Chapter 2 - The Lullaby of Shifting Sands
"One sister's love will rewrite destiny in the sands of time."
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. "Naruto" and all related characters, settings, and concepts are the property of Masashi Kishimoto and respective companies. This story is written by a fan, for fans, with no financial gain.
Summary: Sent back to the day Shukaku was sealed, Temari must be the sister Gaara deserves. Armed with future knowledge, she'll reshape Suna, her every choice rippling through time. Time travelers forge new bonds, finding romance based on mental age (don't worry, it's not gross!). Can Temari's love and intellect forge a brighter future and conquer a rewritten destiny?
The world snapped into focus with brutal clarity, each sensation hitting Temari's consciousness like separate strikes of a hammer. The sterile bite of antiseptic. The metallic undertone of blood. The harsh glare of medical lights that seemed to pierce straight through her newly-young retinas.
Her mother's labored breathing filled the room.
Wrong. Everything's wrong.* Temari's adult mind reeled within the confines of her four-year-old skull, neurons firing in patterns too complex for such an immature brain. The cognitive dissonance made her stomach lurch, bile rising in her throat as two sets of memories warred for dominance.
"Temari-chan?" Karura's voice, weak but still holding that gentle tone that had haunted Temari's dreams for decades. "Come... come here, little one."
Her legs moved without conscious thought, each step a battle between muscle memory she shouldn't have and a body too small to contain fifteen years of combat training. The sheet beneath her mother's form was stained crimson, spreading like a desert flower blooming in fast motion.
"Karura-sama, please conserve your strength," one of the medical-nin urged, his hands glowing with healing chakra that they both knew would prove futile. Temari remembered this moment - had relived it in nightmares until the edges wore smooth. But now...
"My brave girl," Karura whispered, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush Temari's cheek. The touch sent shivers through her entire system - real, present, *alive*. "Look after your brothers. Especially... especially the little one."
Gaara. Not yet sealed. Not yet cursed. The knowledge sat like lead in Temari's stomach as she heard the first weak cries from the other side of the room.
"Hai, Kaa-san." The honorific felt strange on her young tongue, muscles working differently than she remembered. She fought to keep her voice steady, to not betray the hurricane of adult grief and calculation warring in her mind. "I promise."
Karura's eyes widened slightly at her daughter's tone, too mature, too controlled for a four-year-old. But then another contraction hit, and the moment passed in a wave of pain and fresh blood.
"Something's wrong," one of the younger medical-nin muttered, hands flying through diagnostic seals. "The chakra drain from the sealing preparation... it's accelerating."
Of course it is* Temari thought bitterly. *They're killing her to turn my brother into a weapon.* The adult knowledge sat uncomfortably alongside the child's confusion, creating a vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her.
"Remarkable," the head medical-nin murmured, casting a glance at Temari's rigid posture. "Most children would be crying by now."
Most children haven't lived through this twice* she wanted to scream. Instead, she kept her small hand wrapped around her mother's fingers, cataloging every detail she'd been too young to appreciate the first time. The exact shade of Karura's eyes. The way her hair curled slightly with sweat. The strength still present in her grip, even as her life ebbed away.
"Temari," Karura's voice dropped to barely a whisper, meant for her alone. "There's love... in me. Remember that. When they tell you... different. When they say... I cursed him. Remember... there was only... love..."
The words hit Temari like physical blows. She hadn't heard this part before - had been too young, too overwhelmed to process it. Her mother's final message, lost to a child's grief and trauma, now burned itself into her adult consciousness.
"I'll remember, Kaa-san," she managed, her child's voice cracking under the weight of future knowledge. "I'll make sure he knows."
Karura's smile, brilliant even through the pain, would haunt Temari's memories all over again. Then the monitors began their frantic beeping, and the room erupted into controlled chaos as her mother's hand went slack in her grip.
Through it all, Temari stood perfectly still, a small figure of unnatural composure as her world shifted on its axis for the second time.
In the corner, Gaara's cries grew stronger.
The desert wind howled outside the windows, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Temari's fan hand twitched, muscle memory searching for a weapon she wouldn't hold for years to come.
Everything was different now. Everything was possible.
Everything hurt.
The ancient sealing chamber stretched deep beneath Sunagakure's surface, its weathered stone walls etched with intricate fuinjutsu patterns that pulsed with a faint blue glow. Temari's heart thundered against her ribs as she descended the worn steps, each footfall echoing in the cavernous space. The air grew thicker with each step, heavy with incense and the metallic tang of sacrificial blood.
Six priests in ceremonial robes stood in a perfect hexagon around a raised stone altar, their movements synchronized as they prepared the sealing array. In the center, wrapped in cloth spun from golden sand silk, lay her brother - so impossibly small, so terrifyingly vulnerable.
Gaara.
The sight of him, untouched by the hatred that would later twist his life, sent a physical ache through her chest. His tiny fists waved in the air, jade eyes bright with innocence that would soon be stripped away.
"Stand back, Temari-sama," one of the priests cautioned, his voice trembling. "The vessel must be prepared-"
"His name is Gaara," Temari cut in, her voice carrying the weight of years she hadn't yet lived. "And he's my brother." She stepped forward, chakra flowing naturally to her feet, steadying her against the oppressive pressure of Shukaku's sealed form waiting in the ceremonial urn.
From the shadows, Rasa watched with calculating eyes. "You should not be here, daughter."
"I should be nowhere else, Otou-sama." Temari met his gaze without flinching, years of diplomatic training evident in her steady tone. "The sealing will have a better chance of success if Gaara feels secure, loved. Let me hold him."
A sharp intake of breath from the corner drew her attention to Chiyo-baasama, the elderly puppet master's eyes narrowing with sudden interest. "The girl shows unusual insight, Rasa. And her chakra control..." The old woman's gnarled fingers twitched, sensing the precise way Temari modulated her energy.
Temari approached the altar, her steps measured and confident. The priests shifted uneasily, their formation wavering. The closest one, a young man with fear written plainly across his features, nearly stumbled backward.
"Careful!" he gasped. "The One-Tail's chakra is already-"
"Is already reaching for him, yes," Temari completed, her voice soft but firm. "All the more reason he needs his family now." Without waiting for permission, she lifted Gaara into her arms, adjusting her hold with practiced ease. The baby gurgled, tiny fingers reaching for her face.
"Impossible," one of the elder priests whispered. "The demon's chakra should be causing him distress, yet..."
Temari smiled down at her brother, memorizing every detail of his innocent face. "He's perfectly calm because he feels safe," she explained, though the truth ran deeper. Her own chakra, tempered by years of training and combat, created a subtle barrier - not enough to interfere with the sealing, but sufficient to shield Gaara from the worst of Shukaku's malevolent energy.
"Return him to the altar," Rasa commanded, stepping forward with authority that brooked no argument. Or wouldn't have, in another lifetime.
"In a moment, Otou-sama." Temari's grip remained gentle but firm. "First, I want him to know that no matter what happens next, no matter what anyone says or does, he has someone who loves him unconditionally." She pressed a soft kiss to Gaara's forehead, exactly where the kanji for 'love' would one day be carved in blood and pain. "I will always protect you, otouto. Always."
The chamber fell silent save for Gaara's peaceful coos. Even Chiyo had ceased her restless movements, watching the scene unfold with calculating eyes that missed nothing. The old puppet master's fingers twitched again, this time in a pattern Temari recognized - a subtle diagnostic jutsu, probing the interaction between her chakra and the ambient energy of the chamber.
"Fascinating," Chiyo murmured. "The girl's chakra... it's almost as if..."
"The hour approaches," the head priest interrupted, his voice strained. "We must begin."
Temari took one last look at her brother's innocent face, committing every detail to memory. "I'm right here, Gaara," she whispered, laying him back on the altar with infinite care. "I'll always be right here."
The sealing array blazed to life, ancient symbols crawling across the stone floor like luminous serpents. Temari stepped back, her fingers curled into tight fists as she watched the priests begin their work. The air grew thick with chakra, pressing against her skin like a physical weight.
"Fūinjutsu: Shukaku Tenjin (Sealing Technique: Shukaku Divine Transfer)," the head priest intoned, his weathered hands flowing through complex signs. The other priests moved in perfect synchronization, their chakra weaving an intricate pattern that would forever bind her brother's fate.
Gaara's first cry of distress cut through her like a blade.
"Hold the barrier!" one of the priests shouted as Shukaku's chakra lashed out, caustic and violent. The massive urn containing the beast's essence cracked, golden sand seeping through like blood from a wound.
Temari's body moved before her mind could second-guess, years of combat instinct taking over. Her chakra expanded, creating a subtle current that guided Shukaku's power, not fighting it but directing it like wind steering a sail.
"What are you doing?" Rasa's voice cracked like thunder. "Step back!"
"No." The word emerged calm, certain. "The seal needs harmony, not dominance. Gaara's crying because you're fighting Shukaku too hard."
Chiyo's eyes widened, her ancient face illuminated by the sealing array's glow. "The girl speaks truth. Ease the binding matrix - let the energies align naturally."
The priests hesitated, their concentration wavering. Shukaku's chakra surged through the widening cracks, and Gaara's cries grew more desperate.
"Now!" Temari commanded, her voice carrying the authority of a future she'd lived through. "Trust in the seal's design. Trust in Gaara's strength."
The head priest nodded sharply, adjusting his hand signs. The other priests followed suit, their rigid formation softening. The chamber's oppressive atmosphere began to shift, chakra flowing more smoothly as the seal adapted to accommodate both vessel and beast.
Gaara's cries softened to whimpers, then ceased entirely. The golden sand swirling around him settled, sinking beneath his skin like morning dew into desert earth. Where it passed, intricate patterns formed - not angry red like she remembered, but a soft gold that seemed to pulse in time with his tiny heartbeat.
"Remarkable," Chiyo breathed, stepping closer to examine the developing seal. "The integration is far more stable than any previous attempt. How did you know?"
Temari kept her eyes fixed on Gaara, afraid her face might betray too much if she met the puppet master's shrewd gaze. "A sister knows," she said simply. "And I've studied the history of failed sealings. We need Gaara strong, not broken."
"You've been studying forbidden scrolls?" Rasa's voice carried a dangerous edge.
"I've been studying everything that might help protect my brother and my village," Temari countered, finally turning to face her father. "Isn't that what you wanted, Otou-sama? A weapon to make Suna strong?"
The words tasted bitter, but she forced them out anyway. It was too soon to challenge Rasa's fundamental beliefs - for now, she had to work within them, slowly steering him toward a better path.
The sealing array pulsed once more, then faded to a subtle shimmer beneath Gaara's skin. The priests sagged, exhausted but successful. In the aftermath of the ritual, Gaara lay peaceful, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
"It's done," the head priest announced, wonder creeping into his tired voice. "The seal holds true."
Temari reached for her brother again, and this time, no one moved to stop her. As she cradled him close, she could feel the dual pulses of his chakra and Shukaku's, no longer fighting but flowing together like streams joining a river.
"You'll never be alone," she whispered against his forehead. "Not this time."
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the windows of the Kazekage's office, painting harsh lines across Rasa's face as he stood behind his desk. The air hung thick with tension, weighted by unspoken accusations and the fresh grief of Karura's passing. Temari stood before him, her small frame rigid with a determination that seemed beyond her years.
"What exactly are you proposing, Temari?" Rasa's voice carried the practiced neutrality of a leader accustomed to masking his emotions, but there was an edge to it – sharp as the gold dust that stirred restlessly in his gourd.
Temari lifted her chin, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I want to be Gaara's primary caretaker. The nurses – they're afraid of him. They don't understand what he needs."
"And you do?" Rasa's eyebrow arched skeptically. "You're barely more than a child yourself."
Something snapped inside Temari then, a dam breaking against years of dutiful silence and respect. "I understand more than you think, *Chichi-ue*." The formal address carried a bite of irony. "I understand that he's a baby who just lost his mother. I understand that he needs love, not fear. And I understand that if you continue treating him like a weapon instead of your son, you'll create exactly what you're afraid of!"
The gold dust in Rasa's gourd swirled more aggressively, responding to its master's rising anger. "You forget yourself, Temari. You speak of things you cannot possibly comprehend. The sealing of Shukaku—"
"Was mother's sacrifice!" Temari's voice cracked, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "Her last words weren't about making Gaara stronger, or about Suna's military might. They were about protecting him, loving him. Are you going to dishonor her final wish?"
The words struck like physical blows. Rasa's hands clenched on his desk, knuckles white with restraint. "You dare—"
"I dare because someone has to!" Temari took a step forward, her small frame somehow filling the space between them. "I've been watching, learning. I know more about Gaara's seal than any of the nurses. I've studied everything I could find about jinchūriki. Let me help him control Shukaku through bonds, not fear."
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft whisper of shifting sand outside the windows. Rasa studied his daughter with new eyes, noting the steel in her spine, the calculated gleam of intelligence behind her tears.
"You speak like someone far beyond your years," he said finally, his tone measuring each word carefully. "Why?"
Temari met his gaze unflinchingly. "Because mother's death aged me. Because Gaara needs someone who sees him as more than Suna's secret weapon. Because I refuse to watch my little brother grow up unloved."
The sun had shifted, casting the office in deeper shadows. Rasa moved around his desk slowly, his steps deliberate as he approached his daughter. "And if Shukaku proves too strong? If Gaara loses control?"
"Then I'll be there to remind him who he is," Temari declared, her voice steady despite the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "I'll learn everything I need to know. I'll become strong enough to protect him – from others and from himself if necessary."
Rasa reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on Temari's shoulder. "Your mother..." he started, then paused, something vulnerable flickering across his features. "Karura would be proud of your conviction."
"Then honor her memory," Temari pressed, seizing the moment of connection. "Let me take care of Gaara. Train me, teach me what I need to know. Let me prove that love can make him stronger than fear ever could."
The Kazekage's office fell silent once more, the weight of decision heavy in the air. Outside, the winds of Sunagakure whispered secrets to the dunes, carrying promises of change on their endless journey across the desert.
The dying sunlight painted the office in shades of amber and gold, a fitting backdrop for the power struggle unfolding within. Rasa's hand remained on Temari's shoulder, neither comforting nor threatening – a point of contact that bridged the chasm between Kazekage and father.
"You propose to take on an enormous responsibility," he said, his voice carrying the weight of both positions. "The council will object. They'll say you're too young, too inexperienced."
Temari's eyes flashed with a determined fire. "Then let me prove them wrong. Test me, challenge me – I'll show you what I'm capable of."
A ghost of a smile, barely perceptible, tugged at Rasa's lips. "You sound like your mother when she was young. She had that same fire." His expression hardened. "But good intentions aren't enough, Temari. Gaara's... condition... requires more than just familial devotion."
"Then teach me," Temari pressed, her voice gaining strength. "The seal theory, the containment protocols – everything. I've already started studying the scrolls in the library. Did you know that the Fourth Kazekage's seal incorporates elements from Uzushiogakure's techniques?"
Rasa's eyes widened fractionally, genuine surprise breaking through his carefully maintained facade. The gold dust in his gourd settled, responding to his shifting emotional state.
"How did you..."
"Because I've been preparing for this since the day mother told me about the sealing," Temari cut in, her words carrying the weight of years yet to come. "I know about the tea ceremony ritual that preceded it, about the specific nature of the maternal chakra component. I know things that only someone dedicated to understanding Gaara's condition would bother to learn."
The sun dipped lower, casting longer shadows across the office floor. Rasa moved to his window, gazing out over the village he'd sworn to protect. The weight of leadership pressed down on his shoulders like a physical force.
"Your brothers," he said finally, still facing the window, "are the future of Suna. Kankurō will inherit the puppet corps techniques, carrying on our village's proudest tradition. And Gaara..." He paused, his reflection in the glass showing a moment of raw pain. "Gaara must become our strength, our shield against those who would threaten us."
"And what about me, *Chichi-ue*?" Temari's question carried a hint of steel beneath its surface.
Rasa turned, studying his daughter with new eyes. The setting sun caught her hair, creating a halo effect that reminded him painfully of Karura.
"Perhaps..." he said slowly, measuring each word, "it's time Suna had a new tradition. A role that bridges the gap between weapon and child, between power and humanity." His eyes met Temari's, searching. "You understand that if I agree to this, your life will never be your own? You'll be tied to Gaara's fate, for better or worse."
"My life hasn't been my own since the day he was born," Temari replied, her voice soft but unwavering. "I choose this path, *Chichi-ue*. Let me walk it."
The silence that followed felt like a physical presence in the room, heavy with the weight of destiny being reshaped. Finally, Rasa nodded, a short, sharp movement that carried the full authority of his position.
"We'll begin tomorrow. Dawn. Come prepared to prove every word you've spoken here." His voice carried a note of warning. "I won't make this easy for you, Temari. The council will demand nothing less than excellence."
A fierce smile spread across Temari's face, victory and determination blazing in her eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way, *Chichi-ue*."
As she turned to leave, Rasa's voice stopped her at the door. "Temari... your mother..." He paused, struggling with words that didn't come easily. "She would be proud of your choice."
Temari didn't turn back, knowing her tears would betray her carefully maintained composure. "I know, *Chichi-ue*. That's why I made it."
The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Rasa alone with his thoughts and the lengthening shadows of evening. In his mind, Karura's voice echoed with promises of protection and love, now finding new life in their daughter's determined stance.
The winds of change swept through Sunagakure that night, carrying whispers of a new path being forged – one that would alter the destiny of a village, a family, and a small boy who carried the weight of a demon within him.
The evening winds whistled through the high windows of the Kazekage's residence, carrying the day's heat with them into the cooling desert night. Temari stood in the doorway of the nursery, watching the shadows dance across the walls as servants scurried about, their movements precise but tinged with barely concealed anxiety.
In the corner, Kankurō sat cross-legged on the floor, methodically taking apart a wooden training puppet. His small hands moved with surprising dexterity for a three-year-old, though his expression carried the solemn concentration of someone far older.
"Nee-chan?" he called out, not looking up from his work. "You're different today."
Temari's heart clenched at the simple observation. How much had she missed in her first life, too caught up in fear and protocol to truly see her brothers? She crossed the room, her steps silent on the thick carpets, and knelt beside him.
"Different how, Kankurō?" she asked, watching his fingers work at the joints of his toy.
He frowned, struggling to articulate what his young mind had noticed. "Like... like when Yashamaru-oji makes the puppet strings dance. More..." His face scrunched up. "More there."
A servant approached, her steps hesitant. "Temari-sama, perhaps you should retire. It's been a trying day, and—"
"Bring Gaara to me," Temari cut her off, her voice carrying an authority that made the woman step back. "And some warm milk with honey."
The servant's face paled. "But Kazekage-sama's orders—"
"Have changed," Temari finished, steel entering her tone. "I'll be taking care of Gaara's evening feeding. You can confirm with *Chichi-ue* if you wish."
The woman hesitated, then bowed deeply before hurrying away. Temari returned her attention to Kankurō, who had stopped working on his puppet to watch the exchange with wide eyes.
"Will you help me with Gaara, Kankurō?" she asked softly. "He's going to need his big brother."
"But everyone says he's dangerous," Kankurō whispered, glancing around as if the words themselves might summon trouble.
Temari reached out, running her fingers through his messy brown hair – a gesture she hadn't allowed herself in years, in either timeline. "He's a baby who needs his family. Just like you needed me when you were smaller."
The nursery door opened, and two servants entered. One carried Gaara, wrapped tightly in blankets, while another brought the requested milk. Their movements were stiff, mechanical, as if handling explosive tags rather than an infant.
"Give him to me," Temari commanded, holding out her arms. She ignored their fearful glances, focusing instead on the tiny face partially visible among the swaddling. "And you can leave us. I'll call if we need anything."
Once they were gone, Temari settled back against the wall, cradling Gaara close to her chest. His eyes – so much like their mother's – stared up at her with an intensity that belied his age. The seal on his abdomen pulsed faintly, responding to Shukaku's stirring consciousness.
"Come here, Kankurō," she whispered, patting the space beside her. "Meet your little brother properly."
He scooted closer, puppet forgotten, curiosity warring with ingrained caution. "He's so small."
"Mm," Temari hummed, adjusting Gaara's blankets. Her voice cracked slightly as she began to sing, a melody she'd learned in another life, in another desert night much like this one:
"*Suna no uta wo kikasetegoran
Kaze ga hakobu yasashii uta wo
Hoshi no shita de nemuru kodomo no
Yume wo mamoru komoriuta...*"
(Listen to the song of the sand
The gentle song carried by the wind
Under the stars, the sleeping child
A lullaby to protect their dreams...)
As she sang, her voice growing stronger with each verse, something extraordinary happened. The ever-present whisper of sand in the air – Shukaku's automatic defense – began to move in rhythm with her melody, creating patterns in the moonlight that streamed through the windows.
Kankurō gasped softly, reaching out to touch the dancing grains. "Nee-chan, look!"
Temari blinked back tears, remembering a future that would never be – where this moment had been lost to fear and protocol. "I see it, Kankurō. I see it all now."
In her arms, Gaara's eyes began to drift closed, his tiny fingers clutching at her robes. The sand settled gradually, forming a protective circle around the three siblings as the desert night deepened outside.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new battles to fight. But for now, in this moment, Temari allowed herself to simply be a sister, holding the future in her arms and singing lullabies to change destiny.
In the dim glow of Sunagakure's nursery, Temari sat cross-legged beside Gaara's crib, her teal eyes never straying from his peaceful form. The desert night pressed against the windows, a constant reminder of the harsh world that awaited beyond these walls. Sand whispered across the floor in gentle patterns, responding to the infant's dreams.
"Temari-sama, you should rest properly," Yumi, the night nurse, spoke from the doorway. Her weathered face creased with concern. "We can watch over Gaara-sama."
Temari's fingers traced the edge of her fan, drawing comfort from its familiar weight. "Thank you, Yumi-san, but I'll stay." Her voice carried the quiet authority of someone far older than her physical years. "Besides," she added with a slight smile, "the sand seems calmer when I'm near."
As if to demonstrate her point, a tendril of sand rose from the floor, curling through the air like a curious serpent before settling into a protective arc over Gaara's crib. The nurse's sharp intake of breath didn't escape Temari's notice.
"Remarkable," Yumi whispered, taking an unconscious step forward. "I've never seen Shukaku's sand behave so... docilely."
"He's not Shukaku," Temari corrected gently, rising to adjust Gaara's blanket. "He's Gaara, my otouto. The sand recognizes that." Her hand brushed against his forehead, feeling the soft warmth of his skin. In sleep, his face showed none of the torment that had marked it in another lifetime.
I won't let you suffer this time, Gaara. No matter what it takes.*
A soft whimper drew her attention. Gaara's tiny features scrunched, and the sand began to stir more actively. Temari recognized the signs - Shukaku's influence attempting to seep through the seal during the vulnerable hours of sleep.
"Yumi-san, could you bring me my shamisen?" Temari kept her voice steady, though her heart raced. This was the moment she'd been preparing for.
While the nurse hurried to fetch the instrument, Temari began to hum - a low, melodic tune that their mother had once sung. The sand's agitation slowed, responding to the vibrations of her voice.
When Yumi returned with the shamisen, Temari settled back into her vigil. Her fingers found the strings with practiced ease, plucking out a lullaby that seemed to resonate with the very air. Each note carried a promise - of protection, of understanding, of unconditional love.
"Who taught you to play?" Yumi asked softly, watching as the sand settled into gentle waves beneath the music.
"Someone wise," Temari answered, thinking of the future that would never be, where a broken Gaara had finally found peace. "Someone who understood that sometimes the strongest weapons aren't made of steel or chakra."
As the night deepened, Temari continued her quiet performance. She'd already arranged for a proper bed to be brought in tomorrow - this wouldn't be the last night she spent guarding her brother's sleep. The walls of the nursery would need strengthening, and she'd have to establish a proper rotation of trusted guards.
One day at a time, she reminded herself, watching Gaara's peaceful breathing. *First, we master these nights. Then, we'll show Father that there's more than one way to create strength.*
The desert wind howled outside, but within the nursery, sand danced to the rhythm of a sister's devotion, weaving patterns of protection that would reshape the future of Sunagakure itself.
