Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Twenty six year old Gaara Sabaku frowned as he leaned on his walking aid –he refused to call it a cane- in the seclusion of a cave on the outskirts of the area that had once been known as Sunagakure.

It was now no more than anything else in his country, a swathe of sand dunes and whistling, scythe like wind. If he had wished, he could have uncovered the ruins of his city, moved the tons of fine sand from its familiar stones and traversed the paths. He didn't. He knew that it would solve nothing, and only make his heart crumble like dust. There was a time to be nostalgic and sentimental, and this was not it.

The former Kazekage sighed as he ran his eyes over the complicated seal array hewn into the living rock of the cave, not even the wind reaching this far into the stone. He could still hear its roar, angry and damning like a mighty beast condemning his actions. He welcomed the non-silence. Silence would have been far too dramatic, like something out of a play. There was nothing fictional or heroic about what he was about to do.

The seal design wasn't his; he was never adept enough at the art. He'd sought the aid of every and any seal master he could find, save the legendary Jiraiya –who would never have accepted his plan- and pooled whatever time, money and resources he could spare into the project. It was a long shot of a backup plan, but now he felt it was finally paying off. He'd told no-one. Not even his family, not even his own special forces. This was his burden to bear, and he would have died before he had let this information fall into any hands but his.

He shifted and winced as his leg gave a painful twinge, protesting at its inaction. He knew he didn't have long. Naruto was looking for him, and would likely find him before long. He hadn't bothered to cover his tracks, he knew it wouldn't matter after this.

Gaara sighed again and knelt slowly, his leg raging its anger at his treatment of it. Drawing a kunai from within his clothing, he drew it across his palm, hissing at the sting and vaguely remembering days when this would have been impossible for him. Those days felt like they had happened to someone else.

Scarlet blood dripped from the wound onto the lines on the floor, and Gaara felt the chakra in the air spike. Setting his expression intone of grim determination, he closed his eyes and took a breath. Concentrating, he began to channel charka into his palms.

The energy steadily increased, the few grains of sand lying idly on the floor began to vibrate in resonance with his chakra. As the amount climbed and climbed, perspiration formed on his skin and the struts on his neck strained with the effort. His body cried out in pain as it was sucked dry, all its chakra channelled into his hands. His frame shook, and he didn't bother to muffle the cry that was torn from his lips as he felt his own life energy corroding his body.

The sand was dancing now. It was a mad, rushing, violent dance that he paid no attention to.

He threw his head back and kept going, screaming through clenched teeth.

He would do this.

Not because he was the only one who could, but because he was the only one who would.

He would damn them all and take the task for himself. Not because he deserved it –though he was sure he did-, and not because of some misguided sense of debt or emulation.

He would do this because he was him and nobody else. He would do this because he wanted to. Was as simple as that. It was no more and no less; it was because he wanted to change what they had. He wasn't satisfied with misery. Even if everyone else was content to mourn and accept their given lot of agony, he most certainly was not.

The blue light spilling from his hands was blinding now, and he was hunched over, every cell in his body screaming at him to stop, to cease draining his life energy.

He could sense someone approaching through the haze of power and pain. He was too far gone to tell who it was, but he already knew. It wasn't like it would have been anyone else anyway.

He knew who they were. There were two –no- three. They were hurrying towards him at speeds that spoke of desperation. They had found him faster than anticipated. It didn't matter though; they were still too damn late.

He knew then that he'd reached his limit. He pushed harder. He poured the strength of a Kage into his seal, every last drop of power was called upon, until there was no more and he was drawing on reserves that he did not know he even had.

He screamed again and his body seized and contorted. Somehow, despite the pain he was in, he vaguely noticed that he couldn't feel anything from his limbs any more.

The flesh was flaying and sloughing off his hands, burning from the sheer amount of power he was holding.

He opened his eyes.

He was almost blinded by the fountain of blue light, but he dimly saw three indistinct figures rush into the cave. They threw up arms to shield themselves from the blinding light and one fell to its knees at the pressure spiked.

The air was scorched, ozone and burnt rock filled the air in a toxic, heavy mix.

Gaara tasted blood and realised his sight was failing. The chakra burns along his hands and arms were irreparable by now.

He glanced up once and me the eyes of the lead figure, who was squinting at him through the plume of light, a look of horror on his face.

Gaara locked gazes with him for a moment, and petrified blue met with wild sea green.

Gaara didn't will him to understand, he knew better than that. It just felt right to acknowledge his presence.

He didn't disguise that he was terrified. He didn't need to.

Snapping the moment, he raised his hands and with a snarl, slammed what was left of his flesh onto the sealing array.

"Zankokuna gisei no keiyaku-"

"Gaara, no!"

No-one would sing hallelujah to him for saving them.

"Fūin!"

Because if this worked, they wouldn't need saving at all.

Zankokuna gisei no keiyaku – Contract of the Cruel Sacrifice

Some may already be aware; this was in a little story called 'The Warren' that has recently been deleted. It was supposed to be a collection of oneshots and plot bunnies that I never finished, but I lost interest on the fandom shortly after it was created.

This was written some time ago (and summarily updated), when I realised that while there are plenty of stories in which Naruto goes back and changes things after everything goes to hell, no one else seems to bother. I thought, who else could do this? I like Gaara as a character, and Kazekage Gaara would certainly have the will and tenacity to pull something like this off.

This is available to adopt, if anyone should so wish. However I have one or two little guidelines if you wish to do so.

1. No romance. It would be weird when you think about it.

2. Gaara can retain his older badass body, or he can end up in his child form again. I do not mind.

3. Please, no crack fics. This goes without saying, right?

4. Drop a little note saying where it came from.

Thanks, and happy writing!