Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Gaara's Story ❯ What's Pain? ( Chapter 2 )

He wandered the streets for an hour, Aku's words turning repeatedly in his mind: "Go home! Bakemono!” He didn't dare go home, not in this mood. He doubted that he would be able to face Temari and Kankorou without killing them—literally.

"Go home! Bakemono!”

I-I am a bakemono, Gaara though sadly. I-I killed my own mother!

“Bakemono!”

I should die. I deserve to die. I should have died with mother. These thoughts were no strangers to his mind.

A drunken man staggered by, almost clubbing Gaara on the head with his nearly empty whisky bottle. “H-hey, watch it, kid,” the man slurred. He peered down at the child, then gave a strangled gasp of fear as he recognised him. The man turned and staggered home.

I am a bakemono.

Gaara trudged home.

 

He let himself silently into the house, shutting the door quietly. His uncle was a very light sleeper.

“Yoshomaru-san?” he called out softly, hoping Yoshomaru was still awake. “In here, Gaara-sama.” Yoshomaru's voice came from the living room, and it didn't sound sleepy. Gaara relaxed.

He slipped into the large, comfortable room. Yoshomaru was sprawled on one of the old armchairs. Both his bloody arms were bandaged. He was polishing one of his kunai knives. He smiled as his beloved nephew entered the room, but the smile faltered and failed as he saw Gaara's expression.

“Gaara-kun, what is it?” he asked, dropping the -sama and putting the less-formal but more-friendly -kun onto the end of Gaara's name. Yoshomaru straightened up and put the kunai, polish and cloth down on the table. He patted the chair on his left. “Sit here.”

Gaara obeyed, feeling dangerously close to tears. His big light blue eyes met his uncle's lavender ones, begging for forgiveness. “Y-Yoshomaru-san,” he said hesitantly. “Am I a—bakemono?”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” Yoshomaru exclaimed, staring at his nephew. “Were the children whispering about you? Where were you this evening anyway? You missed dinner. I was worried.” “I wandered around a bit,” Gaara explained. “I wasn't hungry. I-I went to Aku-chan's.” Tears now started to drip down his face. “I was bringing her some ointment for her wounds. I just thought—it was my entire fault and she was bleeding so much—I thought it would be nice…” “It was, Gaara-kun,” Yoshomaru said with a smile. “Go on.” “Sh-she shut the door in my face and told me to go home. She called me bakemono. I left the ointment there, I hope you don't mind. B-but everyone thinks I'm a bakemono, Uncle Yoshomaru-san!”

“No, I don't mind,” Yoshomaru said. “And I don't think you're a bakemono. Temari-chan and Kankorou-kun don't. Your father the Kazekage-dono doesn't.” “I don't see Father-dono enough to know,” Gaara reminded him. “And Temari-chan and Kankorou-kun are too busy with their training to notice me.”

Yoshomaru gave him a one-armed hug. “It'll be OK, Gaara-sama,” he said, reverting to the more formal -sama. “Anything else?” Gaara thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Y-yes,” he said. “Yoshomaru-san, what's pain?”

Yoshomaru was stumped for a moment. He blinked. “Erm, let's go out on the porch,” he said. Gaara nodded, sliding off the armchair and out the door. He didn't notice that Yoshomaru took his kunai with him.

They sat on the porch in the cool night air, while Yoshomaru pondered his nephew's question. “Pain,” he said thoughtfully. “It's not always a good thing. There are many types of pain. Pain of the heart and pain of the flesh are the two most common. Pain of the heart you've had more than your fair share of. Pain of the flesh… you'll never have to worry about that, Gaara-sama. The Shukkaku will take care of that. But I'll show you.”

He picked up the kunai and cut his finger on it. Blood welled up in the wound. “That's what usually accompanies physical pain. Blood.” He winced slightly and put his bleeding finger in his mouth.

Gaara took hold of his uncle's hand and put Yoshomaru's finger in his own mouth, looking up at his uncle with wide trusting eyes. Yoshomaru smiled.

 

Gaara sat on his pallet, a kunai filched from Kankorou in one hand and his bare arm laid across his lap. He raised the knife high, the blade glinting in the moonlight coming through his window, and brought it down hard on his pale, slender arm.

The blade thudded into a rock-hard cast of sand that encased his arm. The cast vanished as he withdrew the knife.

Gaara stabbed again and again, becoming more and more frantic in his attempts to wound himself. The sand protected him at each stab attempt, until he finally flung the kunai into a corner. It stuck in the wall, quivering slightly.

Gaara flung himself down onto his pallet, burying his face in his pillow and sobbing with all his might.