Lost and Found
By: Junsui Kegasu
A/N: The plot bunnies (Hurricane-rider being one of them o.o;;) bit me. This idea had been something I was toying with for a while, but then the plot bunny came and bit meh in the ass. So...I present to yoooou...LOST AND FOUND! (Crappy title...it is taking suggestions as we speak...Donate!)
Warnings: Excessive violence, child abuse, possible non-graphic rape, yaoi/shonen ai (probably more shonen ai), language
Disclaimer: It would be very bad for the characters if I owned Naruto.
RP:nodnod:Trust me. She owns me.
HELL YEAH I DO!
RP: T.T Free the muse donations?
Note: Bolded print is Shukaku talking. He's special and doesn't need quotation marks.
Chapter one -
Gaara didn't know where he was. He just kept moving forward. It didn't strike him as abnormal. He was just...there. Almost like he was in a dream.
A dream. He felt his eyes widen. Suddenly aware of the large, gleaming yellow eyes in the distance, he found he didn't freak out. Why did it matter anymore? Nothing mattered anymore.
So he should just keep on sleeping, since it didn't matter. That's how his logic was working right now.
Or, whatever was left of it. He was just watching a picture. He had no control over what was going on.
But that was okay, too, since nothing was really going on. He was just...walking.
If he listened closely, there was a voice in the distance. That had to count for something. He didn't really care what the voice was saying. It sounded slightly familiar...and sort of angry.
As soon as the thought 'anger' passed through his mind, things changed. Suddenly, wind was blowing in every direction. Clouds dark as the night threatened to spill their contents all over him.
But, there still was nothing. Nothing but the storm.
He was shaking or...no...he couldn't shake that hard. Someone was shaking him.
He felt the dream world collapse from under him and he was falling...
Falling...
Falling...
(A/N: Felt like being slightly descriptive...)
"WAKE UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" came the slurred voice. Gaara groaned. This is what had been shaking him. He was totally dead now.
"I SAID WAKE UP! WHAT TH' HELL D'YOU THINK YOU WAS DOIN'! WE'S ONLY BEEN HUR A NIGHT!" He slapped him hard across the face, sending him flying a couple feet in his sleep-induced uncoordination.
"Well, it's not my fault we got in really late, FATHER." he hissed. He knew he was going to pay for talking back, but right now, he didn't really care.
It's not like it mattered. He would get hit for anything. Why not add a few more things to the list?
A burst of pain erupted from his stomach where the man's fist collided, threatening to push up whatever he had eaten.
...What had he eaten?
He couldn't remember.
Did it matter?
"Listen here." the man pushed his filthy face up against Gaara's ear, and the redhead could smell the alcohol that he always reeked of very clearly. "I has a rep'tation hur. As a form'r polit'cal lead'r 'n all, you gots ta hold up my rep, boy. You killed three cit'zens las' nigh'. This ain't good. I'm warnin' you righ' now. One more 'stake, and I'll kill ya. I'll kill ya good."
With that, the older man collapsed on top of his son (who, Gaara thought darkly, looks a lot like him) and snored loudly. Gaara gagged and pushed himself out from under him, clutching his stomach.
Temari looked up from the kitchen table, where she was preparing the three siblings' lunches. Gaara's room went very quiet. That wasn't a good sign. She was about to abandon her lunch making spree to go check on him, when he walked into the kitchen, still doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"Gaara? Are you okay?" she ventured. He really didn't look all that well, now that she looked at her baby brother closely. Red hair was clumped from sleeping (which, she noted, didn't really help him) and his already pale skin looked frighteningly white. This only accentuated the now darker than before bags under milky lime eyes, and the large, hand shaped bruise on the left side of his face.
"I've had worse..." he mumbled, his head drooping. "What time is it? I need to shower..."
Temari checked the clock at the back of the room. "We have to leave at 7:30. It's about 6:45 right now. Kankurou should be just about done in there, and I'll make us breakfast to go when I'm done with lunch."
Gaara nodded, hearing her, but not really, at the same time. He quietly padded out of the kitchen in search of Kankurou and the bathroom. He didn't really know where it was. He hadgone straight to his room when they were done unpacking.
Frowning at a closed door, he knocked. He sincerely hoped it was the bathroom and not his father's room. Although, now that he thought about it, he probably already went drinking in some remote little bar where no one would dare tell a soul of his former position.
"Wha? Temari, I said I'm almost done!"
"...Kankurou?"
"Eh? Oh! Yeah, sure, just putting on my face stuff, come on in."
Gaara rolled his eyes. Kankurou was apparently going through a 'phase' at sixteen years old to put on this stuff. It was supposed to be part of adolescence.
Had he gone through that? He must have.
Or did he? Adolescence was something that NORMAL pre-teens went through. He wasn't very normal as a pre-teen. He never had been normal.
Shaking these thoughts, he walked into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet, burying his face into his hands.
Kankurou watched him from where he was applying the final touches to his painted face. Gaara hardly fell asleep and let The Demon roam freely anywhere, but when he did, he was generally exhausted the entire day. He hoped he'd be okay.
"Gaara? Do you need any clothes? I noticed you didn't really...bring any."
Gaara blinked. He hadn't, had he. Oh well. "I can take a shirt from you. But these pants, I'll be alright with."
Kankurou nodded and walked out of the room, allowing Gaara to undress himself and get into the shower.
The redhead stood there, under the water for a few minutes. The warm, no, hot water streamed down his body, trailing over years of scars, some faded, some too deep to fade, scattered over his far too small frame. Gingerly placing a hand to the side of his face, he hoped that the bruise wasn't too noticeable at school. It was distinctly shaped like a hand-print, and him being discovered and printed as 'abused by father' would be considered a ''stake' in his fathers eyes.
Hey, boy, thanks for the joyride.
Gaara glared at the wall. 'Don't thank me for it. It's your fault he does this to me.'
Yeah, well, personally, I'm a bit protective over you. If you get hurt permanently, then this body is ruined. And that would suck for me. But, I give you rest after brutal beatings, do I not?
'Only enough to keep me standing. After that, I have to recuperate some other way.'
Trust me, if it were up to me, he wouldn't lay a finger on you.
'...'
Don't even take that as care, kid. If it was up to me, my host wouldn't be physically wounded at all, even by the person I owe being out of the damned teapot to. Gives you a larger chance of becoming permanently injured, and then I could either be stuck in a corpse (which is no better than the teapot) or a lame host. None of which are very appealing.
'Leave me alone.'
With that final remark, Gaara turned off the faucet and stepped out into the steamy world beyond the shower.
Blinking through the mist, he wrapped himself in a towel and picked up his pants and the shirt Kankurou dropped off.
He went to Kankurou's room to change, as his windows didn't have blinds on them. Eyeing the fishnet sleeves (A/N: PRAISE FISHNET SLEEVES!) on his brother's dresser, he grabbed them and tried them on, finding that they were probably the only thing that he had worn in a few years that was skintight, and even just barely with these. Kankurou wouldn't mind, he didn't think.
Dressing quickly in black jeans with frayed ends and a black shirt with the words printed in red 'I hear voices and they don't like you.' (I think that one would fit him totally o.O) he went back to the kitchen, where Temari was feeding herself and Kankurou a plate full of poptarts. Gaara grabbed two, and the siblings grabbed their bags by the door and began the trek to highschool.
A/N: I realize that this is really...really...really...short, but this seemed like a good place to end it. Yeah...it's a good five pages. For the style, especially with Gaara, being so spaced out and kind of random and drifting off topic, that's more or less how I think sometimes, and I tried to put Gaara as much into character as an abused child who doesn't really have too much to live for (none of which I am. O.o; I just think funky sometimes). So...yeah. That's the reason for that. ALSO! Gaara can be hurt by his father because Shukaku owes the kazekage (which, in this, is a position very close to the top of the political chain) a debt for taking him out of the teapot and placing him in a living, breathing, active host. After brutal beatings, Shukaku will let Gaara sleep enough that he won't die. Because, if you think about it, if he doesn't sleep, any little illness or deep cut could kill him. Shukaku's just being selfish, so he won't live in a corpse.
RP: That was the longest A/N that you've ever done, and for once, it wasn't pointless.
Shush up.
Review, please :hopeful cheesy grin: