Prologue
"Prosperity is a great teacher; adversity a greater." — William Hazlitt
Karura was already in his office by the time he finished his meeting. She was perched on the edge of his desk, rubbing slow circles over her rounded belly while staring out the window almost serenely. She was beautiful, a sort of tragic angel with the look of resigned sadness lingering in her eyes.
He shut the door behind him with a heavy heart.
At the click of the door, she looked up, eerily calm. It was times like these that he feared his wife. "Is everything set?"
Takeo the fourth Kazekage ran a hand over his tired face and made his way towards her. He reached for her, but when she turned her face slightly away, he changed his course and collapsed into his desk chair. Sighing, he glanced up at his wife, who turned her face back towards him. "The demon will be sealed about a week before you're due."
Karura's expression did not change, but the look in her eyes grew heavier. She stopped rubbing circles over her belly and let her arm linger over the bulge, looking down at her unborn child. "I see." She hopped off the desk, keeping her hand to her stomach almost protectively. "I'll be heading home now. Don't stay out too late, Takeo." With that, she left, closing the door silently behind her.
Left alone in the room, Takeo sighed again and laced his fingers together, resting his forehead against them.
His wife and third child were condemned to their fates, one to her death and the other to a life of hatred. It was all because of him. All it took was one order and he could save his family from falling apart—he could save Karura. He could watch Temari and Kankuro grow up with a mother; he could meet and love his unnamed third child without guilt. He could save his own face and not go down in history as one of the heartless brutes who sealed a demon in his own child.
Who was he to decide people's fates like that? Who was he to take away any semblance of a normal life from his child? Who was he to be his own wife's executioner?
A glance out the circular window of his office chased away the doubts.
Outside, he could see a magnificent city—sandstone buildings, high canyon walls, and beyond those walls, the magnificent golden dunes of the Great Wind Country Desert.
This was Suna. His Suna, his city. As much as he wanted to be a good father and husband, as Kazekage of Suna, the village was always top-priority.
There was no other choice.
A soft knock at the door snapped Takeo out of his stupor.
"Kazekage-sama, Elder Chiyo is here to see you," a male voice said.
Pulling his handsome features back into a professionally stony expression, Takeo called out, "Let her in, Arata."
The door opened, revealing his secretary, a young shinobi with excellent patience for his age, with a sullen-looking grey-haired woman behind him.
With a grave look, Chiyo, whom Takeo had assigned as head of the operation, walked before his desk with a small packet of papers in her old hands.
"The medics and I need Karura to come in for a check-up next week," she said in a timeworn voice as she handed the new papers to him. "Just to make sure her vitals are fine. After the sealing we would like to keep her in the hospital to monitor the results. Everything should be fine though."
Takeo's hands were steady as he took the papers and scanned them, but inside, he was shaking. How cruel fate was to have him decide between his two loves: his family and his village.
It's for Suna.
Looking back up at one of the oldest shinobi in the village, Takeo saw in her eyes that she understood that the sacrifice was needed for Suna. He nodded curtly. "I see. You are dismissed."
Bowing her head, Chiyo left the room, closing the door behind her.
It wasn't even five minutes later when the door suddenly flew open again, this time smashing into the wall so hard that the doorknob left a slight crack.
"Takeo!" the intruding man bellowed, completely forgoing formalities. He was a tall man with raven black hair sticking up in spikes and his Suna headband tied around his left bicep. His electric blue eyes crackled with energy and rage as he strode forward, slamming his hands down onto the fourth Kazekage's desk. "Why am I hearing that you're thinking of sealing that demon into your child?"
"Saniiro, calm down," Takeo said with a sharp, reprimanding voice as he stood up, facing the man squarely. Usually, his visitors had to be permitted by his secretary, but Arata had learned early on the job not to bother checking certain people in.
Slightly taken aback that Takeo had used that special leader tone he usually reserved for the most important of situations, the man visibly relaxed. He closed his eyes briefly and took a few calming breaths. When he opened them again, his blue eyes shone with solemnity and sadness.
"You know what you're doing, right?" he asked quietly. "Karura's going to die and your child may as well be dead. We won't be able to call his existence a life."
Takeo sat back down in his seat and ran a hand over his face. Sighing silently, he glanced back at Saniiro and motioned for him to sit too. "I know. But Suna's in a tough time right now." Anger bled into his words. "That damn daimyo isn't doing a thing for us so it's up to me to figure out a way for us to get by. And if a Suna child has to be sacrificed, I'd rather use my own child rather than ruin another family. Besides, you know it's tradition for the jinchuuriki to be descended from the Kage of the village."
Saniiro fell back into the offered chair and sighed heavily. "Takeo, you're my oldest friend. We've known each other since we were kids." His expression crinkled helplessly. "I don't want you to ruin your life."
Takeo just shook his head firmly, face set with a hard expression. "If it means helping the village through these times, I'll do whatever it takes."
Saniiro grimaced. "You're a good leader, Takeo. Too good for your own good."
An uncomfortable silence fell after his statement, during which Takeo aimlessly organized his already impeccably organized desk and Saniiro glared down at the carpet as if it were responsible for the village being in such distress that measures of this extremity had to be taken.
Finally, Takeo looked up again. "How are the kids doing?"
Saniiro raised his head, gratitude for the deliberate topic change flashing across his face for a split second before a large grin appeared. He puffed out his chest proudly. "They're doing great! Kazuo's already proving to be a prodigy, and Kyoko's learning more and more words by the day. In fact, yesterday, she started ordering me around in the cutest toddler voice ever!"
Takeo smiled—something very few people could get him to do—as the rambling of his best friend soothed his scrambled nerves. He looked back down at his paperwork and started on it, occasionally commenting on something Saniiro said.
Soon, it almost seemed like an average day, just Saniiro coming by to drop off a mission report and going off on a tangent while Takeo worked. Nevertheless, Shukaku's glowing yellow eyes remained firmly in the back of Takeo's mind, tauntingly reminding him of his decision to sacrifice his family's happiness for the sake of the Sand Village.
12 Years Later
He should have been furious. He should have felt anger—or better yet, hatred—towards the boy, collapsed mere feet away, for challenging him and winning. Or, at the very least, he should have felt disappointment and humiliation. He was the infamous, cold-hearted, merciless, invincible Sabaku no Gaara. The first defeat should have left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Lying on the hard forest floor on his back with his head turned to the side, Gaara stared at Naruto's battered form. Despite his efforts to hate the blonde for challenging his only method of ensuring his existence—kill, kill, kill—Gaara just couldn't find anything within him but exhaustion. Even after all this time, building himself an image and lifestyle that would ensure his existence, life seemed determined to rip everything away from him.
'Why is he so strong?' he wondered absently. His mind was clouded with pain he'd never experienced before, but he could still note the tickling sensation as something wet trickled down the bridge of his nose.
After twelve long years, he finally got his wish of being able to know what pain was, and, quite frankly, he was sorely disappointed. As a child, he'd always expected physical pain to bring him some sort of salvation, a sense of accomplishment perhaps. Pain was supposed to allow him to be like everyone else for once, to show the world that even the great Gaara the Demon could feel pain.
He felt no different with the bloody bruise on his forehead or the burnt gash in his shoulder. The dull ache spread along his backside or in his swollen jaw didn't feel particularly special. None of it compared to the burning pain that had dwelled in his heart for years.
Suddenly, in a split moment of clarity in his hazy mind, Gaara realized that while he was distracted by his new experience with pain, the blonde boy had begun inching towards him using only his chin. Slowly, but surely, the boy was getting closer by the second.
A surge of fear—an emotion he hadn't felt in years—rushed through Gaara's veins. "D-don't get any closer!"
The blonde continued anyway despite the bloody scratches he was opening on his chin. "The pain of being alone...is completely out of this world, isn't it?"
At those words, the fog in Gaara's mind suddenly cleared, and he could think straight again. His mint eyes focused, locked upon the blonde's cerulean orbs.
Uzumaki Naruto of Konoha stared back with an expression of what could only be called sadness. "I don't know why...but I understand your pain so much, it actually hurts." His eyes suddenly hardened. "But...I...I have people who are important to me now. I won't let you hurt them. If you do...I'll stop you." His eyes flashed dangerously. "Even if I have to kill you!"
Gaara was almost speechless. "Why? Why can you do this for anyone but yourself?"
"My loneliness...that hell," Naruto ground out. "They saved me from it. They acknowledged my existence. They gave me a purpose to keep living. They're precious to me, that's why."
Slowly, Gaara turned his head away, unable to stand the unbudging devotion in Naruto's eyes. The blonde's words reminded him of another blonde, one with steel grey eyes and who had been dead for over six years.
'Love is the spirit of devoting yourself to someone precious to you,' he'd liked to say. 'It is expressed by caring for and protecting that person.'
For the first time in six years, Yashamaru's memory did not cause Gaara to flinch or kill or even react at all.
'Love...' he thought, feeling oddly calm. 'Is that why he's so strong?'
Suddenly, the Uchiha genin appeared beside his teammate. They exchanged a few words that Gaara couldn't be bothered to listen to, but it must've been good news because Naruto sighed in relief, dropping his head with exhaustion. Mere seconds later, another two figures dropped down from the trees above.
Their chakra—though significantly lower than usual—was familiar enough that Gaara didn't even need to look at them to realize who they were.
"Don't fight them," he said before they could do anything. When they looked back at him in surprise, he finished almost breathlessly, "Let's stop."
"G-Gaara?" Kankuro ventured, looking unnerved with Gaara's unusually peaceful behavior.
Out of energy to even grace his brother with a response, Gaara just stared up at the sky.
"Okay," Kankuro ultimately said, turning around to help Gaara sit up. Temari was still staring at him with concerned shock, having never seen him in such a weakened state before.
Kankuro slung one of Gaara's arms over his shoulders, supporting the redhead's weight with ease. Nodding to Temari, the three disappeared into the trees.
As they hopped through the trees, Naruto's words surfaced in Gaara's mind again.
Uzumaki Naruto of Konoha stared back with an expression of what could only be called sadness. "I don't know why...but I understand your pain so much, it actually hurts." His eyes suddenly hardened. "But...I...I have people who are important to me now. I won't let you hurt them. If you do...I'll stop you." His eyes flashed dangerously. "Even if I have to kill you!"
Those precious people gave him a purpose to live while Gaara's purpose had been to kill. Closing his eyes, Gaara felt his lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.
A fleeting memory flashed in his mind's eye—one of a little girl from Kankuro's age group at the academy, with wild raven black hair constantly wind-blown and wide frosty eyes always looking for another unnecessarily dangerous adventure.
How ironic, to think that he could have had acceptance like Naruto if only he hadn't given up so soon.
For the first time in six years, he felt hope.
It was with great trepidation that Temari and Kankuro maneuvered through the great Fire Country forest. Though both carried their signature weapons—heavy iron fan and a wooden puppet equipped with more traps than one could guess—neither felt confident in their ability to defend themselves at the moment.
Temari, exhausted both physically and mentally from the terrifying strain of seeing the Shukaku live and in person, jumped at nearly every noise. Every time she blinked, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled up, feeling the nonexistent stares of ANBU she imagined perched in the treetops, waiting to ambush them.
Kankuro, aching numbly from thousands of tiny bug bites all over his body, kept up a mental string of all the curses and swears he knew. His bloody fingers, nipped raw by insects, twitched incessantly. Wincing every time he instinctively tried to mold chakra in his fingertips, Kankuro merely bit his lip and tightened his grip on Gaara.
"Do you need a break?" Temari asked quietly.
"No," Kankuro replied, shaking his head. After a pause, he sighed. "Tem, what do we do?"
He was about themselves, but they both knew the other half of the question, hidden and unsaid: What is Suna going to do?
Temari shrugged, opting to answer the simpler one. "I'm sure a distress message was sent to Suna when the Shukaku disappeared. We just need to make it to the border; someone's bound to meet us there with supplies."
"What about Baki? Do we leave without him?"
"He needs to get the rest of the invasion force to safely retreat and make sure no one pursues us. He's got his hands full; we'd just slow him down."
"I suppose you're right."
It was then that Gaara stirred. Immediately, Kankuro's eyes flickered down to him, surprised the redhead was still conscious after everything he'd just gone through.
Temari, oblivious to Gaara's stirring, had just opened her mouth to reply to Kankuro when Gaara, using the last of his strength, rasped out his siblings names. Though his voice was nearly a hoarse whisper, Temari's mouth snapped shut with an audible click and her eyes flashed to Gaara. They awaited his words with bated breath, unsure of how the situation would turn out now that everything they'd once known was shaken out of place.
Gaara let the words out in a breath of relief, as if relieving himself of something that had weighed him down for years. "I'm sorry."
He felt Kankuro's grip on him loosen in surprise as his two older siblings exchanged a glance.
It was Kankuro who replied.
"D-don't worry about it."
MHJ: HI! :) I wish I could update regularly like once a week or something, but the rest of this year's gonna be pretty stressful. At best, I'll be able to update sometime this month, at worst, October or later. At any rate, hope you liked the chapter! :) Stick around for the rest~