two for joy
Madara sucked in a breath and finished his tea with the brothers, grateful that they had taken the time to let him settle and calm before he moved on bowing to both brothers before he reached back to the empty space where his mother waited, “Mother” Madara said softly eyes her with more wariness now “you didn’t tell me that time moved differently in the Pure Lands, or that they wouldn’t know what was happening like you.” Konohanasakuya sighed, smoothing down her red spider lily embroidered gray kimono as she looked at her son, a bit cracked and with an ember lit in him that had been dark before. “No,” she agreed “I didn’t. I didn’t tell you what it meant to carry your eternal soul in my body, I didn’t tell you that the kami gave me this mirror in your other mother’s frustration over your situation – she is not much pleased with your soulmate my son.” Which, Madara-that-was-Indra knew she meant Amaterasu and he both loved and hated that she was angry with Tobirama on his behalf. Madara sighed, sagging a little with weariness, “Just – the next shard?” there was a hesitation and then Konohanasakuya nodded, her lips thin as she waved at the mirror where a tiny Tobirama, no more than five given the puff of his hair and his face, already too lean for his age where it should have been pudgy with baby fat. “I only know one more after this Madara” his mother warned and Madara nodded, stepping through the mirror into the memory (clear from the odd lighting that seemed defuse and not from the actual sun in the sky, bright and full of wonder) of the little Tobirama.
The tiny boy blinked up at Madara-that-was-Indra-and-more-Indra-this-time felt his lips quirk in a smile as he knelt, the wrapped forelocks of his dark walnut hair swinging forward, “Hello child” he murmured to the little puff of his soulmate not yet broken, “what has you smiling so?” because he was. He was missing a few teeth but his red eyes were crinkled in the widest smile that Indra had ever seen, like everything in his world was wonderful and brilliant, “I f’nd my soulmate t’day!” the child chirped, bright and thrilled to tell someone even this strange, powerful man (was he a kami?!) and Indra’s heart shattered. “I f’nd my soulmate and m' broth’r turnd one ‘n they have th’ best soul ever” the red eyes were wide with amazement and he looked flat out stunned at Indra’s soul in this age (oh, To’ra). Indra bit his lip, unable to resist stroking over the fluffy hair like the dandelion plume it was, “Pity” he murmured, a sad smile on his lips “I would rather have liked to have you for my soulmate.” He confided softly to the child who’s eyes went wide and shocked, small mouth dropping open in an O of shock, “Y’ want me! But, no ‘ne wan’s me. They said I’d n’ver have a soulmate. ‘n I have one and you want me too?!”
Oh, oh kami, Tobirama….Indra swallowed hard, stroking the white hair again as the boy pushed into his hand, “Of course I would want you child, you have a wonderful soul and mind and heart above all else. Of course you have a soulmate, no one would leave you alone” (but he had) “I would love to keep you but, I wouldn’t take you from your soulmate. That wouldn’t be nice would it?” he tweaked the button nose and the boy giggled, high and precious and aching. Tobirama shook his fluffy head and Indra cocked his, his dark hair sliding over his shoulder, “So, tell me, how did you find them? And where are they?” the boy chewed at his lip, looking uncertain and then more sure, “I gu’ss I c’n tell you, y’r a kami after all.” He leaned in close and Indra bent further (this boy was too small even for his age, Tobirama had been a bit taller than Madara right?) so that the boy could reach his ear and whisper too perfectly for his age, “f’nd him with m’ sensing. Got big ‘nough I c’n feel him.” he breathed and Indra’s blood ran cold, Tobirama could feel the Uchiha through his sensing at age five?! How – his clan should have been dead ages ago, for the knowledge of the patrols if nothing else. And yet….
Tobirama was looking at him with wide worried eyes and Indra – Indra couldn’t stop himself from folding the child into his arms, gently, slowly, curling around the child in a warm hug that Tobirama absolutely melted into like he hadn’t had one in far, far too long. The child made a tiny noise and snuggled closer to Indra; this small, young fragment of his soulmate nestling as close as he could like a baby falcon in his palm cuddled into his warmth (Madara had always liked flacons better than hawks, he should have known – Tobirama was a falcon or owl, not his brother’s hawk). “Oh my sweet child” Indra whispered “you are too good for this world, and I wish that it would never break you.” but the words were fruitless as Indra had known they would be when a loud, rough voice called out “Tobirama! The baby is crying! Deal with it.” and for a moment Tobirama curled even closer as though hoping to hide from his responsibilities before he sucked in a deep breath, whispering to himself that his soulmate was out there, he had a soulmate, he could do it, he could (was this how Tobirama got himself through the days? How must it have felt to lose that to the old grudge between their clans?).
Reluctantly Indra hugged the child closer and whispered, “You do, you do have a soulmate Tobirama. And they will care for you so much, you have no idea, remember that, please remember that.” but it was too late, the child had already turned into a feather in his hands, filled with the soft joy of discovering Indra-Madara and knowing he wasn’t alone as he had been told so often; strong with the centering strength that there was someone out there that would care about him no matter what. (Only, he hadn’t.) A strength not yet broken as it sank into Indra’s skin and cuddled bright around his heart, loving him so much for no reason than the brightness of his soul and their future (he had all but Centered at five, for Indra recognized the depth of this emotion and the obsession of it for the uniquely Uchiha phenomenon of Centering- normally on their soulmates but not always, but not all soulmates or Centers were romantic so it often worked out- the way that the Sharingan could latch onto another shinobi’s chakra if they were both open to it and unguarded in their eyes, Centering it in their vision and memory as the First thing that they remembered and thought of and obsessed on in their memory. And Tobirama had latched on to his chakra signature like that at five, with the promise of a soulmate to give him hope – only to lose it. Kami).
It was so joyful, this tiny bit of flickering hope that this day had given this broken, burdened child; it was so wonderful and joyful and full of hope – and in time, with time, Madara and the Uchiha and the elders and the ancient hatred older than any of them, with all of that they had broken this bright wonderful joy, shattered it and shredded it and left it trampled and dirty on the path, running his too-thin fingers through Madara’s daughter’s hair and loving her anyway, even with all she stood for as his firstborn. Kami. How could his mother- other mother- hate this child? How could Madara? All he had wanted was to love Madara more than anyone should, all he had wanted was a hug and to be warm and safe and wanted, how could hate exist with that? (How could the choices that Tobirama had made exist with that? How could Tobirama have chosen to give that up, even battered and broken, and let another take it? How could he have done that to Madara knowing what he was, knowing and loving his soul how could he have done this to him? Violated him like this? How?)
But this time, there was no answer. No brothers with tea, nothing but the silence of the field and the cold repetitive shouts of the same memory from the distant complex “Tobirama! The baby is crying! Deal with it. Tobirama! The baby is crying! Deal with it. Tobirama! The baby is crying! Deal with it.” over and over and over, cold and harsh with the reality of Tobirama’s life even so young. Harsh as the cawing of the crows that filled the sky as Indra uncurled and sat back on his heels, tears dry but feeling like he was sobbing deep, deep down inside, “Why?” he whispered into the shouts of “Tobirama! The baby is crying! Deal with it.” “Why him? Why me? Why like this?” and there was no answer, there never had been; for hatred had no answer, and the kind of ancient blood that ran in rivers over these lands and in these clans had no tourniquet. (That was what Tobirama had been for, no wonder he had broken under that weight.)