Chapter Text
Of course, Tobirama had always known that, whoever ended up being his soulmate, would be one unlucky person. Had always known how unfortunate the poor person would be, whether that person turned out to be male or female. The Albino had never thought ill about such connections, had his aunt and uncle been made for one another, had loved their only daughter to bits and pieces. They had loved one another too, like his parents never could. Tobirama did not know whether or not his parents had been mates, but he knew his mother had not loved his father regardless. He could not blame her, really, but still, he also could not feel any sort of hatred toward the father he never wanted to have, the father he never wanted to need. But he did, for he could not protect his elder brother alone, not yet. Neither his little brothers. Send to war much too early, just like himself. They had no choice. He had only hoped fate would not be cruel and assign them to dead people, have them soul bonding with someone who had died already. For Tobirama himself, this did not pose a conflict in the slightest, for he knew that his own soulmate would never wish to be with him, not even if they were to come from his own clan. He was hated by nearly everyone after all. A few exceptions...
“Outoto, I am heading out now, alright? Be safe, and don’t cause too much trouble, you hear me? I hate having to patch you up when I return.” His beloved brother, stubborn and idiotic like always, but Tobirama did not want to have him in any way different. Often enough, Hashirama was the only one anchoring him when he fell into one of his many downward spirals. They happened often, less in the last years, but still in an extent that should not happen for a child. After all, Tobirama was just a mere eight years old. Eight, and yet much more powerful that some of the teenagers training to join the war against the Uchiha clan. Not as powerful as Hashirama, but a close second.
“Don’t worry so much, Anija, I will be fine, and taking care of Itama and Kawarama while you are gone. I am fairly certain Touka will be helping me out as well, she has a sot spot for them, don’t you think?” Tobirama replied indifferently, though his face spotted a slight smile, one that had grown rare over the last years, as he had to admit.
“Her soft spot is mostly about you.”
A dry sentence, and yet spoken with so much confidence, Tobirama wondered whether that really was how people perceived it. Just because she was there to ground him moreoften than anyone else. She fed him when he was sunken in books or training, took care of the minor injuries and sent him to Hashirama for the major ones. He adored Touka, whenever she held him and cared for him, he sunk into a space of safety, of care, of love. With her and his brothers, he felt worth something, something his father made sure to never show, to undermine, limiting the interactions. He had to train after. He would be the one protecting Hashirama, a weapon solely made for war. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a weapon. Of course, Hashirama assured him that was not the truth, would cry whenever Tobirama pointed it out to him, so he had eventually stopped sharing such thoughts with his elder brother. But Tobirama, despite being so young, so ‘inexperienced and weak spirited’ as his father liked to claim, knew better than that.
Tobirama knew the looks, knew the slander behind his back, knew they wished him gone the day he had been born, thought him some sort of demon. Cursed. He pretended not to care, was always indifferent, ‘emotionless’, as the Senju claimed soon after Tobirama had stopped displaying any sort of emotion. It had been the second time his father had been pleased with him. The first had been the day he had learned to kill properly, sword dripping with blood and gore, clothes full of sweat and blood, his own mixed with that of the poor soul that became the ‘White Demon of the Senju clan’s very first victim. The first of so many that it made him feel sick at some point. But even then, he did not care any longer, it became a task, an order, and he stopped caring.
Whenever Hashirama was gone it got harder, Butsuma was much stricter with his cursed child, his child soldier, the worthless child. Since birth, Tobirama always had to fight for appreciation, for admiration, but as the years had went by, he seemed to attract emotions like hate, fear, disappointment and jealousy, but not the loved he so desperately yearned for. Maybe he was just not worthy of it, he had figured quite soon, stuck with this and ingrained it into his mind. He learned to control his needs of hunger and sleep, reduced them to the bare minimum so he would not disappoint. He learned to use suiton, the strongest weapon against the Uchiha’s katon, worked on reducing the hand signs needed, be faster than anyone else, even if they hated him, be better at sensing than anyone, even if they become jealous. It was for their safety. All and everything for them. He learned politics, to aid his brother in negotiations in the future, learned clan customs to use in their favour or against the clans surrounding them.
When his soul tattoo appeared on the morning of his tenth birthday, he was not sure what he was supposed to do. He remained neutral about it. It was shaped after a bird, looking it up later, he could easily identify it as a Hawk, and immediately wondered what his soulmate would be like. It only lasted for a short moment, a quick stroke about the black outlines and the white feathers of the bird, then he moved about his day, figuring it was too early for his supposed match to be awake already. He did not tell his father about this, it would hold no meaning, and if all, his father would seek to use the bond or destroy it. Besides, nobody could want such a monster, right? He was okay with this, did not need this. He was okay with staying alone. And yet... he found himself staring at the tattoo when he was alone, seeing the white change to a shade of pink. Tobirama could only guess what this could mean. Each colour had multiple interpretations. They likely had seen the mark appear, probably had knowledge of his existence now, and he almost pitied them. Almost. He never showed emotion after all.
Over the weeks, the tattoo changed often, changed between pink and blue, from red to brown, yellow and then... white again. It seemed his assumed mate was similar to Hashirama, letting their feelings run wild as they wanted, and that meant they certainly were not from the Senju clan. It had no importance to him, he would never seek them out anyway. It pained him, seeing the tattoo run wild.
One year passed, two years passed. Tobirama silently observed how the colours changed every single day, wished to be able to show it just as much, but the daily drill always reminded him: He was just not worth it. Nobody could love the ‘White Demon’. Grey and orange appeared often now, but always around the same time, every day, it changed to a bright blue. So bright, Tobirama thought the bird would flap its wings and fly away. Strangely enough, his brother always disappeared around the same time the blue tint appeared. So, Tobirama decided to follow, watch from afar, sense who was meeting with his brother. And so, it became a daily routine to watch the Uchiha and the Senju play. Of course he knew the other kid with the messy black hair was an Uchiha, he shared the same dark locks and eyes, shared the same warm fiery chakra, shared... everything he would imagine an Uchiha to be... minus the will to fight and kill. Watching the Tattoo on his arm closely, he was horrified at the revelation.
Whenever the Uchiha kid laughed, it beamed in a soft pink, blue hues underneath. Changing to red when the child displayed rare fits of anger and grey for phases of sadness. Tobirama was shocked. After days of watching them, days of being curious, he left, shuddering at the though, at what his father would do if he ever found out.
And Madara was too caught up in his games to notice his own tattoo changing into a dark grey colour.
They met, for the first time, on that faithful day. That day he clashed with Izuna for the very first time. Tobirama could not look Madara into his eyes, could not lift his head to meet the look the Uchiha heir was likely giving him. Tobirama did not need to see the bird imprinted on his arm. He knew, through sensing Madara’s chakra, that the hawk’s wings would be glowing red, burning like the hate Madara displayed, only disturbed through orange specks of disappointment and grey scales of sadness for a broken friendship. Tobirama felt bad. He had been the one leading Butsuma here, had not known that Izuna had no ill intentions. Had only wanted to watch his Aniki as he had wished to watch his Anija... and his supposed mate. Despite always saying he did not need this, he wanted it. Desperately, badly.
Some days, he yearned for Madara to notice him. But he pressed it down, compressed it into a small ball until it was non-existent. It was okay. They were enemies anyway, and the peace Hashirama dreamt of would never happen anyway. Not with how their clans hated one another. Not with how the Uchiha never forgot... and never forgave, just like he had heard from various sources.
Now more than ever, Tobirama knew: His soulmate would never love him. His tattoo burning red, the deep hatred for him now rooted in Madara’s chest, he knew that the other’s tattoo resembled a shadow. Black. Just like the despair, the hopelessness he felt at the moment. As they turned and left, a draw for today, he did not notice the irritation on Madara’s face, did not let the tears fall. Crying, as his father loved to say, was a weakness. Useless. He had drilled it into Tobirama’s head. He was useless if he was not acting as a weapon, as protection, if he was not helpful. And he was sure... if he were to reveal his soulmate... his life would find a quick end, on one of the various suicide missions available.
And so? He was silent on the way back, did not cry, locked his feelings away for the rest of the time, putting up shields even higher, walls even sturdier, hoping to never attract Madara’s attention to their shared bond. If he never showed emotions, then of course, it would be no problem, Madara would always only see white. A white, empty canvas, void of colour. A soulmate void of emotion. He would hate him even more, maybe think he died, but Tobirama decided to take the risk. It would be okay. After all, as things stood now, the chances of them working out were about zero. A small sigh left the Albino’s mouth as he slowly slipped into bed.