"What does pain feel like?" "I think I understand what pain feels like now." "Maybe I'm injured, too, like everyone else." "I'm not bleeding, but my chest really hurts here." "A wound of the heart?"
"Love?"
He awoke with a start and tried to sit up, then gasped at the excruciating pain that shot throughout his shoulder.
It was dark, so very dark. He tried to call up the sand – it could bring light, he could make it – but none would come.
He scrabbled frantically, trying to move despite the pain. The sand had never not obeyed before…
What would happen if he was attacked? Would the sand still protect him by itself?
Something violet exploded over his head and hung there with a vaguely illuminating light. He jumped, gasped again, and repeated the exercise when someone spoke.
"You are a fool," said a voice with the eerie quality of leaves skittering over stone. "I told you not to put her to sleep. I did not tell you to get yourself killed."
Anger flared as he twisted, disregarding the pain, and tried to find the source of the voice in the near-darkness.
"Who are you?" he demanded coldly. "I am not dead, as you can plainly see. I think you are the fool here."
"No, no, I'm quite sure you're the fool," responded the stranger airily. "As I can plainly see that you are dead." The voice hardened dangerously.
"And you have no right to ask who I am."
He shivered at the tone, but he hid it well.
"Then perhaps you can at least explain why you keep calling me dead when I'm clearly alive."
"The mist sword did not miss your heart," the other stated simply.
"But I'm talking to you," he exploded finally.
"Is the sand responding?"
That froze him, and he readopted his icy tone.
"I believe you know the answer to that better than I do."
"Yes," agreed the strange thoughtfully. Finally, the speaker stepped into the dim, colored light.
Most would have called her beautiful, though Gaara himself was indifferent. Her hair was waist-length and ebony, her eyes a bottomless blue-violet. She was tall, slim, weary.
Gaara looked at her icily. "If I'm dead, then why am I… living, such as it is?"
"Because you awoke Vallan," explained the young woman dully. "And you have to put her back to sleep before you die.
"Which means," she continued, ignoring Gaara's startled flinch, "that you have a choice. I think, perhaps, that you can figure out exactly what the terms of that choice are on your own. Suffice to say, the mist demon will kill millions."
"What difference does it make to me?" he asked, ice practically dripping from his words.
"What do you think?" she countered.
He glared; she responded with the same. Quite suddenly, agony jolted through his body and darkness swept over him.
--
His heart hadn't hurt like this for a long time. He knew, of course, that this time, it was because he'd had a sword through it, but it was so reminiscent of all those years ago.
He gazed with disinterest around at the landscape. There was more sand, of course, but this was not the place where he had fought the mist demon, Vallan, and "died". Bodies lay, scattered, across the terrain, blood staining the desert a brilliant crimson.
The dead were of the village he once would have called "his", the Village of Hidden Sand. But he'd long since forsaken the place, and the beast's killing of the people of his "home" didn't bother him in the least.
In fact, he thought that he just might go join in it.
--
She was so, so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep.
She wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Bits and pieces flitted about her head, but noting definite, and nothing that made any sense. Mostly what she saw was a lot of gold, and a lot of red, and the occasional glimpse of a sort of seafoam green. Mist laced her vision, blurring it, washing away the dream like the ocean washed away words written in sand.
Sand.
Gaara!
He was the only thing she could remember from the dream. Searching for him, finding him, seeing him, touching him… kissing him.
Gaara.
He had done something, something important, in the dream. If only she could remember what it was.
Ah, yes. He had been the one to wake her up.
With this realization came the screaming. The pain of every person she – Vallan – had killed since she woke up filled her mind, locking onto her and tugging her mercilessly into the flaming depths of despair.
Gaara… Please, save me…
She didn't remember how much he'd already hurt her.
--
Death flew from his fingertips; he regarded it coldly. The people who'd shunned him so long ago were finally paying the price for it – with their lives. It was their own fault, really.
But why did he need to justify it? He needed to give his reasons to no one. He didn't even need reasons.
The mist demon had moved on, searching for other prey, bored by these fools. But he found it very satisfying, holding their lives in his hands.
Finally, he was the predator again.
--
She had been walking for a very long time, and it was sort of tiring. She had been hoping to escape this particular scene before she rested, but it just went on and on and on. It was a beach, but it reminded her too much of him – the sand beneath her bare feet, the sea that was the exact color of his eyes in the morning light, the brilliant red of the sandstone cliffs in the distance. She just wanted to go somewhere else, but the beach refused to fade. The only place that could remind her more of him would be a desert.
With a sigh, she lay down in the sand. It was warm and relaxing – or it should have been, but it really wasn't. She sat up and stared at the horizon.
Idly, she began writing in the sand. For several minutes, her finger moved without her mind comprehending. Finally, she paused and read it, then swallowed, hard. It was a lot to have written in such a short time, especially without realizing it.
All I want is love
But all I find is pain
So I close my eyes and listen
Only to the hate
You're like a rose
Trampled on the ground
Once the door is closed
You are forever bound
They say such words
They call me names
And it burns me to the core
But all I do is hide
Locked behind a stone
Buried in the sand
Rejected and alone
You tried to take a stand
What I found was death
It makes me feel alive
I ran away
And called it love
What you became
You can't blame upon yourself
They set your world aflame
And shoved you on the shelf
I was a tool
A weapon to be used
I couldn't take that
But I didn't have to kill
Maybe you did
There's no way to tell
What the world forbids
'Twas their fault that you fell
Don't you see?
This isn't me
This isn't who I want to be
No one understands
Except me
The loneliness we share
I will always see
When others shout and stare
There's nothing you can do
Don't speak to me again
We're not alike
We never were
I called you friend
Long ago, I told you so
I spoke of what I knew
I reached out all those years ago
Go.
"A song for Gaara," she said softly. And then she began to cry.
--
Death soaked into the sand and tears fell thicker than rain on the bodies. Satisfied, mostly, he moved on.
He hadn't killed the Kazekage. It wasn't that he didn't want to – though he wasn't in the mood for the position just now – but the man had been nowhere to be found.
But still, he felt that he had finally been paid what he was owed. They were sorry that they had tormented him so long ago.
He didn't realize that this only proved to them that they were right to call him monster.
--
The tendrils of mist that still drifted about could have led him straight to Vallan, but he went in the opposite direction. The demon could wreak its havoc and he would wreak his.
Since he didn't have a specific destination in mind, he didn't teleport, instead deigning to walk. A small desert hare bounded across the landscape; he killed it without a thought, taking its life in a fountain of blood.
Gradually, he became aware of a battle in his mind that was not his own.
The first voice was that of the Shukaku of Sand, the sand incarnate that was locked inside him. It was urging him to go the other way and fight the mist demon – it desired a challenge. But its bloodthirsty commands were almost completely drowned out by something very strange.
A song.
Two different voices sang, one flowing and confident, the other awkward and uncertain. He recognized both. One was Ayama's.
The other was his.
He slammed his fist sideways into the air, as if it would make the song cease. Sand rose at his command so he had something to strike, but it dispersed before he hit it, depriving him of even the slightest sting to distract him from the frustration.
"Go the hell away!" he shouted into the empty desert. "All of you – just go away!"
For once, the Shukaku listened to him and its voice ceased.
But the song went on.
"Shut up," he said furiously, losing his cool yet again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, starting with when she had come.
"Just leave me alone."
--
He avoided people after that. How could he not? There was no way he could go among others with his mind in such turmoil, even if he was only going to kill them. He could not show his weakness to anyone, not even if they'd take the secret to their grave.
Everywhere he went, there was mist. He never went towards it, but it was always there, even if he went in the opposite direction. It was following him. He couldn't escape it.
He regarded it coldly. He wanted to shout, but he didn't. He only kept going the other way.
And he wouldn't admit to himself that he was running away.
--
He finally found it – or rather, it finally found him, since he was doing his best to avoid it. The beast stood before him, its massive sides heaving with frustration at seeing its presumed-dead prey still alive and kicking – well, kicking anyway; he wasn't sure about alive.
He didn't want to fight it. If he succeeded in binding it, with or without killing the girl inside, then he would die, if the strange young woman was to be believed. If he had interpreted her correctly.
He turned away, intending to leave the beast in "peace". It didn't think too much of this plan, though. Enormous, ragged wings beating furiously, Vallan leapt over Gaara's head and landed with a thunderous jolt on the other side, obviously determined to cut him off whichever way he turned.
He glared at it coldly, his shell restored – for now. "Desert Avalanche," he pronounced quietly.
While the creature was overtaken by what seemed like half the desert, Gaara of the Sand "activated" Desert Suspension and hovered several feet about the fog demon, which was at least twenty feet tall.
How was he supposed to put it to sleep, anyway? With or without destroying Ayama? What was he supposed to do, sing it a lullaby?
The fact that he was even asking meant that he was considering it, and he wasn't, so he stopped.
From above, he watched as a swarm of other ninjas caught up to the mist demon. It shook Gaara's avalanche off and roared as they rained useless attacks down on it. Their techniques did even less damage than his had.
To him, his proved that he was stronger than all the rest. He didn't stop to think. If he had, he would have realized that it was because Ayama was more affected by him than by anyone else, and always had been, even with Vallan as the dominant personality.
Or maybe he didn't want to realize it.
Disinterested, he turned his gaze away. It was time to leave the desert. Perhaps then he could escape the mist.
--
She had been awake for so many days, and she was so tired. She wondered idly how long humans could go without sleep, then remembered that Gaara was human, and he never slept, so people with demons inside obviously didn't follow the same physical rules.
She would have thought that, after sleeping for years, she would have been overjoyed to have some time awake, but it had only been a week at the most, and she was restless and so, so tired. All she wanted was to sleep, but all she got was more blood on her hands.
Where was he?
Gaara… Gaara, please…
Why hadn't he come yet? It had been so long. So many people had died – why hadn't he stopped her yet?
She always knew more when she was asleep, but she could never remember what she knew when she woke up. It always faded, like the dream it was. Sometimes, there were brief memories that remained, but – like a dream – mostly just the main idea stuck around. The main idea, or nothing.
Well, the main idea was Gaara. And that's all she knew.
So why wasn't he here? Why wouldn't he let her sleep?
Sometimes, she could see through Vallan's eyes, and even influence the demon ever-so-slightly. Just enough to keep the beast unwittingly following Gaara. But she never found him before the beast forced her out.
She still walked along the beach, even though it had been days. Usually, she had found some other place by now.
She felt the subtle tug on the edge of her mind that meant that she could see through the demon's eyes again and followed it, hope in her heart. The beach dissolved, and she saw the desert again.
And more death.
She flinched and tried to turn away from the death she had caused, but now that she saw with Vallan's eyes, she couldn't control what she saw.
Vallan's head turned, looking around for more prey, and Ayama of the Fog cried out.
He was there.
"Desert Avalanche," he said coldly, and she felt a surge of hope. Would he finally, finally save her?
But, through the oncoming rush of sand, she saw him turn away, fly up above, and do nothing.
And her hope died.
Gaara! No! Please! You're supposed to save me!
The beast roared again, and while the other ninjas heard fury, Gaara heard anguish. He froze in midair.
"Ayama?" he whispered disbelievingly. "Are you there?" Reluctantly, he spun slowly to look at the creature.
But Ayama was gone, lost in the depths of her desperation, leaving behind only the demon's rage.
--
It was known as the Forest of Death, but he felt no danger from its shadows. The desert was gone; there was mist here, but natural. Under the fog demon's control if it so desired, yes, but for now, this mist was "free". He had escaped Vallan.
He didn't know that it was because the mage inside had given up.
Gaara of the Desert wandered aimlessly through the misty morning forest, thoughtlessly crushing any of the so-called monsters. Heh. "Monsters". He was more of a monster than these creatures were.
"And remember that all their words are lies. Monster will never be your true name."
He growled into the silence and killed an approaching giant slug in an explosion of blood and sand.
The sun began to rise higher into the sky. It was the beginning of autumn already, he realized, noticing the scattering of fallen leaves and the lack of foliage that let the light through, intruding on his dark thoughts. The mist began to burn away in the sun's rays.
The mist began to burn away…
Burn?
Stop it, he told himself, again and again. It didn't matter if the mist could burn away, because he wasn't going back.
…we both know that loneliness is this world's worst kind of pain…
He tried to punch a tree furiously, but the sand rose and gently wrapped around his wrist, holding him back. He snarled, but the sand would not let him go, would not even give him the satisfaction of taking out his frustration on a tree.
Instead, the sand funneled into the tree through a hollow in the trunk, and then it erupted with a spray of sand and splinters. But it didn't help much.
"Fine. Fine! I'll go back," he said furiously to no one in particular. And he tried not to think about how he would die if he did.
--
She was dreaming of fire, except, of course, she was awake, so that meant it wasn't a dream. Flames licked at her body, but she felt no burns spread across her body. She did not turn black, or crumple up, or die. There wasn't even any physical pain, which was what had led her to believe that it was a dream in the first place.
The only pain came from her heart, from some hidden knowledge, and that was what burned like a thousand infernos.
The odd thing was, she wasn't on fire, and neither was Vallan, as far as she could tell. This world inside the demon's head held many things, but she had never before seen fire here, and her connection told her that the beast in the "outside" world hadn't seen so much as a spark.
She wound her way higher and higher into the mountains, the firestorm trailing her. While she was asleep, she couldn't technically die, because it would have only been a dream, but in this world, she could, if she tried hard enough.
She'd always been afraid of death. But now it seemed like she'd already died. Of course, she didn't know what true death felt like, but her heart certainly had not survived.
She would not speak that name. She would not even think it.
She tripped over a stone in the middle of the steep path and turned to glare at it, but the illusionary flames hazed across her vision and made it hard to make out any detail. She pivoted and walked on.
And, quite suddenly, stopped again. This time, the flames were real.
She screamed. On and on and on the sound went, rising into a ghostly, inhuman wail. The fire ate away at her body, ripping flesh from bones, yet leaving her intact. Tears of flame fell from her eyes. Moisture seeped from the air, draining away the last of the mist that she had just begun to regain.
"Gaara!" she screamed, forgetting her vow. "Gaara!" It was the only word she still knew.
--
He watched the flames burn higher and higher from a distance. The beast writhed in pain, crying out with Ayama's voice as all the mist evaporated from its body. He had to force himself not to race over and put out the fire.
Vallan leapt away, its massive paws hitting the ground with thunderous rumbles, each bound taking it twice the length of his gargantuan body. He followed it, high in the air, where no one would see.
As it flew, it set villages on fire, trees alight. Everything was in flames. He glanced at them, thought of what it would be like to turn this world into true Hell, and sent sand to smother the fires of the world.
--
Vallan reached the desert, trailing fire, and then the inferno finally burned away the last of the demon's fog, and it was no longer able to move. It stood, paralyzed, whimpering in pain. Then it began to dissolve, its body flowing as mist in a thousand different directions, only to be incinerated, as it were.
A crowd had gathered. Irritated, he ordered the sand to form a solid wall around the flames and the rapidly shrinking demon.
People looked nervously at each other as they recognized the handiwork, muttering among themselves. Most backed away. He tried to feel satisfaction at the fact that they respected him, but all he felt was sadness because they feared him.
Fading out of focus, he teleported inside the barrier. Vallan was completely gone, and he caused a wave of sand to put out the fire before it burned Ayama as well.
She was lying, prone, caressed by sand. He realized that she was still awake, and he had to find a way to put her to sleep, and quickly.
Would it kill her, even now that Vallan was not in control? He didn't have a choice. He'd just have to take his chances.
Awkwardly, a scattering of sand rose into the form of a pipe. He'd never played before, and it didn't seem all too likely to put her to sleep, but he had no other ideas.
As sand whistled through the golden pipe, producing an eerie melody, yet more twined around the fallen mist mage's wrists and hardened, replacing the chains he had destroyed.
Her eyelids fluttered and the new chains solidified into gleaming silver bracelets. The song died.
"I believe," she murmured, "that it is customary to welcome someone back with a kiss."
But when she opened her eyes, no one was there.
--
When he was out of sight and hearing distance, the expected happened and he sank beneath the sand.
It was the incredible darkness again; again, the sand would not come to his command. He searched through the shadows for the stranger.
"So now I die," he stated neutrally.
"No."
Unwillingly, he started. The pain in his shoulder, which had faded into the back of his mind, returned full force. The violet sphere illuminated a small area once more.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm sending you back to life," she responded dully.
"Please elaborate. Why did you not do that before?" he asked coldly.
"Because I couldn't, before," she mumbled, and it was so obviously a lie that he narrowed his unnatural eyes and opened his mouth to protest. But she amended her statement before he'd finished.
"And because I needed time to decide."
He waited in silence. He could see her now, and she seemed almost… ashamed.
"You see," she whispered, "restoring life to one who is dead requires the sacrifice of another life to provide the one returning with a spirit."
It took him a moment to comprehend. "I'll have your spirit inside of me? I don't even know your name!"
"No," she said softly. "Your own spirit will return. With the sand."
He bowed his head, something he never would have done before. "Why did you restore my control, even though I was… dead?"
"Because you needed it."
"It's true," he agreed hollowly. "With the sand, I can do anything."
She nodded. Then agony shot through his body, and she faded.
--
Silver tears fell from her grey eyes, pupilless and blank once more. She tried to call the mist to carry her away, but it would not come. There was no fog within her anymore; it had all been burned away.
She hung her head, and then, unexpectedly, something brushed gently across her face.
Startled, she glanced up. A tendril of silver dust drifted through the air, mist fused to sand. She gasped and, on impulse, looked up.
He stood there, just a figure in the distance with a shock of red hair. She didn't know whether to be relieved or guilty, but she did feel hopeful once again. He had saved her, she knew.
"Don't follow, Ayama of the Fog," he called, crushing her brutally. "But don't forget, either."
Sadness flowed through her, but still, she found the energy to call out a correction. "Silvered Sand."
He was puzzled, so she clarified.
"Ayama of the Silvered Sand now. I have no more fog."
There was a pause. Then, surprisingly, he smiled, and he was gone, leaving her in her dreams.
END "Silvered Sand: A Gaara Story" END