The Rumors Were Better Than the Truth, a naruto fanfic

First off, warnings: Sand cest, mentions of continual rape, child molestation and other such domestic violence. I don't think there's any swearing though... 9.9

If you like this check out Kimi no Vanilla's Offering and/or Grateful. Well, really anything by Kimi no Vanilla - she rocks my socks. I wouldn't say this was inspired by those stories, but since I did read them before writing this I can't say for sure whether it was inspired by or just a coincedence of having the same ideas, y'know? I have some other good Gaara centric fics too, but less suna-centered as this.

Disclaimer: if these guys were mine, would I post on No? Good.

The Kazekage's family's dynamic was sick. It was twisted and it was the talk of the village behind closed doors, though word always got back to the Kazekage and family of the things they said. Kazekage didn't care as long as he had power, so he did nothing to stop it. Gaara didn't care because he was alone in his mind, and no one else mattered to him. Kankurou and Temari did nothing because there was no use denying – the talk would continue no matter the truth.

Generally, the rumors weren't as bad as the truth.

The rumors said that the household was generally abusive – that Gaara knocked the shit out of his siblings in return for giving them a vague degree of control over him elsewhere and that Kazekage slept around to make up for the loss of a wife he didn't really love in the first place.

However, that wasn't entirely true. Gaara left Kankurou alone. What most people failed to notice was that Gaara only listened to Temari. In fact, he never hurt Temari except to save her from greater danger, and he never threatened her as he did Kankurou so often. That was because she was the only one to show him any sort of love. Even if it was forced at first…

Gaara did various things at night. He would read, or play games or train sometimes. That was normal enough, for a time. But at some point, he began coming into Temari's room to read. She was nervous, but every night Gaara came in quietly, turned on her small desk-top light and read one of her books. He was always gone when she woke at dawn the next morning.

So she let it pass because who could argue with him? So she let it pass because was he really doing anything wrong? So she let it pass because how could she be upset about a little boy looking for a sort of companionship, weak as it was? He might have been psychotic, but he was her little brother, and she felt she owed him.

She became accustomed to the occasional sound of pages being turned, of the sound of his breathing and the vision of him curled up in the comfortable, padded chair at her desk. He became used to the feeling of her watching him without judgment, and sometimes without even fear, and then the soft, even breathing and rare snore as she slept. Sometimes he would kneel at the side of her mattress and watch her and wonder what it was like to sleep. Sometimes he would touch her and wonder with something like jealousy why everything went right for her. Why she could live so happily while he suffered. He liked those rare times she looked at him without fear. She was the only one who ever looked at him without fear or loathing.

He read all sorts of books there while she slept quietly. He read fantasy and myths and romance. Romance books drove him crazy with confusion, but she had so many, so he kept reading them, trying to piece together what it meant. They gave him headaches. The pain made him cry, and once Temari had woken up and seen him sobbing while holding a book she recognised, and she'd slowly gotten up and put her arms around him.

He'd jolted at the unfamiliar sensation of contact with another human and looked up at her wide-eyed. "It's a sad story…" she had said quietly, smiling weakly.

Gaara shook his head. "I don't understand…" he'd said.

Temari was surprised. She'd thought he was sad about the book. "What do you mean?" she'd asked, kneeling down eye-to-eye with him. She ran a hand through his hair to soothe him, feeling glad she could act like a real big sister for once. She just wanted a normal family life.

"Why do they act like this?" he said, holding up the book and tossing it disdainfully away. "Why do I see them in the streets together, in their bedrooms at night, doing these things that have no meaning! Why do these things matter!" he'd begged her.

"What things, Gaara?" she'd asked, beginning to panic as Gaara's fervor grew, straining to hide her concern from him, lest he feed off it.

"These," he said, taking her hand in his. "These," he'd said, putting his other hand to her cheek. "These…" he'd said, pressing his mouth clumsily to hers. Her eyes widened in shock and she didn't dare pull away. She'd been warned of men taking advantage of her, but this was different – she couldn't defend herself against Gaara.

"And this… they're always doing this! In the books, and at night! Why do they always do this!" he asked, pushing her back into her bed and tearing their clothes off, mimicking the motions he'd seen and read so much about but never understood.

And after that, when she woke up, Gaara was lying next to her, staring at her, his hands at her waist, his head resting on her barely developed fourteen-year-old chest. And the next night, he read for a while, and then came after her again, whispering, "I'm cold, Temari-chan. Make me warm again…" That became how Gaara understood love, and how Temari came to truly fear her little brother, even while she still longed to help him, even though she still cared about what happened to him. It also became the only control they had over Gaara, and so the Kazekage let Gaara rape his older sister, because it was easier to manipulate Temari, and Temari was the only person Gaara would listen to.

Temari saw it as her part, miserable as it was. Her father had spared her, but she was still his tool. She tried to take care of Gaara, even though it hurt. It was twisted, but she loved her little brothers, and she would do anything for Gaara and Kankurou, even allow Gaara to rape her.

Gaara had never thought of Temari and Kankurou as siblings, but since that night, when he had only been a few weeks eleven-years-old, he did not think of Temari as human either. She was somehow exempted from his lust for blood, because at nights she kept him warm and cried herself to sleep with him in her arms.

Of course, rumors got out when the Kazekage's physicians treated her, but she never showed them everything. So when the rumors got back to her about the things Gaara supposedly did to her, they hurt, but not as much as the secret. They'd never hurt as much as the things she knew they didn't know and couldn't prove.

Generally, the rumors weren't as bad as the truth.

However, that wasn't entirely true. Gaara wasn't the reason Kankurou wore thick paint to hide the bruises on his face, or dark clothes that all but covered him entirely. After Kazekage had killed a woman to create Gaara, women avoided him when not in public. Whores couldn't be paid anything to sleep with him, sluts would be nuns before he'd touch them, and desperate virgins decided they could wait till marriage.

At first, Kazekage had come after Temari, but the eight-year-old girl had already been taught many self-defense lessons. After all, the young princess who was the first-born child of the Kazekage and less likely to explode than Gaara was a natural target. So she'd been taught things a girl her age shouldn't need to know for a few years, like how men would try to kidnap her, take advantage of her, and how to fight him. So when her own father was the attacker, she knew how to say 'no' firmly, kick him in the balls and run.

However, Kankurou was not expected to be kidnapped or assaulted. He was not taught to defend himself in such situations, and he had idolized his father. He'd been a perfect son, training hard, hating his little brother dutifully, seeking to be acknowledged. After all, Temari was such a cute little girl, and Gaara was the dangerous secret pride and fear of Kazekage. Kankurou was the forgotten child. In looking back, the puppet master wasn't sure what fate would have been better – his present one, or to continue being forgotten and ignored.

Nevertheless, Kankurou wasn't one to linger on 'what if's as such things couldn't be changed. He certainly didn't idolize his father after that. Because when Kazekage's gifted, rebellious daughter had turned him away, he had gone looking elsewhere. And when Kankurou had failed to perform properly in his training, it gave Kazekage just the excuse he needed to beat the tar out of his son without leaving Kankurou an excuse or reason like Temari.

Of course, simply hurting him was not what Kazekage was interested in. Unlike Temari, Kankurou had been told nothing of the dangers men could present. He was young and he was a boy: no one suspected he would ever have reason to fear such dangers. So when his father touched him that night, he didn't know how wrong it was. All he knew was that it felt good at first, but then it began to hurt more and more until he was screaming and his father slapped him on the mouth to make him shut up.

Because he loved his father, because he wanted to be a good boy and be recognised among his siblings, he'd been silent and taken it. But he could only take the pain and pray for acknowledgement so long. When Kazekage wasn't abusing him, Kankurou remained the forgotten son. And as he grew older and wiser, anger boiled up in him and he began to fight.

Kazekage always beat him into the ground again, but his pride didn't bite so much. So he put on his thick make up, wore his long sleeved and legged clothes and his hood and put on a smile and pretended nothing was wrong. He hated Gaara for existing and for what he did to Temari and for the way Gaara sensed his hate and returned it with deadly fervor. And when he heard the rumors of what Gaara supposedly did to him, he snorted and wished he could tell them all the truth. He wanted to tell them it was Temari Gaara hurt, that Gaara didn't touch him usually, only threatened, that it was Kazekage who made his life hell. He wanted to be a horrible son. He wanted to kill his brother and his father and take Temari somewhere where they could be safe from abuse. He wanted to tell them all, make the whole village turn against Gaara and the Kazekage. The rumors burned at him… Even so…

Generally, the rumors weren't as bad as the truth.

However, that wasn't entirely true. The family dynamic was much worse than anyone could ever imagine. No, Gaara didn't beat the shit out of his siblings. He only slept with Temari, and these days she was almost willing, though he still hurt her badly quite often. Gaara wasn't the cause of Kankurou's pain and hate and face paint. His own father was. No, Kazekage didn't sleep around. He just came after his own son who was too weak to defend himself, too naïve to know it was wrong at first, too desperate for attention to fight at first.

As Temari drifted into uneasy sleep with her arms tightly around Gaara, laying a last kiss on his forehead, she thought of how much better things could be, how much she wished there was another way to help her little brother. As Gaara watched his sister who was not his sister, not a human and exempt from his lust for blood go to sleep, he wondered if what he'd found was really love and decided it was not, though he wouldn't stop just for that. As Kankurou washed away the blood and applied his make up with thick, grim strokes, he thought of how wrong the whole situation was, of how tired he was and how he would change it when he had the power. As Kazekage watched Kankurou lazily, he thought of how disgusting and irritating the now rebellious boy was and how he'd rather a woman like their mother or Temari, who'd grown very beautiful now. But of course, if he came near her, Gaara would kill him: he knew that well enough.

And so the family dynamic, such as it was, continued, and the village whispered and when the Kazekage's family heard the rumors, they shrugged them off. It was better than the truth. In fact, there were times they wished the rumors were true. Generally, the rumors weren't as bad as the truth.

So I'm sick, lay off... -.-