Gaara was terrified. His trembling was unintentional, of course, but then trembling so often is. His face had gone white, enough to be clammy and noticeable in the dark. He was unsure he could speak. Not that he'd get a word in.

They'll never love you

Shukaku was playing his mind games again.

They want to deprive you of blood

More than six times tonight, Gaara had been hit with waves of his inner beast's jealous nausea and every time, unlike any other night before, he had born it; clenching his teeth.

For Mother…

He could do it.

Your Mother…

No! He was his own person! It didn't have to be this way anymore-

You cannot deny me my blood.

"No! No!" He was never a murderer! Shukaku was the murderer! He was the one who killed them – not Gaara! He drank the blood! He mutilated the bodies! It was his sand!

Gaara…

The sand which had made him so scared and yet so feared! The sand he hated!

…of the sand

Shukaku's sand! Mother's sand! Mother, who he-

They all hated you.

No! He didn't hate them!

They feared you.

He wasn't scared!

How can they begin to love one whom they cannot understand?

He didn't understand any of it! He just wanted it gone!

"No! Mother! No!" He was…

You are not my son. You disappoint me.

"No! She is not my mother! She can't be…"

Mothers look after their children. I protected you through the sand. Can you deny that I took care of you? Can you deny that I protected you? Just so that you can disappoint me so: deny me my blood.

No! No! He gripped his hair, trying desperately to distract himself with pain, but the sand in his armour rendered it useless, surrounding the roots. He hated it! He hated it! He wished it would just go!

I am you. You are me. How can you deny me?

"No!"

Tell me you do not love your mother? How can you not? We are one and the same. I am the sand. Your sand. You can love me. And, to love me, you must give me what I crave. What you crave. What we need. And I need BLOOD!

"NO! NO! NO! NO MORE BLOOD! NO MORE BLOOOOOD!" The cry echoed up and down the empty corridors: echoes through walls, plaster, paint, wood and hollow stone foundations. Echoes of the darkness, of dreams, of everything and anything and nothing. But, even though the words pierced the flickering hearts of even the most fearless, the feeling behind them was what cut. And cut deep. Bloodlust. More of Gaara's insatiable bloodlust. And, with the voice, came tremors. And tears.

Blood. And Kankuro was there. You need blood. And Temari. Blood, cool sweet, blood. Running through rivulets and veins and exploding -and Baki- down your hot aching throat.

Don't cry Gaara.

"Don't cry, Gaara."

We will soon have their blood.

"Gaara…"

And it will run down our throats…

"…Gaara, listen to me…"

…and we will be satisfied…

"Temari, can you fetch something cold? He's hyperventilating."

"Will do."

…truly satisfied.

"No! No! No!"

"Gaara…Gaara, listen to-"

"NO! NO! NO MORE! I CAN'T LISTEN! I CAN'T ALLOW MYSELF TO LISTEN TO ALL HIS LIES!"

"It's Baki, Gaara."

"NO MORE OF YOUR BLOOD!" Then he screamed again, this time as Temari slapped the frozen peas against his forehead and he physically collapsed. And Shukaku had left. And he was alone.

Baki held him as he cried. The boy was mad – that's what anyone would think. Gaara was in a state, his eyes streaming, nose running, still half whimpering about blood, but he didn't understand any of it. Half of it was nonsense – something you might spout during sleep…but then, this was like sleep for Gaara. He supposed, anyway.

"Can I get him anything?" It was Kankuro, hovering awkwardly. Baki wasn't surprised he felt at a loss – they all did. This was the first time they'd seen…heard…the effects of Shukaku against resistance. And it wasn't anything even remotely pretty. And the first time they'd seen Gaara cry properly for years. Forever, in Baki's case. And the first time he'd (Gaara) had actually accepted a hug…but then it didn't really count as …well, Gaara wasn't really with it at the moment.

"I suppose… a drink… to wake him up a bit."

"Do you think he'll be able to hold it?"

"In his state? No, probably not. I was thinking you could hold it… and him, for a bit. My arms are getting tired and you're more accustomed to his…mannerisms."

"You mean insults. Ok, I'll get him some tea."

"Good man."

Whilst Kankuro had left his brother's breathing had slowed to almost normal. It was jerky, true, but it meant the customary paper bag would not be needed. And it also meant that Gaara would probably be able to drink the tea on his own.

"B-Baki? What are you d-doing? It's the…it's the middle of the night…" He was supposed to be alone.

"I'm here because I woke up to find a group of your father's advisers playing badly tuned string instruments in my bedroom. Several of them were badly made clones and one of them, the infamous pied piper of Hamlin, led me through the corridors, mountain sides and dense forests of the late Kazekage's mansion with his magic flute, until, magically, we ended up here, together. You were dancing the can-can, if you really want to-"

"What was I screaming?" His sensei grinned.

"Something about blood, if I remember rightly."

"No more blood…" it was whispered and not meant for human ears, but Baki answered anyway.

"That's precisely it."

"Only with a few more 'no's. And it wasn't a scream – it was a gut wrenching howl." That was Kankuro with the tea. "Oh, and I liked the can-can bit, by the way. I can really see him believing that."

Gaara took the tea, not sure he could smile, but thanking his brother anyway. Kankuro blushed slightly under his make-up. Gaara was changing, for the better. And he could finally call his little brother 'human'.

He's a monster. You hate him. You have always hated him.

It was Gaara's voice, only deeper and more like grating metal. It was like someone had taken over his little brother's vocal chords and spoken through them. With no resistance.

Gaara dropped the cup which smashed and clutched at his head. The hot green liquid seeped through the floorboards.

"No…" he whimpered, "Not again…"

I am Shukaku. Listen to me.

"No…"

Your ototo is going to die. Alone. Unloved. This has already been decided.

Kankuro gasped, his mouth inching open; slack jawed in absolute terror. He didn't know what to think.

Know only this: you were meant to hate him. He is an animal. Worthless. Look at him. At the pitiful state he's been reduced to. I was not meant to be resisted. I was meant to be used. To inspire hatred. To win wars. To drink the blood.

This was what Gaara… had to deal with… all the time.

And I don't care whose blood.

"No more blood…"

If I do not get blood, I will make Gaara drink his own.

"No, no, no, anything but-"

And guess which scenarios are playing through the boys head right at this moment…

"No…not Kankuro…he's my…"

"My brother…" his nii-san whispered, too shocked to do anything but stare. And then, "oof!" as his sister's fan collided with his head.

"DON'T LISTEN TO IT, MORON! IT'S INSIDE GAARA! BAKA! DON'T LISTEN!"

"But it'll-"

"What? Drink ototo's blood? Like he's been doing these past twelve years? Honestly, Kankuro. Gaara can handle it."

"And how do you plan to snap him out of it then?"

"Easy." And she brought the fan down – thunk – onto a resisting layer of sand. Gaara kept rocking and muttering.

"Oh, wow! That was amazing, Temari! Gaara's all better!"

"Shut up. Plan A's never s'pose to work anyway."

You won't be able to snap him out of anything.

"Oh, shut up, skunk. It's the least you can do. The next step would be to stop eating away at Gaara's head."

Insolent little-

"SHUT UP BAKA! STOP USING MY VOICE FOR YOUR CRAZY LITTLE GAMES!"

Shukaku was silent now, breathing crustily inside Gaara's psych. Gaara could feel the tanuki beast's frown as if it was his own…and, most likely, it was…but Shukaku was curling back into the darkness. And he couldn't see anymore.

"Has he gone?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Will he stay there?"

"Probably not…"

"Ah well, jan."

And the three of them went back to their respective bedrooms, leaving Gaara alone again. In absolute silence.