...
03.
ten years old, discomfited
...
The Fourth Kazekage was lenient towards his children, whatever love he happened to be lacking.
If his daughter wanted to be a kunoichi, unspoken social mores and village traditions be damned, he would give her the chance to be a kunoichi. If his older son wanted to master the art of puppetry, batty old ladies and S-class missing nins be damned, he would arrange puppetry classes for the boy. And if his youngest wanted the chance to go out, righteous terror and inevitable bloodshed be damned, the boy would have his day in the sun.
Besides, he still felt a small amount of remorse. Though it wasn't by choice, his family was in tatters: his wife and brother-in-law both dead, his children estranged, his youngest son possessed by a demon and so on and so forth.
I want, Gaara only need start.
A stuffed animal, a new teacher, another stuffed animal, a sand-filled gourd, yet another stuffed animal, different servants, a new teacher, and another stuffed animal.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.
If you want, then you shall have, the Fourth Kazekage promises, words laced with a poison not entirely figurative.
...
"Kazekage-sama has been giving Gaara more leeway these days," Baki starts, sitting cross-legged in the midnight sun. With effort, Temari refrains from licking her lips. Instead, she counts the seconds. It had been an honor, to be trained by the Baki, the best wind fighter in Wind Country. Her father had asked for him, of course.
In the pregnant lapse of conversation, she realizes he expects an answer.
"I didn't know that." Carefully, carefully. She has no idea whose side he's on, what angle he's playing at.
"Kazekage-sama has instructed that you keep away from the outer rooms after sundown."
"I understand."
"Kazekage-sama has also instructed that you keep your brother away from those rooms as well."
"I understand."
He stops for a moment, observing her expression. It is neutral, contemplative, and yet, he can still see Karura's warmth in her eyes. She returns the gaze and he wonders what his student sees. An aged veteran of the desert. A faithful servant of her father. A stern and studious teacher. Whatever it is, he doubts she would see a lonely man approaching the cusp of midlife, caught between two equally ill-fated factions in an even more pointless conflict.
It doesn't matter. To the Kazekage, he is a pawn, not a friend.
And likewise, she is a tool, not a daughter.
"Baki-sensei," she addresses, after the fifth minute has passed. "What should I do... what is the ideal course of action for when Gaara is about to attack?" He's one of the best jounins in the village and to her ten-year-old mind, he should be able to -
"Run if you can," is the dull reply. Her ears ring with disbelief.
If you can.
"But - "
"There is not a single person in the village that can defeat Shuukaku," her teacher calmly explains. He quirks his lips in a cold smile. "He is the trump card of Suna, after all."
"I see." She hears the pitter-patter of sand being blown by the winds. She hears a nail being driven into her coffin. She hears the choked gurgle of blood. And she shakes at the thought. I don't want to die. I don't want to die, she feverishly realizes.
"Come," her teacher says, standing up at long last. He does not offer her a helping hand, sprinting ahead without warning. Suna is rough and ragged and her children eat each other alive. Mutely, she rises to her feet, strapping on the fan and following suit. Within seconds, the winds clear the landscape of their presence.
...
"I'm bored," Kankurou mutters, playing yet another round of one-man cat's cradle.
"Why'd you come here again?" Temari asks, reaching for the strop. Typical Kankurou: barging in in the middle of the night to play with dolls.
"Don't you get tired of sharpening that?" he asks, changing the subject.
"Not really." Baki's recommended she get a larger fan. She'll have to ask Father about that, the next time she's granted an audience with him. "Do you get tired of untangling the strings of your puppets?"
"No way!"
"Same thing then."
"Oh."
She finishes the first fold soon enough, moving onto the second. A flash of light from the windows catches her attention and she turns to Kankurou, frowning.
"You're not still scared of lightning, are you?"
"Wh-what? No way!" he waves his arms, vehemently shaking his head. "I just... I just couldn't sleep, that's all!"
"Oh really."
"Yes really."
She considers goading him outside - he's nine years old and they need to grow up soon - but remembers Baki's message in time. It's laughable, how easily they dance on the strings of certain death. She hopes to never get used to it. Kankurou continues with the next another iteration and she moves onto the third fold. Outside, the thunder rolls in the midst of the rainless storm and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at her brother's tell-tale shiver.
"Hey Kankurou," she recalls, tone serious.
"Yeah?"
"You didn't tell anyone about the birthday party, right?"
"No."
"Good."
He fiddles with the string for a couple more seconds before snapping it and throwing his hands up in the air. "No one would listen anyways," he grumbles, yawning. She hears resignation. She hears exhaustion. "Father wouldn't care and the servants would just run away and, and, and - "
I don't want to die, she hears.
"C'mere," she gestures, setting aside both fan and strop. For once, he obeys without complaint. Slowly, she wraps her arms about him, pressing her face into freshly-washed hair.
"What're you - "
"Shut up," she sighs, squeezing harder. "Mother used to do this to me, whenever I was scared of thunder."
"...You were scared of thunder?"
"Hey! I'm scared of things too!"
I'm scared of the same things as you, actually.
"How was she like?" he quietly asks. She doubts 'I don't remember much either' is the appropriate answer. So she closes her eyes and, in lieu of memories, strives for a realistic fantasy.
"Mother was warm. And she had a quiet laugh. And she liked to hold us close."
Kankurou makes a soft noise. She runs her fingers through his hair.
"She liked to garden. She liked to watch the clouds and arrange flowers and - "
There's a loud rumble of thunder.
"And?"
"And she liked children." She bites her bottom lip.
"She loved us."
Temari loosens the embrace, letting Kankurou roll to the side. She rearranges the sheets, shading her brother's eyes with a pillow and pushing her fan off the edge of the bed before padding over to turn off the lights.
There's a flash of lightning that illuminates the room for a brilliant second and in the corner of her vision she thinks she sees -
Her reflexes kick in instantaneously. She vaults over him and grabs the fan, only to find its opening mechanism jammed.
Gaara appears in front of her before she can even scream and though she cannot see him, his scent - the stench of carnage - is impossible to ignore. She senses him raising a hand and she stumbles backward in muted terror, knees collapsing atop the bed. Her precious fan falls to the floor, forgotten, and she prays Kankurou will not wake up, will not alert Gaara to his presence, will not -
Though she bites down on her tongue to keep from shrieking, a muffled squeak still manages to escape.
Of all the deaths she'd been prepared for, she was not prepared for a heart attack by nature of him tumbling onto her.
The beat of silence is broken by another roll of thunder.
"G-Gaara?" she whispers, all while scrabbling for the kunai she knows is underneath her pillow.
"He's talking to me..." the boy mutters, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.
Shuukaku. Her heart sinks.
"What... what is he saying?"
He shudders then, looping his small short arms around her neck. He squirms and shakes and she realizes he didn't have his gourd (and if so, then where was the sand coming from?) and he breaths right up against her ear.
"Make it stop or I'll kill you too."
"Gaara, you know I - "
"Make it stop, make it stop," he hisses, loosening his hold to cradle his own head.
She's sweating. It's the dead of the night and she's shaking like a leaf.
I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, she chants again and again.
Awkwardly, she tries to rock him. Back and forth, back and forth.
The second true silence settles in the room, he gives an anguished howl, pushing her back and clutching his forehead. He stumbles, flailing wildly, and she hears the sickening crunch of sand against brick before her bedroom door is wrenched off its hinges.
"Wh-what?" Kankurou exclaims, sitting upright.
Temari grabs his shoulders, forcing both of them under the covers.
"Temari, what - "
"Go to sleep!" she begs, raising a useless hand over his eyes and saying the words someone said to her, when she was younger. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, when you wake up, it'll all be better."
If you wake up.
...