Note: I don't claim to own Naruto or any of the characters within. I just have an active Gaara muse. It's actually my first Naruto fanfic, so reviews are appreciated.
In the hospital of Hidden Leaf village, despite experiencing the most exhausting battle of his life, one young shinobi found himself unable to fully rest. He lay on top of a firm, yet soft bed, covered with pristine white sheets, and a simple blue blanket. His pillow was fluffy and embraced his head. The bed was pleasant, and the room was clean. It was easy to rest his weary body. It was his mind that raced, despite being nearly as exhausted as his body.
"Uzamaki Naruto..." he said, uttering that name for the third time since his battle with the blonde boy. The impact his actions and words had on Gaara was profound. His mind had gone through a continuous, chaotic cycle as he contemplated past, present, future, and revolution. Even now, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Less than a month ago, he'd considered himself much like Hidden Leaf's Uchiha Sasuke – powerful, vindictive and solitary. The Leaf village's number one rookie shared several traits with him, including a loneliness that cut through to the heart. Gaara understood loneliness very well. The deep and personal understanding of that unique sort of pain made him feel a strange sense of kinship with Sasuke. Like Uchiha, Gaara also pushed others away, living only for his own purposes. Fighting him had sent thrills through Gaara's blood, right to his inner core. Made him feel truly alive.
Yet, now he wondered if Uzamaki Naruto wasn't just as much his parallel, if not more than Sasuke. At first, his loud, obnoxious, and almost comical demeanor had made Gaara think that he shared absolutely nothing in common with him. He stood corrected. Naruto understood the desire to be acknowledged and wanted. He knew what it meant to be alone, and now that he had people who did care for him, he could be incredibly strong when he needed to be. It was an admirable strength. That acknowledgement made Naruto whole. That wholeness was something Gaara aspired to.
It occurred to the sand-user that perhaps he wasn't as alone as he thought. He had Kankuro and Temari. They were his teammates, comrades, and though he'd never acknowledged them as such before, they were his family. Of all the things Gaara presently regretted, it was alienating his siblings. Like the rest of the Hidden Sand village, they feared his abilities. However, now that he thought about it, they cared for him as much as he allowed them to. They acknowledged him as family. He'd just never accepted it before.
Now that he thought about it, his father was the only one that had never treated him as a member of the family. To his father, he was a living weapon, a host body to wield the power of Shukaku, and nothing but that. Earlier on, Temari and Kankuro had looked on their younger brother in a similar way. As they grew older and formed their own decisions, their attitudes had changed, though Gaara had closed himself to them. The death of the Kazekage had been a surprise, but Gaara found himself unable to feel anything other than mild shock. For a long time in his life, he'd wanted to kill the man who was his father by blood only. Someone else had done it instead, and Gaara felt neither satisfaction nor sadness.
Perhaps there was a little underlying relief. The Kazekage had been the only one that held any real power over Gaara. In addition, with him gone, Gaara didn't have to play the role his father created for him. He was free to walk his own path and be his own person, for the first time in his life.
The sudden freedom was exhilarating and intimidating in one. So much that Gaara didn't even know what he wanted to do first. Slowly, he rose from the softness of his bed, acutely feeling every ache from his battle with Naruto. A dull, pulsating pain throbbed on his forehead, and Gaara reached to touch it. A bump was forming there, in the shape of a small egg. He flinched upon contact with the bump.
"So...that's pain," he said softly. The faintest of smiles came to him. He was human, after all, and now he could understand the physical pain other humans felt when they were injured in battle. Despite the pleasingly human protests of his legs, he forced himself to slide off the bed and stand. The redundantly white, sterile atmosphere of the hospital was no place to contemplate the future and what it held in store for him. The wide, free sky was much more appealing than a limiting place with walls and a ceiling. Outdoors there were no barriers.