Chapter Text
Senju Tobirama understood death for the first time when he was nine years old.
“And so, the great sage called his sons to him. Once they had gathered, he announced his decision as to who would succeed him. However… Indra was shocked to discover that Asura was the chosen successor, and not him. And he was consumed by rage.”
As if to emphasize her tale, the wizened woman stoked the fire with the rusty rod she kept clutched in her clawed hand.
Tobirama scrunched up his nose. “Why would he do that to his sons when it was obviously going to turn them against each other?”
Their great-grandmother coughed and Tobirama was suddenly afraid, afraid that her empty eyes would turn to him, root him to the floor. Instead, however, she laughed and patted his head. “This one is a sharp one.”
Hashirama was sitting with his arms around his knees and his knees against his chest. If it hadn’t been for their sides pressed close together, Tobirama wouldn’t have been able to see him, couldn’t make out his form in the dark. He mumbled something.
“Hashirama?”, Tobirama asked, suddenly concerned.
“I think it’s a sad story”, Hashirama repeated, and his lips were pulled down in a deeply-shadowed frown. Tobirama could only make out his brother’s lower lip, a thin crescent.
“It is rather sad”, the elderly woman replied. Her voice was matter of fact, yet her tone was light.
Hashirama’s round eyes, glowing like moons, danced with the licks of the flames as he raised his head to peer up at her. The rest of his face was only half-visible in the darkness. “Were you really there?”
Tobirama scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not a real story.”
He fell silent, shuffling back a little when their great-grandmother leaned down in her seat to fix him with her milky gaze.
Turning back to the fire so he couldn’t see her, her voice came rasping in the darkness, and he pressed a little closer to Hashirama’s side, seeking comfort in the warmth of his brother’s chakra signature; “It’s the story that was passed down to me by my own grandmother. I told it to your grandmother. And your father.”
Tobirama watched as she carefully set the metal rod down onto the floor by the fire and settled back into her chair.
“But it’s the women of the family who hold onto this sort of story. Your father… He forgot. And I can see you two won’t pass it on to your children. You are not storytellers.”
“No”, Tobirama agreed, muttering it under his breath, “we’re the fighters. We’re going to be the ones you tell the stories about.”
And that made Hashirama perk up a little; there was a shifting of cloth as his head lifted, a flare in his aura that wrapped itself around Tobirama like a warm cloth.
Encouraged, Tobirama continued; “I’ll make everyone tell about how handsome I am.”
Hashirama blinked, his half-shadowed features drooping slightly in uncertainty. “Grandma didn’t say anything about the Sage or his sons being handsome.”
“Were they, grandma?”
“Very”, the old woman responded.
Tobirama carried on, hoping to make Hashirama laugh the same way he had made Grandma laugh before. “Don’t worry, Hashirama, I’ll make sure they say you’re handsome, too.”
It didn’t work. At Hashirama’s even more confused expression, Tobirama giggled himself.
A sharp ray of light cut in like a razor, stinging Tobirama’s eyes, as the flap of the tent they were crouched in was lifted. In the opening stood a dark silhouette of a tall man.
Tobirama’s eyes adjusted, and he could see his father’s face.
Senju Butsuma stood in the entrance for a moment, staring at the scene as if in confusion. Then his eyes latched onto Tobirama and he asked, quiet and calm; “Why are you laughing?”
Tobirama stared back, his mouth-half open. His hands clutched at the material on the floor.
“Why are you laughing?”, his father repeated in the same measured tone. And then, in a strangled voice; “It’s time for your brother’s funeral. There is no place for laughter today.”
And Tobirama was lost, he was flung out of his own body by the steel of his father’s eyes. He was aware of a vaguely sick feeling in his stomach.
Hashirama pressed his hand, tethering him to the floor. Tobirama looked at his big brother with wide eyes, searching and finding his dark face as pale as the white sky in the blinding shaft of sunlight.
“Dad, he wasn’t trying to be disrespectful or anything like that. He’s just upset and trying to cope. We all are.”
Tobirama saw when their father’s eyes focused on Hashirama, narrowing in as his brother kept talking.
“He’s young. He doesn’t really get-”
“I do get it!”, Tobirama burst out, leaping to his feet as he spoke. How could his brother say that when Tobirama had been there, had seen… He wasn’t that much younger than Hashirama. “Itama is dead and it’s because of the Uchiha!”
Hashirama lowered his head, brown hair framing his face so Tobirama couldn’t see his expression.
He turned to Butsuma and dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry, father. I should not have been so defiant.”
Butsuma drew his cloak around him and nodded stiffly. Tobirama clambered to his feet.
“Hashirama, get up. It’s time.”
Hashirama too leaped to his feet. Before exiting the tent, he turned to look at the elderly woman still seated inside. Tobirama slowed to a halt, waiting for him.
“Are you not coming, grandma?”
She didn’t look at them at them as she answered.
“I have been to too many funerals in my lifetime. My bones are aching so I believe I will stay here.”
For whatever reason, their father didn’t seem to be angry at her. Tobirama didn’t really get why not. Surely, she knew death was just a part of life, and those who gave their lives in battle should be honored for it? Even as young as he was, he understood that.
Still, as he stood by his brother’s dirt-covered body with his fists clenched, listening as his father swore vengeance and Hashirama sobbed beside him and hating the Uchiha more than anything, he prayed he would never have to see anybody else he cared about sent to their graves again.
*
Tobirama wakes up from a nightmare he can’t quite remember and lays on his back, staring up at the wooden ceiling. Staring patterns into the bark. Staring at the way the late-morning light shines in and illuminates his room. Basic, even though he is the leader of their village, has been for a little while now.
He wonders momentarily why he has been allowed to sleep in for so long and, as he sits up, he is reminded of the reason by the ache in his leg.
Ah. Of course. The battle. His injury. It was nearly completely healed, but he had yet to lead his squad into another fight since it had occurred. Mito had told him- ordered him, even- to take some rest. She and the rest of the council could manage everything, with a little help from Tobirama’s talented team. Tobirama had heard her barking- sometimes literally- at members of his council who had dared to venture near his house at what she deemed to be too early an hour.
He gets up, gets dressed, and goes outside, not really aiming for anywhere in particular. He merely enjoys the stiff breeze ruffling his fur collar, the familiar ache of both his leg and other, more ancient wounds. He is older now; he can feel it in his bones, in the way these injuries have been amassing. This last one had him out for longer than he had expected, and it is still a strain not to limp.
But they are at war, and a leader must fight through these things.
He goes by his brother’s house, considering stopping to speak to Mito, before remembering that she was going with Sarutobi Sasuke and a couple of chunin to meet with the Hyuuga clan today. Their demands for joining the village were extensive. So extensive that Tobirama sometimes privately wondered whether it was even worth it. They are a large clan of strong and intelligent shinobi, but the village is more than strong enough. Or, at least, he had thought it was, until other villages- other strong forces united forces, enemies- had sprung up, seemingly from nowhere.
Still, Tobirama could see the Hyuuga’s resolve wavering, and a few stragglers- members of their branch families, mainly teenagers and young adults apparently going through a rebellious phase- had already begun to visit and speak about where they might begin building their houses. If anyone can break them down completely, he knows Mito will. There had been times in the past he had doubted her, especially after she became a jinchuriki; a foolish idea, really. A dangerous idea. However, she had proven Hashirama’s faith in her, and he had grown to value her counsel all the more after losing his brother.
He changes course, walking on outside the village, towards where he knows his team will be training. To the best of his memory, none of them were on missions today. They normally would be, but the last two days Touka- currently taking over the assignment of missions- had told them to spend time training, since she knew that Tobirama had nearly completely recovered and would want his team in close proximity as soon as he was ready to launch another operation against one of their enemies. And hopefully, this one would turn out better than the previous battle.
It hadn’t been intended as a battle. They had set out on a simple reconnaissance mission, venturing into the Land of Lightning to meet with some rogue shinobi who had been offering information in exchange for money. Someone must have given them away; they soon found themselves pursued to the edge of their own land by the Raikage and his forces. To make matters worse, a dozen shinobi from the Land of Mist had appeared, entering the fray. He wondered if they had been on their way to launch an attack or if, like them, it had been an exercise in gathering information.
Whatever the case, Tobirama and his team had retreated swiftly, many of them injured.
His calf tweaks once more, as if it knows what he is thinking about. Again, nothing serious; simply the latest in a long line of battle scars. In the last few years, the injuries have piled on and clung to him. And it isn’t just the external injuries.
Tobirama has always prided himself on being a strong man. Before he died, Hashirama had told him that he felt like he was rotting from the inside. And Tobirama thought he was beginning to understand that feeling. As if the chakra he always weaponized against others was now turning back in on him.
But he knows he can’t die while the village needs protection. He simply can’t. At least, he thinks, as he hears kunai striking trees, he will be leaving it in safe hands.
*
They had been passing through the Land of Hot Springs and had almost reached the border when the first kunai whistled past and struck a tree near Tobirama’s head.
The battle had erupted quickly, Cloud shinobi everywhere he looked, and then a squad of Mist shinobi as well, just in case the situation hadn’t been already dire enough already.
Shirou Aburame, one of his top ANBU agents, had been leading another division somewhere nearby, having backed them up on their expedition, waiting for them at the border of the Land of Lightning for their return, but that unit had since fallen back. Thankfully they had taken the scrolls that the rogue shinobi had given Tobirama with them: No matter the outcome of the fight, it was a win for Konoha.
Tobirama huffed as one of the Cloud shinobi drove a sword straight through his clone’s chest, dissipating it, and turned his sights to Tobirama himself. Before he could even move, Koharu was there, slapping him with a bomb tag. Tobirama barely had time to kick him away before he exploded.
He gave Koharu a small nod of recognition, summoned another clone, and turned back into the fray.
Mito could have ended the fight, possibly ended the war, if she was there, and he blindly wishes, as he sends a kunai flying at a Mist kunoichi who was wrestling with Torifu, that he hadn’t told her to remain behind and protect the village. Protect Tsunade, as her parents were both fighting on another mission, somewhere close to the Land of Wind.
His kunai hit its target. He wheeled around on one foot, seeking out the rest of his team.
And then he saw a sight which drained him of his blood. The Raikage and the Jinchuriki of the Cloudvillage. The two of them scattering those in their path; Mist shinobi, thankfully, but Koharu and Homura were directly in their line of sight, oblivious to the oncoming danger as they fought back to back.
He flickered to their side as fast as he could, grabbing Koharu’s shoulder and steadying her: She was putting all of her weight onto one leg and, looking down, there was blood spattered around where she stood. Homura turned to him as well as he began to yell over the clattering of sword on sword.
“We can’t hold them off. Fall back, we’ll let them fight each other. Find the others and get going: I’ll be right behind you.”
Homura nodded, and he and Koharu vanished in an instant.
With a resolute nod to himself, Tobirama turned to the carnage at his back. He drew his scarred hands together and began creating the hand signals. Familiar ones, fairly basic. When performed by someone else, that was.
Another user of the same jut may only have been able to call forth a spray of snow, a small storm through which it was possible to fight.
Tobirama brought up a whirlwind of ice and snow, an impenetrable curtain carving across the battlefield. Sleet fell so quickly as to turn the air an opaque grey in places. The cold wind stung even Tobirama’s face.
The Raikage and the Jinchuriki were barely visible now. To their credit, they seemed to realise that this was a diversion for the Leaf shinobi to escape rather than the prelude to an attack, and turned their attention instead to the more pressing threat of the Mist swordsmen closing in.
Tobirama whirled about, seeking the Konoho headbands. Koharu and Homura had already reached the edge of the battlefield, and Torifu and Hiruzen were not far behind them. Kagami was just removing a knife from the shoulder of a fallen Cloud warrior. Danzou stood several paces to his left, watching the storm with wide eyes.
“Shinobi!”
All eyes turned to him.
Tobirama’s hands came together, forming another signal this time: Not a jutsu, but a silent communication. Retreat.
Danzou scrambled to collect himself and then fled after his teammates, Kagami hot on his heels.
As the Hokage made to follow them, there was a scream.
“Lord Senju!”
The Cloud fighters were laying into the Mist shinobi, but one of the group of Mist swordsmen had broken away from his squadron and was only steps away, slicing with their sword. Tobirama could see the small beads of water flying from the blade.
His reaction was quick, but not quick enough. The lack of sleep over the past several days, the final stretch of this mission, was catching up to him. In stepping to avoid a blow, he fell for a feint, which only became apparent when the Mist swordsman- and this was the reason Mist swordsmen were so renowned, this dexterity and agility with their weapon- pivoted his upper body at the last moment, blade swinging almost lazily to land on target.
It was only his leg, Tobirama told himself, as he watched the deep gash to his calf begin to gush blood. It could have been much worse.
In the time the swordsman prepared for his next attack, Kagami had reached his side. A firm arm wrapped about his shoulders, an attempt to keep him from crumpling.
No, Tobirama wanted to yell. Go back. I will be fine.
But there was no time for silly arguments. He had to take the help that was being offered.
Tightening his fingers against Kagami’s bitingly cold armor, Tobirama propelled himself away with his good leg, jumping back a few steps towards the treeline, towards his students and safety.
The swordsman followed unflinchingly.
Tobirama winced as the sword rose high in the air and once more began to fall, gathering speed as the steel swung toward him. Kagami raised a hand as if he could protect his teacher that way. The Hokage braced himself, planting his feet firmly on the floor, ready to push Kagami out of the way.
The blade never fell.
Instead, Danzou was there, standing over them. Kagami gave a small moan, his mouth and eyes wide. For a second Tobirama wasn’t sure whether the sword had hacked through Danzou’s armor or not. His question was answered as Danzou began to make choking sounds, blood seeping through his clothes.
The sword was yanked back, and Danzou’s body flew halfway with it before becoming unstuck and dropping down once more.
Aware that Danzou had bought them mere seconds, Tobirama reached for Kagami with one hand, Danzou with the other- and how small they still were, even though they were fully grown adults- and began tugging them away from the battlefield, straining not to stagger and buckle at the screaming pain in his leg. He had made it only a few steps before he stumbled and dropped to his knees, Danzou collapsing half on top of him.
Fortunately, Kagami had regained his senses by then. The Uchiha gripped Danzou’s other side, supporting some of his weight as Tobirama clambered back up, clawing at the air. The earth beneath them was turning wet and churning into mud, but Tobirama was unsure whether it was a jutsu or if it was a combination of blood pouring and feet trampling. They didn’t have time to turn back. They had to get out.
With a brief shared glance with Kagami, the two of them continued hauling Danzou’s prone body across the battlefield. Initially, Danzou’s legs moved with them, but they provided no support and seemed to be moving of their own accord, pawing at the ground. When they fell still there was little difference.
Tobirama noticed with relief that Hiruzen and the others had slowed in their retreat, were covering them as they fell back. The way ahead of them cleared and the yells and dull thuds grew dimmer and more distant.
Once they had made it deep enough into the cover of the woodland without being followed that Tobirama had decided it was safe, they stopped.
Safe. As if their world could ever be safe.
The war was not going the way he had wanted it to.
Torifu and Homura tended to Danzou’s wounds, stemming the bleeding as best they could, and then they wasted no time in continuing their return to the village, the two of them carrying their injured comrade between them on a stretcher that Koharu had conjured from somewhere.
Tobirama walked behind them, letting all of his weight shift onto one leg. Hiruzen moved to help him, slipping an arm under his shoulder. Tobirama shrugged him off. Without a word, Hiruzen moved to join Koharu in the lead.
Kagami drifted back and forth, sometimes walking beside Tobirama at the back, other times joining Hiruzen and Koharu, but most of the time remaining beside Danzou. The injured man lay silent, and Tobirama prayed that he was still breathing.
As they neared the village Danzou gasped as though he had escaped being submerged in deep water and began to moan. In other circumstances Tobirama may have willed him to be silent or thrown up a genjutsu to muffle the sounds clawing from his throat but, being so close to home, there was little use. Let the village know what this war was costing them, why not?
Kagami returned to Danzou’s side and began to whisper to him. “It’s okay. We’re nearly home, Danzou. Just hold on.” And then, a little more desperate; “You can’t die, you’re too young. Twenty-four is no age to die.”
Tobirama kept his gaze level in front of him as they moved through the trees. Further ahead, Hiruzen and Koharu were speaking in a murmur of the losses they had suffered over the course of the war. Koharu’s father. Hiruzen’s cousins. And now- Their voices ceased.
He closed his eyes, slowing his pace and allowing the others to draw further ahead several meters. He wondered whether soon, as he feared, he would fight his final battle. Perhaps it would be for the best. He had been the one who willed them into this war. He was glad, he supposed, that he knew he could leave the village in such capable hands.
Opening his eyes, Tobirama looked to each of their figures moving stealthily along the path towards home with pride, tracing over them one by one, even the Uchiha. His gaze finally rested on Danzou. His wounds were not visible from the distance that had grown between them, but his armor and clothing were drenched in blood, his face pale and shrunken. Tobirama thought to himself that Kagami was right: twenty-four is no age to die.