Disclaimer: The Suna siblings do not belong to me. Nor do their parents. In a perfect world, they'd be living with me, but there you go.
Author's Note: I've edited this a bit, because I made a few mistakes with regards to the birth order (I'm SO new to this fandom; school prevented me from appreciating it fully). For those who commented privately - I stand by the idea that Kankuro trained earlier than Temari; not because he's a guy, but because he more likely chose to. And some special thanks to Daemon Velvet and Queen.of.Tea for the correction. Also more thanks to Sophia Prester, naash,and sw33t p34 n3k0-ch4n for their reviews, too. I was really nervous about this fic, since it's my first attempt at Naruto, and you guys made me feel very welcome.
bows>Please enjoy!
Dysfunction
One of her earliest memories involved her mother – and she remembered how big her mother was. She knows now that Karura had been pregnant then, but to her, that woman had always been like that.
'Like the world,' she thought later on. 'Or maybe, like home.' She liked that memory of her mother. Her mother brings the wind, she remembered thinking. She blows away the heat of the desert sun. Her mother is the rain, she now confirms in her memory. She washed away the sting of the desert sand.
But she also remembers the tears, and the pressure on her back; a breath-memory of the words "Your little brother", and "Watch". She remembers the trembling, the calm of her mother's voice like the absence of sound before a sandstorm. She remembers the tension letting go, the feel of her own face scrunching up as she SAW her mother and glimpsed her hatred, the weight of her Kankuro's hand on her shoulder, reassurance that this, like a storm, will blow over.
It didn't. And for the longest time, that early memory was of her only brother being a liar.
xxxxxx
Even as a child, Temari noticed Kankuro's refusal to back down when the elder nin criticized him, compared him to their father.
"The curse of Sand nobility," he told her, "is that we may never be weak." She thought it was just his excuse for being mean to her. But she didn't blame him; people were mean to him, too. Because they goaded him, he would get up before the sun rose, come home long after the stars have come out, and steal her share of food. He insisted on carrying several items on his back, collectively weighing a ton at least, for the sake of his training. He plays with her; but only when dolls are involved and he could show off. Of course, that's only when he visits – their father insisted that his brood be raised separately after his consort had died violently. She wondered if he missed their mother at all, and thought that maybe he didn't.
Her youth was spent with discomfort; the knowledge that she may never know her father nor completely trust her otouto creeping at the back of her mind. She wasn't unhappy, of course, but there had been a memory…
Her decision to become nin was not surprising, although her reasons, should others discover them, will lead to questioning she would rather not face. But in her privacy, she would outline the parameters of the mission she had given herself: she had learned by way of her caretakers – they thought she had been asleep when they gossiped – of a young monster named Gaara of the Desert, who also happened to be the child of the Kazekage. Realizing that she had another brother, she demanded (almost immediately) that she begin her own training. Her father had seemed pleased; he even boasted to the elders that his daughter also refuses to be weak, that no spawn of his would condone becoming useless in Suna politics. But she ignored him. Her desire to become strong had nothing to do with their country, but had everything to do with what little family Karura left them with.
It was only then that she wondered if Kankuro knew, and if his desire to become stronger also came from a steel-tipped knowledge that it was the only way they could be with their brother, and have the final piece in a quest to restore their mother. But she never asked; she knew his pride would never allow him to tell, either.
xxxxxx
When she first saw Gaara, she realized she was frightened. It was the way he looked at them, her and Kankuro. His eyes accused them of being too slow, of coming too late. They were like their mother's voice, the calm before the sandstorm.
"Watch," she remembered her mother say. "Your little brother."
She asked herself how she could possibly watch over a child who had survived so much pain; a child who had learned to watch over himself, a trustless child. She wondered if she should watch out of fear. Nothing could have prepared anyone for Gaara of the Desert, nor for the child himself.
It wasn't until they went out on their first mission together that she realized she need only watch him, never to be wary nor to protect, but to see. Her mother's face flashed before her eyes, and Temari knew at that moment that more than anyone else, Gaara was Karura's memory in perfect distillation.
When she looked at Kankuro, he met her gaze with wry grin, holding up a flask. With a "Looks like we're not needed here" and a grand flourish he sat on the ground, patting the space beside it, wiggling the flask at her almost playfully. As she sat down next to him and took a big swig – and, incidentally, finding out that Kankuro had somehow spiked it; she wanted to reprimand him for doing something reckless, but decided they needed it anyway – she smiled in recognition of her otouto, before her memory of the lie.
Before them, the youngest of their brood calmly asphyxiated a bandit who got in the way of their mission. Behind them, Baki stood saying nothing – Temari suspects that he would never get used to Gaara. Beyond them all, Temari decided, will be a future that will save her baby brother.
Today will be another day in the sand, keeping in mind that sand, at its very core, is unweatherable quartz.