Kindling

There were many things that Tobirama had contributed to the plans for the village, but he advocated for more firmly for then changes in the treatments of Sentinels and Guides; He had no idea how Sentinels were trained, but what he had heard led him to believe that it was not an easy experience (Sentinels were not trained, they were forced, forced to zone and then into a bond with a Guide that was easily manipulated, murder suicides were the leading cause of Sentinel death other than zone) and he knew how Guides were trained, after all they had tried to do it to him. Like most Guides an Adjuster was brought in when he was twelve to see to his “training”, it hadn't stuck; within a year his mind and Guide sight had recovered and while his Father had been thrilled at the proof of his son's superiority he was also furious at his inability to mold Tobirama into what he wanted (Tobirama didn't know if his father wanted a perfect soldier that refused to feel anything or a perfect Guide that craved feeling anything, it didn't matter, Tobirama was neither - yet) so when his youngest living son was fifteen Butsuma called in a specialist. Tobirama’s mind was fractured and broken from that time but he remembered; he remembered being chained naked between two posts, the taste of metal and salt in his mouth as it was held open, the faint jingle-bite as a spurs dug into his sides (they called spur-breaking for a reason and Tobirama would carry the small scars dug into his sides from rib-cage to knee for the rest of his life), the smell of the sweet drug on the gleaming metal (blood and sex), and by the time he was dragged limp over the floor to the bed he was insensate and shattered; when the drugs wore off and sense returned the damage wrought on his mind and emotions was too set too deep to be fought off (which was of course the point).

He had woken with Hashirama sitting by his bed, curled up as close as he could be without touching and his face pale; Hashirama had been angry in a way Tobirama hadn't known his brother was capable of (he had always felt a little guilty for the comfort he took in his brother’s anger on his behalf) and it was only Tobirama's whispered assurances that they hadn’t  destroyed him completely- hadn't reduced him to the empty grasping nothing of so many Guides- that had kept Hashirama from tearing himself and the clan apart. Because Tobirama had already found his Sentinel- his lodestone- and Father never knew that (even if he had they couldn’t have done much, an established bond- even if only one way- was a powerful thing) so in the deepest parts of himself Tobirama remained whole, or... sane at least. When a year later Butsuma discovered the bond (discovered who was on the other side) he had sworn to kill Tobirama; only Hashirama had gotten there first, killing their father and becoming clan head at seventeen (the clan had turned their eyes away from Butsuma’s death and no questions had ever been asked of how he died); the next day Tobirama had pulled out the plans he had made for his brother’s village, hopes for the next generation he had poured into paper over the years given to his brother with the promise that they would find a way, we will Hashi. (he offered three times to exile himself for that promise and Hashirama didn’t know how to say that the dream was for him, that it was for Tobirama before it was for others.)

 Madara shook hands with Hashirama over a peace treaty when he was twenty-five, wondering a little where the bright shinning boy had gone in the grim tired man he saw now (where the flailing absurd idealist he had fought gone?), then the pale Senju Ghost stepped up behind his brother and Hashirama must have known because his face eased and the bright effervescence spilled out of him all the more brightly for the absence. It was the first time that Madara truly noted the odd relationship between the brothers; when Madara met Hashirama and they had talked about their brothers Hashirama hadn’t talked about his little brother much at all so all he really knew was what he saw when the little boy darted out of the trees to clash swords with Izuna, after that it had only been rumor (even the patrols spies had very little to give them about the second Senju) and what little he noted as Izuna fought the Ghost (somehow strangely Madara had never crossed blades, which was extremely odd statistically). And everything he heard told him the same thing: Tobirama was Hashirama’s attack dog, collared only by his brother’s mercy and as vacant as the ghost he was called, it was said the Hashirama could call off his brother with nothing but a word and placed his brother behind him for the safety of others, that Tobirama would strike like lightning,-like a bolt form the blue- fast and merciless and that when he looked at his dying enemies after he struck there was nothing but curiosity (“as if he couldn’t understand why we were dying”).

Madara wasn’t a fool, he knew better than to believe everything that came to him in rumor, but there was something…. odd about the younger Senju and it dragged Madara’s eyes back to his pale form over and over throughout the entire negotiations for peace and the following laying of plans for the village; Tobirama seemed to be everywhere, appearing in any place at any time and always with a suggestion or idea that would make things easier or solve a problem, but most often at his brother’s shoulder (and Hashirama always relaxed when Tobirama was near him, Izuna- and many others- said he worried that Tobirama would kill someone if he wasn’t around to stop he younger brother; Madara didn’t think that fit, not quite, but what it meant that Hashirama feared for his brother anytime he couldn’t see him Madara didn’t know). Izuna and the other clans feared the Ghost more than any other and they brought their fears to Madara, he was after all the only person that might be able to put down Tobirama if the albino slipped his brother’s leash; it was because of this that Madara was waiting for Hashirama, leaning against the doorframe of their shared office in the Tower (it had been Tobirama’s suggestion that they share power, and his breakdown on duties and responsibilities that they had used successfully for two years now with only Madara’s suggestion of final power being passed between them with the seasons). He let his head drop back on to the wood, hoping the faint pain would ground him (it didn’t, his hair was too thick to really even feel it) trying to drag his thoughts into some semblance of order; he needed to stop following that fucking scent (but it was so good, crisp and sharp, like the air after the first autumn frost) he was in control of his senses, he had been for years, he was an Uchiha Sentinel, he was in control, he had never zoned and he never would, he was free (he was). (he never thought about the days he lost on the way back from Wind Country, never thought of the dreams filled with a warm rich voice coaxing him into rest and hands gentle on his face drawing him back to himself)