A/N: Cross-posted from AO3.


"The mission failed," Temari blurted as soon as they were within earshot of Baki. "Things didn't go as planned. Gaara… lost."

Hanging from Kankuro's shoulder, dripping blood and clinging tooth and nail to consciousness, Gaara had nothing to say for himself. It was true. For the first time, he wasn't stronger than his opponent. It had just so happened to coincide with when the stakes were highest, when his entire village was relying on him. Not that Gaara had particularly cared, but… he was sure there would be consequences. More assassination attempts, now that the council had no reason to keep him around. Perhaps a reduction in the missions he was assigned. Any little thing to make him more miserable.

Baki didn't look surprised at the news, just unspeakably tired.

"We need to report back as soon as possible," he replied, voice arid and without inflection. "Not to mention put distance between us and enemy territory."

Ever the busybody, Temari said, "Gaara's wounds still haven't been treated."

Everyone turned to him, weak and seeping against Kankuro's side, and Gaara felt his hackles rise. He wanted his sand. He didn't have the chakra to call it back. This meant he was completely without a shield, and with the way Baki surveyed him, Gaara couldn't help but think of the other Jonin that had been sent after his life, the way they had inspected him as if searching for a weakness.

"Fine," Baki said, motioning to Kankuro. "If he needs stitches, it's probably best to do that now, while the sand isn't in the way."

"Don't need them," Gaara spat, and even that mild expenditure of energy made his head spin.

"You've never had an injury before," Baki reasoned. "You don't know what you need."

Gaara intended to argue more, but suddenly Kankuro's support withdrew, and without that he could not stand. He collapsed into a heap on the ground, flinching under the shadows that loomed over him.

"This will hurt," Baki said, voice even and unbothered. "I know you're not used to that, but it's for your own good."

There was a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him up, and it tugged at his wound. Gaara had a sudden vision of being torn in two, of the wound in his shoulder widening until he split down the middle. Pain shot through him, and the conversation around him blurred into indistinct cacophony. He just wanted it to stop.

Gaara lashed out, shoving the hands away, trying to scramble back. Every movement was accompanied by a reminder from his body that it was very close to quitting entirely, his vision swimming and limbs trembling. Still, he was determined to fight to the very last breath. He wasn't going to die here.

"Hold him still."

"Maybe it would be better if I do it?"

"I don't wanna make him even more mad."

"He's too tired to hurt you right now. Just hold him down."

Despite his best (currently tepid) efforts, Gaara was restrained. Arms wound around his own, locking him in place. His legs were weighed down. He couldn't even thrash properly, held still and helpless as Baki approached.

"Gaara, it's okay."

"He's honest to god growling."

"I think he's hyperventilating."

It felt like everyone was talking at once, their words blending together into incomprehensible noise. At the moment, the only thing Gaara could process was the needle in Baki's hand, coming closer and closer. It seemed like such a miniscule weapon to end a life with. Maybe that meant it would be slow and painful.

He probably deserved it.

Gaara closed his eyes, doing his best to block out the pain. It was like using newsprint for an umbrella, shielding him from only the barest fraction of deluge. Things burned, they stung, they prickled. How could he have ever anticipated that there was such a variety of pain?

He was sure he was dead. Wasn't that what happened when you had too much pain? This felt like too much. But then, at long last, the pain was over, and he was somehow still alive. Cracking open his eyes, he caught just a glimpse of his own flesh, red and puckered and held together with a thin thread, before it was covered up with a bandage.

"See?" Baki said, tying off the bandage. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

In response, Gaara passed out.

Pain. He was in pain.

Gaara opened his eyes, realizing with a sick jolt that he had been asleep. A good deal of his chakra was restored, meaning he must have been out for a while. And he was in a bedroll, staring up at the ceiling of a tent.

As fast as he dared, Gaara shrugged off the blanket. Every movement was accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain from his shoulder, his head, his back. However, as he moved, he heard the whispering rush of sand swirling around him.

He was safe now. At the very least, he wouldn't be suffering more injury. He had survived.

He wasn't sure what came next.

The immediate future contained a return to the village, and no doubt a humiliating reunion with his father. After that… would things return to normal? Would he go back to being isolated and feared? A pariah, given free reign to do whatever he wanted, so long as he did it alone?

For a long time, he had pretended he preferred things that way. There were no other options. Except… the Uzumaki boy. He had said people accepted him. He wasn't alone. So if he could do it, maybe Gaara could…

He remembered the feeling of being held down yesterday, the terror of knowing he was vulnerable and these people didn't have a single reason not to kill him. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat, or a sensation he would seek. It had hurt. And yet, here he was, still alive.

It was too much for him to untangle at the present moment. Right now, he was hungry and thirsty, and the intermittent stabs of agony lowered his threshold for dealing with both. He stumbled out of the tent, intent on seeking relief.

The light that greeted him was milky and gray, the desaturation of early dawn. There was another tent on the other side of a small campfire, and perched next to the fire was Baki, keeping watch.

"You're awake," he said, observing Gaara. The man sounded neither relieved nor disappointed, merely stating fact. "You're probably hungry. There's rations in the rucksack."

The reason Baki had survived so long as Gaara's handler was that the man was very good at intuiting what the redhead wanted, and pointing him in the right direction before the pint-sized psychopath could get frustrated. It was a very impersonal working relationship, which also suited Gaara fine. Baki, while not warm, was never condescending.

Digging through the plethora of supplies in the pack, Gaara pulled out a wrapped packet of jerky. All things considered– such as fleeing an enemy country– it was as good as he could expect, and he dug into it voraciously.

To his side, Baki was busy unwinding some bandages of his own from around his arm. It looked like he had been caught crossways by a fire jutsu, the skin mottled with blisters. Bloodless, so not the sort of injury that usually caught Gaara's attention. However, as Baki inspected the wound, Gaara thought back to the day before– the needle and his own flesh, how quickly Baki had taken care of it. Raising his fingers to his chest, he traced the raised outline through his shirt, feeling the ridge even through the cloth. Stitches. That was what Baki had called it. Gaara knew such methods existed, but had never before taken an interest in their application. He had very little idea of how to treat injuries. If he wanted people to be around him… it would be wise to know how to take care of them.

"Can I watch you?" Gaara asked, shifting closer to his instructor.

"Curious about first-aid?" Baki asked. "You've never really had a reason to learn before now, have you?"

Since Baki wasn't telling him to go away, Gaara took it as permission to sit down next to him, watching the man work. Playing the part of sensei, Baki explained what he was doing as he went along.

"The most important thing is to keep a wound clean. You don't want an infection," he said, showing Gaara the bottle of disinfectant he was using. "I put this on your wound yesterday, too."

Gaara recognized the scent. Cloying, like a drunkard's breath after stumbling out of a bar.

"This stung," he remarked, thinking back to the way it had felt. Things were less jumbled in retrospect, now that he could look back at them and pick apart what had happened. He remembered the pain of this, the way it had felt like his skin was dissolving, the wet sensation that burned.

"Yeah, it does that," Baki agreed. "That means it's working."

Frowning, Gaara thought back on the other sensations he had felt. None had been pleasant.

"The stitches hurt, too. Why does treating a wound hurt? It should make the pain go away."

"It does, in the long-term," Baki explained. "Sometimes, to prevent greater hurt down the line, you need a little hurt right away. Like… when a bone is broken. Something forced the body into the wrong shape, and so you have to use force to set it right again."

"And that's… painful."

"It can be," Baki said, "but letting it fester is worse."

Taking the bottle from Gaara, Baki doused the burn in disinfectant. Gaara didn't miss the way he winced. So it wasn't just him. Other people hurt when healing, too.

Humans were such fragile things.

There was a rustle from the other tent, and Temari stepped out, already clad in her ninja gear. As soon as she saw Gaara, her expression twisted into something else. Displeasure?

"How are you feeling?" she asked, coming to sit with them by the fire.

Normally, this was the part where Gaara would sneer and tell her to mind her own business. He didn't like other people evaluating him for weakness, trying to find out when there was a chink in his armor. However... if she had wanted to kill him, she would have done so yesterday. But here they were, sitting side-by-side by the fire. Maybe… it was within the realm of possibility that she didn't want him dead. Conceptually speaking.

"I feel awful," Gaara admitted. "It still hurts. I don't like it."

Again that look returned to Temari's face, a puckering of her mouth like she had just eaten something distasteful. Gaara thought he recognized it as some sort of mild pain.

"Here, let me make you some tea. We need to make sure you stay hydrated."

Gaara was capable of making his own tea, had he been so inclined, but he wasn't sure how to express that without coming across as… his usual self. So he stayed quiet and let Temari bustle around, setting some water to heat over the campfire and finding a tin of tea in their supplies. Soon, there were two cups curling up steam, and Temari slid one into his hands. Gaara stared down at the brackish surface, battling with the usual list of reasons why he didn't let other people make food for him. It could be poisoned. He could take care of himself. Relying on other people always led to disappointment.

"Go ahead," Temari urged. "I promise you'll feel a little better after you drink it."

Perhaps… if he wanted to make a change, perhaps this was as good a place to start as any. Cautiously, Gaara raised the cup to his lip and sipped. He did not immediately keel over and die. Promising.

"Is it good?" Temari asked.

"It's tea," Gaara replied with a shrug. "But… thank you, Temari. For making it for me."

The words were unfamiliar and sour in his mouth, but the taste was easily washed down with tea. Temari beamed over her cup. Then, throwing caution and common sense to the wind, she reached out and ruffled Gaara's hair. Touched him, like she wasn't afraid of getting her hand crushed for the effort. To his side, Gaara could feel Baki tense, waiting to see if he needed to intervene.

Hand still tangled in his hair, Temari said, "Let me know if you need anything, okay? I know you're not used to managing pain."

Rather than be irritating, her touch felt warm. It gave him something else to focus on besides the dull throb in his shoulder. When he couldn't think of a response, Temari got that same look on her face again, the distant sadness. Except now, Gaara thought he knew what it was. It was concern.

"So, um, have you considered switching your gourd over?"

Gaara glanced over to Kankuro. They had stopped for a water break, and as much as Gaara hated to admit it, he really needed it. His body was still drained from yesterday, and his shoulder felt distinctly like it was purposefully trying to sabotage him by making him as miserable as possible.

"Switch it to what?" Gaara replied.

"Your other shoulder. See, right now, the weight is all on that injured shoulder. That's gotta be uncomfortable. Right?"

Kankuro sounded like he was unsure. Maybe not of the facts he declared, but of his decision to address Gaara at all. Historically, that usually resulted in a death threat. Right now, all the response he got was Gaara blinking at him, processing the information.

"That makes sense," Gaara finally said. "I… should have realized that, but I…"

"...am not used to compensating for an injury," Kankuro finished. "Yeah, I know. Switch your bandolier to the other shoulder and it will stop hurting so much. Trust me on this."

Kankuro gave him a wink, which Gaara felt was completely unnecessary. However, he followed the advice, switching his gourd over to the other shoulder. Almost instantly, he felt better.

"Thank you, Kankuro."

"Um, yeah, don't mention it," Kankuro replied, chuckling nervously. "Although, actually, maybe do mention it next time you get mad and think about killing me, alright?"

This was followed by more strained laughter, Kankuro attempting to play it off as a light-hearted joke. It wasn't, and they both knew it. Gaara thought back to all the times he had casually threatened Kankuro with injury and violence. Unlike Temari and Baki, who were both very good at treading lightly around Gaara's shallow temper, Kankuro had frequently smashed right against it. The result was a lot of tension, a lot of Kankuro biting his lip and backing away slowly.

If their positions were reversed, Gaara wasn't sure he would want to be around Kankuro at all. He couldn't fathom wanting to be around someone as inconsiderate and foul-tempered as himself. Perhaps, in a way, he had retroactively given everyone a reason to avoid him. It was a painful thought. Everything inside Gaara screamed that it was too late, he had burned too many bridges, that reaching out now would only cause him more suffering. The last part he was certain of: trying to reconcile would be painful. But letting things fester would be worse.

"Kankuro," Gaara called out. His brother turned back and looked at him. "I meant it yesterday. When I said I was sorry. I want to… be better. To both you, and Temari."

For a second, Kankuro looked like he'd been slapped across the face. He gawked for a few moments before composing himself and tentatively asking, "You're serious?"

"Yes," Gaara affirmed. "I am."

"Well… I'll hold you to it, then," Kankuro said, giving another nervous chuckle.

And with that, he turned and walked away. It wasn't an instant cure, a miraculous mending of their relationship. Still, as Gaara rose and readjusted his bandolier, he couldn't help but notice that already the pain was starting to fade.


A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can check out my tumblr i-write-wins-not-tragedies for frequent Gaara shit-posting.