Archive of Our Own

Year Zero

His first breath is cold. He inhales deeply, feels the bite of the air in his throat, and knows that this is the deepest cold of winter.

When he opens his eyes, it’s dark out, but the moon’s glow shows him the frozen lake upon which he stands. He doesn’t know why he’s here. What is his purpose?

As if in answer to his silent pondering, knowledge unfurls in his mind, displaying a tapestry of wonderful, amazing things laid out before his mind’s eye. He knows about plants and animals and weather phenomena, the difference between the manmade and the natural, what spirits and such creatures live on this earth. There’s history of how the world came to be, how humans dominate the land, the marvel of their singular uniqueness.

He learns that spirits such as he are born by humanity’s will. That their power and form are subject to the perception of humans. Spirits live and die by humanity’s belief. There are others like him, nascent beings who take shape from the repeated collective belief of humans in something. Some don’t last long, but some may grow into a more solid form with renown across the land if humans create a legend out of their belief.

But who is he? Why was he created?

A name comes to him like a whisper by his ear: Tobirama of the Frost.

Tobirama? So that is his name.

Tobirama takes stock of himself. He feels…inconsequential. He knows he has a form, but when he raises his arms and examines his hands, he can see right through himself. Looking down at what he thinks should be his legs, he sees only a shapeless, wispy suggestion of a lower half.

It’s his first night alive.

The air is so clean and crisp. He can hear the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. He puts a foot forward and bumps into something. A flicker of surprise runs through him. It’s a wooden stick, about six feet long, with a hooked end. Some intrinsic part of Tobirama tells him this is his staff. He nudges it again with his toe and frost spins out from the point of contact along the grooves of the staff.

Interesting.

Crouching, he picks up the staff with gentle hands to further inspect this phenomenon. As he brings the staff closer to get a better look, the frost pulses brightly, little sparks of ice flying into his face. He flinches in spite of himself, shielding his eyes with a hand. In his shock, the staff’s balance shifts and the butt smacks the frozen lake. Tobirama hears a high-pitched crackling like gliding ice skates. The shock turns to wonder. Where the staff hit the ice, beautiful fern-like patterns of frost have materialised. As he watches, the patterns spread in intricate spirals, creating a thin film of delicate frost across the surface of the lake.

So, it seems he can create frost via this staff. Is there more he can do? Is the staff a necessary channel? What about the hooked end of the staff?

Tobirama has just been born, but already he feels the wonder of life in him. He takes these emotions in stride, confusing and overwhelming though they are for a newborn spirit. He doesn’t yet know his purpose, but he can tell that he has a curious disposition and a mind for searching for the truth of the world.

He wants to know everything. What else can he do? Who is he? He has a name and a form, but how did he come to be?

He’ll start with what’s in front of him.

There are trees scattered around the perimeter of the lake. Tobirama tests his question about the capabilities of the staff by tapping the hooked end against one of the trunks. As before, frost spirals coat the bark, curving and branching around it’s surface.

Amazing! He smiles, giddy with the knowledge of this discovery. He replicates the results on another tree, and again the frost spirals, each branch perfect in its uniqueness. The excitement suffuses him, and he can’t help but chuckle to let it out.

He can’t help but bounce from the thrill of it all. It’s such a wondrous ability and he wants to discover its limits. Tobirama glances across the surface of the lake, gauging its area. How much can he produce? He throws his weight forward, propelling himself by some unknown means, somehow gliding over the ice at great velocity. He drags the staff behind him as he goes, practically skating, swinging it back and forth and painting frost patterns everywhere it touches. Soon, the whole lake is covered in a tapestry of glittering ice branches. As Tobirama speeds up for one last flourish, a sudden updraft lifts him into the air. He sucks in a breath at the abrupt sensation as he tumbles upwards but quickly recovers, instinctively flinging his arms out wide to steady himself.

It takes a moment to acclimatise to his new perspective, but as he floats some hundred feet above the ground, he breathes out at the beauty of what he’s created. The surface of the lake is utterly bedazzled in crystallisation—elegant swooping curves like fronds, arcing over and under and around each other, unfurling in all directions to form a masterpiece of winter.

Just as he’s getting the hang of being this high, the updraft cuts out, sending Tobirama plummeting to the ground. His mouth opens around a brief yell. He has enough time to acknowledge that his concentration slipped when he was admiring his work which led to him losing control of the updraft. He hits what feels like every single branch on the way down before catching himself on one wide enough to hold his weight, mostly shapeless though he may be. His breath punches out of him at the impact. His whole torso aches, but he’s more surprised at the sudden drop than the unexpected pain. This, too, is new. Everything is so new. While he aches, it’s drowned out by the excitement of discovering yet another thing about being alive. With his arms around the branch, he digs his fingers into the bark, leveraging himself upwards so he can get his legless lower half under him to sitting, turning sideways to a more comfortable position. The roughness of the bark is a completely different sensation from the smooth touch of frost. It grounds him in this moment. The blanket of snow atop the branch provides a cold contrast that feels like home.

Nothing can touch him up here.

Tobirama tips his face up into the cool night breeze, closing his eyes and soaking in serenity of the light of the full moon. It’s quiet up here. The air ruffles his bangs and caresses his face like an old friend.

When he opens his eyes again, the sight that greets him is breathtaking. The woodlands sprawl as far as the eye can see. Mountains hug the edges of the valley. There are little breaks in the forest scattered here and there, surely more lakes such as this one. It’s like the whole world is before him. It seems so much vaster than he could have ever imagined. There is one outlier of this white-speckled painting, though, that stands out thanks to its orange glow. Little smoke columns rise into the sky, plumes of gray against the untouched landscape. There’s nothing to do but investigate, of course. Plus, it gives Tobirama a reason to continue testing the extent of his flight capabilities.

It happened quite by accident the first time around, so this time Tobirama concentrates on replicating the factors that created the updraft. It hadn’t felt quite like he had been the only controller. Rather, it was more like he had created the opportunity by swinging his staff around to facilitate using his powers and the wind had responded in kind. Therefore, the logical conclusion is to open himself up to the wind and trust in its intentions.

He takes a deep breath, feeling his breath circulating from his diaphragm up to his nose where his exhale frosts in the air. There’s something calling to him, like a presence he can’t quite touch but can feel is there, hovering on the edge of his senses. He brings his staff up and makes a swift swooping motion in the air, and that unknown presence answers. The updraft lifts him high, even higher than before, and it’s even more exhilarating.

A bit wobbly, though.

Who are you?

If he thought he would get a voiced answer, he’s disappointed. It’s only a flickering reaction, though. He does get a gentle rush of wind chilling his cheeks.

Ah. So his new friend is the wind. How unsurprisingly logical.

With his newfound symbiosis with the wind, Tobirama need only project his thoughts to the wind and it knows where to take him. Admittedly, it’s a bit of a bumpy ride. He’s a bit like a newborn foal. The flight is short enough, though it takes him a moment to coordinate his limbs. He tilts to the right and he goes right. When he tilts to the left, the same. He’s basically riding the wind currents. Straightforward. With a little practice, he should be able to replicate the required movements until it becomes second nature.

Coming up on the anomaly, Tobirama lowers his center of gravity to absorb the force of the landing but still ends ups stumbling a bit from the sudden ceasing of the wind’s support. Hmm. Something to keep in mind in the future.

Now that he’s here, Tobirama can see that the orange glow and gray smoke are from small fire pits placed along the outer perimeter of a town square. Hardly a town, really. More of a collection of houses in a horseshoe-shaped arrangement, each with its own little lantern illuminating the front entrance. There’s a well in the center area, too, with people milling about and conversing around the fires.

His first time meeting humans! Tobirama’s lips stretch into a grin, a bubble of laughter escaping at the sheer excitement of his new environment. It is a bit odd that no one seems to have noticed his arrival yet, but he’ll rectify that soon enough.

Tobirama waves at the first lady he comes across, a petite woman dressed in the current style with a bonnet. “Hello there, ma’am.” He gets no response, not even an indication that she’s heard him or even a glance in his direction.

He frowns. Perhaps she’s hard of hearing?

He tries again with the next person who crosses his path, a tall man wearing a woolen cloak and well-worn working boots. “Good evening, sir.” Again, no response. The man simply keeps walking on his way.

There’s a growing buzzing in his ears. Why is no one acknowledging him?

He spots a child chasing after a dog. Maybe he’ll have better luck with a younger age group. He raises a hand in greeting, saying, “Excuse me, child, would you be so kind as to tell me where I am?”

He can’t possibly be ignored this time; he’s standing right in the child’s trajectory. But a rude awakening greets him like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face.

The child runs straight through him.

The shock of another person’s body passing through his own is horrible. He imagines it’s like what other people would feel when walking barefoot on a frozen lake but multiplied tenfold. It’s a cold so deep it sinks into his bones, penetrating the very core of his being. The whiplash of feeling cold when up to this point it’s only felt like his own body temperature is jarring.

The buzzing is all he can hear now. His focus narrows until all he can feel is that cold spot deep inside as panic consumes him, a hungry wolf sinking its teeth into whatever it can reach.

Tobirama doesn’t know how long he stands there shivering, a sensation that up until now he didn’t think was possible for him to feel, clutching at his hammer-strike heart, breaths huffing out of lungs that can’t get enough air, eyes wide and blank.

Then there’s that whisper again, the wind’s caressing touch, gently guiding him back to the present. Slowly, sound trickles in again. The blurry shapes of the townspeople sharpen. There’s an insistent pressure that he needs to get out of here.

So he does.

He can’t concentrate on flying, the fog over his thoughts a lasting effect of his revelation. Instead, the wind cradles him in its loving arms and for once the ride is smooth. He doesn’t know where else to go but to where he came from, and the wind divines his thoughts, taking him back to that little frozen lake.

It’s a cold night.

Funny that that’s all he can think about. The excitement of new life has been diluted by the cruel nature of his existence. Unseen. Unheard. Unfelt.

It’s like I don’t even exist.

The thought is startling in its simplicity.

Tobirama curls his fingers into his stomach, pulling his lower body in as close as he can get. He feels so cold. That’s not right. He shouldn’t be cold. The cold is warm to him. He huffs in self-deprecation. How pathetic. Assuming a childlike cadence of thought and trying to hug himself for warmth.

It’s all he can do, however. The wind rustles around him as slowly, ever so slowly, the dark cold subsides, drawing its clawing fingers back from their death-grip on his bones. His temperature equalises. Finally, the cold just feels warm again.

Well, this was not part of the knowledge bequeathed unto him when he first awoke. He’s invisible to humans. Does the same apply to other spirits? Uncertain, but not something he can confirm until he’s met others.

Tobirama sighs and pushes to standing, briefly leaning against his staff for support. He just needs…a moment to compartmentalise his thoughts. It’s not worth expending the energy to think about such things right now. He needs to get moving, determine where in the world he is, and figure out what his next steps are.

Take me up, wind.

As before, the wind answers his call and brings him soaring above the thin canopy. There’s a whole world out there, farther than the eye can see, vaster than his newly born mind can imagine.

Time to see what it has to offer.

Year Four

The first time Madara meets Tobirama, he’s busy in the north sending out a windstorm in the mountains.

Normally Madara wouldn’t take particular notice of him, since spirits are born all the time. Something about this one, though, pings something deep inside his core. He sends out a last wind current, then turns his attention to the white-haired spirit gliding across the snow.

The spirit is a wisp of a thing, with barely the power to sustain itself. It can’t be more than a few years old, with that little fortitude to make up its existence. He seems unbothered by the wind and pounding snow.

That tingle in his soul tells Madara that this moment is important. So, he goes to speak to the spirit.

“Hello, little one.”

The spirit startles at his appearance but quickly recovers. “Hello.”

“What are you doing all the way out here?”

“…I’m not certain,” the spirit says. “I’m just going where the wind tells me, I suppose.”

Madara jerks back in surprise. “The Wind told you to be here?”

The spirit nods. “Sometimes the wind speaks to me. I felt something deep down, like I was being pulled this direction, so I followed the call of the wind.”

At this, Madara is stunned. While he is the personification of the wind, he can’t be everywhere at once. Perhaps that spark in his soul is what’s been calling to this spirit. How about a leap of faith?

Madara extends his hand. “I am the Wind.”

The spirit smiles. “Tobirama. Of the Frost.” He extends his hand in reciprocity.

They clasp hands. “Well met, Tobirama of the Frost,” Madara says.

The spirit’s hand is cold and Madara shivers involuntarily at the unexpected grip. He’s not much colder than the snowy blanket he stands in, only just, but it’s surprising all the same. Perhaps that’s why he seems so unbothered, if his natural state is also cold. He wouldn’t interpret there to be a difference between his own body temperature and the cold of winter.

Tobirama steps back. Madara hadn’t noticed before, captivated by the strange connection to the spirit as he was, but he sees now that Tobirama carries a hooked staff. It’s intricately wrought, the spirals of the wood forming flowing patterns. Where his hand grips it, frost seeps out following the natural contours of the grooves. The interplay of blue and white crystals makes for a beautiful combination.

Madara traces the rest of Tobirama’s person. His lower half suggests a shadow of legs, bare feet nestled in the snow, yet a further indication of how the cold doesn’t bother him. Peculiarly, a brown woolen cloak clings to his shoulders. Madara would guess it’s purpose to ward off the chill but, given the way Tobirama stands completely unbothered in subzero, it’s probably for aesthetics more than anything. Peeking from underneath his cloak is a white shirt of indeterminate make. Snowflakes cling to Tobirama’s hair like diamond sparkles, reflecting the shifting light each time the wind tousles his hair. His skin is likewise pale, adding to his wintry countenance, the smoothness broken up only by three peculiar red marks, one on his chin and each cheek. And then Madara’s wandering eyes meet Tobirama’s reserved ones, and a weight settles in his chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

They’re gorgeous. Like a clear summer sky, or dense glacial ice. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more vibrant colour in all the reaches of the world.

Madara realises he’s staring when Tobirama’s cheeks tinge pink and he glances away. He clears his throat, an embarrassed flush suddenly rising to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, inclining his head slightly to emphasise the apology, “that was rude of me.” He spreads his hands helplessly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just…”

“Bizarre to look at, yes, I’m aware,” Tobirama says, as if he isn’t the most breathtaking thing to grace the earth upon which all beings walk and utterly outclass them all just by existing.

Madara shakes his head immediately. “No, no, you’re—forgive my forwardness—you’re beautiful. Truly.”

Tobirama tinges even pinker, if that’s possible. “Nonsense,” he scoffs, like he’s flattered by the compliment but also deeply averse to thinking himself attractive. “My colouring is off-putting for its paleness; my hair is white as the elderly. Half of me hasn’t even properly taken form yet. I’m practically invisible in a blizzard.” He looks down to the side, crossing his arms and hugging himself. “What’s there to think beautiful?” he mutters.

Madara has only just met Tobirama, but that something connecting them soul-to-soul in a way he’s never experienced before makes him want to protect Tobirama. He can start by disabusing the spirit of his self-deprecating notions of what makes someone pretty. Or, rather, what makes him not pretty.

“I don’t know whom you’ve been hanging out with to get that idea in your head, but you are beautiful, Tobirama,” Madara says, a sincere smile breaking out. “You say your colouring is cold and uninviting; I see it as ethereal. You’re like ice come to life.”

“And yet ice only makes people flinch away.”

Madara’s smile dims.

Tobirama sighs, uncrossing his arms. “You flatter me, Madara. While I am not…unappreciative of your words, I have yet to see the evidence to back up your claims, and thus cannot accept them.” Madara opens his mouth, but Tobirama holds up a hand to pre-empt him. “I am young, yes, but I have travelled far and wide. No one in this vast world has shown me that what you say is true.”

“Then let me be the first.”

Tobirama visibly startles at his answer. Madara startles himself a little, too, but realises the words are true as he says them. He wants to be the first person to show Tobirama the wonder of being in his presence, to prove to him that he is someone worth being around.

“I can show you the world in ways you haven’t seen. Think of it as a study, if you like, to gather evidence to support my claims.

“Ah.” Tobirama leans in, a gleam in his eye. A curl of excitement tinges his voice as he says, “Now you’re speaking my language. Alright, then, Madara.” He pivots so his back is to Madara, sweeping his staff up to lay along his shoulders. He turns his head until just that vibrant blue eye is visible, catching Madara’s red gaze with a quirk of pale lips. “For now, shall we see where your winds take us?”

Madara grins in reply. Something tells him the winds will take them further than he can guess.

Year 106

Meeting Madara changed things for Tobirama. Those first few years braving the world alone, not knowing his purpose, were lonely. Even with all the knowledge he obtained that first night, it could not displace not knowing who he was. But after meeting Madara, many of his questions were answered; even the questions he hadn’t yet thought to ask.

For instance, there are all sorts of spirits. Born-spirits, those like Madara, are formed by nature itself, perhaps even some greater force that guides the universe; no one is quite sure. They are undying and unchanging, the personifications of eternal forces that exist outside of the boundaries of mortal life. Madara is known as the Wind to mortal creatures, given form since before humans roamed the earth. He calls down the air and channels currents, sending both squalls and breezes alike to the four corners of the earth. His duties are many and varied, and he can’t be everywhere at once.

Made-spirits are created from the belief of humans and thusly informed by them. Collectively, humanity believes in something with enough intent that spirits are willed into existence, and the power, personality, and lifespan of those spirits are directly correlated to how humans believe in them. In this way, Tobirama was born. He came to learn that his weak form was derived from the unsubstantiality of how humanity perceived him: not as a force given flesh like Madara, but rather as a turn of phrase. ‘Jack Frost’s got your nose’, the humans would say when the cold nips at their noses.

And that’s another thing that had come as a surprise. The humans refer to him as ‘Jack’, though his name is not so. The prevailing slang of the time period is to use ‘Jack’ to refer to just a man in general. Hence, ‘Jack-o-lantern’ and ‘Jack-of-all-trades’. And thus, so ‘Jack Frost’ came to be.

But, then, how can his true name be Tobirama, if it is the will of humans that brought him to life? Well, Madara answered that question, too.

That was the doing of MiM—Man in the Moon. The first guide to made-spirits when they are born, there to impart knowledge and support them in their awakening. According to Madara, though, MiM is beans at doing anything beyond that.

Tobirama chuckles at the memory of Madara scowling through his explanation of the Man in the Moon. The way he scrunches his nose when he’s offended is endearingly cute. Evidently, he is not fond of the born-spirit who sits apart from the rest, unbeholden to nature’s laws with a frustratingly hands-off communication style. Apparently, the only spirits MiM regularly makes contact with post-awakenings are the Big Four: a group of some of the oldest made-spirits with the strongest belief from humanity, charged to protect the children of the world.

Perhaps one day Tobirama might find himself as believed in as the Big Four. It’s a nice thought, but an unproductive one.

Tobirama can’t be truly dissatisfied with how he came to be. It had hurt to find out he was invisible to humans because of the fact that they don’t view him as his own person, but he is alive, after all, even if humans don’t think of him as such — just an expression to represent the chill of long winter months.

Of course, he can’t be with Madara all the time. The Wind has many places to be, responsibilities and duties to uphold, and Tobirama is just a mere made-spirit, only strong enough to make frost and ride cold air currents.

It’s no matter, though. He’s found joy in his own responsibilities. Seeing children laugh and launch into snowball fights when he nips their noses, hanging icicles from the underside of roofs, painting frost on windowpanes. They are simple joys, but joys, nonetheless.

He is in the midst of freezing over some plants in an artistic caricature of sculpture work when he feels a warm breeze tickle his neck. A rush of excitement passes through him. He finishes the fern he’s on and swiftly rises to meet what the zephyr heralds.

Madara soars in from the west.

As always, his dark hair is an untamable wild mane. Tobirama still can’t fathom how Madara can possibly see past such long hair when it’s going every which way like that but, every time Tobirama brings it up, Madara pouts and says it’s talent that keeps his hair so perfect. Tobirama would beg to differ. He thinks it should be chopped off if it’s going to be so impractical and clearly not perfect, thank you very much, but Madara gets this wounded look like Tobirama said he’s ugly every time he mentions it, so he doesn’t mention it anymore.

Madara’s geta make faint thudding noises as he lands. There’s an infectious grin on his face.

“Tobirama! So lovely to see you again.”

Tobirama inclines his head in thanks. “Likewise, Madara.” He makes a show of appraising Madara’s appearance. “You’re looking more raggedy than usual.” He lifts an eyebrow in mock-judgement. “Off riding hurricanes again, are we?”

That pout is not cute. It is not. Even if it makes Madara’s eyes shine brighter.

“Aw, Tobirama, don’t be like that!” Madara says.

He shakes his head in exasperation. “You know, for a spirit as old as time, you certainly don’t act the part.”

“And be old and boring all the time? Please,” Madara says. “Where’s the fun in that? I’d much rather go on adventures with you.”

Tobirama’s heart warms. It’s truly comforting to know Madara enjoys spending time with him. That there is someone in the world who knows he, as a person, exists.

“Well, then, Madara,” Tobirama says, “What adventure shall we go on today? Did you come to see me for a reason?”

“Do I need one to visit you?” Madara is all grins today. “I can’t just come visit because I like you?”

Tobirama can feel the blush rising. The flirting must be intentional. Madara is just too pointed with it sometimes, though he can also be dashingly smooth when he wants to be.

“Smooth-talker.”

“Yeah, but you love it, though.”

Tobirama can’t deny it.

Ever since meeting Madara all those years ago, there’s been something growing inside him, a feeling that took root that first day and refused to leave. He doesn’t know what to name it yet; only that it makes him feel warm and fuzzy whenever he’s around Madara. It’s a peculiar feeling to know warmth, but he gladly welcomes it.

It’s always a surprise when Madara visits. He himself rarely seeks out Madara. As the Wind, his duties take him far and wide, even more so than Tobirama, so it’s best to wait for Madara to seek him out instead. It’d be inefficient to try to schedule meetings, and impromptu visits would be next to impossible given they’re often not even on the same continent at the same time.

While Tobirama can ride cold air currents and the wind speaks to him in small ways, it’s only a tangential connection to the Wind himself. So, it makes Madara’s surprise appearances all the more exciting and all the more treasured.

“I’ll go wherever you like, Madara,” Tobirama says.

Madara hums thoughtfully. “How about Antarctica? The penguins are out in full this time of year.”

“…You’d rather go somewhere cold? What about where you’ve been on your travels recently? We could go somewhere more pleasant.” It’s not like Antarctica’s all that exciting; they’ve both been many times over.

Madara’s smile softens. His eyes do, too. He takes a step forward and grasps Tobirama’s hand, just holding it gently. Tobirama can’t help but instinctively grip back. Madara looks down at their joined hands. His lips part to say something, but he hesitates.

Is he…embarrassed? That man has not a shame bone in his body. He doesn’t get embarrassed. But, yes, body language indicates Madara is hesitating because he’s embarrassed.

He seems to figure it out well enough, though, since it only takes him a few moments more to overcome his temporary vocabulary deficit.

Still looking at their hands, Madara says, “The cold doesn’t bother me. Not when you’re around.”

Oh. This man will be the death of him.

“Madara.”

When Madara looks up shyly, or what passes for shyly for someone with the personality of a gale force, Tobirama smiles as gently as Madara did earlier. “I’d love to go to Antarctica with you.”

Immediately, Madara’s visage brightens. It’s like the sun breaking out.

“Then let’s go! I’ll drive.” Madara grins cheekily at him.

A laugh startles out of Tobirama, full-bellied.

This man, he thinks.

Madara’s grin stretches to victorious, and he starts pulling Tobirama along. Tobirama yelps as Madara sweeps him into his arms, launching into the air with wild abandon.

Tobirama can do nothing but hold on. It’s not a hardship.

Year 276

It’s a beautiful winter, made even more so this year because Tobirama is here. He’s believed in now. His power has grown and with it his capacity to bring joy to the world.

Madara leans back against the tree trunk he’s using as a convenient chair. Below, Tobirama is ice skating with the children of this town. Well, not with them. But the intent is there. Even though they can’t see him, that doesn’t seem to be bothering Tobirama much today. It’s taken a couple centuries, but finally humans have evolved their belief in Jack Frost from a simple expression to a full-fledged personification.

And that is what Tobirama is, now. He’s got legs, fully opaque and tangible. He shines. Utterly radiates happiness unlike anything Madara’s seen from him before. Being a born-spirit, he can’t experience the depth of emotion Tobirama is going through right now, but he can certainly empathise with it.

Tobirama hasn’t noticed him yet, entranced as he is with the children. Just minutes ago, he was inciting a snowball fight, and naturally he wanted to go ice skating too, so he casually froze over a nearby pond.

Madara lets him have fun for a few minutes more. It’s a gift to himself, too—to see Tobirama like this, completely in his element, healing the body and cheering the soul. It’s infectious.

Eventually Madara decides he can make Tobirama even happier by announcing is presence. It always seems to bring a smile to his face. He gathers up some loose snow on the branch next to him, smooshing and shaping it into a snowball. A bit lopsided, but it’ll do.

He lobs it right. At. Tobi’s. Face.

He never misses.

Splat.

Madara guffaws at the offended cat look Tobirama immediately makes, calculating trajectory and direction of the snowball to determine who he should throw in a snow pile. When he spots Madara half-hidden in the boughs of the tree, he positively beams.

“Madara!”

Tobirama launches himself into the tree, tackling Madara straight out of it and into a snowbank one of his flurries from earlier made. Madara oofs at the unexpected extra weight and tries not to laugh.

It’s a losing battle.

“You’re here!” Tobirama sits up excitedly, immediately sticking his legs out in front of him and wiggling his toes. “Look, my legs came in!”

“Yes, yes, I noticed, Tobi. I’m happy for you.”

Tobirama huffs in exasperation. “Of course you knew, you’ve been hiding in a tree! Why didn’t you come out sooner?”

Madara smiles at the memory of moments ago. “I didn’t want to disturb your fun.”

He sits up, shaking his head to knock out the snow from the fall that caught in his long hair. Tobirama gestures at his mane. Puzzled, Madara cocks his head.

“May I?” Tobirama asks.

Ah. Madara obligingly turns around, giving Tobirama access to his hair.

Tobirama handles his hair gently, brushing out the snow with quiet intention, unknotting tangles and smoothing runaway locks.

Madara heart beats faster at the proximity. They’ve never done this before. But then he breathes out, calming his nerves. It’s peaceful. Tobirama’s cold hands are soothing. The care he takes not to tug on his hair is…nice. He feels content here.

“You know, this reminds me of our first meeting.”

Madara blinks open his eyes. He hadn’t realised they’d slipped closed. Under Tobirama’s ministrations, he’d relaxed deeply.

“How so?” he asks.

Tobirama hums. “Do you remember when I said I was following the wind because I didn’t know my purpose?”

He does. Knowing Tobirama, he can guess where this is going. “So then, you’ve found your purpose?”

Tobirama’s hands still in Madara’s hair. He tugs on a lock gently, prompting Madara to turn around to face his spirit. There’s a bright smile on his face, lighting up his features. His eyes are like sparkling rubies.

“It’s to bring joy, Madara. My purpose as a spirit is to spread happiness to all the people of the world and share with them the beauty of winter.” Tobirama glances at the children still playing behind them. “It makes me happy to make them happy.”

“I’m happy for you, Tobirama.” Madara tilts Tobirama’s face back towards him. “It settles my heart to know you’ve found what you were searching for.”

“Thank you, Wind.”

Tobirama only uses that nickname when he’s being serious.

“You were no small part in this discovery. You’ve been guiding me all these years. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

 “Why does this sound like a goodbye?” Because it does. Madara feels some concern is warranted.

Tobirama shakes his head. “Not a goodbye, silly man. I just…needed to say it.” He fiddles with the lock of hair still in his hand. “And…you’reprettytooyouknow.”

Madara blinks. “I’m sorry?” What in the heavens just came out of Tobi’s mouth? He’s never heard him so inarticulate before.

Tobirama’s ears shade pink, but he plows forward. “I said, you’re pretty too, you know.”

Now it’s Madara’s turn to blush.

Tobirama sees this. “It’s true. Your hair shines beautifully under the sun. Your eyes are so clear I can see myself reflected in them. And you have nice shoulders.” Tobirama’s voice takes on a teasing lilt. “Though, your hair is always a wreck, so who really knows.”

Rude.

“Still not as beautiful as you, though,” he rebuts. It’s the truth.

Tobirama’s blush reaches his cheeks, highlighting those red marks of his. He might actually die of embarrassment if he gets any redder.

Madara takes pity on him and changes the subject. “How about we just enjoy this, hmm? These kids are great entertainment.”

Tobirama leaps on the new topic. “An excellent idea, Madara. Impressive that you actually have those.”

“Hey!”

Tobirama laughs again. Spirits above, but how Madara loves his laugh. He could spend forever in this moment.

Even in this gentle silence, Tobirama still radiates joy. They lean back against the tree, watching the children try to build bigger snow forts than each other. This kind of quiet basking is different from how they usually spend their time together, but it’s a nice change. Madara hopes they can always be like this.

Year 533

Tobirama smiles in delight as another child falls ill from the cold. That makes the seventh one this week, with more almost certainly on the way. With the temperatures he’s been putting out, Tobirama is sure others will succumb to the cold’s clutches soon enough.

A whisper on the wind alerts him to an invader. He huffs. So finally Madara has decided to visit.

A rush of air precedes the Wind’s coming. The air buffets him where he sits perched on the roof of a quant little house, and he has to reset his balance to counteract the gale. He remembers feeling comforted when the Wind comes, but today he expects the Wind will not be pleased to see him.

Madara sweeps into view, his hair a mess and his clothes in disarray. There’s a panicked look on his face that briefly settles when he spots Tobirama but flickers when Tobirama does not smile in greeting, as is his custom. Madara touches down next to him.

“Tobi”, Madara says, reaching out to grip his arms. “What’s happening? I heard screams on the wind. Are you alright?”

Silly man. “As you can plainly see,” he cocks an eyebrow and gestures towards himself, “I am perfectly fine, Madara.”

Madara’s brows scrunch in confusion. “Then…what where those screams? Why were they coming from you?”

It’s sweet that he’s avoiding the obvious conclusion. Perhaps Tobirama should feel warmed by that, but all he feels these days is cold.

Tobirama grins strangely, a twisted quality to it that leans towards wickedness. “Why, my dear Madara, those screams are my doing. I’m sure you can tell they’re the screams of hurt children. They’re terrified of me.”

Madara releases Tobirama in a stupor, a shocked look passing over his face. His lips part but no sound comes out.

“Cat got your tongue? That’s not like you, Madara.”

Madara shakes his head like he can’t believe Tobirama’s words. “You’re…hurting children? You? There’s not a cruel bone in your body, Tobi, how can you be doing this?”

He smiles bitterly. “Don’t you remember, Madara? I am not like you. You said so yourself, those first years together.  I do not have the luxury of being allowed to choose my personality for myself.”

As his legend has spread across the world, humans have come to view Tobirama differently. With the cruelty of winter starving families and freezing children, Tobirama has become the one to blame. There’s a bizarre detachment between knowing he would never wish harm upon humanity and committing such sins anyway.

Understanding crosses Madara’s face. “I’d heard whispers that there was a made-spirit causing mischief throughout the world, killing the plants he touched and bringing malady to children. I had hoped,” here he lifts a beseeching gaze, “it was not you.”

Tough luck. “Alas, Madara. It is I, Jack Frost, he who brings cruel winter to your doorstep. I grant life bejewelled beauty in its final sleep. I bathe the world in frost. It is my name that drips from the lips of humans when they decry winter’s call.”

Madara seems to realise something. “You enjoy this.”

“Of course. It’s how they made me.”

“But this isn’t you, Tobirama!” Madara says, helplessness tinging his voice. He steps towards him and takes his arms again, like he needs to be the anchor that keeps Tobirama from drifting away. “You love kids. Just last time we met, you were the embodiment of happiness. Your actions cheered the soul, not caused it misery.”

Tobirama allows the invasion of personal space, but he will not stand for Madara’s stupidity. “It’s been centuries since then, Madara,” he murmurs. “This is who I am, now.”

“I can’t countenance this,” Madara says.

Anger burns cold through him. How dare he? How dare Madara judge him?

“I do not need your blessing, nor is it wanted. If you cannot accept me as I am, then leave.” He bores his gaze into Madara’s, daring him to look away. “Isn’t that what you always do?”

The barb hits. Madara stumbles back like the blow was physical, a hand clenching his heart. “Do not say that,” Madara whispers.

"It is true, is it not?" Tobirama shrugs carelessly, projecting calm even though he rather feels like he's gone invisible. "No matter my disposition, you always leave. Why should this time be any different?"

Why does it matter if I bring joy or tears when you leave either way, he doesn't say, but Madara hears it anyway.

"I don't know who you are anymore." Madara steps back, as if making physical space will distance him from the ragged hole he's tearing in Tobirama's heart.

"I know this isn't you, Tobi, because I know you would never do anything to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.” Madara takes a deep breath and releases it heavily. “But even so, I cannot be party to this malice.”

The cold anger snuffs out as suddenly as it came, replaced by the familiar grasping tendrils of that deathly cold he hasn’t felt since his first night alive. Fine. If that’s what Madara wants, he can have it. Let him be sanctimonious on his high horse—as if he understands anything about what it’s like to have one’s entire existence dictated by lesser beings.

“Leave, then,” Tobirama says. “Wash your hands of me.” He turns away from Madara. He can’t bear to look at him. “I’m used to being alone.”

Madara makes a sound like he’s dying, but Tobirama doesn’t look back. If he does, he’ll do something he’s sure to regret.

He can’t see Madara, but he hears the roof shingles shift when Madara’s feet escape gravity.

A gust of wind, and then—

Nothing.

Tobirama waits a few more moments, then turns around.

Though he expected it, his heart still clenches at Madara’s absence.

Not even a word of goodbye. How he must hate me so.

The hole in Tobirama’s chest tears further. The death cold burrows deeper.

And Tobirama’s heart breaks.

Year 827

It’s been a long time since Madara has seen Tobirama. Part of that is by design. He’s changed from the boyish spirit he knew, and so he’s kept his distance. Inevitably, though, they always meet again. Unlike their other meetings, this one isn’t intentional. That incessant tug in his soul just…he couldn’t ignore it. It’s been hounding him for weeks now and — Madara is tired. It’s been so long. He hasn’t felt so untethered in centuries.

When Tobirama steps out from the shadows of the willow tree, Madara sucks in a breath. Tobirama’s skin is bleach white, paler than he’s ever been, like all the life has been sucked out of him. Glinting dark icicles hang from his clothes. His red, red eyes look stark set against the paleness of his face, matched by those marks like bloody scars, and this time when he searches those eyes that once held such wonder for the world Madara sees only disdain for the people in it. The beautiful whorls of Tobirama’s staff pulse in agitation, reflecting the mood of its holder.

Madara’s heart aches. There’s a crushing vortex in his chest trying to rip him to pieces. “What has become of you, Tobirama?”

His no-longer-little spirit scoffs derisively, crossing his arms and glaring. “Really? That’s the first thing you say after three hundred years? Even you are not so foolish, Madara. You know as well as I that this is who I am. You cannot change it.”

He knows. Oh, how he knows. For three hundred years he has regretted leaving Tobirama alone, wishing he had tried harder to guide him back to the light. Even right after their fight, he knew it wasn’t Tobirama’s fault, that he couldn’t change even if he wanted to, and so Madara should have resolved to stand by his side regardless.

For three hundred years he’s thought of nothing but his helplessness, how utterly inconsequential he is in the face of the greater power that keeps all made-spirits in check. There is nothing he can do to stop Tobirama from changing according to the perception of humans. This form that he’s taken scares him. He’s heard the screams of children carried along the winds as Tobirama viciously toys with them, delighting in harming those who run afoul of him. Madara doesn’t know if he can love this person who brings such pain to the world.

And for three hundred years he has hated himself for that.

Tobirama is just as at the mercy of that greater power as Madara is. It’s unfair to blame him for his current state, Madara knows that, but all the same the conflict within him is one he grapples with every day.

He, an eternal being, absolute as time itself, binding himself to someone who can fade away at any moment. Is it worse to worry that Tobirama will wither to nothing, or that he’ll become someone he doesn’t recognise anymore? Both outcomes scare him, but only one of them involves the person he’s come to cherish leaving this world. How can it be that he puts Tobirama’s changing personalities on the same level as dying? What does that say about him?

Even if Madara pours all his faith and adoration in Tobirama and wills him to live, it won’t matter. Like all spirits born from humanity’s collective consciousness, it is only the belief of humans that can guarantee their continued existence.

What a cruel existence, indeed.

Madara can only sigh at Tobirama’s acceptance of the situation. “This isn’t you, Tobi.”

Maybe it’s too soon; it has been over three hundred years, after all, but he could lose Tobirama tomorrow and he wouldn’t know until that spark in his soul died. He’s spent long enough wallowing in self-doubt and self-pity. He breathes in the air cold enough to choke on that always follows the frost spirit around and breathes out the centuries of pain from yearning for what he can’t protect. He steps forward carefully, achingly attuned to Tobirama’s micro-expressions.

Madara steels his spine and bares his soul. “You’re kind. You’re gentle.”

He’s expecting a scoff or some other rebuttal, but all he gets so far is a furrow of the eyebrows. A slight grimace of the lips. Nothing nuclear yet. Another step, and another, closer and closer until he’s inside Tobirama’s bubble. Tobirama hasn’t stabbed him full of ice spikes yet for daring to breathe the same air, so Madara touches his soft hands tenderly, so tenderly, relaxing them from their defensive posture and guiding them towards himself, uncurling his blue-tipped fingers and interlacing them with his own. He squeezes them gently, willing Tobirama to feel the depth of his words through touch alone.

“You’re endlessly curious about how the world works. You can’t help chasing a question to its answer no matter how absurd it may be.” He chuckles in fond remembrance of the time when he found Tobirama passed out in a snowdrift after days of trying to see how much frost he could paint on one lake. (Given it was a Great Lake, it was a lot of frost). “You love flying, and ice skating, and playing with children. You’ll climb a mountain just to see how long it takes you to reach the top.”

Madara looks into bloody red eyes and sees a flicker of something like salvation stare back.

Last push. Deep breath. No hesitation. “You’re beautiful, and selfless, and the best person I’ve known. Humanity does not define you. No matter how you look on the outside,” here he frames Tobirama’s face with both hands, "I’ll always believe in you, because I know who you are on the inside. All of my heart lives in you. Every time we part, you take a piece of me with you, and I am not complete until we see each other again.” He leans forward until their foreheads are touching. He keeps his gaze locked to Tobirama’s. “When I’m with you, I’m alive.”

Tears gather in Tobirama’s eyes. They fall. This close to his face, Madara can see them crystallise in real time, freezing almost faster than Tobirama can shed them.

“You’re everything to me, Tobi. Life without you would just be existence.” Madara closes his eyes and whispers, “Come back to me.”

A sob breaks through Tobirama’s silent crying. Suddenly he’s heaving, great, gasping breaths that shake his whole body. The force of them knocks their heads together. Madara grunts at the abrupt pain, but his attention is quickly returned to Tobirama when the spirit’s legs give out. He rushes to catch Tobirama, going to his knees in front of him and cradling him there on the cold forest floor.

He can feel the vibrations of Tobirama’s crying in his own bones, so great is the force of his tears. How long has he kept them locked down? Forced to roam the earth as a mischievous creature heralding the dark cold, bringing sorrow to all who cross his path.

Too long.

But now he’s free. Those tears and hiccupping breaths are proof that Tobirama was not a maleficent being, not truly, not deep down in his soul where it mattered. Humans shape him and give him life, but Tobirama is a unique soul all his own and no one can take that away from him.

“Shhh,” Madara soothes Tobirama, shifting their positions so Tobirama’s head is settled in the crook of his neck and Madara’s arms are firmly cocooning him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Tobirama’s breath ghosts along Madara’s neck as he speaks. “I—I did terrible things, Wind. I hurt children.” Another hitch. “And—I enjoyed it.” He lifts his head, blinking tears of pain—pain for others, never for himself—away. “How could I be so cruel? There was a surface level pleasure, but it was manufactured by humans. I just felt so numb to it all.”

Madara gathers Tobirama closer, squeezing him until his spirit melts in his arms. “I’ll never leave you again. Okay? I promise, I’ll never leave you again.”

Tobirama melts even further, if that’s possible.

“And I’ll always trust you to guide me true.” Tobirama gently disentangles Madara’s octopus grip so he can look him in the eyes. “Even when I lose myself—especially when I lose myself—I know you’ll never give up on me.”

Madara’s heart flutters. To hear that from Tobirama, after three hundred years of abandonment, to know that he still trusts him with his soul despite leaving him alone for so long, is a balm. He’ll spend the rest of his life making up for it but, just for now, he’ll hold Tobi close. He’ll never let go again.

Year 901

This time, Tobirama goes looking for Madara.

A lot has happened since last they spoke. As the world turns, their individual responsibilities grow ever greater, in importance and size both.

Tobirama is a Guardian, now. That long-held dream of being believed in like the Big Four came true after all. With that belief, his powers strengthened as well. That Great Lake that took him days to frost he can freeze over in minutes. He can call down blizzards stronger than any flurry he used to work with.

Most importantly, he’s seen.

He can’t wait to tell Madara.

With no shock whatsoever, he finds him in the tropics. They’re a favoured haunting ground of Madara’s when he’s off work.

He touches down on the sandy beach Madara’s lounging on. The sun will attempt to assassinate Tobirama for the duration of the conversation he’s about to have, but he’ll tolerate it.

Madara shields his eyes at Tobirama’s approach. Squinting against the sun’s blinding rays, Tobirama can tell he manages to make him out once he’s close enough.

“Tobi!” Madara springs to his feet and lunges the few feet left between them, picking Tobirama up and spinning him around in delight. “You’re here!”

He laughs in equal delight. “Yes, yes, I’m here! Now put me down, you silly man. I have something to tell you.”

Madara obliges, setting Tobirama down gently and beckoning him over to a shady spot. Once they’re settled, Madara kneels forward excitedly, anticipation clear in his eyes.

“So?” Madara says. “What’s the news?”

“I’m,” Tobirama leans forward too, “a Guardian, Wind. Can you believe it?”

Oh dear. He broke him.

“Madara?” Tobirama pokes him on the forehead. “You okay in there?”

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Madara catches Tobirama’s hand. His eyes are huge. “Truly, Tobi?”

Tobirama nods.

“A Guardian!” Madara slaps a palm to his forehead like he can’t quite believe it.

“And do you know what that means?” Tobirama’s practically bouncing in place, he can’t wait to tell him.

The little frown Madara makes when he’s thinking hard is adorable.

“Enlighten me, dearest.”

Tobirama says, “I’m seen, Wind. A child saw me. Children. Anyone who believes can see me.”

A shocked silence meets his declaration. Then—

“Oh, Tobi.”

His name, murmured with such tenderness, is almost too much care for him to bear.

“Tell me everything.”

And because it’s Madara asking, his lifelong companion and the sun to his star, he does.

He tells him about meeting the Guardians, how he got kidnapped and tossed through a portal after a tense confrontation with the Easter Bunny. (Madara laughs. Tobirama is offended on principle.)

He tells him about learning he was chosen to be a Guardian by the Man in the Moon. (Madara scowls. Even now, centuries gone, and he still has beef with MiM. It never ceases to amuse Tobirama, even more now given the circumstances.)

He tells him about battling Pitch Black, the Boogeyman, he who turns dreams to nightmares, and their quest to protect the children of the world from fear. (Madara interrupts here to say he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, but of course he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his fight, and anyway, Pitch only cared about getting the Big Four’s attention.)

He tells him about Jamie, the little boy who held tight to his beliefs even in the face of despair. How he was Tobirama’s first true believer, the first one to see him. (Madara only reacts by smiling gently at Tobirama again).

He tells him about how Jamie was afraid he’d stop believing in Tobirama, and how Tobirama was initially afraid of the same.

“But,” he said, recalling his final moments with Jamie before he went home, “I assured him that I and the other Guardians would always be here to protect him. Even when we leave for a while, we’re still around. As long as people keep believing, we’ll never go away.”

“And I’ve got friends, now.” He laughs at himself a little at how hopeless he was at making friendly with the other spirits he encountered over the centuries. “Nine hundred years, and this is the first time I get friends.” A wistful smile crosses his lips. “I finally feel like I belong.” He quickly shakes himself to dispel the emotion. Now is a time for celebration. “My friend circle is now officially the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, and the Wind.” He pauses. “Maybe MiM, too.”

A snort. Tobirama glances at Madara, who’s got his arms crossed and a dopey grin on his face. “Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Tobirama swats him playfully.

He raises his hands in surrender, that dopey grin still taking up his real estate. “Alright, alright, simmer down.”

They settle.

“You know, Tobi—”

Shocker, the chatterbox has more to say.

“It seems every time we separate, some major event occurs that catches me completely off guard.” Madara brushes Tobirama’s bangs back. “Let’s spend more time together. At least more often. We keep going like this, and next time you’ll be the next Man in the Moon.”

It’s an absurd notion, but the premise is sound. “Yes, I agree. Who’ll remind you to brush your hair once a century if I’m not around?”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Madara encloses Tobirama’s hands with his own. “We can’t be together always, especially now that you’re a Guardian, but that’s okay. We’ll just work harder to meet up more often.”

“Of course, Wind.” Tobirama leans forward over their joined hands until their foreheads touch, a promise of conviction in the gesture. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Year 1000

In the light of the New Year dawn, they meet again.

Tobirama quirks a smile. “Hello, Madara.”

Madara’s returning grin is easy. “Tobi.”

For a moment, they just gaze at each other.

Tobirama is beautiful. His white hair sparkles, catching the sun’s rays like the frost he so loves to paint on windows. His eyes glint with something soft and warm in contrast to his perpetual cold. His ever-present staff rests in the crook of his crossed arms. He’s taken to modern clothing, now – a blue hoodie gilt in frost. But barefoot as ever. Madara chuckles.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow. “What amuses you so?”

Madara shakes his head, speechless in the face of Tobirama’s beauty. Not just the physical, but the assuredness of his bearing, the relaxed casualness in his shoulders. It’s beautiful to see Tobirama as he was always meant to be, with confidence in himself and his place in the world, bringing joy to all through the beauty of winter.

“Madara,” Tobirama says, furrowing his brows. “Spit it out.”

Ah. He’s nervous. “You’re beautiful.”

Well. He still blushes prettily.

“Even after centuries, you’re still such a romantic.” Tobirama pushes off the tree, gliding towards him across the top of the snow. He comes to stand before Madara, barely a foot between them. For a moment, he just studies him, searching for something in his eyes. Madara projects all his love and adoration for him, this wondrous man who’s endured a thousand years of loneliness and unbelonging and come out the other side whole.

Finally, Tobirama seems to have found what he was looking for and brings his hands up to frame Madara’s face. “Madara. Wind. You’ve looked out for me for a thousand years. Even when we were apart, and I was a terrible person, and no one believed in me, you stayed. I thought I wasn’t someone who could be loved. You showed me I was wrong.” He takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

Tobirama presses his lips to Madara’s, and it’s like coming home.

Madara has longed for this for a thousand years. It feels inevitable, this coming together at long last. Tobirama is cold in his arms, but it is the cold of a gentle wind on your face, the fresh air after new snow, the chill of feeling alive. He squeezes Tobirama closer to him, savouring the taste of him on his lips.

They only part for air, and then they’re kissing again, as if to make up for the centuries they wasted.

When they break apart again, Madara says the only thing he can. “Tobirama. Frost. You complete me. I spent millennia unmoored, and it was only when you came along that I found someone who can stand by me. I wasn’t always sure if I could be someone who could care for you, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realise that you’ll always be you, the gentle, kind, good person you are, even when humanity believes otherwise.” He doesn’t need to prepare himself for this, because he’s known it for years and been waiting for Tobirama to be ready to hear it. The words leave his lips like the wind carries snowflakes. “I love you.”

And then they’re in each other’s arms again, and this time a hug feels even more precious than the kissing. As the dawn approaches the hour of waking, Madara knows he will never let this man go, and Tobirama won’t either. It’s been a thousand years in the making, after all.