Work Text:
Flashback to a decade ago, when a four-year-old Jōki and a two-year-old Obito were just toddlers.
"It’s mine! Mine! I made it!" a frustrated little Jōki yelled, glaring with pure fury at baby Obito. "You miserable little snot-bag!"
"Language!"
Obito was barely old enough to walk and was currently drooling all over Jōki's prized toy, a wooden replica of one of Tobirama's kunai.
Germs... Jōki thought, a tiny vein popping on his forehead.
"Now, now, Jōki-kun, calm down. Obito will let go of it in just a second, right, sweetie?"
Jōki snapped his gaze toward the new voice, looking up—way, way up—at his uncle Hashirama.
Noticing the massive height difference, Hashirama dropped to his knees to bring himself down to eye level. "Look how much you've grown! You look exactly like my little brother Tobirama."
"He is my father."
The brunette let out one of his trademark boisterous laughs. "You're so smart, just like Tobi-chan was at your age!"
"He is my father."
"But you also look a bit like Izu-chan," Hashirama added thoughtfully.
"He's my papa."
"Right..." Hashirama sighed. He pushed himself up and patted the boy's head, instantly slumping into a deep, gloomy depression.
"Wait."
The older man spun around, his eyes shining with sudden hope. "Yes, Jōki-chan?"
"Tell your son to give me back my toy."
While baby Obito babbled nonsensically, watching the conversation with wide, curious eyes, Hashirama scooped him up into his arms. He gently pried the toy from the toddler's mouth, now completely coated in thick saliva, and handed it back to the dark-haired boy.
"There you go! Not a single scratch on it."
"Hmph." Jōki inspected the wet plastic with disgust. "Obito is exactly like you."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because he's annoying!"
Hashirama's spontaneous depression was about to hit rock bottom if this kid kept talking.