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Nawaki gasps for air, eyes unseeing, tingling feeling of explosive tags stuck to his exposed skin still fresh and bright on the back of his mind.
There's movement somewhere near him and Nawaki moves based on an instinct alone, rolling away, shielding his face, blindly scrambling for leverage. His hands fly to his weapons pouch, trembling; he tried to pull out a kunai or maybe fold his hands into a Suiton jutsu, creating a watery shield over himself; he remembers seeing his teammates and Orochimaru-taichou just moments before getting tangled up in an arrangement of explosive tags, thinking this is it as he froze in fear, just moments before the explosion should've overtaken his form. Nawaki is trembling, gasping for air, one hand curling around his grandfather's necklace, tears streaming down his face. No, no, he keeps chanting inside his head; this is not how it is supposed to end. Tsunade is going to be so mad at him, she is going to punch him across the Senju compound; Nawaki can't die now: grandma Mito made him promise he will be safe. He can't die, not before he makes Hokage, not before he--
There is a warm palm pressing against Nawaki's cheek, so warm against his heated skin. He tries to blink through the haze still present in his eyes, trying to see who it is--Ame nin were never this gentle with their prisoners, Orochimaru-taichou told their squad as much; they wouldn't be delicate if any of Konoha nin were captured; the best way out, if chakra was cut off, is to just kill yourself, trying to avoid getting tortured by the enemy. Tsunade is going to be so angry at Nawaki for getting captured; he is trying to battle against openly sobbing in front of his captors, struggling, slashing at the air in front of him with his kunai, still blind to this world.
"Sprout," someone says and Nawaki freezes, tears streaming down his face. "You are safe. Please let go of the kunai."
Nawaki's fingers feel frozen; he wouldn't be able to release his grip on the kunai even if he tried. He squeezes his eyes together even if it goes against everything Orochimaru-taichou had taught him--he must never let his gaze wander away from the enemy; it's dangerous, he should always be aware of their movements--closing his eyes is a weakness Nawaki can't afford.
He grips the kunai even tighter, unable to let go of his only line of defence. The person is moving over him, cupping the back of his head, bringing him closer to the heat of some person's form; Nawaki wants to curl against his captor's chest, openly sobbing, the pain of explosives, ripping through his skin, still an acute ache that spread through his body.
"You are safe," the person--the man--repeats again, and Nawaki finally lets his eyes open, staring at a face that hovered a few inches above his own, concern creasing the man's features, eyes closely trained on Nawaki's face. "You are safe here."
Nawaki stares at the man in awe, forgetting about his aching joints, wonder spreading across his features as he stares at the face so familiar that he wants to claw at his own eyes to dissipate the genjutsu that was clearly cast over him.
Red eyes are staring at Nawaki in silent marvel, gleaming, looking over his body as if the man couldn't figure out if Nawaki was real or not. The man's mouth is half-open, wonder clearly written across his features; he looks at Nawaki like he is the most precious thing in the world.
Then, something like grief and regret is washing over the man's features.
The man closes his eyes, his mouth turning into a frown. When he opens his eyes again, he looks so sad Nawaki himself wants to cry.
"I am sorry we had to meet this early, Nawaki," Tobirama-ojichan says, so much younger than he was when Nawaki had last seen him. "You are safe here now. Let go of the kunai."
Nawaki's breath catches. He stares at his grand-uncle's face, remembering the last time he had seen him: it was so long ago, Nawaki barely two years old, bouncing on his mother's knee, her warm hands encircling his waist the same way she always did when she was still alive. He remembers Tobirama-ojichan, crouching in front of Nawaki, warm palm going to cup his cheek after flicking at Nawaki's nose, making him let out a frustrated little squawk.
Tobirama-ojichan had spent the entire day carrying Nawaki on his hip, securely holding him to his side, Tsunade-nee a burst of energy closely following them both. She had climbed Tobirama-ojichan at some point, her knee mushed into ojichan's stomach, her hand going to ruffle Nawaki's hair--he had squealed at that, reaching out for his sister, wanting to grasp at her hand to hold her close, his entire family assembled in the hall of the Senju family's compound.
Someone took a picture of them--Tobirama-ojichan standing there, Tsuna-nee hanging onto him with her arms encircling his neck, beaming brightly at the camera, Nawaki a bundle of short limbs on ojichan's side. Nawaki refused to look at that picture for a couple of years now, both sad that ojichan wasn't here anymore and to avoid Tsunade's cooing noises when she pointed out how cute Nawaki was ten years ago.
He never got to meet his grandfather but Tobirama-ojichan was exactly that, more like a real brother to Mito-obaachan. Tsunade often reminisced about the grandfather and Tobirama-ojichan both, telling Nawaki stories about the founding of the village, her eyes bright in the darkness of Nawaki's room--it was always bedtime stories, something Nawaki was content to falling asleep to, tales of Hashirama-ojichan and Tobirama-ojichan a warm and calming presence that enveloped him before he finally drifted off.
Tobirama-ojichan--so much younger now, face not creased with worry, hair a much brighter shade of white--lets his mouth form into a half-smile that Nawaki had so often seen in the pictures, barely remembering his granduncle's face from when he was but a toddler. "You have grown a lot," Tobirama-ojichan says, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that trickled down from Nawaki's eye. "You look so much like Kawarama."
It's like a dam breaks at that moment: Nawaki distantly hears the kunai clutter to the floor, released from his own grip; he wraps his arms around Tobirama-ojichan's neck and weeps, pain and terror and exhaustion finally washing over him, sorrow bright on his mind. Nawaki never wanted to leave Tsunade alone; he would never, she was one of the last members of his family besides Mito-obaachan--Nawaki didn't want to go, he didn't want to be here, he was so stupid for getting tangled in the explosive tags in the first place.
He cried, face mushed into ojichan's chest, trembling with his entire body as he let the exhaustion of the war purse through him, years and years of learning more of his family had died on the battlefield finally catching up on him.
Tobirama-ojichan held him close, silent, offering quiet but steady support. Nawaki clung to him like it was his last link to the lifeline--his fists were balled in ojichan's tunic, snot running down his nose, tears smearing ojichan's clothes; Nawaki trembled as his vision swam, the explosion that had devoured him a vivid memory in his mind, scared faces of his team glancing at Nawaki before his final moments a red-hot branding in the back of his eyes.
Tobirama-ojichan held him, a soothing hand rubbing Nawaki's back, body warm and steady as Nawaki clung to him. He didn't say a word since Nawaki's outburst; he kept hugging him, pressing Nawaki into his chest, grief tangible in the air as Nawaki wailed for the life he wouldn't be able to live.
"I'm sorry," ojichan kept repeating. "I'm sorry things haven't changed."
Nawaki gasped for air, withdrawing from Tobirama-ojichan's chest for a second before choking on another sob, tragic cries ripping out of his chest.
He doesn't know how long he had spent there, ruining ojichan's tunic with his snot, shaking in his arms as Nawaki cried his soul out, mourning something he would never have. He had calmed down, still trembling in ojichan's arms, weakened hold ever-present on ojichan's clothes--Nawaki felt like if he had released his grip, his world would turn upside-down, pulling him back into the pain of the explosion that tore his flesh away, ripping tendons and limbs in a powerful burst of white.
Tobirama-ojichan shifted, pulling away a bit, ignoring Nawaki's weak mewl; he put his hand on Nawaki's cheek again, wiping away a wet expanse of tears, sorrow still fresh on ojichan's face.
"Let us go meet your family, sprout," Tobirama-ojichan says, letting his lips curl into a tiny smile. "I am sure Itama-oji would be delighted to see you."
Nawaki nods on an instinct, feeling getting pulled up, still tightly pressed to Tobirama-ojichan's chest. He doesn't want to look around; he doesn't want to acknowledge where he is. It hurts him--Nawaki should be there for Tsunade, he should come back to support her, to get manhandled by her during family dinners, table empty except for the three of them, Mito-obachan a calming presence next to both of them; Nawaki should be there to give his mission report alongside Orochimaru-taichou and go back to his sister's arms, getting tightly hugged by her much taller frame, nose pressing into her stomach the same way he used to do with their mother.
Nawaki can't do any of that now. He hates it. He feels like a traitor, betraying Tsunade like that.
He lets himself get carried, cold and still air enveloping both him and Tobirama-ojichan.
Nawaki will beg Tsunade's forgiveness when she makes it here. He only hopes it won't be for a while until he meets her again.