I was really disappointed Kankuro was no where near present when Gaara confronted their father; Don't get me wrong, I'm also upset Temari was cut from the conversation, but at least she saw/recognized their father. I reaaly love the idea of this tense relationship between the Late Kazekage and his children, not just Gaara, and I love writing angsty pieces, so this came. It's kinda influenced by the part of the Pein arc where Kakashi speaks with his father in the same manor.
Spoilers for the recent chapters, the whole Fourth Shinobi War arc.
Disclaimer: No ownership of Naruto or any characters
Monster
"K-Kankuro?"
Stirring and stumbling, he looked up at the familiar voice. That voice...it was recognizable but not familiar. Whose voice..? Ah, yes, that pink-haired Kunoichi. Sakura-san, right? Why was she in Suna? No, no, stay with me, he thought.Thisisn'tSuna. Far from it. This is war. But what battlefield is this?
He stammers. Sakura quickly jumps to his side, catching him. He coughs.
That's right. This is the medic base.The poison...He remembers it all now.Hanzo's poison...his squad was sent here to retreat; recover. Sakura wrapped an arm around his waist, throwing his own over her shoulder and she motioned him to step in her direction.
"Kankuro-kun, how did you wander this far without being checked upon?"
He blinks. He needs to focus.
"My squad."
It's not an answer to her question, and it's not really a question itself. Or at least, it was meant to be but it came out more like a growl-or a demand. He didn't mean it to be, but he somewhat shouted it at her. Slurred...
"They're all being treated as we speak...Kankuro, has anyone seen to you yet?"
"G-Gaara..." He lurched forward, his knees locking. A ninja nearby caught his other side. Sakura quickly began issuing orders. Something about too long...untreated...some medicines...Kankuro snickered. He couldn't feel from his waist below; everything was numb. The arm that had been forcefully slung over the medic-nin was tingling. He felt his spine give way, his neck rolling back and the blurred white tents morphing into an endlessly blue sky. He didn't remember why, but his last thought was is Gaara okay?After that, darkness over took him and he blacked out.
Kankuro stirred slightly in his sleep. He awoke slowly to candlelight burning from a kerosene lantern. He blinked only one eye open, watching the light flicker a bit. For some reason, he felt the light flicker on his own skin-flickering across his eyes. Everything else was dark and he couldn't judge his surroundings, but the light breeze assured him he was inside a tent. He slowly lifted his other lid. A rustle alerted him someone had entered the tent. He made to sit up but instantly felt like retching from the motion-that, and he found he couldn't move.
"Please don't move too much, Kankuro-kun!"
Sakura again? Where was Gaara! Lik eI can move...
"We're fighting the poison as we speak. The antidote report from Chiyo-Baasama that you gave when you first entered the camp has really helped!" Kankuro doesn't recall speaking to anyone. She smiled a bittersweet smile, but all Kankuro could think was where is Gaara?
"But you need to rest. It's almost morning, if you just sleep through the night, regain some strength and rest, we can provide you a soldier pill and you'll be out of here before noon to rejoin the ranks."
Sakura said this with a pang of regret. She didn't like the idea of that- sending a patient back out to the frontlines with only one night's recovery? Then again, she didn't like the idea of this war all that much either. In fact, lately, there were a lot of things she didn't like.
Kankuro tried to cling to her words, to make sense of them. Almost morning? There had still been light when he'd entered the camp, right? He tries to recall the blue sky, but all he sees is red.
"Gaara..." Kankuro kept mumbling. Sakura smiled weakly. The boy's devotion to his brother...despite his own sickly stupor. She sighed, shaking her head. Another thing she was dealing with a lot lately, she noted sadly. Dumb boys who were willing to throw their lives away for one another. Stubborn, stupid, idiotic boys...
"Gaara's fine. Last I heard, his division is waiting out the night on watch over the forces to the West."
Kankuro watched Sakura like she wasn't even there.
"K-Kankuro-kun..?"
Kankuro shifted his head back to look up, allowed his eyes to roll back, and slept. Sakura sighed again, and took her leave from the tent. She told herself her answer had been good enough for Kankuro and that, in relief, he'd allowed himself to sleep and recover as he much so needed. But she didn't believe that. She didn't believe Kankuro had even heard her.
Once Kankuro was sure Sakura was gone, he reopened his eyes. Having adjusted, he saw more than just the flickering lantern. On his bed side table, he saw several tools; some needles, pills, a bowl of water. What attracted his attention was the cloth, though. It was covered in purple smears and smudges, and at first he thought the light was playing tricks on his mind and that really was his blood. He'd lost a lot of blood. Funny, he doesn't remember getting hit...
No. It's his face paint. The mask of Bunraku artists. His defining trait, he thought smirking to himself.
No, he frowned. His defining trait were those he had inherited. He scowled. That man...
Kankuro's fists clenched, despite the pain and utter numbness of his entire arm. His teeth grinded together and he tasted blood.
That man was no father. He was the monster. All those years, raising his own children as weapons. Raising them to fear their own brother. He said Gaara was the monster! What father does that to their child? Kankuro's loyalty had never been fully devoted to his father, but it was now unquestionably dedicated to Gaara. He had changed. He was so much more than their father ever believed he could be.
Kankuro suddenly felt enraged. Why did they take off his face paint? He couldn't see himself, there was to mirror above his cot, but he knew the image all too well. He knew the features so well because he'd spent so much of his life hiding them. Trying to disguise the likeliness. He'd memorized those features, mastering each curve and pore so even in the dark, with a only one shaky hand at his disposal, he could still apply a mask, a war paint, to hide behind. To cover those features. Those damn features...
That nose; it was larger, more prominent, than Gaara's. His chin and jaw were broader, too. His face was so defined, so masculine. Gaara had such a thinner face. Kankuro's build was thicker, too-more muscular; taller. Gaara was slim, almost no meat on his bones; lean, short. Gaara's hair was such an oddity, too. That reddish color, so bright in certain lights. Kankuro's hair was the same shade of dusky brown as their father's had been. He didn't even inherit his mother's blonde like their sister. He just had to be the spitting image of their father. It just had to be him.
Gaara had been born with a demon inside of him , but Kankuro had been born a demon. Or the very image spawn of one.
And his eyes. Kankuro grimaced. His face paint, his mask, could distort his features; could mislead, reshape his face. His uniform, that of a proud puppeteer, of a master; that could hide his hair. Black makes everyone look slimmer; his body had no form, had no definition. He had done so well in hiding and distorting his appearance. Everything but his damn eyes.
Those slanted, beady eyes, forever crossed in a scowl. Kankuro couldn't change their shape, though he did his best through his mask. He had a habit of when he smiled of closing his eyes, or at least one-that threw his face off. Messed up the likeliness. His goofy grin, eerie in that such a child could make such a face in the face or light of danger and death. It was unnerving-it was all a joke to him. Such a childish antic-it angered many, annoyed others. No one could compare that jokester's smile to that of his father. It defined him against that man. No one could compare a stoic leader to a bumbling fool. No one saw his father's smile in his own smile. Well, he doubted anyone ever saw his father's smile.
Sunlight peeked through the tent flap. How had time passed this quickly..?
Despite the sun's awakening, Kankuro soon didn't see any light-his eyes had closed, and again his stupor dropped him into sleep.
When Kankuro came to it, it was blindingly bright. He winced, barely squinting even an eye open as he slowly adjusted to the light. The first thing he noticed was he was standing. This he knew because he felt the pressure in his legs of his weight shifting on them. Funny, he didn't remember getting up.
The next thing he noticed was the blindingly white surrounding he was currently in. Like an endless room, he neither felt the air of endless space nor the cluster of a room. Like neither being indoors or outside. He blinked a few times as his pupils adjusted. There was endless nothingness as far as his sight extended; no shadows, no curve of a horizon. He didn't even know where floor ended and sky, or ceiling, began. He looked down at his hands, to make sure he was real.
He saw flesh, but he wasn't convinced that he was real nonetheless.
A dream, he decided.
He looked down at his clothes-they hadn't changed. His vest was gone, but it had been removed upon his entrance into the medic camp. His black blouse and pants still were dawned on his body, wrinkled and loose, though tied tight around his waist where his teal belt was. His shoes were removed though, but he didn't feel the floor. He felt pressure where his feet stood, but he didn't feel the cool, smooth texture of a floor, or anything. He lifted his hands to in front of his face, flexing the fingers. He looked pale, but he didn't trust this. That could just be this lighting. He felt fine. No numbness, no pain.
He looked up, for any sign of the sun or something, but saw nothing. He took a few steps forward, testing this non-existent floor, before looking behind him to see if anything lay in that direction either. Nothing.
"Well, this is a surprise."
Kankuro whipped his head around at the sound of the voice. There, just a few yards from where he stood/floated (He couldn't decide which it was) was the last man he ever thought he'd see again.
His father.
No. It wasn't his father. It was a reflection of himself-older. He didn't wear the Kazekage robes, like Kankuro remembered his father to, but instead rather wore an outfit similar to Kankuro's. It was him, wasn't it? No face paint, no puppets, no sign whatsoever of allegiance to Suna or the way of a shinobi life, but he recognized that face. Similar, but not exactly, like his father's. Eyes, slanted and squinting, beady and amused. Mouth, curled into an almost malicious smile-Kankuro was disgusted in his own image.
No wonder he'd tried so hard to hide it all these years.
The older version of himself crinkled his nose and sneered.
"You look a little shocked to see me, ja."
Kankuro realized his mouth was agape and closed it quickly, sternly watching his reflected, aged self. Composing himself, he threw his clenched fists down to his side and hardened his glare at the imposter. This had to be some sort of genjutsu. He vowed that when he escaped it, he'd seek out Sakura and alert her of the enemy within the medic camp.
"Is this a dream?" He asked himself, to confirm his conclusion.
The apparition didn't respond, instead turning to walk away.
Kankuro flinched slightly.
"H-hey! I asked you a question-!"
"And I chose not to respond." The wicked, older Kankuro looked back, a glint in his eyes as they darkened-Kankuro saw no shine in them, and quickly realized it was as though he saw no light-his pupils enlarged as though all he saw before him was his self and darkness.
"Tch! This is why I hate brats...always asking stupid questions!"
Kankuro frowned.
"Aren't you me..?"
The older Kankuro sneered again, a wicked scoff escaping his gritted teeth as he threw his head further back, one eye closing as he jeered.
"To think I ever was someone weak like you!"
Kankuro clenched his fists. Older him was a jerk!
"Say, what's your problem? There's no way some punk like you is me-is this some kind of genjutsu?"
The older Kankuro bowed his head, still smiling. He now had turned his full body to face Kankuro, with a hand on his hip as he dramatically swayed to his right.
"Why? You disappointed I'm not kissing the sand of our brother's shadow? Backing down from our rightful position to stand as a body guard to some brat who doesn't even need us? You?"
Kankuro's eyes narrowed as he glared at himself.
"Now I know there's no way you're me. Talking about Gaara like that, you're-!"
"What? You know you think it...sometimes, when you're alone. At night, usually. While you contemplate your existence, question the meaning to yourself."
Kankuro frowned. What the hell was he talking about? That sounded more like something Gaara did-Kankuro was too proud, too self assured to ask his purpose in life. He knew his place- it was beside his siblings, beside Gaara. His place was to protect Suna, his home.
"If you don't now, you will." The older Kankuro growled in a low, challenging voice. "I know you will."
Kankuro's stomach lurched-this smug bastard was really getting on his nerves. He knew there was no point to speak further on the matter of whether they were the same or not- he wouldn't believe this punk and he'd probably just get angrier. So he changed his strategy.
"Where are we?"
"Dead."
Kankuro's eyes widened. What? Hadn't Sakura said he was on his way to recovery?
The older Kankuro cackled.
"You should see the look on your face, Ja?"
Kankuro gritted his teeth into a snarl. This version of 'him' was pissing the real him off.
"Hey punk, stop messing with me, now what the hell is going on-?"
"Ja, didn't daddy ever teach you manners?" Kankuro froze. "Tch, thought not. He didn't have time for us, that's right. It was always Gaara, wasn't it? His precious weapon. Even Temari gave up on any sign of affection from that man. Gaara gave up on any love from anyone. But you-you stood by daddy's side, didn't you? You tried to make him proud. You couldn't be his ultimate weapon like he wanted, like Gaara was, but you tried to be everything else he wanted. You were cruel to Gaara, just like daddy. You were ruthless and cunning, a sneak in the shadows. Daddy's little clone. Cocky, confident; you hated to be underestimated because that's what Daddy did to you, isn't it? He never admired you like he thought he could one day admire Gaara. Gaara was the ultimate weapon-you were just a tool."
"Shut up! That isn't true at all! If you were really me, you'd know that that's not-!"
"If I was really you? Look around you, ja?" Kankuro, furious, glared at the older version of himself, who had thrown his hands out wide to motion the space before them. "I am you! I'm who you are now and who you'll become. Or, would become, that is." He sneered.
Kankuro was furious but tried to calm himself.
"You act all tough, punk, but I know you, better than anyone. I know you because I am you. You're nothing but a facade. You question if I'm real? You yourself are nothing more than a puppet; than masks on some copied canvas of your father, hollowed out of any real worth or talent. You tried so hard to be everything you thought Daddy wanted, and all the same you rebelled against the very image of him. What's wrong? Couldn't make up your mind? Didn't know if you wanted to be your own person, or be the person your father wanted?"
Kankuro, the original and younger one, said nothing. He looked away in a flash. Wrong move. It was a sign of weakness. A signal the mirage, for he assured himself this couldn't be real, was winning. Was getting to him.
The older Kankuro lowered his hands, going for a new approach to pissing his younger counterpart off.
"Say, you think if you die now, people will actually care? When Gaara died, the whole village practically showed up at his feet. They all were so worried. Gaara means something to them-sure, he isn't the weapon his father envisioned but he's pretty much the same, isn't he?"
Kankuro answered to this with a punch to the face of his older self.
It was so quick, Kankuro's closing of the gap, that the older him hadn't reacted. All the same, though, he showed no astonishment at the movement; like he'd predicted it. He had provoked it-maybe he knew the reaction he'd get all along. He lay on the ground, his arms propping him up to the side, his face hidden by the shadow of his hair as he looked downcast. Still, The real Kankuro, furious and brows furrowed, could see the smug bastard was smiling. The worse part was just as Kankuro saw the red imprint form on the now sprawled Kankuro's cheek, he felt his own cheek burn up in a flash of stinging pain.
"Or how bout this...even worse, you wake up now?" Kankuro watched him. "Who will you wake to? Who will be waiting for you? Gaara had an entire village. What will you have? A medic nin from another village, beckoned to check if you've passed or not?"
Kankuro flinched at this fact, but quickly reminded himself it was because-
"-This is war, right?" Kankuro was paralyzed. Had this figment just read his mind? "That's your excuse, isn't it? This is war-of course there will be no mourning party." He snickered. "Whatever helps you rest easier. But think, even if this wasn't war, would the circumstances change? Do you really expect a hero's welcoming return party, like Gaara? You're nothing compared to him. You're worthless. Isn't that what father always thought of us?"
Kankuro snarled. The worst part of that accusation was the bastard had said 'us'. But just then, the light seemed to blind him yet again, engulfing his older self, still sprawled on the floor and smirking. His words echoed as Kankuro felt himself loose sight and consciousness.
"Who will you wake to? Who will be waiting for you?"
When Kankuro came to it again, he was not in the medic tent, like he assumed he'd be. Nor was he in the blinding light, in the presence of that smug imposter of himself as he had feared, and so he was relieved. It was dark, but the surrounding felt similar to the whiteness he'd awoken to before. It wasn't dark because there was no light, because looking down he could see himself perfectly-the color of his skin and the black of his clothes. He felt his face, but realized quickly that the nerves felt numb. He could move his muscles, but touch didn't reach his brain-he felt nothing. Not cold, not hot, not swollen or drained. Suddenly, a flicker of light brought his attention to the right of him. Turning, he saw a distant campfire, and a blur of a figure sitting by it.
For a moment, he feared it was himself again. He cautiously approached the figure slowly, and his suspicions were confirmed.
That muscular build, that brown hair, dark clothes. He looked a little taller, broader-older. Kankuro clenched his fists, ready for the confrontation. He took a step further, bracing himself to not lunge into an attack immediately upon recognition, but was surprised when the figure's head turned back slightly, and a voice that sounded nothing like his own spoke.
"Gaara..? That isn't you, is it?"
Kankuro froze, loosing all tension in his body. The figure turned back further, revealing a familiar and foreign face.
His father.
"Hm? Kankuro..?"
He said the name as though he himself was unsure. As though he didn't recognize his own son. Kankuro didn't move, clenching his jaw as he fought back the urge to shake, or move, or freeze. He focused on his chest, breathing in and out, but it felt painful. Like breathing too hard cracked his ribs, and not sucking in enough air left him gasping and coughing for more. He quivered slightly, trying his best to fight the shaking urge.
"Kankuro..." His father repeated, softer, more assured it was him. He rose from his seated position at the fire. He took a few steps, and lifted his left hand. He wasn't sure if he lifted it to shake hands, or even, dare say, embrace for a hug. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers twitching before they fell a little. Then, he lifted to hand higher, as though to rest upon his tallest son's head, maybe pat him reassuringly. Like praising a child, or acknowledging a dog.
For the second time since Kankuro had left the living world to wherever he now resided, he greeted his sole companion to this strange world with a punch, to the face. A hard one.
The late Kazekage fell back, stumbling over his seat at the campfire, which Kankuro noted looked like a rock. The old man held a hand up to his face, touching the fast swelling spot his son's fist had contacted with. For a moment he was shocked. Then, his face faltered and he sadly cast his gaze downward. Kankuro thought the punch would make him feel better. He'd admit that not feeling the mirrored affect of the swing on his own cheek relieved him greatly. It confirmed this was his father, a different person, the other monster, and not an older version of himself, or whatever that last apparition had been. Still, the wave of satisfaction and relief Kankuro had always imagined he'd receive from decking his father, the first generation monster, didn't come. In fact, all he felt was a pang of pity, watching this old, crumpled figure touch at his face.
"I expected as much. I'm surprised Gaara didn't greet me the same way, though I suppose he did, in his own way."
The anger and color drained from Kankuro, his focus falling on that one word. Gaara.
"You've seen Gaara?"
His father paused, closing his eyes as he took in his son's deepened voice, trying to examine every inch of manhood as he lifted his head and admired what the strong, broadened fellow had become. The Kazekage didn't recognize him at all.
With Gaara, he'd seen the changes, but also the resemblance to his old self as well. Gaara still looked cold and hard on the outside, the largest difference being his eyes. No longer thirsting for blood and killing, his eyes were softer, and in a way stronger. His hair was still that blood red and the tattoo that bore all too reminding of his past in his forehead still shown in view for all. He wasn't much taller than he had been, and he still in many ways resembled a kid, though as much of a 'kid' as Gaara ever could resemble.
Kankuro, the Kazekage couldn't even compare to his former self. He didn't remember it.
He thought sadly and knew exactly why. How often had he looked at Gaara, examining the monster and judging him as exactly that? Reading his every feature and move, examining and memorizing the demon-bearing child. But this? His first son? He hadn't cast the boy a proper look since the day he was told the child was not a match for the demon, was a failure; the day his first son had been born.
He only recognized Kankuro as his son because his striking resemblance to himself. Like looking at a younger version of himself, albeit the few differences. One, the Kazekage noted, was how strong Kankuro looked. Not physically but mentally. His eyes burned with a passion at the mention of Gaara, and somewhere the Kazekage thought he saw the hints of love. Something he hadn't seen in his own reflection for years before his death. He smiled softly. It was good to know the boy had found that feeling.
"Where am I? How did you see Gaara?"
The Kazekage stirred at the voice. So this was his son-so determined, so hot-blooded. Had the Kazekage ever dreamed of anyone ever speaking of Gaara with such care, such exasperation and worry?
"I think...we are somewhere between life and death. You, at least, for I know I linger in the latter."
Kankuro widened his eyes upon realization. The Kazekage thought as much, for the news of hearing you're barely clinging to life is difficult for anyone, he thought.
"Then Gaara...Gaara isn't dead, is he? He didn't...already pass through here, did he?"
The Kazekage was now the one in shock. He'd been mistaken. There was no hint in Kankuro's voice that he cared where he was in particular-he was worried of the connection between his father and Gaara, and the circumstances in which they had met. The Kazekage slowly rose to his feet.
"No. He did not. I saw him on his turf-with the living."
Before he could continue, Kankuro cut in.
"Edo Tensei?"
The Late Kazekage nodded.
"So...you know about him?"
"I know he is Kazekage now, yes. I know he is no longer a Jinchuuriki, and I know he has acquired bonds. He's...different. He's not what I expected him to be at all."
"He's better." Kankuro cut in, snarling. The Fourth Kazekage smiled.
"Yes. He's so much more than I could have dreamt of. He's what I think his mother would have liked from him."
At this Kankuro softened his guard a bit, but quickly built it back.
"So he was fine when you saw him last?"
The old man watched his heir, examining his features and expression, much in the way he once did of his brother. He looked dangerous, ferocious. Determined. And from the sound of it, loyal.
"He was alive." The Kazekage finished, providing no false hope but wishing to not cause any further anguish or strain on the exasperated boy. Kankuro relieved a held breath, looking towards the fire for a moment. To hear Gaara was alive was enough...for now.
"He's no longer a monster."
"I know that. I saw for myself what has become of him. He opened my eyes to his true worth, and..."
Kankuro snapped back to face his father.
"And?" He accused.
"And I was wrong. So, very wrong...about a lot of things. About everything..." The Kazekage smiled. "He told me I finally gave him 'medicine'."
Kankuro watched his father but did not change his expression of mild disgust and distrust. He didn't care if the old man was having a change of heart. He still hated him.
"I thought...I thought I saw Temari."
Kankuro smirked, looking away from his father.
"She would've been with him, ja. He's leading her division-"
"I know. Commander General, isn't he?"
Kankuro smiled proudly, thinking of his brother before all those nation's ninjas, standing proud and delivering his speech.
"Ai."
The Kazekage smiled a little warmly, thinking of his late wife.
"She looked so much like Karura, from the glimpse I caught of her. Is she anything like her? Temari, I mean. Like her mother?"
Kankuro frowned, becoming stone-serious again as he watched the softened man.
"I wouldn't know, remember. Our mother died before I knew her enough to remember her."
The late Kazekage frowned, dissatisfied at his ignorance.
"Of course. Time changes when you're dead, I suppose. My memory isn't as it was when I was living."
A long silent pause followed before Kankuro broke it.
"But...if our mother...if she was...strong, and...and kind at the same time, then yes, Temari's just like her. She's...she cares about us, about Gaara and I. Looks out for us, really. And she's a brilliant strategist-I don't know if you remembered that or not, but she can be a bit scary sometimes, too. Powerful...I said she was strong already, and..." He looked sadly at his father, who had perked a bit since Kankuro had started speaking. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And she's lovely. A fine kunoichi...sister..." Kankuro trailed off, slightly embarrassed. Temari would've killed him for the words he'd spoken just now. Either she would have beaten him for the lackadaisical representation of herself or beaten him for his thoughts he'd never have admitted. Either way, he subconsciously rubbed the back of his head, no doubt where Temari would've hit him if she could hear him.
The Kazekage smiled.
"Sounds exactly like her mother."
The Kazekage moved to return to his seat, the rock, stirring at the fire with a stick. He motioned a hand without looking towards Kankuro to join him seated.
"Tell me more...about Gaara, and of Suna."
Kankuro, who was mid-moving towards a rock beside his father's, hesitated at this. As if recalling a memory, the cursed words of his older self image rang in his mind. "He didn't have time for us, that's right. It was always Gaara, wasn't it? His precious weapon. Gaara meant something to them."
Kankuro bit his lip. So, even with a change of heart, his father couldn't see him. He still saw through his first born son, his eye only on Gaara and the village. He smirked at the irony. He even cared to ask about Temari. Wouldn't she love that? If Kankuro lived through this, he'd tell her. He'd just leave out everything he said about her himself.
"Suna...it's magnificent. Gaara has really done something to it, you know. The people all love him...respect him. They'd follow him-they follow him now, into death and war. He even won the respect of every other nation. He moved everyone- he's powerful, I'm sure you saw." The Kazekage nodded knowingly. Kankuro smiled proudly at this acknowledgement. That was his Gaara.
"He told you, right? Of how he died, to loose Shukaku? And of Chiyo-Baasama?"
The Fourth Kazekage nodded again.
Kankuro grew silent for a moment, thinking further of what more to say of Gaara that wasn't already spoken or understood. There was so much to say, and yet he could think of nothing. Nothing was ever enough to showcase what had become of the boy, what he had done. Before Kankuro could continue searching through memories and stories, his father spoke.
"Do you hate me?"
Kankuro was taken back. His father had directed him a question. And it wasn't about Gaara. It was for his own opinion. His own feelings, and thoughts. His father was directly speaking and requesting something of him. Kankuro pondered a split second on whether this changed any way he felt for the man. Did this attention stir anything at all within him? Did it matter now, after so many years? Did he still desire this attention? Did he care?
"Gaara..." Kankuro's feelings melted quickly. That answered his question. "Gaara said he no longer hated me...He had forgiven me. Me, after all I'd ever done to him, against him. How I had raised him into the beast he became...he no longer felt any anger towards me. None." Kankuro was shocked to see the eyes of his father glaze over, threatening tears. The older man smiled.
"And you?"
Kankuro watched the man for a moment, taking in those features. The features he'd known so well. not just because he saw them when he looked in a mirror, but also because he'd grown up, been raised, looking up to those features. Now, they sat eye to eye, level headed as Kankuro's height almost surpassed that of his father. He watched the man. What did this man hope to accomplish? A clear conscious to pass on to the next life with? He felt a pang of pity, and thought back to all his father he ever done for him.
All that he'd never done for his first born son.
His first heir, his clone. The failure of a child, the second attempt. The cursed boy with the face of a monster, a face that mocked his own-a face he shared. That hair, no matter how hidden or unruly or unkempt, still served as a frame to the perfect carbon copy picture that was his face, exactly in likeness to his father's. That nose, too large to resemble the slender, snake-like snout of his brother or pointed like his sister. His mouth, wide and curved, wicked and held up by thick lips that rested upon a broad chin and jaw. Those eye brows, always angrily furrowed and those damn eyes.
Those slanted, squinted, beady eyes, hiding their green nature.
Kankuro frowned.
"Ya." His father stirred, but surprisingly wasn't completely unsuspecting of the answer. Kankuro held no trace of hesitation in his voice. He knew his answer, and was firmly behind every word of it.
"I hate you."
Silence filled the tension of the air and neither spoke for awhile. It was Kankuro who gave in with a sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes nonchalantly.
"But...I forgive you."
The late Kazekage shot his eyes to his son, immediately catching contact with the one eye Kankuro had peaked open dangerously, glaring his father down.
"Only because Gaara forgave you, and he would've wanted me to have done the same."
He leaned, placing his elbows on his thighs as he lunged forward, nonchalantly filling his hand with a stick to prod the fire, which had neither faltered nor grown since they had been there.
"You know...closure, and all that crap." He mumbled.
The Kazekage smiled. He closed his eyes, smirking.
"Gaara wasn't the only one I was wrong about. You...and Temari. You both...you're more than I had ever hoped for as well. More than I'd-"
"Expected." Kankuro finished bitterly. While the attempt was nice, it still hurt hearing his father back track on all his previous thoughts and opinions on his failure children. Whether he was proud now of them or not, the wounds were still there. Scars don't go away. They just fade a little. His father couldn't deny the claim, and he knew it. They both did.
"So...you're a..?"
The question was understood. Kankuro answered hurriedly, rushing out a reply.
"Jounin. Temari, too."
He smiled.
"And so young...how much time had passed since I died?"
"Three years now. I'm Seventeen." Kankuro answered. This small talk didn't seem fit, he thought. This was his own father-no one should be having a conversation with their own parent reminding them how old they were.
"You are young." The man commented, but it wasn't a tone a father speaks to his son after a long absence of seeing each other. It was the tone a stranger speaks to another weary traveler as they pass small talk and stories.
"And...your jutsu?"
Kankuro thought for a moment. He didn't know how to answer this. His father had never been that impressed with his puppetry skills. He'd never really cared for Kankuro that much at all in any aspect, but the whole puppet justu only added to the disappointment.
Finally, he answered, "I've surpassed Sasori-sama." His father heightened his interest at this. Kankuro continued to stoke the stable fire. It was true, really. He'd finally succeeded Sasori-the apprentice had overcome the master, defeating him. Sasori had left the puppets of his parents in his care-had passed his legacy, Sasori of the Red Sands, to Kankuro, of the Black Secret Technique. His father didn't need to know, nor did Kankuro think he'd care to hear, of what had passed between the two puppeteers. His father wouldn't need to know, either, that this self declaration of surpassing Sasori occurred roughly half a day ago. Not that it mattered. All his father needed, and wanted, to know was implied. How powerful has Kankuro become? In terms that his father could understand (Because he'd never really gotten the whole puppet jutsu technique-he'd never cared to) , Kankuro had simply compared himself to a name his father was sure to recognize. Sure to determine the worth of the meaning in his own way. A long silence followed.
"You've accomplished so much since I died...You've grown."
I've changed, but Gaara has done so much more, Kankuro thought, biting back the response. Maybe his father was just trying to be pleasant-maybe it still stung in his mind to think of Kankuro's earlier words, of how he may have won love from his youngest son, the son he'd raised to hate the world and be hated, but this son, the one he'd cast aside to do as he pleased, was the one to bite him back and cling to hatred.
Maybe that's what made Gaara better than Kankuro, he thought bitterly. Why Gaara was so much better, after he changed, was that he had respect and could forgive others. Kankuro had always been too hot blooded-too begrudging.
"I'm proud of you-"
"No." Kankuro cut in. He clenched his fist tight around the stick as his father stared at him. "No, you're not. You're proud of Gaara, of the worth he's finally measured up to. You're proud of Temari, of how independent she's become and of how despite that our mother died, there is someone with her spirit and someone with her likeliness to pass it on. Me...you're just relieved I'm nothing like you. You're not proud." Kankuro spat bitterly, and silence filled the space again.
The Late Kazekage frowned.
"I raised Gaara to hate the world...I raised him to believe the world hated him back. But you...I cast you aside, and I think inadvertently I raised you the same-to be bitter, and resent the world in your own way."
"No, just to resent you." Kankuro provided. His side glance gazed at his father, watching his reactions. He remained calm but irritation edged itself into his voice. " I love Gaara, and Temari. I love Suna, and my friends, and life. I'd die protecting all of that, and by the looks of it," His hands motioned to all around him, "I did just that. The only thing I resented is you, it always was just you. If I could take back anything, it would have been my naivety and stupidity to blindly follow your orders, to cast aside any regards to my brother all for the sake of your master plan, your raising of the demon. The perfect weapon. I resent that every time I look in the mirror, I see your face looking back at me, and I remember everything you did to me, to us. To Gaara. Without dawning on my mask, I resent the pain that flashes in Gaara's eyes, for the longest of time all because in my face, in my eyes, he saw yours. It took a long time to loose that look, to be able to walk the streets of Suna without be cast glances upon as though the people had seen a ghost. I resent how long it took me to realize to be my own person and step from your shadow, your mold, no longer seeking your approval like I had once done."
He snarled bitterly.
"I guess I am just some mutt loyally following whoever is the Kazekage at the time, because when it had been you I wanted nothing more than your acknowledgement. And now, now that it's Gaara, I want nothing more than to serve him as his brother, as his friend, and to be by his side-to make up for the years when my loyalty had laid with the wrong Kazekage. You were a hero to our people, but to your family, your own children...you were the monster."
There, he'd said it. He'd finally told him. Kankuro's voice had risen and he was breathing heavier, aggravated and agitated. His father watched him, eyeing his features again, taking in his out burst of built-up hatred against the man. He lowered his head.
"You certainly are your own person. Here, I had expected Gaara to be the monster, and to hate me to this day. He surprised me with forgiveness. And you..."
"Let me guess, you expected me to still be blind in admiration for you?"
"I expected nothing."
Kankuro flinched. That hurt more to hear than it had for him to say.
"And you blew my expectations away. Completely." He smirked. "You're right about everything, I suppose."
For a moment, neither moved.Easy to surpass someone's expectations of you when they held none to begin with. Kankuro then grunted, placed his elbows on his knees again and leaning his forehead into his interlaced fingers.
"Damn it!" He spat quietly. "Leave it to your old man to make you feel bad. I guess we really are the same."
His father stared at him. "How so?"
Kankuro looked at the man, smiling a little sadly.
"We're both monsters."
Neither spoke for a minute. Kankuro's eyes watched the fire dance slightly. It was picking up activity, if just barely. He heard his father take in a deep breath before stretching and leaning back.
"Your mother loved you. All three of you."
Kankuro refused to look at his father, but raised his brows in surprise. They'd all been told, by this very man himself, that their mother had died cursing Suna and demanding revenge through her youngest son upon the accursed village.
"She loved her daughter, because she was such a spirited girl. She always used to tell me, when I'd remark that girls were fickle, that her daughter would be a great Kunoichi."
She is, Kankuro argued.
"She loved Gaara right down to her last breath. She never cursed the village...that was a lie to test Gaara. Obviously, the test failed."
Kankuro did not coat his scoff of the understatement. He did however keep silent in the obvious; that his father had not mentioned him at all.
"Your mother..."
Kankuro noted he never called her by her name, or called her his 'wife'. He called Temari 'her daughter'-not even by name. Not acknowledgement that she was even his child. That any of them were even his kids. The old man hadn't changed...
"She used to love you...because she said you reminded her so much of me."
The knot in Kankuro's throat tightened, suffocating him as simultaneously the pit in his stomach dropped. Was this supposed to make him feel better? Confirming the comparison?
"She would smile and remark how watching you play and crawl...she said it was like watching me in my infancy. The vulnerable side of me, she'd call you."
Kankuro wasn't one to cry. Rare occasions did he tear up. Nowadays, those occasions were limited to only include his siblings' well beings. He had cried all he would ever for his lost parents. He no longer would spare a single drop of salty tear for this bastard and the woman he knew no more of than that she had birthed him. He didn't even flinch at the words as he continued to stir the flames, which were growing in activity. Still, inside, he felt colder than usual.
"You may not want to hear this...but, I think she's right."
You're right, I don't want to hear this, Kankuro provided but his mouth wouldn't open. The words wouldn't form. His voice failed him, and so silently he continued to, without looking at his father, listen to his words.
"I think you were everything I'd lost. You were innocence and vulnerability and love. I'd forgotten all of that-"
"Because they're weaknesses." Kankuro managed to snap in, cutting off his father. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear his father list off all the qualities a good Shinobi learns to suppress that he had managed to do so only to have his son, that failed monster, inherit all his lost weaknesses in ten folds. He didn't want to hear more reasons why he was a failure in his father's eyes, even still.
"No...no, they're not weaknesses. They're strengths. Strengths I lost. I used to think my love for anything...after your mother's death, was lost to this world completely. But, it just found it's way to you. The love your sister and brother deserved, the love I had lost-they received it. Through you."
So now I'm the vessel. Your shanty excuse that you claim to have loved us all along, just through me. So I was just your puppet, with your strings controlling me the whole time?
As though to hear his thoughts, the Late Kazekage sighed a deep, long, drawn out sigh before continuing to speak.
"What I mean to say is...I'm glad that you were around. To love your siblings, where I couldn't."
Kankuro's first instinct was to snap back something witty, but again his voice failed him. He frowned. So, he wasn't a complete failure. Even he, in his low self esteem and questionable worth, had to admit his siblings both deserved love and care; something neither parent could have provided in their circumstances. True, he'd been late in providing that much needed shoulder for his siblings, but he'd been there. Eventually. Kankuro, unable to shoot down the compliment, merely shrugged.
The Late Kazekage smiled, taking this silent response as acceptance.
The fire flickered. It danced wildly before fading-finally, it went out. Quickly. Quicker than any fire it's size should have. Almost an instant. Kankuro perked up, surprised at the occurrence. His father rose.
"Time's up, then."
Kankuro's eyes followed his father before he jumped up as well, taking in what was happening.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
His father was walking away, calling back as he faded farther from him.
"It's not your time. Seventeen is far too early. Is the war even over already? Don't be useless and go fight alongside your siblings! Your country!"
Kankuro watched, his face dropping. His father's words had a pang of amusement in them. He stopped, turning his head back and smiling to his son.
"You're wrong. You're not a monster. You're worthy; important. You've surpassed me beyond those expectations I never held. All of my children have." His smile softened, his eyes squinting in pure acceptance.
"I'm proud of the three of you. I'm proud of Gaara, for rising from the ashes I burned him into. I'm proud of Temari, for fighting her way from the shadows to be her own person. But, most of all, I am proud of you-for shedding the skin of a monster to be what I could not be."
Kankuro almost offered an answer. Loved? Not feared, or hated?
"Human."
Kankuro was about to question this when he felt a tugging force, pulling him up. Like a whirlwind taking it with him, he felt his body prepare for a leap forward, sky bound.
"Ugh, W-wait-! I-I-!"
"Kankuro." Kankuro paused, still stunned at his father. "Go. Return to Gaara, and be there for him where I couldn't be. Be that support, that love, that I never could provide. For both of them. Protect Suna, and it's people."
Kankuro smiled, understanding.
"I don't need you to tell me."
The force of wind picked up, rustling Kankuro's clothes. His father turned.
"Oi, old man." The late Kazekage froze, turning back. Kankuro confidently smirked back at him, an eye squinted shut and the wicked curve of a smile gracing his lips.
"I still hate you. But you're not a monster."
Kankuro didn't recall what expression grazed his father's features, for at that moment he felt himself lifted at a speed surpassing sound into the air, and a blindness of darkness overcame him.
Kankuro awoke a third time, this time in the tent of the medic camp. He didn't stir awake-he flashed his eyes open and immediately recalled his conversation with his father, though details were slipping from his mind. He looked around him. It was quiet-he was alone. No patients, no medics. The bitter ring of his ears formed the words he'd rather wished to not remember.
"Who will you wake to? Who will be waiting for you?"
Kankuro frowned. Like he needed to be reminded. He simply lay there, waiting for the approaching footsteps that he was sure would be Sakura to arrive, and check his vitals. He waited for her to give him clearance, hand him a soldier pill dosage, and push him out the camp, thrusting him back into the war to make room for another soldier. He waited to be reunited with Gaara, and Temari, and to tell them of his encounter with his father. Or, maybe, to hear of theirs, and to keep his own a secret. They didn't need to know he'd had a run-in with death, a run in with that monster. They just needed to know he was alive, and well, and strong enough to fight again and beside them.
It doesn't matter who I wake to, because they're waiting for me, wherever they are." He spoke out loud, to no one in particular. They loved him, and he loved them back. They were a family. It didn't matter what they had been, or were now.
It didn't matter whether he was a monster, or just resembled one.
AN: First fanfic! Littles notes about this fic;
Kankuro needs more love, especially when it comes to his strained and odd relationship between his family-n this case, his father. The added part with the confrontation of himself was an after-thought thrown in that I loved, especially the echoed, darker idea of who would be waiting for Kankuro if he was revived or woke up. I loved how the ending wasn't completely happy, or at least I tried to make it not a perfectly happy ending, in that you do get the bittersweet echo at the end-no one is there when he wakes up. I love exploring the idea of what Kankuro's relationship with his father was before the start of the series as a whole, and in this fic I came to the conclusion of a mix between he strained to be nothing like him as well as desperately tried to win his approval. If you can't tell, or I did it poorly, I love dialogue scenes-sorry, I'm heavy on angsty dialogue, and I'm pretty content with how these scenes played out.
The Fourth Kazekage comes off a bit softer here, don'tcha think? I used to think he was completely heartless, but recently I lean less biased and see that eh, maybe he had a sensitive, softer affection towards his kids...maybe. Haha, to be honest, this whole idea spawned from this image that if Kankuro had the chance to see their father on the battlefield, cuz of everything he'd done to Gaara (And Kankuro's awesome turning-over-a-new-leaf-kick-your-ass-you-mess-with-Gaara), Kankuro would have completely forgotten about strategy and his jutsu and straight up decked his daddy, like in this fic. :p probably completely not true, but it's not like we'll ever really know. Ah, sorry, lnog Authero'rs note! Hopefully, till next time! Read and Review, if you'd like!