Chapter 6 "The Weight of Change."
"When assassins' blades pierce the night, a sister's love becomes both shield and storm - but can even time-forged wisdom protect a child's heart from the price of survival?"
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 evening shadows stretched across scattered intelligence reports in Temari's study, her small frame dwarfed by the carved wooden desk that had once belonged to Sasori. Desert wind whispered through narrow windows, carrying the lingering heat of another Suna day. Her six-year-old fingers traced the edges of a missive detailing Orochimaru's movements near the Land of Rice Fields – so different now from the patterns she remembered.
"Kurotsuchi, what have we done?" she whispered to the empty room, her adult mind wrestling with the implications while her child's body screamed for rest. Two years. Just two years of careful manipulation, and already the future had shifted so dramatically that her memories felt like genjutsu – vivid but increasingly untethered from reality.
The confrontation at the Chunin Exams played again behind her eyes: Orochimaru's knowing smirk, the impossible coordination between her and Kurotsuchi that had revealed too much. *We were supposed to be shadows, she thought, *changing things quietly, carefully*. Instead, they'd been forced into the light, their capabilities exposed like a mirage dissolving in the harsh desert sun.
Her chest tightened as unbidden memories surfaced – lazy afternoons watching clouds with Shikamaru, his drawled "troublesome" carrying more affection than complaint. That future was gone now, scattered like sand in a storm. The boy who would grow up to be her husband would never know her the same way, would never share those particular moments that had shaped their bond.
The moonlight caught the edge of her fan, propped carefully in the corner. Each metal rib gleamed with fresh scratches from training – evidence of techniques she shouldn't know yet, wielded by muscles too young to properly execute them. The physical disparity was a constant reminder of everything she'd sacrificed, everything she'd given up for this second chance.
Her hand brushed against a different report – a coded message about the Wind Daimyo's growing interest in Suna's "prodigy." The pressure building around her rippled outward, touching Kankuro as the council pushed for him to match his sister's impossible standard. Just that morning, she'd heard him practicing with his puppets before dawn, his small voice counting repetitions until it cracked with exhaustion.
"Nee-chan?" Kankuro's voice interrupted her brooding, muffled through the wooden door. "Can I show you something with Karasu?"
Temari closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her dual responsibilities – the need to protect his childhood warring with the knowledge that he needed to be stronger, needed to be ready. The future she remembered was gone, and with it, any certainty about what threats might emerge from the shadows of this new timeline.
"Come in, Kankuro," she called, straightening the reports with hands that looked too small for the burdens they carried. *At least, she thought with bitter irony, *I still know how to fake a smile*.
The moon hung high over Sunagakure as Kankurō's chakra threads glinted in the lamplight, each strand pulsing with the uneven rhythm of exhaustion. Karasu's wooden joints clicked against the training room floor as the puppet executed another wobbly sequence, its movements betraying its wielder's fatigue.
"Again," Kankurō whispered, his small voice rough from hours of practice. His fingers trembled as he reset the basic attack pattern – strike, dodge, counter, retreat. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, war paint smeared across one cheek where he'd rubbed it absently.
Temari watched from the doorway, her heart clenching at how his shoulders slumped between sequences, only to square with stubborn determination as he began again. A half-eaten rice ball sat forgotten on a nearby bench, evidence of another meal interrupted by self-imposed training.
"The elders were talking about you again today," Kankurō said without turning, his focus fixed on maintaining the chakra threads. "About how you could already perform C-rank wind techniques at my age." Karasu's arm jerked sharply, nearly tangling its own strings. "They said the Kazekage's children should all show such... such *aptitude*."
The last word came out bitter, too adult for his five-year-old tongue. Temari crossed the room, her steps silent on the worn tatami. She reached out to steady Karasu's shuddering frame, her fingers brushing the puppet's weather-worn surface.
"The council can go eat sand," she said, earning a startled giggle that quickly turned into a yawn. "Your progress with chakra control is already exceptional. Most puppeteers twice your age struggle with basic manipulation."
"But you—" Kankurō's protest cut off as his concentration slipped, Karasu's strings flickering. He caught them again with visible effort, small hands shaking. "You're already so strong, nee-chan. Father looks at you different now, after the exams. Like... like you're real."
The raw honesty in his voice struck deeper than any assassin's blade. Temari knelt beside him, noting how his practice clothes hung loose on his frame, still too small for the burden he carried.
"Watch closely," she said, reaching for Karasu. Her fingers danced through a basic puppet kata, one she'd learned from him in another lifetime. "See how the wrist moves? Subtle, like painting with wind." She guided his hands through the motion, feeling the moment his chakra aligned properly. "There. Feel the difference?"
Kankurō's eyes widened as Karasu responded with newfound smoothness. "It's... lighter?" Wonder crept into his voice, chasing away some of the exhaustion. He repeated the movement, face scrunched in concentration. "Like when you showed me how to hold chopsticks properly."
A soft shuffling at the door drew their attention. Gaara stood in the entrance, teddy bear clutched to his chest, sand swirling gently around his feet. His wide eyes took in the scene – his siblings kneeling together, Karasu's strings glowing in the dim light.
"Couldn't sleep," he murmured, taking a hesitant step forward. "The sand felt worry."
Temari opened her arm in silent invitation, and Gaara padded over to nestle against her side. His sand settled in a protective circle around them all, surprisingly warm against their skin.
"Kankurō-nii is learning new dance," Gaara observed solemnly, watching the puppet's movements with fascination. "Pretty strings."
"Want to see something really pretty?" Kankurō asked, his earlier frustration melting away as he adjusted Karasu's position. He wiggled his fingers, and the puppet executed a simple twirl, scattering moonlight across its polished surfaces. "Karasu can dance with your sand!"
Gaara's delighted smile illuminated the room brighter than any lamp as grains of sand rose to mirror the puppet's movement, creating a swirling duet of shadow and light. Temari held them both close, memorizing every detail of this moment – the weight of Gaara's head against her shoulder, Kankurō's quiet pride as he guided Karasu through increasingly elaborate spins, the perfect harmony of sand and chakra threads weaving together in the moonlight.
This, she thought fiercely. This was worth any future she had to sacrifice.
The halls of the Kazekage's residence were quiet save for the soft padding of small feet and the gentle whisper of sand against stone. Gaara's room, once a stark testament to isolation, had transformed under Temari's careful attention. Moonlight filtered through rice paper screens decorated with hand-painted desert scenes – rolling dunes and starlit skies that caught the eye without overwhelming the senses.
"Time for sleep, little tanuki," Temari murmured, guiding her youngest brother toward the bed she'd specially commissioned. Low to the ground and wrapped in soft fabrics, it bore little resemblance to the austere platform that had once occupied this space. Sand shifted contentedly around them, forming lazy spirals in the air as Gaara climbed beneath covers embroidered with protective seals – subtle patterns that looked like mere decoration to untrained eyes.
Kankurō, fighting another yawn, arranged Gaara's collected treasures on the nearby shelf: smooth stones from the training ground, a pressed desert flower, his favorite cup for midnight tea. Each item placed with deliberate care, a ritual they'd developed over countless nights. The teddy bear, worn soft with love rather than neglect, took its place of honor beside the pillow.
"Nee-chan," Gaara whispered, his voice heavy with approaching sleep, "the song about the wind?"
Temari settled beside him, one hand stroking his hair while the other maintained a subtle flow of chakra, harmonizing with Shukaku's restless energy. The sand responded to her presence, forming a gentle canopy overhead that caught the lamplight like scattered stars.
"Kaze no ko yo," she began, her voice carrying the ancient melody that had once echoed through Suna's streets before fear had silenced such traditions. "Suna no uta wo kikasetegoran..."
Child of the wind, listen to the song of the sand...*
Kankurō joined in on the second verse, his young voice blending with hers as he settled on Gaara's other side. His fingers, still tired from puppet practice, traced abstract patterns in the air that the sand followed lazily, creating flowing shapes that danced to their lullaby.
The room itself seemed to breathe with them – the subtle barrier seals Temari had woven into the walls pulsing in rhythm with their song. She'd spent months perfecting the array, creating a space that could contain Shukaku's chakra without feeling like a cage. Scrolls of children's stories lined shelves that had once held restraints. A mobile of glass birds caught the moonlight where chakra-dampening tags had hung.
As Gaara's eyes grew heavy, the sand settled into a protective blanket around them all. This was what normal felt like, Temari thought, watching her youngest brother's chest rise and fall with peaceful breaths. No fear, no isolation, just three siblings sharing the quiet of a desert night.
"Stay?" Gaara murmured, already half-asleep, one small hand clutching Kankurō's sleeve while the other held tight to Temari's sash.
"Always," they answered in unison, and meant it with every fiber of their being.
The lullaby faded into comfortable silence, broken only by the distant song of night winds and the soft susurration of sand keeping watch over their dreams.
The serenity of their midnight sanctuary shattered like glass as chakra-masked steel whistled through the air. Temari's senses screamed danger a heartbeat before three shadows detached from the corners of the room, their movements a deadly choreography that spoke of Root training. The barrier seals flared brilliant blue – not breached, but circumvented by someone who knew their design.
Time compressed into razor-sharp fragments. Temari's hands flew through seals even as she registered Kankurō rolling left, Karasu's strings glinting as they sprang to life. The first assassin's blade met her hastily drawn kunai with a sound like striking snakes.
"Gaara, don't—" she started, but the sand was already moving.
It rose in a great wave, golden grains catching moonlight like thousands of tiny stars. The second assassin twisted through the air, dodging the initial surge with inhuman grace. But the sand wasn't aiming to catch – it was herding, driving the attacker into the path of Temari's Fūton: Kazekiri (Wind Release: Wind Cutter).
The third shadow flickered, hands forming seals for a fire technique that would turn Gaara's defense to glass. Temari's heart seized – not here, not in this room she'd built to be safe, not with her brothers—
"No!" Gaara's voice cracked with fear, not for himself, but for them. The sand responded to his protective instinct with devastating speed, splitting into multiple streams that spiraled through the air like living things. One stream caught the fire-user's hands mid-seal, another wrapped around the first assassin's throat.
The third attacker lunged for Temari with poisoned senbon, and everything happened at once.
Kankurō's chakra threads snagged the assassin's leg, throwing off their aim. Temari twisted to shield her brothers, wind chakra gathering for a counter-strike. And Gaara's sand – reacting purely to protect, moving faster than thought – contracted with terrible force.
The sound would haunt Temari's dreams: a sharp crack, a muffled gasp, and then silence. The first assassin crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, neck bent at an impossible angle. The sand retreated, leaving dark stains on the carefully painted walls.
"I... I didn't..." Gaara stared at his hands, eyes wide with dawning horror. The remaining sand writhed agitatedly, reflecting his rising distress. "They were going to hurt nee-chan. I just wanted them to stop."
Terror clawed at Temari's throat – not of Gaara, never of Gaara, but for him. Two years of careful nurturing, of showing him love and gentleness, of teaching him that his power could protect without destroying. All balanced on this knife's edge moment.
"Gaara," she breathed, reaching for him even as her tactical mind screamed to secure the perimeter, check for more attackers, verify the threats were neutralized. "Listen to my voice. You're safe. We're safe. You protected us."
The remaining assassins had vanished, leaving only scattered senbon and the heavy scent of copper in the air. Kankurō moved with surprising steadiness, positioning Karasu between the windows and his siblings.
But Temari's focus remained on Gaara, on the way his small frame trembled, on the sand that swirled with increasing agitation. She could feel Shukaku's chakra stirring, drawn by death and fear and the primal need to protect.
"Breathe with me, little brother," she whispered, gathering him close despite the sand's agitated whisper against her skin. "Like the desert wind, remember? In and out. You did nothing wrong. Nothing wrong at all."
Moonlight painted harsh shadows across the room as Temari's mind raced through protocols and contingencies. The sand still whispered against the walls, agitated streams catching the light like liquid gold, each grain humming with Gaara's distress. She could feel Shukaku's chakra rising beneath her brother's skin – not malevolent yet, but responsive, protective, dangerous.
"Kankurō," she commanded, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat, "gather what we need for the safe room. Quick and quiet." Her eyes never left Gaara, who stared at his trembling hands as if they belonged to someone else. The dark stains on the floor seemed to pulse in the flickering lamplight.
"But the ANBU will—" Kankurō started, Karasu's strings still glinting between his fingers.
"Will follow standard protocol and secure the perimeter first," Temari cut in, already gathering Gaara's essential comfort items – the worn teddy bear, the blanket with protective seals woven into its fabric. "We have three minutes, maybe four. Move."
Gaara's breath hitched, a small sound that sent ribbons of sand coiling through the air. "I didn't mean to," he whispered, and the sand responded with a low, grinding sound that set Temari's teeth on edge. "The bad person was going to hurt you, and I just... I just wanted..."
"You protected us," Temari soothed, even as she positioned herself to channel chakra through the room's secondary seal array. One hand maintained constant contact with Gaara, providing an anchor point of familiar energy. "That's what the sand is for. That's what brothers do."
Kankurō worked with mechanical precision, gathering supplies with shaking hands that betrayed his shock. His war paint stood stark against pale skin, smeared where sweat had broken out across his forehead.
The sand's movement grew more erratic, forming abstract shapes that twisted like manifestations of Gaara's confusion. A tendril brushed against the bloody wall and recoiled, causing a ripple of distress through the rest of the protective cloud.
"Focus on my voice," Temari murmured, channeling steady streams of wind-natured chakra to harmonize with Gaara's turbulent energy. "Feel the air moving, just like our breathing exercises. The sand moves with us, not against us."
Her mind raced beneath the calm exterior. They needed to reach the safe room before Rasa arrived – her father would follow protocol, but his presence might trigger exactly the kind of emotional response they needed to avoid. The ANBU would be searching for more attackers, buying them precious minutes to stabilize Gaara's emotional state.
"Ready," Kankurō reported, his voice barely a whisper. He stood by the hidden panel that led to their escape route, Karasu positioned to cover their retreat.
Temari gathered Gaara into her arms, feeling how his small frame trembled against her chest. The sand followed like a protective shroud, responding to her familiar presence with less agitation. "We're going to our special place," she told him softly. "Where the stars shine even during the day, remember?"
Gaara nodded against her shoulder, his fingers clutching her robe. The sand parted before them as they moved, forming a tunnel of swirling grains that blocked the sight of what they left behind. Temari could feel Shukaku's chakra pulsing beneath her palm – not fighting, not yet, but aware, alert, waiting.
Time was sand in an hourglass, and Temari prayed they had enough to weather this storm.
The safe room's seals hummed to life as they entered, ancient symbols flickering with protective chakra. Temari settled Gaara onto the pile of cushions they kept prepared, noting how the sand swirled more slowly here, responding to the room's familiar energy patterns. Kankurō sealed the entrance behind them with practiced movements, his fingers still trembling slightly as he set Karasu to guard their retreat.
"The stars, Gaara," Temari prompted softly, activating the room's special feature – a ceiling array that recreated Suna's night sky, complete with the constellations she'd taught him to recognize. "Can you find the Desert Fox for me?"
Gaara's eyes lifted to the illusory stars, his breathing beginning to steady as he focused on the familiar task. The sand mimicked his calming state, settling into gentle waves around them rather than the agitated spikes of before.
"There," he pointed with a small hand. "By the... by the Scorpion's tail." His voice caught as fresh tears welled up. "Nee-chan, I felt them stop breathing. The sand felt them..."
"I know, little one." Temari gathered him close, her heart aching at how young he sounded, how confused. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Not like this, not so soon. "You acted on instinct, to protect your family. That's what the sand is meant to do."
Kankurō edged closer, uncertainty written in every line of his body. Temari extended her free arm, and he practically fell into the embrace, his usual attempts at stoic maturity crumbling in the face of shared trauma.
"The council," he whispered against her shoulder, "they'll say—"
"The council," Temari cut in firmly, "will be reminded that someone just tried to assassinate the Kazekage's children in their own home." Her mind raced through political implications even as she maintained her soothing rhythm of chakra. "This wasn't a test of Gaara's control. This was an attack on Suna itself."
The sand stirred at her words, and Temari felt Gaara shift against her. "Like... like the stories about the First Kazekage?" he asked hesitantly. "When he protected the whole village?"
"Exactly like that," Temari seized the comparison gratefully. "Sometimes protecting precious people means making hard choices very quickly. The First Kazekage understood that, and so do you."
She could feel Rasa's chakra signature approaching – measured, controlled, but carrying an edge of killing intent that made the air heavy. They had perhaps two minutes before he reached them.
"Kankurō," she murmured, "help me show Gaara that star-pattern game you invented. The one with the sand drawings?"
As her brothers began the simple exercise – Kankurō guiding Gaara's sand to trace constellations in the air – Temari prepared herself for the conversations to come. She would shape this narrative carefully, turn this moment of crisis into a testament of Gaara's protective instincts rather than destructive power.
The sand drew stars in the air, and Temari prayed they would be enough to light their way forward.
The serenity of their makeshift sanctuary was disrupted by approaching footsteps – the measured tread of the Kazekage, flanked by the whisper-soft movements of ANBU. Temari kept her voice steady as she continued guiding her brothers through the star-tracing exercise, even as her mind sharpened to tactical awareness.
"Look, Gaara-chan," Kankurō whispered, his fingers dancing through the air. "If you connect the Hunter's Belt to the Water Bearer, it makes a perfect diamond." The sand followed his gestures with gentle precision, glowing softly in the illumination of the seal-crafted stars above.
The door's security seals pulsed azure as Rasa entered alone, his face a careful mask of neutrality that Temari had learned to read in two lifetimes. The barely perceptible softening around his eyes told her more than any words – he'd seen the scene they'd left behind, had drawn his own conclusions about the threat level of their attackers.
"Report," he commanded softly, but remained by the entrance, conscious of how his presence might affect Gaara's fragile equilibrium.
Temari lifted her chin, maintaining the soothing flow of chakra that kept Shukaku's energy harmonized with Gaara's. "Three assailants, likely Root-trained based on their movement patterns. They knew the barrier seals." Her voice carried the weight of professional assessment, at odds with her child's frame. "One neutralized. Two escaped with minor injuries."
The sand's movement hitched at the clinical description of death, and Gaara pressed closer to her side. Kankurō, showing wisdom beyond his years, immediately redirected his brother's attention back to their constellation game.
"See how the sand sparkles there?" he prompted. "Just like the real stars over the desert."
Rasa's gaze tracked the sand's movement – not with the sharp assessment of a military leader evaluating a weapon, but with something closer to paternal concern. "The ANBU found evidence of specialized poison compounds," he stated. "This was not a test of containment. This was an assassination attempt."
"Targeted primarily at me," Temari added, the pieces falling into place. "They struck when I would be most focused on Gaara's bedtime routine." *When I would be most vulnerable, she didn't need to say. *When an accident might be blamed on a jinchūriki's lack of control*.
The implications hung in the air like desert heat. Someone had tried to eliminate the prodigy who was reshaping Suna's future. Someone had gambled on Gaara's reaction providing the perfect cover for murder.
"The council will need to be informed," Rasa said carefully, his eyes meeting Temari's with shared understanding. They both knew how this narrative needed to be shaped – not as a tragedy narrowly averted, but as proof of Gaara's growing control and familial devotion.
"Nee-chan," Gaara's small voice interrupted, heavy with unshed tears. "Can we stay here tonight? With the stars?"
Temari brushed her fingers through his hair, feeling the sand's gentle response to her touch. "Of course, little tanuki. We'll all stay together."
Rasa nodded once, his decision made. "I will handle the immediate concerns. You three..." he paused, and for a moment Temari saw the father beneath the Kazekage. "You three rest. The ANBU will maintain distance unless called."
As he turned to leave, the sand drew one final constellation in the air – the Desert Fox, guardian of travelers, watching over its cubs beneath the endless stars.
The first rays of dawn painted Sunagakure's walls in shades of amber and rose, the eternal desert winds carrying the night's chill away like forgotten dreams. Temari stood at her study window, watching the village awaken while her brothers finally slept in the safe room behind her. The events of the night had left invisible scars – not in blood or broken stone, but in the delicate web of progress she'd woven around Gaara's heart.
Her fingers traced the edge of a fresh intelligence report, delivered minutes ago by a shadow-eyed ANBU operative. The assassins' equipment bore markers of Sasori's influence – subtle signs in the poison compounds, the chakra-masking seals that had allowed them to breach their defenses. Another thread pulled loose from the tapestry of her known future, another player moving before their appointed time.
The sand in Gaara's gourd stirred softly as he shifted in his sleep, responding to dreams she could only pray were peaceful. Kankurō's arm was thrown protectively across his little brother, their shared vulnerability a sight that would have been impossible in her first lifetime. Two years of careful nurturing had given them this – had given Gaara the ability to kill in defense rather than rage, to seek comfort in family rather than isolation.
"We almost lost it all," she whispered to the rising sun, allowing herself this moment of weakness while her brothers couldn't see. Her small hands clenched against the windowsill, knuckles white with suppressed emotion. How many more attacks would come? How many more changes would ripple outward from their presence in the past, creating new dangers they couldn't predict?
The distant call of a desert hawk drew her eyes to the horizon, where the sun transformed Suna's defensive walls into ribbons of flowing gold. Something settled in her chest – not peace, exactly, but resolution. They would need new protocols, new training regimens. Kankurō's puppet practice would focus more on defensive formations. Gaara would learn to modulate the sand's response, to capture rather than kill when possible.
"The future is like the desert," she murmured, echoing her mother's words from a lifetime ago. "Always changing, but never truly lost." The wind caught her hair, carrying the scent of sun-warmed stone and promise. Behind her, Gaara stirred again, his chakra reaching instinctively for her presence. Even Shukaku's energy felt subdued, as if the great beast understood the importance of this peace.
Morning light spilled across Suna's rooftops, and Temari lifted her face to meet it. They would adapt, as they always had. The timeline might be unraveling, but the bonds between them grew stronger with each challenge. That, at least, was a future worth fighting for.