I really hope you enjoy this, because it is my first GaaraxTemari. ;;

Shadows

Gaara's sliding feet always followed her into her dreams. Night after night he would wander the house, dragging his shuddering body though the darkness. Only once had she seen her little brother asleep, body slumped against a sandy wall as if dead. She had run to him, shaking him, shaking him violently and desperately. He could not sleep. His eyes had snapped open, beastly, brutal, yet human fear still dripped from their sockets. Roaring senseless gibberish, he had shoved her off of him and hissed, fingers digging deep into his own scalp.

"Leave me alone," he had gasped, breathing heavy. "Just leave me alone, Temari!" For awhile, his voice had seemed strangely sinister and hollow, infested with a beastly inhabitant.

Sometimes she would find him clutching his head and moaning, sprawled on the floor with his legs disjointed enough to be broken. Spittle would dribble from his mouth, foaming up; his eyes would be bloodshot. Fingers would dig broken nails into sandy floors; raspy coughing would emit from his throat. Sometimes he would whine, a strange keening sound that vibrated painfully inside her ears.

She knew to place some water on the other side of the room, to lock the doors behind her, and to sit outside and wait until the ghostly noises died down. And the whimpers of fear began.

Creaking open the door, she would kneel down beside her quivering brother, taking his shaking chest and drawing him over her knees. He would bring his arms around her waist and clutch her clothing wistfully, sniffling into her.

"Stop it…" he would beg, rubbing nervous fingers over his forehead, grimacing, face twisted in agony.

At first she had thought it was because he wanted her to go, the countless screams, mutters and curses of "Leave me alone!" in more normal circumstances had led her to believe her company was unwelcome. She had tried to get up and he had stuttered something unintelligible, digging his tearful face into her chest, in a way that she would have deemed strangely sexual in any other circumstance. She knew he was too lost to notice what was wrong about this, this union of sister and brother, brought together only by the horror of insanity. She knew that it was talking to him. She stayed, allowing him to whimper into the depths of her chest.

She knew that later he would only have vague recollections of his needy clinging, and she knew the next day he would stride through the village, proud, wise, strong and resilient. He would stand on top of his overseeing platform, gently smiling over his village, fully aware of himself and his mind.

He would no longer be broken, and he would never discuss what happened in the terrifying nights they were together. She didn't know how much he remembered, she didn't know if he agonized over his temporary helplessness when he climbed to his lonely tower and gazed off into space.

She would watch him often, taking care of him in the shadows, watching him so he wouldn't break down alone.

The village admired him, the fear that still tinged their hearts fading at his unexpected warmth and strength.

But she knew of his whimpering in the night, his grasping neediness, his terror. She knew of his fight against a breakdown, she knew that he gritted his teeth and struggled with the voice that whispered viciously inside his head.

And admired him all the more because of it.