Content warning: Description of body-decay delusion, mention of throwing up and mild mentions of alcohol.

He wakes up to the sound of banging noises echoing through the walls and through his own skull, hissing and pressing chatter asking if he's dead yet, and to the overwhelming sense of impending doom clenching in his gut.

There are beeping sounds and muffled voices, somewhere far away behind the lead-heavy gunk his whole body is buried under, covered by the vivid shouting and whispering over his shoulders. His mouth is dry, tongue feeling like triple its usual size and weight, filling every corner of it and threatening to choke him down. The more he wakes up, the more unbearable the disconnection between his panicking brain urging him to run and his unmoving body becomes.

A sudden rush of nausea pierces through his numbed haze, making him jolt to the side to throw up, but before he can get there a firm hand grabs his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin, the weight of it pinning him down to the mattress and he would scream if he could but the only sound that his throat seems to be able to produce is a painful whine.

The person over him asks something he can't understand through the noise of everything in and around him trying to shut them up, trying to make them leave, to make them stop fucking touching him.

All he manages to do is start crying.

"Everything went smoothly. Your brother is in the recovery room, you may see him in an hour or so."

There's the distinct feeling of liquid being pushed through the cannula in his hand, poisoning him from the inside, turning his skin and muscles into rotten meat and he would for sure rip it off if only he could move his fucking arms. Maybe they're already dead.

[18:42] Tenten: Your crush is waking up and the surgery went all good

He passes out some more in the minutes (hours?) after that, waking every so often to be overflown every time by the noise and the panic and the nerve-wracking pain of having been gutted open. It's a little more bearable than what it used to be, because it's the pain of a cut, not the pain of his own organs rotting inside of him, poisoning him and spreading their plague throughout his whole body- but then he's finally able to get some kind of a look at the room and at himself, then he gets to see the people standing around, some looking at him, then he gets to see himself, half-naked in a foreign bed, gets to see himself, catheter buried under his skin and into his vein, slowly dripping liquid into his bloodstream; and suddenly it's all back, the visceral terror, the unbearable feeling of vulnerability and defenselessness, the ache in every single of his muscles because he doesn't know for sure what is being made of his body and there's not a single thing he can do to stop it, and the screams of "Run." "Fight." and "You can't stay here they're going to kill you." filling the room to the brim.

He tries to sit up. Fails miserably with numbed and wobbly muscles giving up under his weight. Makes an attempt at talking but he's not even sure what he's trying to say and he can't hear his own voice under the ones whirling from under his bed and around his head anyway. Wishes he could just pass out again. Only manages to drown some more in the blurry yet absolutely vivid feelings and sensations of the shadows coming alive around him, both as a protection and a threat, cutting him from everything else around and leaving him alone but cared for, bathed in the coldness of their embrace until maybe he's able to peek an eye outside again.

When they're finally allowed into Kankurou's room, it takes him a good full minute to do as little as to raise his gaze towards them. The only movement in the bed is the slow rising and falling of his chest as he breathes, and it's so slow, so slight, while the rest of him lies perfectly still like he's pressed into the mattress by an invisible but relentless force. And he might be.

He's never been frail, and even with the weight he's lost over the past month his frame is still quite large and full, yet now, laid down and motionless, all the exhaustion in the world digging deep circles under his eyes, he's never looked that heartbreakingly small. She can't stop the memory of their mother from coming to superpose on the vision, pale, sweaty and her hand stone-cold around hers.

Gaara stays a few feet behind her.

"Hi, Kanks," she says and she hates how damn fragile her voice sounds, like it's in any way the right time for him to see her worry. "How are you feeling?"

Silence.

"I'm not sure he'll be able to talk to you yet," comments the nurse in the corner of the room.

"How long has he been like that?" she asks, not letting her eyes unlock from Kankurou for one second.

"Around half an hour. He was quite agitated when he first woke up, but eventually calmed down after a while and hasn't talked since."

She grits her teeth. She knew as much as Kankurou did that the moments after the surgery would be tough, of course. He probably had anticipated that waking up from it would leave him disoriented, vulnerable, panicked, and neck-deep into delusion, and it was a risk he had deemed worth taking, but although there wasn't much to do about it, her heart still clenched at the idea of him having gone through it alone earlier.

Agitated. Are doctors never fucking able to use the word distressed?

"I know it can be scary and impressive," the nurse goes on, maybe mistaking her reaction for one of worry, or maybe not caring either way. "but his vitals are stable and there is no reason to think it's something other than the effects of the anaesthesia and painkillers, so it's not particularly alarming."

It's not that, of course, not just that. She can't say it, Kankurou would never agree to it, if he did, he would have warned his medical team beforehand, but she knows it's not what's happening there. This look on Kankurou, if not exactly familiar, is not a foreign one either. She recognizes it as the one he gets when all else has failed, the cocky smiles, the swears, the anger, the conversion of pent-up fear and grief into blood, glitches, and invisible voices and the only safeguard he can uphold is shutting down entirely.

"Can we have a moment alone with him?"

The nurse shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, he's supposed to be monitored 24/7 for at least his first night."

Fuck.

"How long can we stay here?"

"Visits in the ICU close at eight p.m."

Merely half an hour then.

She's still in the middle of thinking about her potential course of action and ways to reach out to him when Kankurou's fingers twitch the slightest against the bedsheets, effectively freezing her where she's standing next to him.

"Tems." It's not even a whisper, just a breath through barely moving lips. "Get me out."

As faint as his voice is, there's something glowing in his eyes when he speaks, a sparkle, infinitely sad, scared, hurt, and begging that makes her heart clench hard in her chest, and she can't help the tears building up at the back of her throat when she answers.

"I can't."

They stare at each other for a moment, until Kankurou's lower lip starts trembling, a subtle shiver crossing his face as something imperceptible, indescribable, but undeniably there, shifts in his absent expression, eyes wide open but closed, heartbreakingly so, and when his lips part again his voice is back here all of a sudden.

"You're siding with them."

It's not even a question.

"I'm not," she says, because whatever happens, even if she knows that change in his attitude too well to truly hope he'll believe her, she has to keep saying it.

"Then why are you leaving me here to die?"

Temari doesn't speak the whole ride back to Gaara's apartment, picking up a leftover beer the moment they arrive before closing the fridge door with a frustrated push of the foot and going to sit on the couch, both feet tucked against herself, one knee up to rest her bottle on.

Presumably, she intends on spending another night there.

He takes the time to hang his coat by the door, tidy their shoes under it and make himself a cup of tea before coming to sit down on the floor at the other side of the low table.

"Did that hurt you, what Kankurou said?" he asks after a while, not because he personally minds the silence, but because he can see Temari brooding, fingers too tight around the neck of her bottle and movements too rough when she raises it to her lips, and because he too might need to talk the event of the day through to process them.

She doesn't answer with more than a shrug right away, but although he can't pinpoint what emotion exactly they let through, her eyes are nothing close to indifferent. He takes a slow sip of his cup, waiting for her to piece out her answer.

"I know it's not about me." she eventually starts. "It hurts to see him hurt, it hurts to feel powerless and like I'm giving up on him, even though I'm not, obviously, but it doesn't hurt that he would say and believe that. I understand. Well, I don't, but I know it's how it is."

She takes another sip of her beer.

"I'm not saying this is not him. This is him. This is not something, or not just something that happens to him. It's who he is, how he functions, how he exists. He's just…"

She pauses, thinking for a minute and taking another swallow of her bottle.

"I think it's a fucking load of work, for him, handling all that," she eventually states. "As he said to you earlier, it's a lot of signals, and then he has to sort out which ones to listen to or not, and how. Sometimes there's just too much stress, too much pain, too much I-don't-know-what for him to be able to do that efficiently. It's not that his true self is hidden somewhere behind the psychosis, it's that his true self is this mess of pushing and pulling and negotiating what is safe and what isn't, and sometimes he gets lost in the process. All of this is him, undeniably. He's just not in a state to make the best out of it right now. Understandably so. I only wish I could be of better help."

They fall silent for a moment, Temari, for once, not looking at him, eyes lost in thoughts, probably of what she could have said or done differently earlier, of what could have been the right words to get a better grip on Kankurou and ground him back, if there were any.

He didn't say a thing back there. He's not sure why yet. Temari didn't seem serene or peaceful in any way, but she did sound like she was standing somewhere familiar, and he definitely wasn't. Since they've reconnected, Kankurou has been nothing but supportive and available, probably, he realizes it now, pushing back his own problems and needs for the times they spent together. As much as his earlier speech about wishing to know more about him and being able to show support in return too was true, it's not a role he knows well enough how to fulfil yet to fully find his bearings in it. And Kankurou is certainly not in any state of teaching him better right now.

"Is it the first time he's like that?" he eventually asks.

If he's not going to be able to sort out his feelings tonight, he might as well try to learn, and it has become evident over the course of the last twenty-four hours how much Temari and Kankurou hold an intimate knowledge of each other.

"Like what?"

"Paranoid. That's what it is isn't it?"

She nods silently, biting her lower lips.

"Yeah, it is."

"I'm asking because he didn't mention that this afternoon," he explains.

He hadn't expected Kankurou to be fully exhaustive about all the forms his psychosis could take, and maybe it wasn't even possible to be so to begin with, but he hadn't really been expecting that kind of reaction either. Not that he knows for sure what he had been expecting.

"It's not something he experiences most of the time, I think," she says before tilting her head with a wince, as if a memory had uncomfortably scratched the surface of her brain. "Well, not with me at least, and not in that intensity. But it's not unheard of either."

"Do you think you could tell me about it? About the other times? I'm sorry, I realize I'm asking a lot of questions today, and a lot of digging into memories you might not want to. I just-" He pauses for a few seconds, time to assess what exactly the itch he's trying to scratch is. "I have learned a lot of things today, about him, you, the three of us, and our family, and I understand if you would rather stop thinking about this for a moment, but I think as much as it is valuable and appreciated, I am having a little of a hard time processing all of it and connecting what I hear about and what I see and know already."

She dismisses his worry with a wave of the hand.

"This week is going to suck whether you ask questions or not. Please go ahead, at least it gives me something to keep myself busy with."

For a second, he thinks about asking if this is why she works that many hours, because she thinks too much when she has free time on her hands, but it's probably a talk for another time. He nods.

"To answer your question, I think it wasn't so much there at first," she says. "There was a lot of confusion, because he simply did not know what was happening to him, and couldn't understand why we wouldn't get what the fuck he was talking about, and of course it was distressing and making him wary to some extent, but it wasn't quite like what it's been later on."

She finishes her bottle and puts it down on the low table, seeming to think about taking a new one for a moment before opting against it.

"Then when Rasa died and we moved to Baki's apartment it became substantially harder. As much as living with our father was scary, at least we knew to some extent what was about to hit us. It took both of us quite some time to come to the conclusion that Baki was actually a decent person, so the early months were a lot of waiting for a breakdown that didn't come, being on our guards all the time to try and understand what this man's triggers were and what our new survival strategies should be in consequence. That's when Kankurou got sick for the first time, and I think the experience of being in pain and not knowing why, of being forcefully exposed to that many people, Baki, the nurses, the doctors, of being stripped from the little privacy and safety we just had gotten our hands on made something shift or deteriorate in the way his psychosis had worked so far. That's when I first saw him truly drift away, becoming suspicious, closing up much more and in a different way than he used to with me, refusing touch or communication at times."

She picks up her beer again before remembering it's empty and putting it back on the table, finger clenching in the air for a moment.

"There's more in the fridge," he states, because he's not going to directly suggest she'd take a second one but he doesn't want her to stop herself for him either. She does look like she could use a relaxant.

She hesitates for a second, then her shoulders slump a tad.

"Yeah, you're right," she said while getting off the couch and into the kitchen area.

There's the suction sound of the fridge being opened, the metallic one of keys against a beer cap, then a gulp and a sigh before she's back into the living room.

"During his last flare-up a few years ago, Kankurou reacted very poorly to his meds," she continues once back on the couch and a second sip in. "Mentally I mean, it really fucked him up. I don't exactly know what happened, he never talked about it and I didn't ask because it didn't seem like a conversation he wanted to have. He just said he was sorry, and I said it was alright."

"Sorry about what?"

She shrugs.

"I don't know. Well, he locked himself in his apartment for a couple of days and stopped answering any messages or calls and when I went to his place because I was worrying sick about him, he refused to let me in. He said stuff about how he knew I had done it, that I had killed I don't know who or what, that he wouldn't let me come anywhere nearby because he didn't trust me and he could see my true intentions now. So, I guess it was about that, but I assume he apologized for way more, for what he was thinking of me at the time he said those things, maybe, for not having been able to listen to me, to believe me. I don't know."

She falls silent again, picking at her lips with her nail for a moment before she speaks again.

"I'm sorry I realize I say 'I don't know.' a lot, but it's true. This is something I just ran along with and that I've been living next to, but I'm no expert and I have very little certitude. Just like with you, in a way. All three of us function with very different systems and communication means. And it's fine, but I just- I learn along the way, we all do. I don't have all the answers. I don't know if there are always answers anyway."

The tea in his hand is becoming too cold.

"I personally think you are doing quite well at understanding all this," he says, grimacing at the feeling on his tongue when he still takes a sip and putting the cup down. "I'm sure it's valuable for Kankurou to have you."

It's the first time he is seeing her smiling in quite a while today.

"Thank you," she raises her bottle to her lips before she speaks again. "I'm sorry, I know I'm not really that great with all the autism stuff. I kind of already had my hands full with other stuff when we were kids. And I haven't really gotten the opportunity to work on it since then."

"You stare a lot," he agrees, realizing only a tad too late it sounds more like a cold critique than an observation or advice, but she laughs it off before he can apologize or clarify his intentions.

"Yeah, people say that to me." Her grins soften a little. "Kankurou and I are used to roughing each other up quite a bit. Caring for each other gently is something we have to do when things get too bad, when one of us is too vulnerable to bear being treated any other way. It's not a good sign. It's not comforting. Well, it is, but in a 'this is fucking hard and painful but I'm here' sort of way, not in a 'welcome home' sort of way. I know it's not what works out for you."

He shrugs. Cohabitation with his siblings had been very hard as children. Temari and Kankurou were very close-knit and assorted already, and himself neither very communicative nor able to find his place between the two. Just dealing with their father made everything hard enough that none of them had the patience nor emotional abilities to accommodate each other's needs, Temari too rough and too loud, Kankurou too impatient and anxious not to be controlling, Gaara too peculiar and demanding. There had been a lot of fighting and yelling and crying until he eventually ended up spending most of his time with Yashamaru, even before Rasa's death.

"I've been learning."

It's easier, now.

"Still, I don't want you to be doing all the effort."

He raises his eyes towards her eventually, teal meeting deep green for a few seconds as he tries to keep them there while he speaks.

"Then do some."

She frowns.

"I am."

He shrugs again and the contact breaks.

"Then I'm not doing all of it."

She stays silent for a moment, before letting out an amused hum.

"I suppose that checks out."

He makes an attempt at a smile.

"It does."

Maybe they're not that incompatible in the end.

She goes back to her beer for a moment, but he can't find it in him to touch his cold tea again. He should have drunk it faster. It's not often he gets that distracted, but evidently, today has been a lot.

"What will happen to him now?" he asks after a while, and she stays silent for another few seconds before she answers.

"The nurse seemed to think it was a side effect of his painkillers. I don't think it's true, of course, although I can only assume the numbness and knowledge he's being drugged doesn't help with his delusion, but it's good that the medical team believes that."

"Why?"

The empty bottle clinks when she puts it down on the table.

"You heard him. Kankurou doesn't want anyone to know about this shit. I'm also worried they're going to treat him way more like trash if they know he's regular psychotic, and not just drug-induced psychotic. People are dicks. I mean, I'm sure you know that."

He doesn't answer right away, thinking of all the times he got picked on for crap, by adults and kids alike, for the way he talked (or didn't), the way he moved and sat down, the shifty eyes, the hair plucking, the idle hands' movements or the blunt commentaries he really intended as communication, and how somehow answering to it with kicks and punch in the face had never been an acceptable outcome. He wonders if she's heard about it, or just guessed, or if she's actually talking about her own past child self.

"I guess they are."

She nods.

"Do you work tomorrow morning?"

Not a conversation for today, then.

"Theoretically, but I work from home and only have to present my results on Friday so I can organize myself how I want. Do you?"

She shakes her head.

"I just got back from a mission. I might have a few meetings sometime into the week, but I can also postpone. I think."

He nods. He's not entirely sure yet what her legal job is exactly about, besides the fact that it implies a lot of travel outside of the province. He should ask her about it someday. Not now, probably.

"I'm going to get back to the hospital for the visits opening hour at eight tomorrow, if you wanna come with me. I'm not sure Kankurou will have us, there's no saying how long this is going to last, but it's important that we're here, I think. I don't know. I'm hoping if we show constant support maybe he can eventually anchor to that."

"I hope he will."

"You're not going to drink your tea, are you?"

He blinks.

"What?"

"You've been looking at your cup without touching it for twenty minutes, I'm asking if you still intend to drink it."

It takes him another few seconds to get on board with the sudden change of subject.

"Oh. I'm not. Sorry. It has gotten cold."

She gets up and picks it up along with her bottle, standing there for a moment with her eyes on the cup in her hand.

"Kankurou used to do that a lot too. I don't know if I ever saw him finish a coffee. He would make himself a cup, fill it with way more sugar than a human body should be able to process, then settle for work and get absorbed by whatever thing he was into at the moment, and it would stay in a corner of his desk until it was ready to be thrown down the sink. He eventually switched to energy drinks. I guess it's easier to drink even after having been forgotten for hours."

There's this tenderness in her voice again. It's surprising, the way she's always rough and sharp on the edges when she talks to him, but everything softens and melts when she talks about him.

"Anyway, gonna clean this up, you should set the bed. We better catch some sleep for tomorrow. We'll need it."

He nods, unfolding his legs from under the table and getting up to open the sofa-bed. His knees hurt from having stayed still too long, and he's only realizing now how exhausted he is.

She leans against the wall once she's done with the dishes, waiting for him to be done replacing the blankets. She would gladly lend a hand but she has learned Gaara is peculiar about bed-making (his words), enough to have taken the time to fold it back before they left this morning when the time was arguably not at tidying, so she waits until he seems satisfied with the configuration.

"I'm sorry I'm inviting myself at your place again, I didn't even ask," she realizes.

He nods. It is a bit overwhelming having someone home that much, but it's also comforting and it feels like something they should be doing at a time like this.

"It's alright. Thank you for talking with me today."

"Of courses" she answers with a smile before they get ready to sleep in silence.

"I wish it hadn't required Kankurou being half-dead," she eventually adds once they're both laying down in the dark, "but I'm happy we could spend some time together."

"Me too."

She sighs.

"G-d I hope he'll be okay."

"He will. He's hard-headed, my brother." He repeats, not entirely sure it's going to do the trick, but he hears her chuckle next to him. It's nice.

"You're right. Good night Gaara."

"Good night."