Kindling

Tobirama couldn’t see, (once upon a time he had gone with Hashirama to the edge of the sea and looked out over the rolling water) he had long since given up on seeing anything but a brilliant golden blur, (Touka dripped sweat as she fought but her lipstick never moved) his eyes so dry that the ache made it all but impossible to close them, (Itama laughed as his skin melted) his arms ached where they were twisted behind him attached to the pole behind him high enough that he was forced to lean forward with all his weight on his shoulders, (Kawarama grown old danced in fire light) too high for him to do anything but kneel exhaustedly, (Izuna yelped as he darted away from Tobirama’s new jutsu, snapping squirrels of mud chewing as his dropped robe) the ache in his bones was like fire licking through the joints, (Madara stared at him with betrayal and disgust “freak”) his lungs were filled with sand and his mouth was ash, (Hashirama turned away from him) each breath sandpaper as it clawed into him, (he didn’t look back) shivers slipping through him and dragging at the ropes where they cut into his skin, (his father stood over him, arms folded and disappointment on his face “you failed”) salt from when he had be able to sweat stinging in the burns on every inch of uncovered skin, (“you brother will have to take up the slack”) the heavy meatal collar around his throat hardly needed anymore – he had no strength to reach his chakra even if he could have, (“I’m sorry” his motherbrothertouka whispered, “not your fault” he wanted to say) his heart was fluttering too fast in his chest, (“if you hadn’t failed…”) the wrap they had tied around his hips the brush of nettles against his skin, (Madara’s eyes passed over him, empty and uninterested) the blisters from the burns covering his skin oozed burning heat, (Madara’s chakra – so often his only comfort – the only place he felt warm – recoiled from him) his extremities were cold,

Madara hated Wind Country, the searing heat always making his hair stick to his back uncomfortably and forcing him to switch to lighter fabrics for his robes even if he could still keep as much skin covered as he wanted (was better to in fact, kept the sun off); missions here were his east favorites, send him to Lightning country even and he would prefer it, he had almost turned down this mission and sent someone else but he could bring himself to turn down a chance to get out of the clan compound. He was glad to take over the headship, don’t get him wrong, he had loved his father after a fashion and seeing him die so slowly in his bed hurt, but Tajima had been destroying the clan; driving them into extinction in his desperation to defeat every other clan, not just the Senju, but picking fights with the Hatake, the Nara, even the Yamanaka who were once an ally (Madara’s own mother had been a Yamanaka for crying out loud), his father would have ruined them, and Madara couldn’t grief the chance to reverse that decline. Butsuma was too alive for him to make any progress with the Senju but there were other ways to make the Uchiha safer and he was racing after every one of those he could; it was exhausting and the weight of all the expectations dragged at him, hence running towards the boundary of Wind Country grumbling even when he should have been home dealing with things as his father declined.

He would be out of here soon- thank all the gods- and there was an oasis not to far away that he would reach before too long, sweet relief – wait. What? there was something ahead of him, a pole? Why would anyone erect a pole in the middle of nowhere desert with no one anywhere for miles? What was the point? Ugh, now he needed to know (mother would have been so annoyed). Madara approached the pole slowly- no way to know what was going on- there was something at the base of it, a- a person?! Someone had tied a person out here in the middle of nowhere? That was a death sentence! One of the cruellest he had ever seen. Madara picked up his pace, running to the pole as fast as he could without running himself into the ground, maybe they would still he alive? At first all he could see what the horrible burns where the person was slumped forward, they couldn’t be alive, not it they had been out long enough to burn that badly; though- the hair was pale under the sand, maybe- the man- teen- shifted, a rasping breath slipping out as he slumped forward. He was ALIVE. Madara dropped to his knees, fluttering his hands around the shattered figure before carefully cupping the sharp chin and raising the slumped head and- oh.

Oh.

Oh, that was- red eyes he realized distantly, he had only seen those on one person- that was. Oh. You, it’s you. You before all others. Madara cupped Tobirama’s chin as gently as he could, glad that the other had been slumped over enough that there was little burning on his face and the front of his neck; the Senju was staring at him with huge unguarded eyes, looking at Madara like there was nothing else in the world, like Madara was the only safety he knew, it made warmth slip through the Uchiha like cool water. He had to get Tobirama somewhere out of the sun, somewhere safe where he could heal the other teen as best he could and get water in him; to do that he needed to pick the slimmer teen up and he had no idea have to do that without hurting Tobirama more. The brushed his thumb as carefully as he could just under the sharp jaw where the skin was flushed but not burn, Tobirama’s lips were moving but there was no sound and Madara couldn’t read his lips with the exhaustion slurring his movement. Madara forced himself not to tighten his fingers and carefully checked the Senju’s pulse- to fast and too faint- and did his best to ignore the heavy collar around the slender neck least his anger make him uncareful.

He swallowed hard, he needed to get Tobirama down first and then to the oasis now, he would have to risk the pain the younger teen; he slipped around Tobirama, heat clenching at the whispery whimper as Madara left his vision, he needed to get him down, he needed to get him down, that first. Madara examined the rope tying him to the pole, easy enough to cut, he carefully slid his arms under Tobirama’s so that they didn’t fall when he cut him down- that could be agonizing if they were lowered to fast- holding the too slim form as gently as he could and lowering Tobirama’s arms. He felt it when the Senju passed out, slumping heavily; that was bad, but it would also make it easier to get him to the oasis. He could do this, he had to, his Center needed him, and he refused to fail, he had too much to lose (and so much to gain).