Touched by Destiny
The lake shimmers in the midday sun, undisturbed but for the occasional plopping sound as a fish breaks the surface, ripples widening out. Dragonflies hover dangerously close to the water, as if testing their skill, while butterflies and bees limit themselves to the wildflowers and thistle blossoms by the shore. On a patch of flattened long grass a little ways away, there are two children. Madara, who clearly had planned to be alone with his scrolls to get some reading done in the peaceful quiet of the lake, and Izuna, who foiled his plans by trailing after him, and is now dejectedly playing with a stick he fished out of the shallow water.
"Nii-san," the boy says suddenly, a troubled frown on his face, "why is the lake blue?"
Madara looks up from the scroll he's inspecting, and promptly answers, "Because it copies the sky,"
Izuna nods, momentarily satisfied. Madara returns to his scroll.
Less than a minute rolls by, then, "But why is the sky blue?" the younger boy demands.
Madara looks at him and blinks, concocting an answer.
"Because it's not purple," he finally decides, certainty lacing his every word. Izuna thinks about this, then nods solemnly, like it is the most logical piece of information he's ever received, and returns to his task of digging a hole in the dirt with a stick.
Tobirama is finding it difficult to believe that this is the same person that's come dangerously close to killing him on six separate occasions.
Uchiha Izuna, his longest standing and most respected opponent, whose tactical genius rivals, and at times even surpasses, his own; who can clear entire battlefields, raining fire and destruction upon his enemies without breaking a sweat; whose masterful swordsmanship is feared in all the five Great Nations, and admired by the samurai of the Land of Iron.
This Uchiha Izuna is small, articulate for his age, very interested in the way everything works, and hangs off his older brother's every word. He also has two short swords tied to his back, the handles sticking out over his shoulders for easy reach in battle. He killed Tōka 's brothers with those swords, when Tobirama was ten. She cried bitterly into Hashirama's shoulder while he futilely tried to soothe her through his own tears, and Tobirama looked at them and burned with impotence and rage.
"It would look better purple," Izuna comments, pausing on on his digging and looking up expectantly. Madara mumbles an agreement.
Both boys look almost exactly like they did the first time they crossed blades, that fateful day on the river. Three months after that, Tōka 's twelve year old twin brothers were left to bleed out on the battlefield, both kills efficient and seemingly effortless. The bodies were still aflame from Madara's final, massive katon, hurled across the field as a distraction while his men retreated, when they were found underneath piles of ash.
For all Tobirama knows, somewhere out there his cousins are still alive and well, terrorizing the compound with their pranks and bodily dragging him out of the library to force him to be the judge in another silly competition they organized. They're alive, and happy, but not for long. Not for long.
"Mother says that you need a haircut," Izuna comments. The stick has gone from being a shovel to becoming a bird, flying around as high as short arms can reach.
They're distracted, the both of them. They feel secure in the lands they deem to be their own, and neither noticed the disturbance in the air when Tobirama landed in the treeline, giving him enough time to suppress his chakra. They have no idea he's here, no one can see him, no one canknow.
His fingers itch to form the seals, a voice in his head telling him to just do it.
"I think I'll let it grow longer," Madara says, picking at the shoulder length tresses with his fingers.
Izuna drops his arms to his sides and gapes.
"But that's dangerous!"
It's true. Long hair is a hazard in a fight, essentially being a leash to be conveniently placed in an opponent's hand. Senju children are to keep their hair cropped as close to the skull as possible, to avoid catching fire when faced with Uchihas. Only the most skilled of fighters, or the most reckless ones, allow themselves such vanity.
Madara shrugs, and returns to his reading.
Izuna huffs, angry at the dismissal, and chews his lip. He mumbles a bit under his breath, apparently still at an age when he needs to vocalize his thoughts, and crosses his arms above his small ribcage. He's momentarily distracted from his grumble by a bumblebee steadily making it's way towards his brother's head, but instead of telling him, he just looks at the insect make it's way closer and closer to the distracted boy. When Madara sees it, he yelps and swats at it with the scroll, falling backwards trying to avoid it, glaring when the younger boy giggles delightedly at him.
Izuna sniggers for a little longer, and then he cocks his head to the side and makes his way to his brother, crouching next to him. He peers at the other's face, concentration slowly dawning into glee.
Madara looks up at him and makes a face, "What?!"
"Cousin Shin was right," and his delighted grin turns into teasing, "In a certain light, you really do look like a girl,"
Madara just stares at him, blinks once, then splutters.
"What," he says flatly, not even a question. Izuna laughs, backs away swiftly just in time to avoid his brothers clutching hands reaching for him, and breaks into a dead run across the still surface of the lake. Madara jumps to his feet, scroll tumbling to the ground with a thud, and follows in hot pursuit.
"IZUNA!" he bellows, heavy feet splattering water all over his clothes,"Come back here so I can kill you!"
The younger boy, whose more refined chakra control allows him to stay dry, hoots with laughter, "Why would I do that?!"
"It'll hurt less than if I have to catch you!"
Izuna just laughs and laughs, feet skittering over the water and barely making a sound. After a ten minute race, filled with taunts and insults, Madara falls on his face with a painful sounding splat, one of his arms slipping dangerously under.
"Well?" Izuna asks, breathing heavily. "Weren't you going to catch me?"
But Madara doesn't answer. His body sinks a little bit more, until he's floating face down.
"Nii-san?" Izuna's expression shifts, and he rushes to his side, "Nii-san! Are you o-EEK!"
Madara grabs his brother's foot with his submerged hand and pulls him all the way under with a huge splash.
"Nii-san! " Izuna cries once he can finally get his head above water. The older Uchiha looks down at him with a grin.
"Will you ever not fall for that?" he asks laughingly, then his grin turns menacing. "Now, now. I believe I said I'd kill you, right?"
Izuna bravely tries to swim away, although it's more like an underwater flail, but gets caught, and after numbly watching Madara dunk the younger boy's head in the lake repeatedly for a good fifteen minutes, Tobirama's limbs start tingling. The children and the lake fade away, and he lands on his bed, his room swathed in sunlight from the open window, his hands still burning with chakra and the intent to kill.
There's children playing somewhere outside, laughing delightedly, and usually the sound would be enough to lift his spirits. But not today.
He closes the curtains, hides under the covers, and doesn't come out until it's time for dinner.
The boat ride is long and miserable, but as soon as Tobirama steps off the wooden deathtrap and onto the harbour, he wants to get back on it and return home. Land of Whirlpools, apparently located five miles from the surface of the sun, is the hottest, most humid place in the world, and the mosquitoes are ferocious.
"The weather here is ridiculous," Hashirama moans. His usually straight, tame hair is frizzy and sticking out in every direction, and he looks miserable. Serves him right. He's the one who wouldn't listen to reason and tagged along despite Tobirama telling him not to, reminding him that they couldn't just go and leave the country at the same time, they have a clan to manage, damnit. But reasoning with his brother is useless at the best of times, headache-inducing at the worst, and the truth is that Tobirama is not feeling at his best, these days.
His usually even temper is stretched thin, he's tired of being yanked back and forth through time, his sanity is in tatters, and the heat is not helping. If there's even a small chance that someone in this blasted island can tell him how to fix this, then his clan will have to deal.
Hopefully, the Uchiha will remain quiet for as long as this trip takes, and even if someone decides to attack them, he has absolute faith in Tōka's ability to make them regret it. He cringes at the thought of Tōka also being in charge of the food supply for as long as they're gone, but figures that if the clan survived Hashirama's incompetent management through those three months Tobirama spent as a captive of the Inuzuka, they can survive anything. There'd been actual tears, when Tobirama resumed his post. Someone even baked a cake, out of the very last cup of flour and eggs pilfered from a sparrow's nest.
So, the clan will be fine.
"Carry me," Hashirama says, leaning against him.
His brother, however, might not survive this trip.
"I will not," Tobirama says, trying to shift him away and unto Torou, their only other companion. The man gives him a look as if to say, you should have thought better before being born in his family, and pointedly takes a step back.
"But I'm tired and didn't sleep at all last night," Hashirama whines and leans harder. Tobirama knows this is true. He's the one that had to hold Hashirama's hair back as he lost his entrails over the side of the ship, and that image is not leaving his mind's eye anytime soon.
"The walk will wake you up," he states, trying to lean away, but it's hopeless.
In the end it's carry Hashirama or drag him by a foot, so Tobirama plops him up piggyback and walks the 3 and one half miles from the harbour into the tiny village of Harō with a sleeping Clan Head drooling on his shoulder and an imposing bodyguard in full battle regalia by his side. This development increases the usual amount of gawks and stares they receive when visiting foreign lands.
Tobirama adds to his mental favorites collection one elderly woman, who was sitting outside her house sharpening tools, who looks up when they walk by, and rubs her eyes. She follows their progress down the road by leaning over further and further from her sitting position and keeps rubbing her eyes every few seconds.
They make their way through town undisturbed. Land of Whirlpools is a tiny country populated almost entirely by fishers and farmers, with a modestly numbered shinobi clan scattered here and there, but the village of Harō is different from most villages here. Harō happens to be the home of one of the most prominent shinobi clans in the country and so, however entertained the villagers might be by the sudden visitors, they know better than to push their luck with foreign ninja, no matter how ridiculous they might appear upon first glance.
Eventually, they stand in what might be the town square, but it's hard to tell. It looks more like a deposit for the town livestock, a playground for pests and a general health hazard. A young lady pauses in her chore of grooming an imposing grey stallion to regard them evenly for a second, then she snorts, and returns to her business, seemingly impervious to the mosquitoes flying around her head.
He jostles Hashirama on his back.
"Anija, wake up,"
"No," is the petulant reply.
"Anija, wake up so I can set you down,"
"No," and the arms around Tobirama's neck tighten.
"Anija, wake up or I'm going to back up to one of those interesting brown piles that goat just left and drop you,"
"Fine," Hashirama says, sighing like Tobirama is being ridiculously unfair, "I'm awake."
Tobirama sets him on his feet, gives him a few seconds to rub his eyes and sulk sleepily, and then he pushes him toward a local, who predictably stopped to gawk. He feels sort of bad inflicting Hashirama on the man this early in the morning, but after the third time swatting at a mosquito that just won't get away from his face, he decides that misery loves company.
"Good morning, friend!" Hashirama says, smile bright and gaining wattage by the second as he blinks away sleep, "I would ask for your help, if you would be so kind!"
The man looks at them for a minute, as if thoroughly satiating his curiosity, and then he leaves without even a grunt of acknowledgement. Hashirama blinks at the space the man vacated, likely wondering when he lost his divine power to make people love him on sight. Then he realizes he's being bitten by a mosquito and slaps his face so hard he leaves a hand-shaped red mark on it.
He looks at Tobirama forlornly, pout firmly in place. He looks dangerously close to tears, and it's too early in the morning for this.
"You'll never get anything out of them like that," the young lady says then, having paused once again just to watch Hashirama fail epically in his quest for information, leveling him with a supremely unimpressed look, "You can't just ask for it. You have to impose. Like this. Observe"
She clears her throat delicately, then turns to an unsuspecting man walking by.
"Hey YOU," she points at the hapless local, who's startled into nearly dropping the large watermelon he's carrying under his arm, "Yes, you, don't look behind you! Don't even think about trying to run before I wring every last bit of information from you that I can! I'm not playing around here, oh you might try to run but I'm faster, I might not look it but you haven't seen me chasing geese, and see this guy behind me," she jerks her thumb back at Torou, who raises an eyebrow, "he's even faster than me, and see all these-these things there," she flails wildly but is supposedly indicating the spikes on Torou's armour, polished to a glimmer in the morning sun, "he's also pointy. And sharp. So if you ran and we had to chase you, why there isn't any guarantee big and pointy here might not trip and land on you and OH I would so not want to be you if that happened. Swiss cheese would have less holes than you. So stay put, listen up, and spill!"
" ...please," Hashirama adds weakly behind her.
It takes them less than 3 minutes to find out who is sleeping with who, who ran off with whose wife, who's hidden half their goats in the woods to avoid paying taxes for them and oh yes, Old Man Hisai? Why he lives right up this hill. Can I go now ma'am please?
Tobirama is suitably impressed. Hashirama is closer to stupidly in love.
"Thank you, my lady," he says, and looks like he's three seconds away from doing something eminently stupid, like asking for her hand in marriage, "This will probably sound sudden to you, but I beg you not to be offended, for my motives are pure. My name is Hashirama, and I would ask for your-Omph!"
"-Name," Tobirama quickly interjects, stepping swiftly in front of his brother, who's clutching at his stomach and wheezing for breath, "He would ask for your name,"
The lady's lips twitch minutely, but she doesn't comment. She swiftly mounts her stallion in a flare of skill, grace and tumbling red hair, and simply says,"Mito,"
He bows respectfully, "We thank you for your help, my lady,"
He watches her horse disappear into town. In the background, Torou pats Hashirama on the back while he chokes and gags, his vertebrae rattling like beads on a bracelet with each forceful slap.
"There was no need to elbow me so hard, Tobirama," he scolds once he can finally speak again, but the swollen mosquito bite on his nose and the red imprints of his own digits on his face take away the seriousness of it,"What's the point of being Clan Head if I can't marry the woman I love?"
Tobirama doesn't sigh, but only because if he did he'd have to take a big breath after, and he's carefully not breathing more than strictly necessary. The air here is thick like warm soup. His brother doesn't seem to mind much anymore. His eyes are fixed, comically wide, on the road Mito followed minutes ago, and he looks wistful, the poor fool.
"You just met her," Tobirama tells him as he begins walking down the dirt road they were told to follow, but it's hopeless.
"Oh, you don't understand the heart, Tobirama!" he claims, walking backwards to look at him as he speaks, increasing his chances of tripping on a pebble and cracking his skull. Tobirama pictures it in excruciating detail, just to keep himself from strangling the idiot, "She's so beautiful! And-and-"
"Scary?" Torou suggests, looking amused.
"Yes, thank you!" he grins.
"Seems like your type," Tobirama agrees. Factoring in the the months of Hashirama's adolescent crush for their cousin Tōka, and the layered feelings the man has for one particular Uchiha, he might not be far from the truth.
"Oh, that we could stay in this beautiful place for a little while longer," Hashirama laments, swatting a horde of mosquitoes away. He takes a final step backwards, and trips on a rock.
Tobirama is dispassionately watching his brother fall to sprawl on the dirt, when he feels his stomach churn and the world fade away again. He has a distinct moment to think that at least his brother's wish is granted, they're staying in this horrible place for an indefinite amount of time, before he finds himself kneeling on the grass in the middle of the Uchiha compound.
"Uh-oh" a roughly ten year old Madara says, eyes wide. There's a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and a horde of curious children behind him, peeking at the naked man who appeared out of thin air in the middle of the playground.
Madara manages to take off his haori and throw it at him before Tobirama finds himself chased by a throng of outraged Uchiha women wielding kunais, swords, and enough firepower to level a country, holding the small cloth around his middle as he's called a pervert and a fiend in a dozen different, increasingly inventive ways.
He fucking hates time travel.
"--and see this guy behind me?" she jerks her thumb back at Torou, who raises an eyebrow, "he's even faster than me, and see all these-these things there," she flails wildly but is supposedly indicating the spikes on Torou's armour, polished to a glimmer in the morning sun, "he's also pointy. And sharp."
A week later, Tobirama is seated at the Uzumaki Clan Head's table, eating scalding ramen whose only purpose seems to be making his insides the same temperature as the outside world.
"It is always a pleasure having you with us, Hashirama-dono," Uzumaki Ashina says pleasantly, bowing as best as he can when sitting down,"As well as any member of the Senju clan,"
Which is the polite way of saying he doesn't remember Tobirama's name. Next to him, Torou snorts into his soup, and Tobirama prays that he'll choke on it.
"It is a pleasure to be here, as always," Hashirama says, even though he's sweating profusely and his hair looks like a bird's nest, and they've been here a grand total of three times, "Such a lovely, ovely place,"
He says it like if he infuses his tone with enough politeness it'll magically come true. He's saved from having to lie some more by the entrance of Uzumaki Mito, who instantly commands all of his attention and fucks up his ability to string coherent sentences together.
"Forgive my lateness, father," she says, taking a seat at a vacant spot next to Tobirama. Across from him, Hashirama slumps his shoulders dejectedly. His sulking is nearly audible, "I was busy with the horses, you see. They're quite rattled , for whatever reason,"
Tobirama suppresses a groan and focuses on his soup.
"Oh," the old man blinks, wiping his bushy mustache clean of soup, "Rattled, you say? Perhaps they saw something that irked them,"
"A snake, perhaps," Hashirama says, nodding sagely, "Or a mouse."
Tobirama growls low in his throat, but they ignore him. Torou sniggers.
"Perhaps," Mito shrugs, feigning nonchalance, then says in an overly dramatic tone, "Or perhaps it was The Time Traveling Naked Man."
They laugh like this is not the thousandth time they've made that joke in the past day, since Tobirama landed on a pile of waste in the stables and scared the shit out of the animals. Literally.
Since it's generally considered impolite to murder people in their own dinner room, Tobirama limits himself to a vitriolic panoramic glare.
"Forgive me, Tobirama-san," Mito says, wiping her eyes daintily as her mirth dies down, "It's just that funny things are few and far in between these days, you understand,"
"Funny," he growls, " is a matter of perspective,"
Across from him, his brother continues to snigger. Tobirama kicks him on the shin once, and calmly takes a sip of his soup.
"Ah, yes." Mito says, watching Hashirama crumple in his seat with mirth dancing in her eyes, "I would think so,"
Tobirama likes her more and more with each passing minute.
"I assure you, my friend, your problem will be solved soon," Ashina says, a kind smile on his elderly face,"There's no one in the world as skilled in time-space seals as Namikaze-sensei . Why, he used to be considered the fastest man in the world!"
"His jutsu was swift and efficient, and some said he could even be at two places at once," Mito nods,"They used to call him the Yellow Lightning Bolt, "
Torou raises an eyebrow, "Used to? "
"One day, he just...stopped using it. He didn't give any reasons, he just stopped . No matter who asked him to, he wouldn't teach his secrets, and soon he even stopped coming to town," Mito explains. Torou simply nods and returns to his food, clearly dismissing them from his attention, having apparently used up all his words for the day.
"What happened?" Tobirama asks, used to his subordinate's mannerisms.
Ashina makes an all encompassing gesture with his chopsticks, sending soup and noodles flying everywhere.
"Perhaps he realized that swiftness cannot solve all problems, or he figured out that there is more to life than simply increasing it's speed." the old man shrugs, "Maybe he just had to come to terms with the fact that the Grey Haired Lightning Bolt doesn't have the same ring to it. In any case, we don't see him much anymore"
Tobirama frowns. That is not very reassuring.
"Will he help?" Hashirama asks then, resurfacing from his endorphin-induced stupor. It's easy for him to forget how worried his brother is by all this, with the jokes and everything, but Hashirama is serious now. This last trip ate up a week from Tobirama's life.
Ashina shrugs again, and limits himself to say,"You lose nothing by trying,"
And try they will. This is the only lead they have, possibly the only lead they'll ever have: space-time seals are only ever used on objects, never people, and never with these kind of adverse side effects. Members of the Namikaze family are the only ones recorded to have used jutsus similar to the one Tobirama used, it was their exploits he was studying when he came across the Hiraishin , and Namikaze Hisai is the most prominent of them all. If he can't,or won't, help-
Hashirama looks at him over the table, jaw set and eyes determined. It's a look Tobirama is familiar with. It's a look that says, I'm not letting anyone take your quills again, and No one will ever harm you, and No more children will die. His brother has that look on his face that says whatever problem has come up, he'll beat it into submission or out stubborn it into giving up. He's committed.
Tobirama barely keeps himself from laughing, but even against his better judgement, he can't help but feel a bit reassured. That look, after all, has only ever meant good things.
Shaking his head, he returns to his meal.
"I shall retire for the night." Ashina says then, pushing away his empty plate and rising to his feet. Everyone at the table rises as well, except for Mito, who continues to eat with the kind of single-mindedness everyone in her family seems to reserve only for ramen. After bowing respectfully, they all sit down once more to finish their meal.
"Tobirama-dono, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't show up naked in my quarters." the old man says then.
When Tobirama widens his eyes at him, he winks cheekily.
Cheekily.
"I'm a vigorous man, but that would be too much for my frail old heart, I should think,"
Tobirama splutters, but the old man is already gone. Hashirama chokes on a noodle laughing himself silly, and it takes true effort not to let him die.
He lands face down just outside the Senju Compound, loose dirt going straight up his nostril, thankfully hidden by bushes and tallgrass. He suppresses a sneeze and his chakra as soon as he can, lest his younger self will know of his presence, and raises his eyes just in time to see his brother run past towards the guarded gate. He's visibly rattled, hurrying on his way home from his first meeting with Madara, carrying with him a helmet emblazoned with the Hagoromo crest.
Someone is waiting for him at the entrance.
He watches, entranced, as his brother runs to a boy whose back is turned to Tobirama. His breath catches in his throat and he lowers his face to the dirt, allowing himself to only catch a glimpse of white and brown hair, all on the same head and combed methodically, nearly obsessively apart because when the colors mix it just looks wrong, don't you see? Of course you don't know. You're so lucky you have normal hair, I have to walk around looking like a panda bear. Don't call me panda bear! Just because I said it doesn't mean you get to say it. I hate you sometimes, Tobirama.
His limbs start tingling and he fades away before he can tell if the boy who turns around is Itama or not.
He tells himself it isn't. It's easier that way.
The house is leaning to the right. Hashirama and Tobirama lean too, just to make sure they are looking at it correctly.
"You stay here," he tells his brother, who is sweltering in the heat and barely coherent. He makes a face that Tobirama interprets as assent and continues staring blearily at nothing as Tobirama makes his way to the door.
Tobirama knocks a couple of times. Then he knocks a few more, then he pounds, and then he freezes because the porch creaks ominously. But the door opens and the man standing there, small, old, bald but for a tuft of grey hair, and hunched over his cane, squints at the young man and smiles.
With a lot of coaxing, the brothers manage to fit in the tiny living space despite the claustrophobically low ceiling and excess of furniture. When Tobirama and Hashirama both go to sit on the little sofa, it lets out a mighty moan and so Hashirama, ever considerate of the neglected majority of inanimate objects' feelings, sits on the floor.
"It's my lucky day to have such fine young visitors," the old man says, smiling a toothless smile, "I should make you some tea, I think," and he starts to stand, his movements painfully slow.
"Oh, no, sir," Hashirama says, and gets to his feet. The floorboards wobble threateningly, "let me do it, I'd be happy too."
"That would be very nice. And they say the youth of today are so lazy, but I don't see it. I don't see it at all. Thank you, young man," the old man grins again. Hashirama beams at him, then negotiates the walk from sitting room to kitchen like a soldier navigating a minefield, but he makes it safely and Tobirama can hear his brother's content hum as he goes about inspecting the old man's kitchen.
"Now," the old man says, drawing Tobirama's eyes back to him, "Just what can I do for the two of you?"
"Well, sir," Tobirama says politely, because his mother taught him manners and he is grateful to drag them out when the occasion calls for it, "My name is Senju Tobirama, from the Land of fire. I'm Hikari Namikaze's disciple." at this, he fishes the Hikari-sensei's letter from his pocket and hands it over.
The old man opens it, glimpses at the contents, snorts haughtily and puts it away, before doing a familiar hand gesture, urging Tobirama to move along already. Well then.
"My brother and I, we've come across some information about you, about…" how to word it properly? "About who you used to be,"
"Ah," the old man says, sitting back on the chair, "you mean my dear sister and little Ashina have told you about my exploits with space-time jutsus,"
"Yes, sir,"
"And why is it that a fine young man such as you would be interested in an old man's accomplishments?"
"I had a... problem," is what he settles for after some deliberation, knowing that if the old man's genius is as grand as he's been told then he'll figure it out on his own, "with a space-time jutsu,"
The old man leans forward and peers at him with wide, sky blue eyes, and that is a first class gawk.
"Ah, yes," he says, nodding, "You have that misplaced air about yourself. Marks you as a time traveler,"
He settles back on his chair and grins like it's the most normal thing in the world.
Tobirama gapes, "What."
Hashirama comes back then, carefully carrying some teacups and using a plate as a make shift tray. He sits them down then slowly navigates his way back to the kitchen.
"Oh, yes," Hisai says, shrugging, "It is a rather...bothersome side effect of the space-time jutsu," he shrugs, "Happens sometimes. Tends to wear off,"
Tobirama grits his teeth so hard they squeak,"It is a little bit more bothersome than that,"
"Ah," the old man says sympathetically, "The naked part is giving you trouble, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," Tobirama barks, losing his patience, "That, and the fact that it isn't wearing off,"
Hisai seems not to notice.
"Did you happen to leave your mark behind, on your first travel?" he asks pleasantly, "The Hiraishin mark never disappears,"
"I didn't leave anything behind," Tobirama sighs, running a hand over his face,"It just keeps pulling me back ,"
"To a place?"
He grimaces, "To a person,"
This seems to strike something in the old man, because he sits up straight and frowns, his face seemingly completely unused to the expression. Tobirama notices the sudden change in attitude, but doesn't let it show, "To their past, or their future?"
"Both, I think. But I was there, too. In their future," he frowns, remembering the future version of himself he- -thinks -he saw, remembers his easy posture, and the way he'd turned his back on an enemy. He crosses his arms over his chest so that his clenched fists are less obvious, and growls, "But it's not possible ,"
A fixture of his imagination is all that it was. There is simply no possibility he , or any version of him , would ever be so calm when turning his back on an Uchiha. No matter the context, it's outrageous to even remember the image. The only reason he knows the whole thing wasn't a genjutsu is that no one, not Izuna and not Madara, would be foolish enough to believe he'd fall for such a thing.
Oblivious to the rage and turmoil once again threatening Tobirama's calm, the old man keeps talking.
"Ah." he says, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "Your...let us call it chronological impairment, shall we? It seems to be pointing you somewhere, don't you think?"
Tobirama raises an eyebrow and stares blankly at the man, who simply chuckles.
"I'm a man of logic, just as you are." he states amiably, looking over the various tomes and scrolls scattered about the small living space, stacked on top of every available surface, "But some things-logic can't really explain them, can it?"
Tobirama rolls his eyes, "Fate, then, you mean?"
Everyone who knows, from Hikari-sensei to his brother and Ashina-san, everyone has tried to imbue this-this side effect with some kind of otherworldly, larger than life meaning. If Tobirama'd ever though life's questions and the problems of the world could be solved with concepts as vague as fate , he would have devoted his life to scripture and the Gods instead of research and war.
He wonders, if they knew what he sees everytime he travels, would they still believe fate is in anyway involved? What would Hashirama say, if he knew it's his beloved soulmate he sees everytime he's yanked through space-time? Would Tōka still maintain her advice, would she still tell him not to interfere, if she knew who Tobirama is drawn to like moth to a flame? Because what else could fate be telling him to do , other than to cut the problem by the root, and obliterate his enemy before his time comes to pass?
-Madara and Izuna gliding over the water, laughing together under the sun, distracted distracted distracted-
No. This isn't fate. This is cruel chance and fortuity, this is the powers-that-be laughing as Tobirama struggles not to sullen the last of the light he has left by murdering a child. This is himself, bound by a foolish mistake to a creature , trembling with the effort to hold himself still because Uchiha Madara-young and defenceless-is always right there.
Playing with wooden swords, learning the skills that will make him deadly, that will keep his family safe. Always cold and trying not to show it, splashing water and answering questions about the sky and the water and smiling so freely-
-onyx eyes looking down upon the battlefield with a sneer, hair a mass of constant black tumbling in the wind, the bodies littering the floor by the dozen, by the hundreds, by the thousands, smothered under piles of ash that used to be people. Burning skin and meat falling from the bone, smell sweet and nauseating, gurgling screams and mercy deaths. Wild child, wild child, wild child-
"Have you spoken to this person?" Hisai asks, snapping him from his reverie, "Asked them-about what they remember?"
Tobirama is shaking his head before the question is even finished, swallowing back the acrid taste in the back of his throat brought on by the memories, "There's no way for me to approach them,"
The old man winces, expression tumbling into sympathetic, "They're dead, then?"
"No," Tobirama corrects, sighing. All his problems would be lesser if that were true, "but-we are enemies,"
Shattering the solemn aura that had shaped itself around them, the old man laughs heartily, clutching at his belly and wheezing for breath. At Tobirama's raised eyebrow and impassive expression, he settles down a bit, only to burst out laughing once more time.
"You're oddly reticent of destiny, for someone so profoundly touched by it," he says, grinning widely and still sniggering. There's tears at the corners of his eyes, his blue eyes seemingly becoming liquid, but he sobers up enough to level Tobirama with an almost self-deprecating smile, "The trouble with time is that it often makes us forget ourselves,"
"...what?"
The old man chuckles again, shaking his head in what looks like mystification mixed with deep sadness. The change of humour is sudden and unexpected, and it's enough to throw Tobirama for a loop.
"Nothing, child. You are young yet. There is no need for you to concern yourself with issues beyond your years," his voice cracks slightly, be it by age or feeling, but he smiles again, tiny and sad, every line on his face brought to stark relief. He remembers Mito's words, One day, he just...stopped.
"This person, their present-tense self…" Hisai says, once again smiling placidly and leaning back on his seat. For a moment, Tobirama is nearly overwhelmed by curiosity, and he wonders what makes a man like this abandon his life's work, his art, his passion , to live all but secluded on top of a hill. It just-doesn't seem right.
What made you stop?, he wants to ask, a stab of anxiety burning through his side. What made you stop, so that I can avoid it?
"Are they hot?"
Tobirama blinks several times, then asks feebly, "Are they ...what? "
Hisai just continues to smile placidly, shrugging one shoulder at Tobirama's expression of slowly dawning horror.
"Oh, you know. Hot." he says, mirth dancing in his eyes, "Inviting, provocative, seductive... arousing,"
Tobirama's brain screeches to a halt, then throws itself of a cliff, and he chokes on air. The old man sniggers like a schoolboy.
It is a good thing Hashirama returns then with the cream and sugar bowl and notices his brother turning blue. A few hard raps on the back make him gag and choke and start breathing again, his brain trying to climb back up to the control tower.
Hisai laughs delightedly, shaking his head.
"What are you-why-who- what?! " Tobirama wheezes, having just cheated death, as the back pounding continues.
"It's where fate seems to be pointing you,"
So this whole thing would be some kind of demented, twisted attempt to get him to-to-
He opens his mouth to say something very affronted, and possibly very rude, only for Hashirama to clamp his hand over his mouth.
"I think my brother doesn't agree with that, sir," his brother says politely. Tobirama glares at him and has the distinctly childish need to lick his palm.
"Oh, well. If you want to fight fate so desperately," the old man says with a shrug, then he scratches his chin,"I seem to remember some journals I used to keep…they might prove useful to you"
"Where are they?!"Tobirama hisses, having given in and freed his mouth by licking Hashirama's palm. The man stands speechless, staring at the appendage with horror and disgust.
"Eh? Hmmm, let me think," the old man says.
"I'll get the teapot!" Hashirama says excitedly, because tea always makes good things happen, plus he needs to wash his hand with lye.
Tobirama waits. Hashirama returns with the teapot, pours the old man a cup and hovers nervously at his elbow, but the old man says nothing further. In fact he goes completely still as well. The brothers look at each other. They decide to wait it out.
Still, the old man seems to ponder silently.
Still a while later, Hashirama finally ventures: "Do you think he's alive?"
"I don't know," Tobirama sighs miserably, massaging his temples,"Why don't you check?"
Hashirama, 28 years old or not, tested warrior or not, leader of a clan or not, isn't about to touch a potentially dead old person.
"No," he says, backing away, "You check."
Tobirama glares.
As they stare at each other, each trying to will the other to do it, the old man speaks as if he'd never stopped speaking to begin with.
"I seem to remember they might be in the study," he says, and calmly sips his tea.
Hashirama jumps to his feet, a bouncing ball of energy.
"Do you hear that, Tobirama?! They're in the st…." and Hashirama crashes through the floor,"... ow ."
He gets his usual damage assessment.
"He landed on his head," Tobirama says calmly, "he's not hurt."
Mokuton proves extremely useful, when they fix the floor.
"Lady Mito, you hold my heart," Hashirama states, voice heavy with feeling. He's kneeling on the pier, holding one of her hands in both of his own, looking up at her with a mixture of awe and adoration mutts generally reserve for their owners. It is painful to watch.
"Really." Lady Mito states, unimpressed. Tobirama wants to dump his brother in this god forsaken island and name her Clan Head. His life would beso much easier.
"It's like watching a house cat being ripped apart by a wild beast," Torou says, mystified,"I really don't want to watch, but I can't help myself ,"
In the end, they have to drag Hashirama bodily into the boat and restrain him so that he'll stop making a fool of himself.
There's muted screaming coming from the boat, a constant litany of things like You are an executioner of love, Tobirama!. And I will return, my sweet, fear not for you are the only one! Then something that sounds suspiciously like TOROU-SAN WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH TH-followed by a dull clanging sound. Then there is silence, the calming rumble of the waves crashing against the shore, and the poorly concealed giggles of the crew and the villagers that had stopped to gawk.
"My apologies," Tobirama says, bowing respectfully.
"Unnecessary," she waves it away, then shrugs. "He's... amusing,"she says it like the older man is a particularly pestering puppy, or someone else's quirky child, both tolerated merely for the entertainment value. Tobirama really, really likes her. "Have you found what you came here for?"
He thinks about the leather bound journals stacked in his bag, all four of them a collection of research notes, journal entries, letters, recipes and an alarming amount of lewd drawings."I...do not know for sure. I hope I have,"
She hums and looks over the horizon, following the path of seagulls with dark blue eyes. He's transfixed for a second by how beautiful she is, this warrior child of warriors, how young, even though she's probably his age, if not a bit more. The Uzumaki are known for their longevity, yet Ashina is the oldest one left, all his children but Mito dead or missing, the fire in their eyes extinguished for good. Much like his own brothers, they were born to die.
She probably won't live to be an old woman like her father, or Hisai. She won't live to test that renowned longevity. That is a sad notion in on itself, and for a split second Tobirama burns with a sudden rage at the injustice, because she should.
Then she looks at him and smiles.
"I believe you have," she says, and winks.
He's left on the pier staring after her, wondering what she could possibly mean by that.
One minute Tobirama is staring blankly at the midnight sky, holding his brother's hair back as the man throws up over the side of ship, and the next he's kneeling on an ant nest large enough to have it's own government system, complete with three powers, a vast amount of redundant public servants and subterranean anterooms containing nothing but large stacks of paperwork. At the sudden invasion of a large naked man, the ants attack. Tobirama doesn't scream, but it's a very near thing.
He jumps back as far away from the thing as possible, directing freezing jets of water to his legs with a jutsu before blindly and violently scrubbing them with his hands, so that if the ants don't fall off at least they'll die drowned or crushed. Once he's satisfied that he won't get bitten by tiny, disgusting insects, he glares at the nest. If he could he'd set it on fire.
Though he's never been a very outdoorsy person-he's always preferred to stay in, which set him apart from the other boys in his clan since childhood-Tobirama's never outright hated the forest until now that he has to spend so much time unclothed in the wild. Didn't this kid have a house? Although, considering the fiasco that travel that landed him smack in the middle of the Uchiha compound was, maybe it's better that he shows up where there's no one around. His head still hurts from that one frying pan that connected with his skull.
It's late at night, and it's cold. The stars are out, and the moon shines bright upon the earth, bathing it in silvery light that's enough to see by. Tobirama feels the little monster nearby, alone in a clearing minutes away, and he contemplates his options. This could be a short trip, and since the boy hasn't seen him, he can just wait it out and not have to see him at all. On the other hand, the trip might not be short, since it's been proven that they can be quite long and last for several hours, it's cold, and he's naked. And wet. With a sigh, he starts walking.
He can tell the second that Madara notices he's around. There's a jolt in his chakra, monstrous as it is, like an uptick in his heartbeat that makes his control snap minutely, and then there's tiny tendrils of raw power reaching out gingerly outwards. He wonders where the boy learnt how to do that, since Tobirama isn't aware of any sensor Uchihas, but that kind of chakra control needs to be taught. He saves that piece of information to look into it later.
As soon as he's within reach, a scroll comes flying towards him, aimed perfectly at the centre of his face. He's seen it before, it's the standard summons one where Madara carries Tobirama's coat, which is a strange thought in on itself. Glaring at the situation in general, he activates it and wraps the warm fur around himself. It fits perfectly, which only annoys him even more.
Madara is sitting on a log by a small fire, the spartan camp signaling he's either going on a mission or returning from one. His black stallion is just as impassive upon Tobirama's sudden appearance as it was the last time, but this time there's a large quilt thrown over it that comes up almost to it's ears, and it's steady puffs of breath are visible in the cold air as it regards him calmly, used to his presence. The very thought is disturbing.
"Are you having a staring match with Yoru?" Madara asks nonchalantly then, looking up at him with eyes blacker than the night, "I should warn you, though, he's one of the quiet ones. You know what they say about those,"
Tobirama snorts, raising a hand to pat the horse's warm flesh. It presses it's head eagerly into his hand, like he's done that a million times before.
Eeery.
"Night, huh?" he mutters, giving in and scratching the animal between the ears, "Rather unimaginative name for a black horse,"
"Izuna wanted to call him Super Fire Hooves Ultra Spirally Sharp-san," Madara pipes in.
Tobirama raises a questioning eyebrow.
"He was five," he shrugs, "It was that or Buttercup. Father said that those names weren't acceptable for a war horse, and called him Yuro. Izuna got so mad, he held his breath until he passed out. I think he still calls him that, in his head,"
"Super Sharp Fire Hooves-san?"
"Super Fire Hooves Ultra Spirally Sharp-san," Madara corrects without missing a beat, then rolls his eyes, "This is my brother we're talking about. Of course he calls the horse Buttercup,"
Tobirama has a hard time imagining Uchiha Izuna being capable of even saying that word, but the thought still makes him chuckle. He's freezing and the fire seems to call for him, so he sheds his doubts and sits by it on another log placed next to the one Madara's sitting on. He toys with the idea that Madara placed it there just in case he'd show up, and discards it as ridiculous.
"Why are you wet?"
Tobirama mentally flails for an answer, but settles on an evasive, "It was raining in the future,"
The boy looks at him, and Tobirama discovers that the Absolutely Underwhelmed by Your Nonsense Uchiha Look is actually something the youngsters hone into perfection.
"From the ground up?", little shit that he is, Madara grins, "There were bugs and you panicked, didn't you?"
How the hell does this boy know so much about him?!
"It is none of your business," he grits out, glaring at the giggling boy, "Why are you out in the cold anyway?"
At this, the laughter stops, to be replaced by a sullen silence as the boy looks away from him and at the crackling fire. Tobirama keeps glaring, because he'll be damned if he's going to let Uchiha Madara make him feel guilty, eleven year old or else.
"Well?" he demands sternly. The boy sighs, rubbing at his red-rimmed eyes. The bags under them are more pronounced than usual, they're closer to what his adult counterpart usually sports, and the thought is jarring, for some reason.
"I did something terrible," he confesses in a whisper, looking like he's waiting to be struck down by some invisible force, but not by Tobirama. This familiarity the boy has with him tells him that he's visited him a lot more times than he's comfortable with.
Madara keeps talking,"I cheated on a mission," he nearly whispers, swallowing audibly. His eyes are wide, and there's fear in them, swirling in the charcoal black. He's unused to those eyes being easy to read,"I was supposed to make friends with this girl, get her to invite me to her house, and then I had to slit her throat so that her father would find her dead,"
Assassinations have always been common. Child assassinations less so, but the pay is all the greater because of it. His father never shied away from them, because they needed the money, and because it is the mark of a good ninja to do the job no-one else dares-or simply cannot bring themselves-to do.
He remembers those missions well. The ones that left him confused and hollow and angry and tired at the same time. The ones his father preferred to give to him instead of his brother or Tōka, believing perhaps he wasn't as affected by them as they were because he chose not to show it. The other possibility is that his father did know they affected him, but chose to ignore it because regardless of his feelings, Tobiramaalways got the job done. He's not sure which thought upsets him the most.
If the Senju Clan did them, before Hashirama's rule, then there was always the distinct possibility, nay, certainty , that the Uchiha, renowned for their lack of scruples, did them too. The thought must have crossed his mind, at least peripherally. It's only logical, after all.
Although, he doesn't think he ever could have pictured an emotion as raw, as human, as the one he can now see taking a hold on Madara's-young, too young, much too young-face.
"But I couldn't do it. I couldn't. She was so nice, and I just…" he swallows again, thick with unshed tears, and shakes head, raven hair sticking out in every direction, "I've done it before, but this time I just-"
The boy almost chokes on a too-big breath, chest heaving. His eyes are too wide, and he swallows again and again. Bile, Tobirama realizes suddenly, and it's funny, in a very dark way, but he'd never considered any Uchiha capable of having such a knee-jerk reaction to anxiety or fear like nausea. The impassive black eyes are forever ingrained in his waking consciousness, and he's never been able to look past that.
"I-I put her father in a genjutsu," Madara admits softly, miserably, like he's waiting for the executioner's axe. "I made him believe I killed her,"
Tobirama looks at his small form, at the way he's clutching at his stomach, looking away from him like he can't bear looking into anyone's eyes. A child, he marvels. Just a child. Not much different to the boy he once was, or his siblings, squirming and exposed under his father's watchful eye.
A memory comes to him then. An assassination mission he went on with his brother and Tōka, commissioned by one of the Daimyo's most prominent opposers. The daughter was their mission, since it was known the man doted on his child and would crumble upon her death, but they got there too late. All the servants told the same story: they'd found the child dead and given the body proper burial, wept as they cleaned the floors and left flowers on her tomb every day. Yet there was no body in the grave when they dug out the coffin, and no one could say for certain what the cause of death had been. The genjutsu was near flawless, unbreakable without leaving the victims permanently damaged, performed by a master, and Tōka sang praises to it for months and months thereafter.
They'd tracked the girl down, found her living in the Land of Wind with a distant relation, and Hashirama had taken one look at them and written Target: Deceased on his letter to their father.
Tobirama raged at him as they watched the falcon fly away, "She's our mission!"
"No," Hashirama said, with all of the solemnity of his twelve years of age, "She's just another tool,"
He was right. In the end, the Daimyo committed suicide, and the opposer took over his position, only to be toppled over himself a few years after, by the very men who'd celebrated his ascent. The circle of the world.
"She doesn't deserve to die," Madara says, suddenly defiant and very much like the young man he'll become, the one that will enchant Hashirama to the point of near obsession, "She's Izuna's age,"
Tobirama sighs, searching his mind for something to say, and coming up with the same line his father threw his way when he himself had questioned his orders for the first time, "At times, a shinobi must do things he doesn't deem right,"
Upon hearing those words, Tobirama bowed his head, said Yes, father, and left, internally deeming them the stupidest platitudes ever uttered by an adult to date . He resolved to never voice his doubts again, but to always be the one who made the final call from that moment forward. If he had to live with what he had to do, then he'd be willing to die for what he couldn't live with.
Madara, though. Madara crumbles into a visage of dismay and self doubt.
"You think I was wrong, then?" he asks, anxiety eating away at his voice, "I shouldn't have saved her?"
Tobirama remembers the little girl, Itama's age, playing with a mutt puppy on a pile of sand and laughing. He remembers feeling outrageously jealous of her, for being able to laugh so freely, and live so happy, when so many were dead and so many never even lived in the first place. He remembers being angry for being a child who had to act like an adult, or for being an adult who thought like a child, and because he could not remember ever laughing like that, even in the best moments of his life.
He looks at Madara then, just shy of twelve years old, alone in the countryside and dreading his father's rage, dreading Tobirama's disapproval, because he let another child live.
"You did good," he says, voice thick with things he can't understand, and pretends he doesn't see the way Madara's shoulders slump, like the weight of the world has been lifted off them.
He smiles, but it's a wobbly thing, shaky like a leaf in autumn, and Tobirama wants to tell him to stop. They seat in silence for a while, letting the night roll by on the crackling of the fire.
"Oh, hey," Madara says suddenly, reaching for his bag and rummaging around it until he finds a rectangular wooden box. He presents it to Tobirama triumphantly, "Look what they sold just outside the villa,"
Tobirama peers at the box suspiciously, "What's that?"
The boy rolls his eyes and opens the box with a flourish, revealing the contents to him. Inside the box, ordered in neat rows, there's a dozen tea-cakes shaped like delicate green leaves, each painstakingly moulded and decorated with powdered sugar. Truly admirable work.
"I don't like candy," he says when the box is shoved at him, gently, as if not to jostle the contents.
"But they're your favorites!" Madara cries, shoving the box at him with a bit more force, a stubborn set to his jaw not much different than a mule's, or worse, Hashirama's .
"Alright, alright," Tobirama says exasperatedly, taking the box when it becomes obvious it's either take the box or be brained with it. He scratches his head and gingerly picks out one of the confections. He holds it at eye level and peers at it suspiciously from all angles.
Next to him, Madara crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, "If I wanted to poison you, I would have done it that time I found you half starved by the training grounds,"
Tobirama frowns, "What do you-"
"Just eat it!"
"Alright!" he sighs, "I'll eat this, but I told you: I don't like sweets,"
Madara rolls his eyes so hard Tobirama could swear he heard the optic nerve snap, but then he settles back with no comment, apparently to watch Tobirama eat, little creep that he is.
Tobirama sighs again, wondering how this became his life, and then he takes a bite, chewing experimentally. The texture is off-putting at first, but it's not too sweet, and the green tea flavor is subtle, and refreshing. It's much better than he expected it to be, the creamy centre bursting spicy sweetness on his tongue, and he can't really remember the last time he ate something like this, something that he wasn't eating just because of it's nutritional value, or because he had to eat something and Tōka was shoving it down his throat.
It's...nice.
"Well?" Madara asks once the cake is gone, invading his personal space and gawking at him with a grin wide and delighted and just a tad smug.
Tobirama clears his throat dignifiedly, but when the boy giggles, he knows he's caught.
Alright. Apparently, they are his favorites.