Disclaimer: I own neither Naruto nor Fairy Tail. Naruto is written by Masashi Kishimoto. Fairy Tail is written by Hiro Mashima.

Chapter 3

Temari sat behind an ornate desk in an office overlooking a scorching desert village. Organized piles of paper were stacked high, while others existed haphazardly strewn across the desk. It was not the paperwork staring back at her that held her attention, but a photograph. After the final battle had been won, after the Juubi had been sealed and the dead had been accounted for, among those missing, the body of her little brother, the Godaime Kazekage, Sabaku no Gaara, was nowhere to be found.

Being counted among the missing, it gave many hope to someday see him alive. Naruto, the bright source of optimism that he was, was soon to be running on fumes looking for his missing brother-in-all-but-blood. Temari had to wonder if her brother would ever be found, or how long it would take for the sun to lose hope.

A hand, as delicate as it was deadly, reached out, grasping the picture by the frame. The younger faces of herself and her brothers stared back at her through the glass. To photo itself was weathered with age, having been folded and sun bleached. A couple of the corners were dog-eared, and it looked like one of the edges had been touched by the flames of war. Fitting in a way. The war had matured each of them, etching wear into each of their faces, just like the wear to the photograph. No one had been spared from the cruel touch of war.

Being the oldest, she was now the acting Kazekage, at least until such a time as they could bring Gaara home. Kankuro had since been placed on medical leave. She counted herself lucky that he was doing as well as he was after the injury he had suffered. It also helped, she supposed, that they were good friends with one of the greatest medics in the Elemental Nations. Sakura had worked tirelessly to help save her little brother.

Crystal trails marked their way across a young but weary face. "Wherever it is you've found yourself, I hope they have warm words on a cool evening, a full moon on a dark night, and a smooth road to guide you home... Come home soon, little brother." It was little more than a whisper, but to the ghosts of the past, there was scarcely more to offer. "We'll all be here waiting for you..."

. . .

Tensions were running higher than they'd ever been in the cell. It had been too long since anyone had seen hide or hair of the guards. What had started as fear, was slowly giving way to frustration and anger amongst the small populus.

With tempers high, most were waiting for the almost audible snap that would accompany the end of Red's patience. The quiet stranger, for all that he seemed gentle, exuded a dangerous aura that sparked many stories and speculations by the children. The general consensus, it seemed, was that the scarlet-haired man had something to do with it, each story becoming more fantastical than the last. As for the man himself, he spent most of his days in what the children assumed to be a meditation, however that was only partially true.

Gaara, Red, the stranger with hair the color of blood, whatever name he was called by, sat silently, absolutely still, as he stretched his awareness. Any chakra signature he judged to be of ill intent was quickly dealt with before it got too close to the group. His sand swallowing guards and any other personnel, but, with his reserves so low, it was exhausting work. At this point he was sure he was running more on spite than out of any actual sense of justice or protection.

Gaara's newfound ruthless streak also bore a new viciousness within him. Using his sand to set traps, he used his knowledge of chakra to drain what little any who found themselves ensnared could supply, leaving their bodies little more than husks to be consumed by his sand. His injury was the salvation of his captors. Although he was healing, he could do little more than stand, and it would take too much energy and leave him much too vulnerable to use his sand as a lift. His captors would learn the true meaning of fear once he regained his mobility. Until then, he supposed he could settle for this demented game of cat and mouse.

. . .

"Unacceptable!" The guard stationed as head over the Tower of Heaven found himself in counsel with the man who was the mastermind behind the whole operation. He was just as powerful and terrifying as rumors had suggested. "Tell me, what seems to be the hold up? Have you some pathetic excuse as to why you have fallen behind schedule! Is there nothing you are neglecting to report?" A telling silence met the accusation, almost deafening in its thickness and damning in its weight. "Or have you, in your foolishness, forgotten our purpose?" The clear articulation that accented each slowly spoken and carefully chosen word was chilling. "I was under the impression that even someone like you could not botch such a simple job. An error of judgement on my part, it seems. Or perhaps, you are acknowledging you have outlived your usefulness?"

"It's not that simple!" The rotund man protested. Deceitful words dripped from his mouth, with the consistency and slickness of oil. "They've been separated based on their potential magical abilities. Without a wizard it simply won't work." He was grasping at straws now. They both knew it.

"Not that simple? Then speak! What foolishness have you to blame for your tardiness? For your oversight?"

"But-! The prisoner! He-"

"But what? Have you come to explain to me that you are incapable of handling just one prisoner? I am well aware how little an effect magic has had on him. Try something else! Fool, I am not ignorant of the demands required of this process! Nor of your own failings! What excuse have you, that I have not heard before? Need I remind you, the clock is ticking? No more setbacks, or your life will be forfeit!"

"Of course! My men will have everything ready in three weeks."

"You have one. This is your only warning. Our Lord will not suffer you incompetence, but I…" he paused here, as if in contemplation. "I am merciful. Remember this. Be gone, now, from my presence."

"O-of course! Thank you for your generosity!" The man stuttered out in obvious fear, "It shall be done, you won't regret it!"

"And one more thing," the dark figure called out to him as he turned to leave. "Let this serve as a reminder to you, there will not be a next time." The guard didn't even have time to feel pain before he fell, dead, to the floor in a heap of blood and bones. His second in command, who bore witness to the events, would not be making the same mistakes.

"Yes!" And after paying his respects, he left.

. . .

"Wakey, wakey, little birds!" The exhausted occupants of the cell awoke to the slimey, and almost gleeful, voices of their captors. Red, who had also succumbed to sleep, woke with a start. His mind fuzzy, a strange sweet scent lingering in his memories. "Ha, ha, ha! Little birds, trapped inside a cage! Can you hear them cry?"

Masks.

"Yeah~!" Another guard slid into their line of sight, "Such pretty little chirps! So urgent! Such fear!" A sharp grin broke across his face, "Delicious~!" Even though he couldn't see his face, the eyes of the guard betrayed his cruel intentions.

The guards were wearing masks.

"And I think I know just who is volunteering today!"

Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for, the audible snap of Red's control. "Īe!" The kids watched, fearful and awestruck, as the very floor broke apart, erecting guards on pikes and swallowing others whole. But for each guard that fell, another three took their place, "Sabaku Kyū!"

They had been gassed with a sleeping agent, one his body was already fighting to burn through. He fought hard, but in his drug addled state he never noticed the guard that grabbed him tight, forcing a sweet-scented rag over his nose and mouth. "Now, now, pretty little red bird, you've been quite the thorn in our side." His eyes became heavier. More and more guards entered the enclosed space, working quickly to restrain him. No, I can't sleep now! There were too many hostages at their disposal, and Gaara knew he was quickly running out of chakra. His body went limp, his eyes falling closed.

Even as he slipped back into a drug induced sleep, he knew he would always remember the terrified eyes of the children, watching fearfully as he raged.

And the deafening sound of shackles snapping closed echoed through the darkness that overtook him.

. . .

The weeks after Red had been taken were slow. A cold sense of dread hung heavy in the air. The first few days they were left alone to deal with the aftermath and to make whatever repairs were necessary. Whatever Red's magic had done, had fryed the artificial ley lines and circuitry that helped power their area of the tower.

She shuddered as all of the horrific possibilities that awaited them flashed through her skull, each one more terrifying to her than the last. The graphic scenes became more real and terrifying than ever each time she closed her eyes, leading her into a restless delirium until her body succumbed to the darkness due to her lack of sleep.

Food was usually scarce, but it was now quickly becoming a luxury item. That is, they were left to starve for nearly a week before food became a prospect once more. There was just one catch. Only one would receive a meal. As stomachs ached and complained the bait was certainly appetizing, but fear kept most of their group silent.

She distracted herself by looking out across the blue horizon, wondering what life was like there. Imagining a happy family, a village where they were free and Rob took care of them, a place where the world didn't weigh so much and they smiled and laughed and danced, and they could eat every night until their bellies were full to the point that they might even burst. She thought it was a pretty dream.

"Come now," a guard called in a plastic voice she was sure was meant to sound comforting, "why must you believe that all of us have ulterior motives? It's been four days, you must be starving." A predator searching for easy prey. "Well I guess I'll just have to finish this all by myself." All eyes watched the guard closely as he turned to leave. One step, then two.

Another.

And one more.

He just about over the threshold- "Wait! Take me with you!"

And the trap had been sprung.

Reality hit her like cold water, causing goosebumps to run up her arms and her hair to stand on end, sending a chill through her body that froze her down to the bone (or perhaps it was just the evening chill crawling across the water and into their poorly insulated space, as she had seen more than a few pass in the night from the cold). She feared. She feared for the ones who were taken, she feared for those who stayed, and most of all... she feared for herself. It was dark and all-encompassing. She knew, with a cold certainty, that there would be no escape for them.

When this happened, she instead wondered about death. Would it be quick and painless? Long and drawn out? What awaited them after? Certainly it was better than this... but what if it wasn't? Would she see the others again? Would she be all alone? Rob didn't like to talk much about death, none of the adults did, too worried it might scare them, or maybe they were scared themselves. Either way, that left the answer up to their imaginations. Between the truth and her imagination, she didn't know what scared her more.

When she wasn't worrying about their non-existent future, her mind wandered to Red. They hadn't seen him since his gruesome outburst. She wondered if he was even alive, but told herself not to think on such things. If he was lucky, he had suffered a quick death. He was obviously very powerful, but she didn't think he had been a bad person. He was kind and caring in his own way, if not a little quiet. She wondered what it would be like to be that strong. Strong enough to protect everyone, strong enough not to be afraid. It must be nice.

"One day," she promised herself, "I'll be strong too." Strong enough to protect everyone I care about.

. . .

Gaara came-to, dizzy and disoriented, as he was being dragged through the halls to an unfamiliar location. Struggling, he quickly learned, was of no use to him at the moment. Instead, it earned him a knee to the stomach, courtesy of the help. His arms were shackled tight behind his back, the metal cuffs biting roughly into the skin of his arms. Soon the air became more foul, and he tried to pull away, struggling harder to no avail. A stale scent, saturated by decay, rolled through him. It was one he was intimately familiar with, having spent so much time on the battlefield.

His stomach turned, his nose burned. He felt himself go pale, his blood pressure dropping as chills racked his spine. A cold air of knowledge washed over him, bringing goose-bumps in its wake.

"Well~, look who's finally with us!" The guards all wore the same masks. There were no obvious features that separated one from another. "Don't you worry a hair on that head of yours, red bird, we've got something special planned for ya'. As a guest here, it would be rude if we didn't provide ya' the proper hospitality."

They stopped in front of a heavy metal door, locked by an equally heavy bolt. It whined sharply as it swung out, hurting Gaara's sensitive ears.

Forcing himself to relax, he was picked up by the scruff of his neck and shoved through the doorway. Once inside, the cuffs of the shackles were separated and resealed in front of his body, then attached to rigging that hoisted his arms up high above his head, enough that he was forced to stand on the balls of his feet.

"Like we told the boss, this little experiment needs magic to work." A large armed man stalked towards him, stopping a breath away from his face. He had to angle his neck down just to look the guard in the eye, "And you… You've been a right pain in our ass." He held the guard's gaze, refusing to look away or bend to his will, even as the putrid stench of his breath ran across his face, adding to the cacophony of scents making his stomach churn. "You're a mystery. Just washed up here one day, injured. I don't know about you, but that just stinks of suspicious activities. Even in your injured state, you've been in our way. Now, we're here to fill in the gaps. You understand that, right?"

A large, meaty hand caressed his face, gently at first, before pulling him roughly. "We've got gaps in our knowledge about you." A sharp crack echoed through the room and a bruise began to blossom across his cheek, "Who you are," smack, "where you're from," smack, "how much magic you've got." His captor's hand caressed his bruising face once more. "This experiment will take a fair amount. So get comfortable, this will only hurt a lot." A cruel smile painted itself across his face, "And don't you worry about those brats. If you fail, you won't be seeing them again anyway, and then one of the others can take your place."

The large man turned to leave. Halfway to the door he stopped and turned partially to face him, "In fact, I think that mousey, red-haired wretch might make the perfect substitute. She looks like she could be family…" Laughing darkly he turned and left Gaara to the cold silence and scent of decay.

. . .

In a sense, it was worse than when he first woke up bleeding to death in a dirty, overcrowded cell. Time moved differently in this place, or more accurately, the sense of time was so messed up it could have been minutes, hours, days, weeks… Months. He was torturing himself, trapped in his own mind.

No windows. Just a dim light, sometimes flickering but always on. If he concentrated, he could hear the dull drip, drip, drip of water somewhere behind him. The room was bleak and barren, a kind of grimy, rusted gray.

How long had it been? How long had he been in this place? Was it the tower? The room? Did it matter if he differentiated the time between them? Or were they the same?

Grains of sand countdown the time. The time has no meaning. It slips through the hourglass, dry like blood. Mud cracking in the desert heat.

How can there be time, if time has no meaning?

There seemed to be no set schedule he received meals on, either to further confuse his sense of time, or to break him from reality. Or maybe it was punishment for his lack of cooperation. Or they only fed him when they remembered.

He just wanted to rest his arms. They were so tired.

Tired like Shukaku. Shukaku was tired too. Or maybe he was. Yes… That sounded correct. Perhaps he could just rest his eyes?

Eyes like the moon at night. And feral blood, and bodies of sand.

The stench of decay, the iron of blood. Monster that he was.

But… The sun had eclipsed the moon? Stars are suns, the moon had friends. Friends with gaping maws, and fanged smiles. Nine-

Nine…

Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine… Brothers and sisters!

Kyūbi, Naruto, Konoha.

Hachibi, Killer B, Kumo.

Nanabi, Fu, Taki.

Rokubi, Utakata, Kiri.

Gobi, Han, Iwa.

Yonbi, Rōshi, Iwa.

Sanbi,Yagura, Kiri.

Nibi, Yugito, Kumo.

Ichibi, Gaara, Suna.

A voice in the back of his head whispered that he was Gaara, but he paid it no attention.

Where was he again?

The whining of the door brought his attention to the entrance of his room. Where he had expected to see the guard from before, he instead watched as the great form of Shukaku squeezed through the metal frame. Those great yellow eyes that he remembered in his nightmares locked with his own jade.

"Knock-knock, host." A fanged smile, dripping blood like sand as the moon watched with cold eyes from above. "It's been awhile since I last saw you. Now, come greet your mother!"

The following shriek was deafening before becoming tinged with hysterical, sobbing laughter.

. . .

Time marched viciously through his skull. Each beat a sick mockery of the pounding ache splitting his head right down to the gray matter. Lights danced above him, haloed in whites and yellows and oranges. Spots of green and red filling the void as he blinked his eyes, trying desperately to clear his vision. Colors smeared together and his ears rang with a thousand, no tens of thousands, of voices. Each one familiar, calling out to him, begging even, for either mercy or death. Time was an illusion. A trap, both physical and mental. It was a prison, as much as a form of torture.

How long had it been?

Were these the same walls? There were the great sandstone towers he grew up with, they were often present in his dreams. There were the walls of his room, bare and lifeless. The walls that separated him from other people were high too.

How long had he been sleeping?

Was he even really awake?

Vaguely he recalled a philosopher that had voiced a similar thought. How did it go again?

Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chou. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again.

"... Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man." His words were rough and breathy as they caught in his throat, coming out as more of an indecipherable rasp than actual language.

Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a distinction. The transition is called the transformation of material things.

His eyes ached, the echo of the pain reverberating throughout his skull. His thoughts were thick, his throat so dry and scratchy, his skin moist and feverish. Even if he could stand, he held no illusion that his body could support him. His mind flashed back to a time when he was younger. When he had no control, no friends, no one he cared about. Back to when he would cocoon himself away, to emerge as a different being. But he was no butterfly. He wasn't some beautiful, ethereal being. Not even a moth. He emerged as a horrible monstrous creature. A creature made of blood and nightmares, with eyes like perverted stars and teeth that shone like daggers in the moonlight.

The ultimate defense, they called it. More like a cocoon from which their sacrifice emerged as a monster. A demon.

Sacrifice. All this time, and he was unsure he would ever be able to completely escape that title. It had been driven into his head as a child and youth, by strangers and family alike. No matter how much time would pass, he didn't think he would ever be able to forget.

How do you define time, when time holds no meaning?

. . .

AN: 11 May, 2019

Hey dudes! It's been a bit since I last posted a chapter, hasn't it? Oh, well. I can't promise that the next chapters will be posted any quicker, but I do plan on continuing the story. Also, I would like to give a big thank you to ice shredder for the Beta Reading of this chapter.

Catch you on the flip side,

Alewar