Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto any more than I can claim to own the Empire State building.
Outside the window, the wind howled angrily, furious at being denied the right to torment the young girl inside with it's cold, swirling eddies. Rain hammered against the stone roof, thunder crashed, shaking the entire house with it's primordial fury, while lightning illuminated the fright in the eyes of hapless villagers.
It was an extremely unusual event; a thunderstorm in the desert village of Suna, and a violent one at that. The last time it had rained in the village was nearly seven years ago, on a long winter's night. But now, it was a sultry summer's midnight, disturbed by the cacophony of weather.
There came another deafening roll of thunder, as if all the world were breaking. The little girl woke up with a short, startled scream, sitting bolt up in bed, flicking her wild, sleep-filled eyes about the room.
Lightning lit up the room. She was alone. That was odd. Usually her otouto was asleep in the bed beside hers by this late hour. But the messy bed was empty and strangely forlorn, the smooth white sheets and dark comforter rumpled and thrown far back from the head of the bed. He must have gone to the kitchen for a late-night snack. Or…
No! Don't think about it. That can't be it… She gripped her dusty blonde hair violently to block out the treacherous thought.
The darkness of her room was absolute. In Suna, the windows of bedrooms, especially in the houses of the upper class, were near the ceiling, horizontal, and narrow, to allow the sunlight to filter through in a way that wouldn't be overwhelming.
But it was proving to be a true liability. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face when she held it up. Lightning split the sky. Suddenly, the room could be seen. She made her jump then. Avoiding every obstacle in her path, she hopped to the door.
Another girl might have been worried about monsters lurking in the dark corners of a night-darkened room, and this girl had definite reasons to fear movements in shadows, but she and her little brother were big now, big enough that their uncle didn't think they needed a nightlight anymore, and if that didn't mean she was big, she didn't know what did.
An attempt to turn on the light switch resulted in failure. That could only mean one thing. A power-out.
She gulped. The girl had no inclination of walking out into an unlit hall in the middle of the night, in the middle of her first thunderstorm.
But she did anyway. Her otouto was in the house somewhere, and she had to make sure he was alright. To make sure they both were alright.
However, she also wanted to watch the awesome display of Nature's wrath, so when she passed by a wide, low window, she huddled up on the window seat, propped her arms up on the ledge, and stared out at the maelstrom.
Little glistening water beads rolled down the clear glass the way they would the smooth walls of the bathroom, making the six-year-old want to reach out and try to grab them so she could play with them. But she didn't. She knew far better than to try to take something for herself when she knew she couldn't have it. She knew far better…
It seemed like an eternity that she was watching, caught in the painful regrets a child of six years shouldn't have had.
Years later, when she was grown, she would reminisce about all the things she had wanted so badly but could never have. They weren't trivial things, but they were things that so many selfish people took for granted. It made her so angry to think about how everyone but her and a few select others discounted what was most important.
And she wasn't alone at the window.
A few sharp hissing whispers went completely over her head. "'Mari-chan? Earth to neesan? TEMARI!!" Jumping and yelping as though she had been burned, Temari turned to face a slightly seething Kankuro.
Her little brother, her otouto, had an odd and—in Temari's honest opinion—slightly morbid fascination with the color black. It was about the only color he ever wore, aside from brown. It meant that he blended in with the black of the hallway.
"Kankuro-kun, otouto, you scared me." Temari fidgeted with the material of her short-sleeved nightgown as Kankuro hauled himself onto the window seat.
"Don't like being blown off," he muttered indistinctly.
None of them liked being ignored, the result of a life-long lack of acknowledgement by the Kazekage.
Temari nodded, her attempts at seriousness incongruous and saddening on a face that was still baby-round. They sat stock-still, gaping at a sight they'd never seen before and hoped to never see again, until Kankuro put forth a question.
"Temari, what is this going on outside?"
She blinked, falling into the familiar role of mother, caretaker, bossy perfectionist and all-around know-it-all. "Yashamaru says it's called rain. It's water coming from the sky."
Kankuro's dark brown eyes glazed over, indicating that he probably didn't believe her when she said it came from the sky. "Yashamaru isn't here," he spoke softly. "I've looked all over for him. I don't know where he's gone."
The older of the two siblings frowned and sunk her head down onto her elbows. He wasn't there? Where could he be? Oh please, don't let it be that. He wouldn't. I know he wouldn't. But would he have any choice?
Kankuro shivered. Temari did as well, noticing for the first time how frigid the corridor was. It nipped her toes and fingers, seeming to freeze the blood in all her extremities.
"There's a blanket on top of the couch," Kankuro whispered. "It's really warm."
That was all she really needed to know. Slipping off the window seat as silently as a wraith, Temari smoothed down the white nightgown that washed out her skin. "Let's go, otouto."
The hallway seemed to grow longer the more they traveled. Their breathing echoed in their ears, and by the time they reached the living room, the two were jumping at the slightest noise.
Indistinct shapes could be made out in the gloom; the expansive window helped. They also heard soft, near silent whimpering from somewhere in the room.
When Temari looked at Kankuro, the boy's dark eyes were round and almost scared. "Otouto," he whispered.
Without agreeing explicitly or audibly, Temari gave off enough anxiety to show that she knew he was right.
"Gaara-kun," she called softly, "otouto, where are you?"
The small, pitiable sobs only grew slightly louder. Kankuro remained rooted to the patch of carpet he was standing on, while Temari began rooting around the room looking for the littlest of her little brothers.
Behind the couch, no. Under the coffee table, no. Hiding behind the lamp stand, definitely not.
Then, Temari's attention was drawn to the large easy chair in the corner. She crept over, announcing her presence because she knew that if she startled her brother she was likely to get her ankle broken by a crushing whip of sand.
"Gaara, are you there? It's just neesan," she whispered soothingly. "It's alright little one, you can come out." She got to the chair, and peeked around the side.
A pair of gray green eyes, the color of soft green sea foam that neither of them had ever seen, made luminous by tears, stared back at her.
"Hello, otouto." Temari smiled feebly at him, waiting for a chain of sand to wrap around her back. "Isn't it late to be out of bed?"
No sand ever rose up to attack the young girl. "Neesan?" Gaara whispered tremulously. His lower lip trembled as tears welled up in his wide eyes once again. "I'm scared."
"Why don't you come out?" Temari ignored Kankuro's sharp intake of breath, and the wary look in his eyes as Gaara stepped out from behind the chair.
The small boy's face was washed by salty tears as he stared at his older siblings with eyes that were frightened, saddened and hopeful all at once.
He made a beeline for the window. As Gaara got closer to Kankuro, the older boy edged back, though by the way his face was twisting as he did so Temari could tell the movements of his feet were almost involuntary.
"Hey, kid," Kankuro muttered gruffly, staring down at his shuffling sock-clad feet with his hands in his pockets.
"Hello, niisan," Gaara greeted him politely, his eyes cheering slightly when Kankuro nodded to him. "'Mari-neesan, why is the sky crying? Is it sad?" His eyes went round and distressed.
Temari was grateful that she had such a compassionate little brother. "The sky's not sad, silly!" she laughed in an attempt at levity, that went unnoticed by either of them. "It's something Yashamaru calls rain. He says it's water from the sky that comes to water the earth."
Gaara drew up his hairless brows. As did Kankuro, he had a hard time believing what Temari said. "It still looks like it's crying," the toddler said softly.
About a year ago, when Temari had first found out about the mysterious thing called "rain", she'd asked several people about what it was. But more importantly, she asked why water came from the sky in such a fashion. Finally, she'd asked Elder Chiyo.
Temari had never really liked Chiyo (Kankuro didn't either; it was one of the few things they agreed on, apart from their opinions that dad was a deadbeat and Uncle was great), especially not after Gaara was born and okaasan had died in the delivery, but everyone agreed that if anyone knew anything about rain, it would be Chiyo.
"Rain, the water that falls from the heavens, is the tears of those who have passed on in such a way that would cause grief for them. They grieve for themselves, but they also grieve for us, for any of us who have to suffer as they did."
Temari, a precocious child, had raised her brows at such an esoteric response, but something about the distant tone in the old woman's voice and the far-away look in her eyes had made the words stick.
Temari came and laid her smooth, high forehead against the window. Tears of the fallen… Okaasan?
Everything made out of glass in the room quaked as thunder exploded like a boulder hitting the rock and sand of the desert.
Gaara jumped even higher than Temari had when Kankuro snuck up on her. Shaking with terror, his pudgy little hands latched tightly onto the legs of his brother's pants.
Kankuro flinched, and Temari held her breath, thinking for a moment that he was going to push Gaara away. Please don't, please don't, can't you see how much that would hurt him, can't you see…
But that in-held breath became a sigh of relief when all Kankuro did was gently rub his brother's back. "S'alright, kid, it won't hurt you, it's just thunder."
"You remember thunder, don't you, Gaara-kun?" Though rain was mostly a once-every-ten-years event in Suna, lightning split the sky often enough, accompanied by it's disagreeable brother, thunder.
Slowly, clearly with great reluctance, Gaara released his clenched grip on Kankuro's pajamas, gazing out the window with something like awe written on his pale face.
Then, his eyes lit up, though his countenance remained even. "I made you something today," he ventured shyly, lowering his eyes to stare at his bare feet.
"And what did you make, otouto?" Temari smiled, knowing that for once Gaara was filled with anticipation of something pleasant, and not the anticipation of fear.
Gaara hopped over to the coffee table, retrieving two objects from it. "I just got to paint them today." He handed them over to his brother and sister.
Temari looked over the small gift, realizing that it was fired clay. It was in the shape of a fan, with what she realized were three small purple stars. He'd made it to resemble her favorite fan.
A pleased grin split Temari's face, and she looked over to see what Kankuro had. A slightly misshapen black cat. She laughed. Both of the clay figurines were crudely made, but who in their right mind's expected masterpieces from a toddler?
"It's very good, Gaara," Temari assured him, as an answer to his uncertain eyes. Kankuro murmured similar praise, granting his little brother a crooked smile.
Gaara's smile was enough to warm the room. Temari wondered how, and marveled at the fact that the container of a deranged, bloodthirsty bijū could have such an angelic smile.
Thunder cracked once more. Gaara cringed, staring out the window with anxious eyes, the smile dying where it stood.
"Please, I don't wanna be alone tonight," Gaara whispered desperately, trembling on the spot. "I'm scared of him."
Kankuro and Temari knew all too well who "he" was. "There's a blanket on the couch," Kankuro mentioned offhandedly, "and the couch is big and soft."
He was trying to be tough and macho, but Temari had seen how his eyes had softened in sympathy and brotherly anger at the bijū and his cruelty.
They all huddled on the couch, snuggling against the smooth dark brown blanket.
"Sing us a lullaby?" Gaara inquired suddenly, staring at his sister with wide eyes that were wonderfully innocent.
No, not innocent. Gaara can never go back to being innocent…
Temari knew that everyone but her and Kankuro and Yashamaru looked at him as the jinchūriki of the One-Tailed Beast, a dangerous monster, something to be feared and scorned. But to her, he was just her little brother, a sweet child who was alone and wanting to be loved.
Other girls talked about wanting to have children. But Temari didn't understand what that all was about. Who needs kids when you've got little brothers? Then, Temari had plenty of experience at being mother. She'd been mother for most of her life…
Kankuro nodded in agreement, staring at her with those same eyes, though with him it was clearly a sham.
Temari sighed and readied herself, trying to think of the words of a lullaby okaasan had sang to her as a toddler. She didn't mention that it was one of okaasan's lullabies. It would only upset them; Kankuro's face would scrunch up as it always did when he was under great emotional stress, and Gaara would cry. She never wanted to see Gaara cry.
The voices of the night
Call to all weary children
Bidding them to sleep
Filling their heads with the dreams of ages
Temari's eerie lullaby filled their ears; okaasan always specialized in eerie songs. She knew her high little girl voice was much different than her mother's soft trill. But the two boys on the couch with her had never known their mother's voice. This was the best they would ever know, and if there was something better, they didn't want to know it. Neesan's voice was better than anything else for lullabies.
Kankuro started dropping off to sleep almost immediately, and Gaara, though he did not sleep, fell into a lethargic state of half-sleep where his eyes grew heavy and everything around him seemed warm and inviting. Temari drifted off, her voice trailing the last words of the lullaby.
For this is all the comfort they may ever know…
When, in the morning, Yashamaru returned from the power plant, the first thing he did was check Temari and Kankuro's room. When he realized that they were gone, he began searching the house frantically, cursing it's expansive size.
When he finally did find them, he was greeted with a strange sight. On the couch were his sister's children. All of them. Kankuro was sleeping with his side against the back of the couch. His right arm was behind his sibling's heads, supporting their necks. Temari was near the edge, her arms wrapped around Gaara's neck and shoulders, as if even in sleep she wanted to protect her otouto from the world. Gaara was sandwiched between his siblings; he did not asleep, but his eyes were half-closed, his head was resting on his sister's shoulder, and he didn't notice when his uncle came into the room. If any of them moved a hair, they'd all come tumbling off.
The first thing Yashamaru did was rush to get his camera. The second thing he did was lean back and wonder. His niece and nephews were clinging to each other desperately, as though they had some inkling that they would eventually be ripped apart. He wanted to wake them and separate them, but he couldn't bear to do it. Let them be children for just a little while longer. They would have to be adults soon enough.
The lyrics are my own.
If Temari seems a little too grown-up, then it's because when Karura died she was shoved into an adult role, and adjusted to being an adult and being "mother" maybe a little too well.
Please tell me what you thought. This seemed perfect for a Sand siblings interaction.