A/N: Well, this is the first drabble I've ever done. I had an urge, and I don't have very good impulse control. It's that simple. As for those who are fans of my multi-chapter fics, I'm working on those as you read this. Enjoy!
Kankurou loved his dolls. Sure, to everyone else, he called them puppets. Sometimes, he called them bloody instruments of death. But to him, they were always dolls: fun things to play with
The first reason Kankurou played with dolls was simple: it made him unique, it made him different. He wasn't breathtakingly beautiful (or female) like his sister, or bloodthirsty and crazy like his brother. He was just… there. Just Kankurou, his cat suit, and his dolls.
But the second and far more important reason Kankurou played with his dolls was much more serious then just wanting to be noticed. But it was equally simple: dolls were the one thing that his entire family had in common. By playing with dolls, Kankurou was one of the family, one of the extremely odd and psychotic family from the desert.
His father played with dolls. But while Kankurou's dolls were made of wood and string, his father's were made of flesh and bone. The Yondaime Kazekage was a master of manipulation, and made people dance to his tune. They responded to strings he pulled, making him the master puppeteer in Suna. By playing with Dolls, albeit ones of wood and string, Kankurou became more like his father. The father he had always looked up to.
His sister was the essence of strength. Whenever anyone wanted to do anything to their family, Temari was always the first to strike back at them. But when she was young, she played with dolls. She made them marry, play house, and were occasionally elected to public office. But as she got older, her dolls began to pretend to kill, spy, and become ninja. Then, one day, Temari just stopped playing with her dolls. Kankurou plays with his to remember his sister's innocence.
His brother, well, his brother was a special case. When he was younger, Gaara was never seen without a stuffed rabbit. That doll was Gaara's best friend, no matter how hard Kankurou tried to insert himself in that role. When an attempt was made on Gaara's life, his sand protected him. But it didn't protect his mind, permanently scarred by the attack by the one he loved. And when Gaara left the bloody chunks of his uncle behind, he left his stuffed rabbit with him. Kankurou plays with dolls to remember his brother's sanity.
Every time someone insults his puppets by calling them dolls, Kankurou smirks. He takes one moment to revel in the moment, the moment of being one of the family. Then the insulter dies, pierced through by manifestations of the past. For if you insult dolls, you insult Kankurou's family. And he is Sabaku no Kankurou, as cold as a dessert night to those that insult his kin.
A/N: Don't worry, I'm not making this a habit. But that's my first attempt at drabble writing