The Carnage Called Love

Author's note

NARUTO with the Sand Siblings and an OC as main characters. Story picks up one year after the Uchiha Massacre, when Team Seven and Co. are still in the academy, when Gaara is six and a half-ish. There are mini-time skips throughout, but they should be fairly easy to catch. Think episode-based time skips, like how a TV show would work. Rated PG-13/T for violence and a bit about suicide and mental illness. If those items listed are sensitive issues for you, please use your own judgement and discretion. Violence should be no worse than that of the TV series.

Obviously a fanfiction, so no ownership of NARUTO and the like for the entire thing and all characters involved except for the OC(s). Some canon episode fragments will be embedded into the story and swirled around… or paraphrased into the piece, but they are hopefully to the enhancement of a story I make no profit from. Those parts should be easy to find if you watch NARUTO, and the section title will have an asterisk next to it. I also have a few paraphrased quotes from life and authors I like… and if so, it will have an asterisk afterwards (assuming this platform doesn't edit it out). You can find all of the original quotes and their authors at the author's note at the end of that section.

Do note that I tend to use world-building as filler... and that this fiction intends (as of 05/20/2022) to be fairly canon (referring to the anime, unfortunately since I have no access to the manga so far) compliant, with the exception of artistic liberties. There is also ample use of "science" (emphasis on the quotes) in this fiction. Hence, the world-building as filler and "artistic liberties" aspect of my changes to this fiction's version of "canon".

… Gaara's swingset is also now on the roof of some building, where no one would go (because sandstorms), because I like it like that, as well. (It makes another reason, besides Gaara, why the playground's always deserted.)

Read no further than you are comfortable. If you don't like, don't read. Flip side: if you begin noticing words of this fiction "popping out of the page", your pupils are probably dilating and constricting rapidly—AKA time for you to take a break from reading. Breaks can be important to processing what you've experienced throughout the day (or a reading session). How long a break needs to be varies by person. This fiction is built by sections, then chapters, then arcs. Arcs, denotations of what I consider good major stopping points.

Intended final word count: roughly 400,000 words. Official midpoint of the fiction:

06-04, Ch: 50 (Arc 06, Chapter 50)

Prologue

Gaara (approximate time: 2:00 PM)

Gaara was always left alone. Alone, if he was lucky. Bullied and attacked when he was not. Either way, alone and friendless, no one willing to get near him, save for Yashamaru.

As if he was a monster, the young six-year old he was.

Of course, he was, but Gaara was the only one who didn't know that. Not really, anyways. Still in denial, despite the whispers he heard. Still more-or-less coddled by the blissful ignorance and the assurance that company, such as Yashamaru, provided him. He didn't know there was anything wrong with himself, besides he was whatever a Jinchuriki was, and that he had something inside of him that made him "cursed", but he didn't know what—or how—or why—being a Jinchuriki made him so alone.

Gaara was alone even now, perched on his playground swing, the rooftop playground all to himself, watching the children play in the area below him. They were kicking around a tanned leather ball, joyous laughter lighting their faces. Oblivious to his silent watching. To his presence, which would have started a storm of hatred and fear at his expense. To his longing, to join such a game. To feel wanted. To feel at home.

The sun shone and glistened on his pale skin, his blood red hair a flame against the light tan sand of his "home". He swung his legs out to push his swing forward lightly, stretching his hand up to his face to rub his eyes. Light tears. Either from the sand blowing up from a nearby sandstorm, or from the loneliness of never being able to approach anyone without them running away, we'd never know.

His eyes, however, marked with the very reason why he was avoided like the plague. Eyes, that like a raccoon, were ringed with black. Eyes, that like Shukaku the One-Tail within him, marked him as a monster; for he was a Jinchuriki, a demon host whose birth killed his mother, perhaps the only person who truly loved him. Save for Yashamaru, of course (the only reason why he wasn't left an orphan to his own father's hostility.)

Gaara knew the myths. Gaara heard the whispers. But Gaara, in his childhood innocence, still didn't understand what it meant. Why it meant solely Yashamaru, his uncle still cared for him. He still longed for company, for friends.

Katiya (approximate time: 2:15 PM)

Katiya was just entering Sunagakure, after leaving the last oasis in the desert the shinobi village was situated in. She was met with stares upon entering the borders. Katiya was used to stares. Sure, lone young kunoichi walking the streets was common, it being a shinobi country, but obviously being an outsider? That attracted attention.

For all intents and purposes, Katiya was fifteen, the average age of the average chunin-level shinobi. In reality, she was… just a tad older. Katiya was born before the Third Shinobi War, meaning she was actually near her twenties. An interesting twist of fate and a forbidden life extension jutsu made sure she never aged, though. (And made sure she never saw her mother again, but that was a tale for a later time.)

Katiya was in the Land of Wind, the aforementioned wind currently attempting to gouge her eyes out with sand, the two things that dump was known for. Had it been her choice, she would have settled in the Land of Waterfalls, which was only a little bit off from her home atmosphere, the Land of Waves, but that didn't happen. Instead, she just had to keep moving, and pray none of the Suna shinobi realized they were more-or-less hiding what was more-or-less of a fugitive who may have stolen a few scrolls from a library in Takigakure.

Honestly. What kind of library doesn't allow people to check out their scrolls? They weren't even Forbidden Scrolls, Katiya mentally scoffed. She was certainly an interesting kunoichi, if you would call her that. The Taki-nin, or shinobi from Takigakure, thankfully didn't realize they were missing the scrolls in question (or at least, she knew she wasn't chased out immediately), but the act of theft of the really useful scrolls that Katiya knew she couldn't buy anywhere else made her feel guilty. Especially because Takigakure, being a small village, probably needed all the scrolls it had.

She continued walking with a shrug. It wasn't her problem. If it were really important, and the last of its kind, she bet the Taki government would have classified it and not placed it into a public library for shinobi and civilian use.

Either way, she attracted way too much attention in Takigakure, so she fled to the neighboring Land of Wind, to Sunagakure or "Suna" (the long village names were frequently abbreviated in this manner) to be exact, to hide out for a bit. The Taki-nin would never break the borders, or enter Sunagakure, the shinobi military village of the Land of Wind since that meant instant war between the two countries. She was safe here. Furthermore, the sandstorms being as prevalent as they were, no one batted an eye at the headscarf she wore to hide her face. Instead, she got people like the Suna-nin behind her checking out her chakra levels, which as she knew, were much too high for the average chunin.

Under the white scarf, she pursed her lips. One of them must be one hell of a sensory type, she thought. I know my chakra doesn't flare unless I'm angry, and the jutsu I'm using to walk on the sand is Suna-genin standard. She ducked her head down further. Maybe they're just wary because my chakra signature is new, she hoped.

She turned into an alley leading into one of the understreets, which was littered with stands of various wares and laden with people, camped out under the main streets waiting for the storm to pass. The two shinobi eying her disappeared. Katiya didn't mind. Either they had something better to do, or they finally decided she wasn't a threat. Or they got exactly what they wanted, Katiya mentally added.

But either way, she didn't care. She was going to find herself some food.

Gaara* (the next day, approximate time: 5:30 PM)

Gaara sat on his swing, slowly oscillating back and forth by the push of a wind gust. Today was no different than any other, really. The children were all down below, playing with their ball, just a repeat of the day previously, and the day previously, and the day before that. Happiness and laughter he never knew. He was just left alone up there. He was left alone up there, with his lonely thoughts and him. Shukaku.

Then someone kicked the ball skywards, up, up, up, coming to a landing just a meter away from where Gaara was sitting. The children on the lower level of the sand-strewn street gasping and fearfully looking up to the spot they knew the monster to stay.

Gaara picked the ball up. Maybe if I were to return it to them, they'd like me more, Gaara naively thought. Ignoring his growing headache, he pushed himself to his feet and walked down the rickety metal side stair to the ground. Maybe they'd even let me play.

...

The children recoiled at the sight of him. Fear was strewn on all of their faces, and they all turned to run. Gaara's headache grew stronger.

"Wait!" Gaara called. I just want to play, he thought, come back! Come back!

"NO! Stay away!" They yelled back, all of them now going. Away, away, away.

But I just want to play. Come back! COME BACK! PLEASE! COME BACK! Don't leave me all alone! Gaara dropped the ball, his hand outstretched, trying desperately to reach them. Please—I don't want to be alone! Gaara's expression changed. From that of a lonely child to a heartless demon. With his hair shading his eyes, the mirage of palpable killing intent grew stronger. The shadows of his blood red hair seemingly blocked out any light's ability to reach his eyes. Seemingly.

His sand jumped, its tendrils reaching out, picking up on his distraught emotions. Both he and something other reached forwards. COME BACK—CoME BAcK—CoME BaCk, liTTLE cHiLDrEN, something within him called, CoME BaCK, it sung in a raucous sing-song voice. The tendrils of his sand caught the legs of his village peers. Several of them fell to the floor, bleeding when they hit the deceptively "soft" sandy street, but Gaara hadn't noticed, too focused on the receding form of the person farthest away. The fastest runner. The one most afraid.

The children he'd caught had started screaming. They were in pain, but he didn't let go. He was holding them too tight, but he didn't know. He didn't reach the ones farthest away, not yet, that he did know. ThEy'Re GoINg AwAy, GAARA. dOn'T YoU WanT ThEM tO StAY? He had to reach them, before they left. Before they left him all alone yet again. He wanted them to come back, and his sand reacted. YESSSssss, the voice called with a giggle, Haahhhh Heeehheeehee. With his mind and his sand, he reached, and he saw fear. FeAR. LOoK aT It, GAARA. LoOk aT It On ThEiR FaCes, heh hmmm. DestROy Them. KiLL tHeM aLL, GAARA.

But before he could do so, someone yelled. It was a voice he recognized. Someone he cared for and someone who cared for him. "GAARA! STOP! You can't do this!" that someone—Yashamaru—yelled, running to the scene, panting heavily. His chestnut blonde chin length hair, swirling in tangles against the wind. Yashamaru leapt in front of one of the kids.

But Gaara couldn't, couldn't stop, not in time, and Yashamaru was injured by Gaara's sand, trying to protect one of the girls Gaara had been reaching for. Yashamaru let out a pained cry.

ARRRGGGHHH, the demon within growled, knowing it was going to be thwarted by Yashamaru's effort. By the time Gaara snapped out of it, the tendrils receding back to the sand-strewn floor, one of the sand particles had cut Uncle Yashamaru across his forehead and a tendril of sand had already damaged his arm. Yashamaru looked exhausted, both mentally and physically. He was dressed in nothing but a thin black shirt and trousers, no armor to protect him.

It was Gaara's turn to be afraid. He hadn't done anything of this nature before, but he wasn't afraid of Yashamaru's anger, no. He was afraid of himself. It was the first time he knew he hurt Yashamaru, someone close to him.

Katiya (approximate time: 5:35 PM)

Katiya quietly and swiftly moved to the sound of the noise. The screams. It was in her benefit to go the opposite direction, because being on the scene would solicit suspicion on behalf of the perpetrator, but she wasn't thinking that, not at that moment. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

She stopped on a rooftop behind a standoff between a young red-headed boy and a thirty-year-old man. The boy's chakra… That… killing intent?... It's so… strong, I can sense it even from here, she thought, ducking behind the rim of the flat rooftop. Sand whipped past her, forcing her to shut her eyes for some of it. She shivered and grit her teeth against the killing intent rolling off in waves from the boy.

Reopening her eyes after the sand began to settle, she found herself staring back at the scene. The man was panting heavily. He must have rushed here, like I did when I heard the noise, she thought.

"Gaara. Let's go home," the chestnut-blonde-haired man said to the red-head after the mess. He gestured the direction towards her for "home." She ducked down lower. Gaara, she guessed, looking at the red-head. Such a strange name. Stranger than mine, Katiya noted with a tense wry smile.

She noted the boy's pale face and dark-rimmed eyes. One of them man's arms hung limply to the side. That power, and so young.

She sat there, observing the area even after the two had gone from the scene. It gave her a strange feeling, watching the scene play out. Like something wasn't right, besides his unnatural power. Katiya didn't know what to make of it. She had seen danger, and she had seen uncontrolled. What she got from that was more uncontrolled than anything else…

But what was that? The boy? Or… something else? she wondered.

With a shiver, she released her chakra into her limbs and used the Body Flicker Jutsu to effectively teleport away.

Gaara* (approximate time: 8:45 PM)

Gaara was attempting to stab himself with a kitchen knife. Each time, his sand prevented him, however. A flower of sand, a shield against his knife, magically bloomed wherever he attempted to stab. No matter how fast he did it. But he wanted to stab himself, to hurt himself. To wound himself. Because he did not understand. What was a wound? That red thing that oozed out of one? What was its correlation to pain? What was pain? What was pain?

What is pain?

Why couldn't he get hurt? Why couldn't he understand the other children's pain? Their emotion?

Why? Is that what makes me a monster?

Yashamaru, just entering the living room from his study, looked in shock at the scene before him. There was no blood, of course, but that didn't decrease the horror he felt for his charge attempting to hurt himself. He sped walked (nearly ran) over to Gaara, firmly grabbing his right arm (which dusted itself over with sand under his grip) before another downward swing.

"Gaara. Stop." Yashamaru commanded.

Gaara simply looked up at Yashamaru, wide-eyed and not understanding the disruption.

"Gaara… " Yashamaru paused. How was he going to phrase this? What could he say? "I am to keep an eye on your health and protect you. Please, don't do such a thing in front of me," he said, gesturing the knife.

"But then again, the sand will protect you," Yashamaru murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yashamaru, I'm sorry," Gaara said quietly, just above a whisper, glancing up to the now-bandaged scratch on Yashamaru's forehead.

Yashamaru paused, his heart still pounding. What? "Oh. This? This—It's just a scratch."

Gaara didn't look satisfied. He didn't understand, still didn't, still couldn't. What was pain? After a pause, he tried again. "Do wounds hurt?"

Yashamaru gave Gaara a look. He had to explain to Gaara. It was his duty both as an uncle and a member of the ANBU with Gaara's learning as his mission. But how? "Just a little. It will heal quickly, though."

"Yashamaru," Gaara started again, breaking out of his pensive (and guilty) downward gaze, "What does pain feel like? I've never been hurt before… so I was wondering… how it felt…"

Yashamaru startled. That was what this was about, Yashamaru realized, finally understanding Gaara's (now slightly less horrifying) attempt to harm himself. Yashamaru looked over to his charge sympathetically. Yashamaru knew young Gaara never had any experience with physical pain. Emotional, perhaps, but never physical. His sister's love (and chakra) entwined with Gaara's sand always protected him from such trivialities, both a gift and a curse.

"It's painful and unbearable... Like, when a person is hurt or cut… they become… very ill at ease, and they can't think normally. I can't explain it well, but simply put, it's not a very good condition to be in… Pain is an experience you never want to have again."

"Oh," was Gaara's quiet answer. He had caused Yashamaru pain. "Do you hate me then, Yashamaru?"

"People..." Yashamaru started. It was hard to explain, it was something simply learned later in life. "People hurt each other and get hurt during their lifetimes… But it's… difficult to hate another."

Gaara stared at him, deep in thought. It… made sense? He injured other people, but that didn't mean they hated him. He still had the possibility to make amends. "I-I… Thank you, Yashamaru. I think I finally understand what pain is… Maybe I'm injured too, like everyone else. I always hurt here," Gaara continued, placing, clutching, almost, his chest where his heart laid.

I'm not bleeding, but my chest really hurts here, when I'm alone. When I try to join people, and then when they run away.

Yashamaru's eyes widened slightly. Gaara was understanding. He took the knife Gaara had been using to unsuccessfully stab himself to lightly prick his finger, to Gaara's distress. It stung, but it was bearable. It was for his young nephew.

Gaara gaped in open-mouthed horror.

"Flesh wounds bleed, and they may seem painful, but as time goes by, the pain eventually disappears… And if you use medicine, the wounds heal even faster. But the tricky wounds are the ones in your heart. Those are the most difficult to heal."

"A wound of the heart?" Gaara asked.

"A wound of the heart is different from that of a flesh wound. Unlike a flesh wound, there are no ointments to heal it, and there are times... when they never heal… But there is one thing that can heal a wound of the heart. It's a troublesome medicine, one that you can only receive from another person," Yashamaru said.

Gaara looked at Yashamaru expectantly. "But how? How do I get rid of this pain?"

"The one thing that can heal a wound of the heart is… love."

Gaara looked at Yashamaru, not understanding, but there was such a strong emphasis Uncle Yashamaru used on that word. Love? "How can I get that?" Gaara asked, almost demanding. "What should I do to get rid of this pain?"

"Gaara, you have already received it." Yashamaru said patiently. "Love is… the spirit of devoting yourself to someone important and close to you… And it's expressed by caring for and protecting that person, just like my sister.

"I believe that my sister always loved you, Gaara. And I believe… that she loves you so much… that even… in death, she'd do anything to protect you. That your sand is blessed with her love. The Shukaku of the Sand within you is a weapon usually used for combat purposes, but the reason why the sand automatically protects you is because of love. That's why it hurts me when I see you try to hurt yourself," Yashamaru continued. "I believe the will of your mother is inside the sand. My sister wanted to protect you, even after her death."

Gaara's eyes glistened in what looked like a mixture of wonder, fear, and awe. Gaara edged forward to Yashamaru, then held Yashamaru's hand before placing it into his mouth, to suck up the blood and use his saliva to help coagulate the wound, like he had seen Yashamaru do before.

Love.

Katiya (approximate time: 9:00 PM)

It didn't take a genius to realize that the boy's wild strength and what looked like lack of control were some reasons why he was left alone. Katiya sat down at a restaurant counter, still trying to wrap her head around the scene and calm her nerves. She had been like that before too, out of control. But of course, she had a mother and father to help her through it. And she wasn't so… dangerous? A wave of apprehension at the scene rolled through her, even after all that time. Yet she wasn't worried. She had seen worse.

But where did such strength come from? Even after her mother pushed the last of her chakra into her before dying, she wasn't even that naturally strong. She doubted she had nearly as much power as the boy even now.

The man that went to stop the boy, was that his father? Katiya shook her head. No, that didn't make sense. They didn't look too much alike either, as they both had different eye and hair color. Perhaps, body structure, but that was it. Besides, if that were his father, why didn't he train his son to control his powers? Or have the same powers, or same amount, for that matter? (Those things tended to be hereditary, from Katiya's experience.)

Maybe they were too strong to control? Maybe the villagers were right to fear him? Katiya tilted her head, shaking the thought away. The boy was just a boy, after all.

But what about the others? Besides the kid or his father? Katiya wondered. Screams like those should've drawn the attention of every shinobi in town, at least the ones nearby (and there had to be more than just his "father"). Were the adults in on it—the fear and conspiracy against the child as well? Katiya didn't know, but she did know that she felt sorry for the boy, and that she was going to see what she can learn about it—and maybe about Suna and its jutsu while she was there.

She sat there for a while longer, her rough lopsided bob of dark hair blowing in the wind from the door that hung rather loose on its hinges, free from the white headscarf she had wrapped over her head at last. She hadn't switched to more Suna-common attire yet, so she stood out in her teal qipao-style vest and white t-shirt. Suna residents usually wore light earth-toned clothes, and made sure to cover up to prevent sunburn and stay hydrated in their desert habitat; things she had to do the next morning or she'd turn into a raisin. So, at the moment, she was a combination of hot, sweaty, and very obviously an outsider still.

She ordered her food. I need to find real cover and new clothes soon, she thought. Despite it being a desert, she knew the falling night would bring a freezing chill.

After a hot meal of rice and vulture meat, she found herself checked into a Sunagakure hotel like the average tourist, poring over a scroll on water-style jutsu that may have been stolen, unlike the average tourist.

Yashamaru (approximate time: 9:30 PM)

Yashamaru sent Gaara to bed early, despite knowing he'd never be able to sleep. Gaara seemingly never did, just lying in bed, gazing at the stars and rolling about. But Yashamaru didn't know that for sure even if he did suspect it. (Although whenever he checked on the boy, he did have his eyes clamped shut… even if the boy appeared to be having a nightmare.) He went to bed without a word, which made Yashamaru worry, but he shook the thought away. The girl Gaara attempted to apologize to after their conversation, the one Gaara injured the most, slammed the door on him. It was life, and Yashamaru had to help Gaara through it.

So Yashamaru had to stay up and think; maybe even draft a letter of the Lord Kazekage, the leader of Sunagakure and the military head of the Land of Wind. (Who also happened to be his brother-in-law, a relation he wished he didn't have sometimes.)

Yashamaru still felt his heart pounding like a drum in his ears after that encounter. It troubled him. He was to teach Gaara about pain, and love, both as an uncle… and a father… and as an ANBU black ops member on a mission. Being an uncle agreed with him, but times like these made him regret his decision to become a Suna ANBU member, one of the Lord Kazekage's inner circle of shinobi.

Yashamaru knew that the incident with the children would make the Lord Kazekage, Lord Rasa, step up his plans to assassinate his own son. After all, the incident made Yashamaru's attempts to educate the boy about emotions and make him a controllable little weapon appear as if they were failing, but maybe, with a letter detailing the questions Yashamaru received and answered (and a bit of persuasion) could delay the eventual assassination, at least the ones sent by the Kazekage's own forces.

Yashamaru had a bit of weight as Lord Rasa's right hand in the ANBU, and he had to try. For Gaara. He picked up his calligraphy brush and a scroll of parchment.