continuance
Hashirama did not wake alone. He opened bleary eyes to see his father staring out the window from where he sat at the desk. Itama was awake, still sleepy yet hugging his older brother tight.
“Hashi,” Itama mumbled in greeting.
“Morning, ‘Tama.”
Their father glanced at them through his peripheral vision. He abruptly stood up from the desk, Itama and Hashirama tensing at the action.
“Let us eat,” Butsuma said, waiting by the door for his sons.
“Father, we aren’t dressed nice for breakfast,” Hashirama carefully replied. “Shouldn’t we change before—”
“No,” Butsuma interrupted. “It is fine.”
Itama was silent as he left the bed to stand next to his father. Hashirama followed soon after, nervously humming a mindless tune. The two boys stood side by side, only slightly behind their father. Butsuma hesitated for a moment, glancing at his sons once more. He pat their heads and swiftly left the room, leaving Hashirama and Itama to follow, dumbfounded.
When they all arrived at the kitchen, Tobirama was already there, back to them as he began serving steaming breakfast to a set and ready table.
“Tobirama,” Butsuma greeted.
Tobirama turned and bowed. “Sir.”
Hashirama cringed at the formality. He knew Tobirama always addressed his father with utmost formality, but surely he could lay off the seriousness once in a while, no? Especially at such a sensitive time!
“Thank you for the food, Aniki,” Itama said, shuffling over toward the table.
“Of course.”
The family sat down at the table, all looking down at their plates. They each made a point to not look at a fifth, empty seat that was still present at the table.
“Tobirama,” Butsuma spoke, looking at his second son with a raised brow. “Why are you dressed in such attire? It is breakfast.”
Itama and Hashirama both looked up from their plates to analyze their brother’s clothes. He was dressed in not-quite-light shinobi attire, and on his head he donned a happuri with the Senju vajra engraved. Usually, at breakfast, or on simple and duty-less days, everyone wore a simple kimono.
“My apologies. I was under the impression that I was to continue my duties,” Tobirama spoke, not taking his eyes off of what was once Kawarama’s chair. “Please forgive my ineptitude, sir.”
“I would have dismissed you from all duties today, but since you seem to be so willing,” Butsuma sighed. “You may continue whatever you planned on doing. Hashirama, Itama, and I will be mourning, should you wish to join.”
Tobirama nodded, remaining silent. The boy finished the little serving he’d allowed himself, and moved his dishes to the counter, where he would have to wash them once everyone was done. Doing a quick once over of the room’s occupants, Tobirama turned to leave. He couldn’t keep staring at that empty chair and wish he had been faster.
He retreated to his room, his sole sanctuary in the chaos of the world. His father, unfortunately, had removed the lock from his door after a particularly bad argument between them, but that was one of many reasons why Tobirama had taken an interest in the art of sealing. Activating his refined security seals was as easy as writing his name. They had to be. Tobirama sat at his desk, mulling over some of the experiments and jutsu ideas he came up with. He began writing about Itama’s newfound Mokuton ability. Though Hashirama had a few years experience on his (now) littlest brother, it had taken him quite some time to work out how grass and vines worked. Hashirama didn’t explain how it worked to Tobirama, as the older boy said he was tired of all the research and it just “happened for some reason,” which irritated Tobirama to no end. However… Itama had seemed to master the vines almost immediately.
Although, Tobirama supposed, perhaps the greener side of Mokuton reacted strongly to the user’s emotions? The albino quickly wrote down his theories and began compiling a list of tests he wished to try out with his brothers. He wrote until his hand ached, and when he took a step back from his work, he was satisfied with the 20 or so experiments he’d managed to explain and theorize about in detail. Sure, when you piled all of the pages up, it looked like a stack of paperwork that a Clan Head or Village Leader might have on their desk… and wow, wasn’t that a thought? So Tobirama carefully moved the stack of experiment ideas aside on his wide desk, making sure not even one paper fell out of place. He then crawled under the desk, in order to reach a little storage scroll which was meticulously hidden in a barely visible hole in his desk.
Opening the tiny scroll, he quickly applied chakra to a few seals on the thick paper. In doing so, the albino unsealed files of paper that were very important to him. His Anija would always talk to their littlest brother (Kawarama will always be their littlest.) about how great peace would be. And, the brothers, behind their father’s back, would talk about what they wanted in a village. Tobirama had actually chimed in frequently, speaking of academies and layouts. Hashirama and Kawarama had bounced ideas off of each other, chirping about how great peace would be, how they could all find love and have big families. Itama suggested that there be a hospital, where everyone could learn how to heal or receive the top medical care in all of the Land of Fire. Tobirama had, of course, taken this idea into fruition. He built plans upon plans of ideas, forcefully pushing aside all prejudices his father had imposed on him and his brothers in order to draft ideas for a full village in which everyone would be able to live in peace.
He reviewed his prewritten policies on paperwork and found them to be lacking, unsuitable for the vision of the village. He began brainstorming what paperwork might look like, sufficient systems that would help file and sort large quantities, and creating roles to help take the load off of the Clan— well, the Village Leader, not Clan Head. It was difficult, Tobirama would admit, to think of ways in which the clans of the Land of Fire could all live in peace. It was hard to imagine a truly paradise-like land, where everyone lived in harmony. He’d felt and seen his family and kin die to the hands of many clans, not just the Uchiha, though it was easier to just blame them. But, Tobirama had to learn that the easiest route is not always the best route, something he was quite familiar with in terms of experiments, but not human interaction.
That was something he had to learn. For Hashirama. For Itama. For Kawarama.
Kawarama, who, should, by all accounts, be barging into his room right now, talking about lunch or dinner or however long Tobirama had spent locked up in his room again. Tobirama would have to redo his wards again, because his littlest brother never knew the right amount of chakra to pour into the seals, he was too eager. He should be dragging Tobirama to eat, or make food if no one else had. Tobirama glanced out of the window, seeing the sun a little past midday, and paused. Why wasn’t…
Kawarama was dead. He would never come back. He wouldn’t be there to give smiles to his family when they were down. He wouldn’t be there to happily trail after his older brothers, helping them whenever he could. He wouldn’t be there to rush to Itama or Tobirama whenever he fell so that “the best med nins ever!” could come and heal his scrapes. Tobirama was starting to think of the unfathomable. He couldn’t stomach looking at Kawarama’s empty space anymore— his seat at the table, his room next to Itama’s, anything and everything that was suddenly more empty as his youngest was stolen from him.
Tobirama skipped dinner that night.