I must once again apologize for the really long wait. I know it's been forever. Unfortunately, my real life was sort of exploding around me, so I had to deal with that first.

To answer the questions...

- Gaara will gradually become more caring during the events in Konoha and afterwards.

- No, there will not be a threesome with Kankuro (that's reserved for my next story).

- I will be following allow the general lines of canon, but not exactly. There will be a lot of things that were simply never addressed in the canon.

- They will get to Konoha in the next chapter. Yes, finally!

As always, thanks for the reviews, and thanks for your patience with my slow updates.

On with the story....

Chapter 11 – Breaking Ties

Kankuro could sense his siblings only a short distance away. They were together, waiting for him. For some reason the thought unnerved him. He felt strangely separate from them, detached, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit. The puppeteer hastened his steps, moving towards his siblings rapidly, his hair tossing haphazardly in the wind and the absence of the familiar weight of the puppet on his back reminding him that he was defenseless.

Gaara wouldn’t attack him though, not in front of Temari. Kankuro was almost sure of that. She had always had a talent for defusing their little brother’s temper, even before their strange relationship transformed into what it was now. Kankuro couldn’t count the number of times she had saved him from certain death when he had said or done the wrong thing in front of Gaara.

Then again, after everything he had said to Temari earlier that night, Kankuro couldn’t be certain that she wouldn’t attack him herself. And he knew that he could never stand a chance against her – not because she was stronger than him, but because he could never bring himself to really hurt her.

A weary sigh escaped the puppeteer’s lips as his siblings finally came into view, a frown appearing on his face as he noted their joined hands. They stood as a united front, he wasn’t surprised by that. But he wasn’t prepared to have them stand against him. It was too unnatural, wrong somehow. Even with all the times that Gaara had threatened them both, all the times that both Temari and Kankuro were pinned by merciless sand with their lives held in the hands of their unstable little brother, Kankuro had never imagined truly fighting against him. And Temari... Temari had always been by his side, through everything, and to see her facing so resolutely against him now hurt in a way that he would never admit aloud.

He stopped several steps away from them, his posture stiff, not sure how he should act now, what he should say. Temari and Gaara were motionless, silent as statues, their faces as cold to him as the masks they showed to the rest of the world. There was no remorse, no pity in their expression. For the first time he saw what others must see when they looked upon them: cruel, merciless shinobi that knew nothing of compassion and lived only by the surety of cold steel and warm blood.

To them, the world really was black and white. If he wasn’t with them, he was against them.

“I’m sorry,” Kankuro muttered, eyes flicking between his two siblings.

A brief flicker of emotion broke through Temari’s stoic gaze and he could see the pain she was trying to hide. He was ashamed suddenly for hurting her this way, for making her worry about him again when he promised himself he would be the strong one, for acting like a child when he was supposed to be the man in the family. He took a step forward, eyes locked with Temari’s this time, wishing for nothing more than to erase that dejected look from her face.

The expression elicited too many memories, too many hauntingly vivid images of the past that they both swore to never mention again. Nights when they hid together from their little brother, trembling in fear at the thought of what he might do to them. Bloody footprints trailing through their house and mangled remains of something they could only guess was once human left carelessly at the front door. All the times Kankuro had crawled into Temari’s bed when they were children and the only sounds filling the darkness were Shukaku’s inhuman screams and Temari’s whispered lies in his ear – that it would all be OK, that someday it would be different, that one day they would be a family and Gaara would be just a little brother and not the monster craving their death.

Temari’s face was hard again and Kankuro knew that his apology meant nothing to her. It was too small, too insignificant to make up for what he knew she perceived as betrayal. He grit his teeth, his words coming out choked and sharp when he spoke again, feigned anger veiling the hurt he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, as if it could somehow mean more if he said it again, as if by repeating it he could make them understand what he really meant. “I was an idiot. You know I’ll follow you wherever you’re going.”

His speech was rushed, words blending together into a frantic confession, an imperceptible tremble in his hands as he tried to discern some sort of reaction in his siblings’ faces and saw only accusation, rejection, disappointment.

“I’ll burn the village down myself if that’s what you want,” Kankuro continued before they could speak. “Just don’t look at me like that.”

He felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed, reminded irresistibly of when he was a child standing in front of his father and pleading for recognition that he would never receive. It was only with Temari that he felt he meant something, that he mattered, only when he was with his siblings that he felt at home, like he really belonged. Even if Gaara never really cared about him, even if Temari only pretended to need him as much as he needed her, they were a family and there would always be some fragile unity between them. And he couldn’t leave that behind, no matter what the cost, no matter what he had to betray or how many lives he had to destroy, because he needed them and there could be no world where they were not together.

He saw Temari’s eyes soften at his words and he hated himself for his weakness, for once again being the frightened child that hid behind his sister’s strength. Gaara remained impassive as he looked at his older brother, as if none of this mattered to him at all, and Kankuro couldn’t help the small flutter of annoyance at his display of indifference. The puppeteer clenched his hands into fists, pulling his face into a blank mask to hide his emotions and regain some measure of dignity.

“You don’t have to do that, Kankuro,” Temari said quietly, pulling him out of his internal turmoil. “I understand that you don’t want to abandon your home.”

Kankuro shook his head determinedly and moved towards his siblings until he was only a step away from them. His eyes lingered on Gaara’s cold face before returning to his sister’s concerned expression. They were so different, yet somehow the same. Equally ruthless, equally cold, shinobi that never had the chance to be human, tortured and alienated and rejected by the rest of the world.

“Forget it, Temari,” he said shortly, a weak smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not leaving you. Just tell me how we’re doing this.”

She let out a short, shaky laugh that made Kankuro grin briefly while Gaara cast them a sideways glance, as distant and unyielding as ever. It was unnerving, having the jinchuuriki so close and so unreadable, giving away nothing of his thoughts or intentions. Temari seemed unaffected by this, holding their little brother’s hand with no outward sign of worry or apprehension, and Kankuro wondered what it took for her to appear this way, how long she had to train herself to give no hint of the true fear that he knew she must feel in Gaara’s presence.

Temari said nothing in response, putting up no further argument as he knew she wouldn’t. Whatever she may have said, Kankuro knew that if he chose to remain behind, she would never forgive him.

She seemed to hesitate before finally extending her free hand to Kankuro, palm open in a vague sort of invitation. He merely smirked at her, shrugging one shoulder with his usual puppeteer’s arrogance. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm unceremoniously, pulling him into a tight embrace while Gaara observed them silently. It was his surprise that made Kankuro react instinctively, wrapping his arms automatically around her waist before he remembered the jinchuuriki’s presence beside them. It was too late to pull back and Kankuro tried to ignore his little brother’s cold stare as he buried his face against his sister’s shoulder, allowing her to hold him as she used to when they were children, hiding together from all the horrors of the world.

Gaara did nothing and Kankuro stood still in Temari’s embrace as the cold desert wind swirled sand around their bodies. She stroked his back slowly, soothing him, as if he was the wounded one, as if he wasn’t the cause of this rift between them. And gradually, despite the menacing presence of the jinchuuriki beside them, despite his uncertainty and apprehension about their future, Kankuro began to relax against her, pressing her closer against his chest and clinging to her with all the desperation of a child.

Minutes passed as they stood together in silence, and Kankuro didn’t know why Gaara hadn’t pulled them apart, why he wasn’t angry at this display of affection. It seemed wrong somehow, to hold his sister like this when the gesture would surely be interpreted as something else by their deranged little brother. Still Gaara said nothing, he didn’t move from his spot beside Temari, and Kankuro didn’t dare look in his direction to see what emotion his eyes might reveal.

There was no warning before Kankuro felt the light touch of his brother’s fingers on his shoulder, unmistakable with its alien chakra and the otherworldly power that lurked beneath the surface. The unexpected contact nearly made him jump and he felt every muscle in his body tense as he forced himself to remain still. Gaara’s lithe fingers curved slowly around the puppeteer’s shoulder and the skin on the back of his neck prickled from the sensation, his blood running cold in his veins as his heart pumped frantically in his chest.

Kankuro was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that his little brother had never touched him before. He may have used his sand to push him out of the way or trap him in place when he wanted to threaten him, but he had never once actually touched him. Even the rare times in the last couple of months when Kankuro had allowed himself to initiate physical contact with his little brother, Gaara had never returned the gesture.

This abrupt change in attitude was simply too startling and Kankuro couldn’t help pulling back from his sister to turn a surprised gaze to his little brother. Gaara seemed conflicted, as if he wasn’t quite sure he should be doing this, wasn’t sure he should even be there at all. He looked out of place in this moment of familial affection, and yet, standing like this together, there was no other place that the three of them could belong. Kankuro’s lips finally twisted in his usual crooked grin and out of the corner of his eye he could see Temari smiling at them both.

Gaara said nothing, his eyes averting to the ground as if he didn’t want to witness this new closeness between them. But he kept his hand on Kankuro’s shoulder, and the gesture was enough: enough to show his acceptance, enough to tell his brother and sister that he finally understood that they were a family, enough to say that whatever horrors stood between them in the past or may still await them in the future didn’t change the fact that they were siblings and they would always be together.

The siblings had retreated to the relative safety and seclusion of their house, coming together in the living room as if it had been perfectly natural to act as a family. Temari was stretched out on the couch with her head in Gaara’s lap, his fingers carefully gliding through her loose hair and idly arranging the blonde locks against the darkness of his pants. Kankuro sat on the floor beside them, his back resting against the couch, one shoulder brushing lightly against Gaara’s leg while he played absently with the free end of the obi trailing from his sister’s waist.

It was the most relaxed they had been in each other’s presence for as long as Kankuro could remember. For the first time the usually strained atmosphere between them actually felt peaceful. The puppeteer sighed quietly as he chanced a sideways glance at his siblings. It was far from perfect, this new found truce between them.

Kankuro could practically feel the insanity spiralling inside Gaara’s mind, driving him to be the monster that he was. He could almost hear the taunting whispers of the bijuu that echoed eternally in his little brother’s mind and convinced him he could not exist any other way. Behind the cold, jaded eyes Kankuro could see the insecurity and alienation and mistrust that forced Gaara to hate the world around him, forced him to doubt his siblings even now as he struggled with whatever fragile hope he had left to accept them as family.

The same instability and isolation was mirrored in Temari’s ruthless gaze; not as violent as Gaara’s, but still there. The same shattered, twisted sense of the world that made everything seem different from her perspective. And knowing her as only a brother could, Kankuro could see beneath that harsh, cocky façade to the fear she always hid, the fear of being useless, being discarded, the unrelenting need to be needed. The need that was answered when she clung to Gaara and saw that same desperation in his eyes, when Kankuro stayed with her through all her tantrums and repeated again and again that he would never leave her.

Kankuro wondered what his siblings could see in him, what dark secrets he hid behind his puppeteer’s mask without ever knowing it. Was it the nearly forgotten childhood trauma of his father’s careless words, that he would never amount to anything, that he was not worthy of being a Kazekage’s son? Was it the fading memory of his mother’s screams on the night that Gaara was born, or the screams of so many others when his little brother grew up and discovered his power? Or was it the knowledge that all three of them held, that when one day they die in some bloody, meaningless battle, there would be no one in this world to mourn them, no one to remember them and no one to care that they no longer existed.

It was fitting in a way, that one certainty that the three of them shared, the one constant in their lives. That it would all end as it began, that one day they would be swallowed by the endless sand and forgotten, leaving no tombstones, no memorials to mark their presence in this world, nothing but the remnants of their suffering and hatred to haunt the desert forever.

The puppeteer shook his head, as if the motion could clear his dark thoughts, and turned away from his siblings, his fingers letting the silky fabric of Temari’s obi slide against his skin as his eyes focused on a loose tendril of sand spiralling idly on the floor.

“So how are we doing this?” Kankuro asked in a tone that was careless and subdued at the same time, his natural brazen personality clashing with the desire to maintain this unusual quiet atmosphere.

At the periphery of his vision Kankuro could see Gaara’s head turn slowly towards him and he could picture perfectly the vaguely hostile, calculating look on his little brother’s face. A brief silence stretched between them in which no one seemed willing to speak, the elder siblings waiting for Gaara’s response while he thought of things they could never pretend to understand.

“We take the mission,” the jinchuuriki answered finally, his voice flat and impassive, as if he was talking about something utterly insignificant. “It’s the best chance of escaping with no one following us. And it will give us an opportunity to expose the Kazekage’s plan.”

When Gaara said nothing further, Kankuro turned to look at him with a hint of confusion on his face. His question died in his throat when he saw the way his siblings were looking at each other, an expression of shared cold, ruthless excitement, a mirthless joy in anticipation of the coming battle. Temari’s lips were curved slightly in pitiless smile that made Kankuro shudder, a matching inhuman smirk twisting Gaara’s face. There was something about the two of them that showed how similar they really were down at the core, some otherness that united them and held them together.

“How do you want to expose him?” Temari asked quietly, the intimate tone of her voice making Kankuro arch an eyebrow in surprise. It was a side of her he had never known before and it was strange to see her act like this with their little brother.

Gaara remained silent for a moment, his head tilting to the side as if in consideration. Kankuro observed his siblings, wondering if Temari could read through the jinchuuriki’s mask of hatred and cold indifference any better than he could. She seemed undaunted by the predatory look in Gaara’s eyes, the way his fingers curled into her hair as if he wanted nothing more than to pull the strands free of her scalp. She was smiling still even when his other hand slid slowly around her neck, cruel and menacing with the promise of pain and absolute control. As if she trusted him, as if she was not afraid.

“You do not need to know that,” Gaara hissed, his voice low and inhuman with the echo of the beast inside him. “I will prepare everything. I expect you both to be ready when I need you.”

His eyes flicked upwards to the puppeteer, holding the older brother’s gaze with that penetrating look that only Gaara could manage. Ever since they were children, that cold, steady gaze had always left Kankuro feeling as if his very soul had been exposed and scrutinized, while he in turn gained no insight into the mystery of his little brother’s twisted mind. It was the same now and Kankuro had to suppress a shudder that this alien, eerie look elicited, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in a vague resemblance of fear.

It was unnatural, all of this. His brother’s very existence, his ability to do things that should never have been possible, his thoughts and feelings that deviated so far from anything remotely normal that no one had the faintest hope of ever understanding him. There was nothing human in this shell of a broken, tortured child.

Kankuro said nothing and merely nodded tersely in response. It didn’t matter that Gaara was a monster, didn’t matter how many hundreds of their own people he had killed viciously and remorselessly in his short life, didn’t matter how many more might die at his hands or that he would never regret the suffering he inflicted. Gaara was his brother, even if Kankuro sometimes wished it could be different, and in the end that was all that mattered. Because this tragic semblance of a family was all they had.

Gaara accepted the confirmation stoically, showing neither surprise nor appreciation for his older brother’s support. His gaze drifted back to Temari and Kankuro looked over in time to see her roll her eyes. She said nothing about Gaara’s mistrust, his lack of faith in his siblings, simply shrugging one shoulder in a vague sort of assent.

“I’m always ready when you need me,” she said with a slight smirk and a glint in her eyes. “Just give us a little warning before we have to throw away our lives.”

The youngest sibling arched an invisible eyebrow, a momentary pause before he shrugged with indifference.

“We leave in two weeks,” he replied shortly. “Be prepared to never come back.”

Temari met Kankuro’s gaze and for a moment he knew they were thinking the same thing. In two weeks the three of them might be dead. And even if they managed to survive they would never again have a home, never again have a place that promised at least relative safety, never again have a village that claimed their allegiance and gave them a purpose to exist. They would be nothing more than criminals, missing-nin, doomed to wander the desert for the rest of their lives, forever separated from the rest of the world and hunted like animals.

A wry smile twisted Kankuro’s lips. In a way, he supposed, nothing would really change. Except perhaps there would be no more pretenses about their status in the world.

His sister nodded briefly, her hard expression suggesting that she understood. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, the other moving to pry Gaara’s fingers away from her neck and intertwine them with hers. Kankuro leaned into the touch, shifting to rest more of his weight against Gaara, who accepted the contact without a word.

Once again they fell into the deceptively peaceful façade, like a calm before the storm. There was nothing else to say, nothing to sooth the fear of the approaching battle, no words to weave sweet lies of safety and peace.

Kankuro`s eyes slid shut and he willed his mind to go blank, to forget the visions of death and destruction that had been invading his dreams, to think of nothing at all. Only the warmth of his siblings’ bodies, so close and real and reassuring, the silent whisper of their breath in the darkness, the soft slither of Temari’s obi under his fingers and the harsh coarseness of Gaara’s sand on the floor.

They were together, as a family, as he had always imagined siblings should be. And for now that would have to be enough.

Days went by quickly over the next two weeks, all their time occupied with training and planning a mission that would take them away from their home forever. Almost every night Gaara would disappear without explanation and Temari and Kankuro were left to wait for him, silently wondering when he would finally tell them his plan for the Kazekage’s downfall. The siblings hardly spoke to each other, never breaching the subject of their future, never seeking vain comfort or trying to reassure each other.

At night Kankuro would retreat to his room and lie in the darkness, staring at the blank ceiling and wondering what life might be like for them after they leave the village for the last time. Sometimes he could hear his siblings through the thin walls of the house, Temari’s quiet whispers that were never coherent enough for him to recognize the words, Gaara’s cold hiss that seemed somehow softer when he spoke to his sister.

Kankuro knew when they left house each night, though he never heard them return in the morning before he found Temari in the kitchen preparing breakfast and Gaara sitting at the table, stoic and indifferent as always. As if their world wasn’t falling apart at the seams, as if everything wasn’t irreparably and unrecognizably changed.

It was different now, being around his siblings, sharing food with them, training together. Kankuro wasn’t sure if Gaara was beginning to trust him or if he had simply accepted the inevitability of their partnership, but there seemed just a little less hostility coming from his little brother, less of the wall that had always stood between them. Sometimes Kankuro would catch Temari smiling at him from behind Gaara’s back when the youngest sibling spoke to him and he knew that he wasn’t imagining the change.

He wasn’t sure how to act in this new unity of their household. It was odd to embrace Temari when Gaara’s arms were wound around her waist from behind, odd to run his hand across his little brother’s shoulders and not be met with a shield of sand. Stranger still to feel his brother’s sand-clad fingers brush his bare skin, always brief and seemingly accidental, but still there. Kankuro found himself mesmerized when he watched his siblings together – Gaara’s lips on Temari’s neck, her fingers in his hair – and knew that it was for them, their insanity, their inability to understand the rest of the world, their desperate need to not be alone, that he had to give up his life, his home and everything he had ever known.

They were a family, not matter how twisted and broken. And they needed him as much as he needed them.

It was that thought he clung to on the morning of their last day in the village, that thought that made it tolerable to watch his siblings sling their meagre belongings onto their backs and follow them to the village gates with the knowledge that he might never walk through them again. Only Temari’s cruel smile and Gaara’s cold gaze kept him going when the desert enveloped them and erased the rest of the world as if it had never existed.