Kindling

The thing was the whole thing was a bit of a mess. Obito had intended to resurrect Madara earlier (certainly before Orochifuckingmaru could summon back the old Hokages, Obito was pretty sore about the shifty bastard getting in ahead of him) and hadn’t intended to actually end up doing it while under attack in awkward conditions where the ground was shaking so much his hands kept slipping in their signs and when he tried to call out the name of the man he was trying to bring back there was a loud bang ok? and then next time and the next and – look there was a reason that he ended up screaming about Madara’s soul into the darkening sky in a maybe worryingly non-specific way alright? He hadn’t intended to do it and he definitely hadn’t intended for the resurrection to go wrong and the earth to shake and lighting to crack through the sky and the general end of the word feeling that started up as the jutsu completed itself – after all it wasn’t their end of the world and Obito was going to be very put out if he wasn’t able to use all their careful and awesome-sauce plans into action!

Either way when a coffin that looked like it was made of shinning gold rather than wood rose out of the ground Obito was already expecting for things to go wrong and was backing away slowly, somehow sure that this was not going to go well. The door cracked open and Orochifuckingmaru popped up next to him with a fascinated look on his(-?) face followed shortly by the resurrected Kages with much less fascinated looks (well, not Lord Second, he looked fascinated too, what the heck!?), as the shinning coffin hissed and then the lid (ok, less coffin more sarcophagi) with a weighty creak tipped forward and slammed to the ground with a thunderous boom (though, the thunder that cracked at the same time might have something to do with the sheer volume) and out of the yawning dark stepped a tall figure wrapped in white with a long sword on his back.

The dark brown hair was tied back from his face except for two long forelocks framing an exotic face with sweeping purple marking under red-sheened eyes and as the man stepped out of the golden sarcophagus (was little Sasuke the twitching lump on the floor? What was up with him?) and looked around with an imperious look on his clever, haughty face. Red Sharingan eyes slowly scanned the turmoil and slowly zeroed in on Obito with nearly palpable disdain, “What” he said in a surprisingly light but distinctly old fashioned voice “is going on here?”

Indra was not having a good day. Honestly it had been a very long time since he had had a good day, but it seemed hope sprung eternal and Indra had never stopped hoping for good days because today – today was notable in the bad days. After all it wasn’t all the time that one was resurrected into what looked and felt like the beginning of a war to find one’s siblings stuffed in a tree and a blond child that also felt like one’s brother and oh by the way the child that used to have one’s chakric imprint was seizing on the floor at the sudden absence of the chakra (shit). All in all Indra was rather proud of himself for not losing his shit and instead politely asking what was going on here from his unfortunate resurrector – who had the look of one of his get, shit, what was wrong with his kids?! Look, Indra hadn’t been paying that much attention to what was going on in the world in between fighting off his messed up failures of parentally mandated reincarnation (fuck all that noise, Indra was not interested in being dragged into that disaster fest with Asura)- which he sort of did and did not remember all at once- and trying to sort out the mess that was his own chakra- thanks Zetsu ever so much- but he hadn’t missed how nuts his descendants had gotten or the way the village had turned on them and memories from Madara were clear enough to have a feel for how this was supposed to go just as much as memories from Sasuke were enough to know how bad things had gotten at the end there before his clan was massacred by one of their own and thank you SO much Zetsu.

Speaking of which; Indra shook his head in disgust and moved over to the seizing boy on the floor- ignoring the puppy dog eyes from the blond with his brother’s chakra (….looking at how close the two boys seemed that was just creepy and Indra vowed not to think about it)- settling a hand on the thin chest and shoving enough of his chakra back into the boy that he would stop seizing. Indra might hate the mess the reincarnation had made of his chakra but that wasn’t this kid’s fault and Indra wasn’t going to let him die for it (besides he had always been weak to that look from his brother when he was little before everything went wrong). The brat gasped and went limp as the chakra sank in and Indra tsked under his breath, well and truly sick of his father’s bullshit; the Sage should have stopped trying to force this reincarnation the second that Indra started fighting it (about two reincarnations in when he realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere and didn’t want to, all Indra wanted now was what he had wanted as a child- the wants he had pushed away as weak when he got older and realized he would never have a lover just for him) Indra looked up and -

 wha-

 who-

 guh

 so lovely! The prettiest. The prettiest thing Indra had ever seen.

The man the Ōtsutsuki was staring at (so pretty!so proud!so perfect!) tilted his head inquiringly, one perfectly arching white brow rising in a way that somehow looked both bitchy and innocent and Indra felt his mouth go dry for sheer adoration. How could such perfection exist?! He was tall and nicely broad shouldered but visibly slim and lean under the bulky armor and his eyes were as red as Indra’s with slightly odd black sclera that just set them off even better and his face, his face! Fierce and fine boned and beautiful with the lovely red streaks setting off high cheekbones and his sharp jaw had a resolute set that Indra wanted to bite and see that stern expression go slack and pleasured.  This, Indra thought dazedly, this was what he had missed in his first life, this was what had been missing; a perfect counterpoint, because there was no doubt in his mind that this man wouldn’t let him get brainwashed by Zetsu and get bitter and stupid, this man wouldn’t let Indra ignore him, this man would demand everything from Indra and never let him look away; an immovable object for his unstoppable force.

With a thought the Ōtsutsuki was at the man’s side (hmmm, he knew the name – or Madara had anyway, but still-), snagging a hand without a thought and asking in a slightly breathless voice “What’s your name?” the man blinked, frost rimed lashes hiding those amazing eyes for a second, “….Tobirama Senju, Ōtsutsuki-sama” he said slowly in a low, calm voice that made Indra want to purr. Indra smiled slow and hot as molasses and shifted closer, “Indra” he purred “call me Indra, Tobirama” (behind them there were a lot of shinobi watching with dropped jaws, shocked and confused that Indra Ōtsutsuki seemed far more interested in staring near worshipfully at Tobirama than dealing with the shinobi war or his resurrection or Hashirama or any of the things he should care about. Not that anyone really wanted him paying attention to them, Indra was fucking scary!...Not that Tobirama seemed to find him frightening, in fact he looked….intrigued? something like shy that sat oddly well on his face and made a lot of people want to sob from sheer confusion).