Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Village Hidden in The Sand was shrouded in the darkness of night. The streets were quiet, except for the drifts of sand slipping silently over carved stone walls. As if sentient, the sands lifted, caressing doorways and window frames, alert to any movement out of the norm for the sleeping village.
High above the hive-like streets, Lord Gaara paced across the rooftop of his home, his body buzzing with unexplained anxiety. The Kazekage had his hand outstretched while he guided his sands through the city restlessly, hyper-aware of their every movement. Even searching as he was, he could not find the source of the anxiety that plagued him. No enemy was hidden within the shadows.
That evening, like most nights, he was one of the few souls awake in Suna, with only the night sentries hidden in their secret alcoves to keep him company. On any other evening, his fellow shinobi would not have minded if he joined them to pass the time. They were used to their leader’s fickle sleep schedule, and now that he was not a raging lunatic, he had forged some small bonds with a few of them. Seeing the Lord Kazekage walking the streets at all hours was no unusual sight, but tonight was different, and Gaara did not crave their company.
Nevertheless, Gaara swept his sands across their booted feet in greeting, reassuring his faithful warriors in some small way that he was protecting them. The sand rubbed against his loyal guards, much like an over-affectionate cat, before it moved on, continuing the search for that elusive something.
He was miserable company on the best of days. This evening, he was in a particularly foul mood. He had his reasoning. Not many could stay awake for well over a week and not be cross. Gaara was accustomed to restless nights; it was customary for someone with his…affliction. However, even he was reaching his limit.
The redhead was on the last dregs of energy, and his eyes were so weighed down he didn’t know how he kept them open. Muscles ached with a bone-deep tension that ate at his concentration. Worse yet was the ache of his head, the incessant throbbing of his blood pressure audible enough he was surprised no one else could hear it.
Try as he might, rest was as elusive as water in the desert, pulling tauntingly at his mind. Out of reach despite his desperation. Instead, an exhausting combination of horrid insomnia and equally disconcerting trepidation dragged at the edges of his mind, keeping him wide awake. It denied his body even the cat naps that usually kept exhaustion at bay and buzzed at the back of his mind, gnawing and insisting something was wrong.
The young man knew it was an irrational fear; nothing of import had happened since the unease had started several weeks before. Nevertheless, he felt it growing stronger day by day until it was an obsession. His mind was consumed with paranoia and worry. It had progressed far enough that even his advisers noted the strain he was under.
Yura, his trusted advisor, had first noticed and insisted he take time off. Gaara was no fool, and while work was the only thing keeping him focused, he knew he wasn’t thinking straight, and he reluctantly complied.
I’m losing it. Gaara thought, his mouth turned down in a frown of dissatisfaction. He didn’t like that his weakness was so on display. He preferred his people see nothing but the stoic mask he presented to them. All it took was a whisper in the right ear, and the wolves waiting for a sign of failure would be at his throat.
That afternoon, Gaara had hardly known what to do with himself. It was the first time off he had taken since his ascension. At first, he had tried to do as he had been asked and get some sleep. Seeking it for hours with an edge of desperation, he tossed and turned in his bed with the heat of the desert beating down upon him.
He only gave up when the sun fell overhead, casting the sand-hewn city in darkness. He was as restless and drunk from exhaustion as ever. It had been easy to bypass his guard and slip from the balcony up to the rooftops above his room.
Gaara felt calmer when taking some kind of action. His warrior mind had never liked being stationary, and he desperately wanted a reason for this overwhelming paranoia. Something was wrong. He just couldn’t place what.
Fear stirred in his belly, a fear that told him he might just be regressing, falling back into the Old Gaara, the one he had hoped was locked away forever. He had been young then, too young to experience such insanity, too young to know how to cope. Still, he remembered what it had been like the madness.
He remembered how his mind twisted things, making him cruel and heartless. He remembered the fear and loneliness that had haunted him, hardening his heart and soul. A hardness he was still working to break down even now.
You’re fine, you’re fine. This will pass. Gaara tried to tell himself, gnawing on his lower lip, which was already raw from mistreatment.
His restless limbs carried unshod feet over the gritty surface of the dome of his apartment, overlooking the entirety of his home. Sand swirled around him in the breeze-less air, just as agitated as its wielder. Below him, his sands finished covering the city, and found nothing but the odd drunk and a few lizards. All of it was to be expected on such a hot summer’s eve.
“Nothing…” Gaara heaved out a breath of both relief and frustration. “Dammit,” he growled, the gravel of his voice deepened by the fatigue dragging at his bones.
It wasn't that he was unhappy to know his people were safe—that was good; that was his ultimate goal—but he also longed for something to attack. He wanted some physical reasoning behind the unreasonable emotions clawing at his mind.
He let his ass hit the rooftop and dropped back against the rough rock, his hair clinging to the textured surface as he stared up at the night sky, cloudless and shining with stars, stars that blurred with his tired eyes. It was beautiful. A beauty that he couldn’t even appreciate.
A skitter of sound had him jerking upright, quiet and almost imperceptible if not for his heightened senses. His gaze found not some nefarious villain but rather the bright yellow-green form of a jeweled scarab. It teetered toward him, walking on stick-thin legs that seemed too small for its body, working its way closer and closer.
When it was close enough Gaara sent it away with a flick of his black-tipped fingers—feeling oddly satisfied when it skittered over the edge of the building. He had the urge to let it fall but let his sand catch it instead and drop the insect to the ground far below.
With little else to do and anxiety still screaming beneath the quiet facade of his features, Gaara sat upright once more. Obsessively, Gaara sent the sands to the very outskirts of the small town one last time and found more of the same nothingness that he had encountered the first several rounds. This was useless, so very useless.
Logically, he knew he needed to calm down. Outside of his citizenry, very few people knew that the sand quietly blowing through the street belonged to the Kazekage. An intruder would not hide their activities from a little bit of dust. Which meant he had to place the unease he felt toward his failing psyche.
“Enough already,” he told himself, getting to his feet. Abruptly, he jerked his hand through the air, frustration at his mind making him sharper than he intended. His sand jumped to his bidding, reacting as though electrified. It sped through the city towards its housing. Sliding over stone and rooftop on a wind all its own. When it finally reached him, it siphoned over the thick adobe Gaara stood upon before rushing to gather in the gourd strapped to his back. The warrior’s shoulders sagged as the sands settled, the weight familiar and soothing.
Reluctantly, he jumped down from the rooftop to the balcony below. Once inside his modest apartment, he dropped the large gourd into its usual corner, the cork wiggling as if to tell Gaara goodnight when he walked away. Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his taught muscles to relieve that bone-deep ache and tried to shake free the crawling anxiety that pulled at him.
He had not felt this way in so long, but it was familiar. Before he tamed his mind, Gaara had let it be his excuse for his cruel ways. For years, Gaara had been one with the demon inside him. If it was released, he cared not. If it killed, he cared not. If he killed, he cared not. He had been cruel and alone, his entire being just waiting for death to make him feel a little bit more alive. Some may have thought it suicidal, but Garra thought it inevitable. Even now.
What disturbed Gaara most was that he was starting to feel it, that burning need to kill, the rise of rage and pure, uncontrolled hatred he had come to associate with his demon parasite. He was fraying, turning back into the monster.
“Shit, shit, shit.” he gasped, covering his eyes with his hands. He could barely stand the thought, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he fought back a surge of panic. “I just need to sleep,” he muttered into the empty room, rubbing his gritty hands against his face, the ever-present shield of sand coating his skin, not allowing him to touch even himself.
Hoping to catch even a moment’s reprieve, he shrugged off his robe, the top falling to collect around the sash at his waist. The messy-haired youth fell into his bed, the pillows cushioning his aching body. He found he loved soft things, a weakness he allowed himself after his strict upbringing. Usually, it allowed him to relax, soothing the daily pains that came with his existence. Right then, he merely felt suffocated by the swath of blankets and pillows and found himself kicking the excess bedding away.
He lay there, sprawled out like a sea star, staring at the stucco ceiling in the flickering lamplight—minutes ticked by, minutes that felt like hours.
He longed to seek out his older siblings, Kankuro and Temari, just for some company. Perhaps his brother had some of the leftover sleep powder from the Leaf Village, just a little, to help him relax. He was reluctant to take anything on an average day; he never wanted to risk waking Shukaku, but Garra did not know how long he could keep going the way he was.
“No need to worry them,” he whispered against the pillows, scrubbing his face against the cool sheets after brewing on the thought for a moment.
The truth was Gaara had not felt this close to the demon in a very long time. He dared not let anyone see the weakness consuming him, even his siblings. He was terrified they would see him losing control, relapsing into his former self. He did not know if he could bear to see the fear return to their features if he told them he was losing his mind again. He was only just starting to repair their relationship and win back the trust he had lost.
You are Kazekage now. Gaara reminded himself the weight of responsibility was more than the sand he carried on his back. He was young. Some said too young for the title, but he would be damned if he would let anyone take that away from him. He had remade himself, reborn from the bloodied sands of his insanity. People trusted and believed in him now, and he would not let them down.
“What, little Lord? Do you think they do not see the real you? Eh, Gaara?” Came the whisper of Shukaku’s voice, the sound making the redhead jerk upright after having lived so long in the demon's absence. Gaara had grown so used to the quiet that the creature's voice grated against his mind, the sensation like fragments of glass piercing his head. Gaara pressed a hand to his temple, heaving out a measured breath.
“Shut up. Go back to sleep, Shukaku,” he growled, panting as the pain spiked; the sand on his skin rippled with irritation at being unable to protect its wielder, as was its purpose. Gaara dragged himself to his feet, fingertips digging into his hair while bile rose in his throat.
It hurt. How he could have forgotten this sensation, he had no idea. He had grown so used to it as a boy he had barely even felt it. Now, after so long a reprieve from the beast, he felt the malevolent presence burbling confidently beneath the surface, foul and defiant.
No, no, no. He can’t be. He hasn’t been active in so long. Gaara thought desperately, willing himself to take a deep breath; he had to bury Shukaku back in his cage.
“Ah, ah, ah! It won’t be that easy, human,” Shukaku roared, his voice tapering into a soothing coo as though he spoke to a younger Gaara. “ Did you think they could forget about everything you have done to them?”
“Why are you here?” Gaara panted, glancing around the room as if the demon could somehow leave his body and manifest physically. Impossible.
“Even you can’t forget what you WANTED to do to them?” The beast continued, ignoring Gaara’s question, instead whittling at the young man's self-worth, knowing full well Gaara could do nothing to silence him. It was so easy for Shukaku to invade his host's fragmented mind. “I know everything you STILL want to do to them. You want their blood as much as I do!” the demon crooned on.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Gaara swayed in place. His mouth parted in pain as the words rang true. The beast was twisting his thoughts with ease, exhaustion making his mind as malleable as clay.
“You miss it, do you not? I know you do. I am in your head, little lordling.”
“No!” Gaara hissed, his mind whispering to him the alluring thought that , yes , he did miss the killing. He remembered the feeling of having utter control over someone's life, of knowing he had so much power that he could smother every person he knew in sand. To suffocate them, just as insomnia did to him.
“Do not deny it! You want to taste their blood. You want to bend them to your will and destroy them!” Shukaku screamed, his voice ricocheting about his head. Gaara could practically feel the demon clawing within, demanding to be set free and wreak havoc.
The memory of who he had been was revolting to his older self. At the peak of his despair and loneliness, the redhead had given in to the acceptance that the monster had offered him. He had been desperate, craving even that little bit of nurturing. He had accepted the demon's power in return and paid the price with the corruption of his very soul.
It had taken everything Gaara had to contain the beast after being one himself for so many years. It had been even harder to tame his dark urges, to become more than just the Monster of the Sand Village. Now, he was its protector, its leader, and someone who deserved the love of his own family.
The demon had been a slumbering presence in the back of his mind ever since, sullen but blissfully quiet. He might suffer from the horrible, disgusting urge to kill now and then, but he would never act on it unless it were to protect his people. Never again. He knew that. He knew that!
“What do you want, Shukaku?” Gaara choked out, his body shaking with strain.
"Is it so hard to guess, puny child? I want freedom! I will not sit quietly in this prison any longer!” the beast growled, its power ripping at the weakened shinobi, much stronger than Gaara had ever felt. “Don’t you feel it? The seal weakens.”
“What?” Gaara whispered. It couldn’t be. Gaara was quick to act. If Shukaku were telling the truth, then he had to repair the seal before Shukaku took advantage of the weakness.
Gaara projected his mind outward, activating his Third Eye with a mad twisting of his hands. Within moments he could see everything as if floating above his body. He looked crazed and panicked, but that wasn’t what Gaara cared about. He focused on the seal tattooed into his back, unnoticeable beneath the layer of sand covering his skin. Yet, it was visible to his other eye.
There, seared into his skin like a brand, the spiraling, glowing sigil spanning his left side and up over his back. It was the seal that tied the Sand spirit within him, and it was weakening. The red ink going dark with evil. Without that seal, Shukaku would be free. Free to reak havoc and destroy what Garra had fought to regain.
Fuck, not good. Gaara thought, staggering toward the door. He would need more than just his own power to stop this.
He didn’t get more than a step before he felt more than saw a surge of chakra, not his own. He caught a brief glimpse of that foreign power dance just at the edge of his vision, but he had no chance to find its source before suddenly, the Demon Seal fractured.
“Yes! Yes! Let me free!” Shukaku cried, excitement rippling through Gaara’s mind. Gaara tried to stop the seal from turning any further, jaw clenched tight as he shoved chakra into the reservoir that contained the beast, but it was too late. Shukaku was awakening, and he was going to break the seal entirely.
“No.” Gaara ground out. He could barely get his legs to work he was so focused on containing the seal.
“ You can’t say I didn’t give you a choice.” Shukaku sang excitedly. Gaara wasn’t prepared for what came next as Shukaku attacked from within.
Gaara staggered as he felt an incredible pressure in his back before three invisible claws began to pierce through his flesh from within. Gaara’s breath gurgled in his throat at the surprised agony. His Third Eye abruptly cut off, and he fell back into his body and kept going, collapsing to the floor. His vision washed out red, his back arching as he tried to escape the pain that had no physical source.
Oh god, oh god. He thought, spittle bubbling at the corner of his lip as he struggled to breathe. This was wrong, all wrong. How could this be happening? His voice was frozen within his vocal cords as blood seeped through the sand-shield from beneath the thin layer, turning it a muddy red. His silence didn’t last for long when Shukaku began dragging his claws down Gaara’s back, straight toward his seal. A low groan of agony
“ So close! Just a little further, princeling!” Shukaku shouted excitedly. He didn’t care now if he killed his host. He would be free soon enough, and he wouldn’t need his meat puppet any longer.
”No, you can’t-” Gaara gasped, realizing what was happening. He understood now. The anxiety he had felt these past weeks had not been from some outside force but rather from the growing power of the demon within him. Shukaku had been quiet, gathering his strength for just this moment. Gaara’s chakra had sensed the growth of power, though he had not been able to understand it until now.
“You’ve been storing your power. You stopped me from sleeping. So you could get free.” Gaara groaned in realization, his bloodshot gaze staring back from the mirror with terror. How? How had he done this?
“ Of course, human. Did you think this vessel could hold me forever? I am patient; a year in your life is nothing to me. As soon as you stopped feeding me, I knew I had to escape. From there, it was just a matter of time. ” the demon whispered cruelly, the whirling mass of him trapped within Gaara, testing the prison locking him in place. “ It was so easy to break you once you thought you had control. Pitiful.”
“I won’t let you out, Shukaku,” Gaara groaned, his hands twisting in his hair while he struggled to wrangle the beast back into submission.
“ Just let it happen, child. Let me restore our power.” the demon asked gently, like a father to his child, even as he clawed at Gaara, ready to escape. The wounds threatened the integrity of the seal, and the symbol on Gaara’s skin hummed with tension.
Much further, and I won’t be able to hold him back. Gaara thought, terrified at the very idea. He was in the middle of the village. Shukaku could kill everyone he cared for, and Gaara would be helpless to do anything to stop him.
As if he could hear Gaara's thoughts, the beast roared within, and Gaara cried out when control over his left arm was taken without warning. Shukaku was not kind. Gaaara’s pale skin and muscle split down the middle, gore bursting across the wall as the demon took control brutally. The beast's flesh ripped through his without resistance, and a broken scream of torment tore past Gaara’s lips. He could do nothing to stop the monster as it tore apart his arm. Gaara clawed at the offending limb, blood dripping across his chest as he writhed on the ground.
The pain was unbearable, and his vision whited out as it overwhelmed him, far too much for a person with his low pain tolerance. Gaara fell back hard against the floor, his head knocking against the sandstone, the pain unnoticed in the overwhelming crush of what was being done to his body. The sound of someone screaming made its way through his muddled mind, and he quickly realized he was the one making such a wretched sound. He closed his mouth abruptly, teeth biting off the noise with an audible click, turning screams to groans of agony.
His lapse gave Shukaku enough time to transform his limb fully, and mottled skin overtook what remained of pale human flesh. Gaara’s eyes rolled in his head as he felt the transformation creep up his forearm. He clutched at his arm, fighting through the agony to try and swim above it. His teeth started chattering as shock settled into his mind, endorphins blissfully washing over his brain, dimming the pain down to something less than torture.
Shukaku roared in anticipation within Gaara, uncaring of the damage he was doing to his host. It was worth it. If only so that he could kill everyone important to the young ninja. The beast knew he had one chance to wipe out all the boy held dear. With any luck, without all the pesky ties of family, friends, and home, Gaara would return to his old, dark ways.
“No, no, no.” Gaara groaned, his lips bloodied where he had bit his cheek in reaction to the pain. He sucked in a trembling breath and tried to force his numbing mind to function. Concentrate. You can do this. Contain him. That was all he could focus on at the moment—one thing at a time.
Gaara breathed shallowly, shoving his chakra back into the seal, filling the gaps in the jutsu with his own power. He narrowly stopped the change, threatening to crawl up his shoulder, his skin splitting slowly where their two powers warred. It was like sealing a dam with a bandage, but it worked for now. Shukaku’s half-transformed limb flopped to the ground.