Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Day 1 - Master of Puppets

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Fingers burn with the urge to move, but his control over twitching muscles is iron-strong, has been ever since he first learned what happened when a puppet-master loses focus.

Temari hid the fine scar well, but he could still picture it, fresh and raw and dripping a thin trickle of blood into her eye, even behind her hitai-ate. One of two lessons learned that day; never let your body move without careful thought and always, always carry the antidote with you.

A voice travels to him on a soft breeze – it is unnatural, travelling against the wind currents, forcing its way through them despite its apparent gentleness – he smirks and lets his left ring finger drop three degrees at the second knuckle joint. Hidden away in a half-destroyed building, he can’t see Karasu’s arm lift by just a hair, but the tension on an invisible string pulls at his skin and he trusts that sense more than any other.

He keeps his body utterly still as he focuses on the words drifting towards him, not close enough to make out, but it doesn’t particularly matter, Temari’s the one keeping a record of their target’s conversation, all he has to do is wait.

He is good at waiting; patience is one of the core tenets of the puppetry core, instilled into each of its members at an early age. Kankuro remembers how frustrating it had once been, forced to remain quiet and unmoving for hours on end, a single tilt of his head enough to bring his tutor’s wrath down upon him, all the lectures and harsh training, the times he was told to sit perfectly still, surrounded by razor-sharp wires that would cut his skin to ribbons should he fail.

But, stillness was necessary, he understood that now.

The puppeteer’s strength was not in direct combat, but in stealth, in manipulation, in the performance.

For the jutsu to truly succeed, the master and the puppet must switch their very natures; the puppet dancing with life, fluid and effortless, until it becomes a living being as natural and unpredictable as the master, all while the master remains still and dead as wood and metal, undetectable, unseen, controlling the play from afar, only the careful, precise twisting of fingers and hands left to betray the act.

And he loved that, loved the artistry in it, loved the creativity he could bring to the battlefield. In a life where he’d had little control over anything, this was an area that was his and his alone, no one could beat him at this game, not anymore.

It wasn’t a tactic that brought much glory or prestige in the shinobi world, he’d never be looked upon with the same awe that his siblings could garner with their flashy, powerful jutsu, but that didn’t matter, because he was the master of puppets and everyone had a role in his performance, whether they realised it or not.

Just behind the crumbling stone wall, Kankuro heard the crunching of sand under foot.

He smiled and flicked a finger, searing fire of chakra threads bursting up his entire arm. Time to put on a show.

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Chapter Text

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Day 2 - Then and Now

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His teeth grit painfully as he launched himself at the man, fist not even brushing his clothing as he calmly stepped out of the way.

Kankuro caught himself before he stumbled – barely – but was quick to follow up with another strike, and another when that one was also dodged easily. It didn’t matter though, every punch, every kick, touched only air as Baki-sensei danced away, face not so much as twitching, plastered with a permanent, blank, bored expression.

Backing away to catch his breath and figure out his next move, the boy couldn’t stop the scowl from twisting his face.

What had he done to deserve any of this? Why did he suddenly have to start proper taijutsu training under some dull, stone-faced old man? He was a puppeteer; the whole point was that he didn’t get close enough for his opponents to hit him!

“Your skills are severely lacking,” the man said, sounding entirely too smug, he opened his mouth to continue, but didn’t get so much as a syllable out before Kankuro leapt forwards again, screaming wordless rage at him.

Of course he was angry – he’d been angry for as long as he could remember – but this, this was different, this wasn’t just frustration at a world too slow and overwhelming for him to cope with, this was pure, righteous fury. He was the Kazekage’s oldest son, he was supposed to become one of the single best shinobi that Suna had ever created, but here he was, being mocked by some random jounin, because the Kazekage – his father – was too busy mentoring his little pet project Gaara.

It wasn’t fair, he was the elder one and Gaara was practically still a baby, why did he get the special training from father?

Ok, maybe Temari wasn’t getting much attention from him either, but she had a whole retinue of wind-style tutors to choose from, including the man who was dodging his every move right now and that just made him even angrier; not only was he not good enough for his father, but he wasn’t even good enough to get his own pick of tutors, all he got was the harsh, distant mentorship of the puppetry core and his sister’s cast-offs.

Another scream ripped from his throat, before he punched again, missing the man yet again and crashing his fist into the rigid, clay wall he’d not noticed he was being guided towards.

Breath heaving, he didn’t even register the pain until he spotted the dark red building up along his knuckles, before spilling across the back of his hand and dripping to the sandy floor. His cry of pain was absolutely pathetic, if Temari had been there she would’ve laughed, and his father would’ve given that disappointed glare that always seemed to be pointed in his direction.

Beside him, Baki-sensei sighed and pulled the injured hand roughly towards him, ignoring the boy’s complaints. “Are you done now?” he asked, holding his other hand up to the wound, a gentle, green glow emanating from it.

Kankuro blinked as the pain gradually ebbed away, until there was only the faint sting left where newly-closed skin stretched too far.

“You should not be so careless with your hands; as a puppet master, they are your greatest tools.”

He grimaced and snatched his hand back, idly rubbing his knuckles, wondering if it’d scar. “Then why’re you making me learn taijutsu,” he muttered, glaring at the blood-stained sand, “this is stupid, you don’t know anything.”

A single eye narrowed at him – Kankuro wondered what was behind that cloth the man wore, his fingers itched with the urge to rip it off.

He almost didn’t get out of the way of the kunai slashed at him, stumbling over his own feet as he tried to escape the follow-up attack, he fell to the ground. Panicking, he instinctually curled up against the third strike, only opening his eyes and glancing up when ten seconds passed without it coming.

Baki hovered over him, lips turned down harshly and spinning his kunai easily on his finger. He scrambled to sit up, but before he could stand, his teacher had sat down facing him.

They stared each other down for a long time before he finally spoke, “I am not here to be your friend, indulge your anger, or console your inadequacies, and I’m certainly not here to be your father; I will offer my advice and you will either take it and succeed, or ignore it and fail. That choice is up to you.”

Kankuro’s jaw dropped slightly, but he found a grudging spark of respect flicker into life deep inside him.

“My first recommendation-” he flipped the kunai still in his hand towards him, point hovering a few inches short of his neck “-anger is the most useless emotion in battle, you would do well to purge it from your system before you lay hands on any weapon.”

He snorted, leaning forwards enough that he could just feel cool metal brushing his skin, glaring hard. “I thought my hands are my greatest weapon?”

“Exactly.”

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Kankuro fell to the ground in a limbless heap, panting lightly, but unable to stop grinning.

“What’s that look for?” Baki grumbled as he rolled his shoulder, frowning at the slight stiffness to it, but apparently deciding not to bother using his rudimentary healing jutsu on it, sitting down next to his former student instead, knees clicking loudly as he did.

He winced at the sound, desperately wanting to make a crack at his age, but deciding the responding crack at his already-receding hairline wouldn’t be worth it. “Just remembering old times,” he said, closing his eyes and letting the warm morning sun dry away the sweat dripping down his neck, “how’d you ever put up with me as a kid, I was a such fuckin’ brat.”

“Are you not a brat now?”

“No, I’m an adult now, I believe the correct term is ‘vexation’-” he snickered to himself softly, remembering the time Gaara had finally snapped enough to actually call him that “-and you didn’t answer the question.”

Baki rolled his eyes – it was so common for him to go without the face covering these days, that Kankuro had almost forgotten what he looked like with just the one visible – but still took the time to think on his answer. “I suppose the fact that the Kazekage would have had me suspended if I half-assed the job might’ve had something to do with it.”

“Wow, thanks.”

He ignored the comment, smiling and leaning forwards and ruffling his sweaty hair gently. “And I could sympathise with the angry young boy, just wishing to be recognised for his own strengths.”

“Not so angry anymore.” The warmth of Baki’s heavy hand lingered, even after he pulled it away.

Baki nodded, a wide, genuine grin on his face. His rough, comforting voice cracked just slightly as he said, “And given the admiration he rightly deserves.”

Closing his eyes again, Kankuro pretended that the liquid dripping down into his ears was just sweat and thanked the old gods of Kaze no Kuni that Baki had been so utterly wrong about not wanting to be his father; he was the best dad anyone could ever ask for.

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Chapter Text

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Day 3 - Family

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Age two and the world is far too big and scary for him.

Outside there is wind and sand constantly brushing his skin with their feather-light touch that turns him inside out, and his mother insists upon holding his hand loosely wherever they go, no matter how her grip rattles down to his bones; he much prefers inside, where it is cool and quiet and he’s allowed to play alone with his toys as much as he likes, even if Temari keeps trying to take them for herself.

Family is a word mother keeps repeating to him, broken up into small, slow sounds, eyes wide and hungry as she waits for something, he doesn’t know what, but he knows that the word is the long sigh when he flips his bowl onto the table, is a firm press of lips against his forehead every night before he falls asleep.

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Age three and he realises how much he misses routine.

There doesn’t seem to be any explanation for why mother hasn’t taken him out for several days now, no reason for father’s sudden disappearance from family dinnertime, just the reassurances of his sister as she pulls him away from mother’s room, she’s tired, she needs to sleep, c’mon I’ll tell you the story with the owl again, you like that one, mother will get well soon, then we can all go out together, don’t worry, I’ll look after you till then.

Family is worry and feeling the sharp pain of a missing presence at his side, wishing he could be big and strong like Temari, so he could help make mummy feel better.

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Age six and he hates how everything is being kept from him.

Father has been spending less and less time with him and when he does, it’s only to instruct him on jutsu and frown when metal does not shiver at his touch; Temari is busy with her tutors, he can’t remember the last time they said hello without her apologising; uncle Yashamaru’s hair is wilder and his eyes darker every time he sees him, apparently his little brother is doing well, but he wouldn’t know, he hasn’t seen him since he was a baby.

Family is trying to piece together the broken fragments of an old life, work out what he did wrong and how he can make it right, it is asking father what he needs to do, is it picking up a weapon for the first time in his life.

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Age ten and he can no longer feel his fingertips.

Chakra burns as he forces it from his body, it whips and flails like a desperate animal as he stretches it out further and further, a distant voice barks at him to focus, silk-fine threads snap and the puppet crumbles to the ground in a heap of fabric and wood. He holds his aching hand with a white-knuckled grip, bites his lip until it bleeds, holds his eyes wide open until the urge to cry burns away under the scorching midday sun.

Family is the wrinkled old men and women of the puppetry core, with their sharp tongues and hard glares, the ancient, crumbling papers that are quickly becoming the only thing he truly understands.

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Age twelve and he is sick, sick, sick of it.

He’s not good enough, never has been, never will be. The Kazekage’s disappointment comes through in every curt, backhanded compliment that slips out of his slimy mouth and his tutors dismiss every win he takes, grinding away at his pride until he can’t bare to even look at himself in the mirror. When the first strokes of deep purple cross his features – paint laced with a mild poison, in Suna tradition – he claims it’s because he knows he is ready to call himself a true puppet master, whether the elders accept it or not, in private, he tells Temari that it’s because he’s seen the venom in the stares Gaara sends their father and has no desire to face an early grave, but when he’s alone, with nothing but a mirror to judge him, he knows it’s because he can’t bear that hate reflected back at him in his father’s eyes.

Family is never feeling safe, never feeling content with himself, because himself was worth less than the dirt on Gaara’s shoes. He spends a long time staring at the kunai, carefully sharpened to a dazzling gleam; Temari’s call from down the hall jolts him back to reality. Blade hidden back under his pillow, he welcomes his sister home with a smirk and a joke and tries to believe that the warmth in her tired eyes and weak smile prove his value to the world.

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Age fourteen and he doesn’t realise how much he loves Suna until he leaves.

The air here is too sticky, the people too loud and the colours too garish. He finds himself urgently fidgeting every time he sits down, fingers going through the motions that would see a hidden blade spring from Karasu’s arm, a pack of senbon scattered in a wide arc, lethal, invisible gas released in the middle of a crowded street, only when a hand lightly slaps against his and a warning is hissed in his ear does he stop and recognise the exact same restless agitation in his little brother’s face.

Family is seeing the life and joy of the people around him and wishing for the simple, familiar distrust of home, where he knew where he stood and didn’t feel the aching want when he saw a trio of siblings playing in the street, running away laughing when their mother called them home.

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Age fifteen and, for the first time in years, he can breathe.

New responsibilities and worries keep him busy, distracted from emotions that he refuses to look at, lest the old, comfortable claws of anger once again claim their rightful place at his throat, but suddenly he doesn’t have to rely solely on himself. Temari demands that he stop shouldering his burdens alone in an attempt to protect her, Baki-sensei shows up at their home unannounced bearing food, gentle, uncertain touches and sly warnings of political machinations. More than them though, Gaara is the one who finds him in his pit of heavy, guilt-laden quicksand and reaches out, not to pull him free, but to find comfort from one entombed in the same suffocating place.

Family is support and comfort, it is warm meals eaten together to the sound of laughter, it is long, dark talks stretching long into the night, it is desperately clinging to the one person you thought would never understand and dragging each other back to the surface.

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Age eighteen and he couldn’t stop the emotions escaping if he’d tried.

He still hated touch, hated how it made him feel trapped in his own skin and so uncomfortably close to another… but when they were finally home and free of prying eyes and constant attention, he pulled his siblings into the tightest, most painful hug he’d ever experienced. None of them let go, not even as they fell to the floor together – legs bent and tangled awkwardly beneath them – not when Gaara started mumbling every pain and fear he’d never let out, not as Temari finally broke down and howled, long and wretched and terrified, into his dusty, bloody coat, not when the hall became too dark to see, not even when Gaara had passed out from exhaustion and Temari fell into a light, fretful sleep; Kankuro refused to close his eyes or let go, keeping silent watch over them until the sun rose.

Family is horrible and wonderful and he will never, ever, lose a piece of it again, to do so would be to lose a part of himself.

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Age twenty-nine and he has to wonder what the hell Gaara was thinking.

As much as he’d grown past his childhood hatred of those younger than him, there was a difference between tolerating children in specific situations, and suddenly having them infiltrate every part of his life. He wants to resent them for it, wants to pretend that he doesn’t get a kick out of Yodo’s games, doesn’t enjoy sharing his love of puppetry and art with Shinki, doesn’t feel a deep connection with the boy who loathed his own face.

Family is half-hearted protests and insincere complaints, poorly hidden laughter and smiles that warm him down to his soul. Araya lights up when he gives him a mask, cries when he assures him that there’s no shame in hiding, as long as it’s on your own terms.

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Age fifty-six and he’s looking forwards to an early retirement.

The news that the three Kazekage siblings would be stepping down from their political posts had rocked Suna to it’s foundations, though Gaara’s calm words and unshakable faith in the next generation had soothed most concerns; they hadn’t done all they could in shaping the new world, but they had done enough and as much as they cared to, now was the time to let those with new ideas for change and progression take the stage. Now was the time to experience all those things they’d missed out on growing up.

Family is finding the time for the small moments as well as the big, it’s sticking together through the bad, in the hopes that one day you’ll be able to enjoy the good and the mundane and the thousand states in-between.

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Age eighty-two and there simply isn’t enough time in the world.

He refuses to stop moving, no matter how his joints complain and eyes cloud; as long as he draws breath, he will live each day to its fullest.

Family is messy and confusing and he could never properly describe it, but if asked he would say it is the friends who stand by you, through thick and thin, the communities you build with like-minded people, the children you mentor, comfort, encourage and raise, the not-quite-father who embraces you, sharp, broken edges and all, the siblings who push you to be better, to be your truest self, it is accepting someone as they were, good and bad and so terribly human, it is the comfort found in a gentle touch against the forehead.

Nothing in the world would ever be as precious.

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Chapter Text

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Day 4 - Uncle Kankuro

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Yodo had been sitting quietly in the living room since he got home, lying on her stomach in the middle of the floor, idly flicking through an old novel.

She was up to something. She was definitely up to something.

Not that her reading was unusual, or her ignoring his presence as he flopped down in his lounge chair with a mumbled ‘hey brat’, but there was just something too… perfect about the scene, like she was acting bored and aloof, instead of just being bored and aloof as she normally was and, as many painful, embarrassing experiences had taught him, when in doubt, always assume she was up to something.

So, all that remained was to figure out whatever nasty little scheme she’d put into play this time, hopefully before he fell right into it.

Frowning, he stretched one of his long legs forward to prod at his niece’s foot.

She immediately kicked him back.

Not ready to accept defeat just yet, he nudged her again, big toe seeking out that ticklish spot right in the middle of her sole, he didn’t quite manage to get it before she brought her other foot into the game, trapping his awkwardly between her ankles. He snorted and easily pulled himself free, retreating back to his chair as he thought up a new tactic.

Yodo was still refusing to even turn her head in his direction, still pretending to be completely engrossed in her book; he could easily use that to his advantage though.

With stealth instilled in him over decades of hard training, Kankuro slowly, silently raised himself out of his chair, stepped just close enough that she wouldn’t notice him, balanced himself on one leg and gently smacked his foot in her face.

“GAH! You fu-!”

Letting out a scandalised gasp as he smooshed his foot against her nose, he called over his shoulder, “Gaara, quick, get in here, Yodo was about to curse again!”

The girl’s skinny little rat-claw fingers finally managed to pry him away, shoving at him until he toppled to the floor in a cackling heap. Finally free from his onslaught, she spluttered and rubbed harshly at her face. “Ugh, I was gonna say fungal infection ooze, ya donkey-pit!”

“Y’know,” he managed to say between laughs, “I think that swapping ‘ass’ and ‘hole’ with synonyms still counts as a swear.”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass, apparently she’d been taking notes from her father.

“Relax kid, I’m not actually gonna tell on you-” because he had no doubt Gaara would blame his potty mouth “-but I am gonna need you to tell me what horrifying prank you’ve got cooking this time.”

She rolled her eyes, fussed her hair back into its artfully dishevelled style and returned to her book. “Ain’t got nothin’ cooking,” she said.

“Riiight, and I’m the greatest Hokage who ever lived.”

“You wish,” she snorted, flashing him a quick, toothy grin, “Aunt Sakura’s way cooler than you are, talk to me when you’ve punched a god.”

His face dropped into an expression of blank horror as he pondered what the ramifications of the next generation growing up around such impossibly terrifying powerhouses might be. Damn, I’m getting old, he thought, before sitting himself upright and staring at Yodo once more. Ok she wasn’t gonna tell him what she’d done, that was fine, he could figure it out, no problem.

If she wasn’t bothered about moving from her spot, then that meant that, a) she didn’t need to do anything herself to put her scheme into motion and b) the trap was somewhere in this room – no way would she want to miss out on her victim’s reaction.

Disguising the movement behind a yawn, he scanned his eyes across the lounge, looking for anything wrong, any signs of disturbance at all.

Nothing unusual about the TV or the kids’ game consoles, Gaara had cleaned the floor this morning, so no dust-tracks to speak of, some books had been moved on the shelves, but given that she was currently reading one that could easily be put down to her choosing something to read – he mentally filed it away anyway, just in case – table looked untouched, chairs were exactly as he remembered, damnit, he couldn’t pick out anything, but she was just lying on the floor, legs idly kicking at the air as she flipped another page, cheek puffing up where she was resting it on her hand, exuding an aura that just screamed ‘trouble’.

Maybe that was her plan, deliberately act all suspiciously innocent until he was seeing traps in every shadow, almost pranking himself with his own paranoia! It was an advanced technique, but she was a quick learner and had a serious devious streak, he had no doubt she’d be capable of it… or maybe that’s just what she wanted him to think.

Damn it all.

Just as he was standing up to leave – because he had better things to do, definitely not because he was being outsmarted by a snotty little brat – Yodo had the audacity to snicker into her book, flashing one of her too-toothy grins up at him.

Oh, he was not going to take that; her book was yanked away in under a second, pulled effortlessly into his hand by a chakra thread.

“Oi, I was just gettin’ to a good bit!” she snapped, growling and jumping up to swipe at it.

He held his arm above his head, grinning wide as he said, “What’re you gonna do about it kid?” Before she could leap on him like she was clearly planning, he planted his hand right on her face, gently pushing her back even as she kept pushing forward. “C’mon, do you even want it ba-ACK! What- did you just lick me, brat?!”

While he was rapidly removing his hand from her slobbery maw and rubbing it harshly on his shirt, she managed to clamber onto his back and was just centimetres away from reclaiming her stolen property.

Still shuddering at the dampness on his skin, he tried to claw her off – carefully avoiding going anywhere near her mouth again – flailing limbs and clawing fingers grasping at the corners of the book. In all the confusion, he wasn’t sure who managed to send it flying into the air, but, following its path, he suddenly couldn’t care less, even as Yodo leapt from his shoulder and landed on it with a cry of triumph.

He was much too busy staring at the unnatural shadows hidden away in the ceiling’s air vent; normally they would allow for the cool air captured from the wind towers dotting the building’s roof to flow into the house, offering relief from the burning sun, but he was only just noticing that it was a little less draughty in here than it should be.

“Uh-oh.”

Flashing a quick, victorious grin at his niece, he casually leapt to the ceiling – chakra-coating a hand and his feet to stick in place – and reaching into the dark pit to discover what she’d hidden away there.

When he pulled out a cluster of familiar, disembodied puppet limbs, he had to stare at them for a good long minute just trying to process everything.

Seriously? She was gonna try and scare him with this? He regularly fell asleep cuddling a puppet head that Temari had once described as ‘the physical manifestation of all humanities sins’ and often found random arms and legs in his dresser when he was looking for clothes, even with the element of surprise, he was literally incapable of being scared by it.

He looked down to deride Yodo for her weak attempt, but she wasn’t there, book lying abandoned on the carpet. Frowning, he turned to find her, but was met with a blank stare.

“…What are you doing?” Gaara asked, tone suggesting that he’d had a very long day at work and would very much like to not have to navigate his brother’s eccentricities today if at all possible. Beside him, Yodo was rocking on her heels, hands clasped behind her back.

“Uncle said he wanted to play a prank on you, he was gonna make all that stuff fall on you when you sat down on the couch.”

Oh shi-

The smirk on his niece’s face was positively devious; he wasn’t sure whether to be horrified, or proud.

But he definitely knew how to feel about his little brother’s expression; the years had not dulled his death glare in the slightest. “Kankuro, what is the meaning of this?”

“N-no, Gaara you don’t understand, she set me up!”

That girl had the ‘cute pout of innocence’ act mastered. He’d taught her well – perhaps a little too well – but… he hadn’t taught her everything.

Revenge was gonna be sweet.

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Chapter Text

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Day 5 - Favourite Fight

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Wind ripped at his throat and sand burned at his eyes; in such chaos, it was almost impossible to rely on his senses, but that was fine, because he didn’t really need them.

He had experience, he had cunning and he had trust.

Duck in exactly three seconds and a wave of sand would pass harmlessly over his head, leap into the air at a thirty degree angle and he would catch the kunai hurled at him, throw it at the enemy closing in on his brother and a gust of wind would keep its aim strong and true, call Kuroari from its hiding place beneath the dunes and tendrils of sand would guide the target inside its gaping maw, ignore the sword being aimed at his back and a shield would rise to protect him, spin and knock the assailant over with a hard kick and heavy iron would slam down for the finishing blow.

It wasn’t often he got to battle like this these days, the world was at peace and he and his siblings all had important roles that kept them far from the field, it was only happenstance and a gutsy, but ultimately foolish, attack from a dissident group that landed them here now, tearing up dunes together, like old times.

Well, Gaara and Temari were tearing up dunes, he was mostly trying to keep them reigned in.

Still though, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “Temari, behind you!” he yelled, already launching Karasu to deflect the kunai flying towards her.

“On it!” She let out a monumental grunt as she prepared her attack, spinning a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, fan picking up the air around her, twisting it until she was encircled with roaring, razor-sharp winds, the force of her jutsu slowly, but inevitably dragging every enemy left into the tornado.

Kankuro felt himself losing his footing on the loose sand, until a heavy arm of it raised to tether him to the earth. He flashed a grin over his shoulder as his brother effortlessly walked up to his side. “She’s really not holding back, huh?”

He didn’t get a response, Gaara was more focused on the whirlwind growing ever taller and more vicious, before finally, it burst apart, sand, rock and men flying in all directions.

Before he could even catch a glimpse of where they landed, a great tidal wave of sand rushed down from the dunes around them, loose grains and small stones dropping onto Kankuro’s head as it passed overhead, before crashing down where the enemies had been thrown, the thunderous crushing of sand into stone sending reverberations through the sand for miles around, juddering his bones painfully as he struggled to maintain his footing.

Finally, all was still and deathly quiet, only the ever-present wind whistling its sorrowful tune. Kankuro was still panting from exertion as he stared into the pit of hardened sand.

“Ok… I think you got ‘em.”

A hand swatted lightly at the back of his head as Temari staggered up to him, managing to cough out a breathless, “Idiot,” through her wheezing.

“Hey, you never know!”

Temari frowned at him, fussing with her hair; there wasn’t any hope of getting it back into her usual ponytails anymore, the wind and sand blown about in their battle had matted it into a wild, gravity-defying mess that made even him wince in sympathy thinking about the brushing she’d need to give it once they got home. “What’re you grinning like that for?” she asked, wincing as a finger caught on a tangle.

He shrugged and helpfully picked out the tiny scorpion struggling through her locks – must’ve been dropped there with Gaara’s last attack – and gently laid it in the shadow of a small rock, it immediately burrowed under the sand. “Dunno, just having fun I guess.”

“You didn’t hit your head, did you?” his little brother asked as he wandered away from the huge crater now decorating the landscape. Unlike him and Temari, Gaara didn’t appear any more ruffled than he had when he’d left the house this morning, hair still mostly slicked to the side, except those few strands that never quite stayed put no matter what he did. “We should get back home, if you’re feeling concussive effects-”

Snorting, he reached out to mess that hair up so they all matched. “Relax kiddo, I’m fine, just forgot how fun it is battling beside you guys… even if you two still don’t know the meaning of the word ‘overkill’.”

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Chapter Text

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Day 6 -  Kankuro AU

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“Gaara, what the hell are you doing?”

His brother gave him a stare that was only marginally more blank than the one he’d been wearing five seconds ago. “…What you told me to do.”

Sighing, Kankuro sat heavily on his messy bed, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders to drag him down with him. He looked deep into narrow, pale eyes as he said in the gentlest tone he could manage, “Gaara, bro, you’re great and I love you, but there is no world where what you just did counts as acting.”

“I was pretending to be someone other than myself, that’s all acting is.”

“Ok, yeah, technically,” he said, releasing Gaara’s skinny shoulder to wave a hand vaguely, “if we’re going by strict definitions then you were acting, but you weren’t acting, y’know?”

A long, slow blink was all the response he received. In the corner, Temari snickered.

He barrelled on regardless, “Real acting is more than just reading out a script, you have to feel the character, deep in your soul, you have to really become them, understand every tiny aspect of their being, know how their mind works, their darkest desires and oldest memories. You’re good at remembering lines, but you’ve got no soul, you sound like you might as well be reading a shopping list.”

Green eyes narrowed even further. “Does it matter? This is supposed to be practise for you, not me.”

He groaned, wishing that just this once his brother would stop being so rational and boring. “And how am I supposed to get into the role when I’m practically talking to a brick wall! Temari, back me up on this.”

Gently rocking in his desk chair, his sister gave him the look that let him know she was about to be an absolute bitch. “Actually, I thought he was doing a very good job, you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m an actor! I drama! That’s my literal job!”

She snorted. “Mhmm, you know they say that the mark of a true actor is in their subtlety-”

“There’s a difference between subtle and flatter than your ass, sis. No offense Gaara,” he said, patting his brother on the shoulder.

“I really don’t care-”

“I have a flat ass?” Temari snapped, leaping to her feet and stomping towards him. “What do you call that bit of soggy, shapeless paper you’ve got then?”

He let out a scandalised gasp, placing a hand over his heart as he slowly rose to his feet to meet her gaze head-on. “I’ll have you know that my ass is a thing of beauty and Sai has an entire sketchbook dedicated to its glory.”

Her face immediately crumpled up, looking at once ready to burst into laughter or let out a horrified scream. She eventually settled for a disgusted grimace as she said, “Sai’s willingly dating you, they aren’t exactly an arbiter of good taste.”

“Please stop talking.”

Ignoring Gaara’s request, Kankuro smirked down at his sister. “If I’m so unappealing then how come I’ve actually got a partner and you don’t, huh? Huuuhhhhh?” He leaned in closer, though prepared to leap back at any second; his sister’s eye was twitching quite rapidly.

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again, eyes burning pin-point holes into his.

The longer she went without saying anything, the more worried he became, but he’d dug himself into this hole, no way was he going to show weakness by crawling back out now, he’d just sit here in his dirt pit glaring at her until one of them finally broke down and attacked, as was the Sabaku way.

The cough from behind him didn’t make either of their stares falter, nor did the ten-second long groan the littlest brother gave. It was only when he began to speak that Kankuro had to react.

“The depths of my loathing for you knows no-”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Spinning in a perfect circle, he snapped the script from Gaara’s slack hands and shoved it into Temari’s chest. “That’s it, you’re up sis, try not to be the literal sound of paint drying, m’kay? No offence Gaa.”

The muttered, “I really don’t care,” was barely audible over the crinkling of papers as Temari caught the script and flattened it out, quickly scanning the lines he’d been attempting to rehearse before his completely wooden practise partner finally got to him. She rolled her eyes, cleared her throat and held one hand out towards him.

“The depths of my loathing for you, knows no bounds-” her fist clenched dramatically, “-if I had but one wish, I would leave the world to wallow in squalor, just to remove your ungodly presence from it!”

At that he had to sit back down again, then drop his head into both hands as he sobbed. “My baby brother and big sister are both philistines, how could I have failed you so badly…”

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Chapter Text

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Day 7 - Celebration day!

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He’d nearly managed to go the entire day without being cornered; the family had bantered as normal during breakfast, he’d turned up to work with no unusual welcome, the time at the office had been rote and boring and his evening was lazy and comfortable, just like he liked.

Kankuro had almost convinced himself that everyone had somehow forgotten the date and no one would mention anything to him at all, until he called out that dinner was ready and was met with empty silence. That was the first suspicious thing, the second was the darkened halls and distinct sound of a lot of people trying very hard not to make any sound, third was the sensation of an eye fixed firmly upon his back, always just over his shoulder, no matter how far he turned.

Stifling a groan as he returned pots to a low heat, Kankuro abandoned the dinner and followed the susurration out of the kitchen, past the dining room and into the main lounge.

The room was dark – more than even his heightened senses were capable of seeing through, which meant someone was using a genjutsu – but he could hear the slight shifting and carefully controlled breaths around him as he walked over the familiar, worn carpet, could feel the warmth of a body nearby as he stepped around the sofa he couldn’t see, but knew from memory was right there.

“Ok guys,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and staring defiantly into the black, “I know what’s up, you can stop fuckin’ about no-”

“Surprise!”

The combination of being surrounded by sudden noise and light and colour returning to the world in a great wave nearly knocked him off his feet, especially when the first thing he saw was his brother standing two inches in front of him, sparkly hat perched on top of his head and smiling in a way that suggested he was about as comfortable as Kankuro himself felt right now.

Before he could step back, a heavy arm dropped over his shoulder and he was pulled roughly into one of Temari’s signature bear-hugs. “Happy b-day bro!” she yelled directly in his ear.

“You know it’s not a surprise if I saw it coming a mile off, right?” he said, putting up with the embrace as he scanned the room to see everyone else involved. Gaara was still nearby – probably waiting to give him a slightly less crushing hug as soon as Temari was done with him – the brats were all packed together on the sofa, grinning and cheering, even Shinki was gently blowing a little party horn, Baki was holding a sparkler, sending a dirty look at the handful of puppetry-core shinobi already breaking into terribly off-key song, Matsuri had been flattened by a giant, white dog and Kiba was laughing trying to free her.

Even a few of his other Konoha friends had turned up, Sakura, Tenten, Shino and Sai were all raising their drinks to him; it was honestly the only surprising thing about this party.

Temari snorted and finally release him, shoving him toward his brother to receive a brief, but comforting hug from him too. “You’re ruining it Kankuro, just be grateful that we went to all this effort for you.”

He rolled his eyes, trying not to sound ungrateful, but also knowing that every single person in his room knew his position on birthday celebrations and was probably expecting his next comment anyway, “C’mon we’ve been over this a dozen times, I don’t want a party, I just want to go through my day like it’s any other and be done with it.”

“With all due respect, fuck that-” Tenten’s response was also expected, “-you’ve helped throw parties for basically everyone here before, you love going to parties, just not your own for some weird reason!”

Before he could argue her point, one of his more excitable apprentices stepped forward, arms flailing dramatically in that way he’d been trying to teach him was an extremely bad habit in a puppeteer for months, with little to no success. “Yeah, you’re always doing nice things for everyone else, we just wanna return the favour for once!” Kankuro’s glare seemed to finally get through to him as he wilted and dropped his hands suddenly. “A-and it was Temari-sensei’s idea so you’re not allowed to get mad at me…”

The same glare was immediately turned on his sister.

She rolled her eyes, before flicking his forehead. “Oh, please, as if I’m scared of that look; I’ve seen you cry because your favourite brand of potato chips dropped a flavour way too many times to be intimidated by you anymore.”

“Why would you remind me of that?” he wailed, already feeling his eyes start to sting with the promise of tears if someone didn’t distract him soon.

Alas poor Lemon Tea, taken too soon from this unworthy world.

“The point is,” Gaara said, pointedly stepping between them and pushing them both back a few steps, “that we wanted to do something nice for you, like you’ve done for all of us. We’ve only invited your closest friends, the children promised they aren’t going to play any pranks on you, Temari, Tenten and Kiba have all agreed to not drink more than two glasses of alcohol each, your students relinquished all cameras upon entering the house, preventing them from taking any incriminating pictures and Baki volunteered to take everyone home afterwards. This is just a night to express our gratitude for everything you’ve done and joy that you are a part of our lives, please, won’t you stay to enjoy it?”

He tried to keep up his scowl, he really did, but within ten seconds of his baby brother’s speech he broke down, quietly sniffing and trying to pretend there weren’t tears streaming down his cheeks. “Ok, ok, fine, I’ll join your party-” he quickly wiped a hand across his face, at least no one here was likely to tease him about crying, “-but you’ve gotta stop saying shit like that.”

Silence settled over the room as everyone glanced at each other, before Sakura cleared her throat and tapped her glass against Sai’s. “So… did everyone else prepare those appreciation speeches for Kankuro? Good, I’ll start-”

This was gonna be a long night, he thought, thankfully taking the drink offered to him by his sister and downing half of it in one go. He’d never been so happy that it was his birthday.

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