Since FF.net removed my story, I posted it up here so you guys can read it.

Tool has always been one of my favorite bands and I’ve been listening to their music for a really long time. Their newest album came out very recently and when I heard their first single, Vicarious, I thought of Gaara immediately and I knew I would have to write a songfic about it.

This takes place before the Sand team goes to Konoha for the chuunin exams, so Gaara is at his most psychotic and unstable frame of mind. This is a dark fic and you have been warned, since Tool is definitely not for the faint of heart.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto nor Maynard’s genius lyrics. This story was made for entertainment purposes only.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

VICARIOUS:

1. Felt or undergone as if one were taking part in the experience or feelings of another.
2. Endured or done by one person substituting for another: vicarious punishment.
3.  
   1. Acting or serving in place of someone or something else; substituted.
   2. Committed or entrusted to another, as powers or authority; delegated.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Eye on the TV
'Cause tragedy thrills me
Whatever flavor it happens to be

Blood. His faithful companion. That trusted substance which gave him the satisfaction of proving his existence whenever he made it flow. Death had always been a part of his life, from the very moment he was born, and would forever linger wherever he went. He made sure of that.

Standing on the rooftop of his father’s building, Gaara watched the crimson sunset of the harsh desert descend upon the world. Dark rimmed eyes stared directly at the falling sun until they watered, trying to concentrate on something else apart from the tormenting thoughts raging through his mind.

He had just experienced yet another confrontation with the Kazekage, who wanted to make sure they performed their mission in Konoha flawlessly. Gaara couldn’t care less about what he did for his village and was only interested in the bloodshed he would be able to participate in. His body language made this evident and had caused his father to fall into another one of his favored speeches, concerning the duties they all had to Suna and demanding his youngest son to control himself and not blow their cover.

He was one to talk. What control did he have over the monstrosity he had created in his third born child? How could he preach about control when he couldn’t even succeed in his murderous attempts to eliminate the fiend he had bred? Gaara had just stared at him with open disgust in his jade eyes.

The revulsion he felt for his father thrummed through his veins like blood until it formed an intrinsic part of his very being… of the existence he led. He couldn’t remember not hating his father in his short life and whenever he was close to him, homicidal impulses would drown him and he was hard pressed to control the vicious tanuki living inside of him.

But as it was usually the case, it was no use. Shukaku had been stirred by his father’s reprimands and the demon was now rampant with fury and filling the red head’s mind with delicious scenes of annihilation and bombarding him with images of the bloody tragedy his life had always been.

Killed by the husband

He saw his mother die by order of his father. It had been known all along that if the baby boy she was carrying became Jinchuuriki, she would have to give her life during childbirth. Gaara’s mother had known that the son inside her would be the one to extinguish her life and he was sure that the resentment she felt towards him and towards her husband had somehow filtered into his being, fueling his hatred and bitterness, immersing him in a cocoon of abhorrence.

Drowned by the ocean

Shukaku laughed in glee as he sent visions of Gaara’s mother drowning in waves of sand… waves caused by her own son. She screamed in agony as the wicked grains invaded her lungs and stole the last breath from her body. No matter how anyone looked at the circumstances, it was clear that it had been him who had killed her. If he had never been born, it would not have been necessary to perform the ceremony of binding and his mother would still be alive.

Shot by his own son

Yashamaru’s grunts of agony as Gaara’s sand enveloped him, the undying hatred he felt for his foster son reflected clearly in his violet eyes. His uncle had tried his best to eliminate his sister’s murderer, but had clearly underestimated the power of the seal which protected his nephew. The red head saw himself kneeling on the rooftop that fateful night so long ago and relived the moment in which he had finally embraced the offer of bloodshed Shukaku happily offered him.

She used a poison
in his tea...kissed him goodbye

He remembered all the times his father had sent murderers after him and failed. All the times he had been forced to kill a servant because she had been ordered to poison his drink. Never in his life had he trusted another person and it had been a good thing too. By being suspicious of everyone who came near him, he had managed to save his life more times than he could count… not that there was much to save. He really didn’t have a life… it was more like an existence than anything else.

That's my kind of story
It's no fun 'til someone dies

Gaara was the main actor in a perverse and wicked play, and long ago, he had decided he would fulfill his leading roll with a flourish. His father had created him so he would become an unthinking killing machine and the red head didn’t want to disappoint. But what the Kazekage didn’t count on was the fact that the Jinchuuriki did not discriminate between the people he chose to kill. He annihilated whatever came in front of him, be it an enemy, an ally or the village’s leader.

Don't look at me like
I am a monster

None of this was his fault. None of it. But it was the cruel way of reality for the blame to fall on the innocent. It was the way life worked. Gaara suffered from the mistakes of his seniors, of the people who thought that breeding an atrocity was the answer for the lack of power in their village. He was supposed to be the hidden ace up their sleeves. But they realized, when it was too late, that when you cage the animal, the angered beast turns round to bite the hand that feeds.

Frown out your one face
But with the other
Stare like a junkie
Into the TV
Stare like a zombie

No matter how much they abhorred him, the members of Suna’s council knew that Gaara was a necessary liability. He was a double edged sword, but a very effective one. They needed him to do their dirty work for them, either because they lacked the courage to do so themselves or because they just simply did not posses the raw power the Jinchuuriki was notorious for.

So, they would turn their faces on the street when they would pass him… they would be openly appalled by the cruelty the red head was capable of and would talk behind his back, murmuring like the useless weasels they were. But when the time came to fulfill the most difficult and gruesome tasks, they would never hesitate to call on him, knowing he was the best shinobi for the job.

While the mother holds her child
Watches him die
Hands to the sky crying,
"Why, oh why?"

Sabaku no Gaara was their assassin… their merciless and cruel fallen angel of death. As horrified as the council members were with his methods of annihilation, they did not complain in the least when he got the job done. The red head had killed many times already, and he was only a mere genin; by the time he achieved chuunin and jounin level, he knew he would have taken more lives than he would be able to count.

Cause I need to watch things die... from a distance
Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
You all need it too, don't lie

The elders of his village were the most perverse lot on the face of the world. They had taken a bijuu and sealed him up in the body of a newborn baby boy. This boy would then grow up, without ever having a life of his own to claim, to become an inbred and powerful weapon, a weapon which would bring the utter destruction of Suna’s enemies, bringing the village the glory it had always craved.

They had created Gaara so that he could kill and they relished in the death he brought in secret. Such was the way their twisted little minds worked.

Why can't we just admit it?
Why can't we just admit it?
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing
Neither the brave nor bold
write as the story's told
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing

Hypocrites. That was what the committee members were, along with his father. War was always the answer when it came to dealing with other shinobi villages and the red head was the living proof of how things really worked. How could they dare to talk about peace, about living side by side with fellow ninjas? Everyone knew this was the most stupid idea there was. You could never attain peace, not with Jinchuuriki monsters running around rampant. The Kazekage talked about achieving a balance, but you needed to attack and conquer to do it properly… it was common knowledge. Destroy anyone who could come in your way and do not rest until their blood soaks the soles of your feet.

That was Gaara’s mission, to attack Konoha and aid in its elimination. Once more, he would be giving the chance to prove his existence and he would take as many lives as he needed to achieve this goal.
 

Blood like rain falling down
Drawn by the brave and proud

Shukaku commenced his gory visions once more and Gaara did nothing to stop him. He always liked it when the blood of his enemies came pouring down from the heavens and bathed him with the vanishing life of his victims. It was a technique he had perfected throughout the years and it always gave him great pleasure whenever he performed it. The demon Tanuki knew of the red head’s preferences and humored him with images of blood rain coming down for miles around.

Part vampire
Part warrior
Carnivorous Voyeur
Stare at the transmitter
Sing to the death rattle

He needed the blood, he always had. Inside his unstable mind, he had made a connection between the vital liquid and his necessity to attest his way of subsistence. And he had experienced, first hand, the feel of the awed eyes of senior shinobi whenever he made the blood rain fall. They stared at his handiwork with morbid fascination, forcing them to go mute for hours afterwards. Gaara knew they craved his power, but they were useless idiots and he would one day have to eliminate them, just like he destroyed everything else in his path.

La, la, la, la, la, la-la-lie

La, la, la, la, la, la-la-lie

The life all his supposed comrades in arms lived was a complete and utter lie. The supposed bonds they formed with each other were false and it was a way with which they tried to hide their weakness. You did not need anyone else in life, you could only love yourself. Gaara’s crimson tattoo, red like blood, was the only evidence he needed to be certain of this fact. All the others were fools, helpless weaklings and were not worth his attention. The red head focused on greater prey… prey, which once abolished, would reinforce his perception of the world.

Credulous at best
Your desire to believe in
Angels in the hearts of men

Angels did not exist… only demons did. He was a living demon and was the proof that only wickedness, selfishness and avarice lived inside the souls of humans. Evil prevailed in this world and was the stronger force… and when the time came, Gaara wanted to be on the winning side. There was no point in mercy or clemency; that only made you frail. It made you lose your perspective, which was to concentrate only on the death of your opponent. Death was the answer to every question the red head had ever asked himself in his life. 

But pull your head on out
you hippies and give a listen
Shouldn't have to say it all again

People who preached peace were complete morons. How could you achieve anything without any conflict? You needed to use force, always, because deep down inside, people didn’t give a shit about you and would kill you in turn if you weren’t careful.

The universe is hostile, so impersonal
Devour to survive... so it is, so it's always been

Kill or be killed. It had been Gaara’s motto since the very first time he drew breath. His own father had tried to murder him many times and the red head had learned the lesson well. No matter who came between him and his goals, he would eradicate them ruthlessly, leaving a trail of beautiful blood wherever he went.

We all feed on tragedy
It's like blood to a vampire

And the elders of his village would praise him for it. For every life he took, they would secretly eulogize him, because this was what he had been created for. To kill. It was his sole purpose in life and when the time came, he would rid the world of the people who had brought him into existence… he would get his revenge and their body parts would fly as their entrails fell to the ground… and all would be well.

Even as he thought this, Shukaku bristled in approval and anticipation, while Gaara could clearly hear the voices of the inhabitants of his village singing in chorus inside his mind:

Vicariously I live while the whole world dies
Much better you than I

They would continue to send him out on murderous missions and they would savor in the glory his deaths brought to Suna. None of them had the guts to do it themselves, that was the reason why Gaara been created. So he would humor them for the time being but would bide his time.

When the time came to smear his face in the blood of his fellow villagers, he would be a satisfied Jinchuuriki indeed.

In perfect unison, the red head and the demon tanuki inside of him turned their faces to the now dark sky, cackling in bloodthirsty glee.

XXXXXXXXXX
 

Let me know what you think.