A/N: Two things—I apologize this took so long to update. I could never quite pin down what I wanted to say, and then sickness struck my family early this winter. But, you know, sometimes you have to grow yourself before you can catch up with where your characters need to be, so now that things are a bit calmer, I'm back with the final chapter.
Chapter Five: The Light
Getting over minor smoke inhalation was easy. Getting over fatigue from a stress attack was easy.
Getting over a rape threat was not so easy.
Kankuro experienced all the same symptoms he had as a child every time his paternal grandfather had come home from the capital for a visit: nightmares, irritability, stomach cramps, and an inability to keep food in his system.
The result? More fatigue.
For the first three days, he ran missions like normal, but he landed himself in bed every evening as soon as he walked through the door. Right away, he learned things were different: Temari didn't tell him to suck it up, Baki fixed supper instead, and Gaara came to check on him once an hour.
As much as Kankuro appreciated the change in attitudes, he was still waiting for the inevitable questions to start.
Predictably, Temari began.
Late on the third night, she appeared in his doorway, which he'd left open. "So . . ." she ventured, crossing her arms and leaning against the door lintel. "A secret passageway, huh?"
Kankuro could tell that was not the question she'd started to ask, but it certainly told him that everyone had seen everything. Great. Just great. "Yep. Grandmother did that." He didn't have to say which one; their maternal grandma was called "baachan" or grandma, not obaasama. "No one was supposed to know until I was ready to pass it on to the next generation." He smirked. "Speaking of the next generation: have some kids, would ya? I don't want any."
Temari snorted. "Maybe. Eventually. When I'm older."
"I see how you look at that Shikamaru guy . . ."
"Shut it." Despite the words, Temari grinned. However, she paused, the smile fading. "Were you . . .?" She turned away. "You know you can tell me anything." Then she slipped into the hallway.
As he watched her go, Kankuro considered his reasons for silence all these years. Other than he'd killed his own grandfather in order to protect both Gaara and himself — which was a huge burden he'd never wanted to even touch — he just frankly had never expected anyone to believe him. The Kazekage's father and the premier ambassador to the daimyo was a child molester? Never!
Except, of course, such things knew no ranks or boundaries.
The following evening, when Baki came upstairs to collect Kankuro's tray, he settled on the mattress edge. "Kankuro . . ."
Once again, Kankuro braced himself.
Baki's gaze fell to the floor. "Is there, by any chance, a ghost in the mansion? I've noticed some odd things since I moved in."
With a quiet inhale, Kankuro reminded himself to breathe. "Ah . . . yes. There is. One. He won't hurt you, though." He narrowed in his senses, pinpointing his grandpa, who turned out to be hovering by his desk. "He really just watches over me the best he can."
Baki glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? You know who it is?"
"Grandpa. You know, Mom's dad."
Baki nodded slowly. "Good. I mean, I'm glad he's watching over you." He picked at the seam of his pants, right at the knee. "I heard you say you killed someone, but I'm not going to ask you about it. If it wasn't in the line of duty . . . then I don't want to know. It's safer that way. I'm going to assume you were just talking trash to that piece of trash." He stood, collecting the tray. "That said, I'm here if you need to get anything off your chest."
Kankuro inclined his head in a mild bow. "I know, man. But hey . . . you're here. If anyone else makes a bid at killing Gaara — and the rest of us, too — then you'll be on hand to slice off some heads." A fact that meant more to Kankuro than he could ever say.
Silently, Baki reached down and squeezed Kankuro's shoulder with his free hand. "You bet I will." He padded from the room, his footsteps far too quiet to hear.
Again, Kankuro found himself watching the retreat. He understood Baki's position: as a jonin, he didn't want to have to choose between reporting a crime or covering one up. Of course, Kankuro would argue for self-defense, but again, would anyone believe him?
Temari and Baki would, he decided. He smiled and leaned back against his pillows. "What do you know," he murmured to his grandpa. "After all this time . . ." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to; his grandpa would understand.
The spirit glided over and hovered at his side in a show of acknowledgement and solidarity.
The next night passed without incident, and Kankuro felt better enough to eat supper with everyone downstairs.
The seventh evening, when Kankuro arrived home, he found Gaara waiting for him in his room. He stood by the circular window, gazing out over the roofs of the nearest homes.
Knowing how Gaara was, Kankuro shut the door to give them privacy. "Hey, what's up, man?"
Although he didn't turn from the window, Gaara spoke. "Someone violated you." He shifted his head ever so slightly, no doubt catching Kankuro in his peripheral vision. "Who?"
Kankuro grimaced. Gaara had a way of being blunt. "Grandfather. As in, our paternal one." He wasn't sure if Gaara had been around enough in the early years to take note of the titles Temari and he had settled on for their relatives. "He was . . . a sick bastard. A raging asshole, really."
"Hn." Gaara glanced back out the window and grew utterly still and silent in that statue-like way he had.
With a sigh, Kankuro dumped his scrolls on his desk and removed his tasuki and belt. Then he fell face-first onto his bed with a groan. If only he could properly digest a few meals, he could get his energy back, but it would probably take another week before his body calmed back down.
"I wonder if Father experienced such things as well," Gaara murmured.
With rather profound shock, Kankuro realized that was a valid question, although he'd never thought of it. He lifted his face out of his pillow. "Shit, man. I have no idea."
Then it hit him: Gaara had believed him. Instantly. No questions asked.
Gaara strode to the bed, paused, then perched on the edge as though waiting to be ordered off. "You killed him to protect yourself." Not a question.
"And you," Kankuro muttered.
"Me?" Gaara's eyes widened in a way Kankuro hadn't seen from him in ten years.
Kankuro rolled, flopping onto his back. "Dude, he was looking at you. You know? Taking an interest." He stared at the ceiling. "You were, like, eight years old, I guess. I thought, 'No way!' I mean, I know your sand protects you and all, but it protects you against physical attacks. I wasn't sure if it would protect you against . . . touches. Maybe when you realized it was a bad touch, the sand would react. But . . . yeah. I just couldn't know. But it was totally not something I was cool with happening to either of us, so I kinda tricked him. I poisoned his tea."
After a long moment, Gaara gazed at him, then he reached out and squeezed his arm. "Niisan . . . thank you."
Kankuro abruptly felt a hundred pounds lighter, the dark cloud of his secret finding both light and air. "Anything for you, man."
This pronouncement seemed to leave Gaara speechless for a minute.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in return," Gaara finally said. "It was frustrating to be in the Shadow Room and see you in danger but be unable to help."
Half a smile found Kankuro's lips. "Hey, you've protected me several times now."
"There will be more to come," Gaara said gravely. "I have this power, and I will use it to protect my precious people."
In an instant, Kankuro understood that he could let his nightmares go and reassure his body it was safe — and it wasn't because bad things didn't happen to good people or that Gaara could always protect him. It wasn't because he could forever avoid being in a situation like the one he'd faced with his grandfather or Kuwabara. And it wasn't because Gaara, Baki, and Temari would no doubt kill anyone who tried to hurt him in that way, assuming he didn't kill the perpetrator himself.
No, the truth was that when he figuratively came out of hiding in the cellar and joined his newly remade family, he had found he had people who cared if he was hurt, cared enough to help him, and cared enough to never leave his side as long as he needed them. No one could erase what his grandfather had done to him, but they could support him in recovery.
Kankuro had always known that truly tackling what had happened so that he could process it and heal from it would be difficult, but now he had three people who believed in him and loved him and would do whatever it took to support him as he worked on it.
"In the end, I think I was the one in the Shadow Room," Kankuro murmured, struck by the irony. "And I didn't know any way out."
Gaara tilted his head. "Oh?"
"No one ever knew about Grandfather," Kankuro explained.
Reaching out, Gaara pressed two fingertips against Kankuro's chest, over his heart. "I know all about being alone with a pain, and I know all about leaving the 'Shadow Room' I kept myself in. I will help you, if you wish."
Kankuro wasn't sure anyone had ever said anything more powerful to him. "Sure. That'd be great."
And then suddenly, as though a jutsu had released, Kankuro found himself standing back out in the real world, facing away from the shadows and toward the light.