Disclaimer: ...disclaimed! Moving on.

Cocksure: presumptuously or arrogantly confident.

We all know what you perverts thought this was about! :P

Okay, anyone know about the rant I posted in my AN in my story You'll Surrender Eventually? Well, this was the story I'd written that I really liked that a certain website randomly deleted. This time, instead of writing it all at once, I'm going to just make chapters like usual and post them individually. Maybe people can actually read it this time!

Chapter 1: Unfortunate Transfer

"I'm really sorry, but he is dead."

"Okay."

The officer blanched. "Kid, maybe you didn't hear right. You're father is dead."

"I'm sure."

"He's dead! As in, not living anymore." A few exaggerated hand motions became involved.

One almost nonexistent eyebrow rose in irritation. "I'm not stupid if that's what you think. I'm aware of what dead means."

"Aren't you... Going to cry or something?"

"I choose 'or something.' Step out of the way now. I want to see where he died." The redheaded young man pulled the collar of his leather jacket tighter around him and let out a breath of hot air. It misted in front of him. How he hated the cold, there were too many ways to count.

"I'm not sure I should let you back there young man, it's pretty gruesome for a kid. Heck, I don't even think I'm allowed to."

"I want to investigate."

"I... don't really have clearance to let you back there right now-"

"Now." He shoved his gloved hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Stand aside. Or I'll move you." The police officer stared disbelievingly as he was pushed aside by the teenager, who was now making his way over to the crime scene at a leisurely pace.

"Kids these days, too many video games. Rotting their brains..."

The redhead brushed past the crime investigators that lined the door and stepped inside the small, charred foyer. The burnt wooden floor creaked underneath his brown Vans, ash settling on his toes. Gaara grimaced. Now he'd have to clean them.

"Kid, what are you doing in here? This is a crime scene, no outsiders allowed." A hand settled on his shoulder, the muscle of the man it was attached to attempting to turn him back out of the doorway he'd just stepped through. A crease marred the young man's forehead. That would be a waste of his time, he'd just gotten there after all.

Gaara hated doing things that didn't make sense.

He ducked under the arm of the much bulkier policeman than the first one that had tried to stop him and continued walking through the singed foyer. Now, where had his father been when he'd been murdered? He took a few more steps onto the ruined living room carpet when that same hand stopped him yet again. What was with everyone trying to stop him today?

"I said you can't be here." The grip on his wrist tightened almost threateningly.

Gaara glanced once down at the large hand keeping him from doing what he'd come to do, then back up at the face looming several inches above his own. Was this man trying to intimidate him? He'd done nothing wrong, he hadn't strayed from his goal. "I'm just trying to-"

"I don't care what you're trying to do, you aren't allowed in here. Now leave before I have to take you downtown." Two pierced blonde eyebrows drew together in an irritated crease.

"You interrupted me?" It was almost a question. The officer blinked, his head cocked to the side in a blatant- to Gaara at least- sign of confusion. "Now my train of thought is disrupted. I don't particularly appreciate that. As payment for your wrongdoings, release me and you shall be forgiven." His accent was clipped, and unmistakably foreign.

"Wai-What? What are you talking ab-"

"It's not pleasant, is it? Being interrupted. Are you passing up the chance to release me?" The officer slowly lessened his grip until the redhead could pull his arm back to himself, his plain brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. Gaara rubbed his somewhat sore wrist and stared at the confused man in front of him with dull green eyes. "The nerve of some people." The mustached lips of the officer split in surprise.

"Pardon," Gaara mumbled as he slipped past the man and around the familiar corner of the kitchenette. He cast a quick glance towards the small eating area buried into the nook near the window seat that was now reduced to a pile of black wood and ashes. Pity it hadn't been destroyed further really. He'd have to seriously consider smashing the window if he came back through here.

The house was clearly too big. Six bedrooms for a family of one made absolutely no sense, at least it didn't in Gaara's mind. What were the other rooms for? A dust collection? He was perfectly aware his father never cleaned. Never hired a maid that cleaned either. One reason in particular why he no longer lived there.

Another being that it was now burnt to a smoking, unstable crisp. A loud creak echoed from the floor above down into the grand stairway he'd finally located.

He took the steep steps two at a time, perfectly content in believing he'd been given long legs for purposes such as this. If only he could find the purpose in why he kept his hair so long, but there was always the chance it was just superficial.

"Hello? Gaara, is that you?" The blonde woman caught sight of the brilliant shock of red hair that was standing on the first landing of the once carpeted stairwell.

The redhead paused for a moment, thinking until he slowly greeted her, "Temari. How did you beat me here?" She visibly stiffened.

"Would you shut up! That's what you say at a time like this? Our father was just killed and you're concerned with how I got here first?" The grief-ridden voice of his sister echoed loudly in the crumbling room. Gaara peered around the room from the corner of his eye, secretly wondering if it was as safe to be in here as he'd originally presumed.

"I would have been concerned had you been killed too, being in such a rush as it would seem you were." He observed the tears that leaked out of the corner of her blue eyes, but had a hard time figuring out why his sister was crying. It was only their father after all.

"You haven't changed. Not one bit." Temari flew down the stairs as if carried by the wind and latched her arms tightly around him in a hug. He froze. Hugs were pointless. And again, Gaara didn't do things that were pointless.

"Sorry, sorry. How did you get in here anyway? The police officers out front wouldn't stop giving me hell about coming up here."

"I just walked in." Lying held purpose, he was okay with that.

She wiped her eyes with the long sleeves of her violet blouse, the stern look her features naturally adopted in times of stress plastering itself onto her face. "Assertive as always, baby brother." He just nodded; best to keep things simple after all.

Temari took his larger hand in her own and led him slowly up the stairs, turning right at the final landing of the third floor. The fire damage was far worse up here. It'd be a shame to have marched all through this house only to fall through the floor now.

"He's down this way." She sniffed quietly once, her fingers still tightly wrapped around his own. "Where's Kankuro? I'd have thought he'd come with you?"

Gaara shrugged and shoved the hand his sister hadn't stolen from him into his back pocket. "I came straight from Sarutobi's office after my appointment." His voice sounded flat even to his own ears. Temari suddenly stopped, wrenching painfully on his arm when he tried to keep walking. His eyes narrowed in frustration.

"He's in there."

"Fine. Let's go." She tugged on his arm again when he tried to leave. Gaara sighed, letting out an angry huff of air to calm himself down a bit.

"We can't go in there! Some of the men earlier told me earlier that he was," She paused to bit her lip, fully aware that her brother wanted to break in but wouldn't, "a little hard to recognize."

"I'm sure." He was fairly certain he'd gone through this just a few moments ago. "Don't act daft. Just come along or I'll go alone. I want to see."

A small, trembling smile graced his sister's stoic expression. She nodded.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I think, it would be best if we gave him a change of environment," Sarutobi said as he leaned back in his squeaky rolling desk chair. God, how he hated this thing.

Temari's eyebrows knitted together and her lips pursed in a thoughtful pout. "What do you mean? Why?" He let out a quiet breath.

"You see, I feel as though he can't grow any more here. He's already as," His tongue poked into his cheek and searched for the right word, "advanced as he's bound to get."

"I don't get it."

"Shut it Kankuro! No one asked you." Temari slapped the back of the middle sibling and turned back to the psychiatrist with an elegant smile. Sarutobi grimaced.

"There are too many negative reminders here, too many things that are just going to drag him down."

"Well, where do you suggest we send him?"

Sarutobi leaned back again- that damn pesky chair!- and ran a hand through the thinning gray hair atop his head. "He's technically an orphan now, isn't he. Are either of you of a consenting age?"

"Both, but Temari claims him. I just live with him, feed him, make sure he has an education... What do you do again Temari?" Another slap.

"I kept Father away from him, but," She trailed off, unable to finish.

"I'm sure it's been hard on you. You were living with the late Mr. Sabaku, were you not?" Temari nodded and fought the pain from her chest. "It's just a blessing you were uninjured."

"A blessing from which direction..." Sarutobi ignored the younger Sabaku in hopes that the elder would as well. Kankuro slumped in his seat.

"Ah yes, regarding Gaara though. I do have a friend I can send him to for a while, that is if you'd be willing."

Kankuro and Temari shared a look. "Where?"

. . . . .

End Chapter 1.

1. Stay with me. Slow start, but it gets much better. These characters become so fun to write, I promise. So much more... quirky then what I've done before. If this is well liked, I may change the names, do some revising, and try to get it published. Who knows?

2. For future reference, the Sabaku's are English (Not saying what part of England because then I'd feel compelled to do research about accents and stuff.)

3. Shorts chapters, but hopefully quick updates.

4. I am still writing my other stuff! It just takes a while to write six 8,000+ word chapters before updating you know!

5. In-depth summary (Expect this next chapter if you don't read it here): "I'm different, or at least everybody says I am. Apparently I also killed my father, so I don't really find what others say important anymore. It's lost any credibility in my mind. Honestly, I didn't kill him, I just didn't want him living either. Is that such a crime?

"I suppose I over think a lot of things, but it's my nature. When I'm angry, I've thought about why I am, not only that, but what can I accomplish by being angry. It usually justifies itself.

"I'm just a boy, only 16, which makes me a man to some people depending on the standards set. I've never been one to set or meet standards.

"Some say I'm crazy, mainly people my father paid to talk to me. It could've been a bribe, but I'll never know.

"Friends? I'm unfamiliar. Does a person need someone aside from themselves if the only desirable company they've had up to the point was their own? It doesn't make sense, now does it? At least I don't think so. Didn't, now I suppose, because now I have friends that wouldn't leave me even if I bribed them. Nothing my father taught me turned out to be useful.

"My mind is made up though, and I'm never wrong about myself. Friends are pointless, and I don't follow through with pointless things.

"However, she made pointless things suddenly hold much more meaning.

"For the first time in 16 years, it wasn't about me anymore."

Hope you enjoy, Love AMB11. Review, review, review!