This fic DEMANDED I write it. It started out as a daydream in a long car ride, but I tweaked it a bit to make it work. And even though it's not going in the direction I intended it to, I can still work with it.

ALSO. Forget anything and everything you know about Naruto. Because I'm going to totally Screw. It. Over. I stopped reading when Gaara and Naruto shook hands at the end of the kidnapping arc, and in this fic, I've totally changed EVERYTHING. Well, most everything. So just deal please, lol.

PAIRINGS: DeidaraxGaara, SasorixGaara, NarutoxGaara, and TobixGaaraxMadara. You'll see just how they work eventually. There'll be lots of angst in this fic, and molestation. But he'll, uh, like most of it. Lol.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Obviously, lol.

Warnings: I'm gonna pull some freaky stuff in this fic, so just be careful of the warnings at the top of every chapter. So far, there's nothing bad, so read freely, lovelies!

I'm not really sure how all of this began.

I'm not even sure just how I arrived in this place.

One day I just woke up and... there I was.

It sounds strange, I know. But it's true.

And even more so is the fact that it's also a lie.

Everything was always a lie.

I knew how I had come to be in this situation, and the pain a certain individual had gone through to keep it from happening. I also remember how futile all of it was. All his efforts.

I hurt him.

We hurt him.

They hurt him.

That's in the past, though. It was so long ago... almost, what, a year? And while a year sounds like the simple blink of an eye to you, in my position, it's nearly a lifetime.

He hurt for a year, weighed down by his grief and longing until it became too much.

He doesn't hurt anymore.

But from the very moment he stepped out from that overhang, onto a balcony softened by sand, his life changed dramatically.

This is the story of a soul stronger and braver than anyone had ever known.

And this, dear reader, is how he fell from the hands of God.

He hated when she woke him like this, her hands cold as ice as they smoothed across his knuckles. It was unnecessary, unneeded, because he was already awake. He was always awake. Her voice, though familiar, always made him tense as she pulled away the blinds, no matter how soft and calculated it was. He sat up, the bones in his spine creaking angrily. Ignoring the pain, he rubbed gingerly at his eyes. He'd tried so hard this time. Tried so hard to fall asleep. He was in control, he knew it, and it was fine for him to doze for a bit. But it hadn't worked. It never did.

"- council wishes to speak to you of the tax raise. I wouldn't listen to the old geezers myself, to be honest. The villagers pay enough taxes as it is, you know what I mean?"

He didn't reply, because he knew that just the sound of his voice, slightly hoarse and very deep, would scare her away. There was too much history behind that voice to not be afraid of it.

So when her head turned in his direction, her hands wringing out a cord of washrag over the water basin at his bedside table, he simply nodded. "It's still so early, though. If you'd like, I'll tell them you're feeling a bit ill, and perhaps that will convince them to hold off on the meeting just a tad longer?"
She broke off in a lilting question, more unsure of herself around this boy than any other. Even if he was her baby brother. When he failed to nod or grunt or give any indication that he had heard her, she made a grumpy sound deep in her throat.

"Gaara, are you even listening to me?"

He paused, his eyes having settled on a dove outside the window, and shook his head a fraction of an inch. This stilled her. "You're acting a bit strange this morning. Are you actually, truly, sick?"

She made no move to check his forehead, but placed the dampened rag in her hands across his palms.

"Hold that across your forehead for awhile, I'm going to go get you something to eat."

She was halfway out the door before he had the chance to say something, and even then, she almost didn't hear what he had said. A careful, 'No, thank you.' "Fine, fine. Be a twig for all I care." She smiled. "Sure you don't want anything? Anything at all?" Gaara shook his head, held her eye contact for as long as he could, then turned back to the dove strutting on the balcony rail. She brushed a stray loch of hair from her face, defeated, then strode from the room.

Gaara pulled at the threads in the washcloth, the pads of his fingers moist from the water it held. He made no move to put it against his head, though. He felt fine, after all. She just didn't understand, she couldn't.

'Temari... you must secretly despise me. I wouldn't blame you... if you did.'

He'd had a lot of time to think lately, seeing as how he was only really needed at social gatherings, which he inwardly feared, and meetings, which he openly avoided. Each involved human interaction, and he feared that his past stood like a lurching beast behind him, scaring the living daylights out of all who beheld him. He himself was frightened sometimes, when he caught his eye in the mirrored reflections of water and glass. The gaunt creature staring back at him looked cold and hard. But inside, he was trying to hold his panic at bay.
He felt like he'd come a long way though, from how he'd used to be. How relentless he'd been before he'd met a certain blond.

Of all the thinking he'd done, he'd thought the most of that blond. Of Naruto.

The bed creaked as he tossed aside the silky violet covers on his bed. The floor was cold against the pads of his feet, and Gaara strode quickly to the balcony, intending to sun himself before he met with the elders. He wanted to check out that dove, too. They were very rare in this part of the world after all. He'd just reached the double doors that led outside when there was a knock at his door, and he quashed the childish instinct to roll his eyes. With one last glance at the bird, he closed the balcony doors. His ears registered the startled squawk of a bird, and then all was silent save for the thumps at his door.

"Yes?" He said as gently as he could as he opened it a crack. On the other side his brother, Kankuro, stood all in black, his face paint still drying on his skin. As the door opened Gaara could see his brother flinch in reflex, but he misunderstood and felt a twinge of guilt in his heart. Kankuro hated him, too. And for good reason. He'd been so cruel for so many years, and now, as sane as he was, he was paying for it. Kankuro, on the other hand, recovered quite quickly.

"Hey, Gaara. Temari said you were acting kinda strange, so I thought I'd walk you to your meeting. If, uh, that's okay, of course?"

It struck him odd at first how his siblings were treating him. Like he was a child, or something precious. Temari had never been such a mother hen, after all. It seemed to him that maybe they just felt like they were treading on very thin ice, and that at this moment, it was best to just stay on his good side.

"Alright."

He left the door to clothe himself and slip on his well-worn sandals, and, once that was done, they were off.

The double doors leading off from the main branch of the Sunagakure palace were guarded on both sides by men in various shades of black and gray. They bowed deeply to him, murmuring a respectful, 'Kazekage-sama.' To Kankuro they only nodded, their eyes once again turning to the long corridor before them.

Kankuro led him as far as the next set of doors, beyond which sat the council of elders Gaara had come to dread meeting with. His brother scratched idly at his painted face, then made a sound in his throat that seemed more like an attempt to break the awkward silence. When he turned to face the puppeteer however, Kankuro was already backing away.

"I've got to get back to Temari. I promised to help her get ready for her trip to Konoha, and she'll be wondering where I am."

Gaara nodded, inclined his head, and then watched as his brother walked away. He didn't know it at the time, and if he had he might've said a little more than a garbled goodbye, but that was the last time he would ever see his brother and sister again.

The meeting, as he suspected it would be, was terribly boring. He sat vigilantly at the head of the circular table, his eyes placid and half-cast as the men and women around him argued. As Temari had said, they were interested in raising the taxes, because, as one red-faced man put it, the security around the circumference of the village was quite horrid. And, furthermore, that was where it mattered most. If they raised the taxes, they would have more money to pay more ninja, and then their village would be a more safer one.

"We must protect our people, and our Kazekage, at all costs." Said a withering man. His eyes were mere slits, his face awash in wrinkles. The tiny tuft of hair he still had was combed to the side, and he occasionally patted it back down as it tried to spring back to full height.

"Of course, but you try telling them that. They don't want to pay more than they already do, no matter how much safer it will make them. Now what we need is more volunteers willing to put time in for the village. Who needs to more money when we've got the support of the blood of our village to aid us?"

A collection of murmurs and nods ran about the table, but one man gave a loud grunt and began rambling again in a furious rage. And then, much to his disdain, the elderly woman to Gaara's right turned to him.

"What do you think of all this, Lord Kazekage?" She whispered, although, Gaara feared, she wasn't doing it on purpose. He remained calm, though, and simply shook his head in defeat.

"They cannot seem to come to a decision. I fear for the future of our village."

"Do not fear." She said simply, the corners of her eyes rising as she watched the men around her argue. "They fight for the good of the village, and their intent is pure of heart. Besides, as long as we have a leader as calm and calculated as you, we won't have to fear the village falling to ruin."

She nodded to herself, and Gaara thanked her politely. He couldn't say it in words, but what she had said filled the great void in his heart. The nagging doubt in his abilities as leader.

After all, he hadn't wanted to be Kazekage in the first place.

"I think we're done for the day." He said suddenly, surprising even himself as all eyes turned to him. As one the council turned to eye the large clock at the head of the room, and when they realized the meeting had run well over three hours, a collective sigh was released.

"Alright. Enough for today, we'll pick up where we left off next Monday, same time. Don't be late." The woman who said this, a particularly sharp-eyed old woman, looked pointedly at Gaara. "That goes for everyone."

A few members of the council hung around to further discuss their opinions on the condition of the village, but Gaara was not among them. His head was beginning to throb with the hum of the speech around him, and all he wanted to do was return to his room. From there, he'd probably find himself on the roof of the palace. It was his favorite place to be in Suna, a place where he could watch the moon and the stars and not feel like a bug tacked to a board. He didn't have to make anyone happy or nod mindlessly to old men and women. And the only one to judge him and his misdoings was himself.

He couldn't walk fast enough.

Something was... off.

At first he couldn't pinpoint it, and as he toed off his sandals and re-affixed his gourd to his back, it occurred to him that something or someone had been in his room whilst he was out. At first, everything seemed to be in perfect order. But he could sense it, could smell the foreign scent. The scent of man.

He acted like he hadn't noticed anything as he padded across the room. The balcony door was firmly shut, but the curtain was pulled across the door. Temari had thrown them just a few hours ago.

The doorknob was cool in his hands, and he turned it quickly, suddenly feeling like someone would rush him from behind. He threw the door open, realizing he'd left it unlocked this morning when he'd left, and took a few steps onto the balcony, the wind rifling through his hair. He stopped, waited, and then noticed something that chilled him to the core.
The dove was still perched on the railing. But now that he could get a closer look at it, he realized it was no dove. And, as he stared back at the bird, he shuddered.

It had no eyes.

The balcony door slammed shut behind him.

A voice, smooth and sultry at his neck, whispered, "Locks, Lord Kazekage. They're there for a reason."

And thus, his plummet from innocence began.

Who is interested so far? Anyone at all?

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