Chapter Text
Tobirama has just finished killing the last of his enemies and is flicking the blood from his blade when the foreign force latches onto him.
He jerks his blade up and spreads his senses out. He has barely enough time to process that there are no hostile chakra signatures in his immediate vicinity before the force yanks, and his chakra abruptly divests itself entirely from his reserves.
Enemy attack, long range, he thinks as he stumbles, mind racing. This is a clear ploy to limit him to taijutsu and kenjutsu only. Now he will be vulnerable to any secondary attack. He must have gotten sloppy; an enemy he missed, or someone he let slip away—
The return of his chakra bowls him over, not so much a flood as an entire storm’s worth of deluge unloaded in one painful go. The returned chakra feels nauseatingly alien in his chakra coils. Reflexively, before the thought This must be a ploy, do not engage! can make it through his mind, he kneads a knot of sensory mode chakra and perceives, once again, that there are no notable hostile chakra signatures within a radius of 7 kilometers.
Then he perceives that the chakra, as alien as it feels, still responds promptly to his manipulations. This raises a number of other alarming questions. Who targeted him, and for what purpose? Why did they return his chakra, altered but responsive, permitting him to remain in a battle-ready state?
He only has a moment to consider these questions, however, before the backlash of the technique hits and he falls unconscious.
——
Returning to awareness is a thoroughly unpleasant affair. He awakens to find that he has collapsed among the corpses, and enough time has passed for the bodies to empty their bowels and enter rigor mortis. He peels his cheek out of the congealing puddle of blood beneath him and determines his clothes to be thoroughly ruined.
He does not appear to have acquired any new injuries while unconscious, but his chakra, though no longer nausea-inducing, still feels strangely alien. He runs through a slew of basic jutsu to test his chakra’s versatility, response time, and elemental affinity; internally, it feels the same. He frowns before making a series of nineteen handseals. The experimental jutsu is not combat-ready, but for this purpose, it will suffice.
A shadow clone puffs into existence beside him, draining half his reserves. They surveil each other and frown at the same time.
Normally, attempting to sense one’s own chakra signature is akin to trying to see the bridge of one’s own nose. However, with the shadow clone, Tobirama immediately notices that its signature has changed — warmer, like the boiling currents of a deep-sea vent, instead of the colder depths it should have been. That can only mean his own signature has changed as well.
As the jutsu that targeted him was clearly capable of taking all his chakra, he can only surmise that the subsequent return and alteration of his chakra signature points to some more nefarious purpose than the immediate deprivation of his chakra. He can at least conclude that it was not meant to incapacitate or kill him, given that he woke up from the horrifically foolish act of fainting in potentially hostile territory.
However, his other self-diagnostics turn up paranoia-inducingly normal, with no further insight to his condition. The lack of evidence for any of his theories on the jutsu’s purpose is disconcerting and unwelcome, and it forces him to set aside larger questions to consider the more immediate ramifications of his chakra signature’s sudden change: namely, that clients with records of his chakra signature will believe him to be a poor imposter, allied sensors will no longer recognize him, Hashirama will go into a state upon finding out, and Tobirama’s chakra-keyed seals will no longer work for him.
Tobirama has no desire to deal with any of the first three problems and refuses to entertain the notion of losing his research to the fourth. He will need to find a way to alter his chakra signature, or at least disguise it so outside forces will perceive it as its former state.
“Help me clean up the battlefield and acquire a suitable set of clothes,” he informs his clone. While there are psychological advantages to reporting to a client in clearly bloodstained clothes, the nobles of the capital prefer more civil appearances. The clone nods and sets off. Tobirama shifts his chakra into sensory mode so he can detect anyone coming his way and settles down to work.
Six hours later Tobirama has an ugly, hacked-together seal that changes the frequency of all the chakra he emits. The fact that it is a continuous leech on his reserves is a small price to pay for the fact that he is no longer locked out of his storage scrolls, or more importantly, his mission scroll. He seals away the heads of his targets into the mission scroll and changes out of his dirty clothes while his clone disposes of the remains and disperses itself.
Then he finishes executing his mission. The noble is quite pleased with his work and the proof of death he brought — “Fast, quality work. And the packaging is stupendous as well,” he says, running a hand over the storage seals Tobirama painted himself — despite the notable delay that being knocked unconscious by an unknown jutsu must have brought. Tobirama does not inform the noble of the attack, because it would be a stain on the Senju’s otherwise stellar record in the capital. The noble gives him the payment his clan is due. Tobirama bows and departs.
He walks through the city and shuffles through three henge disguises before paying for a night at a nearby inn. Then he leaves the key to his room on the table and silently exits out the window. That should be enough to throw off any pursuers, and if it’s not, then the three false trails he lays on the way to the woods and the traps he sets up around camp should be enough to buy him time to react.
Tobirama goes to sleep with his chakra still in sensory mode and his sword gripped in his hands. As long as an unknown assailant is targeting him, he’ll need to remain as vigilant as he can.
——
His vigilance is rewarded when, the next morning, a foreign chakra slips past his vast sensory range to press directly against him. Tobirama does not react to the intrusion gracefully, shoving it violently back towards… towards…
Towards somewhere not here. A fluttering of a chakra halo around his own chakra, connected… elsewhere.
An initial probe to take him unawares after his restful state, perhaps? The connection itself seems to bypass the limits of space, though he cannot determine where it leads without following it; and that is a risk he will not take when he does not understand this jutsu yet. Instead he shifts his chakra to battle-readiness and waits for the next probe. Sure enough, the foreign chakra intrudes once more moments later, a restless flame-bright presence that Tobirama promptly rips apart with extreme prejudice.
The dispersed chakra does not retreat. Instead it fans out in a fawning gesture, some sort of mockery of comfort. Tobirama violently rebuffs this, too. If this adversary is foolish enough to believe that Tobirama will take their sickening display at face gesture, they are sorely mistaken.
His opponent fans out their chakra in a soothing gesture again, and then somehow injects chakra directly into his coils.
It doesn’t hurt.
In fact, as Tobirama isolates the chakra packet, he can tell that it’s somehow… adapting to his coils. There is no conflict between the flame-bright chakra and his own. There is the entirely real possibility that Tobirama could use it right alongside his own reserves.
Tobirama thinks a number of things in that moment. He thinks, Impossible. Chakra coils reject foreign substances — that’s why iryo-ninjutsu is so difficult. He thinks, If the underlying principle of chakra-sharing could be derived, lives could be saved. He thinks, It’s warm, like a hearth-fire.
He also thinks, It would take a supremely idiotic shinobi to accept a foreign body from an unknown assailant into their own body. Get lost!
His opponent’s chakra spikes in fury when Tobirama spits the chakra packet back through the connection. Tobirama sneers and readies his chakra. Now that they have established that feints, niceties, and obvious ploys won’t work, perhaps they can move on to the real battle—
The opponent retreats.
…
What is going on.
——
So far, Tobirama has a few main theories as to the purpose of the jutsu. Clearly it allows the enemy to transfer chakra to him directly, likely due to the sudden adaptation of his chakra signature. The possibilities presented by this are manifold, but the most likely uses are to control Tobirama’s chakra, implant him with undesirable chakra-tied jutsu, or turn him into a living chakra bomb that can be detonated at any time.
In any case, that he was left alive after the initial bout of unconsciousness makes it clear that the enemy wants to manipulate him more than they want to kill him. Tobirama will not tolerate being turned into a weapon against his clan. It is imperative to not allow the enemy to gain a foothold in his coils.
Tobirama does not have the time to resolve this problem before his next mission. An acquaintance of a lord in the capital has requested his services, and he needs an exemplary performance to secure more political capital for the Senju clan. Operating within a strict time limit, unfortunately, is one of the requirements he has set for himself.
As the intrusions so far have been obvious and easily dealt with, Tobirama takes a calculated risk and goes ahead with the mission. He restocks his supplies, makes a sturdier signature-altering seal, and sets off.
It becomes apparent that his enemy has decided to use this jutsu to attempt amateur psychological warfare.
They try dropping chakra packets into his coils while he’s busy tracking the targets. A poor attempt at sneaking in while he is distracted, as any capable shinobi can multitask. As he moves on to casing the bandit camp, they finally realize that their sham of a strategy has failed and opt to be a disruption instead, constantly nipping at the edges of Tobirama’s chakra.
They poke and prod periodically, interrupting his attempts at recouping lost sleep, and obnoxiously move their chakra along the border between them in a way he can’t simply brush off. This is slightly more effective harassment, in that it raises Tobirama’s vigilance in preparation for a stronger probe that never comes.
Perhaps the purpose of the jutsu was not manipulation so much as sabotage, in which case Tobirama will have to be careful not to let them impact his performance in the mission at all.
The waste of time and attention irks him, but neither can he simply ignore his enemy, so Tobirama begrudgingly has to admit that they are slowly wearing on his mental stamina. There is little recourse but to finish eliminating the bandits and report the situation to Hashirama as quickly as possible. The Senju Clan cannot afford for him to be compromised with Father on his deathbed.
It is with great suspicion that he realizes that the enemy has opted to cease their disruptions just as he is about to carry out the final operation. Doubtless preparing for a true attack while waiting for him to lower his guard.
It rankles that he has to step directly into the trap. He rests up, makes his preparations, and sets out to eliminate the entire bandit camp in one go, senses strained to the fullest.
The enemy does not strike when Tobirama is luring the bandits carefully into pre-set traps of explosive tags. They do not strike when Tobirama is surrounded on all sides and carefully alternating between sensory chakra and battle mode to keep an eye on the entire battlefield. They do not strike even during the final confrontation between Tobirama and the leader of the bandits, who is nearly good enough to kill him.
It doesn’t make any sense. And if it makes no sense, Tobirama cannot trust it.
——
Traveling back towards the clan compound gives Tobirama the time he needs to take care of the enemy.
From observing the other’s interactions with his chakra, he is certain that the… bond… between them goes both ways — a manifestly foolish decision, almost suspiciously so. However, the current situation is untenable; Tobirama cannot perform optimally if he must keep some concentration and mental strength reserved for an enemy that might appear at any moment. A risk to break the stalemate and obtain more information is acceptable.
Tobirama flips through his nineteen handseals to create a shadow clone, just in case, and travels towards the clan compound while he waits for his half-depleted chakra to refill. When his chakra has reached combat-ready levels, he raises a hand and comes to a stop. His shadow clone stands behind him, ready to transfer chakra as soon as Tobirama’s natural reserves run low. Tobirama takes a moment to meditate and adjust his mental state before he finally begins his attack.
As suspected, he is able to probe the enemy’s chakra as well. He lingers on the blurry border between their chakras for a moment to inspect the feathery mixing before moving on. The enemy’s chakra seems much inclined to fire, pulsing like impulsive embers waiting for the right moment to roar to life. He can faintly feel the shape of their coils, the echo of emotion in the surrounding flame.
Tobirama pushes further in and pauses, watching for a reaction. By all rights, they should have noticed his intrusion by now; their lack of action makes him uneasy. But an opening is an opening, and sometimes, one has to spring the trap to escape it. He floods his chakra in and attacks.
The enemy’s chakra recoils. Tobirama brings his own chakra to bear, ready to meet their counterattack. It was overly arrogant of them to allow Tobirama into their coils; they may have the home advantage, but Tobirama will meet them strike for strike, and then learn exactly what this damnable jutsu does—
The enemy fans his chakra out again, fawning like a healer’s. Tobirama, shamefully, comes to a halt in surprise.
And in that moment of pause, he feels…
He feels the quickly suppressed tide of terror. He feels the caution, the quick-spark flicks of rapid thought. He feels the… hopefulness of it, the way they still haven’t attacked, haven’t tried to drive him out of their coils at all, and instead fluttering at the edge of his chakra as if to say, see, I’m not a threat, I won’t do anything to you, okay?
Eminently idiotic of you , he thinks, even as everything slots into place and recontextualizes the events of the last week. The jutsu isn’t an attack, but an invitation to some sort of cooperation. The chakra packets were an attempt to demonstrate or communicate. The nagging wasn’t sabotage, just a childish attempt to get his attention.
The person on the other end wants a partner. But why him? And who are they, really?
Tobirama quickly retracts from the other’s coils — it’s as much of an apology as he’s willing to give at this point in time — and dismisses his shadow clone.
He needs to think.
——
By the time he reaches the clan compound, Tobirama unfortunately does not feel any more clear-headed about the matter. This results in a more clipped and brusque mission report than usual, at the end of which Hashirama gives him a knowing look that rankles him.
“Something on your mind, otouto?”
Tobirama once more contemplates leaving before he has to have this conversation, which despite its appeal is not an option. As acting Clan Head, Hashirama needs to be aware of any condition which may compromise his shinobi.
“A mishap occurred at the end of the first mission,” he says, unsure how else to begin the conversation. “I have made efforts to correct its most detrimental side effects, but it remains… undesirable.”
He pauses. Hashirama leans forward at the desk, brows furrowing in more apparent concern. “It must be serious if you’ve taken to beating around the bush,” he says. “Do you believe this mishap to be actively harmful to the clan?”
“I am unsure.” Tobirama hesitates, and then adds, “You may want to use your sensor abilities, anija.” He reaches up and peels his makeshift seal off of the inner collar of his coat.
Hashirama’s eyes widen.
“What in the world has happened to your chakra?”
“I believe I was the accidental recipient of an experimental or forbidden jutsu. It appears to have” — he suppresses a grimace — “merged my chakra signature with an unknown individual, allowing for the free exchange of chakra.”
“An unknown individual?”
“Yes. The jutsu seems to have brought our chakra in close proximity with each other in a higher dimension, bypassing the limits of three-dimensional space. As a consequence, despite the connection, I have no way to determine their location at the moment.” He takes in the worried creases forming around Hashirama’s eyes. He must be concerned about the latent threat. “I will need some time to experiment before I can develop a method to track or kill them,” he offers, feeble of a reassurance as it is.
“Don’t say that so easily,” Hashirama rebukes. “They’ve merged their chakra signature with yours, you said. What will happen to you if they die?”
Tobirama is unsure. “I will prioritize unraveling the bond first, then,” he concedes, since his death would put an undue burden on Hashirama’s shoulders.
“Do so if possible. You said, however, that you believe this chakra-merging was an accident?”
“It would be far more intelligent to bond with someone who is aware of and has consented to the procedure, so I can only surmise they were unable to choose the target. Assuming the other individual is not so hare-brained as to purposefully bind themselves to an unknown stranger, targeting me was most likely unintentional.”
“Have they caused you any harm?”
“Aside from the distraction of their first attempts at communication, no. The chakra-merging has allowed me to…” He is unable to suppress the grimace this time. “…sense their intentions to some extent. They are not hostile and would prefer to cooperate with me.”
“I see…” Hashirama taps the table in thought. “And do you believe they will interfere with your mission performance?”
“Uncertain. Their communications can be a distraction. However, if they truly can share chakra with me, their support could be an important trump card in the battlefield. That would require building a partnership with a shinobi I do not know.”
Hashirama ponders this, and Tobirama waits for his decision.
“As long as they are not hostile, they are not an immediate priority. Take three days off duty to rest and investigate your condition. I’ll trust your judgment on how to handle this matter. However, you must inform me if their intentions change or if the bond starts harming you. Understand?”
“Yes, anija.”
“Good. Then I’ll let you rest.” Tobirama bows his head before rising to his feet and heading for the door. Before he can slide it closed behind him, though, he hears Hashirama say again, “And otouto?”
Tobirama tilts his head back and sees Hashirama’s expression soften into a smile.
“You did a good job.”
Tobirama stands at the door for a moment. He drops his gaze, then dips his head.
“It is my duty.”
He closes the door behind him.
——
Tobirama spends his first day off resting. He does the required daily exercises to maintain his condition and redesigns his chakra signature-altering seal. Now it runs on a reservoir of chakra that can be refilled whenever convenient, and he can change the frequency of the altered chakra without needing to redraw the entire seal. In a future redesign, he’d like to power it through ambient nature chakra alone, but that will require far more extensive research than he has the time for right now.
He carves the chakra-altering seal onto a metal tag and wears it on a necklace under his shirt, where it will be exceedingly difficult for anyone to remove it from under his armor during battle. Then he notes down his observations on the shadow clones’ performances previously and writes down some new ideas for the Hiraishin to test later, when his chakra reserves are fuller.
At this point, Touka appears to congratulate him on two successful missions and to help herself to his kitchen, and he is forced to leave his room in order to mitigate damage. Once she is satisfied, he is free to retire back to the study and catch up on the mission and trade reports that were submitted during his absence.
Tobirama spends his second day off doing light work. He takes care of some administrative matters for Hashirama and writes a report on the truly significant matters before requesting a spar with Touka.
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” She places a hand on her hips and raises one unimpressed eyebrow.
“I have a jutsu to test later that requires me to empty my chakra reserves. I would rather spend that chakra on something useful.”
“Hm, can’t argue with that.” She hefts her nodachi and grins. “Come on then, cousin, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Touka is a satisfactory sparring partner. She compliments his bladework with the ninjato and entreats him once again to learn the nodachi instead. As Tobirama has refused every previous exhortation, he can only presume that this is her version of “socializing.”
Then Tobirama retreats to the training field out back of the compound. Technically, it is open to anyone in the clan, but Tobirama’s habit of using this ground as a testing site for his experimental jutsus has discouraged others from coming near. He has no objections to this.
The counterpart on the other end of the chakra bond has done little to use their chakra all day, as far as Tobirama can tell, so he feels no compunctions about viciously tugging their chakra.
Their chakra flares slightly in surprise and they feed him a small, inquisitive stream of chakra. Tobirama grabs it and observes its assimilation process: now that he is no longer rejecting it, the chakra almost instantly converts as if it was his own. Interesting. He tugs on the counterpart’s chakra again, more insistent this time. Further observations are needed.
This time, they give him enough chakra to nearly restore his reserves to full.
Hm.
Tobirama decides not to think about it. He holds half of the offered chakra in a state of semi-rejection, allowing it to retain its original fiery quality, while the rest assimilates into his own chakra. He spends the rest of the afternoon running tests: using his chakra, using theirs, using them in conjunction or in different amounts, testing differences in the performance of elemental jutsu and iryo-ninjutsu, injecting them into chakra-sensitive materials and comparing the results.
Interestingly enough, using their unconverted chakra grants him a fire affinity. The implications will have to be explored later. He writes a note to investigate the yin-yang balance in the other’s chakra and to observe how it impacts his own levels once it is converted to his chakra.
By the end of his testing session, he has filled up eleven pages of a fresh notebook. All of the other individual’s donated chakra has been used up by now, save for one packet that Tobirama wants to see how long it can last before dissipating or assimilating.
It’s been some time since he’s had something so interesting to investigate, Tobirama is forced to begrudgingly admit. He once again entertains the notion of using the checkerboard cipher to communicate with the other through chakra pulses. He still can’t justify it to himself. After all, this is still an unknown shinobi, connected to him through some complete accident — what if the individual on the other end turns out to be an enemy, or some otherwise thoroughly unpleasant personage?
At the moment, there is a tentative cooperation between them, if only because being enemies with the person you are chakra-bonded to would be unsustainable. There is no guarantee that such a cooperation would persist if they knew each other’s identities, or if the counterpart came in contact with his personality.
If the counterpart doesn’t contact him first, Tobirama has no intention of initiating.
“Tobirama, come eat. Dinner is ready.”
“Yes, obaasan.”
He rises from the fields and follows Grandmother Sakamae back to the house.
The third day of rest, Tobirama tests modifications to the Hiraishin. He still hasn’t solved the anchoring problem; teleporting to a fixed point in relation to the seal would make the seal too predictable in battle. He needs a way to sense ahead and choose where to land. The problem gives him a headache, and he eventually puts it aside to work on paperwork instead.
When his chakra reserves have replenished themselves, he reaches out to the nuisance on the other end of the chakra bond and flicks them to make his presence known. Then, slowly, he begins feeding chakra into their much-diminished reserves. As this… partnership… requires mutual cooperation, it is best to establish early that chakra is lent and not taken; all debts must be repaid. Tobirama cannot tolerate having someone asking for his chakra without reserve.
The counterpart soon discerns his intentions and eagerly accepts his offering. Tobirama pours in exactly as much as he received and not one drop more. Debt now repaid, he makes to withdraw, but not before he feels their chakra twirling around his, glowing with pleasure. The sheer… nearness of it is enough to make Tobirama’s face heat up.
There’s no need to act so happy about this. Why.
Embarrassed by the other shinobi’s blatant display of emotion, he quickly withdraws from the bond. If this is how every interaction between them goes, he will have to avoid doing so in the future.
——
He reports his findings to Hashirama over dinner, which is his duty, and then explains the finer details and his speculations on the construction of the jutsu, which is less so. The commander only needs to know what Tobirama can do and it is Tobirama’s duty to execute their command. Hashirama though, for whatever reason, likes it when he shares inane details, even though it is extremely apparent from his expression that he has no idea what Tobirama is saying.
“It’s nice to see you so excited again,” Hashirama says with a hopeful smile, after Tobirama has run out of things to say. “I feel like it’s been ages since I last saw you happy.”
“I am not happy,” Tobirama says stiffly. Happiness invites carelessness and a dullness of senses, and Tobirama will not permit that when the Uchiha are pressing against their borders and Father is all but in the coffin.
“You are!” Tobirama leans away from Hashirama, the insistent entreatment in his eyes. “It’s not a bad thing, Tobirama, don’t look at me like that. There’s nothing wrong with finding a little bit of joy in what you do.”
“It is extremely unwise,” Tobirama says with perfect enunciation, “to be influenced by your emotions in the course of your duties.” Humans being unable to let go of their emotions is half the reason why the Senju-Uchiha conflict still continues. Tobirama will not accept that kind of mistake from himself.
“I’m not accusing you of being influenced,” says Hashirama helplessly, like he thinks Tobirama is being the unreasonable one here. “I’m just saying — it’s okay to care—”
It feels like every time they try to speak in private, they only retread this conversation. “I do care, anija. About the clan and about my duty.”
“But you can care about things other than that,” Hashirama persists. “Like inventing jutsus! You love inventing jutsus.”
“My experiments are all done in service to the clan.”
“And it can be for yourself a little bit, too.”
“That is an unnecessary consideration.”
“It’s not unnecessary. You can say that you have things you like when chichi-ue isn’t around, okay? I won’t judge you for being human.”
This conversation will go nowhere and it is an inefficient use of time to finish it. Tobirama pushes his empty bowl across the table. “Thank you for the meal, obaasan,” he says to Grandmother Sakamae. She nods, face impassive. “I will be taking my leave.”
“Tobirama…”
Despite calling out, Hashirama doesn’t follow him. Tobirama does not feel relieved or disappointed. He goes back to his unofficial testing grounds and carries out maintenance on his armor and equipment, even though he already determined them to be in combat-ready condition two days ago.
Touka wouldn’t have said that, he thinks. She wouldn’t be constantly on the search for evidence that Tobirama feels things, or so relieved every time she thinks she does. If he had told her about his experiments, she would have asked him if he’d found a way to make it useful yet and made fun of him if he hadn’t, and then they might’ve gone out for a spar.
If he was more inclined to damaging expressions of emotion, he would sharpen the kunai in his hands to the point of brittleness, until it was more likely to shatter upon first contact with an enemy blade than anything else. But that would be a waste of time, energy, and equipment, so Tobirama doesn’t do that. He retrieves the prototypes of the Hiraishin instead and begins redesigning the seals once more. After getting started, it takes all his energy and focus, and he doesn’t have to think about Hashirama anymore.
——
Before the next battle with the Uchiha, Tobirama falls into step behind his brother to the right, as he always does. Hashirama looks at him like he wants to say something, but Tobirama ignores him. If it is a command then Hashirama will tell him and Tobirama will obey, and if it isn’t, then it is not relevant.
He molds a portion of his chakra into sensory mode; it’s much more limited than his active range, but it is enough to allow him to keep track of everyone on the immediate battlefield. Scanning the Uchiha, he zooms in on an unfamiliar presence — an unfamiliar, strong presence, enough to match his own reserves.
“Izuna is not here today,” he informs Hashirama. “They brought someone else in his place.”
Hashirama narrows his eyes, understanding the implication. Currently, the Senju and Uchiha are relatively equal on the battlefield; Hashirama and Madara keep each other occupied in the same way that Tobirama and Izuna prevent each other from dealing too much damage. If the Uchiha have obtained another fighter at Tobirama’s level, the balance of battle will tip in the Uchiha’s favor.
“Occupy them and gather as much information about them as you can,” Hashirama orders. Tobirama nods. He grips the hilt of his ninjato and prepares to meet the approaching enemies. “And Tobirama?”
Tobirama looks at Hashirama.
“Stay safe.”
In a great rumbling of earth, mokuton climbing out of the dirt like a great beast, Hashirama disappears to face Madara on the battlefield.
Tobirama does not waste time watching him go. He goes to meet Izuna’s replacement and draws his sword.
——
Afterwards, they prepare the funerals.
It was a low-casualty clash, for all that it was on such a large scale. Tobirama should be grateful, but all he can think is that Madara hasn’t been this openly aggressive since he became clan head, and that escalating battles are soon to follow. All he can think is that if he hadn’t been so cautious in the beginning, he would have realized that the new stranger truly was Izuna, and that he didn’t need to reserve his strength while sounding out his capabilities.
If he’d seen through the deception sooner, perhaps he could have saved one of the bodies now being laid in a coffin.
The change in Izuna’s chakra signature was a clever ploy, Tobirama has to admit, but it was a mistake to waste it on a minor skirmish. He won’t fall for it again.
As the last of the funeral preparations are made, one of the medics appears at his and Hashirama’s side.
“Hashirama-sama. Tobirama-sama. Your father…” Tomomi hesitates. “...Your father would like to say his last words.”
Hashirama looks briefly stricken before he composes himself. He looks out at the bodies, conflict clear in his face, and Tobirama steps up. “Go, anija. I will finish all the preparations here.”
“...Don’t you want to see him, too?”
Tobirama does not look directly at him, or think about the tone of his voice. “And I will. But you go on first. You have more to say to chichi-ue than I.”
Hashirama exhales softly. “Be quick, otouto,” he says, and shunshins away.
Tobirama arranges the last affairs. He confirms that all the correct materials were sent where they were needed, that there will be enough money to pay for the funeral expenses, and then he draws the planners aside and quietly informs them to plan for one more addition to the procession. “There will be no need to order another coffin,” he adds. “Hashirama will want to make the coffin himself.” And everyone understands what that means.
When he arrives at the healer’s ward, Hashirama is just stepping out the door, wearing a mix of grief and frustration on his face. “Chichi-ue is waiting for you,” he says. “I’ll be back. I just… I need to go.”
Tobirama nods. He enters the ward and kneels down next to the bed. The scent of infection and putrefying meat cloys under his nose.
“Chichi-ue.”
“Tobirama.” Father sighs. “Your brother… he is too foolish. You must look after him.”
“Yes.”
“For all his strength, he is too soft with those ideals of his. He will be careless. Watch his blind spot, and protect the clan from being sacrificed for his dreams.”
“Yes.”
“Swear it, Tobirama.”
“I swear,” says Tobirama. “The Senju Clan will never be destroyed by war.”
“Good… good.”
All the strength seems to deflate from his father’s body. He looks and stinks like a corpse that hasn’t yet realized it is dead.
“You have always been the dutiful one,” he murmurs. “I have demanded much from you. Tell me. Is there anything you want from me before I die?”
Tobirama gazes at the weak body lying on the bed before him. He has seen countless dead bodies, many of them people he knew, but somehow he still cannot reconcile himself with the fading life of Senju Butsuma. These are the hands that first taught him to hold a kunai, that protected him in battle, that sometimes hit him behind closed doors. This is the voice that demanded perfection from him and vengeance for the dead. This is the face that watched over him his whole life, for better or for worse.
“Make peace with Hashirama,” he says eventually. “Tell him that you love him, and you’re proud of him. He will need the closure to function efficiently.”
“If you can persuade him to return… very well,” Father sighs. “Is there anything else?”
Tobirama does not change his expression or curl his hands.
“A lock of your hair.”
Father looks at him in surprise, and then he laughs, a painful wheezing thing.
“A memento, is it?” he murmurs, sounding relieved. “So you will mourn my death. Good… Good son.”
Tobirama doesn’t know why that stings. Father was the one who taught him to suppress his emotions, to think with his head and not his heart. Father was the one who said, Emotions are a weakness. Never expose your attachments to the enemy. And Father was not the enemy, but acting emotionally before him was similarly foolish. Now Tobirama has molded himself into the perfect tool that the Senju Clan needs him to be, and instead of reprimanding Tobirama for this last sentiment, he instead finds comfort in it.
This is what you wanted me to be, Tobirama wants to say, but he doesn’t, because Father is dying and humans are irrational and this is not an argument worth winning anyways. He scrapes through himself to look for what it is that Father might want to hear.
The only thing he comes away with is an explanation. “Although I am a weapon, I was first your son,” he tries. He meets his Father’s gaze stoically and hopes that his uncertainty does not make it through. He does not know if this is the right answer.
Father looks at him straight on, uncomfortably bright eyes in a sunken skull, and a strange emotion passes through him. He reaches out weakly. Tobirama places his hand on the bed and allows Father to grip it.
“It seems,” he says hoarsely, “I have failed you, and I did not even know.”
Tobirama remains silent, neither affirmation nor denial, because he does not know what Father is referring to and as such can offer no comfort or judgment. Father does not look for either from him. He always understood Tobirama better than Hashirama did.
“Take your lock of hair,” says Father. “Send Hashirama in when you leave. And Tobirama…”
He locks eyes with him once more.
“I have always loved you, and I will always be proud of you.”
A violent sensation blooms in Tobirama’s chest, wretched as an unexpected enemy behind him or the ground giving way under his feet. He has the sudden, inane impulse to throw off Father’s grip and storm out the door, to break the walls, to destroy what is in front of him. He slowly breathes out. The chakra scalpel forms at his fingers with a thought. In a single quick slice, he collects a handful of grey hair.
“Thank you, chichi-ue,” he says, and pulls his hand away.
He is dry-eyed when he leaves the room, but for some reason he does not understand, stands outside the doorway silently and gazes out at the lanterns lit in the night. The storage scroll with his father’s hair feels hot and guilty, tucked away into the inside of his collar. He breathes.
Then he collects himself and steadies his breath, and tracks Hashirama down at the edge of the clan compound, because there is no time to waste, and Hashirama will need his closure before Father finally goes.
——
“He told me he loved me,” Hashirama says numbly. “I asked him why he never said that to Kawarama and Itama while they were still alive to hear it, and then he said he was sorry.”
If that’s true, Father has performed above and beyond Tobirama’s expectations. He looks at the freshly set gravestone and the bold strokes he’d carved in front of the whole clan.
“Did he tell you that he was proud of you?” he asks, to make sure that Father did as he promised.
Hashirama nods. “And you?”
“Yes.”
“I hated it,” says Hashirama. “He was a horrible father. I thought I didn’t care anymore about his approval, but I did. ”
“He was your father,” Tobirama offers as explanation.
“He was yours, too.” Hashirama turns to him, face weary, tears already spent. “Didn’t you care, too, when he said that to you?”
Tobirama looks away, back at the grave. He can’t think of a response that will push Hashirama away without hurting him as well, so he goes sideways to the subject. “I don’t know why chichi-ue felt the need to tell me that he…” He trails off, unwilling to repeat the sentiments expressed, and moves on. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“You shouldn’t need to ask for him to say those things,” Hashirama says in a sudden and inexplicable anger. “Look at you, Tobirama, you didn’t even expect anything from him! On his deathbed! And I can’t even ask why you don’t care, because you do, you just won’t say it, because you think it has nothing to do with anyone else!”
Tobirama flinches back slightly from Hashirama’s violently fluctuating chakra. He is thankful that Hashirama is not facing him to see.
“I will inform you if this incident begins negatively impacting my performance,” he offers uncertainly.
“That’s not what I meant,” Hashirama says, not quite a yell, but just as forceful. “Why can’t you just… just talk to me, like a person, and tell me about how you feel? ”
Tobirama tries to think of anything to say to that. The silence stretches between them, long and then longer still, and Hashirama’s chakra subsides as he closes his eyes tiredly.
“Nevermind. I don’t know why I expect… why I keep hoping for anything from you.”
He kneels silently in front of the grave for a while, and then looks up at Tobirama. “Well? What are you still doing here?”
Tobirama opens his mouth to say something. I’m sorry, maybe. I don’t know how to be a person, as well, and I just want to be of use to you, anija, what else do you want from me?
Hashirama is still looking at him. That searching look, trying to find evidence of something, anything, that he might feel…
Tobirama shuts his mouth and looks away.
“...Don’t stay out too long. You’ll catch a cold.” Knowing Hashirama, he’ll stay out here feeling miserable anyways, so Tobirama tacks on, “The clan needs you at full strength,” to appeal to his sense of responsibility.
Without looking at Hashirama’s expression or waiting for any sort of response, he turns around on his heel and shunshins to his field.
Anything would be more productive than what he is doing now, he thinks. Paperwork, administration, logistics, practicing katas, refining his techniques. Instead, he nudges a mound of earth into a small seat with a basic doton and sits heavily on it, clutching the sealing scroll with Father’s lock of hair in it. He watches the sky.
The other half of the chakra bond seems to be in turmoil, too. They flutter at the edges of his chakra, aimless, restless. The emotions leak through where they brush against him. Anger. Melancholy. Grief. Tobirama is in no mood to chase them off. He looks down and runs a finger along the scroll.
I could bring him back, he thinks. The Edo Tensei’s notes still lie hidden under the floorboards of his room. Incomplete as the technique is, it would still be enough to see Father again. I don’t want to. But I could.
Would Hashirama want him to? Or would he be angry, instead, that Tobirama created this technique in the first place? Would he demand to know how Tobirama had tested it, or would he listen to Tobirama explain his younger self’s foolish dream to bring back their dead brothers and decide that Tobirama is still something that can be saved?
The other flutters moodily at his chakra again, and Tobirama snaps at them without thinking before feeling contrite. He fans his chakra out in apology. Both of them, it seems, are in low spirits, and it would be unfair for Tobirama to lash out at someone unrelated to the current situation.
The other fans their chakra out as well, soft and reassuring. They radiate comfort to him in soft waves.
Tobirama has no comfort to offer them in return, whatever they are experiencing. Fortunately, they do not seem to expect any, and simply offer their presence while basking in his in return.
Seeking company for the sake of company, it seems. The instinct not to be alone. Tobirama huffs, but he doesn’t chase them away either.
He runs his fingers along the scroll one more time.
I can bring him back any time I want, he tells himself.
He puts the sealing scroll away.
——
Tobirama does not avoid Hashirama, because that would be childish and immature, and there is too much work to be done to indulge in such petty displays. He does keep himself busy, however, which almost amounts to the same thing.
Grandmother Sakamae usually has no patience for such things, so it is little surprise that she demands a reason why he cannot attend the family dinners.
“Some of our previous alliances and treaties were formed with chichi-ue, not the Senju Clan as a whole. Now that there is a change in Clan Heads, we will need to renegotiate the treaties,” Tobirama explains.
“Then delegate,” she replies. “You can spare one half hour every day to come home.”
“Every minute away from work is a minute wasted.”
“Time with family is never wasted,” she says frigidly. “You will continue to attend family dinners.”
Tobirama sets down his pen and resists the urge to rub his tired eyes. He has a low-grade headache pressing insistently at his temples. His back aches slightly from sitting for so long without doing the proper stretches — something Father would have chastised him for, were he still here.
“I do not wish to return home at this time, obaasan,” he says stiltedly, “because chichi-ue has just died.” Surely she can understand what that means.
She pauses at that and studies his expression. He looks coldly back, keeping himself as impassive as possible, eliminating all tells. Just as Father trained him to do. Whatever Grandmother Sakamae was looking for, she seems to find it, because she harrumphs and turns away.
“If you do not return within seven days, we will have this conversation again.”
She makes to leave, but pauses at the doorway and does not quite manage to look back.
“Tobirama. Do not overwork yourself. You cannot avoid the memories of the past forever.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
So that is what she interpreted from him. In truth, Tobirama meant that there was too much work to be done, but there are still occasional benefits in allowing others to consider him human, it seems.
It is a busy week. Tobirama writes drafts for all the contracts and alliances they will need to renew, and adds notes on the potential conditions that the other parties will desire. He plans out the required budget and adds more missions to the roster. During his downtime at night, he assembles documents for the next clan meeting with the elders; Hashirama will doubtless push for a change in approach to the Uchiha feud, and without persuasive evidence the elders will shut him down.
On the seventh day, before dinner, he visits Touka.
“Why, if it isn’t my favorite cousin! What brings you here?”
Tobirama does not comment on the faint stench of alcohol or the collection of empty bottles on her table. He says, “I will attend family dinner tonight.”
Touka raises an eyebrow from where she slouches on the couch. “Don’t tell me you came to me for advice. I don’t do family dinners at all.”
It would be generous to describe Touka’s relationship with her mother as “strained.” Tobirama shakes his head. “I will see Hashirama,” he clarifies.
Touka’s eyes sharpen as she inspects his expression. “What happened this time?”
Tobirama sits down across the table from her.
“Hashirama is frustrated that I do not talk to him like a person,” he says. “I regularly inform him about my battle capabilities and psychological state. I also inform him of extraneous details on occasion, as he seems to enjoy that. I do not know what else talking like a person entails.” And Touka is his only human associate who isn’t Hashirama, so she is the only person he can ask.
This time Touka raises both eyebrows. “What kind of phrasing are you using? You aren’t ‘like’ a person, you are a person.”
Tobirama has his personal doubts about that. “Evidently I need to act moreso.”
“Evidently, Hashirama’s an idiot.” Tobirama considers informing her that this is disrespectful to her new Clan Head, and concludes that Touka will not care. Sure enough, “Who cares what he thinks, Rama-kun? So you have trouble expressing yourself sometimes, so what? Tell him to fuck off and give you some space.”
“I do not believe Hashirama would be happier for that.”
“Well, you might,” says Touka. “Or what, are you gonna try and turn yourself into a perfect doll of a brother for him?”
“It would be infeasible. I am not capable of imitating Kawarama or Itama’s dispositions, and Hashirama would find my actions disrespectful if I tried.”
Touka stares at him hard. She gets up from the couch, goes to the cabinet, and pulls out another bottle.
He does not take the cup she sets before him. “Excessive drinking will reduce your mental faculties,” he tells Touka.
“I needed to do something to celebrate Butsuma’s death,” she mutters, throwing back a shot of alcohol. “I am too fucking sober to deal with any of this.” Tobirama does not say or move anything, but she looks at his face anyways and says, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry that his death hurt you and I’m worried as shit for the future of the clan. But that bastard hurt you, Tocchi, and I’m glad he’s dead because it means he can’t do that to you anymore. And I ain’t apologizing for that.”
Tobirama moves the bottle out of Touka’s reach before she can pour herself another cup. “You do not need to apologize. My relationship with my father should have no bearing on how you feel.”
“Too bad. It does.” Tobirama opens his mouth. “I am invoking my right to be illogical, overly invested, and emotional.” He shuts his mouth. “Actually, you know what, Tobira-chan. If Hashirama wants you to act like a person so bad, all you need to do is be a little more irrational sometimes. He might not like it at first, but it’s what he asked for, isn’t it?”
She cackles. Tobirama fails to understand what she finds so funny.
“How would that benefit anyone?”
“Just trust me on this one, Tocchi. Trust me. I’m an expert on what it means to be a human.” He eyes her skeptically. “Can’t be worse than how things are going between you right now at least, right? Come on, for your favorite cousin, give it a try.”
“...I suppose that the occasional irrational choice would make me more unpredictable to enemies,” Tobirama says, although the argument doesn’t sound very strong to his ears.
“That’s the spirit. Speaking of spirits, hand me the bottle, will you? And have a cup yourself.”
Tobirama studies the bottle for a moment. Clear glass, strong stench, yellowed label fading with age. If Touka maintains her current rate of alcohol consumption she will incapacitate herself within the hour.
She invited Tobirama to drink with her, though, which changes the meaning of doing so from irresponsibility to bizarre social activity.
He hands her the bottle.
It is not as though Tobirama has never consumed alcohol before. Drinking to seal a deal is a common custom among high-ranked clients, and he has been trained to a reasonable level of alcohol tolerance in order to handle such encounters easily. However, by the time Tobirama reaches the main house, his thoughts feel annoyingly unfocused and disarrayed. He removes his shoes at the door precisely and walks in a straight line to the dining room. Grandmother Sakamae and Hashirama are already there when he slides open the shoji.
“Anija. Obaasan. I apologize for the delay.”
Hashirama’s chopsticks have paused halfway to his mouth. The rice slides off the end. He looks rather stupid. Tobirama usually keeps such thoughts to himself, but Touka said to act more irrationally. This should suffice. “You look rather stupid,” he informs Hashirama, and sits down in a perfect seiza by the table.
“Close your mouth, boy,” Grandmother Sakamae says, and places another bowl in front of Tobirama. “Has your work been completed to your satisfaction?”
“I need to review the documents with anija,” he says. “We need to discuss the strategy to handle the clan elders’ objections.”
“Objections?” says Hashirama, finally finding a voice. “To what?”
Surely Hashirama of all people would know his own intentions. “A ceasefire,” he says, and explains before Hashirama can be upset, “It has to be a ceasefire first because no one will trust a treaty yet. Do not talk about building a village yet. No one will have faith in a village.”
“Have some more meat, Tobirama. You need to maintain your strength,” says Grandmother Sakamae. She places venison in his bowl.
Tobirama carefully considers the problem of picking them up with his chopsticks and formulates a strategy of attack. He executes the plan flawlessly. The taste is satisfactory and Tobirama’s motor control under the influence of alcohol is also satisfactory. There are no problems.
“Are you drunk?” says Hashirama.
Tobirama feels offended. “I am not drunk. I am in a perfect combat-ready state. I am prepared to depart on a mission whenever necessary.”
“You are drunk. You smell like alcohol. You drink?”
“I,” Tobirama enunciates clearly, “partook in a social bonding activity. To nurture trust between allies.”
“But you never go drinking!”
Tobirama nods in agreement, pleased that Hashirama understands.
“I told you, boy,” Grandmother Sakamae says to Hashirama, “your brother is handling his affairs in his own way.”
“But…” Hashirama looks devastated. “Why didn’t you tell me, Tobirama? We could have talked. If I’d known, I would have…”
Tobirama squints. “Known what?”
“You know what I mean.”
He doesn’t. He looks at Grandmother Sakamae for clarification. She explains, “Your brother wants a report on your mental state.”
That does make sense. “I feel. Somewhat disorganized.”
“Obaasan, that’s not what I…” Hashirama sighs and changes the topic. “Nevermind. How are you handling chichi-ue’s death? I haven’t seen you since…”
Ah. Tobirama imagines an alternate timeline where he had two more cups to drink. If he were slightly less in possession of his mental faculties he would not need to have this conversation.
“I am operating at full capacity,” he says.
“But how are you feeling? Tobirama? Please answer honestly.”
Tobirama accepts the order from his Clan Head. He thinks.
“I find my current assignment difficult.”
“What assignment?”
“Talking like a person,” says Tobirama. “The mission parameters are unclear. Touka said I need to be more irrational.”
“You talked to Touka?”
Tobirama analyzes the tone of voice and the expression. He says, “I have upset you.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant! It’s great that you have people you talk to! I just…” Hashirama folds in on himself slightly. “Nevermind. Please continue.”
Tobirama accepts the order. “I asked Touka what acting like a person entails. Her advice was also unclear.”
“It doesn’t entail anything,” Hashirama says, with a strange undercurrent to his voice. “You just… you just do. You just act like yourself.”
Tobirama says, “You do not like it when I act like myself.”
“I don’t like it when you act like all you are is a weapon. You’re so cold all the time, Tobirama, it’s like you’re a… a war machine… Can you understand why that concerns me?”
He can’t. “I am a weapon. It is your duty to wield me as you see fit.”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean.” Hashirama’s voice is rising now. “It’s always about duty with you. Duty to Father, or to the clan, but don’t you care about anything outside of that?”
Hashirama is looking at him searchingly. Once again, Tobirama scrapes through himself, this time in search of what Hashirama might want to hear.
This time he comes up empty. It is frustrating. This is a problem he does not know how to solve.
“I don’t understand why you are so much harder to please than chichi-ue was,” he says. A moment later he adds, “You have broken your chopsticks,” because he has.
“Tobirama,” and there is a devastation suggested in Hashirama’s whole demeanor that he cannot understand, “you know you don’t have to treat me like chichi-ue, right?”
Tobirama says, “You are Clan Head.”
Hashirama slams a fist on the table. He breathes harshly. A moment later, he pushes himself up and departs in such muddle-headedness that he does not even close the shoji behind him as he goes.
Tobirama looks at Grandmother Sakamae for an explanation, but she just sighs heavily and puts more venison in his bowl.
“Give it time, mago,” she says quietly. “Give it time.”