Beneath the Grains of Sand

Pale blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows flicker across the white plaster, lazily following the shapeless masses of darkness chasing each other around endlessly, seeming to run from the eyes boring into them. Soulless eyes, darkly outlined in black; the eyes of a monster.

How often he had stared up at one unfamiliar ceiling after another, unable to sleep, yet dreaming terrible nightmares. How often he could hear the soft shifting of sand around him, sounding like the grate of nails upon stone in the silence. Too often, on nights like this, he would go into his terrible convulsions, those horrific spasms that left him breathless and shaking.

He could feel it moving inside him again, begging to be released, waiting for the moment when the exhaustion would take its toll and those soulless eyes would close. It had been stirring more and more lately. It was getting impatient with a thirst for blood, a thirst he would be more than happy to quench if he could.

But lately, he couldn't fight like he used to. Though enemies were abundant and easy to find, at the most critical moment, his knees would give out. The terrible memories would rush back in a wave of inexplicable pain. Of course, It wouldn't let him die. No, It would never let him die.

Sometimes he longed for death, he begged for it. He found himself curious. What did the fear of death feel like? To be dead was to have your existence erased from this world. He understood that and certainly did not want to cease existing… but was that the same as being afraid? What he feared most was not death, but existence without a purpose, an existence without proof.

How could he prove his existence?

By erasing that of others.

What was his purpose of existence?

To erase the existence of others.

It was simple, almost childish. So easy to understand, to comprehend. He existed so that others wouldn't. He lived to kill. They lived to be killed by him. That was the only way to prove he existed in this world. That was the way he had continued that existence for the greater part of his life.

So why had he begun to doubt it now?

Perhaps it was simply that he was tired of existing. Perhaps it was just that It driving him insane. Perhaps it was something else.

An image flashed in his mind, a young girl protecting the boy that had been his prey. Another image. A boy his age protecting his friends, unbelievably attempting to fight him just because he would kill the others if he didn't.

Why? Why did these humans risk their lives?

To protect one another.

Why?

To protect…

But why!

Because of love…

He screamed, a chilling sound, almost inhuman, the hair-raising sound of a dying soul being dragged into hell, the sound of the damned screaming as Satan himself tortured them with unspeakable things. The scream of the damned echoed loudly, hauntingly.

The door slammed open and a golden-haired young girl rushed inside, her forest-green eyes wide and fearful. The sound in her ears made the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight, covered her arms in small bumps.

"Gaara!"

There he was, sitting on the still perfectly-made bed. His head was down between his knees and he was holding it as if it would fall apart without the aid of his long, pale fingers. She couldn't see his face, but that was just as well because to hear him was enough.

She stepped tentatively forward, hands stretched out, trembling slightly. She put her arm around his shoulders, but he did not seem to notice.

It was a while before he stopped screaming and then when he finally looked up, his face was as emotionless as ever. He pushed her away roughly, ignoring her questions, and harshly told her to leave. It was as if nothing had happened.

But on her way out, she shot a quick glimpse over her shoulder. His eyes were tightly shut and one hand gripped his chest as if in pain. Then the door closed and he was alone again, just like always, alone with It.

The birds chirped outside the kitchen window, happily prancing about on the branches. The large, still fairly young boy shot a glare at them. His painted face seemed to scare the small creatures and they flew away. He gave a satisfied nod and continued shoving scrambled eggs into his wide mouth.

"You're so disgusting, Kankurou," said a slightly husky female voice from across the table. Green eyes peered at him reprovingly through golden bangs.

He decided it best to change the subject. "I heard Gaara last night."

She nodded. "I know. We all did."

"He's been doing this nearly every night, Temari!" Kankurou said impatiently. "Ever since that fight with the Uchiha kid, he's been acting weird! He hasn't been himself and it's a bit frightening," he added in an undertone.

"I'm concerned, too," Temari said, also at the end of her patience, "But there's nothing we can--"

"He scares me, Temari! I don't like him. He gives me the creeps. I say we kill him before he kills us."

Temari stood with a crash, slamming her palms on the table. "How can you say that!" she thundered. "How can you even think of such a thing? He's our teammate! He'd our--"

"Friend?" Kankurou asked dryly. "You know that isn't true. That guy has no friends. He can't even understand the concept, I bet. That monster can't feel love."

"That's not true," the blonde whispered, and grabbing her large battle fan, left Kankurou to finish his breakfast in silence.

The red-haired boy's pale blue eyes widened slightly as he listened to the conversation just beyond the door. It wasn't surprising. And it wasn't the first time. They had always hated him, feared him, wanted to kill him. Everybody had.

Monster, Kankurou had called him. Monster, the world had called him.

No, he wasn't upset anymore. He wasn't surprised.

But what made Gaara stand frozen in shock, outside the back door to the kitchen, was the fact that a single person had refused to call him monster.

He turned away, trying to brush the matter off, but once again the memories returned. The spasms were harsher than ever lately and he fell to his knees, fingers buried in his short red hair.

There had been one other who insisted he wasn't a monster. Gaara had trusted him, maybe even loved him, if a monster could feel love. But of course it had been too good to be true.

He had killed him, finally. The only person who had ever called him something other than a demon, a monster, inhuman… that was the first person he had killed. That was the moment he had proved his existence…

"Gaara!"

He looked up at the large green eyes staring worriedly back at him, and he was struck again by the image of friends protecting each other, humans fighting not for themselves, but for others. He cried out in intangible pain.

"Gaara!"

The sand moved of its own accord, wrapping itself around her fragile body. Temari stared in fear at the cold blue eyes that met hers for a fraction of a second before she looked away. The sand tightened its hold and she gasped. Would he kill her?

She forced herself to look again at his face, at the red kanji tattooed, carved, into his forehead, just above the left eye, the symbol that proved he loved only himself. Kankurou's words ran across her mind.

A monster cannot love…

"Gaara!" she screamed, new passion in her voice.

He let her go suddenly, the sand falling away with a soft sound and Temari fell to the floor, breathing hard, but unhurt. She looked up, and it struck her how lost Gaara looked as he blinked down at her. Had he even realized what he had done, what the sand had done?

She pushed herself up and smiled at him, but he could see the fear in her eyes. She thought he was a monster too…

"Breakfast is on the table, Gaara," Temari said as if nothing had happened. "Here, I'll join you--"

"Don't force yourself," he cut her off coldly.

"W-what do you mean?"

He walked away without answering. Nobody wanted to eat in the presence of a monster.

Gaara gave a start as he realized Temari had followed him.

"Um… if you're not hungry, we can train a bit instead," she said cheerfully.

He glanced at her. Why was she doing this? Why was she forcing herself to be around him? "Go away."

Her smile faded and she looked down. "But--"

"Go away," he repeated.

Finally, she nodded. "Please… be careful." She turned and walked slowly back toward the hotel.

Ah, now it made sense. She had probably been told to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't cause trouble. She didn't really want to be anywhere near him. No one did. Gaara smiled coldly. He was alone again… Alone with It.

Hated by all, feared by all, he lived only for himself, fought only for himself, and loved only himself. That was the way it had always been. And though he did not really understand and would never admit it, Gaara was afraid when things were different, when somebody was not disgusted and fearful.

It reminded him of That Time, so long ago. He groaned and held his head. Kankurou was right. A monster could not love.

Temari looked back sadly, watching Gaara stumble away, holding his head. He had been doing this more and more lately. Something was bothering him, eating at his heart.

Yes, he did have a heart. Kankurou did not believe it, but Temari did. She had watched for so long, watched him suffer. Only a creature with a soul could suffer like that.

Her eyes softened. She wanted to help him, ease his suffering. The little boy she remembered was getting farther and farther away, slowly being consumed by the true monster inside. If It was not stopped soon, Gaara would completely disappear.

She couldn't allow that to happen. She wouldn't.

"Oi, Temari!" The kitchen door crashed open and Kankurou's oddly decorated face peered out. "Where's he going?"

She shrugged, hiding the worry in her eyes.

"Sensei said we had to keep an eye on him and--"

He was cut off by a large man with a white, cloth head-veil covering his scalp and hanging over half of his face. Around his forehead was a black band of cloth with a thin sheet of metal in the middle bearing an hourglass, the same band they all possessed as members of the Hidden Village of Sand. Visible beneath the headband was a stern, beady eye.

"Where is he going?" the jounin asked coldly. "We must always be ready, we could be called in at any time."

Temari cast an anxious glance in Gaara's direction. The boy hadn't noticed his sensei's appearance and continued to stumble on, weaving as if drunk. "He's just"

"This is a war, Temari!" the older man barked, making her flinch. "What will we do if we need him and he's gone? Like last time; we lost because he wasn't there when I told him to be. Gaara is the Hidden Sand's trump card! We need him to--"

"Be your tool?" Temari snapped. "Is that all he is to you? A weapon!"

"He should be proud to defend his country," her sensei replied, unfazed.

"The country that rejected him? The country that hates him?"

"Temari…"

She felt Kankurou's hand on her shoulder and stopped, breathing hard. It was wrong, they were wrong! He wasn't…

"Go help the guard," their teacher snapped suddenly. "Too many are injured and we need as many people to help as possible. And take Gaara with you."

They nodded and disappeared in a flash, with the speed only a high-level ninja could muster.

Temari clenched her eyes shut. Her well-trained ears could faintly hear the soft whimpers coming from the neighboring room. Just like every night.

It had been more than a week since that time, just outside the kitchen. Yet she still shivered in fear when she realized how easily he could have killed her.

So why had he stopped?

The only reason she could think of was because he didn't want to kill her. And why not? It would have been easy, almost effortless on his part. Why hadn't he?

Because he didn't want to… or couldn't.

Why?

She couldn't answer that simple, one-word question.

Temari covered her ears to drown out the groans from next door.

The next day would be the same, she knew. Fight for their country during the day, while Gaara simply did as he was told without any hint of his own thoughts. Then, at night, he drifted off into a realm of nightmares.

She knew. She had watched him. For years she had stood on the sidelines, fearful of yet pitying the poor, half-mad, frenzied creature, the boy who had been labeled a monster from birth, the terrified child that had had its innocence ripped away at an unbearably young age.

It wasn't right. It wasn't his fault. But nobody cared. He was blamed, insulted, used just because it was feasible to do so. But of course, a beast couldn't understand, it couldn't feel. A monster didn't care.

A monster couldn't feel.

The groans from his room were getting louder.

He found himself lying awake again that night, sitting on the edge of the undisturbed bed. In the next room over, he could hear Kankurou's loud snores. Somewhere above, a mouse skittered across the floor.

But Gaara was not paying attention, could not see the shadows on the walls. The visions plagued him again.

The boy with spiked blonde hair stood before him once more, blue eyes defiant. Why do you exist? Gaara had asked. To protect those precious to me, he had answered.

Why? How did that make sense? Live to prove the existence of others, forsaking yourself? What was the point of that?

It was foolish. It was wrong.

It was human.

Gaara shut his eyes, holding his chest, feeling his heart beating against his palm. He wished he could just rip it out, eliminating the pain.

Never trust anyone and you would never be betrayed.

It had been so easy. Nobody trusted him, nobody even talked to him. He could simply ignore them as well.

Until now.

Everyone who looked at him held fear and disgust in their eyes. They thought he was a monster; no, they knew it, and their actions proved it.

His father had tried to assassinate him countless times. His only supposed friend as well. He knew from experience that trust and love were overrated, stupid things.

So why? Why was he doubting it now, after all these years?

He held his head, trembling uncontrollably. He didn't even hear the door open or realize he was not alone until he felt the warmth beside him, the slim arms around his shoulders.

Gaara looked up with the eyes of a beast, burning with rage. How dare she touch him? How dare she come near him with the pretense of wanting to?

But when he met Temari's deep green eyes, he saw none of the usual fear. He had the sudden urge to push her away, even kill her. It was unnatural. A monster was meant to instill fear!

The arms around him tightened and a soft voice asked tentatively, "Gaara?"

He couldn't move. He couldn't push her away.

"Gaara?"

He couldn't prevent the pain suddenly blossoming in his chest, the images flooding into his mind. His mother, Yashamaru, Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke…

Temari flinched as Gaara cried out in rage and pain, but she did not release him. She had made up her mind. If the world was to know he was not a monster, Gaara himself would have to realize it first.

"Let go, dammit! Go away, let go, let go!"

"No," she answered softly, holding him still as he thrashed about in a new spasm. She felt the sand creep up her ankles.

"Aaargh!"

The sand climbed higher, squeezing, crushing. She ignored it.

Gaara's darkly outlined eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Why do you protect them?"

"Because they are my friends."

Friends were overrated and foolish…

"They rescued me from the hell that was loneliness. They saved me from myself. I'm not alone anymore. I have my precious people…"

Precious people… It was nonsense.

Yashamaru had said it, too. "The only way to heal your heart is to earn the love of a precious person…"

A precious person…

But nobody could love a monster. And a monster could not love.

Even Yashamaru had called him Monster in the end, despite all his talk of precious people and healing the heart.

Precious people to save you from your loneliness…

Gaara snapped back to reality as a female scream rent the air. His eyes widened and he flinched away from the mass of sand beside him, quickly letting go of his clenched fist.

The sand slipped away slowly.

"A monster cannot love!"

"That's not true!"

"He's our teammate, our--"

"Friend?"

"My friends saved me from my loneliness…"

"My precious people…"

Temari's deep green eyes shone with tears. Her body was badly bruised and bleeding in several places, but it was not fatal. She was alive.

Gaara let go the breath he had not realized he was holding.

How could she not be afraid?

He was shaking again, his whole body trembling, unable to tear his eyes away from the girl's.

Why was she looking at him like that?

She opened her mouth which was slowly leaking a rivulet of dark red.

No, don't speak!

He wanted to run away, wanted her to look at him in fear or anger, call him a monster so that he could kill her and continue living as he always had lived, continue his existence built on other's lives.

But she didn't look away in fear, didn't curse him or try to hurt him.

"Gaara…"

She spoke his name as if speaking to an equal, a normal human. Not Gaara the Monster, Gaara the Killer, Gaara the Demon, the Destroyer, the Hideous Beast. Just Gaara. Just Gaara…

He raised a trembling hand. What if he erased her existence now, forgot his doubts, the pain, the pounding in his head, the odd feeling in his chest?

"Are you going to kill me, Gaara?" Temari asked conversationally. "Go ahead. I can't move."

He hesitating, something Gaara of the Sand did not do.

"Even if you do," Temari was whispering, "I won't hate you…" A drop of moisture spilled from her eye, sliding down her delicately curved cheek.

Why? Why! Why was she the only one who didn't act like all the others? Why was she disrupting his carefully built view of the hideous world around him?

No, he didn't want to believe, because then he would be accepting the chance of betrayal, of pain, so much pain.

His eyes shut again. He didn't want that. He didn't…

A precious person to save you from your loneliness…

No! He wasn't lonely. He wanted to be alone. It was the only way a monster should be! Anything else was simply unnatural…

He flinched as warm fingers touched his face.

No, don't! He wanted to scream, to run, to fight.

She moved closer. His body didn't respond.

The Sand! He reached out frantically, calling for his "mother" to save him. The Sand moved again, with new purpose. Temari didn't even flinch.

Gaara watched as if from far away, watched her fingers slowly slip beneath the cover of his sand.

He gripped his chest. "Mother, it hurts…" The voice was soft, childlike. The sand coiled tighter, snakelike.

The pain in his chest was unbearable, the darkness so complete… the loneliness…

"Monster!"

"Beast!"

"Devil!"

"Murderer!"

"Gaara…"

He screamed, cried, anything to keep from hearing her whisper his name, to keep those pained whimpers from reaching his straining ears.

"There's no medicine you can put on your heart, Gaara. Some wounds can only heal with love…" Yashamaru smiled at the little red-haired child.

"Love?" The boy spoke the foreign word slowly.

"Mm-hmm.."

"Love…"

"Your mother's love is in that sand, Gaara. She'll always protect you and with that sand you can always protect those precious to you."

"Precious to me?"

He nodded, smiling. "Everybody needs a special person."

Protect… those precious to me…

A girl's scream, so sharp and clear in the darkness, a knife cutting into his very soul.

"No…" he whispered, eyes shut tight. Maybe it would stop if he willed it to. It would go away. The pain would go away…

He held his heart.

He didn't want to hear her in pain like that, didn't want to know he was the cause of her pain…

The Sand will protect those precious to you…

But Yashamaru had been lying! He was never loved! The Sand was meant to kill, It was the weapon with which he proved his existence.

But couldn't it still protect…?

He shook his head violently against the sudden doubts creeping inside his mind. Why, why now?

"Monster!"

"Gaara…"

"He scares me!"

"He's our teammate! Our friend!"

"MONSTER!"

"NO!"

Not anymore. One person, one person had refused to call him monster. One person had shed tears for him. One person had seen him as human, as an equal. One person had joined him, set herself against the rest of the world.

And now he was making that person cry out in pain.

Pale blue eyes opened slowly, shining with moisture that welled up, spilled over his blackened eyelids.

It would take time. His wounds were deep, his scars many.

Her wounds, those he had caused her, would heal faster, much faster, for they were wounds of the body. But with time, the scars in his heart could heal as well. With time, and with the only medicine which existed for a wound of the heart, the medicine which Yashamaru had so often spoken of.

Gaara of the Sand watched --the tears which had been kept at bay for years spilling over his cheeks-- watched transfixed as the grains of sand fell away one by one, revealing his precious person.