Sandfiction
Title: Untitled
Summary: Gaara and Kankuro seem to be obsessed by a memory they can't begin to underdstand.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto
It was one of those nights that Gaara couldn't fall asleep. Though his years chronic insomnia were over, sometimes that wide-eyed restlessness would rear its head during sandstorms. Especially during sandstorms.
Gaara found himself wandering through his mansion as the storm wailed its fury and threatened to shake the very foundations of the old building, to bury Suna alive. The sheer power of the bombardment send chills down his spine and awoke that old desire to be lost in such unspeakable fury. Before he had longed to be sourranded in the storm, to vent, to rage to his heart's content when the pain of living got to be too much for him to bear alone. Now his hands were curled into fists, nails biting into his skin, as he walked down the dark hallways, trying to ignore the lure of the storm.
There was no set plan. Just wander, to get as far away from the storm as possible. He eventually found himself walking down a familiar path, winding further and further downwards. His brother's room was subterranean. Because of this it was quiet and dark and quiet was what Gaara now sought.
He couldn't see any light coming from Kankuro's room but Gaara could feel his chakra, his restlessness, his frustration. Gaara signaled with his own chakra before opening the and stepping in.
The bedroom was dim and full of shadows as Kankuro labored in his workshop, bits of puppets and tools slowly creeping outwards into the room beyond. The smell of oil and sweat filtrated the cool air.
Gaara leaned against the door, speechless at the utter silence of the room and grateful for it. Slowly he relaxed, the hunger in the body slowly quieting down, leaving him totally exhausted.
“What's up, Gaara?” Kankuro asked after a second, never taking his attention away from the monstrosity he was creating.
Gaara frowned and rubbed rubbed his eyes. “Nothing. Just a storm.”
A moment of silence then Kankuro was back to work. “I see. It's it bad?”
“Yeah,” Gaara muttered, dragging his body away from the supporting door, “I'll probably be doing recovery most of the morning.”
He stepped closer to Kankuro workroom. “A new puppet?”
Kankuro nodded, distracted. “Piece of shit is what it is. Can't get the thing to work at all.”
Gaara didn't say anymore, sensing that his brother would like to work in peace, and made his way to the unused bed. He dropped onto the mattress with a groan. He was exhausted beyond belief but he couldn't fall asleep. Instead he laid on his side and watched Kankuro work. His brother had very high standards when it came to his creations but all ready the puppet was looking ferocious and ready to battle.
Gaara closed his eyes. Something about the puppet unnerved him. Was it the snarling beak, wild straw-colored hair, or the sharp claw-like hands that seemed ready, almost eager to kill?
He lost track of time listening to his brother work. Finally, hours later, Kankuro collapsed into the bed. They were both exhausted but sleep was nowhere to be found.
“The storm's still ragging,” Gaara muttered almost to himself.
“The puppet's not done,” came Kankuro soft whisper.
The end
I hope you like what you've read. Comment are love. 10 points to the person who can understand this crap xD
Summary: Gaara and Kankuro seem to be obsessed by a memory they can't begin to underdstand.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto
It was one of those nights that Gaara couldn't fall asleep. Though his years chronic insomnia were over, sometimes that wide-eyed restlessness would rear its head during sandstorms. Especially during sandstorms.
Gaara found himself wandering through his mansion as the storm wailed its fury and threatened to shake the very foundations of the old building, to bury Suna alive. The sheer power of the bombardment send chills down his spine and awoke that old desire to be lost in such unspeakable fury. Before he had longed to be sourranded in the storm, to vent, to rage to his heart's content when the pain of living got to be too much for him to bear alone. Now his hands were curled into fists, nails biting into his skin, as he walked down the dark hallways, trying to ignore the lure of the storm.
There was no set plan. Just wander, to get as far away from the storm as possible. He eventually found himself walking down a familiar path, winding further and further downwards. His brother's room was subterranean. Because of this it was quiet and dark and quiet was what Gaara now sought.
He couldn't see any light coming from Kankuro's room but Gaara could feel his chakra, his restlessness, his frustration. Gaara signaled with his own chakra before opening the and stepping in.
The bedroom was dim and full of shadows as Kankuro labored in his workshop, bits of puppets and tools slowly creeping outwards into the room beyond. The smell of oil and sweat filtrated the cool air.
Gaara leaned against the door, speechless at the utter silence of the room and grateful for it. Slowly he relaxed, the hunger in the body slowly quieting down, leaving him totally exhausted.
“What's up, Gaara?” Kankuro asked after a second, never taking his attention away from the monstrosity he was creating.
Gaara frowned and rubbed rubbed his eyes. “Nothing. Just a storm.”
A moment of silence then Kankuro was back to work. “I see. It's it bad?”
“Yeah,” Gaara muttered, dragging his body away from the supporting door, “I'll probably be doing recovery most of the morning.”
He stepped closer to Kankuro workroom. “A new puppet?”
Kankuro nodded, distracted. “Piece of shit is what it is. Can't get the thing to work at all.”
Gaara didn't say anymore, sensing that his brother would like to work in peace, and made his way to the unused bed. He dropped onto the mattress with a groan. He was exhausted beyond belief but he couldn't fall asleep. Instead he laid on his side and watched Kankuro work. His brother had very high standards when it came to his creations but all ready the puppet was looking ferocious and ready to battle.
Gaara closed his eyes. Something about the puppet unnerved him. Was it the snarling beak, wild straw-colored hair, or the sharp claw-like hands that seemed ready, almost eager to kill?
He lost track of time listening to his brother work. Finally, hours later, Kankuro collapsed into the bed. They were both exhausted but sleep was nowhere to be found.
“The storm's still ragging,” Gaara muttered almost to himself.
“The puppet's not done,” came Kankuro soft whisper.
The end
I hope you like what you've read. Comment are love. 10 points to the person who can understand this crap xD