Solicitous

Words: 2,156
Crossover: Naruto
Pairing: Gaara/Harry Potter
Beta: None
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, but really vague. Also, Harry's a seer?

Gaara ran as fast as he could, ignoring the way the villagers jumped out of his way like he was a demon possessed and the distancing shouts of guards demanding he slow down. He'd had enough of all of it - the cold glances of his father, the whispers of the guards as they eyed him with hate in their gazes, the heartless precision with which yet another assassin attacked, only to be left handicapped or, more often, dead. He couldn't breathe, couldn't stand the pressure and the anger and the pain.

And so he kept running and running until he was reaching the edges of Suna and rushing right out as if the border didn't even exist. Nobody stopped him, and Gaara knew that despite how hated he was, he wouldn't be prevented from re-entering later. He was, after all, the Kazekage's son, no matter how unfavourable he was deemed to be.

After a long while, Gaara found himself in a more mountainous area. It wasn't so far from his village that he couldn't get back there when he wanted relatively easily, but far enough that they would have to put actual effort in to track him - something they were unlikely to do. He slowed down, and started walking at a calmer pace, getting his breathing back under control as he did.

The rocks here were shiny grey as they rose out of the golden sand, surprisingly cool compared to the heat of the sand that had cooked in the desert sun all day, and it was quiet. As he climbed the steadily rising stone, Gaara came across several cave entrances, and wondered if he could stay here for a few days. Next time, he pondered vaguely, he could bring food and water - it'd be perfect then.

And then, breaking the peaceful silence like a whip, there was a quiet moan. Gaara froze still, his ears suddenly straining to pick up the direction from which the sound had come. His sand wrapped over him tightly, clinging like a second, protective skin as he tensed for danger. It came again - a small, pained gasp, and Gaara walked towards the sound to look into the dark cave entrance to his right, walking hesitantly forwards. It took his eyes a second to adjust from the bright sunlight, but eventually he realised he was looking at a small child, curled up tightly into a ball, clutching at their head like it was splitting in two.

They didn't look very dangerous. Gaara realised that looks could be deceiving - after all, look at him - but the child was so skinny, so frail, dressed in only a torn and tattered shirt and knee-length shorts, and they were so clearly in pain that Gaara honestly could not detect any danger from them. And so, despite all logic telling him to be wary, he put away the kunai that had almost unconsciously slipped into his hand, and inched forward.

The child flinched violently when Gaara finally touched them, their muscles spasming as their head snapped up, and Gaara could see for the first time their eyes. They were green, but nothing like his own. For one, they were a beautiful shade of deep green that resembled plants or jade rather than the strange blue-green of his own, and the irises were currently just an incredibly thin band around heavily dilated pupils.

The boy - for Gaara could tell now that he was indeed male - was breathing hard, his eyes seeming focused somewhere away from Gaara. He would've been offended, except the boy looked like he was dreaming or hallucinating. He seemed terrified by whatever he saw, but seemed unable to snap himself out of whatever vision he was stuck in. So Gaara did the only logical thing - he shook the boy.

He did so gently, despite all logic. Had this been anyone else, he thought, he'd have just slapped the person across the face and be done with it. But he could see the bruises around the boys wrists and even the neck, could see the barely healing cuts on his palms and the soles of his feet, and guessed that they hadn't all come from been alone on the street for too long.

This boy was too much like him, and yet so fragile and delicate that Gaara - for the first time in his life - felt something like a protective instinct rise in him. He shook a little harder when the boy didn't respond, and eventually was rewarded with sleepy, blinking eyes that slowly focused on his face. The boy gasped, eyes widening as he scrambled to back away, and Gaara immediately let go and raised his hands in a show of good faith.

There was a brief pang in his chest at the thought of the boy being scared of him, but he squashed it down and knelt before him. "Hello," he said quietly. "My name is Gaara. What is yours?"

For a long time the boy remained silent, staring at him with fearful eyes. Eventually he unwound a little, relaxing the arm around his knees ever so slightly. "Hari," he whispered.

"Hari," Gaara repeated, nodding. He paused, thinking about what to say. Did he ask about his family, his home? His instincts told him that this boy had been hurt, and had eventually run from that hurt, but-

The boy swallowed loudly. "What do you want?" he whispered hoarsely. The sentiment should have sounded a little aggressive, perhaps, but it just sounded incredibly afraid and timid to Gaara. He smiled awkwardly, unused to the expression, and sat down on the cave floor a comfortable distance from Hari.

"I was just exploring," he told the small boy. "I found you completely by accident."

There was a brief pause during which the boy surveyed Gaara. He seemed sceptical about the redhead's motive, but eventually nodded in acceptance. Gaara smiled again, unsure, but eventually pushed on. "What are you doing here?"

Hari stiffened, suddenly seeming a lot more unsure. Gaara sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you," he reassured the skittish boy. "But you're clearly not from around here. You look foreign."

The boy nodded slowly. "I- I'm not from here," he confirmed timidly, looking at Gaara from under his long black hair. "I'm from A-amegakure." He seemed unwilling to remember, and Gaara could understand why. The village this boy came from was a frequent battleground, being located between three large countries as it was, and Ame ninja didn't have the best reputation. Gaara wondered if this child wasn't just yet another war orphan, and yet he found himself scrapping the idea right there and then. Hari may have been a victim of the constant fighting in Amegakure, but Gaara's instincts told him something else was the cause of his pain.

He sat silently a while, enjoying the silence of the afternoon desert and the quiet, calming breaths of the boy next to him. It took a while, but eventually Hari relaxed until his muscles were no longer tense, and he watched Gaara with steady green eyes. He seemed unsure still, but confident that Gaara wouldn't hurt him, and it made the redhead feel a little warm inside. He smiled, and for the first time felt completely at ease with the affection he gave. That was strange in itself, because if life had taught Gaara anything it was that people were cruel - even the ones that claimed to love you. And yet this boy, with his large eyes and delicate wrists seemed so fragile that, for the first time in his short life, Gaara felt the vicious urge to protect.

He shuffled a little closer, and Hari watched him carefully as he did. "You've been hurt, haven't you," he whispered gently. There was nobody around to overhear, and yet the young Suna ninja felt like he'd break something intangible between them if he spoke too loudly, like he'd ruin the small bubble of calm that surrounded them. Hari watched him carefully, mute, before he slowly nodded. There was another stretch of silence before the younger boy shifted, wrapping his arms around his thighs instead of his knees so as to see his companion better.

"My parents died when I was one," he said quietly. "I lived with my aunt and uncle, but they hated me. My aunt always used to tell me-" he broke off, raising one fisted hand to rub at his eyes, but he no years fell. "My aunt always told me that my father wasn't really my father, that my mother was a bad, evil woman who laid with a demon. The devil's child, she used to call me."

Gaara waited a little longer, just in case Hari wanted to say anything more, but the boy remained silent. He nodded to himself, smiling grimly. "There is a monster inside me," he said softly, but firmly. "Everyone knows, and everyone hates me for it. I killed my mother, the only person who ever loved me, when I was born. The only reason my father let's me live is so that he can use me as a weapon if he ever needs one." He paused, and looked back over at Hari. The boy stared at him, and his eyes held a strange sort of understanding, of companionship. It gave Gaara the courage to smile again, and shuffle ever closer until they both sat shoulder to shoulder.

"You're not a monster," Hari whispered. "Just like my mother wasn't evil. I didn't believe that before, but I know that now. I know they were wrong, just like your father is wrong." He paused, then he tentatively leant his head on Gaara's shoulder. The older boy immediately stiffened, unwillingly to move - as if Hari was a cat that would take his comfort elsewhere if he gave him reason to, but eventually he relaxed. "I..." Hari's voice trembled. "I can do things," he whispered. "Or- or see things. I don't always understand them but..." He trailed off, curling into himself and Gaara almost as if by instinct. "They always come true," he revealed eventually.

Gaara nodded. "That's what was happening?" he asked gently. "Before?"

Harry nodded, and they both fell silent once more. It felt like a small haven to Gaara, a place with a person that didn't symbolise any danger or negativity. They were both safe here, both loved, both tucked away carefully from the world that would see them hurt. The sun beyond their cave lowered in the sky, replacing the clear blue with a million shades of oranges and red and purple. Gaara watched silently, the setting sun cooling the air around them until he was almost cold.

The heat of Hari's small body next to him seemed more prominent now, his skin marginally warmer where they touched than everywhere else. Gaara looked down, almost sure he'd see Hari asleep, but found him instead looking at Gaara with a surprisingly soft look in his eyes. There was affection there, unlike any he'd ever seen before. Affection and care that required nothing from him, expected nothing from him. It made his cheeks flush pink, and he looked away again shyly. He'd never experienced anything like this before, but he didn't dislike it. It felt like a break, a rest from all the tightness in his heart, the demands on his mind and body.

He felt more like himself than he'd felt in a long time, like he was finally able to remove a mask that had been squeezing his face into a certain expression. He felt like he'd been saved, lest that mask had formed his face permanently into that of a heartless, mindless killing machine, and it was all because of this little boy simply being here.

He looked back, and Hari was still looking at him. This time the boy smiled softly, beautifully, and Gaara felt the urge to smile back. He did, widely, and though it felt a little awkward and ugly on his face, the way Hari's eyes brightened made him feel like he was perfect regardless.

It was dark now, much darker than Gaara would have preferred before starting his way back, but he didn't think it was safe for Hari to stay out here. "Come," he said softly, pulling away a little.

The boy's eyes widened. "Where to?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Gaara thought for a second he seemed like a little rabbit or something, but he shook his head to get the thought out.

"I'm taking you home."

Hari seemed confused. "It's that okay?" he asked fretfully. "What about your father? I'm not sure if I should, I-"

He was interrupted by Gaara grabbing his arm and pulling him up. "Trust me?" he whispered, and after a long stare, Harry nodded.

"Okay," he mumbled. Gaara smiled again.

"I promise I'll keep you safe."