The Desolate Son
~~~
“So, any particular reason why you chose red over your usual blue?”
Tilting Tobirama’s head side to side to inspect the three ruby colored slashes that were now decorating his both cheeks and chin, Touka gazed at the younger shinobi with skepticism and an arched brow. The two of them had come to settle on the back engawa of the home Touka shared with her mother after an intensive training session between themselves, the pre-teens wearing similar sheening coats of sweat as physical evidence of their endeavor.
Playfully swatting his cousin’s hand away with a faux scowl, Tobirama gifted the thirteen year old with a look of exasperation, taking the time to cross his arms over his chest. “I fail to see why my choice of color is of importance to you to begin with.”
“Oh please, do you think I’m dumb enough to think that you would do something that’s permanent without some justifiable reason,” Mischievous smirk sitting upon her lips, Touka leaning back against the beam standing tall behind her, “So, what is it? Oi, is it because you want to symbolize the deep love you feel for your favorite cousin, eh?”
“The reasoning behind my choice of color is none of your business! It is just a color!”
Tobirama could feel his cheeks grow hot (against his will) at the girl’s words, his damned pubescent voice cracking with growing irritation. Never would the eleven year old dare tell his cousin the truth behind his color choice, that the armor and sharingan of a particular Uchiha had compelled Tobirama to utilize bloody crimson to his own advantage. Many already feared his pools of vermillion and the obsidian and scarlet of the Uchiha’s sharingan without a second thought; any shade of red was seen as a godly yet deadly, signifying not only life and love but war and sacrifice. Crimson was an omen of the neverending dance between life and death, a grand hue for someone of his bloodsoaked reputation that desperately wished to finally see the snow white flesh of his hands once again.
Touka laughed and took a swig from the jug of fresh well water that was settled between them, the brunette relishing in every centimeter of his embarrassment, “Whatever you say, little cousin! I’ll get the answer out of you one way or another, just you wait! My mother doesn’t call me a stubborn mule for nothing!”
“As if I was not already aware of such pertinent information.” Deadpanning the pre-teen in both facial expression and voice, Tobirama turned his attention away from his tormentor to gaze at the full moon resting in the sky above, specks of stars twinkling gracefully across the night’s landscape. “You were the one to teach me sarcasm, were you not?”
Letting out a huff of fondness, Touka moved to rest the back of her head against the beam, dark eyes coming to join him in searching the night sky. “You were born a sassy menace my dear Tobi’, I simply showed you your full potential, that’s all.”
Comfortable silence followed the girl’s quip, the two of them sitting there peacefully as if they hadn’t been squabbling just moments before, and Tobirama couldn’t help but cherish every moment of it. It was rare to have a few minutes, let alone a few seconds, to himself nowadays; the search for Hashirama’s future wife was underway and with Itama’s dea-.
Lips curdling into a poorly hidden snarl, Tobirama forced away the tears that threatened to fall from his snowy lashes and ignored the whirlpool of deprecating emotions beginning to stir once again in his chest. Crying was pointless- it was a waste of time and energy and-!
“Dry those blasted tears and stand to your feet, you insolent boy! Shinobi do not cry!”
Tobirama was a shinobi, bred and raised. To cry was to show weakness, to reveal emotion was to supply your enemies with victory. Such truths were essential in ensuring that he remained the perfect shinobi, one who could protect his clan from its enemies and provide the means necessary in order for his people to survive. It was why he stayed awake during all the hours of the night working on his research, why he fought and trained as if every breath would be his last, why he worked his body to the point of collapse, why he bore the blows his brothers had earned. It was why he developed and tattooed additional chakra reserves into his face, permanently marking his body not for pleasure but for the greater good of the Senju. To ensure Touka and Hashirama long, rewarding lives. To make certain that Itama and Kawarama’s premature deaths were not in vain.
“The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?”
Vermillion pools clashed messily with sun tanned skin littered in fading scars, Tobirama ripping himself away from the weighted thoughts of his mind to digest the softly grinning visage of his cousin. Rare were grins, smiles, or anything of the likes from Touka, the kunoichi having been grown far too jaded by the childhood full of war and death just like himself to muster the will nor want to show such an expression no matter how miniscule it may be. The brunette only showed such emotion in times of security, when it was only them together and Tobirama witnessed them alone, a truth that made an undeniable flutter of pride, flattery, and peace occur within his chest every time. Such shows of vulnerability were the ones that solidified their bond of blood, sweat, and tears, calloused hands clutching onto one another so tightly on nights fueled by nightmares and past memories saturated in mourning and slaughter.
The young boy slowly shifted his attention away from the quiet teen onto the sea of stars twinkling above them, contentment and exhaustion seeping into his bones. “That they are.”
“Promise me something, Tobirama,” Not daring to look away from the starry night sky, Tobirama offered his dear cousin a hum of acknowledgement, yet of noncommitment just the same. He could not bear to face her when the topic of promises arose. Promises were omens of departure, whether it be death or distance, and Tobirama silently abhorred the use of them much less the mention of them. “You must promise me that you will not die before you explain the reasoning behind the color choice of your markings.”
A scoff of mirth and disbelief escaped Tobirama’s lips, the albino threw his head backward and managed to successfully remove snowy locks from his line of sight. “Then it seems we will be dying of old age, dear cousin, seeing as how there is nothing to explain.”
Standing to her feet with a crack of her knees, Touka happily settled her bandaged arms behind her head and began to waltz away towards the back door with the swagger of a prideful con-artist. “Excellent! Seeing how you are an honorable man of your word, that means I won’t have to worry about you dying any time soon, no matter how grievous your injuries are!”
Tobirama glared at his cousin with contempt, moving to follow the devious kunoichi he called family. “I made no such promises-!”
Touka turned her upper body just enough to offer him a mischievous grin, an air of playfulness potently wafting off the thirteen year old. “Come now, don’t be such a sore loser Tobi’! Just admit it, I caught you in your own web of stubborn reservation! Now, you could tell me the truth about-.”
“There is nothing to discuss, you conniving-!”
“That’s too bad then.” She popped her back with a sudden jerk of her spine, stretching her already stiffening arms, before turning her attention back to his scrawny frame. “Seems like we’re at an impasse. No secrets for me, and no dying for you. Good night, Tobirama.”
Struggling to speak, to argue that he had no intentions of dying, Tobirama could only watch helplessly as the door clicked shut behind the brunette, leaving the eleven year old all by his lonesome.
Who knew such a childish promise would prevent himself from succumbing to grievous wounds over the following six years, ones that should have been fatal and sent him directly to hell where a monster like himself belonged. Instead, Tobirama marched ever onward with stab wounds and dislocated limbs, standing shoulder to shoulder with Touka and Hashirama and eventually Mito on the battlefield, staring down death as if it was child’s play. He faced Uchiha Izuna head first on the battlefield and devised new methods to keep on par with his rival, endured slanderous comments spat by his clansmen and enemies alike, ignored the urge to simply give into the darkness of his mind, to extinguish his wasteful existence once and for all. Tobirama kept his promises, no matter how childish or demeaning, whether it be to keep death at bay or to marry the clan head of Uchiha, the Senju’s sworn enemy, in hopes of providing peace.
It was why he was willing to undergo such a suicide mission with his head high and murderous hands at the ready, frozen heart aching and skull still throbbing. The seventeen year old deliberately ignored the light tugging of his stitches that came with every forward bound he made, the bandages wrapped carefully around his left upper thigh seeming to groan in protest at his movements. In his concussed state of volatile emotions, Tobirama had shunshinned himself not onto the floor of his laboratory but rather one of his many crowded work tables, specifically the one containing a good majority of his glassware, much to his annoyance. His reaction time had been swift yet not swift enough, with the albino teen managing to preserve his upper torso from the suddenly threatening glass but not his lower torso, a large shard of at least five becoming impaled into his thigh. Tobirama maintained superficial cuts on his hands as well, seeing as how he had caught himself with the appendages, but a quick application of salve and light bandaging had proven to be a quick remedy. His thigh, however, required more intensive care, along with the back of his head where the flow of crimson had grown sluggish with the passage of time.
Numb to the pain that must have been radiating from the torn and exposed flesh due to his disturbed mental state, Tobirama had dragged himself over to a nearby stool and finished with the stitches in the blink of an eye, promptly throwing the leftover materials and bloodied bandages in the nearby fire.
“Get out, before I escort you to Hashirama for breaching the peace treaty myself.”
The air was thrust out of his lungs as his cracking form crashed into the grounding earth of reality below. He could not, he could not, he could not-.
In a blur of movement, patterned irises mercilessly slammed into Tobirama’s sanguine, a roar ripping from Madara’s throat whilst his gloved hands shoved the teen away.
“OUT!”
Tobirama, left to lick his physical and mental wounds, had done just as his betrothed had wanted. Madara’s hatred in that moment had been tangible, so much so that Tobirama tasted its burning acidity on his tongue, and as he sat there in his laboratory, alone with a heavy heart and spiraling mind, he knew what he had to do. His failures, his imperfections, his emotions, they had put the arranged marriage in danger, had put Hashirama’s dream in danger, had put everything they had fought for in danger all because he hadn’t been able to hold his goddamn tongue?!
“Tobi’s attempts have only led to insulting Madara-chan though, especially with the katana fiasco! He has to make a good impression before their wedding night when Madara-chan finds out about his deform-!”
“We have finally managed to achieve what was believed to be unattainable, peace between our peoples, and here you are,” Madara now stood before Tobirama, mangekyou sharingan swirling and their noses almost touching from how close the older man was standing next to him. “-attempting to absolve the very thing this entire village has been built upon, and for what?! Does your hatred for my people truly run so deep that you crave to destroy the dream your brother and I have dreamt since childhood?! To put children back into the crossfire in the name of what?! To fulfill your bloodlust?!”
Tobirama hadn’t realized he was standing before the door to Hashirama’s office until he felt his calloused knuckles firmly rap against the wooden surface, a cheerful “Come in!” following suit. The teen had been greeted by a grinning Hashirama, his anija’s smile fading just a tad in its brightness at the sight of him, and it was in that moment Tobirama knew that he was making the right choice.
Stepping into the room without a sound, Tobirama quietly padded over to the front of his brother’s desk and settled his arms behind his back. Hashirama, ever the non-observant individual, gazed at him with faux fond eyes of chocolate. “Ah Tobi’, I wasn’t expecting you! Is everything alright, otouto?”
“I have been mulling over what you spoke of yesterday at tea, in how I am endangering the peace treaty with my callous actions,” Voice calm and leveled, nearly void of emotion, Tobirama spoke with the loyal subservience of not a younger brother but a soldier to its leader. “I believe I have developed a plan that will secure not only the treaty but solidify the bonds between Uchiha and Senju permanently. A show of goodwill and sacrifice, if I may.”
“I’m so proud to see you are taking your duties more seriously, otouto! Now tell me, what does this plan exactly entail, hmm,” Hashirama lit up instantaneously, the brunette’s finger weaving together with one another with eager and curious interest.
Tobirama, taking a silent breath that was deep as the oceans surrounding Uzushiogakure, thrust his feelings into the dark and steeled himself for the task ahead, for this was for the betterment of everyone he loved and cared for, his life be damned.
“I wish to prove my dedication not only to this village but to Madara by killing one of our adversaries who wishes to see us fall.” His brother cocked his brow in question, his hopeful curiosity plain as day on his tanned cheeks, and Tobirama knew he had him, hook, line and sinker.
“And just who is this special target of yours, Tobi’?”
Vermillion eyes sharp as his katana’s blade, Tobirama’s coming words administered what was to be the final nails into his coffin.
“The Scribe of Raijin, Raikaku.”
A small part of him, the part of him that was the young boy who strived for his anija’s attention, wanted Hashirama to forbid him, to put his foot down and fight for him.
“Raikaku’s an S-Rank target, Tobi’. Who’s going to accompany you?”
It had taken only a stern tone and brief adamancy to convince Hashirama in letting him undertake the mission alone, his brother never the wiser of his intentions. The brunette had not even noticed the ever so slight limp Tobirama was sporting, something to which the seventeen year old was grateful; often, if Hashirama even suspected that the albino was hiding an injury or illness of any magnitude, he would not hesitate to not only bench but place him under a suffocating form of house arrest. The cheerful man simply ensured Tobirama was properly prepared in terms of rations and gifted the younger man with a brisk goodbye upon an aid informing him that one of the Hyuga elders had arrived for their scheduled meeting, reminding the teen to come home alive.
Tobirama had not found the need nor the will to tell his anija that he had no such aspirations.
Landing on a sturdy branch, Tobirama situated himself into a crouch and flared his chakra outwards without a second thought, the sensor taking in all of his surroundings within his massive sensory radius. Having refined his sensing abilities to the level of an Uzumaki elder if not greater, Tobirama’s was able to register the chakra signatures of the civilian village in the south within a blink of an eye, having skirted around the area to avoid possible detection from Raikaku sympathizers or soldiers. The albino shifted his attention to the four chakra signatures to the northeast, their earthiness of their auras indicating that they were doton users, most likely hailing from Iwagakure. One of the four individuals was larger in both bodily and chakra means, informing Tobirama that they were either an adult or a young teen with impressive chakra reserves; he flushed his chakra over the remaining three persons, solidifying his hypothesis by feeling three immature chakra networks, ones typically possessed by children fresh out of training.
Adult may be a possible threat depending on skill level. Stay vigilant on movements, Tobirama internally cataloged, surveying the land to the northwest where his target had been last reported by one of his contacts. Such a movement filled his sensory field, not to his surprise, with a sea deep chakra signature that was sharp and blinding as lightning itself, one that could only belong to one individual.
His fingers curled into fists of stressed white at feeling a multitude of additional chakras surrounding his target, promptly noting there were five clusters altogether, each one containing between three or four persons. This would make approaching Raikaku difficult but not impossible; Tobirama would simply need to replicate the chakra signatures while simultaneously dispatching the enemy shinobi in swift and orderly fashion. The simple question was: where was he to strike first?
Three clusters to the southeast and southwest, whilst two are stationed to the north, Tobirama quickly deduced, silently unsheathing his katana from its holster. Exterminate the three clusters first, then the two to the north. Doing so leaves the target vulnerable on all sides and eliminates larger forces if potentially discovered.
In a flicker of movement, Tobirama was behind an unsuspecting shinobi with his sword at the ready, a quick jerk of his arm coating the pristine blade in thick crimson. A sharp gurgle escaped the person, a man most likely in his early thirties, whilst he silently crumpled to the ground, his two partners none the wiser from their positions before him. Tobirama was upon the two shinobi before his first victim’s knees could hit the ground, katana sheathed and two kunai procured from the small pack strapped to his uninjured thigh and sent digging into the meat of their esophaguses, muted cries leaving their mouths. They promptly joined their comrade in the Pure Lands, all three dropping dead in a matter of blurred seconds, and the seventeen year old refused to waste the opportunity of surprise he had procured. Utilizing his flying raijin technique twice more, Tobirama managed to expedite the seven remaining shinobi stationed to the south in minutes, mind sharp and senses sharper, keeping tabs on Raikaku from the back of his mind as he dealt with the task at hand.
Assassinations had become Tobirama’s specialty from a young age, having been so small and frail looking that most mistook him as an easy target, a misconception that the boy took full advantage of. He had no other choice to kill, for it was all he was good for after all, it being the one thing that allowed the young adult the brief and perpetually feeling of solidarity amongst his fellow shinobi.
“This world cares not for your feelings or thoughts, boy,” The tip of his father’s katana was more millimeters from Tobirama’s nose, a scowl planted on the man’s cracked lips. “An abomination such as yourself will never be regarded as anything more than the bloodthirsty murderer that you have become. A cursed monster amongst men.”
“A monster such as yourself is incapable of feeling, Senju!” Izuna gifted him with a snarl, their katanas locked against one another in a battle of will and strength.
“-Does your hatred for my people truly run so deep that you crave to destroy the dream your brother and I have dreamt since childhood?! To put children back into the crossfire in the name of what?! To fulfill your bloodlust?!”
Six more bodies collapsed to the ground before Tobirama could stall the flood of damn near debilitating thoughts, his breath ragged and blood soaked hands shaking with nerves. It felt as if he was drowning within his own body, his lungs begging for air and mind screaming at him to breathe, to move, to do anything but stand there like a young child who had just killed someone for the first time-!
“Ah, I was beginning to wonder why it was so quiet out here.”
Tobirama had ripped himself from his jilted ruminations just in time to see a large and battle scarred hand appear from the corner of his eye, the calloused appendage taking hold of his throat in an unforgiving grip and suddenly he was slamming into the nearby cliffside with a resounding boom. A cry of pain attempted to leave the teen’s lips at the feeling of the back of his head crack menacingly against the hard surface, only to be muffled by the air being abruptly stolen from his lungs, the hand clutching onto Tobirama’s throat only tightening whilst his battered body was pressed relentlessly into the jagged surface of the cliffside.
“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” Tobirama’s skull pulsated ruthlessly, his thoughts discombobulated and his bodily reactions sluggish at best, his vision refusing to focus as his attacker spoke. “When I awoke this morning, nary did I anticipate finding you of all people on my doorstep, Senju. Raijin must be in a good mood to afford me the honor of killing you.”
Managing to choke out a single word, the albino did his best to break free from the strangulating hold on his throat, the taste of metal flooding his mouth. “Rai-kaku.”
The man in question leaned inward just enough for Tobirama to make out his facial features, a gloating grin perched on the man’s lips whilst his golden irises were alight with demented amusement. A brutal scar with the pattern of a lightning strike stretched across the man’s tan, rugged features, further highlighting just how striking his unnerving eyes were. “Go ahead and struggle all you want, Senju. It pleases me to watch you squirm like the worm that you are.”
Edges of his vision growing darker by the moment, Tobirama couldn’t help but simply dangle there, nails uselessly scratching Raikaku’s hands bloody, body growing less responsive with each passing second. He was going to asphyxiate if he didn’t break free-!
Yet, His subconscious sickeningly crooned from somewhere deep within his mind. Is that such a bad thing?
Slowly, Tobirama’s body grew slack within Raikaku’s grasp, all of his will to survive, to fight back pouring onto the ground beneath him like a waterfall, embracing unconsciousness like an old friend. He simply wished he had been given the chance to see Touka and Mito one more time, to apologize to Hashirama for all his wrongdoings, to have just one thing right within Madara’s eyes. Succumbing to the sea of darkness, the seventeen year old couldn’t stop the singular tear of guilt that slipped down his bloodied and bruised cheek whilst he slipped away from the world of the living.
~~~