It was a heavy burden that Kankuro bore as his ambush team returned to the main base; the rag tag team scattering to see their remaining friends until their next mission, outwardly content with their victory, even if it came with a steep fee. Sai was the first to meander into the labyrinth of shinobi and tents, claiming that he was going to inform the Aburame family of Muta's passing though, truth to be told, the puppeteer highly doubted that this was the case. Admittedly, he may not know the dark haired artist all that well, but somehow he didn't get the impression that Sai was all that sensitive or comforting to others. But, Kankuro let it go. They all had their own demons to deal with after their first mission in this war; that and he knew better then anyone else present what is was like to lose your brother right before your eyes and not be able to do a thing.

That, however, was not the weight pressing down on his back, even if sympathy for his impromptu teammate did lay heavy in his chest. No, his burden was far different then pity of guilt that Konaha lost a fine shinobi under his command, or more importantly, that now a family was without a son; guilt that he did feel in parts of him that he refused to examine at the moment or even at any time in the near future.

The worst part was, logically, he knew that it was not his fault, and he still felt it. New to war he might be, but he was not some pink behind the ears genin who believed good always won. Hell, he didn't even know if he believed in good or evil anymore. And yet, despite logic, reality was not what he had envisioned, either. He, like all Suna nin hopefuls, had grown up hearing the stories of exaggerated grandeur about their military prowess in wars a generation and a half past. And he dreamed, as young boys were wont to do, of his own name being told in tales of bravery, cunning, and skill long after he was gone... All the while ignoring the haunted looks in the eyes of the survivors as they spoke of comrades that, despite their bravery, cunning, and skill were not there to tell the tale themselves.

... It was a hard thing to ignore now, though, a fact that was making it's self well known time and time again as Kankuro walked through the camp, catching snitches of conversations as he went. Some nine from Iwagakure lost a leg and it wasn't looking good for one of his arms; a kunoichi from Konoha was missing, the worst was to be presumed; an entire squadron was found dead south of the border, and they were in such bad shape that they still had not yet been positively identified. The glamour of battle and war had begun to fade the day he went out on his first 'real' mission all those years ago, but now it was completely dead; tarnished fools gold that vanished in to thin air with the sobs echoing from somewhere in the camp.

But now was not the time for that. Now was not the time to try and figure out right and wrong and where he was on the scale, where any of them were. He was alive for another day and needed to focus on that till this... was all over. He would not give in to that and fall into the black; he had too much to live for to willingly fall into the black; a cause that he believed in, people he needed to be here for, he reminded himself again as he approached his sister, spotting her bright hair easily in the crowd.

"You're back." Temari said, her statement guarded even as her sharp eyes roved over his form, eating up the sight of him injured and dirty but very much so alive. Her relief remained evident even as she snapped, "You're late."

Kankuro yawned, glancing her up and down as well. "Yeah, yeah... Got lost on the path of life?"

She scowled at him, punching him on the arm without any real conviction, just hard enough to leave a slight sting. "You're hanging out too much with those Konoha perverts."

He lazily grinned at her, glad that somethings, even in times of crisis, never changed. "He's the pervert? I heard what you and Matsuri said about him... What was it again? He had a cute as-..."

This time, the blonde went for the fan strapped to her back.

Kankuro couldn't help it, he really couldn't as he started laughing. Temari, fan half out of it's holster, blinked before joining him, both struck by the hilarity of how common place they were acting when it was anything but. Relief warred with light humor, thankfully not mixing into the hysteria prone to those new to this violent world or war.

Smiling, Temari shook her head. "Listen to us... You hanging out with the White Fang's son... Lady Chiyo must be rolling in her grave."

Kankuro's grin faded slightly. Lady Chiyo... Sasori... Almost as if on cue, the burden on his back seemed to triple in weight, pulling down on him; the spoils of victory and survivor's task all rolled into a single promise of a life time. One day, one evening when he and other's who, like him, survive with their burdens to be old timers who tell the tale to young idealistic children, they may begin to talk and he might talk about it. Hell... he'd probably brag that he fought the great Sasori of the Red Sand twice, and survived to tell the tale to them, but that day was not today, a fact he knew, shifting his shoulders to readjust to weight on his shoulders.

Unfortunately, his sister did not seem to get the memo, her sharp teal eyes narrowing as the slight shift brought her attention to focus not on him, but rather the wooden puppets on his back. "That's not Karasu." She said, eyes snapping back to his face.

"No."

She openly frowned when he didn't answer the unasked question. "That's not Sanshouo."

"No, it's not."

"... That's not..."

"Kuroari?" He asked, a teasing lilt lifting up his somber tone. "I'll give you a hint, it's not Scorpion, either."

Teal eyes narrowed further as her arms crossed over her chest in an air of impatience that only she ever seemed to be able to pull off. "Exactly," Temari hissed, "And you haven't had time to finish anything new."

Kankuro waggled his eyebrows, "Anything that you know of," he teased with a grin. "A shinobi never tells his secrets... Besides that, I'm a man of mystery. A puzzle wrapped in an enigma."

"Wrapped in an wise ass, wrapped in a kitty hat." She taunted back.

Kankuro winced dramatically. "Bunraku cap." he stressed, not for the first time, his hand straying up to pat the offended garment.

"And my eyeliner is actually warrior's paint, now spill."

Ouch.

"It's..." Kankuro paused, giving an awkward shrug. "... Mother and Father..."

A single blonde eyebrow lifted at his confession. "What?"

Kankuro sighed heavily. "It's Mothe-."

"I heard what you said! i just..." Temari paused, struggling for words in a rare moment of in-eloquence. "...Are you... okay? You didn't hit your head or anything, did you?"

Dark eyes rolled. "Idiot." he muttered under his breath, watching her for any sudden movements towards her fan. "Mother and Father, as in Sasori's puppets."

Understanding dawned in her eyes, but Temari's expression didn't waver. "His puppets... You fought him again?"

Kankuro gave a grim grin as his sister reexamined his battle worn worm, obviously searching for the slightest of cuts or so much as a hint of poison. "No." he softly admitted. "Not really."

"Not really? Then what... How did you get..?"

"He gave them to me."

The pause between them was heavy, the sounds of the camp and a thousand other conversations filling their awkward silence.

"A trap." she finally hissed, eyeing the wooden puppets on his back wearily.

Kankuro shook his head. "No." he corrected, looking up at the fading evening sky. "A legacy."

A/N: Um... not too much to say. I'm not happy with the ending, but after sitting on this for over a week I came to the conclusion that, for now, this would simply have to do. Maybe I'll come back in the future and rewrite it. Not entirely sure how this story will do on here; it's a lot different from what i usaully write, but i think taht might be one reason that I do like it.

Comments and reviews are, as always, appreciated.