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Tobirama’d always thought of himself as the logical sibling. Analytical and sharp, he sort of balanced Hashirama’s craziness out. They needed each other to function and not bring the village crashing down, and that was how it’d been for a long time, before any notion of a village had even existed. If Hashirama was the smiley, outgoing sibling, he was the cool, brooding one.
How old had he been when Kawarama had died? He couldn’t really remember. It seemed muddled in his memory, too smeared by the grief he’d felt to really stay in one place or make any sense. Of course, he’d hid that grief better than Hashirama did. The day, however, would forever reside in his mind, a barely healed wound.
He was at camp with a bad cold, sharpening one of his tiny little swords when loud shouting heralded the return of the attack squad. Tobirama walked out of his tent, squinting at the approaching figures in the distance. They were bloody and ragged, walking with limps and clutching injuries and shattered weapons.
As they grew closer he could make out, leading the pack, his brother and his father. Something wasn't right. Hashirama had barely dried tear tracks lining his cheeks, and his face looked strangely blank. His father’s gnarled hand clutched his shoulder a little too tight to be kind, his brow wrinkled in what Tobirama knew now not to be the grief of a father, but disappointment at the loss of a soldier. And in Hashirama’s arms, worst of all: a still Kawarama, arms draping around Hashirama’s and a pale face smeared in blood. The sight stole the breath from his lungs, his mouth slipping open silently as the sword he was clutching in his hand slid out from his numb fingertips and bumped quietly on the ground.
At the sight of Tobirama, Hashirama rushed forward, stumbling over himself in his haste to receive- or give- comfort. Their father scowled.
“Tobirama,” Hashirama choked, obviously struggling to not make a scene, “he’s gone. Kawarama’s gone.”
“Anija.” Tobirama whispered. His little brother was still wearing the huge armor they’d teased him about only a few days ago, and now he was dead.
With aching gentleness, Hashirama knelt and set his mangled body on the ground, silent tears running fresh down his face. “He’s gone.” He rasped.
Tobirama couldn’t say anything.
The dirt beside the forest was still fresh from the burial. Tobirama and Itama stood idly, hearts fresh from a funeral as they helplessly watched Hashirama confront their father.
“Why do we have to fight?” Hashirama yelled, eyes blown wide and hands gesturing wildly. “Kawarama’s death was pointless! He was so young! All we do is fight! Fight, fight-” he choked, “-you know nothing else but war! If we could just stop fighting children wouldn’t need to die-”
As fast as lightning, Butsuma struck out, hitting Hashirama hard enough that he sprawled upon the ground. His face was twisted in righteous anger, the kind of fear only fathers could instill twisting in Tobirama as he stepped back in surprise.
“Kawarama died a full-fledged shinobi, unlike you, child!” He roared.
Hashirama lay shocked on the ground.
“If you’d stop daydreaming about peace all day, perhaps you’d finally be of some use to our clan!” He turned around, mouth pressed in a thin line, before he started to walk off.
Itama crouched next to Hashirama, tear tracks still drying on his cheeks. “Nii-San, are you okay?”
“You know what happens when we defy father,” Tobirama muttered delicately.
Hashirama looked at them both. Then, rising with fresh defiance, he got up and screamed. “Senju, clan of love? As if!” His voice cracked painfully. “Full-fledged shinobi my ass! All this is is adults sending children to their deaths! How are we any different from the Uchiha?”
Butsuma turned around, eyes flaring. “That’s how we honor our opponents. Even an infant with a weapon is deemed an enemy, and to raise a full-fledged shinobi is a parent’s love!”
“So to become full-fledged, you have to die?” He yelled incredulously, “This is just a game of kill and be killed! Our grudges number more than we can count- and we can’t even divulge our family names!” He grimaced, “There’s something wrong with a shinobi world like this!”
Butsuma’s face twisted once again, and he turned, fist raised as he shouted, “Kids like you are called brats !”
Tobirama swiped an arm in his path. “father,” he stuttered, “Please forgive Hashirama. He’s not in his right mind right now.”
Butsuma raised his eyebrow, the tension in the air rising exponentially before it dissipated. He pursed his lips and turned around with a clank of armor. “Very well,” he spat out, “Cool your head, Hashirama.”
Tobirama stood there until he disappeared into camp before relaxing and turning around to face his brothers. Hashirama rubbed his reddening cheek, staring silent at the ground, his breath huffing raggedly. The silence was disturbing.
Itama died soon after.
“Tobirama.”
He rushed forward, kneeling respectfully. “Yes, father.”
“As you might have noticed, your brother has been disappearing into the forest more and more frequently. I want you to find out what he’s doing.”
Yes, Tobirama had noticed. He hadn’t meddled, feeling that whatever Hashirama was up to, he deserved a break. But orders were orders.
“Yes, father.”
He huffed, scowling a bit. “Good. I’ve been concerned about him,” he said, as if he really cared about Hashirama, “He needs to get rid of this rebellious streak.”
“Of course.”
Tobirama swallowed, watching Hashirama return from his excursion. Guilt swirled in the back of his throat.
“Anija,” He said, stepping in front of him, “Come with me.”
Hashirama stumbled into the building behind Tobirama and knelt before their father. His features were frozen in anticipation, as if he already knew what he was there for.
Their father rose at their arrival, arms lifting to cross against his chest. Lips pursed together, he started darkly, “Hashirama, this boy you’ve been meeting up with…”
At this, Hashirama gave a start, mouth curving in distress. “How did you-”
“Father ordered me to tail you,” Tobirama answered curtly, “I have keener sensory abilities than you.”
“You’ve been going out quite often recently, so I knew something was up.” Butsuma continued, eyes growing darker. “I checked up on that boy. He belongs to the Uchiha clan. ”
Hashirama winced, a bead of sweat running down his brow.
“He has killed many adults from our clan. It seems he was born with inherent shinobi talent.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem surprised. Don’t tell me you already knew?”
“No…” Hashirama murmured, “I don’t think he knew my clan name either.”
“You do know what this means, right?” Butsuma asked gruffly, “The Uchiha and the Senju are bitter enemies. I haven’t told anyone, but if word gets out, you’ll be marked as a traitor and an enemy spy.” He paused. “So I have a mission for you.”
Hashirama’s eye twitched, tenseness rising to the surface.
“When you meet him again, follow that boy and gain intel on the Uchiha clan. And if he finds you…”
Hashirama’s throat rose with a gulp, both of them already knowing what their father was about to say.
Voice low, Butsuma finished. “...you kill him. ”
Hashirama stared at the floor right below his father’s knees. His fists clenched and trembled, and his teeth pressed together with an audible click. He took a deep breath. “W-wait,” He said, a not-quite-hopeful grimace on his face, “Are you sure he’s an Uchiha?”
Their father gave him a stern look. “Of course. And if he’s found out you’re a Senju, there’s no doubt he’ll pretend to let his guard down to gain intel on us. Do not trust him. ”
“No,” Hashirama stuttered, making Tobirama feel a mixture of pity and nervousness, “he’s not like that.”
“You’d trust the clan that killed your brother?” Butsuma yelled, his voice raising loud enough that Tobirama lowered his head a little. “You have no idea what he’s thinking in his gut!” Hashirama looked desperately at him, but he plowed on. “If he tricks you, you’ll be putting our entire clan at risk.”
“No, that’s not-” Hashirama insisted.
“Just in case, Tobirama and I will come along. Understood?” Butsuma interrupted.
Tobirama bowed his head and tried to not make eye contact with his brother.
“Answer me!”
Hashirama hesitated, teetering along a line before falling over. “Y...yes, father.”
Without another word, he rose to his feet and left, leaving Tobirama alone with an irritated Butsuma.
His father waited until Hashirama’s footsteps faded away before speaking. “Oh, that boy,” He muttered, “always being some liability. First, Kawarama. Now, he’s prancing around with an Uchiha, of all things.” He shook his head. “Thank goodness for you, Tobirama.”
Tobirama said nothing.
Tobirama and his father lay huddled amongst the trees, their chakra suppressed to the bare minimum. Through the brush, Tobirama could see Hashirama standing on the rocky bank of the river, staring emotionlessly at the boy across the flowing waters. Madara, he was called, and he looked like any other person. He was about Hashirama’s age, wasn’t he?
But he wasn’t any other boy. At least, that was what father had said. He was a monster. An Uchiha monster.
The atmosphere, despite the two boy’s blank faces, was strangely somber, as if the trees around them too sensed Hashirama’s inner turmoil.
“I know it’s right off the bat,” Madara said, “but how about we skip stones instead of exchanging greetings?”
Hashirama reached into the folds of his shirt and pulled out a round, flat stone- perfect for skipping. “Yeah.”
In perfect synchronicity, they held their arms back and flung the stones across the river, the things making two minute splashes before landing in the other’s open palms. There was an infinitesimal pause, where they both seemed to shift slightly- then Madara looked up and said casually, a hand lifted in a wave, “Hashirama, sorry, but I can’t stay today. I just remembered I have something I need to do.”
“O-oh yeah?” Hashirama’s voice cracked slightly, obviously struggling to retain his composure, “Then I’ll be heading home, too.” Madara gave a nod, then, to Tobirama’s surprise, took off, and Hashirama began to sprint back to their side of the forest.
“That speed!” Butsuma remarked angrily, “He’s trying to make a run for it! Damn it- Hashirama warned him! Tobirama, go!”
He nodded. “Yes, father!” Together, they lept out of their hiding spot while simultaneously unsheathing their weapons and landed on the river, at the same time two figures clothed in muted grey did the same. Madara stopped in his flight and spun around, eyes wide in horror.
The taller Uchiha, the father, presumably, smirked. “It seems we had the same idea, Butsuma Senju.”
The boy next to him added coolly, “And Tobirama, I presume.” He couldn’t be older than Tobirama was.
“Indeed, Tajima Uchiha,” His father said with a streak of morbid confidence.
“And Izuna, am I right?” Tobirama said.
They stayed standing there, frozen in a moment of time, when a leaf floated down from the heavens, pirouetting in swirling spirals before landing with a delicate touch on the water.
T he moment broke. Tobirama rushed forward, his sword poised to strike.
Hashirama and Madara screamed, a cracked plead of “Stop!” But they couldn’t stop. They never stopped. To stop wasn’t in their nature.
Tobirama and Izuna’s swords clashed metallically, and, beside them, their fathers’s did the same. Tobirama glared into Izuna’s eyes, scowling as every bit of pressure he pushed into his sword was countered. Their faces were barely a meter apart, and Tobirama could see every little line of anger, feel the hate radiating from his opponent’s eyes. He sensed the two men get pushed back, but he didn’t take heed, too concentrated on repelling the sword mere centimeters from his face. Finally, they broke apart with a clang, and Tobirama stumbled back, just in time for him to register another sword flying towards his face. It was too fast for him to do anything, he couldn’t even flinch- thoughts raced a mile a minute through his head- suddenly, a stone collided with it, and another with a kunai directed at Izuna. In the few milliseconds Tobirama registered it, he read the hastily carved characters engraved on its surface-
Run .
On the other bank, Madara stood, shoulders heaving in panic.
The stones and the weapons sank, heavy and gone, to the bottom of the river. Tobirama stood there in shock, mouth gaping open as he stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. Suddenly, Hashirama landed in front of him, arms splayed protectively, as did Madara in front of Izuna.
“I’ll never forgive anyone who tries to hurt my brother,” Madara hollered, “no matter who they are!”
Hashirama reciprocated. “Same here!”
Tobirama felt like he was experiencing something he shouldn’t.
They stared at each other, and the wind lashed wildly through their hair. It was silent, save for the rippling of the water, so ignorant to their plight.
Finally, Madara spoke up.
“Hey, Hashirama,” he murmured quietly.
“Yes?” Hashirama said, voice hinging on desperation. .
“I don’t think…” he said, words dragging long and painful, “we can reach... that pipe dream of ours.”
And in that moment, the wind seemed to blow something away, or the water swallowed it, and something changed. Something was lost forever.
“Madara…” Hashirama muttered, voice sounding with a hidden plea, “what are you saying?”
“It may have been brief, but it was fun, Hashirama.”
His brother twitched, a small thing that no one else would’ve noticed but him.
“Three against three…” the Uchiha- Tajima- noted,” can we take them, Madara?”
“No.” He looked directly at Hashirama. “Hashirama is stronger than me. If we fight, we’ll lose.”
Izuna loosened his stance. “There’s a person stronger than you, nii-san?”
Tajima frowned. “Impressive. Very well. Let’s retreat.” He and Izuna turned around, already walking away from the unstable situation. Madara began to follow them. “See you,” He said. It was final.
“Madara!” Hashirama yelled desperately, “you haven’t really given up, have you? You’ve gotten to the same point as I-”
He was interrupted.
“You are Senju, and I am Uchiha,” Madara said. “I truly wish it wasn’t so, but my brothers have been killed by the Senju, and yours by the Uchiha… so there’s no need to show our guts to each other.” He paused. “Our next meeting will probably be on the battlefield, Senju Hashirama,” he murmured, finally turning around, and then Tobirama could see, swirling with a single tomoe drowning in red, his eyes, sending a trickling chill down his spine. “After all,” He said, voice barely above a whisper, I’m Uchiha Madara.” At that, he turned back around, head directed at the ground as he walked away. Tobirama dropped his stance in shock.
“Otou-Sama!” Izuna said excitedly, “Look at Madara’s eyes!”
Tajima grunted, a satisfied smile on his face. “We didn’t gain intel from this, but turns out we obtained something valuable, after all.”
Butsuma drew back. “He awakened his Sharingan… just now?”
They didn’t answer. Without another word, the three turned around and walked away. They soon disappeared into the forest, but Tobirama, Hashirama, and their father stayed long after, standing still on the water.
Tobirama caught sight of his brother at last, finally out of his tent and walking silently along one of the smaller footpaths. “Hashirama!” He said hurriedly, stumbling to run up to him, “I-”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What? But-”
“I said,” he repeated, voice shaking slightly, “I don’t want to talk about it. Please, just leave me alone.”
With that, he quickened his pace, leaving Tobirama with his arms outstretched and his guts churning with an immense sense of guilt.
The first time Hashirama and Madara clashed on the battlefield, Tobirama was there to see it. Clothed in tattered armor, Hashirama caught sight of his former friend and ran up to him, weapon sheathed and face wracked with pain. Madara responded by taking his sword and swinging it bodily at him, Hashirama barely managing to catch on his own out of surprise. Struggling under the weight of Madara’s sword before pushing it back with his own, Hashirama shouted incoherent pleads at him, landing on deaf ears. Forced to exchange blows, Hashirama nearly sliced Madara’s neck open, instead leaving a thin red cut on it that seemed to finally bring him to tears, a shining bead running down his face. When Tobirama blinked, though, it was gone.
“Stand up!” Butsuma barked. Tobirama lay crouched beside a doorway, eyes wide as he listened to Hashirama’s ragged breathing. “How are you supposed to protect your brother when you can’t even handle this?”
“I- I can-”
“Then prove it! Show me you can handle it.”
Tobirama felt sick. How had a training spar elevated to this? He had half a mind to barge in with some mundane excuse just so he could stop what was going on right now.
Seconds passed, the air completely still. Tobirama’s brow crumpled as he strained, struggling to find out what was happening in the room. Suddenly, he heard, against all odds, their father cry out in surprise. Throwing care to the wind, he stormed into the room to find him sprawled ungainly on the floor, his ankles bound by small, thin roots that sprouted from cracks in the floor. Knelt in front of him was Hashirama, looking just as surprised as he was. His hands were held unsteadily in front of him, and Tobirama could feel the chakra emanating from them, feel the same chakra flowing in the roots around his father’s feet.
Hashirama turned to look at him, eyes wide and mouth open. “T-Tobirama,” he stuttered.
“What is this?” Butsuma yelled.
“I… don’t know,” Hashirama said, looking at his own hands and looking afraid.
“Well, whatever it is,” Butsuma huffed, pulling out a kunai and cutting the roots off, “it’s useful .”
“Tobirama!” Hashirama’s voice sounded from behind him. Tobirama turned around to find Hashirama running excitedly towards him, unbothered by the bruises littering his elbows. He smiled happily. “Look what I can do!” Carefully, he extended his hand, slowly opening his palm to reveal a little sprout, which curled and unfurled, worming its way up towards the sun. Steadily, a bud pushed its way up, opening to reveal a delicate flower with vibrant petals of red streaked with black. Hashirama looked hopefully at him, obviously giddy but trying not to show it.
Tobirama smiled softly, running a finger down one of the petals. “It’s nice, Anija.” Then, he frowned, eyes drifting to Hashirama’s beat up features. “But are you okay?”
Hashirama looked up curiously from his dainty creation. “What? Oh, yeah!” He grinned, “I’m fine! Father’s helping me get stronger!” He seemed to smile even more at that.
“Hashirama!” Butsuma called distantly.
“Oh, I’ve to go!” He stumbled off, waving a hand that Tobirama only half reciprocated.
Slowly, they grew. Years passed with bloodshed. They clashed with the Uchiha nearly every week, now, and every time, Madara was seeking out Hashirama on the battlefield or the other way around. In the spare times he could observe his brother, as Izuna had also taken to targeting him when they fought, he saw that they seemed to always be at a stalemate- not because they were of equal power, but because Hashirama still seemed to retain his reluctance to hurt his friend, and perhaps Madara did too, a little.
Eventually, Butsuma fell, and it came time to elect a new clan head. His funeral was quiet and calm. No tears were shed in that burial.
Unanimously, Hashirama was voted head. He wore the title with a solemn pride, and later told Tobirama with a sad smile that he could finally create the peace they’d always wanted.
Tobirama wasn’t sure if it was possible anymore.
Almost everyday after that, despite Tobirama’s protests, he wrote requests for ceasefire, sending letter after letter to the Uchiha encampments or even pleading mid-battle for his Uchiha enemy to listen, and everytime, Madara seemed to crack a little bit more.
That all changed on that day.
They stood alone on the battlefield, the ground strewn with bloody, crumpled bodies. A bit away, Hashirama and Madara clashed, their movements slowed with fatigue. Tobirama glared at Izuna, the both of them huffing with exertion.
Finally, with a great effort, Izuna ran at him, and he automatically countered, raising his sword to deflect the blow. To his surprise, Izuna pushed his face into Tobirama’s, his eyes suddenly swirling with a blazing red Sharingan. Tobirama flinched, and Izuna took that split second opportunity to knee him in the abdomen and punch him across the face, blowing him straight into a jarring boulder. Tobirama flinched at the impact, feeling his back flare in protest, but there was no time to recover, for Izuna immediately sent a enormous fireball flying his way. Hands flying, he countered the fire with a great towering water dragon, the two colliding in a burst of steam. With no time to waste, Tobirama grabbed a handful of kunai, fingering the one that would decide his fate, and leaped headfirst into the blinding plume. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a burst of chakra, sensing Izuna directly in front of him and immediately sending the kunai flying in a deadly array.
He was no fool- Izuna could just as well see the kunai where Tobirama couldn’t. He couldn’t, however, protect himself from what would happen…
Now.
Tobirama instantaneously teleported behind the kunai and using his momentum, aimed a deadly slice right at Izuna’s abdomen.
He skidded to a stop, chest heaving painfully before he turned around to see Izuna cough up a mouthful of blood.
In front of them, Madara took notice, leaping away from his flame-filled battle to catch Izuna in his arms. “Izuna!” He hissed, carefully draping him over his shoulder. Panic filled his tired face as Izuna’s sword dropped from his loose fingers, his blood pooling speedily on the ground. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you.”
Tobirama was conflicted. Should he have aimed higher, so it wasn’t fatal? He was getting rid of a strong opponent, since the Uchiha didn’t have many healers, but at the same time, perhaps this would interfere with their chances at peace.
(He knows now that that fatal cut was the biggest mistake he would ever make.)
Hashirama landed in front of Madara, raising his sword to slowly point it at him. His face was a mask of indifference.
Tobirama clenched his fists. Was his brother finally letting go of his sentiments? It felt sort of- regretful.
“Hashirama…” Madara muttered, distress at his brother’s injury clearly carved into his features.
“Madara,” Hashirama said solemnly, “I am stronger than you.”
The man pursed his lips, acknowledging the fact.
Hashirama paused, eyes narrowing, before lifting his sword and slamming it into the rocky ground.
Tobirama gasped quietly. Hashirama was completely exposing himself- what was he doing?
“If the two strongest clans, the Senju and the Uchiha, join forces, nations won’t be able to find other clans that can stand against us,” Hashirama told him determinedly. “The conflict will start to die down…” he walked closer to Madara and his still brother, hand extended carefully. “Please…”
Madara stared at him quietly, then turned to look at Izuna, lying still on his shoulder. His clothing was soaked through with blood and his breathing ragged. Madara looked broken.
Tobirama held his breath, a heavy anticipation building up in him and hopeful thoughts running around in his head as he watched Madara take a step forward-
“No, Nii-San!”
Madara jumped in surprise, stuttering, “I-Izuna!”
“Don’t be deceived by them, Madara,” he choked out, “Don’t you remember these bastards killed everyone? Killed the Uchiha?”
Tobirama bit his lip. Even in that state, Izuna still felt such a broiling hatred towards them.
Madara fell silent, turning from the now coughing Izuna to look at Hashirama, whose hand dropped infinitesimally in defeat. Seeming to make up his mind, Madara grabbed a smoke bomb from his pack and, before they could do anything, set it off, creating a huge plume of smoke, that, by the time it cleared, already showed no traces of Madara or his brother.
Hashirama’s hand dropped limply by his side, and his eyes drifted down to the ground in disappointment. Tobirama stood still in surprise.
He remembered sitting in the forest. How he’d said to his two brothers that to create peace, they needed to make a pact between clans. How had he lost sight of that goal? They were adults now, and everyone was still just as idiotic , if not for Hashirama. He was the only one still holding onto that dream. Tobirama wished he could do better.
As the last vestiges of smoke faded from the air, figures started to appear from behind the various rocky crannies in the area, arms all raised in defeat. One Uchiha after another, kunai dropped and scattered on the ground, crept out from their positions on the battlefield, faces all sad and tired.
It felt profound. It felt monumental. It felt horrible.
The two clans approached each other, the setting sun casting their face in shadow. Madara stood at the front of the pack, his eyes already red and glowing with something new- something deadly.
“Those eyes…” Hashirama started.
Dread crept in his gut, a painful mixture with a suppressed sense of guilt. “What happened to Izuna?” He asked, face still blank as ever.
Madara didn’t react at all. “My little brother ended up dying from that day’s wounds.” He said. “He left me with powers to help me protect the Uchiha!”
“I sent you a ceasefire agreement!” Hashirama responded, voice raising in volume. “If you truly want to protect them, let’s stop fighting!”
The only response he got was a burst of chakra, a bright blue aura that grew and surrounded Madara , forming features and two great, glowering faces. “Hashirama!”
Sighing slightly, Hashirama drew his hands together in a series of rapid hand signs, shouting, “Wood style, Deep Forest Bloom!” At this, Tobirama nodded hurriedly to the rest of his clan members, and they all drew far back from the scene, only hindrances in the face of the clan heads. Great, towering tendrils of wood sprouted from the ground, the last thing Tobirama saw before he ducked behind a boulder jutting out of the landscape. Above him, he could see from his peripheral buds sprouting at the tops of the gargantuan plants, reminding him strangely of that first time Hashirama had shown him his Mokuton.
“Enough, Madara!” He heard Hashirama yell, “Fighting is meaningless!”
“Meaningless?” Madara’s murmur carried shakily, “Then why did Izuna die?” His voice suddenly crescendoed, shivering with pain. “It’s because you bastards KILLED HIM!”
He let out another burst of chakra, blowing both Uchiha and Senju alike away and disfiguring everything around them. His Susanoo, if large before, was immense, developing layers and layers of complex armor and sprouting two huge wings. The chakra it emanated made Tobirama feel sick to his stomach and his temple throb.
When the wind finally faded, he ducked from behind his rock, only to find a tengu-like figure with red pinpricks as eyes, the top of its jagged head scraping the red-streaked sky. This was too much, too much for him. Sprinting back even further, he felt the ground rumble as Hashirama shouted, “Wood Golem Jutsu!”
Tobirama gulped, slipping behind a thick root and looking above its shadowy surface to the sky, where his brother’s golem joined Madara’s Susanoo. Hashirama’d never had to use that jutsu before- of course, it had always existed in theory, but its actual employment meant the situation was dire.
“Hashirama!” Madara shouted, Hashirama yelling back in response. Their two creations swept towards each other across the painted sky and collided with a heartstopping boom , the aftershock ripping through the layers and layers of wood and throwing Tobirama back a full meter, even with his shelter.
After that, it was chaos, with destruction the like of which only two god-like shinobi’s behemoth creatures could inflict. It was so bad, in fact, that Tobirama was forced to mark that root he knelt under with his Hiraishin formula, just so he could teleport himself back to prevent himself from slamming into something, or, kami forbid, spearing himself on one of the snapped wooden tendrils he could see not so far off. This continued, a spiraling, exhaustive process that left Tobirama fatigued and dirty.
Eventually, Madara’s Susanoo collapsed, as did Hashirama’s golem, and they fought tooth and nail, wind still blowing everywhere and wood sprouting like bamboo shoots after a rain. By then, the two had made a large crater in the landscape, spanning an unnatural diameter. As the fight calmed down, Senju and Uchiha too began to clash, inspired by their clan head's efforts. Uchiha began to fall, and, with their numbers, didn't last very long. Soon, the Senju were the lone spectators of a waning battle. As they fought, Tobirama noticed Madara’s movements growing slower and slower, Hashirama’s attacks catching him more and more often. Of course, they never really landed, Hashirama still holding back, but they were effective nonetheless. Finally, with a knock of his gigantic sword’s hilt, Madara stumbled, legs trembling as he struggled to catch Hashirama with his gunbai one last time. Then, they collapsed, and as soon as Madara’s back hit the floor, all the life seemed to drain out of him, his fighting spirit blowing away on the breeze.
Tobirama walked up to him slowly and lifted his sword above his chest. The Uchiha were gone. It was finally over. " Madara,” He said, “You’re finished.” But just as his arm moved to kill Madara, to put an end to it all, Hashirama spoke up, and he automatically stopped, too responsive to his brother’s orders. “Wait, Tobirama.”
He turned, brow curving together in confusion, and felt a burst of anger rise to his head. “Why, Anija?” He demanded, “This is finally our chance!” After everything that’d happened, was he still pulling his bullshit?
Then, Hashirama gave him a look so teeming with power and intensity that Tobirama involuntarily took a step back, all the anger in his body replaced with apprehension. “No one touches him.”
Madara coughed. “Just get it over with, Hashirama…” his voice was tinged with the pain of a man acceptant of his end. “It would be an honor… to die by your hand.”
“Stop posturing, Madara,” Hashirama said intensely, “If I were to kill you, it would only incite the young ones that follow you.”
“There isn’t anyone with such pluck left in the Uchiha anymore.” Madara responds, his tone betraying his true melancholy.
“Of course there are. Maybe not now, but in time... Come on, Madara,” Hashirama turned back to that pleading tone, “can’t we just end this war? We made a promise, remember? That we would build the ideal village together.”
A village, huh? Tobirama thought distantly, After all this, he still…
“We are not the same as we were before. I have not a single brother left. I have no one- no one left to protect. And I…” He closed his eyes momentarily, perhaps thinking back to what Izuna said to him, “I simply cannot trust you.”
“What can I do for you to trust me, Madara?” Hashirama implored.
Madara paused in thought, then, his eyes drifting between the both of them, he quietly answered, “Well, there is a way to show each other our guts… either kill your brother… or yourself.” Tobirama’s eyes widened in a mix of shock and anger. “And then we’ll be even. I’ll be willing to trust your clan.”
A second passed, where everyone digested what he said. Then-
“KILL HIS BROTHER OR HIMSELF?” A Senju burst out, “WHAT KIND OF-”
He was silenced with a lift of Hashirama’s hand, but Tobirama piped up. “Anija,” He looked at Hashirama, “I agree. What will you do, then? Will you kill me, or will you listen to the ravings of this- lunatic- and kill yourself?” He frowned. The answer was obvious- neither. Madara had given Hashirama an impossible choice. Tobirama knew it unlikely for Hashirama to kill him, his little brother, and to kill himself when he had led the Senju to the top of the pack was preposterous. Madara was simply guiding Hashirama back to the same simple solution: ending his life.
“ It’s idiotic. Don’t listen to him.”
“Thank you, Madara.” Seemingly not having heard him, Hashirama stood up, a joyous look of relief spreading over his face. He pulled a hand up to the secret latch in his armor, and it tumbled onto the ground with a tinny clank, the sound uncomfortable in Tobirama’s ears. There was a smile on his face- it’d been so long since he smiled. “You really are kind hearted.”
He pulled out a kunai.
Tobirama could only look on in surprise as the moment passed- part of him, perhaps, firmly believed that Hashirama wouldn’t do it, that it was an act, that Hashirama was just gesturing to gain Madara’s trust. That must have been what the rest of them were thinking too, because no one moved when Hashirama positioned the kunai to his abdomen, or when he made them swear that no one would hurt Madara after his death, or even when he gave them that tiny, sad smile and said, “Farewell.” Only when he shed that tear, did Tobirama really realize his intention, and by then it was too late.
No one moved. No one but Madara.
A hand grasped Hashirama’s kunai, holding it firm. “Enough,” Madara muttered with his bloodstained lips, his hooded eyes glistening strangely. “I have now seen your guts.”
Slowly, he let go of Hashirama’s hand, and the kunai slipped out gently and clattered to their feet.
Everything went like a blur- days sped by in brighter color than he’d ever seen it before, the Uchiha and the Senju slowly coming together to join hands and lay their weapons aside. In the blink of an eye, the two clans were gathered, the first time Tobirama’d seen all of the Senju without armor for as long as he could remember. The mood was sentimental, genial, and as Hashirama read their treaty out loud to thunderous applause, Tobirama almost felt glad.
Slowly but surely, Hashirama raised buildings from the ground, foundations forming walls and roofs. The Uchiha and the Senju alike could finally rest their war-hardened hands and join together to form their perfect village.Their combined unity and the lure of peace and protection began to attract people- not just other shinobi, but families, merchants, people simply looking for a place to live.
Before their very eyes blossomed a beautiful village, one that Tobirama could look at and be proud of. Hashirama smiled everyday, then, walking among the streets bustling with people. He thrived among the happiness, the pleasant, almost unbelievable perfection of it all, a sunflower that ran on human contentment and peace. And who did he smile more with than Madara? And really, vice-versa. The two were transformed from their warring days, almost inseparable as they surveyed the sanctuary they had helped create, both with small, meaningful smiles on their faces.
hey would crawl away to the top of the mountain and do whatever they did there, talking and reminiscing on their childhood, much to Tobirama’s annoyance. He’d never really let go of his suspicion, to be honest, and he also felt the contempt radiating from Madara whenever he stepped into his vicinity. Who could blame him? Tobirama was already an unfriendly looking person, and how could you ever forgive someone for killing your own brother?
“The leader of shinobi who protects the Land of Fire from the shadows,” Hashirama said one day, out of the blue.
“Hm?” Tobirama hummed, disturbed from his musing.
“The Hokage,” he said softly, “I think Madara would make a great Hokage. We could carve his face on that cliff, so that he lives on forever to watch over our village. Konohagakure…”
“Madara? Hokage?” Tobirama asked incredulously, very much attentive now. “You can’t just elect him as Hokage… a candidate, sure, but things are different from father’s era, Hashirama, it’s not up to you anymore!” He looked at him, eyebrow raised, “The choice will eventually be up to the top officials, after consulting the village and the Land of Fire! Besides…” he continued with a darker tone, “Madara Uchiha would never be elected as Hokage.” He shifted on his seat on the table, trying to figure out a way to put this to his brother without making him burst out yelling at him, “...We all know you’re the one who founded this settlement, Anija, even the Uchiha say as such.”
Hashirama tilted his head, trying to interrupt. “That’s not-”
“And you’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?” Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. “The Uchiha are a clan of hatred. The greater their hate, the stronger their visual prowess. They’re unpredictable. Dangerous, even. For the future of the village to rest on the shoulders of one of them-”
Hashirama stood up, giving him a dangerous glare. “Stop talking like that, Tobirama!” He suddenly paused, walking carefully to the window. “I just felt someone’s presence. You would know.”
Tobirama sighed. “No, I’m not infusing chakra right now. Don’t change the subject, Anija.”
“No, really!” He leaned out the window and picked something up, lifting it to his face. It seemed to twist in slight confusion.
“Anyways,” Tobirama said coolly, crossing his arms, “This system will be run democratically. Any objections?”
“No…” he said slowly, “...it’s fine.”
He stepped in quietly into his brother’s office, revealing his presence with a murmured “Anija.”
Hashirama didn’t move, cradling his eyes with a clawing hand. “He’s gone, Tobirama, he’s gone,” he whispered, voice aching and stretching like the caramel in the store on the east side of the village, “I can’t believe he… after all this time…”
“Hashirama…” Tobirama walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “perhaps it’s for the best.”
Hashirama’s head turned with a flash, hair rippling as he looked disbelievingly into Tobirama’s eyes. “What?! What are you saying?” He gestured wildly, his hands attempting to describe what his words couldn’t. “We built this village together, Tobirama, everything we did was together. Without him, this village isn’t complete, I- I’m not complete!" He clenched the edge of the table. "I can’t do this.”
Tobirama said nothing, silently patting Hashirama on the back in a gesture of comfort. He knew Hashirama would understand in time.
But Hashirama wouldn’t recover.
When he walked among the streets, he didn’t smile, he didn’t glow the way he did before Madara left.
If he was a sunflower, than perhaps Madara was the soil that helped him flourish.
“Hokage-sama!” A harried village patrol shinobi sprinted into the room, features stretched in panic. “Madara- he’s approaching the village boundaries!”
Hashirama whipped around, his face a shining beacon of foolish hopefulness. “He’s come back?”
The shinobi bit his lip in dismay. “He’s- he’s attacking the village, sir.”
His happiness turned into a frown. “Oh.”
“Well, Anija?” Tobirama said, crossing his arms and fixing him with a dead-on stare. “Go.”
Hashirama fumbled with his fingers, eyes dodging everywhere but Tobirama’s. “But…”
“This is your duty, Anija,” he hissed, “ Go. ”
Hashirama stopped, looking down quietly at his feet. Finally, his face hardened into a mask, he got up to his feet and started to walk out of the room.
“Wait,” he said. Hashirama turned around, eyes almost flickering with a look of forlornness before returning to cold, brown pebbles. “Good luck,” Tobirama whispered.
He nodded and left without another word.
He’d carried Madara’s body back in the pouring rain.
So many people had gathered to watch their former benefactor be dragged back in Hashirama’s bloodied arms. They all looked glad and whispered their rumors amongst themselves as Hashirama marched back with his face in shadow. A few cheered, actually, and Hashirama spared a few seconds to give them a half-hearted smile before returning to his task, walking aimlessly until he finally came upon Tobirama.
“I killed him.” He told him, eyes determined and unfeeling.
“Are you… okay?”
Hashirama didn’t answer.
Tobirama walked to the doorway of the Hokage office, peering inside. Standing quietly next to the window was Hashirama, silent and still, peering out over Konohagakure. His eyes were dull, lines dark and clear under them- was he getting enough sleep? Perhaps he was in one of his moods, but this felt different- this felt real.
“Hashirama.”
He turned around jarringly, slapping on the most plastic smile Tobirama would ever have the misfortune to see. “Oh, Tobirama!” He forced out, sweeping his arms behind his back as if he were hiding a badly kept secret, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something!”
“Yes?”
“I want to…” he paused, swallowing, “I want to propose a marriage to the Uzumaki clan. In order to maintain peace in my village, I have to… continue my lineage.”
Tobirama raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly at the good news.“Oh? I’ve heard Uzumaki Mito is a well-mannered woman and an excellent kunoichi.”
“Yes,” Hashirama agreed distractedly, “Yes, yes… she is.”
More and more, he’d seemed to lose his passion, turn into a machine, a wilted weed. Tobirama knew his routine by heart. Get up. Eat breakfast. Check on affairs. Do paperwork. Assign missions. Eat lunch. Survey the village. Do paperwork. Train. Eat dinner. Sleep.
He hated paperwork.
Thinking back is such a strange thing. Why recall something if it just makes you regret? You can’t change the past. You can’t change anything. There’s nothing you can do, and you can’t go back and tweak something when all your mistakes culminate and explode into a tragedy.
So why is he thinking about these memories now?
Now, as he steps over these tangled, tangled tendrils in the stirringly quiet battlefield, a sense of dread building in his gut. Now, as he looks at all the bodies surrounding him, some nameless but some familiar, with metallic leafs shining on their foreheads. Now, when he finally reaches bloodied brown hair and his knees give way, bending to the ground with a thump as he feels something in his chest break but his eyes refuse to reciprocate because wasn’t this always coming?
Hashirama lies still, still and dead on the red-brown soil, a kunai driven deep into his gut. His armor lies in a tangled pile next to him, and held in his loose hand is a small, wilting, red and black flower.