I really clearly had a vision. In that way that made me wish I could draw. So instead you get this fic? I don't know, ya'll. Feedback appreciated because this is weird even for me and I'm not sure it works. Plus I ligit gave myself an anxiety attack when I got a little too dark with my plotting so I had to scale it back. Triggers, yo.
Only planned a few chappies for this one. Possibly more mood than plot.
Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is owned by someone else. And that person didn't know how to end it right so this is where we find ourselves.
The how and why was unimportant at this point. Gaara's father, before his passing, had been contracting the services of this Dr. Orochimaru with the nebulous promise of some sort of serum that would allow the slaves in the mines to work longer and harder. As Kankuro had pointed out while filing yet another ledger of numbers onto a shelf, Gaara had a responsibility to inquire into the state of the investment. The board of directors needed transparency, and this was one very costly black hole they had been throwing money into that hadn't turned up much in the way of real results. A few cases of modified amphetamines, or so it seemed, and the promise of more and better if he could please just have a little more time wasn't enough to secure continued funding.
The wave of the future was emancipation and how they were going to get the same results from freedmen was a concern when presumably there would be labor laws to guide the number of hours they worked in a day, let alone the compensation that they would need to be provided. The directors were fighting their own political battles; Gaara had no particular interest in owning human beings. That he owned hundreds of them was more of a logistical inconvenience than anything. He would just as soon pay freedmen and then send them back to homes he didn't maintain or to eat food he didn't pay for and receive medical treatment he didn't arrange. He hadn't inherited a company; he had inherited a small city. It seemed impossible to extricate himself at this juncture.
Sasori, a distant cousin and one of Gaara's least favorite board members, had taken it on himself to send barbed notes to Gaara reminding him that while he might have the same earth affinity of his father that a little preternatural ability couldn't make up for real leadership. Temari, who intercepted everyone's correspondence and read it before they did out of boredom had been shredding the lawn with how vigorously she had been playing croquet to relax. The way she swung a mallet was more than a little menacing. Their family's continued success was laid at Gaara's feet and he well knew that neither of his older siblings thought he was going to be able to take Suna Mining Co. into continued future prosperity. They probably would have smothered him in his sleep and run the business themselves if not for his uncanny ability to sense rare minerals and guide the crews to valuable deposits. Kankuro would have given his right eye for that ability and an iota of their father's attention.
As the carriage rocked back and forth on the path into the manor where Dr. Orochimaru based his operations, Gaara was pretty sure Kankuro had paid extra for the coachman to go slightly too fast and shake him into sickness. Anything that resembled a boat on water was detestable. Clammy hands smoothed down grey pinstripe pants and Gaara closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was no doubt going to be an awkward visit. Kankuro was the sociable one, why he had declined to visit this doctor was at first mysterious then became all too clear as the foreboding mansion came into view. No doubt Kankuro had been here with their father once before and wanted no part of what lay inside.
That didn't tell Gaara much. Kankuro didn't have stomach for anything that got more gruesome than a spilled inkwell. As soon as Gaara was old enough to visit foremen at the mine with their father, Kankuro had stopped going. The stench and the misery had been too much for someone with so much human empathy. Gaara wondered if he were missing something inside of him, some finer emotion that allowed him to connect to other humans. He remembered his father's look of pride when a barely ten-year-old Gaara didn't look away from a foreman beating a man for insolence the first visit they took together. He couldn't have looked away if he had tried, finding the blood too fascinating, but his father had taken his fixation for strength. Perhaps it was strength, but it had come to feel more like numbness. Objectively, he knew that was a negative quality in a gentleman.
Whatever humanity Gaara had been meant to gain had probably died with his mother at his birth.
Straightening his black frock coat and smoothing down his crimson waistcoat, Gaara fetched his hat from the seat across from him and ran his fingers through his hair a few times to create the illusion of order. Pulling a watch from his waistcoat, he felt the heavy gold in his hand and wondered why people thought something so precious that was so soft. Gaara didn't have time in his life for soft things, but the watch had been his father's and it was difficult to discard it. It reminded him of his responsibility more so than Kankuro's fretting or Temari's snide remarks.
"Mr. Sabaku," As soon as the carriage stopped and the door opened, a man that looked young but for his shoulder length slate grey hair was there with a cheerful smile to greet him. Neatly dressed, there was a sickly sweet chemical smell that clung to him. "My name is Mr. Yakushi, and I'm Dr. Orochimaru's assistant. I trust your journey was uneventful? I understand that the weather was acceptable since you left."
The five days of travel were boring indeed, particularly without Kankuro and Temari jabbing at one another, but the silence had been restful. Not that his sleep had been any better, just a few hours of restless tossing as per usual each night. Often, he wondered why he tried to sleep at all. The dark bags under his green eyes often gave people pause, though the people that were around him had stopped asking him if he were tired since he exited childhood. They didn't question the state of his health so long as he kept rising each day to perform his duties.
"My journey was adequate." Gaara said tersely and shook the man's hand. Having been forced by his father to practice this skill, he noted how the man didn't fully grip and instead slipped out of the hold immediately. It was the habit of a person who didn't spend much time greeting company, or who didn't like the touch of another human being. He could relate to that much at least. "When shall I meet with the doctor?"
"No need to rush such things, Dr. Orochimaru would like it if you took time to relax and perhaps take a meal prior to touring the laboratory. We're not often graced with so illustrious a guest." His smile was wide and toothsome, but Gaara didn't return it. The sycophantic words and off-putting presence of the man made Gaara wish he could turn around and climb back into the carriage, but he had a job to do here and it wasn't the first time he'd wished someone would disappear. Nor would it be the last, he supposed.
The pause lingered too long in the air and Gaara wondered if the man was expecting him to carry the conversation. He had nothing to say to this Mr. Yakushi. Trusting that his luggage would be seen to, Gaara strode towards the open doors of the mansion and brooded over the problem of why a man of science would base himself so far from civilizations and all the tools and ease of commerce. Surely a legitimate doctor would be working in a university, or other equally visible practice. Gaara knew his father had some shady connections, but few seemed shadier than this supposed doctor.
Gaara had a headache. The interminably pleasant Mr. Yakushi had insisted on entertaining Gaara for hours in the library, talking about the brilliance of his master and their theories on how various affinities could be amplified when people were exposed to appropriate stressors. Then, as if to encourage Gaara into a display of his own earth affinity, he showed how with great concentration he had been able to turn his own water affinity into a very small cutting tool at the end of his index finger. Gaara thought the effort needed to generate the small water knife was probably not worth the trouble given how cheap blades of all kinds were but at least the line of inquiry wasn't totally without merit. The limits of the human body would be the kind of thing that would need to be explored to be able to extend them: the ultimate goal his father had stated in the original contract with the doctor. He didn't disagree with it in theory.
When food had arrived, Gaara had declined, still feeling somewhat ill after five days of a rocking carriage. Not long after the food was taken away at last the doctor made his appearance. He was tall and neatly dressed, with long black hair drawn back by a simple leather strap. Gaara was pale, but this man was practically white his complexion was so chalky. As Gaara stood to shake his hand, as social protocol dictated, the handshake was textbook. This was a man who studied others, who knew how to pretend to be human. The urge to leave increased, and Gaara wished he could trust his instincts but he knew leaving with his investment unexamined was the same as handing the company and all the people who tended the mine to Sasori.
Gaara had had to fire the last two foremen who had been recommended by Sasori for being too heavy handed with their punishments towards the workers. He may have been deficient in human feeling, but Sasori seemed to delight in his lack, and encouraged similar abandonment in others. No, leaving the company to Sasori was not an option as his mismanagement would drive them out of business more surely than Gaara's supposed weak leadership.
"Mr. Sabaku, it's a pleasure to receive you. I held your late father in high regard."
But not enough to attend his funeral, Gaara noted silently to himself. "Your business with him spanned a decade. I'm here to determine if it's in the Suna Mining Company's best interest to continue the partnership."
"I see Kabuto was not able to tempt you to relax and enjoy some refreshments, I would have thought visiting the labs too much after so long a journey." His words were light, but his golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly in Mr. Yakushi's direction and Gaara's keen glance saw the assistant flinch ever so slightly.
Gaara was largely uninterested in their domestic drama, but he was hearing deep reluctance to take him to the lab. That only made him want to see it all the more. "I assure you my constitution is hardier than appearance would have it seem. You can start your tour."
The request couched in an order didn't phase the doctor, but his assistant seemed to shift his weight from foot to foot even as his expression remained placid. Dr. Orochimaru smiled and led the way out of the library and into the hallway. They ended up at a door near the kitchens with an elaborate lock on the front that Gaara examined with some interest before Mr. Yakushi produced a key with rather interesting tines to it. It looked more like sculpture than a key. There would be no easy access for the curious to this laboratory.
"It used to be a vast wine cellar and storage space when I purchased the property some years ago," Dr. Orochimaru said conversationally. "It was one of the main draws of the property. Since then I have added ventilation and additional rooms, so you'll find the space quite comfortable despite being subterranean."
They walked single file down a set of stairs to another door, this one had a bolt on the outside that was not engaged. What would a man like Orochimaru need to lock inside the lab?
Falling asleep was all too easy that night, which was Gaara's first clue he had been drugged. His eyelids were already drooping as he spread the fine layer of sand around the room—a method that had traditionally acted as his early warning system for intruders. His earth affinity had given him senses beyond his normal human ones, and he had learned some interesting applications for it with the sand on the flooring simply being one of the easiest to maintain while not at home. If someone crossed the threshold onto his sand he would feel their presence, and it was as effective as an alarm due to his restless sleeping patterns. Not that it would do him much good this evening, he realized with more irritation than alarm. He had made his displeasure too plain, and Dr. Orochimaru didn't seem one to mince around when action could be taken.
After the tour of the lab earlier Gaara had needed a drink, a strong one, and it would have been all too easy to slip something in his spirits. He had thought drinking from the same decanter would have provided some assurance, but in hindsight a bit of slight of hand would have been easily missed given the shocking nature of the doctor's work. Gaara wasn't easily shaken, but there were things in that modified cellar that implied dark religion in addition to callous experimentation on live subjects of various species. It was as he was thinking about the conversation he'd had with Mr. Yakushi about stressors and the clearly frightened caged animals sparked feeling deep in him that the men he accompanied weren't merely amoral for scientific purposes, there was a strong inclination for actual evil here. A caged raccoon hissed at them as they passed, and Gaara rather sided with it over his hosts.
Symbols drawn on the walls and on a cleared spot on the floor reminded Gaara of something he had read about in a book once, but he had dismissed it as the ravings of a lunatic. Otherworldly beings, should such things exist, probably had no interest in the problems of humans. And should their attention be secured it was more likely such a being would tear the wings off the metaphorical fly that was buzzing around it than to grant it wishes. Dr. Orochimaru was not only dangerous, he was most likely insane if he was mixing his science with the occult.
It was all such a waste, when clearly the man was also brilliant. The machinery that he was employing in his lab looked expensive and well kept. There was a half-completed automaton in a corner, a rarity in of itself. Gaara's father had looked into automatons for a time but had quickly come to the realization that a robotic workforce would require too much work to maintain and that the initial expense to have them created would have been astronomical. Human beings were much cheaper in every form, and actually required less resource to keep going than a being of metal and wires. Perhaps in time the cost would reduce, but not in his lifetime Gaara supposed. When Gaara had inquired into if the doctor was interested in the engineering of automatons, the assistant had replied vaguely about how the doctor was doing everything in his power to understand the limits of physiology. Perhaps it was Gaara's continued lack of approval or enthusiasm that convinced the scientists that he needed to be disposed of, but again that made no sense. Nothing about the situation made sense. He was too high profile to go unnoticed. There would need to be accomplices that had assured the scientists that without Gaara the flow of money would continue unabated.
Waking up with severe vertigo and a headache in the damp laboratory surprised Gaara only insofar as he was still alive. Perhaps the dosage he had received was lower than they suspected, or he had metabolized it too quickly. All he knew is it was a chore to stand, so he crawled on hands and knees in the pitch black until he found a wall. Clad only in his nightshirt, he shivered from both the effect of the drug and the extreme cold. Eventually, following the wall brought him to a metal door.
Conjuring up the memory of Mr. Yakushi's water blade, Gaara wondered if he had enough willpower to call his earth to him. It was a trick he had managed a few times on his own through great concentration and everything about him felt sluggish. Luckily for him, the scientists were not keen on cleanliness because he had handfuls of dirt after gathering his wits about him a few times. Slowly it began taking form and maybe if he hadn't been around drilling equipment his entire life he might have struggled with the particulars, but the only challenge he realized he had as the dirt condensed and hardened in his palm was that he would have to expend energy every rotation. It didn't take long to find the key hole, but every agonizing moment he drilled made his head throb. The grinding of the drill against metal was almost soothing in how it took him back to the sound of boring rock tunnels.
After what could have been an hour or more he had demolished the delicate guts of the locking mechanism and it took much less force to have his dirt push the metal bolt in and allow the door to swing free. He collapsed onto the floor once the door no longer supported his weight, and took a moment to retch after so much mental and physical toil. There was nothing in his stomach but bile, and he wished he could say the vile taste brought him back to his senses but the world still swam even in near darkness. Burners left on low underneath glass beakers provided low light to the large space. Gaara hadn't spared a second glance to the back of the room on first tour, but there was a whole line of cells including his own.
"I don't know how you got out, but you won't make it far in that condition." Gaara made out the dim outline shifting in its cell through the bars that lay at head height. A pale, filthy hand grasped a bar suddenly, and Gaara would have startled if he were not feeling so ill. "Free me and I can heal you."
He might not have laughed even if he had the energy, but he did feel his mouth quirk up slightly. Even if he had the strength, another person would only increase the liability of his escape. It was already tenuous at best. Gaara glanced at the hand, vision swimming, and turned away to begin to drag his body towards what he thought was the exit of this hell.
"I can prove it, if you just touch my fingers." The voice was hoarse, desperate. "Please."
Gaara spent a moment considering what he had to lose by humoring this strange companion in captivity. He already understood he was more likely better served finding a sharp tool to end his own life before he was recaptured and dissected like those raccoons and primates the doctor kept. Lurching over, falling to one knee briefly before righting himself again, Gaara grabbed one of the bars of the prisoner's cell and he saw the hand pull back just as suddenly. Another dry heave was threatening, but then frigid fingers touched his own and he felt like everything came into sudden focus for a moment. There was a sense of foreignness, like something was deeply wrong with his body but then he was back to the generalized sick feeling he had been combatting since he awoke.
"They poisoned you… I can only deal with that if we're face to face."
Convenient. Gaara snorted, clearly incredulous.
"Your other hand is bleeding from the palm, like something stripped off the skin in the center. I can heal that from here as proof."
The voice wasn't wrong. He had gotten sloppy towards the end of drilling his door out and his hand was a bloody mess. The stinging was nothing compared to the sickness roiling his mind and body so he had easily ignored it. He had come this far, though, and the stranger had known even though there was no way he could have possibly seen, that Gaara's hand was injured.
After holding his injured palm to the bars, he felt a soothing coolness that started with a sting and ended with a crash on the other side of the cell door. The man had collapsed, but he had also healed Gaara's palm as promised. It seemed like there might be some utility to freeing the person after all.
"You'll take the poison from my body?" Gaara said to the cell door.
"Yes, I swear it." The voice was small, still in a heap on the floor no doubt. "Anything. As long as you need me. Just get me out."
Gaara found the sad puddle of dust he had left near the door of his own cell and reformed it through sheer grit into a drill again. Now that he knew how, he was pretty sure he could accomplish his task faster this time.
The only sounds as he worked were the grinding of metal and slight groans from the prisoner.