Chapter Text
It knew many things.
It knew the crunch of its food, the smooth sides of the bowl the food came in.
It knew the fuzzy feeling of strangers coming down the hall – it knew the sounds they made after its door was closed behind them. It could even copy their screams, though the sounds made its throat hurt.
It knew the slimy feeling of Orochimaru-sama and the sound of his voice when he brought new playthings for it.
It knew that the strangers started off with high voices and sharp teeth, but then they went still. It knew after that, their firm-warm flesh would go slack then stinky-wet and eventually give way to the hard-heavy things they were made of, the things that Kabuto-kun called bones.
It knew the feeling of Kabuto-kun, a shifting, restless feeling.
It even knew the feeling of Sun and Outside. Kabuto-kun took it Outside once when Orochimaru-sama was so far away it could hardly sense his slimy-wet presence. It knew that Sun was warm and up and it felt the warmth on its skin.
That had been a good day, but Kabuto-kun made it swear it wouldn't tell Orochimaru-sama that it knew Outside.
It knew about Sasuke-kun and how he felt like fire, like the time it grabbed the hot end of Kabuto-kun’s candle by mistake. Sasuke didn't come to see it often, but every time Orochimaru-sama came with him and told him how well it had been doing. Those were good days too.
“How many people are in the compound?”
It knew by then that Kabuto-kun wasn't asking about the mice and snakes and bugs that crawled around under its feet, so it didn't count them. Instead it said, “Forty-eight.”
“Good.”
The praise made it feel warm so it smiled.
“Who is the strongest?”
“Orochimaru-sama,” it answered, confident that was the correct choice.
“Besides him,” Kabuto-kun corrected, “or me.”
That gave it pause. It turned its attention to the other flickers it could feel: from Kabuto-kun’s restlessness to the familiar guards and finally to the newest presences. Some were warm like the Sun on its face, some felt cool and wet like water, others still were sharp or cutting or soft.
Only one stood out to it, and it had felt hundreds of flickers in its life.
The odd one out was faint and sleeping. It felt like something coarse and sharp and small, like the dirt of its floor but different in an unnameable way. It felt hollow like its bowl waiting for food.
“The new one?” it asked more than answered.
“What does it feel like?” Kabuto-kun didn't say if it was right, it felt a nervous-sick feeling in its stomach.
“Like sleeping,” it said with a quiet voice. It didn't want to be wrong, if it was wrong then Orochimaru-sama would come and - it didn't want to be wrong. “Feels like dirt and warm and sleep.”
“Can you go to him?”
“Yes.”
Kabuto-kun opened the heavy iron doors, the sound of the groaning metal was sharp in its ears, but it paid it no mind. It had a target.
“Protect him.”
Once the doors were open, it was off, tearing through the halls to the faint flicker it felt deep in the bowels of Orochimaru-sama’s dungeons.
Gaara came to all at once, his body had never been good at being unconscious.
The first thing he noticed was the pain of chakra depletion, his limbs heavy and aching.
The next thing was that his hyōtan was gone. Instinctively, he cast his awareness out, searching for sand, for his sand.
The sudden strain on his already empty chakra reserves ached, but still he searched.
He could feel sand shifting under the stone he was lying on, sluggishly responding to his call. He instantly knew the composition of it, filing it away for later. Wider, he could feel sandy soil pressed against the walls and ceiling, but still his hyōtan was missing.
Gaara grit his teeth and cast his awareness further still, finding a bright spot just at the edge of his range, his sand - saturated with his chakra - swirled in his hyōtan trying to reach back to him.
Like a rubber band, Gaara was snapped back to his body, the ache in his bones became blinding until all he could do was cry out and arch on the cold stone floor.
“Kukuku. You're finally awake, Kazekage-sama.”
Gaara forced his eyes open again, unaware of when they had closed. Even turning his head turned out to be too great a task, so Gaara was forced to lay still and listen to the hissing voice of his captor.
“Worry not, Gaara-kun, you won't be my guest for long. I simply require your assistance for one of my experiments.”
A long shadow fell across his chest, blocking the feeble light of flickering torches lining the walls.
The missing-nin leaned down so his long hair hung down over Gaara. “Make yourself comfortable, we're about to begin.”
Orochimaru straightened up, back out of Gaara’s sight.
“Whoever brings me the Kazekage’s head wins their freedom!” he announced, followed by the sound of several heavy gates opening.
Then, chaos.
Men and women dressed in rags, barefoot and starving, fought each other with bloodied fists and hollow eyes. Gaara only caught glimpses, when one would lean over only to be yanked back by desperate hands.
Gaara dug deep, stirring whatever reserves he had left to try and muster the strength to grind away the stone beneath him or even raise his hands to defend himself.
The hollow part where Shukaku once resided growled uselessly, what bits of unnatural chakra lingered had been sapped by whatever Orochimaru had done to him.
Beneath the stone, unfamiliar sand moved slowly, reluctant to answer his feeble call.
“I'm sorry, Kazekage-sama,” a woman with sunken cheeks leaned over him, a sharp piece of metal clutched in her hand, “I need to get out of here.”
As she raised the twisted metal, several voices raised in desperation.
A blur past his eyes, then the woman was gone.
The sounds of violence doubled: heavy fists, cries of pain, sudden snaps of bone.
With monumental effort, Gaara let his head loll to one side. Exhaustion slowed his focus, his eyes struggled to make sense of the blur bounding from prisoner to prisoner, leaving each bloodied and broken before it.
Once the last of the prisoners were scattered on the floor or cowering against the wall, the blur came to a stop.
A person – no, a child. Hardly old enough to be in the academy; greasy, matted black hair obscured their face and a tattered yukata hung around their bony shoulders.
Gaara felt a pang of pity for the dirty, malnourished child. They were a prisoner of Orochimaru and had obviously suffered in his brutal captivity.
The child turned their attention to Gaara.
Unconsciously, he called for the sand again and he felt it rustle under the stone floor, but he was still too weak.
Instead of attacking, the child knelt down and patted a filthy, bloodied hand on Gaara’s chest.
“Are you unharmed?” they asked. The voice was young, probably a boy, though it was hard to tell.
Focusing on the child’s chakra, Gaara was shocked by the power present in the little body. The boy was filled with chaotic, swirling chakra - completely unrestrained, as if he hadn’t been taught to control it yet.
“Kukuku. So now you have met my experiment. Isn't it wonderful?”
The child tilted his head to Orochimaru’s voice, shrinking away from him.
“Take the Kazekage back to your cell,” Orochimaru ordered, “and remember to keep him safe.”
“Hai, Orochimaru-sama.” The boy scrambled back to Gaara and practically threw him over his shoulder. Gaara was powerless to do anything besides feebly resist before the boy took off down a seemingly random hallway.
As they went, the torches on the wall became fewer and further between. The darkness didn't seem to bother the boy, who continued jogging confidently.
Gaara grew disoriented: the combination of chakra depletion, darkness, and whatever injuries he had sustained made it hard to focus on turns.
Finally, after innumerable steps in pitch darkness, torch light again reached them.
Then, a voice said, “Good job.”
Gaara was jostled off of the child’s shoulder, laid almost gently onto a pile of rags on yet another stone floor. They were inside a cell, a young man with silver hair was at the door with a torch in hand.
“Welcome to your new home, Kazekage-sama. I hope the experiment didn't juggle you around too much, it tends to get enthusiastic when we let it out.”
The child shrunk back at the words, hunching over.
“Anyway, make yourself comfortable, its room is your room after all. We'll see you in the morning.”
With that, the young man slammed the metal gate and turned, taking the light with him.
After he made a few turns, they were once again left in pitch blackness.
Gaara let his eyes close, they weren't doing him any good anyway, and used his other senses to explore the room.
The stone was cold through the rags, the air damp and stale. The boy’s chakra signature wavered in one corner, still nearly overwhelming in its intensity and chaotic nature.
“Who are you?” Gaara finally asked.
“An experiment,” the child answered, voice hollow with words recited from memory, “its purpose is to study how education affects chakra control.”
Gaara thought for a moment. The boy had obviously been here for a long, long time; long enough for the neglect to be evident in his skin and hair.
“What's your name?” he tried again.
The child paused. “Experiment?” The words lit at the end, like a question.
“No, your name.”
A quiet gasp.
It was wrong.
Wrong was bad, wrong meant training, wrong meant punishment.
It thought hard about the right answer to what the target asked.
“Sensor?” it tried again.
The target – Kazekage-sama, Orochimaru-sama said – sighed. His flicker was low, hardly registering in its awareness, but it tasted like disappointment.
“What were you called before, by your family?”
Before?
It didn't know Before.
“Nothing,” it said, drawing back against the wall. “It doesn't have one.”