Sometimes I disturb even myself... This is just too fucking wierd, and yet, somehow cute.
Damn it.
His fingers moved quickly and methodically, twisting steel, screwing in bolts.
Damn that Sasori.
Ironic.
Purely ironic that the man he was cursing was the same man, the very same man to which he owed his prized possession.
Why?
Sasori was also the man who destroyed it.
Why did it have to be you?
One of his hands slipped, causing a long gash right down the middle of Karasu's chest.
"Fuck!" Kankuro cried, throwing down the screwdriver. Now how was he supposed to do it? He'd have to make a whole new chest plate-and just when he'd finally figured out the jutsu!
The forbidden jutsu.
At first, it was an attempt to bring life to puppets. Then it was banned, as the user's life was sacrificed. Too dangerous, they said. Then, finally, it was used to bring Gaara back from the dead. Chiyo came up with it. Chiyo was the last one to use it.
Kankuro had finally figured out how to use it without dying.
He had run over every scenario in his mind, every possible outcome looked at, every change to the jutsu considered for days on end. And he found that yes; there was a way to do what he'd dreamed of doing since the tender age of six.
Back then, he'd just wanted a friend.
By twelve he realized he needed something more.
And now, at seventeen, he finally had the means to do it.
Sleep? He denied himself the luxury of sleep. Food? Hah. Forget about it. Not until he fixed Karasu. Karasu was more important than any human need.
Karasu was perfect.
Kankuro was not.
And after he fixed Karasu, he would perform the jutsu. It would take weeks, maybe even months. He would be within an inch of death when it was done. But it would be so worth it.
And besides, there were no doubts in his mind that Karasu would take care of him.
As a Shinobi, Kankuro knew he was just a mere puppet to so many people, to the village, to the country. Karasu, as a true puppet, would understand how he felt as no one else did.
At least, that was the hope he held in his heart as he continued to work on Karasu, obsessing over small details, making him absolutely perfect.
"Kankuro?" a female voice said softly, filling the room with unwanted noise. Kankuro heard the voice and knew it wasn't accustomed to speaking softly. It wasn't meant to, either.
"Temari," Kankuro's voice, hoarse and rough from days of non-usage, came from the far corner of the room, "you shouldn't try to speak softly; it doesn't suit you." He heard her clear her throat and start again.
"Are you… all right?" She asked, a bit louder and stronger now. He heard concern ring out in her tone.
"No… But I will be…" He answered.
"You've, um… Been in your room for days now… alone, and have you eaten at all?" he heard the door close and quiet, padded footsteps coming towards him.
"No…" he muttered, "I've had more important things to do than eat..." the footsteps grew faster.
"You haven't? But Kankuro, you just barely recovered from your fight-Is this what you've been doing?!" She cried, sighting Karasu and the tools laid out in front of him.
"Yes… he's almost ready…" He felt a fond grin spread across his face.
"Ready for what? You need to put that doll away and-"
"He's not a fucking doll!" Kankuro cried, bringing Karasu's head onto his lap and hugging it protectively. "He's better than that!"
"What are you talking about, Kankuro? Karasu is a puppet. A pup-pet. It isn't real. Get a new one, instead of spending weeks fixing it."
"No! I will never get a new one-I love him!" he clapped a gloved hand over his mouth.
"You… what?" She snarled. He glared up at her.
"You heard me right. I-love-him."
"You love an inanimate object?"
"He won't be inanimate for long!" he said, hugging the puppet closer.
"What is wrong with you? I think you've gone insane! That's it-You're coming with me, and you're going to eat!" She grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the room, literally kicking and screaming.
"No! He isn't finished! I need to finish him! You can't just leave him there! He's hurt! You can't make me leave him alone!" But it was futile. Temari dragged him down the stairs of the dark mansion and sat him down in a chair. By now he was crying as well, but he didn't care. She was trying to take him from Karasu. "Can't you see he's hurt?" He pleaded.
"IT is not hurt. IT cannot feel pain. IT is just a broken doll." She tried to push some food on him. He refused.
"I'm not going to eat until he's perfect."
"And when will it be perfect, Kankuro? When you starve to death?"
"No!"
"When, then?"
"He'll be perfect-he'll be absolutely perfect-when I make him alive." The chopsticks Temari had been holding fell to the floor with a clatter.
"Well then," his elder sister seethed, "You won't be able to eat because you'll be fucking dead."
"No," he replied, "I figured out how to do it. You'll see."
"No I won't. I'm taking that thing away and turning it into scrap!" without hesitation, Kankuro took a kunai knife out of his pocket.
"I knew you'd try to do that. And I promise you, if you hurt him… I'll cut my wrists wide open."
"Kankuro!"
A puppet loved a puppet. But no one understood.
This is how Karasu's story begins.