Jesses and Other Means of Control [REWRITE; HIATUS]

“Remember, you want to keep it somewhere with part-sun,” Hashirama said, punching numbers into the battered plastic calculator by the register. “Otherwise it’ll get overheated and dry out.”

The woman held the massive potted plant like it was a newborn baby, eyes rapt with attention as she nodded. “What if it doesn’t get enough sun, though?”

“You’ll know,” Hashirama promised. “If it starts drooping, just send me a picture, we’ll get it figured out. Plants will tell you if they’re unhappy!” He squinted at the calculator. “That’ll be… ten dollars.”

“For the pot, too?”

“Of course!” Hashirama smiled sunnily at her. “The pot’s most of the cost, to be honest.”

“Wow,” the woman said blankly. She set the plant gingerly down on the rough butcher block that served as a counter and fished out a ten dollar bill. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“Not a problem at all. Let me know how everything goes!”

The bell above the door chimed brightly as the woman left. Hashirama hummed absently as he returned to his checklist of tasks. The plants downstairs had all been watered; he’d cleaned the workroom; he still needed to finish stocking the mulch display, but that could wait until after close tonight – he paused over the next bullet point, pen hovering above the lined notebook paper. Prepare report for Butsuma.

Maybe he’ll go restock the mulch now. No point in putting it off. What if someone wanted to buy some?

- Tobirama 10:33

Going to have to reschedule audit tonight.

Hashirama blinked down at his phone. The ‘audit’ was a formality – Hashirama’s books were pristine – but Tobirama had to justify every hour of leisure. It was one of the more pernicious habits he’d picked up from their father. It was a little disappointing, though – Hashirama had been wanting to show him a movie he’d found. He picked up the phone and typed out a response.

- 10:33

Is everything okay??

- Tobirama 10:34

Everything’s fine. I’ve been invited to a party at 20:00 tonight.

Or a soiree/fete/whatever.

- 10:34

!!!!!

Oh my god my baby brothers a REAL college student now

Where is it??

Tobirama sent him the address. Hashirama stared at the tiny pin on the map for a long moment, his stomach plummeting. His hands suddenly felt a little numb.

- 10:36

The partys at the uchiha compound??

- Tobirama 10:36

Is THAT where this is?

Hashirama slapped his forehead in consternation.

- 10:36

Its in the middle of the old clans district tobirama

What did you think it was

Were you invited by an uchiha??

- Tobirama 10:37

I didn’t know he was an Uchiha. He wasn’t wearing their symbol.

Hashirama dropped the phone onto the counter and paced around the cramped store with a sudden nervous energy, rubbing his arms to try and rid them of the pins and needles dancing under his skin.

The Uchiha Compound. It was an ancient cluster of buildings, a leftover from the old Historic District that had somehow survived the bulldozers and property managers of the new century. The Senju clan’s compound had been refitted years ago – it was all gleaming skyscrapers and private golf courses now, country clubs in the middle of sweeping manicured lawns. The clans weren’t required to live in their compounds anymore – even this mystery symbol-less Uchiha wasn’t so strange these days. Hashirama didn’t wear the Senju mon; he could relate.

These days the Uchiha Compound was mostly left to the clan leader’s close family and the elderly, who would sooner light themselves on fire than abandon their traditional home. Since Hashirama was fairly sure that Tobirama wasn’t being invited to go fraternize with a bunch of octogenarians, that just left –

Hashirama fumbled for his phone. He had two missed messages from Tobirama.

- Tobirama 10:38

He cornered me after class. It seemed easier to just say yes at the time.

Maybe I shouldn’t go.

- 10:43

No you should!!!

You definitely should go

Im coming too!! Its been a long time since ive been to a party :D

The response was immediate.

- Tobirama 10:34

You are NOT coming.

Well, that settled it. He absolutely was coming – if not for – well, he had to see whatever was making Tobirama so flustered.

Tobirama was still typing.

- Tobirama 10:34

Anija, it’s a COLLEGE party and you’re going on 26. That’s weird. Even I know it would be weird.

- 10:34

It wouldnt be weird!!! Im a lot of fun at parties :D

Ill pick u up at 730ish

Hashirama watched the message send and turned off his phone.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the chances of seeing Madara there were – well, completely nonexistent. Madara had moved out of the city after the incident and hadn’t responded to any of Hashirama’s texts or calls since that day. Hashirama couldn’t blame him, either! But the party was at Madara’s ancestral home, and if there was the slightest chance to clear the air – Hashirama had no idea what he was going to say. What could he say? ‘Sorry for ruining your life, I’ll always cherish the memories I have of you’? Oof. A little self-absorbed, there, not to mention trite.

Well! He had until seven o’clock to figure it out. Might as well fill in the mulch display in the meantime.

- Izuna 10:53

hey madara r u busy tonight

-Izuna 10:59

madara hey

heyyyyyy

madara

check ur phone

- 1 Missed call from Izuna at 11:09

- Izuna 11:10

u left it at home didn’t u u asshole

goddamit

Madara wouldn’t exactly say he was having a good day, but he had managed to mow the entire weathering yard, the front lawn of the Conservatory, and the border around the parking lot before the sun rose, so he was, at least, having a productive day. He outside the back door, rinsing the grass clippings out of his hair with the bright green garden hose, when the office phone rang.

Bemused, Madara turned off the hose, wrung out his hair on the gravel path, and stepped inside to answer it.

“Wild Bird Conservation,” he said blankly.

“Nii-san!” came Izuna’s scolding voice through the crackling speaker. “You left your phone at home!”

Madara blinked and checked his pockets. So he had. “Oops,” he said. “Did you need something? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet up again until Friday.”

“Nii-san, you sound like shit.”

Madara pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m hanging up.”

“No, don’t! I need your help with something!”

Madara sighed and tipped his head back towards the wood-paneled ceiling. “Get to the point, Izuna. I have a lot of work to do.”

Izuna scoffed at that – they both knew Madara was just finding busywork at this point, the Conservatory was damn near spotless – but barreled on, saying, “I’m throwing a party tonight, and –”

“No.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Shh! Listen! I’m throwing a party tonight, and you are going to come!”

“I’m going to come?” Madara said, raising an eyebrow. He sat on the edge of the desk. “Izuna, I’m almost 26. It would be weird if I came to your college party.”

“No it wouldn’t,” Izuna said. “It’s in your house, it would be weird if you weren’t there!”

Madara stared blankly at the poster of feather patterns on the far wall. “You’re throwing the party… in my studio?”

“No, dumbass! The compound!”

“The compound isn’t mine, Izuna.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Have you checked with Hikaku? You’ll need his approval. He’s the one in charge, remember?”

Izuna snorted. “Hikaku’s up at the capitol doing clan leader bullshit. Naomi and Tazuna are both out of town on a fishing trip. Nezumi –”

There was a pregnant pause.

Izuna coughed. “Nezumi’s still on her… weird little pilgrimage. The compound’s empty! It’s the perfect time.”

“You know I’m not allowed back into–”

“Who exactly do you think is going to rat you out?” Izuna demanded. “Senju Butsuma won’t be there, he never needs to know. Come on, nii-san. Just come have fun for a few hours!”

Madara dragged a hand down his face. “When is it?”

“Eight o’clock!”

“I’ll show up for an hour,” Madara said. “Just an hour, and then I’m going home.”

Izuna whooped loudly on the other end of the phone. There was a sharp clatter, and then the line went dead.

Madara looked at the phone in his hand as it emitted the dull buzz of the dial tone, already feeling the regret pooling in his stomach. This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. The court orders were very clear – but, like Izuna said, who was going to find out? A bunch of college students who didn’t know his name? He would show up, have one drink, walk around the old house, and then go home. Harmless.

Madara slammed the phone down into the receiver and took several deep breaths. Then, casting a critical eye around the office, he straightened. Eight o’clock was a long way away. He could re-organize the filing cabinets in the meantime.

Hashirama bounded out of his car and up the short flight of steps in front of Tobirama’s house. The dying sunlight cast an orange glow over the light blue vinyl siding. He rang the doorbell, then whipped out his phone and fired off a string of texts.

- 19:23

Hey lets go!!

Im here come out front

Tobirama come onnn

The door opened before they even finished sending. Tobirama scowled fiercely at Hashirama.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, crossing his arms. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and khakis.

Hashirama couldn’t stifle his guffaw at the sight of him. “Tobirama, what are you wearing? You look like a funeral director.”

Tobirama flushed brilliant scarlet and snarled, “I don’t – you –”

“Come on, we’re changing your shirt. I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you right now.”

“Then don’t come,” Tobirama hissed, but he let himself be dragged down the hallway towards his bedroom all the same.

“Gotta, now,” Hashirama said blithely. “Can’t let you make a fool of yourself like this. You already look old and crochety as it is.” He began to rifle through the drawers. “God, is black shirts all you own? I could’ve sworn you had at least something blue in here.”

“Are you intending on holding my hand the entire time we’re there?” Tobirama demanded from the doorway.

“No,” Hashirama said, selecting a shirt and holding it up to the light. “I’m actually – this is blue, good – I’m actually there looking for someone. If they’re not there, I’ll leave.”

“Someone,” Tobirama repeated.

Hashirama hummed in agreement.

“Are you hoping Uchiha Madara will be there?” Tobirama asked bluntly.

Hashirama paused, hands gripping the dresser drawer.

“He doesn’t even live in the city anymore,” Tobirama continued. “Remember? Butsuma gave us his new mailing address. There’s literally no reason to think he’d be back, now.”

Hashirama threw the shirt into his face. “Put that on,” he said. “And grab a jacket. It’s going to be cold tonight. I’ll meet you in the car.” Let him wear his fucking khakis.

“Hashirama,” Tobirama said, the blue shirt dangling limply from his hands. “I just don’t want you going in there with high expectations. This might not even be one of Tajima’s relatives. We don’t know what’s been going on in that clan, they all might have left by now.”

Hashirama sighed, then checked his watch. “You’re right. You’re right. Come on, Tobirama. We should get going, regardless, if I’m going to have time to fulfill my brotherly duty and embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“I don’t have friends, Hashirama.”

“Then it’s my brotherly duty to make you some friends, Tobirama. Come on, change your shirt, let’s go!”

The Uchiha Compound stretched out over the city block like a sleeping lion. It was a long, low-lying cluster of clay tile roofs and heavy wooden panels, surrounded by a thickly plastered stone wall. The main gate, emblazoned with a large white and red fan, was thrown wide; most of the houses were dark and shuttered, their ancient porches empty and the lanterns extinguished. The pavement turned to cobble, and the road wove through the district in a sinuous line. Overhead, boxing them in on all four sides, skyscrapers towered into the night sky.

The main house was an intimidating thing. Heavy roofs hung ponderously low over wide porches; carved wooden rafters more appropriate to a temple than any lived-in domicile jutted out into the cool night air. There were words inscribed on the ancient metal that encased the front door; these were in a script only a few living Uchiha could translate.

The house was, at the moment, boppin’. College students and various disreputable youths were jiving and shimmying on every square inch of space, grooving and writhing like eels on an aquarium floor. The music emanating from several heavy black speakers rattled the panes of the nearby houses. The air reeked of cheap liquor, vomit, and sweat.

“How the hell,” Madara muttered to himself, standing in the road outside the estate, transfixed by a mixture of horror and awe, “did that little shithead arrange all this in a single day?” He was glad he hadn’t bothered to shower or change his clothes before he came. From the violent revelry he could see inside the house, they wouldn’t have stayed clean for long, regardless.

The music changed from the metronomic, throbbing bass to another song – a popular one, judging by the slurred cheers the first few chords elicited from the crowd.

Madara had come to get a drink and take one last look at their ancient family home. He had to get inside to achieve both of these things. With a colossal effort, Madara lifted a single foot off the ground, and moved it in the direction of the ponderous archway before him.

His phone began to buzz in his pocket.

- Izuna 20:33

dude r u coming or not? ??

my goddd

Relieved at the distraction, Madara punched out a response.

- 20:33

Im here

- Izuna 20:33

where??? I don’t see u

- 20:33

Outside still

One of the windows on the upper floor burst open. Izuna’s thin shoulders were silhouetted in violent red and blue neon lights. He zeroed in on Madara with surprising speed and let out a sharp holler that was audible even above the pounding music.

Madara wanted nothing more than to turn around and slink back to his apartment and drink himself into a stupor. But to do that, he’d have to buy liquor, and that would mean he couldn’t get gas until the next week. It was this quick calculation, more than anything, that finally gave him the push he needed to enter the raging throng of partygoers at the base of the house.

“Oh, hell yes,” Hashirama said as they rounded the corner, finally coming into view of the estate.

Tobirama’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, and he thrust his fists even deeper into his pockets. Hashirama seized him by the elbow and began to drag him down the cobbled street.

“Nii-san, I’m so glad you came!” Izuna shouted directly into Madara’s ear. He’d been ambushed just inside the front door and ushered into the wild frenzy of the kitchen – at a first impression, it was heavy, smoke-stained rafters and thick, white plaster walls; gleaming copper pans hanging from heavy iron hooks; now, it was packed beyond capacity with raucous college students hanging off of the rafters, dancing on the countertops, opening gleaming kegs of cheap beer to cheers and applause.

Madara pulled back from Izuna, squinting to make out his face in the strobing light. Izuna’s eyes were blown wide. He looked higher than a kite. Madara, suppressing the laugh that threatened to bubble out of his throat, pulled him back and said, “I need a drink.”

Izuna cheered.

Hashirama liked parties. He loved them, in fact! The music, the people, the games, the drinks – even if the drinks barely did anything to him, it was still fun to try the crazy things people came up with! There were no name tags at parties, no crisp suits or data to be processed, no little crackling notebooks or carefully managed growth specimens. At a party like this, Hashirama could be anyone! He was just some guy! He could lose himself in the chaos for a night.

After everything that had happened, there weren’t many opportunities for Hashirama to attend parties anymore. It was difficult to find or keep friends when most of his spare time was divided between a surprisingly busy downtown flower shop and his brother’s basement.

This is why, upon entering the mass of people in the front lawn, Hashirama released his brother’s arm, saying: “I said I wouldn’t hover around, and I meant it! Go find your Uchiha friend – text me when you want to leave!”

Tobirama sent him a look of barely-disguised panic, but turned and vanished into the crowd all the same. Hashirama watched his white head bob towards the entrance, feeling oddly proud of his little brother. Then he turned, looking out over the sea of dark heads, squinting through the flashing lights, until – there. A row of unlabeled milk jugs containing some unidentifiable purple substance and scattered towers red plastic cups.

If Madara was going to show up at this party, he wasn’t going to be subtle about it; Hashirama was certain of this much. It was time to get a drink.

Izuna was having a good time. No – Izuna was having a great time. Kagami had come in clutch with the sound system, and Madara had shown up, and Izuna wasn’t sure what it was he’d smoked in the back room with Naori but he felt like he was floating on a sea of color and noise. Why had he never realized how big all of these rooms were?

He found himself in the main room of the first floor, thrashing out some sick moves to what was undeniably the freshest beat the city had ever heard when a familiar figure appeared in his periphery.

Izuna spun around to face it head-on, listing to the side but retaining his balance at the last minute. “Professor!”

Tobirama frowned severely at him and crossed his arms. God, he looked ridiculous. Izuna wanted to tell him how ridiculous he looked, but the music in this room was too loud – he grabbed a fistful of the dark blue shirt and shouted: “Come with me!”

What a night! His hot bitchy TA, his brother, all his friends in one place? Izuna was winning tonight.

He pulled Tobirama into the hallway – still packed with students, but the beat was muffled to a dull staccato pounding now – and released his shirt. Tobirama was like a whole inch taller than him. How unfair was that?

“I can’t believe you came!” Izuna said, beaming.

Tobirama cocked his head, peering into Izuna’s eyes, and said, “You’re high.”

Izuna snorted. “What, you gonna call the cops?” A mischievous grin slithered over his mouth. “Unless you’re asking for a different reason…?”

“I wasn’t asking. And no.”

“Blue is a bad color on you,” Izuna said, leaning in. “Especially that shade. It’s almost black, you look like a funeral director.”

Tobirama leaned backwards. “So I’ve been told.” The angry crease between his eyebrows was fading. Izuna decided to mark that as another win. Man, he just kept winning tonight.

“Let me get you a drink!” he said, clapping Tobirama on the arm. “There’s someone you should meet – if he hasn’t left already, hahaha –”

Tobirama muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “God, not you, too,” but followed Izuna through the packed doorway towards the kitchen all the same.

Madara hefted the dart with a practiced hand. The room was packed around the edges; the students who weren’t watching in rapt attention were filming with slick black smartphones.

“Dude, if you hit me, I swear to god,” said the man opposite him. The giant paper target behind him crinkled as he shifted.

Madara stepped up to the piece of scotch tape on the floor and took careful aim. “I won’t,” he said simply, and let the dart fly. It struck red – the dead center of the target – less than a centimeter from the man’s head. The room erupted into cheers.

“The fuck did my drink go?” Madara asked. Someone pressed a cup into his hand – the purple liquid sloshing inside was definitely not his beer, but Madara tipped his head back and swallowed regardless. It tasted like battery acid and jolly ranchers. Shaking the sudden spots away from his vision, he said, “Who wants to see me do that blindfolded?”

“Oh my god, dude, how he is still going –”

“Bro –”

“That’s two jugs – dude, go get another, oh my god –”

One of the students peeled away from the ring that had gathered around Hashirama in a beeline towards the kitchen.

Hashirama let the last of the mysterious pink liquid drain from the milk jug, then broke away, dragging a hand down his face. He was actually starting to feel something in the tips of his fingers – the fuck were these kids drinking? He laughed, brightly, and handed the empty milk jug to an awed onlooker. “Sure, I can do another,” he said.

“How are you still alive –”

“Dude, it’s fucking crazy, right? And then I went to go talk to Kaiya, and she’s like, ‘you didn’t tell me you had a game,’ and I’m like, I absolutely told you –”

“Crazy,” Madara said, taking a long drag off the joint.

“Fucking crazy! She keeps acting like I don’t communicate, and I’m like, that’s all I do, bro, that’s what I’m about, is communication –”

“Dump her.”

“Dude, you think so?”

Madara took another pull and passed the joint around the circle. “Just my opinion. Not worth it.”

The student flopped back onto the sofa. “Fuck, man, maybe. Do you have a girlfriend? You’re like…” the college student paused; red cup lifted halfway to his lips. “… wise.”

Madara took a swig of his own drink and shrugged. “I might have had a thing going with my roommate, but then a guy got beaten to death in our dorm room, and things kind of fell apart after that.”

The college student nodded. “We’ve all been there, dude.” Another pause. “Wait, wh –”

“It’s obvious he doesn’t give a shit,” Izuna said, punctuating the last few words by stabbing the cigarette into the air. “Just stop answering his calls.”

“I can’t,” Tobirama said around the cigarette held in his own lips, bending over the lighter. “He’s paying for my fucking house. Not to mention the college degree.” He leaned back against the stone wall, drawing in a deep lungful of smoke.

Izuna scoffed dismissively, tucking the lighter back into his jacket. “That’s bullshit. You’re smart enough to get a scholarship from anywhere. I’ve seen your test scores.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tobirama said, narrowing his eyes. “How did you get into my file?”

Izuna just winked and shifted his position on the rooftop. The heavy clay tiles creaked under his weight. Something from the yard below caught his eye. “My god,” he said. “There’s a guy down there chugging Pink Drink like it’s water – you should come see this.”

“I’m good,” Tobirama said around the cigarette. “I can guarantee you I’ve seen worse.”

Izuna raised an eyebrow at him from the edge of the roof. “You?”

It was Tobirama’s turn to scoff. “My brother,” he said, flicking ash off onto the clay tiles. “The one I told you about. He’s got a medical condition. Alcohol doesn’t do anything to him.” He paused. “Literally.”

“He still probably wouldn’t be a match for this guy,” Izuna said, turning back to the packed garden. “I’m low-key feeling kind of sick watching this. Should I call an ambulance in advance, you think?”

Before Tobirama could answer, lights erupted over the far wall of the compound. A shrill police siren cut through the music.

“Aw, fuck,” Izuna said. He began to scramble back up towards the open window.

Madara was sitting in the bathtub when he heard the sirens. The warm slurry of alcohol and various chemicals was purged almost immediately by a spike of adrenaline. He shot to his feet, launched himself over the groggy piles of youths and empty bottles that littered the bathroom floor, and wrenched open the small window.

“Oh, fuck,” Hashirama said, staring out over the lawn at the approaching police officers. Students began to bolt for the far wall, and Hashirama joined them.

Tobirama followed Izuna down the stairs, already thinking of ways to spin this in his inevitable report to his father – they weren’t technically violating any rules, as he still hadn’t learned Izuna’s surname – officially, he had never asked, so really it could’ve been any party, the location was just a coincidence – sure, Tobirama berated himself internally as they descended the stairs, like Butsuma would buy that –

Madara ran along the edge of the roof and lunged for the far wall in one sleek movement. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to escape his ancestral home the back way. He jumped over a group of college students slowly clambering down the far side, landed in a crouch, and began to sprint for his car.

Hashirama watched a black shape clear the gap between the roof and the outer wall in a single bound. As he pulled himself over the ledge, he saw the same figure break out at a dead run for the corner, and then vanish. “Goddamn,” he said, eyes wide. “Wonder who that was.”

Izuna leaned casually against the doorframe. “Evening, officer. Cousin. Cousin-officer-ma’am.”

Mariko stared at him flatly. “Izuna. We got a noise complaint.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Izuna said blithely. “I’m the only one here, as you can see.”

Mariko turned and surveyed the trashed yard with pursed lips. “Uh huh.”

Izuna sighed and held out his hands. “Fine, fine! Do your duty. Take me away.”

“I’m not here to arrest you, moron. Just clean it up – tonight – and I’ll keep light on the details.”

“You are my favorite police officer cousin, Mariko.”

 “Don’t throw any more parties while he’s gone.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

Izuna watched Mariko descend down the winding cobblestone road out of the district, and turned a sunny smile to Tobirama, who was standing behind the door. “I told you not to freak out.”

“I didn’t freak out,” Tobirama said frostily.

“You were totally freaking out,” Izuna said. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the house with contrition. “Goddamn. I didn’t expect them to trash the place this bad. That’s what I get for inviting half of campus.”

“It’s what you deserve,” Tobirama agreed. He pulled out his phone and started typing. “I hope my idiot brother didn’t actually abandon me here.”

“If he did, I’ll make you clean with me,” Izuna warned.

Tobirama typed faster.

- Tobirama 01:44

Anija.

Did you forget about me?

- 01:44

You survived!!

LOL  no I didn’t, im in the car now, waiting for you

Assuming u didn’t get arrested!! LOL

- Tobirama 01:44

Thank god for small blessings. I’ll be right there.

- 01:45

Tell your uchiha friend thanks for me!! this was a fun party

- Izuna 01:45

niisan did u leave? :O

ur not gonna stay n help me clean up lmao

- 01:45

Learn to face the consequences of your actions

Also, fuck no

That was way too close for comfort

If the police had seen me there there would’ve been hell to pay

- Izuna 01:47

don’t b so dramatic niisan

Madara rested his forehead on the steering wheel of his car and took deep, measured breaths. He had to remind himself that Izuna didn’t know all the details about his settlement. Madara should not have come to that party. Madara should not have stepped foot inside the Uchiha district, and he definitely shouldn’t have let himself lose guard long enough to be there when the fucking police showed up. He clenched his hands against the steering wheel to stop them from shaking – the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins – and focused on the broken gas gauge on his dashboard.

His phone buzzed at him from the passenger’s seat.

- Izuna 01:50

hoep u had a good time anyway

I wanted u 2 meet my ta friend but I guess things got a little out of control 4 everyone lol

pls text me when u get home

if u dnot think ur safe 2 drive just come back inside, I wont tell anyone

Madara read the texts, then turned the phone off and inserted the keys in the ignition. He suddenly felt exhausted. The car wrenched itself into life, and Madara pulled away from the curb, towards the industrial district.