Summary: No one sleeps. A Sand Sibs fic. [Immediately following chapter 138. Companion piece to 'Refraction']
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Firelight
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Ba-thunk-
Two pairs of feet softly thudded against the branches.
Ba-thun-ba-nkthunk-
Temari of the Sand felt her brother Kankuro fall out of step. Carefully keeping her peripheral vision on her footing, she craned her neck to look at him past a mop of rusty-red hair.
Ba-thunk-
Back in step. But his face glistened with sweat and his jaw was set tight. She glanced at Gaara, who had most of his weight slung over her shoulders. She dropped down to the forest floor, careful not to jar him.
"Need me to take him again?" Kankuro asked when he touched down next to Temari. She eyed Kankuro's sagging shoulders under the weight of his puppet, Karasu, haphazardly wrapped up in his escape. She frowned.
"It's getting late," she said instead.
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Temari tended to a small fire, the warmth only slightly comforting to her growing unease. Kankuro should be back soon from setting traps around the campsite. Can't let your guard down in enemy territory.
Tch. Enemy territory. Temari ground her teeth together to keep from swearing aloud. Damn politics. The Sand was fool to bet in this game with the awful hand they were dealt. No initial back-up. All chips on three genin infiltrating the front lines. Everything resting on Gaara. They wouldn't get a status report until they met Baki at the touch-point until tomorrow, but she had a feeling that win or lose, they were royally screwed. Gaara was completely ineffective as the offensive and she and Kankuro couldn't do anything about it.
But the growing tightness in her stomach had less to do with war and mission failure than the boy in front of her now.
She observed Gaara, sitting silently on a large stone. Arms crossed, head hung low. A stance not altogether unfamiliar save the expression. She couldn't put her finger on it, it was so foreign on his face. And the silence, there was something different about the silence.
Without turning Temari was suddenly aware that Kankuro was watching her watch Gaara and suddenly she felt five years old with her hand caught in the cookie jar. She mentally shook it off. "Hey, Ga-"
"Hey, Gaara." Kankuro interrupted. She turned back to see Kankuro smiling at Gaara, a little too forced. "How about you take it easy tonight? Temari and I will take the watch."
Temari blinked at her bother.
Gaara slowly lifted his head, slowly, deliberately. The dark blood crusted on his pale forehead and down the sides of his nose made him look both broken and sinister. He looked at them for a long beat as if they were strangers.
Temari reminded herself to breathe and saw Kankuro's Adam's apple bob. Now's not the time to deviate from routine, dumbass!
"Don't be stupid." Gaara pushed himself off the stone with some effort.
The elder siblings glanced at each other.
"Ok."
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Shinobi of the Sand are trained to be absolutely efficient. No unnecessary movement. Not when too much physical exertion can be the difference between victory and death in the unforgiving desert. Rather than developing taijutsu, the Sand excelled in fine chakra control and manipulation, specializing in puppetry, letting the artificial bodies work for them. And wind-jutsu, its reach long and wide with minimal physical movement. As expected, the Kazekage's children were a poster-perfect representation of Sand Shinobi efficiency.
Yet on nights like this one, the equation never quite worked out.
Unable to sleep, Gaara would keep watch. One would do the work of three.
But really, three did the work of one.
Temari and Kankuro would take turns staying awake, staying alert. Just in case.
Temari, lying sideways pretending to sleep, watched Gaara's profile. He was propped against a tree. The gourd was off his back, but the strap was snaked around his arm, ready and close. He always kept his mother close.
Our mother. She corrected herself. Then she shook her head slightly as if she could literally shake the thought away. The thought that her mother was now the blood-thirsty embodiment of sand was unsettling. Hismother she corrected again.
Gaara had his eyes closed now, the black rims of his eyes meeting to create the illusion of empty sockets. The pulsing orange embers of the dying fire cast dancing shadows on his face. It was eerie; even now the face of the demon flickered across his visage with the flame. Or was that what Temari had wanted to see? Surely not. Perhaps it was what she expected to see.
Temari watched as the arms he had crossed across his chest rose and ebbed evenly. He looked so tired. But despite the serenity that had fallen around Gaara's resting form, she knew he hadn't fallen asleep.
Never asleep.
Sometimes it was difficult to separate the boy from the beast. On occasions when Gaara would shake with bloodlust, when they'd watch him grin manically as the sand wrapped around its victim, her heart would pump just a little harder. But at night she's reminded of Gaara's duel existence. Insomnia was the feeble barrier between the boy and the monster.
'Temari, Kankuro…I'm sorry.'
She frowned a little, reflecting on Gaara's cryptic apology.
Monsters don't regret. But people do.
Temari leaned forward a little, as if that would give her a better view. And she looked at Gaara, really looked. Past the dancing shadows that hugged and dipped into every curve.
He looks...young.
He looks…a little like Dad. Like family.
Kankuro would throw around words like brother and sister on occasion to reason (or more often than not, plead) with Gaara. She was never sure it was effective – Gaara being Gaara had told them bluntly time and again that family is nothing more than meaningless flesh bound by ill-intent. Had it been Kankuro she would have teased his failed attempt at metaphors. With Gaara she never dared. She doesn't remember the last time she thought of him as her brother.
She shifted slightly and craned her head back to look over her shoulders, suddenly feeling the need to confirm that Kankuro was still with her.
He was; lying on his back, staring blankly at the night sky. The firelight danced in his dark eyes.
That's right. They never slept when Gaara might. Just in case.
Something was definitely off with Gaara, but the familiarity of the whole screwed up situation was almost comforting. Eyes on her oblivious brother, the corners of her lips relaxed into a soft, sad smile. As screwed up as their family was, together, Kankuro and she would tough it out. For better or worst, they're family; a team for life. And maybe, just maybe, Gaara would join them one day.
Turning back, she watches over her little brothers.
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Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are appreciated.