A/N:  I received a few requests for a second chapter from Gaara’s POV, and I found that thought to be a nice challenge since Gaara is an unusually philosophical and observational character—even when he’s insane.   I’ve always been fascinated by the way he reasons things out and the observations he makes, like what he says to Lee about people following evil guys just to escape loneliness.  So here it is:  the next day, Gaara’s first person POV.

Translations, jic:  “nii-san”=older brother; “ototo”=younger brother.  As I’m sure the Kanky fans know, “jan” is the random syllable Kankuro adds to some of his sentences because he speaks with a punk/Yankie accent.



Chapter Two:  The Day After I Died

I awakened in the dark, shadows bunching in the room’s corners, and couldn’t figure out where I was.  For a moment I felt unreal, felt sure I was in some strange place between life and death, unable to cross over and trapped watching a younger version of myself crying all alone.

A shiver ran through my body, a cold wave of goosebumps that began with my scalp, scurried down my spine like spiders, then raced across my legs.  I shuddered, but the sensation itself assured me I was very much alive, which only left the problem of where I was.

Then I began noticing it:  the feeling of warm breath ghosting across the nape of my neck, the sound of steady breathing, and the warm arm wrapped around my waist.  An equally warm hand was resting on my chest, over my heart, communicating something to me I’d always searched for but never dared to believe was real:

Ai.  Love.

A flush burned across my cheeks at the thought that someone actually wanted to be in my presence, talk to me, spend time with me, for me.  Then a second wave rose in me, a tingling pain that prickled through my lungs and stomach, matched with the thought it wasn’t true.  I wasn’t loved.  Or I was loved, but it could only last as long as I earned it.  That I’d have to pay a lifetime’s penance, continually working to maintain those feelings in another.  Was such a thing even possible?

Then my nii-san spoke.  “Gaara?  Are you all right?”

I should have known I’d awaken him.  He was used to sleeping, used to reacting quickly to sounds or movements when asleep.  “I’m fine.  I . . . dreamed I was dead.”

He hugged me closer, and I felt the strength of his arm.  “I’m sorry.”

With his warmth around me, I couldn’t feel fear.  “It seemed . . . short.  As soon as I realized I was awake, I was fine.  But I was confused for a moment and couldn’t figure out where I was.”

“That happens sometimes, even to me.  Especially if I’m sleeping in a bedroom that’s not mine.”

His voice was low, quiet.  Comforting.  The rough accent he normally employed was smoothed over, and the off-hand, smartass way he usually spoke was absent.  I had the oddest sense that he was talking to me in some special way, some private or reserved way that he’d never used with anyone else.  It made me nervous, and yet it made me feel safe.

“I’m sure you’ll adjust to that part quickly,” he continued, and oddly enough, I believed him.

“Kankuro . . .”  I glanced over my shoulder, and enough moonlight filled the room that I could make out his features.  He gazed at me with a gentle look I’d never seen before—a look I didn’t understand.  A strange pain burst in my heart like a miniature nova:  I felt scared by my feelings, but at the same time I would have sacrificed all I had to have him look at me that way again.  I glanced toward the window, hoping my facial expression had remained neutral.

He seemed to sense my distress.  “What is it?”  He hugged me tighter once more, and I could feel his heartbeat against my back.

“I . . .”  What could I say?  I wasn’t even sure what was happening.  I just knew I felt warm, protected, and I realized that in his own way, he’d been protecting me for at least a year now, telling people to back off if they over-pressured me or punching them if they insulted me.  “Thank you.”

A soft chuckle filled the otherwise silent room.  “Any time, ototo.”

At his words, I squeezed my eyes shut, overcome for a moment.  It hurt—made me desperate for something I couldn’t name.  But I wished he would always call me ototo from now on.

I felt him shift, and then he pressed a kiss into my hair.  “Try to go back to sleep,” he murmured.

“Hn,” was all I could say.  I was too preoccupied with how I was going to ask him to let me sleep beside him the next night as well.  I didn’t want to burden him, but I was convinced his calm assurance was what enabled me to sleep.  These odd things called “dreams” I was experiencing weren’t pleasant, but I felt strangely unflappable with Kankuro by my side.

He settled behind me once more, his breathing steady, his warm breath blowing across the nape of my neck again, and I began to feel heavy.  Drowsy, I supposed.  After a few minutes, I could hardly keep my eyes open and strange images exploded behind my eyelids.

*     *     *

“I wish you’d never been born.”

I frowned and turned toward Kankuro, hurt by his words.  “Wh-what?”  I stared at him, and everything seemed familiar, yet wrong.  He was carrying Karasu wrapped on his back, and we were standing in front of a ramen restaurant in Konoha.

Kankuro smirked, pulled Karasu off his back, and thumped the bandaged puppet on the ground.  “Heh.  Are you deaf?  I said I wish you’d never been born, jan.”

Naruto sat at the ramen counter on a stool.  As Kankuro spoke, he swirled around and faced me.  He was twelve again, wearing his orange and blue jumpsuit, and a small red frog sat on his shoulder.  “You know we’re both monsters,” he said solemnly.  “I understand your pain, but neither of us will ever be accepted.”

Kankuro hopped onto the stool by Naruto, and Karasu was suddenly gone.  “Ramen, please,” he told Temari, who stood behind the counter.

Temari ignored him and stared at me.  “You died.  Why are you here?”

I felt cold.  “Chiyo revived me.”

“Go away,” she snapped, propping one hand on her hip.  “You’re not wanted here.”

Kankuro glanced over his shoulder at me.  “Yeah.  We never thought of you as our brother.”

I stumbled back a step, stung, and yet I wasn’t surprised.  I had always been alone.  But I didn’t want to be alone anymore!  Hadn’t someone accepted me?  I struggled to recall some memory just outside of my grasp.  This wasn’t right.

Kankuro still smirked at me.  “Who’d want a brother like you, jan?”

Naruto crossed his legs on the stool and frowned at me.  “Yeah, I’m disappointed in you, Gaara.  I thought you had things figured out.”

Kankuro was abruptly standing by me gain.  “He’ll never figure it out.  He’s a monster, and he’s dead.  Let’s just hurry up and bury him.  I don’t like filth.”

“Kankuro!”  I felt a shooting pain in my chest; it burned down both my arms and stole by breath.  “You said you—”



I jolted awake with a faint gasp.  Sunlight flooded the room, and after a moment I realized I was still in Kankuro’s bedroom.  I bolted upright, feeling nauseated, and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe.  The strange, jumbled images from the dream tumbled in my head, taunting me.

Behind me, the mattress shook as Kankuro sat up and scooted over to kneel beside me.  “Gaara?  What’s wrong?  Did you have another nightmare?”

I glanced at him, really looked at him.  His spiky hair—a brown version of my own—was tousled, and his clothes were wrinkled.  His shoulders were slumped, but his eyes were clear of grogginess.  In fact, he looked worried, and his brow furrowed.

“Yes,” I said after a long pause.  “It . . . was weird.  It didn’t make much sense, but bad things were happening in it.”  I felt cold, just like I had in the dream.

Kankuro frowned and wrapped one arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest.  He put his other hand on my cheek and tucked my head against his shoulder.  “Sorry.”  He rubbed my shoulder absently.  “Most dreams are like that—they don’t make a lot of sense after you wake up.  But still . . . it was only a dream.”

Was it? I wanted to ask, but his warm embrace caused the words to die in my throat.  However, I could remember when he used to hate me like he had in the dream.  Or at least I’d thought he’d hated me.  He definitely had feared me, but he’d still possessed the habit of getting right into my face.  He’d always tried to reason with me, and when that failed, he’d gotten angry at me for ignoring him.

But sitting encircled in his arms, I had to wonder.  He’d always been the one to carry me if I got chakra-exhausted; he’d always yelled my name if he thought I’d actually been hurt.  And after I’d met Naruto, I’d realized they reminded me of each other to a degree:  they both had a brash, impulsive way of charging in to protect people they cared about, even against overwhelming odds.  And as if to underscore my observations, Temari had told me the previous evening that Kankuro had fought Akasuna no Sasori in an effort to rescue me . . . and had nearly died.

At that thought, my heart fluttered—a kind of loping beat that made me cough—and a tingling sensation whisked through my chest and limbs.  Was I ill?  I lifted my head and gazed up at Kankuro, then I forgot to breathe.  He was watching me with that tender look again, as though I were the most special person alive.  “K-Kankuro?”

“What, ototo?”  He grinned at me then, a playful smile, and mussed my hair with one hand.

Before I realized what I’d done, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, almost as though I were clinging to him.  Embarrassed, I buried my face into his shoulder again.  “Keep calling me that.”

I felt his body stiffen and wondered if I’d just said something stupid or done something wrong.  Then the arm he’d kept around my shoulder tightened, and he hugged me against him again.  “Sure thing, ototo.”

Instantly, I felt relieved.  I paused awkwardly for a moment, then slipped my arms around his waist and hugged him back.  I still couldn’t figure out how to ask him if he’d sleep by me again or why I found his presence so calming.  Or why he’d apparently grown to care about me.

All I knew was that I needed him to keep caring.  I wanted him to be my nii-san so much my chest ached, and I wasn’t sure what to do to continue to earn his affections.  But I couldn’t tell him that.

I wasn’t sure I could ever express words such as those.

*     *     *

All day I was distracted.  I sat in my office, trying to process several days of border reports, but I kept accidentally rereading the same sentence or paragraph until I became irritated.  Losing my temper faintly, I’d stamp the reports without finishing them if I realized they were just overly verbose renditions of “nothing happened.”

At lunchtime, Kankuro—who had been forced onto medical leave for three days until he finished recovering from being poisoned—knocked on my door and entered carrying two bento boxes.  “Hey, man.  You about ready for a break?”  He snorted.  “Or maybe I should say it’s time for me to force you to take a break, jan.”

I glanced up at him, barely biting back the question “Why are you talking that way again?”  Had his care for me already worn off now that I was safe and basically healthy once more?  If so, I wasn’t sure what to do to keep earning his affection.

Kankuro frowned and crossed the room, setting the bento box on my desk.  “You okay?”

Apparently my irritation was leaking onto my face.  I sighed and rubbed my forehead, only to realize my skin was hot to the touch.  In fact, I felt hot all over.  Had someone closed off the ventilation system for repairs?  “Yes, I’m fine.  The paperwork had gotten extremely backed up, though, and I’m buried under border reports.”

Kankuro smirked.  “That’s why I came to force you to take time for lunch.”

He turned away, heading for a chair in the corner, and I watched him as he dragged the chair up to my desk.  He was dressed in all black as usual—I’d never seen him wear any other color since he was eight—and had his purple face paint on.  Since he wasn’t on duty, he wasn’t wearing his hood or carrying his scrolls, but I had to wonder why he insisted on the face paint anyway.  I’d wondered it for years but never bothered to ask.

He sat across the desk from me and opened the bento boxes.  “Here.”  

He shoved one box over to me, and I surveyed the contents:  one compartment held a bed of rice with a layer of stir-fry vegetables on top; another held a bed of rice with shredded salmon and salmon roe on top.  The smaller compartments held maki sushi, wasabi, and soy sauce.  I realized based on the food choices that he’d made the lunches himself, not bought them at a store.

“You made this,” I observed.

He glanced away for a moment, then looked back at me and smiled, closing one eye as he did.  “Yeah, I did.  So even if it tastes bad, suck it up, man.”

I knew then that he was embarrassed that I called attention to his kindness.  He always looked away when uncomfortable, and he always closed one eye when giving people attitude—or in this case, copping attitude to disguise his embarrassment.  “None of the food you make tastes bad,” I assured him and picked up my chopsticks, snapping them apart.  

Kankuro snorted, but I caught the small smile turning up the corners of his lips.  “Nah, I’m not that great at cooking.”

It wasn’t true.  He was far better at it than either Temari or me.  As quiet as he was in his personal life, he had this blatant performer’s streak when fighting, and that same streak seemed to apply to cooking.  He was so good at it that Temari rearranged our assigned house chores so Kankuro could cook all our meals.

“Thank you,” I said simply, then dug into my lunch.

He grinned at me, a genuine smile, and I stopped to consider his reaction.  In fact, I stopped to consider his behavior on the whole.  He never complained about any assignment I gave him nor assignments Baki had given us when we were younger.  Even if he blatantly disagreed with things, he held his peace unless someone he cared about was in danger.  He talked trash with Temari all the time, but if she got sick or injured, he stayed up with her all night, taking care of her, even staying in the bathroom with her while she vomited.  He was a totally brash smartass on the battlefield and engaged in verbal sparing matches with his friends, but if anyone threatened or insulted his friends, he’d beat them to a bloody pulp.  He wasn’t a particularly philosophical or theoretical thinker, but he traded it for always putting his fist behind his words.  In short, he was the least hypocritical person I knew.

I stared at him as he popped a piece of sushi in his mouth and realized why I had chosen him to talk to when I’d begun my odyssey to become Kazekage.  It was the same reason I felt desperate for him to treat me as though I were special to him.  Under his smart-assed punk mask, he was a person who genuinely, deeply cared about the people close to him, just like Naruto.  And I wanted to be one of those people he loved.

I realized I no longer needed to ask him why he wore face paint.

“What is it?” he asked, pointing his chopsticks at my food.  “Did I over season it?  You’re hardly eating anything.”

I glanced at the food, struck with a horrible yearning and wanting nothing more than for him to hug me again.  No one had ever embraced me until he had the day before.  It had always been a point of anger and pain for me, so much so that watching that odd jonin Maito Gai hug Lee after our battle had evoked pure rage in me.  I had wanted that touch, and now Kankuro had offered it to me.  “No, it tastes great.  I just—”

Was nauseated, I recognized.  I not only felt hot, I felt nauseated.  Distressed by this strange sensation and wondering if I’d let my emotions get the better of me, I put my hand on my forehead again.  It was faintly sweaty, I realized, and still hot to the touch.

Kankuro watched me closely.  “Do you feel okay?”  He stood and walked around my desk.  “I know your chakra is still really low right now, but is it more than that?”

I dropped my hand to my lap.  “I don’t know.  I feel . . . hot.  And . . . nauseated.”

He put his hand against my forehead, then moved it under my chin.  He frowned, his brow furrowing.  “You have a fever.”  He sighed.  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  D-dying would have to wreak havoc on a person’s system.  Especially since you were gone for . . . for—”  He turned away abruptly and stalked toward the door.

I realized he could barely talk about the fact I’d died.  “Kankuro?  What are you doing?”

He glanced over his shoulder.  “Informing your personal aide and your secretary you’ll be taking the rest of the day off.”

I slapped both hands on my desk, feeling bizarrely panicked.  “I can’t!  I have to finish all this paperwork.”

He stared at me, and I realized I was acting oddly.  “No, today you’re going to listen to your nii-san,” he said.  “You’re coming down ill, and you’re spending the rest of the day in bed.”  He left without further comment.

I realized arguing with him was pointless.  He had his stubbornly determined look—the one where even death threats didn’t always work.  I slumped in my chair and tried to swallow another bite of rice.  He had gone to the trouble of making me lunch, after all.

Then I was hit by a thought:  would he stay by me like he did for Temari?  Would he stay up with me all night and kneel by me in the bathroom floor if I had to vomit?

My hands shook at the thought, and I dropped my chopsticks.  I hadn’t prayed very often in my life:  a few times as a young child and a few times as Kazekage for special occasions such as Chiyo’s death.  But this time I wanted to pray for myself because I’d found something that I wanted as much as I had wanted to become Kazekage and to be accepted by my village.

I wanted my brother’s love.

*     *     *

I awakened and was immediately confused.  Where was I now?  And what was happening?  I blinked several times, feeling muddled, and glanced to my right.  My bedroom.  I was in my bedroom, in my bed, and muted sunrays were racing across my chest from the window.

“How are you feeling now?”

Turning toward the soft voice, I found Kankuro sitting in a chair to my left, his feet propped on the foot of my mattress.  A sketchpad lay in his lap.

“Fine,” I immediately answered, then stopped to consider whether this was true.   It wasn’t.  I was sweaty and nauseated still, my head and stomach hurt, and I felt like I’d been left in the desert at high noon.  “Not fine.  I’m hot and nauseated, and I hurt all over.”

Kankuro nodded and stood, setting his sketchpad on my bed.  “I’ll get the medicine, then.”

I watched him stand and walk to my dresser where a box, pitcher, and cup sat on a tray.  I smiled at his back, finding some of my pain displaced by a wave of affection:  he had stayed by me, just like he did with Temari.  In fact . . .

I thought hard, pushing back through layers of jumbled dreams and strange sensations, then I remembered:  he had escorted me to my room, fussed over me until I changed clothes and got in bed, then left to get a med nin.  “I must have fallen asleep while you were away,” I mumbled.

“Yeah.”  He returned to my bedside and set a fizzling cup of medicine on the nightstand.  “Just proves how ill you are.”  He held out his hand.  “You need to sit up before you try to drink this.”

I took his hand and let him pull me up.  My head swam, causing me to groan and put my fingers to my temple.  “What’s wrong with me?”

Kankuro sat on the bed behind me, wrapping one arm around me and supporting me.  “The med nin said your stomach is reacting badly to food because all your systems shut down so completely when you . . . died.”

His difficulty saying that word made me smile; he really had cared that I’d died.  I leaned against him, his warmth still comforting despite the fact I was apparently running a fever.  “Is that so?”

“Yeah.  You were . . . so long that . . . well, it’s like someone who’s been starved for months who tries to eat a five course meal as soon as he finds food.  Your body just can’t handle it right now.”  He picked up the medicine cup and handed it to me.  “Plus your immune system was completely trashed.  Basically, your attempt to—to proceed like nothing happened made you sick.”

I sniffed the medicine, which smelled like seawater, and the fizzling bubbles popped against my nose.  “What is it?”

“It’ll lower your fever, reduce your pain, and settle your stomach.”  He reached up and brushed my sweaty hair back from my forehead.  

I closed my eyes, having never felt as safe as I did in that moment.  “Nii . . . san . . .”  I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated it, but when I tried to speak, panic rose in my gut.  What if he didn’t feel what I felt?  Or what if he stopped caring?  He would know my true feelings and use them to hurt me.  I didn’t think I could withstand another betrayal like Yashamaru’s; I had let Shukaku consume me for years just to protect myself from such pain.

Kankuro kissed me on the top of my head, and I felt a tingling sensation in my chest.  Maybe it would be okay . . . maybe.  I sipped the carbonated medicine, which tasted like cold saline, and found it soothing.  

When I was finished, Kankuro took the cup and set it back on the nightstand.  “Try to get some more rest,” he said, and his voice was gentle again, just as it had been the night before.

I let him lower me back on the bed, but in truth I wished he would lie beside me.  I felt embarrassed and silly asking for such a thing, though, so I said nothing.  I was sixteen and the Kazekage, after all; I shouldn’t need so much support over a simple illness.

Kankuro returned to his chair, picking up the sketchpad that he drew his puppet designs in.  I watched him for a moment, wanting something from him but unsure what.  He noticed me staring and sat forward, squeezing my arm.  “You’ll be okay,” he said softly, smiling at me.  He had that look again—the one that seemed to say I was special.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and my eyes began feeling heavy.  Apparently sleep was going to claim me again.

*     *     *

When I awakened the second time, my bedroom was dark.  Faint rays of moonlight slanted across my bed, but beyond that, black shadows lurked in the corners, stretching across the ceiling and floor.  I was drenched in sweat and felt cold and nauseated.  My stomach roiled and churned, growling at me.

“Kankuro?” I whispered.

No reply came.  I glanced around the room, turning my head slowly so it wouldn’t swim, but as my eyes adjusted, I realized the room was empty.  The chair Kankuro had been sitting in was pushed back in its corner, and the medicine tray was gone.

He had left me.

“No!” I gulped, the word escaping me before I could stop it.  Tears stung my eyes, and I felt stupid, hurt, angry, lost, unstable.  He loved Temari; I knew he did.  They teased and tormented each other, but they loved each other.  He always stayed all night with her, no matter how sick she got.  But he didn’t love me.  He’d just fed me my medicine and then left.

I lumbered into a sitting position, the room spinning slightly around me as my stomach lurched.  I was going to vomit; I was sure of it.  I hadn’t vomited since the night Yashamaru had betrayed me, but I still remembered the sensation—the way my mouth watered uncontrollably, my stomach clenched, and my body shook.  I jerked the covers off and stood, stumbling toward my bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before I vomited, and once it was over, I sat on the floor, my head resting on my arm, which I propped on the toilet seat.  I still felt so, so ill.  Chills raced through my limbs, and my face felt hot . . . but all I could do was cry—another thing I hadn’t done since the night Yashamaru betrayed me.  But now tears streaked down my face, wetting my arm, and my sobs made my stomach hurt even worse.

“Why?” I whispered.  Was this my eternal punishment for giving into my hatred and Shukaku’s murderous impulses as a child?  I could drum up some affection in other people’s hearts, but it would never remain.  How could I do it?  How did Naruto do it?  How did I earn someone’s permanent love?

And how could I even begin if they always left me . . .

A memory flashed through me:  Kankuro’s warm embrace the night before.  The thought hurt far more than dying.  I wanted that love so much my blood burnt in my veins.  He had called me “ototo” . . . was love really so fleeting?  A louder sob ripped out of me, then my stomach roiled.  I began vomiting again.

“Gaara?”

I heard Kankuro’s voice but couldn’t respond.  I couldn’t stop retching.  Still, I heard the sound of running footsteps, a small thunk, and then Kankuro was kneeling by me.

“Ototo!”  He moved away, then I heard running water.

I felt confused, but my stomach was tied up too tight for me to react.  I kept heaving until nothing remained, then flushed the toilet with a weak slap on the handle.  Kankuro knelt by me again, pulling me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest, and rubbing a cold washcloth over my face.

“K-Kankuro?” I whispered, confused, hot, ill, and teary-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, running the cold washcloth over my forehead, my cheek, my neck.  “You seemed so soundly asleep when I went for more medicine that I really didn’t think you’d wake up or vomit before I returned.”

I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, torn between despair and hope.  “M-more medicine?”  I began shivering again, as though both my body and mind had taken more than they could handle.

“Yeah.”  He set down the washcloth and reached toward the sink.  

I blinked the tears from my eyes and watched him, and I realized the thunk I’d heard was the sound of his slamming down a tray.  He lifted a cup off of it and handed it to me.

“It’s stronger medicine,” he said.

For a moment I wasn’t sure I could drink it, but cold bubbles were popping out of it and hitting my face, and it seemed appealing to me.  I reached for the cup, but my hand shook so badly I couldn’t hold it.  Kankuro lifted it to my lips and patiently fed it to me sip by sip.

When I was finished, he returned the cup to its tray, and I stared at him in the pale moonlight that shone through the small bathroom window.  So he . . . hadn’t abandoned me?  But the chair had been pushed back in place, and . . .

I leaned against his shoulder, my feelings jumbled.  Only then did I pay attention to the shirt I was brutally gripping.  A t-shirt.  It was a t-shirt, not his normal shirt.  I glanced up at him, and with my tears gone, I could see him more clearly.  His face paint had been washed off.  Realization dawned slowly on me.  “You’re . . . dressed for sleep?”

He nodded slowly.  “It’s midnight.  And your bed is king-sized.  I figured I could borrow a corner without disturbing you.”

The silly tears came back.  I felt ridiculous and embarrassed . . . I felt hot, shaky, and ill.  I was a wreck and couldn’t seem to control my emotions, so I hid my face against his neck.

“Gaara?”

He sounded so worried.  His arm, so much larger than mine, tightened around me protectively, then he slipped his other arm under my knees.  “Let’s get you back in bed.”  He picked me up like I weighed nothing and carried me to my bed, laying me down.

But I wouldn’t release his shirt.  “Nii-san . . .”  I couldn’t tell him how much I didn’t want to be alone, how much I really did want him as my brother, how much I needed his care.  Yet I clung to him stubbornly, unwilling to let him go.

He climbed on the bed and lay down beside me.  “What, ototo?  I’m not going anywhere.”

I rolled onto my side and faced him, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.  “Good.  Please don’t.”  I didn’t even want to know what he thought of my wild emotional display.  I hoped I hadn’t disgusted him.

But he just wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to him, then rubbed my back gently.  “You’re going to be fine,” he whispered.  It was the soft voice again.  “And I’ll stay beside you until you feel better.”  

“Nii-san . . .” I began, then hesitated.  I had to tell him that I needed him, that I appreciated him, that I wanted this care he showed me.

“I know,” he said simply.

I frowned, confused.  Did he really know what I felt, what I needed to say?

“Just let me protect you,” he whispered.

I relaxed into his arms, letting him tuck my head under his chin, and felt younger, almost as though I were six again.  It wasn’t a bad feeling.  I was warm and safe, and there was another person in the world who loved me and wanted to look out for me.  “I will,” I murmured.

This time when I slept, I didn’t have any nightmares.







A/N:  Thank you to Darkhelmetj for beta reading and to everyone who read and reviewed chapter 1!  I appreciate your feedback and your encouragement to write a second chapter.