Gaara's head was nestled into the crook of his elbow, back hunched, the dark lids of his eyes glued shut. His breath came slow and easy through his nose, his brow smooth of worry. A warm breeze stole through the open window, and a paper pinned beneath his thin pale fingers fluttered, his red hair brushing softly across the tattoo on his forehead.
Kankurou leaned against the doorframe of his brother's office, shaking his head and chuckling. He was fifteen years old – a fifteen-year-old Kazekage – and leading an entire village. It didn't surprise him in the least that the one place he ever slept was at his desk, trying to cope with paperwork. He imagined it would even wear an insomniac out.
"Do you think we should wake him?"
His eyes shifted. His sister had the kind of voice – deep, slow, strong – that never startled him. "When was the last time he slept?" He hadn't meant it as an answer, but it became one, and he nodded in his direction. "It seems to be leaving him alone now too."
Temari's mouth formed a close resemblance to a smile. Kankurou figured she had forgotten how to really smile, that that upward twitch of her lips was the best she could do now. "The elders say he has control of it now, that he can force it back."
He nodded. "Yeah, but will it last?" The question sounded so pessimistic, coated in fear. Would Gaara's strength be enough to outlive the thing inside him? He would always be waiting for the day it broke.
"We'll help him." It was a whisper, a frightening display of hope from the normally-negative girl. "He can do it. He can live his whole life without that thing ever getting out again. We can help him." Her blue eyes were deep with a fierceness that hadn't, in years, escaped her exhaustion, determination making her fists clench. "He's our brother. It's up to us to take care of him." Somehow her tone stayed even. "We have to make up for all the years we didn't, or couldn't."
Kankurou stared at her, then grinned. "You sounded like Mom there for a second." Her fan smacked roughly into the back of his head as she stalked past him into the room, and he chuckled, rubbing at the wounded area. "What're you doing, Temari?"
"He has work to do. We can't let him sleep forever." Even so, her voice was soft, her steps light. "Gaara," she shook his shoulder gently when she reached him, and blue irises appeared between dark lids, and she smiled. "How about some dinner? It's past sundown."
Kankurou snorted noticeably. So much for making him work. He smiled for his brother. "Usually beds are more comfortable."
Gaara didn't answer, as he slowly righted himself in his chair. He was still such a child, Kankurou realized, in the way he rubbed a fist against his bleary eyes, an indent in his pale cheek where a fold of his shirt sleeve had been pressed against it. It took him a moment to orient his sleep-soaked brain, and then he was the same as ever, already back to signing off on mission papers.
Temari was making her way back to the door. "We'll have someone send you something to eat." She did make use of her more maternal tones, and that was not an offer. She hadn't been joking when she said she'd take care of him.
"Hey, don't come home too late, Gaara." Kankurou's grin had returned. "If you sleep at night, maybe you'll get some work done."
The Kazekage's glare was pointed, but only in the most affectionate of ways. As they left, and he shuffled through papers, he murmured, "I'll be home soon."