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tired to his very bones
The fatigue Tobirama feels clings to him, close and intimate as a lover, as he walks through the village his brother and Madara have named “Konohagakure”. The Village Hidden in the Leaves. The walk serves to remind him what the constant, never-ending work is for, as he deals with matters of infrastructure and law and governance from dawn to hours long past dusk. It’s exhausting. Today alone, he only barely managed to talk Hashirama down from declaring Madara the Hokage, instead insisting on allowing the clan heads to vote.
Hashirama had the gall to act disappointed in him afterwards, as if he didn’t realise the enormity of the blunder that nearly occurred. What did Hashirama expect to happen? That the clan heads would just accept Hashirama’s unilateral decision? That they would be fine with having no say over who led them? It would have caused revolts throughout the newly formed village, the peace between the clans still so fragile, especially with the Hyuuga who have only just deigned to join Konoha and could just as well have withdrawn from the village altogether in protest of such an insult– while they may accept an Uchiha Hokage elected by popular vote, they would not accept one decided upon by Hashirama alone and the byakugan was too valuable for Konoha to lose.
Yet despite this reasoning Tobirama had patiently spelled out for him, Hashirama continues to act as if he is holding a grudge against the Uchiha and that this supposed grudge is what fuels the decisions he makes for Konoha. Apparently agreeing to form the village alongside the Uchiha wasn’t enough for him to cast off this belief of Tobirama’s “grudge”– just because he isn’t willing to act as if decades of war and bloodshed don’t exist between the clans doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to seek peace.
But that is a frustration he’s lived with most of his life and he suspects he will continue to live with it for the rest of his years to come. For all that Hashirama complained endlessly that their father was unyielding and uncompromising in his beliefs, he is surprisingly similar. Compromise has never been a skill of his brother's– having such overwhelming power and battle prowess has meant he’s never needed to learn.
Entering his newly-built house is a relief; the seals that flare up once Tobirama has passed the boundary will keep out unwanted visitors and he doesn’t even bother with dinner, instead bypassing the kitchen and heading straight to the bedroom. He sheds his gear, barely having the presence of mind to fold it neatly before changing into his jinbei and gratefully collapsing into bed.
He’s just closed his eyes when there comes a sudden hammering at his door and he’s not even ashamed to admit there’s a part of him that wants to cry. There’s an even stronger part of him that wants to remind whoever’s disrupting his well-earned sleep just how much of the human body consists of water– and that he is the most skilled suiton user in known history.
Pulling himself upright, Tobirama practically drags his feet as he makes his way to the front of his house. He recognises the twin pair of chakra signatures now and he wishes more than anything to ignore them– he doesn’t know what Hashirama and Madara want at this hour, but he can only hope that if they’ve seen fit to encroach on his space then it must be an emergency.
“What is it?” he demands as he shoves the door open. Hashirama is already frowning and Madara is outright scowling.
“We need to talk about earlier today,” Hashirama says and Tobirama can feel the frustration building up inside him, teetering dangerously close to spilling over.
“Is this urgent or can it wait until morning?” he asks shortly. Or never. Can it wait until never? Tobirama thought he’d made it quite clear why Madara cannot be Hokage unless the clan heads vote for it– and he knows that the clan heads won’t vote for the unstable, volatile man.
“It can’t wait, Tobirama,” Hashirama tells him, with such disappointment in his voice, and Tobirama narrows his eyes.
“I am tired, anija,” he says slowly. “I am tired and I want to sleep.”
“The White Demon sleeps?” Madara says mockingly and Tobirama resists the urge to grind his teeth.
“Yes, I sleep,” he snaps, “is that so shocking to you? That I am human, after all? That I have human needs, human weaknesses?”
“Human,” Madara practically spits the word in his disdain. “You?”
Tobirama’s very thin patience is wavering. He knows Madara hates him and he does not begrudge it. The shinobi who murdered his little brothers will always be hated by him too. But he is sick of the constant vilification, of the poison Madara spreads every time he opens his mouth.
“I am just as human as any other shinobi,” he says, cold as the frozen over lakes at winter. “What monstrous acts have I alone committed that sets me apart from the rest?”
He already knows the answer to this before Madara speaks.
“You killed Izuna!” Madara snarls, as if Izuna’s death is a heinous, unspeakable crime, instead of just another one of the countless casualties of war. Usually, Tobirama would remain icily silent on this matter– he may be an “ice-cold bastard” at the best of times, but he does possess enough heart to be kind, even to his once-enemies.
Usually, he is functioning on more sleep.
“And just whose fault do you think that is?” he asks and the way the air around them goes still and dangerous makes him distantly glad for Hashirama’s presence.
“What are you implying?” Madara asks, his voice little more than a low hiss. Tobirama stares across at him and decides he’s remained silent on the matter long enough, that he’s put up with Madara’s aggression and accusations far past what is reasonable. Madara can hate him all he likes, he won’t deny him that as no sane man would, but that doesn’t change the simple fact that, ultimately, he is not to blame for Uchiha Izuna’s death.
“I’m implying nothing,” he says, “I am outright stating that while I am responsible for Izuna’s death, I am not at fault for it. You are.”
Madara howls, his chakra burning with hate. Hashirama has to grab him, to hold him back as he tries to lunge at Tobirama, hands curled like claws, lips pulled back to bare teeth. He looks enraged, reduced to a base animal fury.
Tobirama continues speaking before either of them can.
“Hashirama offered you peace terms before the battle,” he tells Madara, “you chose to turn them down, just as you have every other battle since you and Hashirama became heads of the clans. You chose to fight that day. All the deaths that occurred on the battlefield were on your head.” Here, his lip curls. “You and Hashirama may be able to afford to spar each other, but everyone else is fighting to kill or be killed. I fought for my life that day, with every skill I had. Against an opponent as skilled as Izuna, I could afford to do no less.”
Madara looks as if he wants to murder him, to rip Tobirama apart with his bare hands. Tobirama doesn’t care.
“I killed Izuna,” he says, “but it was your fault we were fighting to the death– I just got lucky.”
“Tobirama!” Hashirama finally interjects, “enough!”
Tobirama turns his cold stare towards Hashirama, fed up of all of this. “He can hate me all he likes,” he tells his brother, “I don’t care. But he can’t blame me for his brother’s death. He can only blame himself.”
With that, Tobirama turns and steps back into his house, slamming the door behind him, letting the seals flare back to life. Nobody would be able to enter now and even if Madara tries to set his house on fire he’ll find the flames will only sizzle out, ineffective– Mito has been a delightful teacher of Uzushio’s sealing arts.
He’d been cruel, Tobirama can admit to himself now as he makes his way back to his bed. He knows how much Madara had loved his last living brother and forcing him to face the truth in such a way was the furthest thing from kind. It was why Tobirama had bit his tongue for so long, had allowed the snide comments and sneers, but the festering hate Madara holds for him has only continued to swell.
Maybe this would lyse the infected wound, letting the purulent pus drain at last, allowing true healing to take place. Or perhaps this would just create a deeper infection that would go on to spread. Only time would tell.
Either way, Tobirama can’t help but find himself to be relieved. For too long now he has stayed silent. That he has finally spoken in his own defence has brought a lightness he wasn’t expecting, lifted a weight from his shoulders. As he lays back down in his bed, the exhaustion no longer pulls at his bones, dragging him under into a turbulent sleep– instead, he drifts easily off to a peaceful rest.
A/N: This is just my opinion, so no haters or trolling comments if you’re a Madara or Hashirama fan, but I’m team Tobirama all the way and I think he deserves better <3