Chapter 7
Yashamaru (approximate time: 4:00 PM)
Gaara was going to walk back home, alone, to an empty house. Yashamaru knew Katiya had already left the area, and if she was lucky, was out of the village at that time. He knew of Katiya's plan to leave, but hadn't bothered informing the Kazekage. He had his orders regardless—to "test" out Gaara's abilities—now of all times. It was four hours after noon, and Yashamaru was watching the house from his perch about 300 meters away through a portable telescope.
It's for the best. It's for the best. It's for the best, he told himself.
This was the only way, but that didn't mean it couldn't break his heart.
He was wearing his ANBU uniform, his physical mask—a white cloth around the lower half of his face was secure. His mental one—the one he used to stop himself from killing his Kazekage in a suicide mission, harming Gaara even further—from crying at the moment—riddled was with holes, just moments from cracking.
It's for the best. It's for the best. It's for the best.
He padded the interior of his vest with unarmed (at the moment) paper bombs. If his plan went wrong, a last resort. He had to make this as swift, as merciful, as possible. For him. For both of them. He knew, no matter what he would do, his life would not make it through the night. The sheets scratched against his sweaty shirt, and made it hard to move, but no more so than his non-falling tears and weighty consciousness did. He just had to wait until nightfall, and then it'll all be over.
Katiya (approximate time: 4:00 PM)
Katiya's heart pounded. She was tired, but the tiredness was nothing compared to what she had gone through before, as a shinobi on the run with her parents before, even after settling in the Land of Waves. It was nothing compared with what her mother had gone through, trying to escape Kirigakure. It was nothing compared to her father, running away from the Second Shinobi War.
Katiya was used to running, even if it had been a long time ago.
Using the map of the underground caves and cisterns Yashamaru gave her, along with a chakra seal of his to open the exit doors without an alarm going off, Katiya escaped the village in record time. She exited from a rocky outcropping, a hidden one for emergency evacuation from Suna, kilometers away. It was more than what she could've asked for if she wanted to escape secretly, really. No need to waste energy on genjutsu or border patrol.
She checked the seal on the hidden door after exiting. Still good. There was no heading back now. There was no way for her to get back in the same way she entered, the old seal still intact, for exit-only. The only way back into Suna was through Suna's main gate, guarded by the Kazekage's own ANBU.
She began to run to the next mountain in the distance, producing a pair of shadow clones* every ten kilometers or so to throw the scent, before dispelling them and repeating the process. If one were to look from the sky, one would see the jagged path the true Katiya took east. Water was scarce here, making her thankful for her father's teachings. If only you were here now, she thought with a half sad, half amused, bittersweet smile. Her father would've muttered some quiet joke about the Kazekage's manners, something that was much to be desired.
She was out of the village, and running exposed in the desert, hoping to reach safety before night. The cooling and falling sun to her back.
Author's Note
The underground network of caves and cisterns was not exactly my idea. It came from slyfoxcub's Hearts as False as Stairs of Sand - Shakespeare fiction, on this same platform. It was a good idea... one I didn't exactly ask for permission to use... but since it's an idea, I'm not sure I have to? (Great minds think alike?)
This is a fanfiction... (please don't sue me)... I believe in "mimicry is the highest form of flattery philosophy"... (slyfoxcub, please don't kill me)...
For the purpose of this fiction... the Clone Jutsu is genin-standard, the Shadow Clone Jutsu is dangerous to use but jonin common (Shizune used it in the anime), and the Multi-Shadow Clone Jutsu is forbidden because most people die from chakra exhaustion making so many clones.
Gaara* (approximate time: 6:00 PM)
Gaara left the shop himself, to an empty alleyway. "Katiya" went off to pretend to do an errand, after Gaara told her he wanted to be alone. Slowly and apprehensively, he began to walk, very slowly, back home. Most people who did see him ignored him. But that was alright with him.
He made an attempt to take the more deserted streets to leave himself to his thoughts. Katiya had told him that his sand was under his control, but that he had to make sure it stayed that way or he'd injure someone. He learned that like adrenaline and chakra output, it was attuned to his emotions, things he couldn't control. But the last thing he wanted was someone shrieking, sending himself into fear, and them into death.
Because that'd make villagers upset, and make him even more lonely, according to Katiya and Yashamaru.
He also didn't want to accidentally dispel Katiya's shadow clone so soon. He knew he'd miss her.
…
By the time he reached the edge of his neighborhood, the sun was beginning to set. Dusk was rolling in. A full moon was beginning to rise.
BANG. A door smacked open.
Shuffle-shuffle trudge. Someone was rounding the corner.
Some drunk was staggering out of a bar, but he had the unlucky pleasure of being both drunk and in Gaara's presence. He glared at Gaara, as if Gaara were a monster, something most villagers had learned not to do. Rather than the indifference he and his sand gave those villagers, this drunk was met with fear from Gaara and anger from his sand and the demon within. And then the will that was once Gaara's was replaced by something else.
"Hhhhfffffttttt…" Gaara sucked in a breath.
Gaara was ill-at-ease, and his sand therefore more prone to reacting, Shukaku much stronger. With that glare that called to the monster within him, a monster rose up. The scent of blood thickened even before any had been spilt, from Gaara's inner demon. tHaT HaTrED. The sand writhed and twisted. Gaara's heart pounded.
KiLL hiM, GAARA.
And before he knew it, the man's life had been snuffed out. And Gaara couldn't do anything to stop it.
Yashamaru (approximate time: 12:00 AM)
Midnight. Yashamaru knew Katiya must have already left. She, by the time she received his letter to her—or any news of what was truly about to take part, would be long gone and too far to do anything.
The Kazekage informed him of a villager's death that occurred during the day. The Kazekage blamed the boy's instability, sanctioning the necessity of a psychological test now, of all times. But Yashamaru knew better.
It was going to begin soon. And then all of it would end.
He wanted it to be swift. The least amount of pain for Gaara.
But Yashamaru knew, in his heart, that the Kazekage's plan would never come to fruition, not in the way he intended. The test, Yashamaru knew, was never going to yield good results. But doing what he planned to do would mean a virgin girl would never be burdened with child and a young boy would have the strength to stand on his own—and up to his father. Even if it was going to cost him his own life.
It's for the best.
Gaara* (approximate time: 12:00 AM)
Gaara was on the rooftop of his home, gazing at the stars, and the moon. Beautiful and intoxicating, for reasons he didn't understand. Katiya said to listen to Yashamaru, but Yashamaru didn't say anything about not going up to the roof, so he had gone there. To listen to his thoughts in peace. His thoughts, not Shukaku's.
Because he still had a little bit of control.
It was just like him gazing at the stars from his bed, really. There was no difference. Quiet, and peaceful.
It was that time, with Gaara's back to him, that Yashamaru launched his attack. Over a dozen kunai, all of them aimed at vital, instant-kill points. Gaara, if it were just him, would have never been able to respond. But it wasn't just him. Karura was right there with Gaara, her spirit still trying to protect her precious son. Her chakra within Gaara's sand leapt up, and then so did the demon. Together, they blocked all the kunai, and even pushed them (and Yashamaru) back, injuring him.
Gaara—and Shukaku made a fist. And the assailant's bones cracked. Yashamaru was then thrown back into a wall of the building's rooftop chimney, his back hitting it with a cracking thud. Yashamaru closed his eyes for a moment. He armed the paper bombs under his vest with a light amount of chakra release, now no longer able to move.
The trance Gaara entered to protect himself broke. Gaara looked at the body horrified, "W-w-who?!?"
Gaara, in shock at the injured shinobi before him, reached to the assassin's—Yashamaru's mask—half to check who was and half to check if his would-be assassin was still alive. His hands trembled. Yashamaru, who did not intend such a thing to happen, was too weak to resist.
"W-who are you?!?" Gaara repeated.
Gaara pulled the mask off. It revealed the bloody and bruised face of Uncle Yashamaru. Gaara gasped. "Y-Y-Yashamaru!" he cried.
Yashamaru's eyes narrowed, it was beginning to become hard to keep his eyes open. Yashamaru's first plan had failed, to die anonymously with Gaara and there was no way to salvage what was left of Yashamaru's plan to mercifully kill his nephew—his son now. But Yashamaru had already half suspected such an occurrence would be true. Perhaps it was fate—or his sister's will. But he could still use his words—to give him… the strength he would need to face—to kill—or even to survive the Kazekage. Prevent the Kazekage from ever using him properly, like a docile puppet. What he would say next would damn the young boy forever, but it would ensure he'd survive, even if he were to ever have to go without his mother's blessing, anger fueling the tankard of chakra he knew already laid in the boy.
"Why?" Gaara cracked out, on the verge of hyperventilation. "Why, Yashamaru?!? Why?" I thought you were someone else… anyone else… not you! It can't be you!
"It… was… an order. I... Was ordered to kill you… By… Your father, Lord Kazekage…"
"F-Father? Wh—why? Why me?" Why me? Why me? Why me?!? WHY ME?!?
"You.. were born with the Shukaku of the Sand… and so observed like a guinea pig… But you could not control the power of the Shukaku… you were… unable… Your existence was deemed a danger to the village…"
A danger? "—Then you did this unwillingly because Father ordered you to!" Gaara tried. His heart thumped loudly. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. But Gaara still had hope for his relationship with Yashamaru. He wouldn't do this if he didn't have to—he wouldn't!
"No. That is not correct," came the deadpan reply. Gaara's heart stopped. "It's true, I received the order… but I could have refused… if I… wished… to. Deep in my heart, I hated you… You took the life… of my beloved sister… I tried to love you as my beloved sister's precious… child… but I couldn't."
Gaara watched Yashamaru in horror, processing his words. His hope shattered. Hated me?... Couldn't… love me? He couldn't love me?!?
He CoULdN't LoVE YoU, something within him whispered, a voice he had heard before, one Katiya told him not to listen to—Shukaku's.
Yashamaru continued, "My sister did not wish for your birth… You took the life of my… beloved sister when you were born. She became this village's sacrifice," Yashamaru spat, "and she died cursing this village."
Cursing this village? Me… A-a curse? The words rung though Gaara's mind, as clear and crisp as a bell. A cUrSe, it echoed, the voice intoxicating and deep with power.
"After that, I carried a wound that can never heal… My sister gave you that name, Gaara. A demon that only loves himself."
A dEmOn. A dEMoN ThAt oNLy LoVEs HiMSeLF, the booming, wild, voice laughed.
"Love only yourself. Fight only for yourself. By doing so… you can continue to exist. Your name… carries her wishes. My sister did not give you your name because she cared for you… or loved you… she gave you that name so you'd continue to exist… because she hated and cursed this village… and wanted her deep hatred to… exist and remain… to let others… know of it…"
HaTrEd. You were born from—out of—HaTrEd.
The voice and his own became the same.
There is no way to remove—to relieve—the PaiN FrOm YoUr ChESt.
There was No LoVE Gaara that could get from Yashamaru. And Katiya's Gone, GoNE, GONE because Yashamaru helped her leave. He heLPeD HER RuN AwaY FroM HIM. ShE NeVeR LoVed YoU. NO OnE DiD, the voice—Shukaku giggled. TheY ALL LiED. ThEY ALL HaTED YoU. No OnE CaReS.
LoVE oNLy YoUrsELf. FiGHt OnLY fOr yOuRSeLF, Shukaku repeated.
Gaara sat there, tears streaming down his face now. YoU'Re A CurSE on THis ViLLagE, GaaRA. BoRN oUT of HaTrEd. YoUr VeRY MoTHeR HaTEd YoU.
Something tugged at Gaara's gut, burned in Gaara's throat, and clawed at Gaara's heart. Something wild.
"Now die." Yashamaru whispered, closing his eyes and tearing open his tan Suna-nun vest. The bombs were set, and burning their fuses, even before Yashamaru began his damning speech.
...
Boom.
With that explosion, something within Gaara broke. With that explosion, something shattered that would not be put back together, something perhaps much more dangerous than hope. Something that could not be put back together for a long, long time.
Gaara's sand swirled to protect him, saving him from a blast that would've killed anyone else, especially at that age.
Silence rang through the night, as if the bomb never went off.
Gaara's tears were streams down his face. His sand, from his automatic shield, dropped down. He was nEVeR LovED. YoU WerE NeVEr LoVEd.
You'RE FeaReD. YoU'RE HatEd. HaTEd bY EVERYONE. BeCaUse YoU'rE UnCoNTroLLaBLE.
Gaara's expression froze. Uncontrollable. He had no control. He had no love. He'd PrOVe TheM WrOnG. I'LL ProVE My eXiSteNCE. I'LL LoVE mYsELf. I'LL LoVE OnLY MySeLF. He'd have control. He'd prove himself bETtER tHan aLL Of ThEM.
He threw his sand outward in wild and wide arcs, the first time he could control his sand all on his own. The tugging in his gut didn't get any better, no, it burned and clawed at him, but he found that he loved it. The power of it, the sensation of it. YoU'rE a WeAPoN, GAARA, taStE it, TAstE MY—oUR—PowER. The tendrils, then reaching up, then into himself. Anyone in the area, if they were brave enough to look, would have seen the strangely blank expression on Gaara's face as he sent his sand crashing into himself, his tears frozen in his eyes now. But there was no one around.
No one to stop him, not this time. No one to tell him he was alright. So the demon within took control.
Gaara screamed, into the night, shattering the silence a few moments before, to mirror his shattered heart. "AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhh!" they roared.
LoVE, he etched into the left of his forehead with his sand. LOvE, in the elegant and painful kanji of his native tongue. The chakra pushed into the wound, ensuring it would never heal. LOVE, a thing he did not need, not from anyone else, because he'd LoVE HiMsELf.
After all of it, Gaara simply sat there. Silent. The experience, a chapter of the life of an innocent Gaara, over. He sat there, allowing the blood from his forehead to dribble down the side of his face. Droplets of red on the floor.
Drip. Drip... Drip.
The moon glaring at him in the background.
It was only the beginning.
Author's Note:
As usual: stuff with an asterisk next to is stuff paraphrased or damn near quoted (hells, it probably is quoted, I don't even remember right now) from the original NARUTO. I THEREFORE DO NOT OWN THE TEXT. NOT REALLY. It's words the characters said, scenes the creator of NARUTO drew, chopped up and put into words. But I make no profit from it and I think the scene is pretty darn good for the story so it's in here. Just another disclaimer.
Also a bit of a note: I played a bit with the time frames of the Gaara-psych-test… but I think I made it work. Let me know in the reviews, etc., etc.