all of them as the Kazekage was not just a child of the desert. He was the desert itself.

That statement was true in so many ways. Yes, Gaara was indeed human, that had long ago been established—but sometimes it seemed like he was the reincarnation of the desert in human form. He was distant, and mysterious, like the desert. His communication was straightforward—like the desert. His power was enormous and unrelenting—like the desert. His outer facade revealed none of what went on inside of him—like the desert. He was desert's the shifting sand itself—quite literally: anyone from all Five Great Shinobi Nations could tell that Gaara didn't really control the sand, since people didn't really "control" their appendages. Sand was simply an extension of Gaara's physical form. It was sometimes whispered that the sand itself was his true physical form, and his human appearance was just a charade he put on in the presence of others.

Gaara was a like a sand spirit.

I thought it was Shukaku who was the sand spirit? Gaara thought. In his brain, he sighed, although his emotionless mask of a face showed none of this. I spent so many years proving that I was not the demon that I contained within me. Yet, after so many years, even after the real sand spirit has been ripped from my body, we are still the same. Simply poor creatures attempting to survive in this unforgiving environment by becoming one with it.

Gaara's thoughts may have seemed dark, but this was Gaara after all, so these contemplations could be considered bright compared to the many shadows lurking inside his head.

Imagine his thoughts when he was in a bad mood.

Unreadable as it was from his facial expression and body language, Gaara was actually in a rather good mood at the moment. He was soaring across his home country on his Desert Suspension, Kankuro and Baki on either side of him on sand platforms of their own. They were travelling back to Sunagakure from Konohagakure, and what normally would have been a three-day journey was reduced to half a day on Gaara's jutsu, not to mention that sandstorms, nature's frequent inhibitor of shinobi traveling through Wind Country, could be quelled by a mere flick of Gaara's fingers.

Nothing aided Gaara's spirits like seeing his elder sister Temari again, as well as his brother-in-law Shikamaru and his nephew Shikadai. He felt more at home in Konohagakure than in any other village other than his own, since he was rather well acquainted with most of the Hokage's friends, and of course, the Hokage himself.

It had been a rather productive Five Kage summit this time, although as of late, the Five Kage gatherings had been rather relaxed in nature, more frequent, and more akin to friendly gatherings than political meetings. All the Kage were on first-name bases—except for Lord Kazekage, of course. Kurotsuchi, Darui, and Chojuro insisted that they exercise proper respect towards Gaara alone, since he had become a Kazekage as the youngest Kage in history, had been his village's leader for longer than any of them, had been their Regimental Commander under whom they had all fought during the 4th Great Shinobi War, and was the only who had fought along all of their predecessors as a Kage during the war. "Besides, you were the only young brat who managed to gain a point on Gramps during all his long life, Lord Kazekage!" Kurotsuchi had argued humorously.

"When did all of you...forsake yourselves?"

True as those things were, Gaara doubted that they were only reasons the current Tsuchikage, Raikage, and Mizukage were adamant to call him "Lord Kazekage", and not "Gaara".

After all, the Hokage was the hero of the war and they called him "idiot".

To be honest, Gaara didn't care the least bit about titles, only the underlying meanings behind them. Temari and Kankuro sometimes called him "baby bro", and if the four other Kages desired to call him that, then so be it. If they couldn't bring themselves to get comfortable enough around him to call him by his first name, that was fine too. Gaara had long ago accepted that despite no longer being a Jinchuuriki, he would never be the same as everyone else; he would always be different, and while he may be on good terms with humanity he would never be a part of them.

Besides, he did have Naruto Uzumaki, and to hear him say Gaara's name, not only as an equal, but as a friend: that was enough.


The Kazekage sat reclined in the large chair in his office. He and his two companions had arrived back to Sunagakure several hours before, and were met at the tall Suna walls with no small amount of fanfare from shinobi and civilians alike all too eager to welcome their Kazekage home. They were people who once hated him and whom he had hated, and now, they couldn't get enough of him, and he returned the sentiment. Of course, to the villagers, that meant that they wanted to get their hands all over him. To the redhead himself, it meant he would willingly give his everything to protect them, and he wouldn't Sand Coffin them when they squealed "Lord Gaara!" or were standing fifty feet within his presence.

Naruto Uzumaki had taught Gaara about acceptance and giving people chances. That was why he was now the Kazekage, with no grudge and feeling nothing but fondness for the village and people who once hurt him. After all, he himself had been given a chance by the loud blonde-haired shinobi, and that was why he could now die the adored Kazekage rather than the hated, unloved, disgusting monster of a psychopath. Everyone deserves a chance.

Gaara looked through the window on the sandy office wall, looking out for the village he had lived for, protected, died for, and returned for. He felt all the more like a sand spirit, discreetly watching over those who needed him.

It was summer, and the sun set late in the desert at this time of year; after its brilliant trek through the desert's un-obscured sky through the long day, the sun had put up its most brilliant performance and consumed the sky in a dazzling orange wildfire before it was consumed by night itself.

The noise and activity within the village died down as the sun slowly lost its battle to darkness, and after a bustling, busy day, Sunagakure blinked its sleepy eyes and closed them to go to rest. A large, glowing white orb hovered over the dying embers of the fire in the sky.

A full moon.

Gaara wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

Years ago, a full moon marked the peak of Shukaku's insanity and would consume Gaara almost certainly and entirely in bloodlust and rage just like the way darkness consumed the sky. In the past, Sunagakure would never grow sleepy on full moons, unable to shut its eyes, paralyzed in fear that if it did, they would never open again because of a certain sand demon.

Now that Sunagakure was blessed with a protective sand spirit, it dreamed of peace on a full moon's night.

Peace was something that Gaara had no concern for in the past. If anything, he was chaos and peace was what he actively sought to destroy. He never imagined having peace like he did now, and not even in his wildest dreams did he think that he would be the one ensuring peace.

Part of the reason for that was that Gaara never slept as a Jinchuuriki. Insomnia chased dreams away, even if his life had been an interminable nightmare. His fateful fight with Naruto was his violent shake-awake, and the removal of Shukaku finally allowed him to venture into the world of dreams that every other human being escaped to during the night.

Despite that, habits are formed when one is young, and staying awake for 24 hours was a trait Gaara had not developed but was born with. Needless to say, Gaara's rest nowadays took the form of him meditating with his eyes closed (at least, they were closed most of the time), and a few hours of shallow sleep every few days. Unlike others, whose bodies automatically rested and replenished itself during sleep, Gaara deliberately controlled his breathing and unsharpened his senses to become at equilibrium with his surroundings and achieve the thing called "rest".

It was a sweet blessing compared to what he had before.

Moving at a slow pace, Gaara got up from his desk and began to move to the floor, sitting cross-legged and facing the window. The circular window was a perfect frame for the glowing full moon, and Gaara basked himself in the lunar light. Whereas in the past the full moon amplified Gaara's instability, it now seemed to seep tranquil energy into his very veins in a manner difficult to describe.

Breathing deeply and concentrating on controlling his heart rate to a restful pace, Gaara slowly closed his eyes, watching full moon grow smaller and smaller in his vision field until it was but a sliver of bright white light—

Lub-dub.

A surge of unease started from the pit of his stomach and coursed throughout his body like a jolt of electricity. Black-rimmed eyes snapped open and fell upon the sight of the moon, which, seconds earlier, had seemed so calming, and now looked like a haunted relic of the past.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

Gaara clutched his chest in mild panic. Okay. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in—

His breath caught in his throat as it constricted, and Gaara found himself forcing air in and out of his lungs.

What was the cause of this sudden restlessness? If Gaara knew anything, he knew that his senses were extremely sharp and accurate, even if his brain hadn't yet registered the source yet. However, the feeling of forebode that was growing parasitically inside him, pumping anxiety through his body with every beat of his heart, was a feeling he hadn't felt since long ago.

And long ago was something no one ever wanted to experience again.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. LUB-DUB.

The Kazekage who never lost his composure paced around the room. The room itself was growing smaller and smaller. It was threatening to crush him, to trap him in one of his own Sand Coffins, and he couldn't do anything about it. Then after he was gone, Sunagakure, without the blessings of its sand spirit, would perish by a sandstorm itself, and everything he had ever loved would be gone, gone, no trace left except for the blood in the sandy rain—

LUB-DUB. LUB-DUB. LUB-DUB!

Gaara was running. No, escaping. But he was escaping from it in an inescapable circle around his accursed round office.

But escaping from what? From what?!

He clawed at his blood-red hair, threatening to pull out handfuls of it by the roots. His unfocused eyes settled on the moon, and he saw an unblinking, mocking eye peering at him with a blood-chilling gaze. Promising blood. Promising pain.

A small part of his stable consciousness looked down at the writhing redheaded figure.

Who is that?

...

That's me! What's happening to me?

That small part of Gaara's consciousness forced itself into the dark, rumbling chaos of Gaara's brain, and with the small amount of sanity he had left he summoned a Sand Eye to seek the cause of the pandemonium in his desert just outside Sunagakure's walls.

His Sand Eye had only just blinked upon, when its gaze landed upon...it.

It gazed straight back into Gaara's Sand Eye. Only one as audacious as it could look the Kazekage in the eye with that kind of expression.

Then the deafening roar shattered the last, lingering remnant of peace.

And Sunagakure woke up with a scream.