Day 5 - Family
you’d think that just rehashing the exact same format that I used for the family theme of temari week last year would’ve meant I got this out on time, but no. well… at least it’s p long?
I guess this is just a thing now.. if kank week rolls around and ‘family’ isn’t a theme I’m kinda screwed
hope you enjoy!
AO3 version
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Age three and he first knows that he is different, though he’s not sure how.
Adults talk above him, quiet and distant and utterly incomprehensible, but their stares weigh heavy on him, pulled down by the indistinct whispers that always lingered just behind him, no matter how far he turned. He tugs on his keeper’s apron, holds himself up against stiff legs, but will not lift his head to look at him, nor will the man look down.
Family is just a word; he’s told it’s what Yashamaru and father are, though he doesn’t understand why other adults are not, or why it’s so important he remember it.
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Age five and the feeling is growing worse every day.
He knows why everyone stares, knows why they whisper behind cupped hands, knows why they run. Father tells him that it is because he is valuable, he will become the salvation of the village, he does not need to interact with anyone but him and his uncle, stop causing trouble, just stay inside and behave. Yashamaru tries to hide himself from the truth, ignores him when he insists that Shukaku is being mean to him again, just pats the air just above his head – always the air, never his thick and unruly locks – and asks if he wouldn’t rather play with his toys.
Family is expectation and purpose, it is the long lectures on the state of the world and what he will do to change it; it is the siblings he’s heard about, but rarely sees, little more than ghosts at the edges of his mind; it is not-quite-meeting eyes and unfathomable sighs hidden beneath tight smiles.
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Age six and blood runs thickly into his eye.
The truth has finally released him; he is not loved and he never had been, nothing will change it… but he no longer wants to.
Family is hate and fear and pain, it is the assassin in the night and the rage of a mother carrying out her final, terrible vengeance.
If no one else would love him, then he will just do it himself.
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Age eight and he hardly notices anything anymore.
A knife cuts the air with barely a hiss, but the woman’s scream sings in the night. Sand crawls across his spoon before it can even reach his mouth, the way the poison splits the skin of its practitioner fascinates him for hours. Through his shield, he can feel the heat of the fire jutsu, it isn’t hot enough. Shadows move too quickly in the periphery of his vision, he drags the assailant out of them and watches the light die in his eyes. The girl had no weapon on her corpse, nor poison or scrolls, the blood spattered on his face dries quickly in the blazing sun.
Family is the rush of his heart as another body falls around him, it is the warmth and love that flows through him like blood flows from a split stomach, it is sand that wraps just slightly too-tight tendrils around his ankles when his demon needs to remind him what it wants.
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Age twelve and his siblings immediately tense when he enters the room.
Baki’s explanation doesn’t interest him, nor does the prospect of doing anything that would benefit the village whose existence he only tolerates because its fear is on occasion mildly amusing. But the opportunity to leave this dead and empty place, go further into the world than he ever had before and tear away its foundations, announce his existence to it before the whole thing crumbled at his feet… that prospect is all-too enticing, even after father drags him aside one night and tells him that this mission will decide his fate, that if he doesn’t play along like a good child, then he will not be returning.
Family is more trouble than it’s worth. He agrees to the terms, not because of the threat – father doesn’t have the guts, doesn’t have the strength; why else would he leave the insulting attempts on his life to others? – but because of Mother’s whispers of all the games they could play in Konoha, he’d take her there wouldn’t he? Such a good boy.
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Age thirteen and he is trying so very hard to be human.
His words and actions are clumsy, mimicking what he sees in others, without understanding any of it. Kankuro can’t relax near him, Temari’s words are carefully considered and placed, he watches them through his third eye one night, nursing warm drinks as they speak of a book Temari is reading, of Kankuro’s latest project, pushing and shoving and falling to the floor in breathless laughter and he wonders; is that what it means to a sibling? To be human?
Family is spying and learning and feeling a tight, burning sensation in his dry eyes as Kankuro’s hand brushes his shoulder, even as he brushes it away before the gentle touch can break him. It is the confusion when Temari offers him a novel, her tight-lipped smile as she says she thinks that he would enjoy it.
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Age fifteen and the stiffness still lingers in his fingers and toes.
He has not been left alone for over a month now – not truly alone, even if they keep their presences hidden, he is aware of the eyes always nearby – shinobi wander into his office without an appointment almost eight times a day, Baki insists upon walking with him to and from council meetings and Matsuri has taken to leaving snacks and fresh cups of tea in his most-frequented rooms, with short notes written in bright ink reminding him of the medics’ advice to stay nourished, He doesn’t want to resent the attention, he’d spent half his life begging to experience it, but the acts fuel his old, comfortable paranoias and the effort to restrain his worst impulses at every friendly greeting exhausts him more than even death had.
Family is the respect and devotion of a community and realising that protection goes both ways. He still asks his siblings to help stem the tide; they agree, but with every delicate chiding by his sister, every sincere inquiry into his health by his brother, the guilt remains.
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Age twenty and he finally has time to stop and think.
The war had long been over and peace returned, there is still much work to be done, many bridges to be built, many agreements to be made. Even so, he also finds himself for the first time with friendships both intense and casual, and he actually has the free time to pursue them, he talks with Naruto every chance they get, Sakura sends him letters updating him on Konoha’s progress, Shikamaru regularly challenges him to games of shogi, Matsuri gushes to him about her new girlfriend, old lady Ohno makes him promise to keep her funeral small and humble, Baki cries whenever he reaches a new milestone in his career.
Family is learning that grand displays and solemn promises aren’t all that’s needed in a strong relationship, it’s also small gestures and simple understanding.
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Age twenty-six and, for the first time since his turn, impulse takes him.
The three children look around his home with suspicious eyes, they move with the same care and uncertainty that he once had, as though terrified that a single step out of place will have them thrown back onto the streets. He doesn’t know how to reassure them, but he remembers what his siblings did for him when they first started living together – a pantry always stocked with favoured meals, a space entirely yours to retreat to when the paranoia proved too much, unspoken invitations to join in family activities only when ready – he’s not sure that he is doing it right, but when Araya first calls him ‘dad’ he smiles for what feels like hours.
Family is terror and panic and constant uncertainty, but it is also pride and caring and joy and an indescribable love filling the soul until it was lighter than air.
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Age fifty-two and Baki’s death destabilises him more than he could have ever imagined.
He and his siblings trudge through the funeral preparations on memory alone, none of them quite present in the room, even as they perform the expected motions and speak of all that their sensei had done for them. Once his children retreat to their old bedroom – still with red eyes for the man they’d called ‘grandpa’ even now that they were all adults, already off starting families of their own – he, Kankuro and Temari huddle together under a blanket, under the stars. They talk of memories, of fathers, both unofficial and blood, of mothers and uncles and the pain of losing each and every one.
Family is looking back and looking forwards at the same time, sharing the loss of loved ones to make the pain just a little more bearable and hoping that when you go, those who live on won’t ever feel such grief for one so undeserving.
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Age Seventy-nine and there is still so much left to learn.
Life continues, the world running around him, even after he has decided that he no longer has a place in driving it.
Family is something he’s sought his entire life, knowingly or not, but he’s sure he’s found it now; in the friendship of those who found a way to believe in a boy’s humanity when he himself could not, in the respect of a community that had willingly taken him into its arms, despite every hurt he’d brought it, in the smiles and adoration of three children he’d saved from mistakes of the past, in the sensei who had filled a void he’d not even known was there, in the siblings who had pulled him into a bond stronger than any force of nature, in the faint memories of sandy hair and the bitter taste of iron, in the embrace of sand that had never once left him, not even in his darkest moments.
Despite everything, it was more than worth it.
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