The Honor of My Blood Demands It
Tobirama has never truly been alone. Physically he was, but not truly, no. Not when he could sense the chakra of everyone in Konoha, and many, many, many beyond it. Every second of every day, blasting in his head, only getting worse as he trained, as he grew, as his father (damn him) shaped him into a weapon. Over the years he’d gotten used to it, the feeling of feeling everybody. Constantly surrounded, but ultimately alone. And that made him all the more… lonely.
“…and the plans for the library. Have you completed those? Tobirama? Tobirama!” Hashirama’s great booming voice calls out to his brother.
“Ah, yes, apologies, Anija,” Tobirama frowns deeply, pressing his fingers into his forehead to appease the dull, constant ache. “They’ve been completed.”
“Wonderful,” the First Hokage beams. “Is your head hurting?”
“When is it not,” Tobirama grumbles. Jutsu after jutsu, and he’s still always tired, always overworked, and always just a little too sensitive. The jutsu weaved into his markings helped to alleviate it, for his eyes and his skin had always been too sensitive to the sun, his ears to noise, his nose to smell. But still, such is the life of a sensor as powerful as the second Senju brother.
Hashirama frowns, and though their appearances differed enough to cause whispers in the village, his face looks remarkably like his brother’s when wearing his trademark expression.
“You don’t sleep enough, and you work too much. Take a break for once.”
“The village is too young to afford a general on vacation,” Tobirama deadpans. “What if we are attacked?”
“You’re the general, not the whole damn army,” Hashirama exclaims exasperatedly. “There’s me, and Madara-” (Tobirama’s eyes narrow at the mention of his name) “-and Touka-san, and Hikaku-san, and a great many others. I just want you to sleep for more than four hours, it’ll help with your head.”
“There’s someone approaching the village. Someone with a strong chakra,” Tobirama remarks, ignoring his brother’s request. “I’m going to investigate.” He whirls out of the room faster than he can hear Hashirama’s protests. While all four of them received some amount of abuse from Butsuma, his older brother could never understand. The eldest child, the strongest shinobi their clan had seen for generations. A user of the mokuton. And all while Hashirama was well fed, well rested, and trained within his limits throughout their childhood, Tobirama, well… he shook the thoughts out of his mind. It did not do well to dwell on the past.
But he’d always have some of his father’s anger.
*****
After a day and a half of traveling, you finally reached the forests of Konoha. You sat against a tree, pulling out your last onigiri for your last break. The breeze was crisp, afternoon light danced on the forest floor, birds flitted above, singing their song. You decide a short nap couldn’t hurt, and before you knew it, the exhaustion from traveling puts you to sleep.
“Ahem,” calls out a voice. Your eyes shoot open as you scramble to your feet, gripping the parting gift from your sensei tightly in your hands.
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” continues the voice, a sarcastic, baritone rumble. “We aren’t at war anymore, Uchiha.”
He’s tall, but that is perhaps the least remarkable thing about him. Spiky tufts of silver hair, shifting gently in the wind and falling just past his ears. A stunningly groomed, white fur collar sits atop broad shoulders. A face carved at sharp angles, with bold crimson marks on each cheek and his chin, somehow maintaining an air of both feminine beauty and boyishness. He’s young, then. Pale, porcelain skin stretched across a lean, muscled frame, an odd scar or two visible on his arms. And his eyes, framed by thick, silver lashes, are red, yet nothing like the fiery sharingan. No, this is the red of a cool, swirling storm. His arms are crossed, an eyebrow slightly raised, a judgmental look painted onto handsome features behind a happuri, carved into which was the crest of Konoha.
“Who are you?” you grumble. “And what gives you the right to wake me up?”
“I’m Senju Tobirama, you know not of me? Though I suppose your chakra is foreign to me, and I thought I knew of all the Uchiha.”
You start. Tobirama? Izuna’s murderer.
“I- Lord Senju,” you finally choke out, bowing your head. “Apologies for any transgression, I tend to be a little… irritable coming out of sleep. I’m Uchiha (Y/N), and I am Madara’s younger sister.” You stand up straight. “So I request that you address me as the honor of my blood demands.”
“Forgive me,” he says dryly. “I didn’t know that man-” (you do not miss the clear disdain in his voice) “-had a younger sister, Lady Uchiha.” He drags out the syllables of the title, as if he’s toying with it in his mouth, tasting it. “You understand my hesitancy,” he continues, “at believing you, then. Allow me to escort you to the Uchiha compound. I’d hate for anything to happen to you before you see the village our older brothers have worked so hard to maintain.”
You turn your nose up slightly, but ultimately decide upon keeping his company. “While I am more than capable of defending myself,” you say with some indigence, “I suppose you do know this forest better than I, Lord Senju.”
He smiles darkly, revealing dangerously sharp canines. It’s almost wolfish, but not quite. There’s something strange in it, something you can’t quite place. He bows slightly. “Follow me.”
For a short while you follow slightly behind him, analyzing his movements. He’s incredibly graceful in the way he walks, flowing around the branches, trees, and other obstacles of the forest in a way typical of water types. He’s quick, and never looks behind to see if you’re still following, though you suppose he doesn’t have to, with his sensory abilities. There is not a movement wasted with him, you notice. He is precise, practiced, mathematical. Something about the situation strikes you as inappropriate, him coming out to the woods and finding you, demanding you walk with him. And then, of course, simply calling you Uchiha. Your blood boils just thinking about it.
After some time, you come across the gate into Konoha. A little time more, and you find yourself at the Uchiha compound you hadn’t been in for so long. A young boy, perhaps around twelve or so with a full head of wild curls rushes up to you upon your arrival.
“Sensei! Who is this girl?” he exclaims. You’re startled by it, the casualness, surety, and trust with which he approaches a Senju.
“Ah, Kagami-kun. All will be made clear soon. For now, I must deliver her to Madara.”
“Deliver me?” you say, looking up at him with what you hope conveys hatred. “I am not a package, Lord Senju.”
“Of course not,” he smirks, entirely unfazed. The boy points the two of you to the direction of the main house.
“I am well aware of the layout of my own clan’s compound, there is no need for you here,” you say.
“Well, as I’ve already led you this far, allow me the satisfaction of having taken you all the way,” he replies. His face is unmoving, but there’s a distinct sneer in his voice.
You approach the main house, deciding that as a (now) permanent resident you can let yourself in. “Nii-san?” you call out.
“(Y/N)-chan!” he calls back, striding into the room. His wide smile quickly dissipates upon seeing the Senju you’ve entered with. “And why, pray tell, is he here?” he asks, his voice dark.
“Really, you should be thanking me,” Tobirama starts before you can. “I ensured her safety on the way here, didn’t I?” he looks at you, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
So that’s what this is. A game. And you, a pawn, so that he may make your brother angry. Which he was succeeding at, as Madara looked ready to kill him before the silver-haired man could say his next word.
“Thank you?” Madara spits. “Thank you? There is truly not enough you could do in this world or another to ever make me thank you, you bastard.”
Tobirama seems entirely unaffected. Perhaps, even, he is quite enjoying Madara’s reactions.
“Enough!” you say, stepping in before blood is spilt. “I’ve only just gotten home. Lord Senju,” you turn to face Tobirama. “Thank you for your assistance. I’m sure you’d like to rest after your journey, so don’t feel inclined to stay here on my behalf.”
It’s a clear dismissal, so clear in fact he looks almost surprised. Almost. He bows his head, his rich voice calling out one last time to say, “Good night,” before he leaves.
Madara is still livid. If Tobirama wasn’t such an ass, perhaps you would’ve enjoyed the sight of your brother being his usual, well, fiery self. You sigh, your first night in Konoha and naturally, a Senju has ruined it. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.
Dinner is quick, quiet. Your brother is the clan head, as well as the “shadow hokage,” leaving him quite busy. You roam the halls of the main house, halls you didn’t get to grow up in. You pass by rooms your brothers once laughed in, once cried in, once played in. Once came home, shaking and covered in blood after their first kills. You were there, visiting, the first time Madara killed. A Senju raid in the dead of night. The elders had been complaining for a while now, that the boy being raised to be the clan head was rarely ever on the battlefield. Your mother had cried- begged, even- for him to stay, but her little boy went to fight. He came back with his hands stained, his eyes dull, his mouth pressed into a tight line. There were no tears. Not until he got into his room, and then he cried, and cried, and cried, and cried into Izuna’s arms.
Izuna. There were five of you once, but only you Madara, and Izuna had made it past ten. Izuna didn’t make it to twenty, slain by that bastard Tobirama at only nineteen. Eyes that could track all movement versus the fastest shinobi alive. The flying raijin, you heard. A teleportation jutsu that the Senju had developed himself, and perfected well enough for battle usage at only nineteen. Izuna, sweet, sweet Izuna. While Madara was headstrong and wild, fiery as the Uchiha clan head should be, Izuna was quieter, calmer. A great fighter in his own right, Madara’s equal in strength, even. But still not strong enough. What do the Senju have that we don't?
You lay in bed, contemplating in a place that was never truly allowed to be your home until now. You’re in Izuna’s room, as the youngest and second youngest, when you stayed in the main house you shared a room.. How many times had he cried in here with you? Laughed in here with you? What was he thinking the last time he donned his outfit for war, grabbed his sword? He knew he was fighting to the death- that’s how it is when you’re shinobi, you’re always fighting to the death. But did he know it would be his death?
Izuna’s eyes were now in Madara’s skull, a great transgression in the clan, as the Uchiha religion dictated that one could not pass on should any amount of them remain uncremated. It was all you had left of him. Memories, moments, scrapes in the wall and stains on the floor, yes, but Madara had Izuna’s eyes.
Well, well, well. It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it, little sis.