Content Warning: Mentions of body-decay delusion and vomiting.

Once Temari is gone (gone gone gone leaving him) everything around him starts distorting again.

The more he tries to think, tries to get a hold of what is going on, the more everything dislocates, the gears of his mind and flesh and reality breaking further and further apart. His body is numb, so much so he would think he doesn't have one anymore if it wasn't for the distant pulsating pain in his abdomen, and maybe it's all he's got left, all he is: a pile of spilt guts filled with tubes and cut through by a large bleeding wound.

He would try to sit up again, to touch his legs, his stomach, his face if he wasn't so scared they might get onto him again if he did, pin him down to the bed, drug him further, kill him. They don't want him to move. They said: "You shouldn't try to get up." and the threat echoed like a snake's hiss.

Every time he breathes a little louder, every time he moves the slightest, he feels the glare of the man sitting in a corner of the room on him. He can't see his features with how thick and dirty and glitching the air around him is, only, at times, the light reflecting in his eyes piercing through the black hole of his face that never fails to make the feeling of impending danger spike in his chest.

He battles for a moment, trying to stay focused, trying to stay alert and thinking, trying to find a way to get out without being noticed, but as every minute passes he feels his thoughts becoming heavier and more intricate, and soon it's like trying to knit with threads that keep on entangling and knotting inside his hands to the point there's no way he can reach the heart of the ball to sort it out anymore.

Time spreads and stretches like a disgusting sticky goo, binding his body and filling his throat until he can't breathe, until, eventually, all the effort he's been putting into resisting the slumbered gunk in his body and the pull of the drugs trying to drag him into unconsciousness fails and he feels himself fully drifting away and passing out.

He doesn't really sleep for most of the night, rather alternating between different levels of consciousness; sometimes blacking out entirely; sometimes fully awake and hyperaware, cold sweat damping his skin as he begs for his body to let him move, let him leave, but the screaming fear of g-d-knows-what in his gut and brain have him pinned down to the mattress with the bone-deep conviction that he'll get hurt or assaulted or worse if he does; but mostly drowning in the in-between, not knowing if each of his blinks lasts a fraction of second or half an hour, feeling only bits and pieces of his body and wondering if the rest has melted or rotten or simply disappeared.

Sometimes the man in the room comes closer to him. Sometimes he touches the IV bag hanging over his head and it makes him think he's about to throw up but the bile stays stuck with the words and cries in his throat. Sometimes he talks to him, he thinks, but none of the words (Are they words?) he says make sense. They're just noises, rattling, grunts, and gurgling as distorted as his face is. At some point, he gets switched for another. Or maybe they're constantly switching and shifting whenever he passes out and he hasn't seen it happen until then.

The only way he can tell that time is still actually passing and not stuck in an infinite loop of scribbled-out faces, pain, and rotten meat, is the changing of the sky's colour, little by little, as the sun starts rising.

It gets a little easier once it's daytime, the images behind the fog of visual snow and glitches still far, but clearer. When another person enters the room, he still can't see her full face, but he can catch glimpses of it at times through the black stains: the edge of a jaw, a cheek, an eye. There's something familiar in it he can't precisely pinpoint.

He tries to say something, though he's not entirely sure what, but his mouth is too dry and his lips too heavy. There's some more chatter in the room, discussions he can neither understand nor participate in, and the powerlessness of it makes his gut knot as the feeling of "They're talking about you." rises in his chest like a tide out there to drown him.

Soon enough, everyone leaves the room again except for one nurse he doesn't think is the same as the two he's identified overnight. They go sit on the chair by the window, and for a moment, everything stills, time stretches, and there's still the beeping of the machines, the sound of his own breathing, too loud and overwhelming, and the rattling inside of the walls, so it's not silent, by any means, but the noise is somewhat more organized, compartmentalized, as if it had finally settled on entering his brain in well-interlocked bricks rather than pushing in all at once.

Then the door opens again.

Kankurou seems to tense at the both of them entering the room this time, and while it's not exactly a comforting sight, it's still an improvement compared to his catatonia of the night before. His eyes are wary and still underlined with dark bags, but way sharper and present.

She nods a brief greeting to the nurse sitting by the window, Gaara imitating her but staying a few steps behind.

"Hi, Kankurou."

He doesn't answer yet, but his eyes waver, seemingly hesitating between staring her down or avoiding looking at her entirely. He's not trusting her, evidently, but it's not the state of absolute suspicion and accusation he was in when she left him yesterday, which is good, because it means there's probably room for her to defend her case.

She turns around for a few seconds, picking up a chair from against the wall to sit next to the bed, closer, but not so close that she could touch him if she tried, engaging but not invading or dangerous.

"I'm sorry I left you yesterday. I really am," she starts because it's true and she can at least say that.

"Then why did you?"

Kankurou's voice is hoarse, probably from not having been used in a while, and his tone some level of angry and bitter, expectedly, but not just that. It's pained too, and pleading, like he sincerely wishes he could believe her but needs to be given a right reason to.

"Gaara and I weren't allowed to stay for the night. It's the rules of the hospital because you're in intensive care. But we crossed paths with your doctor on the way and she said today if it's fine with you they're going to move you to the step-down unit, and then we will be able to stay with you more."

It might be a bit of an understatement to say "if it's fine with you" for what is more "if they think you look less delirious than you do now" but it's eventually what it comes down to: it will happen if Kankurou is in any state to accept it.

"Would you like that?"

He doesn't answer right away, throwing an anxious glance over her shoulder to the nurse sitting in the corner before waving her closer. She complies.

"They're drugging me," he whispers next to her. "You believe me, right?"

She nods, trying not to let show how much the begging in his voice breaks her heart. Of course, she does. She always does.

"I do believe you. And it's true, they are," she confirms, because someone lying to him is the very last thing Kankurou needs right now.

As much as the nature and reasons for the drugs might not be exactly what he believes them to be in that very moment and however impacted by psychosis the meaning of that statement might be, it's not in any way less rooted in the very real fact that he's most likely been dosed with opioids continuously for the past 12 hours, and he deserves that she acknowledges that.

"Does that make you feel bad?"

Short but urgent nod.

"I can ask the staff to stop or at least reduce the amount if you want to. But the drugs are here to take down the pain from the surgery, so you will hurt more without them."

She's not entirely sure how much of the current situation he still has in mind and how much of it has slipped through the net of his psychosis, so she details, trying to find words that are clear enough for him to grasp through the brain fog she knows he's fighting, without sounding infantilizing or condescending because she doesn't want him to believe that she doesn't trust his ability to understand and make decisions right now.

"I don't care," he cuts. "I don't care about pain. I need the IV out, it's fucking killing me."

In another context, on another day, she would have taken the words as a metaphor, an overstatement, or a figure of speech. Here, and now, the way he looks at her and the urgency in his voice are making it very clear that it's nothing like that.

"I don't think they can take the cannula out yet because you're getting your food through it until your stoma starts working, but I can ask for less drugs."

"No drugs."

The correction is firm and final, both his eyes staring into hers until she eventually nods.

"Okay, I'll try my best."

The comings and goings and negotiations carry on for a little hour and the whole time Gaara doesn't see Temari falter one bit. It takes some work, evidently, to convince the medical staff that yes, she's sure Kankurou will be doing better without painkillers and yes, she does understand it's major surgery and that he's going to be in an awful lot of pain but that yes, he's been known to generally not react well to drugs and favouring pushing through instead, which is why she knows it's his preferred course of action even if he might not be able to communicate with the staff right now and since he did designate her to take decisions for him if needs be, maybe they should fucking listen to her. (She doesn't actually say the "fucking" part but everyone present can hear she's thinking it.)

She does eventually win the argument over though, of course, and the agreement settles on cutting off the painkillers entirely, waiting for them to wear off a bit, and, if Kankurou does seem a little better for it, approve his transfer to the step-down unit where they would finally be allowed to be alone in the room with him.

He's pulled a chair next to Kankurou's bed in the meantime, once again unsure of where he fits and what he should be doing in this process. Temari seems to be doing just fine on her own, but he can't brush off the feeling that he's been terribly passive and silent ever since his brother woke up from surgery, and that he should know what to do, what to say, or how to act, but he doesn't.

Most of the time, Kankurou seems to be focusing on their sister's ruffle, and the staff's behaviour around them but, on occasion, he turns around to Gaara for a few silent seconds, before taking his attention back to the way his life is being debated in the other corner of the room.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

[09:23] Lee: Hi Gaara ️ I just finished my shift. How are things going over here? Is your brother recovering all right?

[09:24] Gaara: Good morning, Lee. I hope your work night went well.

[09:24] Gaara: Kankurou is still quite tired and disoriented from the surgery and anaesthesia, but nothing significantly worrying. He will be fine.

It's half a lie, maybe, and he doesn't like doing that, but he knows Kankurou decided to talk to him about his psychosis precisely because he trusted him to respect his desire to keep it secret from most, and he's not going to betray that trust. This is at least one thing he can do. And, surely, Lee would approve.

[09:14] Lee: I'm glad to hear that! I hope it gets better soon then

It's still a mystery to this day for Gaara how exactly his boyfriend proceeds to type text messages this fast.

[09:15] Lee: Do you want me to pass by? Bring you anything?

[09:16] Gaara: You should get some sleep first.

[09:17] Gaara: I don't think Kankurou will be able to see many people today, but if you want to say hi to me and Temari you can come in the afternoon.

[09:18] Gaara: Kankurou should be transferred to a different floor sometime in the morning, it will be easier for me to catch up with you once that's done.

[09:18] Gaara: I don't think we need anything. Thank you.

Next to him, Kankurou's breathing distinctively stiffens as the nurse comes to meddle with the IV pumps, the sound of it slightly covered by Temari's voice promising him they're just taking things off and not adding anything more to his treatment.

[09:18] Lee: Alright then! I shall rest to be at my best to see you later

[09:19] Lee: I'll text you back when I get up, tell me if anything changes

[09:20] Gaara: I will.

[09:20] Gaara: Have a good night, Lee.

[09:21] Lee: I will do my best!

[09:21] Lee: I love you

[09:22] Gaara: I love you too. ️

"Who are you texting?"

Kankurou's voice makes him jump slightly on his chair. It's the first time he's talked directly to him since the surgery. In his defence, Gaara hasn't been doing much better on his side, and he doesn't even have the excuse of being severely ill in a hospital bed.

He's not entirely sure if the question comes from Kankurou being curious about his life, or from the constant silent chatter next to him which he can't know the content of not mixing well with his paranoia.

The look in his eyes has changed from when they first got into the room today, but he doesn't exactly seem less leery than before, it rather looks like his wariness has changed form, to something more organized, conscious, and under control, and less all-encompassing and overwhelming, but Gaara is not sure it's less intense for it. Maybe it's just more thought-out and expressed after calculation, rather than solely rolling on instinctive and immediate gut feeling like it was before.

Either way, it doesn't really matter. His understanding so far is that, whatever his brother's state, honesty is the way to go when it comes down to talking to him. Whether Kankurou chooses – or is able – to believe him or not, is not something he has control over, nor something he would wish to. The extent of his margin of action here can be summed up to make himself as worthy of trust as he can, so he does exactly that. It's not like he has ever successfully lied to Kankurou before anyway.

"It's Lee," he answers. "He was asking for news of you, and Temari and I."

Kankurou nods and, for a moment, Gaara thinks that might be the end of the interaction for this time, but then he speaks again.

"He's a kind man."

There's a slowness in his voice, that surely could reasonably be attributed to the drugs, the pain, and the fatigue, but that strikes Gaara as maybe something else in that moment. It's not the first time he is noticing it, either in Kankurou's words or in the delay before them. So far, he's always put those slightly odd timings on the account of distraction or speech quirk – he's not really in any position to criticize people's speaking patterns from where he stands anyway – but now he is realizing maybe those occurrences were rather the tiny cracks in the solid mask his brother consistently put on to hide the rambling of his brain and body to the world, moments where his ability to process and answer through the other voices, the other noises, the other sensations, have let him down for an instant.

He's taking on him to try and reach out despite the significant part of his consciousness that would rather not, or can't, is what is happening. His gaze wavers, from time to time, as if the thickness of the disturbances draining his attention kept coming in and leaving in waves. Or maybe it's just his ability to work through them that oscillates.

"He is."

Finding himself at a loss for words, or unsure how to interact with people, is not an unfamiliar feeling for Gaara. In most contexts, it is even rather something of a default baseline. Here though, the feeling is somewhat different than what he's used to. Normally, he's having trouble reaching out, finding his way into the shared conversation and the general outside. It's not what's happening now. He's having trouble reaching in, knowing what to bring up and what tools to use to get from the outside into Kankurou's current bubble. It's a strange sensation, and not one he likes very much. He wonders if maybe that's how other people, how Temari feels when speaking to him.

"I'm sorry I am not very chatty today," he states eventually, getting to accept the fact his brain isn't going to be able to produce any other kind of reflection until he sorts this one out.

Kankurou nods, before moving a bit in his bed with a painful grunt.

"I don't own a lot of words myself," he comments with that same sluggishness and difficulty in his tone that makes Gaara realize he's not saying this as a figure of speech. Getting a hand on words of his own, words he can put in his mouth and use, is not something coming easy for him at the moment.

Temari interrupts them for a few seconds, making sure Kankurou's alright with her leaving to grab some coffee before making her way to the corridor. Once she's out, the room falls silent again, more than it was before with the discontinued argument going on between her and the nurse a few meters away from them.

Then, after another few awkward shifts on his – quite uncomfortable – chair, it eventually hits him that he has been approaching that issue in a very wrong way. This is not about making himself palatable and adequate enough to be understood by people who are used to having communication flowing for them, this is about finding the point of connection between him and someone for whom it is, at the moment, decidedly not flowing either and, as such, the solution cannot lie in the usual strategies he has got in stock to adapt himself to his surrounding but maybe, rather, in embracing his more natural alternative paths.

He bends down to reach for his backpack lying at the feet of his chair, easily finding there his tablet – the latter being essentially the only thing there outside of a water bottle, a charging cable, and his wallet – that he packed in to be able to make some progress on his current project in case he had forced free time outside of Kankurou's room or if his brother were to take some rest.

On the screen there, notes and scribbles about the order specifications, the constraint of the terrain, and a collage of pictures of the current state of the specific location he was landscaping for in one of the city's public gardens. Then, a few digital pages after that, draft sketches and watercolours of a few design ideas.

He turns his eyes back to Kankurou.

"Do you want to see the flowerbed I'm working on?"