Chapter 129 of Naruto: To Hurt
“I fight for my sake only, and I live to love no one but myself. As long as mankind exists for me to kill, my existence will never end…”
TW: Contains attempted self-harm (canon)
He remembered the rope of the wooden swing. It was worn by tension, but still held his small form. Gaara’s feet just barely touched the ground, with his heels remaining in the air. A teddy bear paralleled the size of his torso. He clutched it to his chest with a single hand, the other keeping him balanced. He could see his shadow cast on the ground below him, with the morning sun contrasting it. The stretch of it made him seem bigger than he was, his presence always most notable in the dark. He always felt like his shadow took up more space than him.
Several yards away, there was a group of four kids in a circle. The sound of a ball bouncing against the uneven sandstone was clear within the echoes of “Pass it to me! Pass it to me!” as they played.
Of course, in the ruckus, the kids ran into each other, and the ball soared from the force of two of the kids’ clash. They rubbed their heads, the other’s looking up disdainfully at the ball that now sat at the high edge of the land’s wall. It was probably about forty feet up high, impossible for shinobi who had not trained in wall-walking to reach.
“Oh crap!” One of the boys exclaimed.
The children groaned, at a loss now that they had no way to play.
“We haven’t mastered wall climbing no jutsu yet…”
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the ball, almost cloud-like and rapidly shifting. The ball was cradled by sand, and the children watched in surprise as it was gently lowered into the hands of a smaller boy. He was wearing a large scarf over his clothing. His teal eyes were bordered by the outline of dark panda-like lines, with his hair being a startling red. He hadn’t made his presence known before then, the kids too caught up in their game.
Of the four, three of them visibly flinched. One looked unsure of the situation, as if waiting to see what would happen. They all visibly sweated, some more knowing of the rumored red-headed boy.
The girl spoke out, “Y-You are..” she hesitated a moment, as if needing to process this was actually happening, “Ga.. Gaara…”
One of the boys that stood closest to him mimicked her exclamation, “It’s Gaara of the Sand…”
This seemed to strike up recognition in the boy that was confused, sparking a quick turnaround.
It seemed their game was over and any pretense or hope of otherwise was gone. Gaara’s eyes widened in surprise. He reached a hand out, one hand on the ball still.
“Wait!” ‘Don’t leave me alone’
His sand shot out, spiraling after the children with an unintended force. He watched as his sand restrained them, the kids screaming out for help. ‘I don’t want to be alone anymore…’
It was as if the sand gained claws, some of it spiking inwards towards the other children. The fear was palpable, but all Gaara could think was his own fear of abandonment.
“Lord Gaara, please calm yourself down!”
A voice pleaded, loud over the noise of the sand and children. Gaara looked up in surprise. The familiar sight of his uncle’s blond hair and blue eyes greeted him, this time with cuts gashed across his face and arm. He had hurt his uncle. He hurt the other kids.
Gaara looked down in shame. He had just wanted to play.. For someone not to leave him. He could feel his uncle’s disappointment. It was heavy on his small form, despite knowing that his uncle would never punish him, not in any way that mattered.
It was night when Gaara was once again left to his own devices. He hadn't been trusted for the day after the incident with the other kids. It felt like no matter what he did, he'd always mess it up. He couldn't stop thinking of the moment he realized what he'd done. The people he hurt.
‘Maybe I deserved to be punished. I deserve to know pain. If only I could make it physical… Bleed as I made Yashamaru bleed.’
Something in him twisted, making him clutch at his heart. Why, why when he wasn't cut, did his chest ache so terribly?
For all that he was young, and his thoughts were not capable of such complexities, he still felt it all the same. He held a knife over his wrist as he stared at a picture of Yashamaru. He wanted to hurt.
Sweat slid down his forehead as he pressed the knife closer. But no matter how hard he tried, no force would allow him to bypass the protective sand.
He sighed, “It’s no use… The sand gets in the way…”
His uncle’s voice spoke out, startling Garra into looking behind him. Yashamaru hadn’t made any noise as he stepped, a true mark of the Shinobi he was. However, with how absorbed Gaara was in his own thoughts, it was unlikely for him to have noticed even then.
Gaara hoped that Yashamaru hadn’t seen the knife. He knew his uncle cared about him in a way no other did.
“As a member of your medical team at kazekage-sama’s command, my duty is to protect you from any harm. Please do not try to do such a thing again, even if the sand will protect you anyway.”
It sounded impersonal, but that's how it always was and always would be. There could be no uncle expressing love for his nephew, no easy exchange of emotion; not when the boy was both demon and container, and not when the man was both blood and puppet. The smile creasing Yashamaru's face and eyes was a mask of its own, for all that it shone with warmth. Gaara never had any certainties with how people treated him outside of hate. And the lines of which Yashamaru’s care extended to Gaara had always been blurred from the loyalty he had to the Kazekage. It was no different from the rest of his life. And still, Yashamaru was that one special person for him.
Gaara’s eyes caught on Yashamaru’s bandaged head, his nonexistent eyebrows creasing.
“Yashamaru, I’m sorry,” he said in his quiet voice. “Do injuries hurt?” He was concerned for his uncle, but also felt a strange sort of envy in that he couldn’t experience what others did. He had no idea what pain was.
“Oh this… Well, a little… but it’s nothing serious.”
“What exactly is pain? I… never got injured so… I wonder what it’s like…”
Gaara saw his uncle's face going through expressions, as if thinking of not just what to say, but how much of it to tell. While Yashamaru taught him many things about the world, it never managed to satisfy Gaara's curiosity. It was all he could expect because it was all Gaara had ever had. So, despite the welling of emotions he was too young to understand, concepts not yet attainable to his mind, he still acted like a baby bird being fed, eager for food regardless of the amount of times it was regurgitated.
“Hmm… how should I put it? Afflictive or dreadful… like when you’re beaten or cut… In short, you’re in an unbearable condition in which you feel you’re unable to stay your usual self…”
“The person that’s important to you isn’t always good… You don’t have to take someone bad as your important person. No, even if you know they’re bad… [one] person can’t defeat loneliness.”-- Gaara
