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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Hidden Within the Arrangement (9/?)

A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for such the long break between chapters! I have recently joined an exercise class three days a week and along with my full time job as a teacher, I've simply been exhausted. It doesn't help that I've been experiencing some the worst writer block in my life. It's just been hard to feel happy with the work I've been churning out lately. With that aside, please enjoy the extra long chapter as an apology for my extended absence!

Word Count: 8.87K+

Warning(s): mentioned/referenced couples violence, mentioned/referenced child death and abuse, angst, some foul language, misunderstandings galore, arranged marriage, etc.

Taglist: @tsukihimeyfan

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From a young age, Hashirama knew he was never the sharpest kunai. In fact, many over the years considered him to be intellectually challenged, having always been far more interested in helping tend to the gardens or play games rather than learning from musty scrolls from even mustier elders. Father never was pleased to learn that Hashirama had skipped yet another lesson to swing from the trees, nor when he slacked off in his training, but for some reason unknown to his young self, he had no interest in what others around him deemed important. All he wanted to do was explore, make flower crowns with baby Touka, snuggle in mother’s lap beside the hearth, and run around in his grandmother’s cabbage patch. He had been happy and content until one day, in the midst of the leaves turning, Hashirama noticed that his mother’s lap was growing smaller and her stomach larger, hard and firm. When he had asked her why, the Hatake woman paused in her knitting and gifted him with a fond smile, placing a tender hand on her swollen belly.

“Well, sometime in winter, I will be having a baby,” Mother gently took hold of his tiny palm and placed it against the taut surface, his chocolate irises growing wide at feeling something briskly skim the skin beneath her stomach. “And you, my little sapling, will have a little brother or sister to play with.”

Though it was years ago, Hashirama could remember how excited he had been to be a big brother, an anija as his mother dubbed him during one of the cold winter nights he had been allowed to sleep with her and father. He toddled after his mother everywhere, asking question upon question and offering her flowers he had picked from the nearby meadow so they could decorate the bedroom before the baby came. Often, he even found himself talking to his unborn sibling whilst mother slept or while she knitted, telling his otouto or imouto everything he had done throughout the day and more. Touka sometimes joined in his mindless chatter when they had playdates or her mother needed to attend to something without juggling a far too curious toddler like she was. The two of them together would learn about what needed to be done before a baby arrived and everything that came after their arrival, including how to hold one, that it needed far more sleep than they did, and that they wouldn’t be ready to play games with them until they were a bit older. Still, Hashirama was excited and far too young to understand the weight his mother had been under at the time.

He understood it quite well when he found her sobbing over a bundle of white mere hours after his new sibling had been delivered. It had been early in the morning that very day when he crawled out of bed, sleepily rubbing his eye whilst stumbling messily into the kitchen where mother should have been making breakfast, only to find his grandmother, aunt, and various other women of the clan bustling about in an anxious hurry. Before he had been able to even question what was going on, his father was upon him, stern faced and unforgiving, guiding his three year old self away from the women and onto the back engawa where various men, including his uncle and the male clan elders, lounged about, cups of sake poured and thick smoke slinking leisurely from their pipes. Hours must have gone by before Hashirama asked where his mother was and when he did, Touka’s father came to pause in his recent whittling project a few feet away, a playful laugh escaping the shinobi as an eager grin on the man’s face.

“No one told you, boy? Your mother is having the baby you have been obsessing over!”

How excited he had been, hearing that his new otouto or imouto would finally be arriving after so long! What would they look like? Would they like him? Would they like plants like he did? Would they also dislike eating pickled herring? Oh he had so many questions to ask!

As dusk approached, high pitched cries echoed from deep inside, cheers of triumph and celebration escaping the group of men surrounding him, prompting him to cheer as well though he had no clue as to why. Pipes were relit, cups refilled, and the joy flowing from the men was contagious, so much so that Hashirama hadn’t caught the look of displeased hatred fixed upon his father’s face as he appeared on the engawa. The man made no move to stop the moment he stepped over the threshold, passing the men without a word whilst they followed him with questions of their own, leaving his young self all on his lonesome.

Grandmother eventually came out to fetch him, her dark eyes holding an emotion he had been unable to put a name to as she led him into the house, her aging hand grasping his youthful one. Just as they reached the door, he could hear his mother crying, which prompted him to panic simply because mother never cried-!

Moving to cradle his earth-toned cheeks in her calloused palms, grandmother kneeled down to meet him at eye level, face stern yet comforting. “Your mother needs you to be strong right now and not ask questions, Hashirama. Can you do that for her?”

If his mother needed him, then he would do anything for her and he had told the woman adamantly so! With his fiery admission, grandmother let out a sigh he couldn’t tell was out of hopelessness for his grandson or out of relief and moved to open the door, quietly guiding Hashirama inwards without another word except “hush.” Knowing better than to make the old woman cross, Hashirama did as he was told, but it was hard to do so when he came upon the scene set before him. Clearly exhausted, his sobbing mother sat in the center of the room, a bundle of pristine white cradled protectively against her hardly clothed chest whilst she rocked back and forth.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry! Amaterasu, Raijin forgive me!”

“Mama?”

He had been unable to stop himself from speaking at the moment, so confused and scared at the situation at hand because wasn’t everyone supposed to be happy for the new baby? Father had spoken various times how he would finally have the precautionary heir he had been waiting for and mother had never spoken badly about the baby, not once! Never had Hashirama realized at that age just why his mother had been crying and his father furious, the remaining adults still present being sullen and hesitant to speak. However, he knew something was wrong the second his mother’s reddened eyes met his own, to see just how distraught the unshakeable kunoichi was. Fear clouded those obsidian irises, an emotion Hashirama had never seen in his mother’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but toddle over and plop down right beside her, not saying another word. After a few long seconds of quiet, the smallest, palest hand Hashirama had ever seen appeared from the snowy bundle in his mother’s arms, a tiny, adorable squeak following soon after.

While Hashirama wasn’t the sharpest kunai ever, he did have enough common sense to realize that his mother was holding the new baby, his new imouto or otouto, and a rush of giddy excitement had filled him with a gasp. “Is that the baby?!”

In an instant, his mother’s fearful apprehension seemed to melt away, a weak but ever present smile growing on her cracked, pale lips whilst she adjusted her hold on the bundle. “It is. Would you like to meet them?”

Nodding vigorously, Hashirama was practically vibrating with excitement, only for such a feeling to be eclipsed by that of utter awe the moment his mother pushed away a bit of the blanket to reveal the person he had been waiting to meet for months now. Chubby, rosy red cheeks contrasted perfectly against the baby’s skin that was pale as a ghost, wild tufts of pearly white covering the top of their tiny head, so pure and beautiful.

“Hashi, I want you to meet your new otouto, Tobirama,” Hashirama’s already racing heart began to sprint faster upon hearing he had a baby brother, just like he had wanted! “Tobirama, this is your anija, Hashirama. He’s been so excited to meet you, little one.”

With wide, awe-filled eyes, Hashirama couldn’t help but smile, moving to stand on his tippy toes to gain a better view of his new brother. “Hi otouto, I’m Hashirama, I’m your anija!”

The rosy cheeked infant let out a hardly audible coo, one soft as downy feathers and sweet as permission jelly, and Hashirama couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped his lips at seeing alabaster eyelashes flutter open. They opened just enough to reveal neverending pools of merlot, the young boy’s irises of freshly toiled earth searching the tiny ones of his brother with curiosity; he had never seen anything or anyone like him, especially amongst their fellow clansmen. Tanned fingers cautiously snuck across the bundle of snow, the toddler watching in wondrous anxiety as his right index finger came to gently poke the flesh of Tobirama’s tiny palm, hoping to garner some reaction from the newborn. Chubby, pearly white fingers clumsily curled around Hashirama’s extended digit mere moments after the older boy made contact with the younger, a smile as bright as the summer sun blooming on the toddler’s face. Turning his attention to their observing mother, who watched on in relieved fondness, Hashirama couldn’t help but beam. “Did you see, mama?! Otouto is holding my finger!”

Mother let out a soft chuckle, the Hatake woman moving to hold his brother out to him, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “Would you like to hold Tobirama for yourself, sweet sapling?”

“Yeah!”

“Hold still, now. There you go.” Careful in ensuring Tobirama was held correctly within Hashirama’s arms, mother set the hours-old infant into the toddler’s lap with a smile.

Hashirama could only gaze down at his otouto in wonder the moment he was settled into his arms, taking in all his peculiar and tiny features because how couldn’t he? His baby brother was perfect.

“Hashirama.”

Earth colored irises met desperate, stern obsidian, mother never breaking eye contact with him.

“You must promise me, Hashirama, that no matter what may occur between the two of you, you will protect Tobirama from harm.” Brushing strays locks of chocolate from Hashirama’s line of vision, the woman remained steadfast in sobering seriousness, lips thin and unforgiving. “He will be your greatest ally and dearest friend, even in times of turmoil and strife, so you must take care of him and treat him well. Do you understand?”

Not truly understanding what their mother was asking of him, Hashirama had had no issue in replying in the way he did. “I promise mama! I’ll protect Tobirama, no matter what!”

He would have never made that damn promise if he had known just how difficult Tobirama would make for him to keep his word. From birth, Hashirama and Tobirama were opposites of one another in everything that seemed to matter, whether that be looks, intelligence, personality, and so on. Whilst Hashirama was loud and messy, Tobirama was quiet and calculated even as a baby, and while he himself was a healthy, robust child, the white haired child was frail and sickly throughout the beginning of his childhood. Due to such frailty, mother would spend most of her time tending to Tobirama, ensuring he was well fed and clothed at all times and spending countless hours with the boy that she failed to spend with Hashirama, reading him a plethora of scrolls that bored the brunette to the core. It left Hashirama to play on his own, which wasn’t supposed to be the case anymore because Tobirama was to be his new playmate, the otouto that followed him everywhere and loved to play in the garden and get dirty! Every time Hashirama tried to roughhouse like he had seen other brothers do within the clan, mother or one of the house maids were upon them in a flash, scolding him thoroughly whilst plucking Tobirama up from the tatami floor with stern glares.

“What have we told you about playing roughly with Tobirama?! He-!”

“-can’t handle it!”

Yes, physically, Tobirama was quite feeble as a small child, but it was evident fairly on into his life that he was an intellectual prodigy in the making. The pair of them had been playing on the engawa with their mother hanging laundry nearby, Hashirama nursing a few bruises from training while he showed his otouto his newest technique for flower crowns. The one that had been present on his cheek must have caught the freshly turned six month old’s attention somehow because before the toddler realized what was happening, Tobirama was crawling towards him with worry in those vibrant merlot irises of his and much to Hashirama’s surprise, the baby jerkily placed a comforting hand over the aching flesh. It was only moments later that mother was upon them, a rare grin of admiring pride on her lips whilst she pulled a quiet Tobirama into her arms, cooing obsessively over how smart her little Tobi was and not paying a shred of attention to him. Such behavior only continued as Tobirama continued to grow, his otouto standing at the mere age of eight months while Hashirama had been eleven months, the albino’s first word of “Hashi” following just a short month later. While he should have been excited to have his otouto’s first word be his name, Hashirama hadn’t been able to stop the bitter jealousy filling his veins, such a feeling only increasing when mother praised the baby for his accomplishment.

Even with these feelings, Hashirama loved his otouto, his joy in spending time with Tobirama doubling when mother was nowhere in sight and he had the free reign to do as he pleased. Whenever he was free from training, such free time having steadily been shrinking following Tobirama’s birth, Hashirama was with Tobirama, telling him about his adventures with the other clan children or how father had been particularly rough during training that day. By the time Tobirama’s first year was rolling around, the pair of them were venturing the garden together and watching the koi play in the pond within their grandmother’s courtyard, Touka often joining them on their endeavors with her ever serious attitude. Moments spent cuddled together on hard nights when father made mother cry and bleed or with Tobirama riding on his back whilst they once again ran away from a flock of angry chickens ate away at the feelings of jealousy, the two of them slowly growing closer with the passing of time. Grandmother would call them two peas in a pod, a strange emotion in her eyes every time she uttered it, and how eager he had been to finally have the otouto that did as he did, not obtaining all of mother’s attention and being interested in following him wherever he went. They were exactly what Hashirama imagined when it came to being brothers, attached at the hip with a bond that could never be severed. His child self was too optimistic for the bloodthirsty world they lived in.

“Again!”

As the seasons changed and the two of them grew, Hashirama found his shinobi training intensifying, such changes becoming even more evident following his fifth birthday. Butsuma was a strict and unforgiving taskmaster, eager to tear Hashirama down at any given opportunity and never hesitating to beat him into a sobbing mess of quivering submission. Any time spent with Tobirama dwindled during this period of their shared lives, Butsuma having no interest in interacting with the bright eyed toddler that he steadfastly proclaimed was not his own blood, one of the many excuses he spouted endlessly when he beat their mother black and blue. Still, Hashirama found himself feeling unhappy and unfulfilled, never excited to learn how to properly throw a kunai or how to kill an enemy in one move; he would have much rather been playing with Tobirama and Touka or running through the woods in search of adventure, enjoying everything nature and the world had to give-.

“You stupid boy!”

A loud crack filled the air the moment the back of father’s hand struck Hashirama's left cheek, the force behind the strike sending his small and gangly self sprawling to the ground with a cry. In an instant, Hashirama moved to clutch the aching flesh within his palms, tears blurring his vision whilst he looked up at the monster of a man standing before him.

Senju Butsuma, in all his snarling glory, gazed at him with eyes identical to his own, a maddened rage consuming the clan head’s dark irises whilst he loomed menacingly above the young boy. “Tears are for the weak, Hashirama, and I’ll be damned if my heir is seen weeping like a goddamn infant! Get up!”

“I’m sorry, father! I’ll do better, I promise,” Unable to stop the tears from falling, a yelp escaped the five year old as Butsuma’s cold, calloused hand took hold of his arm, forcefully yanking Hashirama to his feet. “Let go, father! Please!”

“ENOUGH!” Butsuma’s free hand wheeled backwards for another harsh slap, the crazed clan head frothing at the mouth. With his body being held in place by the man’s tight grip, all Hashirama could do was screw his eyes shut and wait helplessly for the scarred limb swung to strike him once again.

*Shing*

“Argh!”

In a disorienting blur, the hand gripping Hashirama’s arm was gone, sending the five year old sprawling to the ground with a cry of surprise, roughly falling backwards onto the dusty training field on his behind. Dark eyes snapping open at neck breaking speeds at the sudden change, Hashirama hurriedly glanced around, only to see Butsuma clutching his right hand against his chest, the appendage weeping a steady stream of crimson from the kunai that was now lodged through his palm. Before Hashirama could even react, a small figure white as snow stepped between the two of them, their thin and gangly frame swamped in Hashirama’s hand-me-downs. What absolute terror filled his veins when his brain finally caught up with the situation set before him, to see two year old Tobi standing between him and Butsuma, arms spread out and feet parted in a protective stance, placing himself in the crossfire.

Only to add insult to injury, Tobirama in all of his craziness stood his ground against the man that was triple his height. “Leave anija alone!”

“Tobi no,” Hashirama moved to stand but it was as if time was in slow motion, reaching his hand outward to pull Tobirama away from harm.

Butsuma let out a growl of a monster, the aging brunette taking hold of the kunai’s hilt with murderous intent in those hellish eyes of his. “You little bastard, I’ll slit your throat-!”

Time slowed to a painful crawl as the man pulled the weapon from his palm and moved to step forward, wielding the kunai with the intent to kill Tobirama, sweet, brilliant Tobirama. He couldn’t let his otouto die-!

Protect otouto…

The kunai was within Tobirama's exposed throat when suddenly, the momentum behind Butsuma’s cowardice act came to an abrupt stand still and the air surrounding them grew silent. No one was able to speak, Hashirama and Tobirama out of shock but Butsuma? A thick branch gagged the monster of a human standing before them, vines wrapped around the horrified man’s limbs in an unforgiving hold of steadfast restraint. Hashirama had been unable to do anything but silently cry, something unfamiliar and powerful coursing underneath his skin as he had watched plants erupt from the ground beneath Butsuma’s feet and restrain the clan head in a matter of seconds, hand outreached and shaking.

“Anija.” His attention snapped to the left to see a worried Tobirama kneeling beside him, the toddler clearly having moved at some point in the chaos. Tobirama wasted no time in grabbing his extended arm with surprisingly gentle hands and lowering it into his lap, voice leveled and comforting to Hashirama’s ears. “You are safe, anija. I am here.”

That was the first of many times that Tobirama would step in-between their father and Hashirama. It was also the first time Hashirama’s mokuton awakened, a development that proved to be both a curse and a blessing for him over time. After that day, their father deemed Tobirama old enough to train much to their mother’s utmost displeasure, the woman pleading with Butsuma until a harsh slap silenced her pleas.

From that day on, the two of them were trained alongside one another and much to Hashirama’s gradual envious horror, Tobirama repeatedly proved himself to be the better shinobi in every way that matter. Ninjutsu, taijutsu, genjutsu, you name and Tobirama was excelling in it, his otouto facing Butsuma’s arduous training regiments and scathing words without a single tear and a kunai in hand. With the awakening of the mokuton, Hashirama’s training doubled and many times, he was forced to face Tobirama in combat practice, which almost always led to him collapsing in defeat and the albino standing victorious. Butsuma would verbally and physically beat Hashirama for every defeat he met at Tobirama’s skilled hands and every time his otouto stepped in to defend him, the boy would promptly be beaten as well. Every time this happened, Hashirama’s promise to his mother echoed loudly within his mind and his frustration with the younger boy would grow because he was the one that was supposed to be protecting, not Tobirama! His envy for Tobirama only grew when Butsuma would falsely praise the albino for his accomplishments to rub it in Hashirama’s face, and when their mother would coddle him with kisses and dusty scrolls and simply treat Hashirama’s wounds and hand him his study materials without a spoken word, her dark eyes conveying her desperation for him to do his work. Neither of his parents ever truly understood how hard school was for Hashirama, having been so full of energy and his attention so short that he was set up for failure from the very beginning, and neither were forgiving when they found him playing rather than studying.

“I paid for the finest tutors and what do you do?! Daydream and make flower crowns?!”

“Hashirama, please, just do your work! The faster you complete your lessons, the sooner you can join Tobirama and Touka in the courtyard-!”

While he knew their mother never meant to do it intentionally, her protectiveness over Tobirama would subtly place an ever growing wedge between her two eldest sons. Said wedge would grow larger with the arrivals of Kawarama and Itama, followed by Madoka’s birth and her and mother’s subsequent deaths, and Butsuma’s constant jeerings that seemed to always hit their mark no matter what Hashirama did to ignore it like Tobirama said to. His frustration and disdain for the war between their clan and the Uchiha grew with this wedge, Hashirama becoming far more resisting and combative because there was no point to the bloodshed the two clans were creating. He would complain to his otoutos about the stupidity of it all and all Tobirama would do is stare at him with suddenly unfeeling, dim merlot irises and tell him to be realistic and resume their training, settling his attention back on Kawarama and Itama’s stances. Tobirama had been the one to insist their two otoutos train so excessively, Butsuma watching on with feigned indifference while he watched his four sons fight one another in sadistic glee, and Hashirama did everything in his power to show the two young boys that the world had more to offer than crusty, old scrolls and war. Their opposing ideologies clashed far more often than Hashirama would care to remember, Tobirama acting if he was the all-knowing mother in a vain attempt to fill the hole left behind their poor mother and kami it angered Hashirama to no end, especially when Itama and Kawarama chose him over their eldest anija. At times, the envy Hashirama bore on his shoulders took shape in harsh words and brutal hits on the training field against the white haired boy; Tobirama, was a prodigy after all, he could handle himself in battle, even if the older boy accidentally snapped one of his bones amidst the chaos out of anger.

Their toxic relationship continued onwards as the war with the Uchiha worsened, Butsuma’s attitude following suit much to the four brothers’ chagrins simply because it meant even harsher training and far more beatings. Tobirama bore a brunt of the beatings by the age of nine and his twelve year old would keep his promise to their mother by healing the boy when his injuries were bad enough or when Butsuma took it a step too far. Aside from that, Hashirama lived out his days in search of some reprieve from the doom and gloom that came from the war and in that seemingly hopeless search, by the grace of the Kami, he came upon a raven haired boy skipping rocks on the opposite side of the Naka River.

Madara, as he would come to learn through playful teasing and mindless chats, was everything he had been looking for in those bleak days, their meetings being one of the few reasons Hashirama willingly rose from his futon every morning. They spoke about everything under the sun it seemed, from hobbies to their favorite foods, often skipping stones or adventuring up and down the Naka without a care in the world. Tobirama, ever the astute and nosy otouto that he was, of course had to notice the change in Hashirama’s overall attitude but much to his relief, the younger boy never had time to question him about it due to his mission load and his duties in the home. Hashirama would never openly admit it, but there were times that he thanked the Kami that Butsuma had saddled Tobirama with the responsibility of caring for Kawarama, Itama, and their household, simply because it meant he had more time to spend with Madara by the peaceful riverfront. Touka would berate him for abandoning Tobirama in said duties but such grievances disappeared from the front of his mind every time he saw Madara patiently waiting for him, that feigned look of indifference on the boy’s face. Outside of his studies, training, and the battlefield, Hashirama made himself scarce, aiming to avoid Butsuma’s foul temper and Tobirama’s nags in hopes of experiencing the freedom he had so desperately craved for years now. Then, in one of the worst battles between the Uchiha and Senju to date, Kawarama’s life was taken from them with the throw of a single spear and Hashirama could only wish he had spent more time with his otouto whilst he watched the dirt hit the surface of his brother’s far too small casket.

Kawarama’s death, no, murder , pushed Tobirama almost to the brink of madness and Hashirama could only watch on in silent, grieving aggravation as his otouto attempted to pretend he was smothering poor Itama in attention and protection like their mother once had done for the albino, yet he allowed Butsuma to speak so ill about his freshly buried son! Tobirama’s possessive behavior encouraged a wedge to appear between himself and Itama, the young boy clinging to Tobirama’s side like a leech instead of his like he should have, and all Hashirama could do was watch on in envious turmoil. Tobirama continued to be the perfect brother and the ever perfect cousin in Touka’s eyes, their lone surviving cousin looking down on Hashirama in disdain whilst placing oh-so-perfect Tobirama on a pedestal.

The same oh-so-perfect Tobirama who had garnered everyone’s attention on and off the battlefield, both good and bad, the one who seemed to slaughter countless lives without a single regret and carried on with blood soaked hands that dripped an endless trail behind him. His death count by the age of ten was in the hundreds and much to Hashirama’s utter horror, he followed every one of their father’s orders silently, cold and reserved like he had been since he was a baby.

“The wraith of the Senju, that is what your brother is, Hashirama-sama.”

“That thing is incapable of love, all demons are.”

“The only reason why I keep that demonic bastard alive is because of your continual failures, not only as a shinobi but as a man! A soulless, defective being serves as a better son than my own flesh and blood and all within the Land of Fire knows this!”

His friendship with Madara was the only thing that kept Hashirama sane in the months following Kawarama’s untimely demise. Topics of the world around them were banned and conversations about peace and harmony bore fruit between them, childish hope and fading innocence present. In a surprise show of emotion and vulnerability, Madara spoke of the people his family believed to be Amaterasu’s descendants, of how revered and well-loved the Blessed were because they were someone’s soulmate, of how he wished he could have been fortunate to have such a perfect person in his life. He had been so enraptured in the very idea of soulmates existing, Hashirama brought forth the question that would ruin everything.

“How do you tell the difference between who is a Blessed and who is not?”

Individuals born with skin and hair white as freshly fallen snow and eyes as red as spider lilies. Madara’s answer made Hashirama’s stomach curdle and his blood boil, his emotions clashing so dangerously within that he hadn't dared to speak in fear of saying something he couldn’t take back. He was forced to sit there and listen quietly as Madara went on and on about finding his Blessed, of meeting the one the Kami had fated him to fall in love with and take as his eventual spouse, someone that looked exactly like Tobirama. Hashirama never mentioned anything of Tobirama after that, refusing to even take the chance that Madara would discover that his otouto was one of his people’s sought after Blessed, that the boy was the one his best friend had thought about unknowingly for years. Tobirama had taken enough from him already, he wouldn’t allow him to take Madara from him as well.

Such a greedy mindset must have angered the Kami, so much that soon after the first anniversary of Kawarama’s passing, Itama joined their brother, mother, and sister in the Pure Lands. Itama’s death left the two remaining brothers broken and what little remained of Tobirama’s heart seemed to vanish from existence, the freshly turned eleven year old remaining silent in existential grief that couldn’t be remedied no matter what Touka and Hashirama did to do so. He was forced to watch perfect Tobirama slowly fall apart with each passing day and all Hashirama could do in his own grief filled mind was give the younger boy space to heal on his own. In his mourning of yet another brother dying, Hashirama numbly ventured to the river and Madara arrived not long after, and it was that day that they vowed they would create a place of peace and prosperity, a life in which their younger siblings deserved.

As their friendship continued to deepen and their training segments grew more advanced with every passing week, Hashirama found the will to at least attempt to salvage what little remained of his and Tobirama’s fractured relationship. The albino met him with initial skepticism but with time and smiles, the wedge between them shrank bit by bit; it had nearly been a decade since Hashirama could remember not feeling upset just by being in Tobirama’s presence. They trained together, ate together, soothed one another when the nightmares became too overwhelming, their relationship was finally what Hashirama had dreamed for all those years. Tobirama followed his lead and only corrected him when needed, acting as Hashirama’s rock and council in stressful times on and off the battlefield. Tobirama and him were finally brothers in more than just blood and how foolish he had been to believe that such developments had been without an ulterior motive.

Tobirama was Butsuma’s loyal, little soldier after all.

Within a day, a two year long friendship was burned to ashes, all because of his heartless monster of an otouto. Utilizing Tobirama as an innocent mean of spying on Hashirama, Butsuma learned of his friendship with Madara, and in turn came to know that the boy he met at the river was the eldest son of Uchiha Tajima, the clan head of the Senju’s mortal enemy. The truth of his best friend’s familial origins was something he had subconsciously suspected, seeing how Madara was able to use ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu, but seeing the truth set before him with Butsuma glaring at him and Tobirama hanging his head in submission like a dog made everything real. All of it turned to hell when Butsuma, in all his homicidal madness, ordered him to follow Madara and if he grew suspicious of Hashirama, to kill him, that very order sealing the fate of Hashirama and Madara’s friendship for good.

If Tobirama had just kept his damn mouth shut for once.

The next river rendezvous between Madara and himself was the final nail driven into the coffin that was his and Tobirama’s relationship, the hammer falling deafeningly against the head of the nail the moment Butsuma and the boy he once vowed to protect appeared with the intent to kill the Uchiha teen before them. Hashirama and Madara were forced to watch Uchiha Tajima and Izuna do the same, their father’s and brother’s blades meeting without mercy, the intent to kill their foe heady and suffocating. Then, without an ounce of regard or care for the children they brought into this world, each clan head threw their chosen weapon not at one another, but at the two young boys fighting below them. Both teens reacted without hesitation, neither wishing to witness yet another brother die even if there were misgivings between them, and the rocks they had once skipped out of play swiftly turned into weapons with a swift and precise flick of their wrists. Their dream died that day, as did their friendship, and with the awakening of Madara’s sharingan came the bitter reality of what Tobirama had done, of the utter betrayal he had committed simply because Butsuma had demanded.

It was that day that Hashirama silently decided he no longer had a brother, just a fellow Senju that lived under the same roof as him and fought alongside him. He played the role of the doting anija and once Butsuma was graciously killed, he wore the title of clan head to finally gain advantage over the boy for the first time since his birth all those years ago, something he wielded against Tobirama with ease. Yet, even with his harsh words and questionable actions, Tobirama stayed by his side and supported him, even drawing up extensively detailed blueprints for the village Hashirama continued to dream about night after night. A part of him had wondered whether how he treated his brother was wrong, that Tobirama perhaps had been conditioned into the mindless killer he had become, but every time Hashirama attempted to look him in the eyes, all he could see was the perfect shinobi he could never be. So, they lived with each other in tense but bearable conditions, which improved with the arrival of beautiful and graceful Mito, the Uzumaki princess being everything that Hashirama wanted, needed, and more. Better yet, she acted as the much needed buffer between the two Senjus, thankfully becoming one that assisted in dealing with Tobirama when he forgot to eat and sleep for days on end so Hashirama could tend to other matters.

Time flew by after Mito’s arrival in the Land of Fire and suddenly Hashirama was twenty-years old and facing off with Madara once again on the battlefield, their respective brothers having a battle of their own nearby. If they were truthful with themselves, everyone knew these battles were for show, used to continue on the war none of them wished for in hopes of the opposing side caving in and their clan reigning supreme. That specific day in history was the day that the tables of long winded fate were turned and the few embers of hope remaining within Hashirama’s heart grew into a fiery blaze, all because Tobirama had nearly spilt Uchiha Izuna’s blood on his already blood soaked hands but in a rare show of humanity, chose not. Tobirama’s actions that day set off a chain reaction amongst their peoples and as Hashirama sat across from Madara amidst peace concessions they both had longed for, a tiny part of him dared to acknowledge that the younger Senju heir had finally done something good in his life.

The Uchiha delegation's final requirement for concession, however, silenced that thought without hesitation. How could Madara want to marry Tobirama of all people, all because he was somehow one the “Blessed” simply because of his outward appearance?! Hashirama had tried to object, asking the Uchiha clan head whether this course of action was truly necessary, only for the bane of his existence to speak for him.

“We agree to the terms you lay before us.”

Just thinking about the moment made the hokage’s toes curl in disgruntled disgust, because how dare he steal Madara away again-?!

The sound of his office door slamming against the wall adjacent to it sent Hashirama flying upwards in surprise with a cry, the jarring feeling echoing through his right knee the moment it clashed mercilessly against the wood of his desk. Subconsciously moving to grasped the injury area whilst his mind reeled, Hashirama moved to see just who had been the culprit of the slamming of his door, only to see a tan hand marked in white scars come into his field of vision, calloused fingers unforgivingly grasping the collar of his hokage dress. The unexpected motion ripped a grunt from the hokage, Hashirama suddenly finding himself eye to eye with a seething Touka, his cousin’s dark eyes alight with barely contained rage.

“Where. Is. He?!”

Hashirama grimaced at the kunoichi frigid tone, trying to pull away from the woman in hopes of being spared from her unforgiving anger. “Touka! What are-?!”

“Don’t play dumb with me Hashirama,” Touka all but roared in face, pearly white teeth gnashed together with sharp canines out for all to see. “WHERE IS HE?!”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” In an act of primal instinct, Hashirama pushed his cousin away from himself, glaring at the kunoichi because what in the world was she talking about?!

His admission only seemed to worsen Touka’s ire, the fellow Senju stepping forward with her naginata primed and ready to strike. “Don’t play dumb with me, you-!”

“Touka.”

Manicured fingers curled around the width of Touka’s weapon, his beautiful Mito appearing in all her prim glory, face lacking any negative emotion and voice even-keeled as always.

“Mito, my sweet, thank goodness you’re here! Touka’s gone mad-!” A wave of relief swept over his confused person, Hashirama moving to embrace his lovely wife-.

Just mere inches away from wrapping his arms around the Uzumaki, Mito raised a hand of warning into the air, painted lips turnt downwards in utter seriousness. “We do not come here on a social visit, my husband. We are in search of Tobirama.”

The edges of his field of vision grew green with envy, his words dripping with jealousy as they slipped from his suddenly dry lips, arms falling unceremoniously at his sides, “Oh, is that all?”

Priming her naginata to strike once again, Touka took a threatening step forward with a deep snarl. “Is that all?! You bastard-!”

“Hashirama!”

In an instant, Hashirama’s attention was snapping over to the doorway of his office, his earth toiled irises meeting Madara’s charcoal ones, his best friend standing there with a hint of concern on his face. Behind him stood a weary Izuna and frowning Hikaku, the three Uchihas watching the scene before them unfold with cautiousness, Madara’s gloves hand clutching the doorway in a near death grip. “Where is he, Hashirama? Where is Tobirama?!”

Truthfully, the Uchiha clan head’s queries threw the Mokuton user off kilter. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Madara came to his office complaining of his brother’s poor decorum, expressing how stressful their arranged marriage had become for him?

“You! You have no right to ask where he is, you spineless bastard of a human!” Touka spun on her heel in a blur, projecting her rage onto the Uchiha without mercy. “None of you would be here if Mito and I hadn’t intervened and questioned you about Tobirama’s whereabouts!”

“You should be glad that we agreed to assist in your search for the Senju Demon! I only came along because the village’s peace treaty depends on this scam of an arranged marriage,” Izuna growled, the younger of the two Uchiha brothers glaring at the Senju kunoichi from his place beside Madara, Hikaku placing a stilling hand on the nineteen year old’s shoulder.

“That is enough, Izuna-sama,” Mito’s words silenced the boy in a second, the Uzumaki princess turning her scathing glance onto Izuna, deep plum colored irises swelling with concerned seriousness. “Now is not the time for petty arguments, nor name calling. If you truly wish to maintain peace amongst our peoples, you should learn to quell your hatred and listen for once. Such a change of behavior would do you some good.”

Mouth agape in surprise, the Uchiha teen could only stare at Mito whilst the woman moved to settle her unnerving gaze back unto Hashirama’s unsuspecting person yet again. “Hashirama, please tell us, where is Tobirama?”

“Why is there such an urgency to find him? Did otouto do something wrong again,” Hashirama wordlessly noted how everyone in the room tensed just a fraction, even Mito, the queen of prim, stoic perfection. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. “Mito, just what is going on?”

Her painted lips moved to speak, but as the first word began to slip out, Madara stepped forward with surprising steadfastness. “We believe Tobirama may have been injured. Upon entering his lab, your dear cousin and wife found it in disarray, as well as a pool of blood on the floor.”

“Hashirama!”

Glancing up from his current plant obsession of the week with a jump at the slamming of the screen door, Hashirama found himself meeting Touka’s panicked gaze, his typically stoic cousin clearly in distress. “It’s Tobirama, hurry!”

Out of nowhere, a teary-eyed Kawarama appeared, one small hand clutching onto the silky fabric of Touka’s kimono. “Father beat him, anija, he beat Tobi!”

Hashirama hadn’t realized he was running until his hand came to grapple the wood of the doorway of Tobirama’s room, dark eyes hurriedly searching the room’s contents until-. He thrust himself forward in a blur, Touka right beside him as they came to kneel at the bloodied, broken body of a contorted Tobirama, Kawarama yanking a sobbing Itama from their dying brother with desperate urgency. Ragged, wet breaths were the only thing that kept Hashirama from believing his otouto was already, his state of being lying only inches from death’s door. The younger boy’s legs were a sickening sight, his left tibia bent unnaturally underneath Tobirama’s battered skin; he nearly vomited at the jagged, alabaster bone jutting from the albino’s right leg, flesh torn and weeping thick rivets of crimson from the puncture wound.

Reaching out a shaking hand to cup Tobirama’s split skull as thick globs of salty tears began to pour down his tan face, all Hashirama’s voice could muster in his horror was a weak mutter. “Tobi, oh Kami what on earth did he do to you?!”

The pool of blood beneath the young boy’s body was a gruesome sight Hashirama knew he would never forget.

“What do you mean he may be injured? He was perfectly fine when I met him for his mission debrief this morning,” Hashirama cried, panic beginning to sprout within his chest, earth-colored irises snapping to the left to search his wife’s serious features. “Are you sure it’s even his blood?!”

“I am afraid so; the blood contained Tobirama’s chakra signature.” Mito refused to break eye contact with him, the redhead resting her hands upon his broad shoulders whilst she gifted him with an imploring look.

“That is why we must know, where is Tobirama?”

Tongue having suddenly grown heavy, Hashirama found himself stumbling over his words, the brunette unable to look away from his wife. “I-I, he requested to undertake an S-Rank assassination mission in Lightning Country and since he’s been instigating fights with Madara lately, I gave it to him, no questions asked so they could spend some much needed time apart! I didn’t know he was hurt-!”

“Whether you realized he was hurt or not means nothing now, Hashirama.” Mito’s manicured nails pressed into the muscled flesh of his shoulders, forcing him to stop mid-panicked ramble. “What matters is his time of departure and his target, nothing else. Now, when did he depart and who is his intended target?”

His target? Who was it again?

“Raikaku has been reported to be traveling throughout the steppes between here and Lightning Country,” Hashirama pointed to the map of the elemental nations set before the two brothers on his desk, gesturing to the unmarked territories marked on the general vicinity. “You are to observe first, and when you see the right moment-.”

Tobirama wasted no time in cutting him off, gifting him with a callous nod, far more stoic and aloof than he usually was. “Understood. I will not fail you, anija.”

Oh, fuck.

His chest grew heavy at the damning, frigid realization spilling into his veins, eyes growing wide and mouth going agape, desperate to deny the reality set before him. “There’s no need to get so upset, Tobi can handle himself after all-!”

Touka took another step toward him, dark eyes narrowed in impatient suspicion. “Where did you send him?!”

“He, he’s headed towards the lands between Fire and Lightning Country,” The Senju clan head wanted to vomit, his stomach thrashing madly within his core at soberly realizing he had sent his brother, his lone, remaining brother, whether he acknowledged him as one or not, to his possible death. Had Tobirama been injured like they said, and if so, why hadn’t he noticed-?

Gloved hands unforgivingly grasping the collar of his uniform jerked Hashirama from his spiraling thoughts, charcoal irises digging into his brown. Madara’s seething face was suddenly a mere inch away from his own, the Uchiha tightening his grip on Hashirama’s clothes whilst aggressively shaking his upper body. “Who is his target you, dimwit?! Who did you send Tobirama to assassinate?!”

“Raikaku, his target is Raikaku!”

The second the name of the Scribe of Raijin escaped him, he found his back meeting the wall with a jaw aching slam, uniquely patterned, swirling irises of scarlet and obsidian belonging to the one and only Uchiha Madara searing into his flesh. “What in the hell is wrong with you?! You and I both know that going after Raikaku without additional support is suicide! Are you trying to get your brother killed?!”

“Of course not! Don’t you think I told him the same thing?!” Grasping Madara’s wrist, the Mokuton user tried to shove his best friend away to no avail as he attempted (and failed) to provide logic to his decisions, the Uchiha’s grasp only tightening. “I tried to convince him to take Touka or Izuna with him but he wouldn’t listen! He just kept saying that he was fully capable and that he didn’t need to put anyone else he cared about in harm's way and then he left!”

“And you didn’t think to stop him?! You’re the goddamn Hokage, you imbecile!” Madara roared with a menacing scowl, Izuna and Hikaku rushing over to pull the frothing Uchiha off of Hashirama. “We all know that when Tobi makes up his mind, there’s no arguing with him! You of all people should know this, you’ve complained about it constantly!”

“Enough!”

“Quarreling amongst one another is going to do nothing in helping Tobirama-sama!” With a vicious tug of Madara’s arm, Hikaku placed himself between the two of them, the look on his face deadly as the jellyfish toxin Mito ingrained into the finishing of her senbon needles.

Touka gave a reluctant nod of agreement, pointing the blade of her naginata at the pair of them. “The Uchiha's right, we’re wasting time. We need to catch up to Tobirama before it’s too late. Now shut the fuck up, you pieces of shit!”

“For once, I agree with you, Senju,” Izuna quipped readily beside her, only to garner himself a threatening finger being pointed his way. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, you scheming weasel! Your treatment of my cousin is just as despicable as theirs and I’ll be damned if I don’t beat you within an inch of your life like you fucking deserve the moment Tobirama is safe!”

The threat promptly had Izuna shutting his mouth with an audible click, to which Mito took as a sign to speak. “If we have any hope of stopping Tobirama before he reaches Raikaku, we need to leave immediately.”

“Hikaku-san, Izuna-sama, you will remain here in the village in case a situation occurs. Touka, Hashirama, Madara-sama, and I will be pursuing Tobirama en route.”

Settling her damning plum irises on the three shinobi, the Uzumaki princess spoke like a true war leader. “Gather everything you will need for the journey ahead and rendezvous at the northeastern entrance within five minutes. Be late, and we will leave you behind.”

Madara let out a grunt, the Uchiha sending a poisonous glare towards Hashirama. “I will be ready in two.”

With that said, the dark eyed man disappeared in a flash of smoke and fluttering leaves, leaving the remaining five shinobi to their own devices. Izuna and Hikaku wasted no time in abandoning the office as well, shunshinning after Madara most likely, who was in the most peculiar of moods, even for the Uchiha clan head. Hashirama moved to speak with a solemn Mito, only for a seething Touka to block his path, his cousin glaring at him with fiery eyes. “If Tobirama dies because you, know that you’ll be the first one I’ll be killing, you being hokage be damned.”

“Touka, I’m-.”

“If you are done threatening my husband, dear cousin,” Mito sidled against Hashirama's right side, gifting the taller kunoichi with a warning glance. “You should be preparing yourself for the road ahead.”

“You’re lucky your wife is terrifying, Hashirama, or your ass would be mine. Remember that.” Sending one last glare his way, Touka pulled away and shunshinned with the swift signing of her hands.

“Hashirama.”

The twenty year old shifted his gaze downwards to meet Mito’s, the redhead meeting him with a face of little to no emotion. “If Tobirama does not return home with us unscathed, I will not stop Touka from beating you within an inch of your life.”

“Mito, I-!”

“Silence,” Hashirama paused mid objection, knowing far better than to test his wife’s patience. “I am thoroughly disappointed in you, husband. In fact, I am appalled by your behavior. I have every right to divorce you and remove Tobirama from your care, since you clearly care so little about him to begin with.”

Not waiting for Hashirama to respond, the Uzumaki kunoichi stepped away, her gaze never leaving his. “Ready yourself, we leave in four minutes.”

She was gone in a puff of smoke, the scent of sea salt wafting through the office air, leaving Hashirama to bear the weight of his mistakes all on his lonesome.

“You must promise me, Hashirama, that no matter what may occur between the two of you, you will protect Tobirama from harm. He will be your greatest ally and dearest friend, even in times of turmoil and strife, so you must take care of him and treat him well. Do you understand?”

“I promise mama! I’ll protect Tobirama, no matter what!”

The young man was unable to stop his stomach from heaving its contents outwards at the guilt-drenched memory, the burning bile scorching the inside of his throat with shame while he expelled what little remained of his breakfast in a nearby pot. After a few moments of unsuccessful dry heaving, Hashirama pulled away with a pant, wiping the bile coating his lips on the back of hand without a care in the world. He wasted no time in rising to his feet and stripping himself of his hokage attire, slipping his armor onto his shaking form and shunsinning to the northeastern entrance.

Hopefully the others would still be there when he arrived.

~~~

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