Continuum

by UnknownRegion

Summary:

Uchiha Obito doesn't know how he gets into situations like these. He blames it on his two decades worth of bad karma.

Or

Naruto being Naruto, drew up a wonky time-travel seal and sent Obito into a completely different dimension where people actually have soulmates. Wtf. Furthermore, although Obito should have been an anomaly, why was Senju Tobirama's name inked(?) just below his left collarbone?!

Notes:

Le gasp ∑(ΦдΦlll. Why am I writing yet another Naruto fanfic?! This is ridiculous! (┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻

Chapter 1

Directly after he stepped out of Kamui, Obito's pair of knees buckled under the strain of his weight and he settled heavily upon the grassy ground with uncontrollable trembles. His head felt extremely wrecked and it was exceptionally difficult for him to concentrate on anything, but, still, he tries his hardest to be aware of his body's condition.

First and foremost, the lack of chakra in his system was telling. But it didn't come as a huge surprise since it did take a huge amount of chakra to travel back in time. Frankly, Obito was considered lucky to have actually managed to survive this trip intact.

The results of time travel, as Naruto had stated with a cheerful grin on his bloodstained lips, was unpredictable as it was unknown. The results may vary, with missing limbs thrown into the equation. But, theoretically, it could either end up with the death of the traveler or said traveler at death's door.

Fortunately, Obito was the latter to Naruto's prediction, though he might not have minded the former if he were completely honest.

Frankly, it was only due to Team 7's one-sided votes that Obito was selected to be the candidate for this 'fix-it', insane time travel plan of theirs (which, to put it simply, consists of saving his past-self from being groomed into old man Madara's puppet, become friends with said insane Uchiha, and getting rid of Zetsu and that demonic statue. Oh, and can't forget to keep Naruto's and Sasuke's families intact. Sounds easy. Not).

If Obito had a voice to vote, his first choice would have been Naruto, even without the fox and one foot already hovering above his grave. Or his bat-shit crazy cousin Sasuke. Hell, even that monstrous pink-headed healer who has the mentality of punch first apologize later would've been the better option.

Obito should have been the last candidate for their insane 'fix-the-past' plan if they wanted it to, you know, actually succeed, as his desire to live was as scorching as Kakashi's (and everyone knows that that bastard was suicidal at best) and his solution to fixing anything was basically to either reject reality or burn the whole world down.

Unfortunately, he was the only one alive with Kamui, and a transplant would take the receiver at least a week to recover enough for usage. Furthermore, depending on their talent, it would take months or even years to fully master his eye's unique abilities. And time was exactly what they lacked.

On the topic of eyes... He felt the implanted eye inside his left socket throb at the reminder of its true owner's death.

After they had escaped Kaguya's latest ambush, Naruto hurriedly drew a very complex seal inside of Obito's Kamui and connected it to all of their chakra reservoirs. He also (viciously) left it to Obito to drain them dry.

If he was a true Konoha shinobi, he would have wavered. But Obito was a twisted and broken man and he didn't hesitate to activate the array. The seal (Obito) killed Team 7 and the remaining bijuus within seconds.

Obito sighed morosely as he compartmentalized, just like how old man Madara had taught him to do so. It was futile to think about it further, as nothing would change even if he did.

Closing his eyes, he held back the typical Uchiha unhinged laugh that wanted to escape his bloodstained lips and mentally scanned his physical condition as a form of distraction.

Judging by the blood dribbling down his chin and blood clots floating inside his mouth, he definitely has a few internal bleeds and broken ribs during his short skirmish against Kaguya. As for the hole in his gut and left collarbone... Obito had a feeling that he would need to staunch them before he actually bleeds to death.

However, his limbs were being frustratingly uncooperative at the moment. And the lack of chakra meant that the Hashirama cells inside his prosthetics could not actively bring forth a miraculous recovery.

What a dilemma, Obito lamented in his head.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Obito prefers death over chakra exhaustion any day ┐(´д`)┌

The sound of rustling leaves and disorganized footsteps caused Obito to let loose yet another sigh, this one gloomier than the previous ones.

It seems that he would have to depend on Lady Luck to survive a life and death situation yet again (actually, he figured that dying of blood loss wouldn't be that bad. It would be just like sleeping. Maybe. Better than being buried alive under boulders, anyway).

In the past, it had been old man Madara who had 'saved' thirteen years old him. Now, Obito wasn't at all optimistic that these people were actually kind and friendly Konoha folks, and not insane mass murderers with the grandeur of world peace thru war.

The bad karma he had accumulated for the past two decades was probably enough to kill the average person a hundred times over.

Furthermore, Konoha shinobi have cat-like footwork when traversing through forests, constantly avoiding dry twigs and crunchy leaves on instinct alone. If he added such messy and heavy footwork into the equation, the percentage of them being civilians was especially high.

At the numerous gasps he heard, Obito mustered up the strength to crack open his right eyelid, knowing that a surgical eyepatch was covering his left. His vision was blurry at best, but he could still make out a few tensed silhouettes, all armed with spears and curved swords in their hands.

Oh, wait. Obito squinted to bring more focus into his vision.

Those men were carrying pitchforks and agriculture scythes, which, of course, could potentially be used as weapons, and Obito laments that if they did try to skewer him, he hopes that they aim for his heart so that he suffers less. But, anyway, these people were probably civilian farmers, judging by their tools and lack of training.

Obito tried to look friendly by smiling, but all that did was cause more blood to escape from his cracked lips. One of the civilians even looked disgusted at his battered form – which was extremely rude, in Obito's opinion.

Though he could somewhat see the group of men speaking (arguing), it felt as if pieces of cotton had been stuffed into his ears, causing him to hear muted murmurs and a painful white noise. Knowing that even verbalizing his lack of hearing would be a challenge with how lethargic he was feeling, Obito didn't bother, only choosing to close his lone eye and disinterestedly left his fate in the palms of their hands.

Or in other words, he blacked out.

When he came to, he was disorientated and out of his element - wondering why it felt as if the juubi had just thrown a massive tantrum inside his noggin.

The only time he remembers having been this exhausted, both mentally and physically to the point of death, was when he woke up and saw old man Madara looming lovingly over him like a demented Shinigami, ready to tear his soul into tiny, Obito-sized pieces.

Honestly, after all Obito had been through these past two decades, his pain threshold should be within the realms of the gods. But, alas, he has never experienced chakra exhaustion before and he wondered how Kakashi dealt with this on a week-to-week basis. The urge to succumb into an eternal rest was tempting on so many levels.

After inwardly bemoaning his misery and lack of good karma, it didn't take long for him to ignore his body's physical pain, re-organize his mind, and recall Team 7's unfair nomination for Obito to fix the past and bring forth a bright future (to make up for his mistakes, a bitter part of him whispered).

Obito couldn't help it, he immediately began to swear his grievances at Team 7. They were very much going to regret this when they see his future(?) failures from the Pure Lands. Obito would make sure they bemoan their decision to choose him even after their deaths.

Snorting to himself at the crazy thoughts in his head, Obito, with much difficulty, lifted the heavy lid of his right eye, knowing that this was not the appropriate time to be cussing at those that have already departed (his friends at that, not that he would willingly admit that at any point in time outside his head. But, still).

The ceiling was pitiful and had holes in them, was the first thought that popped into his mind. The next thing he registers was the layout of the room - small, dark, and smelt heavily of mould... though in comparison to the smell of ash, burnt flesh, and human waste during the war against Kaguya; it wasn't that bad.

All in all, it was pretty decent to someone who had once upon a time woken up inside an underground cavern that had little to no air circulation and smelt heavily of old man and rot. With a silent sigh, he dived into himself to check his chakra levels.

Again, he was not at all surprised to feel that he was still borderline empty.

At this rate, it would take him a while before he could use Kamui for Team 7's insane plans (Obito made sure to silently add 'kill younger-self' into the to-do list, which would no doubt anger Naruto to the point of throwing a Rasenshuriken at his face... if the blonde had still been alive, that was). Perhaps food might help him with his chakra recovery rate and declining mental health.

With that in mind, Obito carefully pushes himself into a seating position. By the time he manages to do something as simple as sitting up, he was profusely sweating as if he had just been through one of old man Madara's training sessions, feeling twice as light headed and nauseated than he has ever felt before.

Chakra exhaustion was something he never wanted to experience ever again, he lamented with an air of heavy misery.

"Yer awake."

It was only thanks to his years of shinobi training that Obito did not show any outward signs of surprise. It had been a long time since someone had managed to sneak up on him - a civilian at that. Obito silently promises to take this to his grave. He truly hates not being able to shape his chakra and use it for sensing.

Turning to face the speaker, the first thing Obito did was to discreetly survey the man for any hidden weapons. He manages to find a dagger tucked messily into the man's left pocket, but other than that, there was nothing else. Then he scrutinizes the man from head to toe.

Middle-aged. Tanned and sunburnt skin. Dirt underneath fingernails. Calloused hands, patterned for agriculture tools more than weapons. Muscles built for heavy lifting. Malodorous. Unshaven and disheveled. Threadbare, outdated clothes. No wedding band, but the flower stitches on his clothes were childish and unskilled, indicating that the man has a daughter or a niece.

All those clues painted a brief story of a man living in a remote settlement which lacks foreign merchants to trade with, working as a civilian farmer, and has a poor quality of life.

Anyway, the man's life story held no importance to Obito. What was important was that he was probably far from any Hidden Villages right now. Which meant that although the bleeding has stopped, his wounds would need professional handling ASAP, lest they be infected.

Shinobi inflicted wounds were something civilians were unused to, after all. Unless they were doctors. And this man was clearly no doctor. Resources such as anti-biotics and practices such as sterile wound dressings would be minimal from what he has seen thus far.

Fortunately, Sakura had planned ahead and instructed for Naruto to ink a storage seal onto Obito's left bicep - a small, little, square-shaped tattoo that Obito didn't actually mind despite his initial protests about Kamui being a larger storage space on its own.

However, Sasuke, that damn brat, went behind Obito's back and made a snide comment about Naruto's lack of creativity. The blonde knucklehead took that as a challenge and, without Obito's knowledge, camouflaged the seal inside a gigantic orange fox with nine tails, which covered his entire arm from shoulder to wrist.

It became more like an arm sleeve tattoo for aesthetic purposes, much to his disgruntlement.

(Though within the safety of his mind, Obito admits that he had, in fact, figured out their little prank, not fooled at all by their bad acting but pretended that he had been. This was all due  to their smiles  - such a fragile and rare expression for anyone to wear a f ter five, long years of war.

Obito was truly growing soft in his old age.)

At the sensation of melancholy creeping into his system, Obito quickly compartmentalizes and re-focuses on the man who he assumes had, unfortunately enough, saved his life.

"I am," Obito cleared his throat after hearing how croaky he sounded, before he continues, "Are you the one who treated my wounds? You have my thanks."

As poorly as they have been wrapped, the lack of bleeding did prevent him from dying... And despite being a mass murderer and a reformed villain, Obito had, once upon a time, been taught manners by his grandmother and Rin - though utilizing it was another story altogether.

"Keh! If ya wanna show yer thanks, leave as soon as ya can stand. Yer kind's not welcome here. If not fer me chief's warning tha' there'll be moar of yer kind runnin' aroun' 'ere if we let ya die, we would 'ave left ya fer dead!" The man spat, a frustrated frown creasing across his face.

Charming, Obito inwardly deadpanned. Outwardly, he remained stoic and nodded to show his understanding

Still, it wasn't his fault for being born an Uchiha (he blames old man Madara for that, thanks great-great grandpa). Although how the man had guessed his origins from his white hair and scarred features was quite an amazing feat in itself.

"I'll be out of your hair soon," Obito rasped.

"Tch, damn ninjas. If ya wanted ta die, do it somewhe' else! Don' brin' trouble ta our home! 'Specially that clan name- tch..."

Obito raises a confused brow when the man started to mutter about souls and names and marks and whatnot. Obito threw a pitying glance at the man - so young but already insane - and decided to focus on more important matters. Like how the farmer meant 'ninja' when he said 'your kind'.

Good to know that he wasn't identifiable with the Uchiha at first glance. It gives his background a lot of room to play with.

The civilian gave one last glare at Obito before stomping out of the room, not forgetting to slam the door whilst at it. If Obito had still been Tobi, he wouldn't have hesitated to gut the man for speaking and acting in such a brazen manner.

Luckily for the farmer, Obito had already turned over a new leaf (somewhat) thanks to Naruto.

With a massive eyeroll, Obito reached for his storage seal with trembling fingers. A large first aid box popped into existence and landed heavily onto the hard bed, causing it to groan at the added weight.

Obito mentally thanked Sakura for stocking up such a rich amount of supplies and began re-stitching and re-dressing his wounds, this time adding anti-biotic ointments and popping a few anti-inflammatory tablets whilst at it.

It took him about an hour, honestly, to get his fingers to work correctly enough to not fuck up on the stitches, but after the wounds were wrapped tightly, he pulled out a clean purple mantle from the storage seal and shrugged it on, not caring for his torn shinobi pants just yet.

After he ate a ration bar and drank a bottle of water, he left immediately as per requested from his saviors.

Obito walked out of the run-down shed with more difficulty than he had anticipated and strode into the surrounding forest with a strength he did not feel, shrugging off the ugly glares and fearful looks he received from the locals.

It was only when he was half an hour away from the remote settlement did he allow himself to slump onto the nearest tree and present his weakness to the world.

Fuck, Obito miserably wishes that the Hashirama cells inside his body would just activate already. He hated this debilitating feeling.

 

Notes:

Welp. Good to know that Kaguya had managed to wipe out everyone apart from Team 7, some bijuus, and Obito (*＾∀゜). Man, I couldn't imagine being on the run for 5 years. No wonder everyone (not counting the grumpy Obito) wishes to fix the past.

I'm super happy to receive such positive feedback from the previous chapter! Thank you (´∀｀) ! Now I'm confident to continue this story~

P.S. I'll still work on my other fics, so don't worry ( • ̀ω•́ )✧!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Obito 'meets' a friendly stranger (∩╹□╹∩)

After resting for half a day, Obito wandered towards the general direction of Konoha (as a person who mainly travels via 'teleportation', it was a requirement of his to have spatial and geographical awareness), knowing that to start 'fixing' things, he was first required to actually be there in person.

Although it would be less cumbersome for Obito to infiltrate Konoha's ranks by showing his eyes and claiming to be a bastard Uchiha born out of the wedlock, he has no desire whatsoever to join Konoha's ranks. Hence, he would recover his strength and - with the help of Kamui - remain in the shadows to set things straight.

The first on his to-do list was, obviously, his younger self.

It would be better to rid the world of that particular nuisance just in case he failed spectacularly down the road... Since Naruto's plans mainly consist of a lot of 'Talk-no-jutsu'. And Obito was not the naive boy that he used to be - he has long grown into a cynical man.

... Sasuke and old man Madara would be proud of his neurotically stubborn mindset when it came to selfishness - truly worthy of an Uchiha who had been driven into madness. Naruto, Sakura, Kakashi, and Rin, however, would be devastated.

Obito simply wishes that his mind would just stop tormenting him with all of those presumptions and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted without auditory hallucinations of being judged by those he cared about adding to his already long list of mental disorders.

The dead have no ability to speak to the living... unless, of course, they were unfortunate enough to be reanimated by a psychopath using the Edo-tensei; which would then make them an annoyance that Obito would avoid with a ferocious passion.

Anyway, Obito was so done with everything. He didn't need his mind telling him he was a lunatic - he already knows, thank you very much.

When he shook his head to rid himself of those inane musings, Obito was suddenly hyper-aware of the sound of water splashes. He was quick to change directions, knowing that it would be best to hydrate himself without diminishing his very limited supplies, as it would be better to leave them in the case of emergencies.

When he saw the source - a lake - his vision tunneled and he dragged his exhausted body to the edge of the waters, stumbling here and there before he fell to his knees, his arms and legs trembling from the strain.

He was tempted, oh so very tempted, to strip and dive into the water to be clean from the dirt and grime and dried blood caked all over his face and body. Alas, he knew better than to introduce unboiled water to open wounds and his newly implanted left eye. He did not need an infection on top of being deprived of chakra.

Just as he reaches to bunch up his left sleeve and retrieve a cooking pot from his storage seal, he heard the soft sound of breathing coming from his right. It would've been inaudible to civilians, but with his shinobi-trained senses, it was just enough for him to realize that he was not entirely alone.

It seems that his awareness has dropped in his weakened state. Or, rather, he should've checked the area before he relaxed his guard.

Obito's body complained at the abuse when he forces himself to his feet, stumbling only once, before righting himself to face the unknown person with a kunai in hand, on guard and ready to defend himself. Unfortunately for Obito, his Sharingan flared completely on instinct, much to his horror, too used to Obito leaving them activated even in his sleep.

Immediately, the strain on his severely depleted chakra reserves causes him to break out in cold sweat and topple to one side. Obito even swore that he blacked out for a second there; because one moment he was standing, the next, he was in the unknown person's arms.

And that caused him to completely freeze up.

The last person to hold Obito in his arms was old man Madara... just before the bastard took his own life in order to push Obito into a solitude, driven insanity after only having one person to depend on for his mental health after Rin's death.

Subconsciously, being held was a painful experience to Obito. So, without further ado, he lost his shit.

He growled deliriously, not understanding the words coming out from his mouth, yet unable to stop them from escaping his lips. He flailed and struggled to get away from the warm-prickly-familial chakra signature that was engulfing him, kunai having already been flung to who knows where.

He heard muted murmurs, their tone soft and calm, but he was too out of it to hear the actual words being spoken. The stress of being on the run, of the seemingly never-ending war, of time travel in general, of Team 7's death by his hands, of his lack of chakra, of his fears to disappoint his dead friends and comrades... Everything made it so that Obito felt as if he could not get enough oxygen into his system, his heart constricting painfully, and his trembling refuses to recede.

Obito, logically, knew that these were all symptoms of a panic attack, hence he struggles to compartmentalize. Old man Madara has taught him how to overcome this - he couldn't afford to allow such a weakness to be seen by others when he was masquerading as Uchiha Madara.

Just because he likened touch to pain, it did not mean that the unknown person's intention was to harm him.

If this unknown stranger wanted to hurt him, whether it be physically or mentally or emotionally, Obito was someone who could endure the pain of a Chidori through his chest without issues (and if the pain ever got too much, he could always end everything by suicide). So he was fine, damn it! Stop fucking trembling like a genin, Uchiha Obito!

He didn't know for how long he talked himself out of an anxiety attack, but when he became aware of his physical body, he realizes that he was being rocked and soothed, slender yet calloused fingers raking through his hair in a calming manner.

It reminded him sorely of Rin, cuddled against him whenever a younger Obito bawled his eyes out for one reason or the other. The memory was painful as it was warm, and it allowed for him to finally return to his senses, his breathing leveled out as his tremors slowly recede.

"...-fe... You... -right... I've... -ot you... You're safe now. You're alright... Are you with me now? Can you hear me? Hey, I've got you. Don't worry, there's nobody else here. You're safe with me."

Words of reassurance were spoken by the unknown person, soon understandable to Obito. It made him want to retch due to how sickening they were.

Normally, he would've bared his teeth and stab whoever it was that dared to hug him, uncomfortable with these kinds of situations and the intimacy they bring. But with how exhausted he was right now, he could do nothing but remain in this mortifying position.

(No, he did not grasp at this stranger's shirt for comfort purposes. Kill those thoughts immediately, peasants! He was simply making sure that he gets a good grip so that he would be able to flip their positions if there was a need to do so.)

... In spite of the fact that he just wanted to bury himself into a whole due to humiliation, his shinobi instincts continue to force him to get a good 'feel' about this unknown hugger of his. So he struggles to keep his right eye open as he squints at the unknown stranger.

What greeted him was a facial structure that was painfully nostalgic, pulling at his dust-covered heartstrings. Those aristocratic features were something he had not seen on someone that was not Sasuke, Itachi, Madara, or himself.

Obito had, after all, committed mass genocide and rid the world of the Uchiha clan in the future.

This unknown Uchiha looked to be in his early twenties. The man has fair skin, dark eyes, and equally dark hair, which was pulled into a high ponytail with bangs framing his face. He wore a high-collared purple mantle, similar to Obito's but in a lighter shade, with the only difference being a golden chain draped on his right shoulder. He was also carrying a sword strapped on his back, but Obito's vision was starting to blur, so he clenches his eye shut and focuses on breathing.

Obito figured that the unintentional usage of his Sharingan had dried what little chakra he had recovered, causing him to feel ill in the stomach and beyond groggy. All he wanted to do was to enter an eternal sleep and never wake up ever again. For the first time after his body modifications, he felt an unfamiliar tug at his stomach - as if there was an uncomfortable urge to vomit his guts out.

And he did just that.

Fortunately, the other Uchiha reacted swiftly by turning Obito to face the other side.

As soon as he was done being a disgusting and miserable mess, he felt someone clean his face whilst urging him to rinse his mouth with the water provided.

He mentally thanked this person for being different from the usual Uchiha assholes he knew back in his own timeline. If it had been Sasuke, his insane cousin would've cheered for him to puke more all over himself, enjoying Obito's suffering like the sadist he was. On the other hand, old man Madara would've scoffed and maybe even rubbed Obito's face against his own sick. He didn't know which one was the worst; to have his front covered in vomit or thoroughly on his face. So, really, this Uchiha's kindness was wholly appreciated!

Without resistance, Obito allows himself to be manhandled into a more comfortable position.

He was soon placed in between the younger Uchiha's legs with his back pressed onto the man's chest. There were arms wrapped around his middle to hold him up, and Obito rested his head on the stranger's shoulder, not even needing to force himself to sleep thanks to the fatigue.

(Deep, deep inside, Obito actually felt it was nice to have another clansman, a complete stranger that was connected to him only by blood, have his back. Literally and figuratively. It was a new experience, but it didn't feel bad.)

Obito swore that as soon as he recovers just enough chakra for him to access Kamui, he would swirl into his pocket dimension and stay there until he has fully recuperated. Never, ever, would he allow anyone else to see his shortcoming ever again.

This time, it was only due to carelessness. But there won't be a next time. He would make sure of it.

 

Notes:

Kyaa~ (*´∀`*). All of your positive responses to the previous chapter made me beam! Thank you!

This chapter's narrative was a little wonky due to Obito being all over the place with his 'sickness', but I still do hope that you've enjoyed reading about his miserable time with chakra exhaustion (and denying his feelings, hahaha!).

See you next chapter (￣▽￣)ゞ!

Chapter 4

Summary:

Tobirama is the author's punching bag.

Whilst Obito was blissfully sleeping in the arms of a rather protective Uchiha, Senju Tobirama was hunched over his desk, eyes aching and head pounding as he signed document after document, read reports after reports, and wrote missive after missive. He was also trying his hardest to block out his brother's insufferable whining with little results.

Woefully, Tobirama thought back to three days ago.

After father's return from a skirmish against the Kaguya clan, he has been bedbound and unconscious thus far, having been inflicted with a debilitating injury that even Hashirama was unable to fully heal. With the absence of their clan head, Tobirama was the unlucky brother to have been selected to do their clan's important paperwork in lieu of their father.

Hashirama, who was the clan's heir and second-in-command, should have been the one to have their father's paperwork shoved onto him. However, that lucky dog had been spared of this miserable fate as he was tasked to welcome the Uzumaki delegation and work to extend their alliance contract with those redheads (although Hashirama had, unfortunately enough, tricked Tobirama into doing all of the prep work for him, further depriving him of free time. It angers him whenever he recalls that incident).

He resisted the urge to bite his brother's finger when Hashirama began poking at his tattooed cheeks, attempting to get some kind of response out of him.

Tobirama tries his best to remain unresponsive to the goading (because this was clearly intentional), knowing that the more he entertains his brother by reacting, the more Hashirama would continue to disturb him. He simply needed to wait until his brother was bored enough to leave.

In spite of knowing that, Tobirama still has a limit for tolerating his brother's tomfoolery, however. And now... Now wasn't a good time. He was currently sleep deprived, agitated due to the lack of exercise, and was burdened with the workload of three people.

And he swears that if Hashirama throws yet another fucking tantrum on his floor he would shave off all of Hashirama's hair and-

Tobirama took a deep breath in, held it for three seconds, then exhaled.

The younger Senju repeated this breathing technique a few more times, wanting to remain calm in the face of adversaries. It would do him no good to be goaded into yet another one of his brother's schemes. He would cooly and politely decline his brother's offer and return to his work.

Turning stiffly to his brother, ready to do as he plans, he was greeted by a pair of gleeful brown eyes. All of his calm vanished at the sight of Hashirama's 'cat that got the cream' expression.

"I'm throwing your sake stash, anija."

Hashirama immediately began squawking in protest, plastering himself to Tobirama's back and began wailing about how the younger Senju was being 'mean' and 'crueľ and 'where did my cute little Tobi go?' along with 'remember the time you used to toddle behind me like a duckling and-'

Tobirama loves his brother. He truly does. But Sage did he truly want to stitch Hashirama's lips together. Permanently. Or, at least, until he learns to never reminisce about all of Tobirama's childhood misadventures ever again.

"Anija. Stop." Tobirama removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He made sure to discreetly cover his face so that his manipulative asshole of a brother could not see the physical proof of how full of blood his cheeks were.

"As soon as my dear otouto agrees to go swimming with me." Hashirama singsonged, a triumphed smile already etched onto his face.

Truthfully, Tobirama could've refused.

Hashirama may love to tease him until he was red in the face and ready to burst into flames, but his older brother would never do something that could potentially hurt him (be it reputation, health, or emotionally). Hence, he could give a straight 'no' and Hashirama would leave him to his work.

However.

Tobirama also knows that Hashirama only begins to truly annoy him when he was overworking himself.

He closed his eyes in acceptance, knowing that he would end up agreeing with the older Senju anyway. Ah, he was always weak-willed when it came to his brother as he did not want Hashirama to worry about him. Thus, with an exasperated sigh, he reluctantly nodded his assent.

Hashirama did not delay any longer. He immediately began dragging Tobirama to their backyard, where their large-sized empty pond was located at, babbling gleefully about how happy he was that he would have time to spend with his 'cute little brother'. Tobirama pouted. He was not cute.

Their father had built the pond for the sole purpose of chakra training and water jutsu practices. But since they were kids, Hashirama, the ever rebellious young lad, liked using it as a swimming pool despite their father's many reprimands.

As soon as they reached the circumference of the pond, Hashirama was out of his casual yukata and into the waters without a care for Tobirama's innocent eyes. He resisted the urge to facepalm - how many times has he had to remind the fool to wear his fundoshi underneath his clothes?!

"Hurry up, Tobi! The water's great!" Hashirama grinned, idly pushing his long, drenched hair away from his face and chest.

Although he should already be used to such a sight, Tobirama still has the decency to avert his gaze from his brother's heavily muscled torso, unease at seeing his brother's violet soul script.

Marked at the very center of Hashirama's chiseled abs was a name; Uzumaki Mito, written in elegant penmanship that proved her clan's prowess as seal masters. There were not many who would be so bold as to bear their soul script to the world, but Hashirama has always been a unique case.

Tobirama, after a few more prompts from Hashirama, finally shrugged off his own clothing.

As many would know, Tobirama was a very private man. Hence stripping in a public setting should have been completely out of character for him. However, he cares not about swimming without clothes as, to begin with, he didn't have any soul script to expose.

He, too, was a unique case.

But unlike his brother, Tobirama's lay in his lack of a soulmate.

When a person was born, they would either, one; already have a name marked somewhere on their skin, usually due to their destined partner being born in the same clan or country, or two; have no script until their soulmate was within a 100 miles from the other.

As soon as the pair made skin contact, the white scripts on their skin would change color to match their partner's eyes.

(As for those whose soulmates have died, their names would automatically be faded and crossed out. Something far too common in this time period.)

At first, his family assumes that Tobirama's soulmate had not been born just yet or that they were living in another country. But after twenty years, having been on missions all over the countries without results, Tobirama knew that he was destined to live a life all on his own. Perhaps it was fitting for someone as lacking as him to be matchless.

Just as he tentatively touches the water with his toes, Hashirama abruptly leaped out of the pond and grabbed him by his biceps.

It startled him bad enough for him to flinch. It wasn't the touch that surprised him - as his brother was a very touchy person - no, it was the intense look in those brown eyes of his, burning holes into Tobirama's chest.

"Anija?" He was already using his chakra to search for potential threats, his pair of red eyes moving to scan their surroundings warily.

"Uchiha-" Tobirama was instantly on guard, "Obi...? Oh my Sage." Hashirama's voice was full of astonishment, awe, and hope.

"What?" Tobirama looked at Hashirama as if the latter was crazy, "I don't sense any Uchiha chakra nearby, anija."

Hashirama seemed to have not heard him, too busy with gawking at his chest. It made the younger Senju feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. Compared to his brother, he always finds himself lacking in the looks department (no other Senju has his coloring. He was the odd one out).

With a scowl, he folded his arms, blocking his chest from view. His actions brought Hashirama back to reality (thankfully), and brown eyes met red.

"Tobirama. I- You... I'm so happy for you, otouto!" Hashirama's smile was radiant enough to make Tobirama squint. He rudely wonders if this was the result of Hashirama's genjutsu training.

"What is it, anija? If this is another one of your weird pranks-"

"No," His brother finally released him and took a step back, but the smile remained, "Congratulations, brother! You have a soulmate."

Tobirama's whole body froze, his breath caught in his throat and his tongue was dry at his brother's exclamation. After a few moments of silence, his lips parted, his voice strangled and full of fury, "I did not expect this from you, anija."

Not wanting to remember the hateful memories of how he had been cruelly played and mocked by the children of his clan back when he had been a child, Tobirama angrily picks up his clothing and roughly shrugs on his yukata. Just as he was tying his obi, Hashirama grabbed his wrists, forcing him to look up and glare at his older brother.

"Tobi... I would never. I can never hurt you. Never you. Please believe me when I say that I saw your soul script right here." Hashirama releases one of his wrists to poke just below his left collarbone.

He bit his bottom lip, the prospect of it made a warmth in his chest blossom, especially at the sincerity in his brother's tone. Hashirama didn't seem to be lying.

It has been years since he gave up on having a soulmate, thinking he was just one of those few unfortunate ones who was fated to die alone. To be told that a soulmark has appeared on his skin... He was scared of falling into a false sense of security and be given false hope.

When he simply stood motionless, indecisive, Hashirama slowly takes hold of his hand and raises it so that his palm was flat against his chest. Tobirama almost shivered when he felt a warmth, so unlike his own, caress his palm.

His lips quivered.

Tobirama's body temperature has always been on the lower side of the scale.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he tugged the collar of his yukata and searched for the writing he has longed for his whole life. His eyes lit up at the sight of a messy script in white, but as soon as his brain processes the name, his expression turned into one of pure horror.

It wrote: Uchiha Obito.

His soulmate was an Uchiha.

Tobirama wanted to burn the script off his skin.

 

Notes:

You guys sure are enjoying Obito's misery. How sadistic Σ(ﾟДﾟ)!

Thank you all for your awesome comments (ღ˘⌣˘ღ). It brings me great joy to see that many of you enjoy reading my stories! I hope you've taken delight at Tobirama's reaction to finding out he has a soulmate, and then discover that his soulmate is an Uchiha ('∀'●). This is my first time writing a soulmate!AU, so I'm more than a little inexperienced in this. So if there's anything I can improve on, please do not hesitate to tell me, ok?!

Please tell me your thoughts ღゝ◡╹)ノ!

P.S. You'll find out who the Uchiha is in the next chapter! Ciao~!

Chapter 5

Obito would rather answer Guruguru's awkward questions than be in this situation right now. Well, not really. But he was dead serious when he said he didn't want to be carried like a helpless civilian damsel any longer. It has been a whole day, for fuck's sake!

"Put me down already!" He hisses, lips pulled into a snarl as (humiliation) anger continues to color his cheeks red.

"Now now, let's be reasonable here, hm? You're in no condition to walk on your own. Let me help - at least until your fever has cooled."

Despite how gentle the stranger's tone and actions were, Obito was tempted to just propel forward and tear out the guy's throat with only his teeth. It was too bad his body was being disgustingly uncooperative right now. Obito sneers.

"I don't need your help! Or anybody's! Leave me the fuck alone!"

As soon as he said his piece, Obito once again tries to wiggle free. That only resulted in a sigh, before without warning, he was released.

He yelps the second his back abruptly hits the grassy ground, swear words leaving his lips as his vision wavers. If the landing had resulted in his stitches tearing open, he would have been frothing at the mouth due to the burning fury that has been gradually accumulating since his arrival in this time.

When his eyesight finally stabilizes after a couple of minutes, Obito notices that the younger Uchiha was busy with setting up camp. He turns away, deciding to ignore the bloke in order to survey their surroundings. The area the other shinobi chose was hidden perfectly between a set of humongous trees and a cliff's edge, good enough for a night, Obito reluctantly agrees. Nothing was better than Kamui, of course, but as old man Madara tends to say; 'beggars can't be choosers'.

"We'll rest here tonight. It's not safe to travel after dark," the younger Uchiha states.

Obito's kept his lips pressed into a thin line, doing his best to give the guy the silent treatment. If threatening and yelling didn't procure any result, maybe the silent treatment would hint that Obito wanted the guy to drop dead.

Time passes by oddly to him, what with the fever-induced migraine and bone deep exhaustion he feels. Obito couldn't even remember what he was doing a second ago - had he been eating or dozing? - as if one moment he was watching the sun set, and the next everything was pitch black.

He only recalls having human company with him when the other Uchiha's hand was on his shoulder, manuevering him about. Before Obito realizes it, his back was already pressed into a strong chest and arms were secured around his hips. His snarl sounded weak even to his own ears. Powerless. Pathetic.

"I don't remember giving you permission to fucking touch me!"

What right did the bastard have to manhandle him like a sack of potatoes, anyway?! Just because they both hailed from the same clan didn't mean Obito would allow this bastard to touch him - or sage forbids; help him. He didn't need help! He only needed time to recover and he would be on his merry way. He wasn't weak, damn it!

"You have a fever. And you're shivering."

If Obito wasn't dead tired, he would have rolled his eyes skyward when the man deemed it necessary to verbally remind him of his physical condition. And as if that was a reasonable explanation to start, ugh, cuddling him.

"Leave me alone," Obito mumbles sluggishly with his heavy eyelids. "Why are you doing this? I... I don't understand your motives. Your actions aren't benefiting you at all. Why can't you just leave me alone? I want to be... left alone... fucking... jerk..."

If the bloke had replied, Obito didn't hear it, as sleep has already claimed him.

---

Feverish dreams were the worst, Obito complaints sulkily to himself. Especially when it involves a certain second Hokage, Edo Tensei, and a giant tree.

For now, he tries his hardest to erase that nightmare from his mind as he repeatedly and crudely uses his hands to rip grass from the ground. After all, he couldn't do anything else whilst he waits for his powerless body to fight off a damn fever (how pathetic, a voice that sounded eerily like old man Madara echoes in his mind). Obito couldn't even remember the last time he was down with a fever!

Stupid chakra exhaustion. Stupid bodily needs. Stupid Naruto. Stupid team 7 and their stupid time travel plans, ughhh!

Glaring hatefully at his groin, he grits his teeth and jerkily turns to look over his shoulder. Onyx meets onyx as the two Uchiha men stared unblinkingly, one uncovered eye full of frosty hostility whilst the other pair was an ocean of calm.

"Release me," Obito demands.

There was a moment of tension as the younger Uchiha scrutinizes him, but before Obito could lose his temper (again, for the nth time), he was released.

Not caring that he needed to use the other man's shoulders for support, he pushes himself to stand on shaky legs and stumbles behind a few trees to empty his bladder on his lonesome.

Thankfully, he was allowed to do this much by himself. If the other Uchiha had insisted on 'helping' him to go to the toilet, Obito would have truly ripped his throat out - sickness be damned.

After he was done, he takes a few steps back and leans heavily against a tree. His forehead was covered in a layer of cold sweat as his vision swam, so he scrunches his eye shut and impatiently waits for the vertigo to pass.

As soon as he got his equilibrium back, he returns to the campsite, knowing from previous experience that if he tries to run away, the damn Uchiha would just track him down again. Fucking bastard. Just wait until Obito has full access to Kamui. Let's see how anybody could find him after that.

But, seriously, though.

Obito could never understand the mentality of his temporary companion. Why would a stranger go so far as to delay returning home in favor of taking care of a deadweight? It makes no sense. Sure, they were technically from the same clan and Village, but they were still strangers.

If it had been Obito, he wouldn't have done such an annoying thing. Maybe the thirteen-year-old him might have been kind enough to do so, but the current Obito would find it a waste of time.

The strong rule and the weak struggle to even survive. And currently, as loathe as he was to admit it, Obito was the latter. Overall, he was strong, of course. But with his current condition (chakra exhaustion, fever, and wounded), he can't blame anyone but himself if he were to meet his maker. He was powerless to resist.

Dourly, Obito settles as far away as he could from the other Uchiha's sitting spot in the campsite and hides his face in his knees, all the while shivering from the cold.

He was so tired of everything, damn it.

And if the other Uchiha had moved to sit next to him, Obito didn't reposition to seek warmth from the body beside him. He didn't.

---

"Hikaku. My name is Hikaku."

Obito stares blankly at the man, clearly at a loss of how the topic suddenly derailed from Obito screaming abuses at... Hikaku... to the guy abruptly introducing himself.

"And you believe I give a damn because...?" He snaps back purely on instinct rather than anything else.

It has been a few days, after all, and Obito was already beginning to get strangely used to this Uchiha's kind mannerisms. It only made Obito want to run away faster.

"It'll be more convenient for you to put a name to my face, wouldn't it? And I believe that this is how strangers become friends," Hikaku beams.

"Yeah... no," Obito deadpanned. "I don't need friends."

"Alright," Hikaku hums soothingly, not at all phased by his comment. He was probably also too used to Obito's snappy attitude by now. He merely continues to smile disarmingly. "So, what's your name?"

"Screw you."

"Hn. That's an odd name for an Uchiha to have," the bastard had the nerve to tap his chin as if pondering about something, which only further increases Obito's bad mood and made an angry tick appear on his temple.

"Hahh?! Are you deliberately trying to pick a fight with me?" Fucking suicidal bitch. Who in their right mind would want an overly obsessive criminal after them? Honestly! If Obito weren't so annoyed, he would be concerned if there was a screw loose in Hikaku's brain.

"I would feel too much of a bully to be fighting a sick person, screw you-san," Hikaku smiles broader.

"... you're definitely picking a fight with me."

"Hn? What ever could you possibly mean, screw you-san? I'm only calling you by the name you've given me, screw you-san."

"Stop calling me that! Fucking sage!" Obito roars, his voice loud enough to scare away a flock of birds overhead on the tree branches.

"But you were the one who-"

"ARGHHH fuck! It's Obito, okay?! Uchiha Obito! Now shut up and let me rest!"

Obito completely missed the look of triumphant, followed shortly by disconcertment, that flashed across Hikaku's face, too busy ripping grass off the ground to dispel the frustration welling deep within him.

"You remind me much of our Clan Head."

'And which bastard would that be?' Was on the tip of his tongue, but he was quick to swallow the question back down.

It wouldn't do to be clueless about the identity of the Head of such a prominent clan. Though he does hope that Fugaku has already become the Head, as his mission to right his wrongdoings in the past-future would become easier.

Not knowing how else to respond without giving anything away, he merely glared. He doubts that his glare would look all that intimidating with a scratchy medical eyepatch covering a quarter of his face, but he still tries his best.

"Well. I suppose that's enough rest time. Are you good to continue?" Hikaku stands up with a stretch, before offering a hand to Obito.

Obito sneers but takes the offered hand that soon helps him to his feet. As they continued their travels on the dirt road via the civilians' way, Obito focuses his attention on his core.

His chakra was recovering at half its usual speed.

Finally, progress.

"So, Obito-kun, what happened for you to have exhausted all your chakra - if you don't mind me asking? Was it an ambush?"

Obito intentionally ignores the other Uchiha in favor of looking at the position of the sun, reluctant to continue any sort of conversation and give away his lack of knowledge about the present.

If he were to say something wrong, it would just complicate matters. Hence, it was easier to remain quiet and allow others to misinterpret and build his story for him. That was how he had acted behind his masks of aliases back the-

Wait a second.

'Obito-kun? Kun?!'

Obito whirls to face Hikaku and all but snarls in his face, "Don't fucking patronize me!" If Hikaku wanted to put an honorific to his name, he should at least address him by -san, even if Obito prefers people just calling him by name alone.

And here he thought that the Uchiha clan prioritizes politeness and respect, especially towards their elders (and yes he knows that that was highly hypocritical of him, shut up). Obito might be a constantly sangry person who lacks manners due to his pitiful life choices, but he knows that it wasn't proper to address those older than you with the honorific -Kun! Could anyone imagine him calling old man Madara Madara-kun? Or Fugaku Fugaku-kun when he had still been a chuunin? That would be a sure way to get himself killed!

Hikaku, rather than apologize for disrespecting him, appeared taken aback by his hostility.

"I... Uh. I wasn't trying to be patronizing. But if I had offended you in any way, I sincerely apologize, Obito-Kun."

The veins on his temple bulges as Obito's temper rises. Inhaling deeply, he recalls old man Madara's lessons and compartmentalizes to control his emotions. It wouldn't do for his stress levels to auto-activate his Sharingan just as he was finally making progress on his chakra levels.

"Are you deliberately trying to piss me off? Here's the thing, Hikaku, you either call me Obito or don't," he hisses. "Fucking if I ever want anyone younger than me to address me with -kun. Hmph!"

Without looking to see if the message had sunk in, Obito resumes walking whilst grumpily kicking pebbles out of the way.

It took half an hour of blissful silence for the tensed lines of his shoulder to smoothened, but as soon as it did, the silence was broken by someone clearing their throat.

Obito didn't bother to look at Hikaku even when the latter started talking.

"You said that you are older than me, Obito-k... Obito. It's either you believe me younger than I am or it is you who has a babyface?"

The question was asked tentatively as if Hikaku was wary that Obito would blow his top again. Pfft, did the idiot think him to be Tsunade? Bah! As if he would be offended if someone asked him for his age.

Naruto and Sakura used to tease Obito about his scarred ass babyface enough for him to be desensitized by it.

Though, if Obito was being honest, he doubts that his young appearance was due to his original genes. Perhaps it was because of Hashirama Cells, implanted within him at such a young age.

Hashirama Cells give its user awesome regenerative abilities, true, but Obito believes that it also has the side effect of making their outer appearance mature in an excruciatingly slow manner. Even old man Madara acknowledged his theory because the Shodai, at his deathbed, still looked to be in his prime despite being near sixty years old.

...Although if he wasn't wrong, the Nidaime too looked no older than thirty at his deathbed.

So perhaps it was just the Senju genes in his body that has caused him to have a babyface. Who knows, exactly? Obito wasn't even sure if he was considered a full-blooded Uchiha anymore after having his DNA mashed together with Hashirama's (old man Madara had to make a majority of his organs and numerous bones from scratch, after all). Hell, it could even have made them half-brothers, for all Obito knows. After all, Obito's blood type did change after receiving the Cells.

All in all, everything was just too complicated when it came down to it.

Obito snorts at his diverting thoughts.

Peeking slightly at the fidgety Hikaku, he idly wonders where did Hikaku's ocean of calmness go? Or had Obito unintentionally leaked KI when he was complaining about how he should be addressed?

Odd. But perhaps not if he thinks about it.

The people that surrounded him back then all had big personalities. The only way to get anyone's attention was to send out a burst of KI - yes, the pink menace including.

In their tiny group of survivors against Kaguya, Kakashi had jokingly made a poll of whose KI was the most shudder-inducing. Old man Madara was voted to be number one (obviously), followed by the Obito, with Naruto following close behind. The blonde might appear to be all sunshine and rainbows, but even without the Kyuubi sealed inside him then, he was pretty dangerous on his own. Ironic enough, however, Kakashi's KI was the least shudder-inducing to their tiny group - though perhaps it was due to how vehemently Kakashi refuses to dose them with his KI. Obito has no problems, always happy to make someone get close to developing respiratory depression.

But he derailed.

"Thirty-six," Obito states without infliction.

"Pardon?" Hikaku sounded startled, so Obito turns fully to him with an annoyed frown on his face and repeats his answer.

"Are you deaf? I said I'll be turning thirty-six this year." In a month, actually.

"Wow. You must be strong."

This time, it was Obito's turn to be surprised.

"Huh?" Was his intelligent response.

"Well, I mean," Hikaku's cheeks were slightly flushed as he elaborates. "It's difficult for the average shinobi to reach adulthood in itself. But for you to have managed to live to thirty-five and is still fit for active duty, you must be talented. Many of our soldiers are forced to retire before they reach thirty due to various reasons."

Peculiar.

Sure, the risk of dying young was extremely high for shinobi when compared to the average lifespan of civilians. However, before the Fourth Shinobi World War happened - before Obito happened - he recalls that the average life expectancy of a shinobi varies in a time of peace and in times of war.

There was also their various ranks (genin, chuunin, tokubetsu jounin, jounin, ANBU, Hunter-nin, Iryō-nin, Courier-nin, S-Class, etc) and jobs (desk jobs, patrol, courier, on-field, etc) to factor when considering the death rate. For example, those genins and chuunins behind the desk receive missions that weren't exactly considered dangerous to highly trained, field jounin and ANBU agents, hence their average death age would increase. Now, bear in mind that Obito was still in his prime, thus it shouldn't have been that impressive to Hikaku.

Dread was slowly creeping up his spine when Obito's mind starts to fill in gaps that have been making no sense up until the present.

As if trying to give Denial-san one last chance, he stops walking in favor of scrutinizing his lone onyx eye down Hikaku's body, painfully slow.

Flak jacket; negative.

Ankle wrapping technique; outdated.

Sandals; outdated.

Thigh Kunai holster; negative.

Hip pouch; outdated, using some kind of animal skin as a drawstring pouch.

But the most important... hitai-ate, negative.

The results made him blanch.

It couldn't be... there was just now way this was happening...! Obito was overthinking it, right? There was no way he could have fucked up the time travel coordinates this badly, right? There was simply no way that Obito had ended up in a time before Konoha was even a concept, right? And there's absolutely. no. fucking. way. Obito had, purely and by chance, landed in old man Madara's time, right?! Or sage forbid it, hundreds of years before old man Madara was even born, right?!

"...to! ...bito! Uchiha Obito!"

Obito jerks back to reality at hearing his full name, his lone uncovered eye wide as he stares dazedly into Hikaku's pair of alarmed Sharingan eyes.

"Wha...?"

Hikaku makes a big show of taking a slow and cautious step towards him, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

"What happened? Are you alright, Obito? You look pale. Do you need to take a seat? Water?"

"L-let's just say I had one hell of a revelation and leave it at that," Obito struggles to talk straight through the fog in his mind as anxiety rears its ugly head. "And maybe some... water... yes. Water. And. Yes, I'll sit."

He was already sitting in the middle of the dirt road before he could finish his sentence properly. Blindly reaching for the waterskin (not a canteen!), he disjointedly notices that his hands were trembling so badly he couldn't even get a good grip of it.

Not knowing what else to do, he laughs.

He laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs until all he could taste was saltiness on his lips. And even then, he continues to laugh.

Seven days. It had to take him a grand total of seven fucking days for his fucked-up brain to realize that he wasn't even on the right timeline, to begin with!

Now how was he supposed to fix something so far into the future? He would be dead by then! Dead!

In his mind's eye, he sees Rin facepalm, before looking at him with exasperated fondness whilst saying; 'That's just like you, Obito'. Teen-Kakashi piped up from behind of her, tone beyond sarcastic; 'Always late. When are you finally going to be on time, Obito?'. Even old man Madara popped into existence inside his mind to give him an intense look which nailed the lid of his coffin; 'Unsightly'.

Obito sobs.

He wants to go home and reunites with Rin. Kakashi. Sensei. His team.

Notes:

Man oh, man. Really sporadic updates, huh? Uni is a place that kills all my imagination and creativity (༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)

Please, tell me your thoughts! ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

The reviews are so fun to read. Especially when I can just see the sarcasm that's practically oozing when someone says something along the lines of "can already tell that this relationship is gonna be smooth sailing". Hahahaha (≧▽≦)! And the theories! Some of you guys came REALLY close to the truth. But I won't say which ones (¬‿¬). Not many of you guessed that it had been Hikaku who found Obito, but I can't blame ya. The only clue I gave out was 'purple mantle', after all. Nevertheless, it had been fun reading all of you guys wrecking your brains out to guess who it was（´∀`） Thank you for reviewing!

See you next chapter (-‿◦)!

P.S. The unfortunate soul that got Madara as a soulmate is... drumroll please...! Ehhh, I don't really know. Do you guys want to do a poll? (〃∀〃)ゞ It can be anyone, from Hashirama to Tsunade to Mito to Rock Lee.

Chapter 6

Summary:

Obito needs someone to bring him to a professional mind doctor to treat his suicidal ideation secondary to chronic depression. I wonder how long the waitlist is to see a Yamanaka shrink in Konoha (・_・ヾ)?

Notes:

Chapter warning: Suicide ideation. Unreliable narrator.

Obito feels stifled.

However, It wasn't the weather that was making him feel this way, the wind rather chilly to the areas of exposed skin. To Obito, the cold has never been an issue, as Hi no Kuni's winters were kind to (healthy) Uchiha shinobis, the innate fire nature in their chakra coils allowing for them to stay unfairly comfortable even with only a thin layer of clothing as protection. Pride notwithstanding, from what he remembers in the history textbooks, this was also one of the main justifications why the Uchiha clan has always, continuously, refuse to move to another country despite the countless warfare they face over the centuries to protect their territories.

What was ultimately making Obito feel stifled was reality in itself. It mocks him for his failures, the plans Team 7 had painstakingly built were undone in a single moment of revelation, made pointless in the face of Obito's bad karma.

Hikaku has been trying to get a response out of him for some time now, but Obito wasn't in the mood to humor anyone at this point in time, his selective hearing having activated up upon command. In actuality, the other Uchiha should be relieved that he feels too stifled to move right now, too tired to do anything but lie down pathetically on the dirt road with his eyes tightly shut, and try to sleep the fatigue away. His physical exhaustion and mental breakdown unknowingly saving Hikaku from the fate of being skewered by Mokuton roots on instinct alone.

When he feels warm fingers touch lightly on his shoulder, he recoils, rolls away and presses his face against the ground, tiny pebbles digging into his scarred skin, yet he cared not for such minor inconveniences.

When he feels the same warm fingers try to prob him into getting up, he curls tighter into himself and firmly keeps his eyes shut. He refuses to open them, his subconscious desperately clawing for an escape from this nightmare-turned-reality. He fears losing more of his sanity as soon as he confirms the era he has landed in.

If he were to succumb to eternal sleep, if he were to deny reality, if he doesn't try to do anything and let himself waste away... he wouldn't be able to fuck up anyone's expectations of him anymore. The idea of migrating to the Pure Lands became more appealing as time passes by.

Obito wishes he could muster up some kind of willpower to bulldoze through this sticky situation, but such mental strengths had all been sucked dry after he had turned fourteen years old, along with probably three-quarters of his sanity. Now, he was practically a shriveled up carcass on the ground. Woefully pathetic, if he borrows old man Madara's dictionary.

His chest became heavier at the reminder of his mentor; constantly cranky, the definition of supercilious, and stronger than every single one of them, yet dead because of Obito. Just like Rin. The same could be said about Kakashi. Obito had even used his own two hands to cause the death of the remaining Bijuu and Team 7 because of this ridiculous time travel plan of theirs, yet he foolishly wasted their sacrifice by not inputting the correct dimensional coordination-

He immediately cut off that particular train of thought as soon as he feels the familiar sting in his eyes, stubbornly refusing to give in to the temptation to bawl his eyes out (he was supposed to be escaping reality, not reinforcing it). His bones begin to feel as cold as his heart, but he stubbornly refuses to reach out to the warmth at his back. His entire soul was crying out for some kind of comfort, but he stubbornly refuses to allow the pleas to leave the tip of his tongue. However, he couldn't quite hold in the whimper from escaping his lips.

Those warm fingers, which had been a steady presence on his bicep, soon turn into warm arms, one placed under his shoulder blades and the other hooked underneath his knees. He allows himself to be carried like a pathetic genin, but he stubbornly refuses to speak despite Hikaku's persistence in calling his name.

Slowly, he could feel himself succumbing to a state of catatonia.

When he was close, oh so close to escaping this wretched reality and completely shut down, he suddenly feels an icy chill, one that caused goosebumps to appear on his skin, cutting deep into his chest. It made him want to howl like a wounded wolf, complain to some kind of higher power, and throw a massive tantrum that would make his mentor proud. Why was the wound below his left collarbone acting up at a time like this?! Despite the oddly soothing sensation the chill was causing, he wanted it gone!

He snarls and moves to bury his face into his gloved hands, expression full of deranged madness as insanity edged into his eyes, flicking crimson once in a while and draining his pathetic reserves before he realizes it. Laughter slipped out from his lips ever so often, along with tiny hiccoughs, and even when Obito tries to cover them by gnawing on his wrist, they still escaped.

Disappointing.

What kind of shinobi couldn't even control his own emotions? Couldn't control his own body? Couldn't control his own Bloodline Limit from spazzing like no tomorrow? Truly, this only enforced deeper in his mind that Uchiha Obito should've died a long time ago. The world didn't need a useless 'hero' like him, whose plans have a tendency to collapse inwards.

"... athe, Obito... Breathe..." Hikaku's voice suddenly sliced through his muddled mind like a sharpened Kunai through flesh. Obito jerks violently at that, as if he was just reminded of Hikaku's presence. It only made him loathe himself more at having lost his composure in front of a stranger.

Angry at himself for being such a wimpy loser, he directed all those pent up emotions to light a fire under his arse. He shouldn't be so easily discouraged. At least, even if he had entered the wrong dimensional coordinates, he still managed to travel backwards in time.

Although he couldn't guarantee that his friends would have better childhoods, preventing the resurrection of Kaguya and sealing Zetsu was an inevitable part of his quest. He just needs to continue reminding himself of that. He could do this. Mental instability was not important in the face of Zetsu's suffering and demise. He could do this. He just needs to persistently remember that, give himself a mantra of some kind to fall back into. He could do this.

'For the sake of agonizing Zetsu.' This would be his sweet and short mantra from now on whenever he wavers in his resolve or deters from his goal.

Yes. that would do.

Alright.

Moving on.

He immediately cuts off the chakra pathways of his eyes and measures how much oil was left in his tank. Unfortunately, it seems he was back to near empty, albeit more than the state of when he met Hikaku. Great. Just great... Let's avoid having a mental breakdown ever again. Un. He can't stand being deprived of chakra. If his Sharingan continues flaring without his say so, he would, undoubtedly, remain crippled forever. And that was too scary a notion.

Okay, it was time to seriously consider everything.

The first agenda on his to-do list would be to stabilize his emotions, second was compartmentalization, and third, a firm resolve to never again show any signs of weakness in front of others. After all, he was in an unknown time and place, so he can't afford to leave himself free for grabs. After he recovers enough chakra to enter his private dimension, he could properly deal with his emotions by having a proper sob session on his lonesome. Until then, he would be strong and prioritize recovery.

With that said, he slaps his cheeks a couple of times to regain his composure and glares heatedly at Hikaku to cover up the embarrassment he feels at breaking down, hissing like a disgruntled cat, "OI, Bakaku! Don't you fucking dare act so familiar with me, it's disgusting. And put me the fuck down already! Tsk, the audacity of some people...- What are you waiting for?! Bitch, don't make me say it twice!" If looks could cause lethal damage, Hikaku would already be dead on the ground, drenched in a pool of blood.

Hikaku, suddenly tagged as Bakaku (Baka+Hikaku) and called a bitch by a disgruntled Obito, showed a strained smile, baffled by how bipolar the older Uchiha was behaving, yet inwardly relieved that the gloomy mood was over, replaced by the usual grouchy temperament.

Without any warnings, he obeys and releases the white-haired Uchiha, secretly pleased when Obito howls a string of curse words when he landed on his ass on the ground. Ah, music to one's ears. Hikaku, as gentle and patient as he was to his clansmen, was petty and vengeful like any other Uchiha, even towards the injured. 

---

---

 

Tobirama feels suffocated. Not physically, but mentally.

Without even the slightest of changes in his expression, he discreetly loosens his obi to allow more room for his feverish skin to breathe. Despite the cool room temperature, heat permeates the surface of his skin, leaving him agitated and grumpy. He just wants this meeting to be over and done with so he could take a relaxing dip in the pond-turned-pool. Since it was only the beginnings of winter, he should still be fine (his brother's idea of a fun winter activity has at least brought the benefit of cold resistance into his arsenal).

Feeling slightly better after having made plans to skinny-dip, he tunes back his brother's voice, just in time to hear Hashirama's loud advocation to peace with the Uchihas, as well as his ideas for the future, which weren't all that bad if Tobirama was being honest. If his brother's proposals ever manage to see the light of day, Tobirama would only need to tweak about forty percent of the contents to make them pragmatic.

An advantageous example to approving Hashirama's need to ally with the Uchiha would be that they would gain inimitable resources, allowing their clan to accept missions that would have been too 'unique' for the average Senju to succeed without injuries, but uncomplicated for the average Uchiha, as their clans have different specialties that coincidentally align and cover the other's weaknesses. This would then bring forth a rise in the clan's income, resulting in an improved day to day living... as well as an increase of funds allocated to Tobirama for the sole purpose of research (he has plenty of ideas on how to improve and standardise their hygiene and health as a whole, but the materials required for his 'indoor plumbing' experiment needed more than what was currently allocated. The Accounting Division was truly too paranoid in regards to Tobirama's experiments. It wasn't as if all of them would explode, only half would).

Perhaps he should take some time off one day to educate and teach Hashirama on how to properly argue for his cause whilst presenting rationales that would leave his oppositions speechless in the face of sound logic?

... forget it. Knowing his brother, Hashirama would fall asleep the second Tobirama opens his mouth to explain anything concerning diplomacy.

With a silent sigh, he mentally prepares himself to pointlessly sit in for at least another hour in this meeting, courtesy of the disgruntled Council of Elders; their need to complain and rebuke everything and anything that would bring forth a dynamic lifestyle and better economy always giving him a headache.

The elders, as per usual, didn't fail to pull down his already poor opinions of them. If it were not for how childish his actions might seem, he would've mouthed, word for word, what each and every elder said in rebuttal to Hashirama's proposal. They were that predictable, and as a Senju himself, he was embarrassed to admit that his clan's current elders were no better than a tape recording.

Now that the two sides have started their monthly verbal war of what should or should not be done in the name of duty and tradition, Tobirama boldly brings out the scrolls that needed to be attended to and started working on them, idly keeping an ear open just in case anything important props up, as unlikely as it was.

Slowly, he gets into the ritualistic and relaxing movements of checking through the paperwork his subordinates have handed in for his second opinion, audits, or approval, amongst the few. 

(... Overview of supplies and provisions for this month, check. Designated couriers selected to deliver rations to the frontlines and outposts, check and approved. Overview, resupplies, and maintenance of weapons and armor, check. An inane mission to babysit a noble's daughter and her boytoy from destination A to destination B, rejected, crumpled into a ball, and tossed into the trash pile. Propositions to attain more materials, approved, send out the usual squads. A standard mission to assassinate a merchant that has employed a squad of Uchiha bodyguards, on hold, further investigation required on the individual members of the squad. A missive from the daimyo; requesting for the Senju clan head's attendance to a banquet, on hold, all diplomatic assignments require Hashirama's personal approval. An after-report of Touka's retrieval mission, nothing amiss, check. An emergency clandestine meeting requested by their regular Hagoromo informant, too suspicious, on hold till further investigation. Request for more medical personal in the frontlines, most names of listed candidates changed, approved. List of newly deceased...)

And just like that, time flew by in a much more productive way. Tobirama didn't even need to speak in the last part of the meeting, his brother more than enough to fend for himself. After half a day, the meeting finally came to an end with the same result as all of the past meetings did; with nil changes or improvements.

Hashirama has his lips pursed in dissatisfaction whilst the elders looked ready to go into cardiac arrest from anger induced hypertension. Tobirama dispassionately notes to spike their tea with more stimulants the next time, seeing that a single dose did not work as intended.

(Once their fragile hearts fail or falter under the strain of old age, Tobirama could warrant the need to replace the current Council members, appealing that they retire to look after their health better whilst also kindly providing them medicinal rewards in return for their long services. This sort of pressure would leave them with no choice but to accept his advice for retirement lest they be called shameless for taking advantage of his kindness. Ultimately, pride will always be the downfall for those that care too much about reputation. Followed by their inconspicuous retiral, he would immediately start to petition for fairer laws to pass through without traditions and bias compromising the judgment of the Council. One of the laws he desperately wanted to pass was for an Elder's seat to be changed every five years, lest stagnation remains.)

After gathering up his belongings, Tobirama announced his departure with his usual aloofness, not minding at all when they, apart from Hashirama, ignored him. He was used to it; to their distaste of him as a person due to his appearance. They would listen to him when the time calls for it due to his genius intellect, but he knows that they secretly wished he was drowned at birth. He also knows that the only reason they allowed him to continue being the clan's heir and attend the monthly Council meetings was due to Hashirama. His brother had insisted, quite loudly, that Tobirama keep his position. 

The council of elders had initially wanted his young nephew to be the Senju heir, rather than their residential white-haired, red-eyed freak, but Hashirama refuses to strain his child any further by putting unnecessary weight on those small shoulders. Tobirama approves of his brother's decision and thus did not refute, silently agreeing to hold the fort until his nephew was at least in his teenage years. 

With only a cool glance towards the elders, he easily buries the discomfort and self-consciousness he feels towards his appearance and bows to Hashirama, the only one deserving of his respect, and leaves without another word. Behind him, his keen sense of hearing allowed for him to pick up the discontented mutterings following his wake, and his brother's angry retaliation to those mutterings. He ignores them, more irritated by the heat than anything else.

After dropping off his things, he makes his way to the pond. As soon as he arrived at his destination, he reaches to peels off the yukata from his flushed skin, but pauses midway in consideration after recalling the rather unpleasant name currently branded on his chest. Not wanting the reminder to further ruin his mood, he quickly enters the waters without disrobing, sighing in relief when the heat finally dissipates, the cold penetrating deep into his bones. The sun rays, too, felt perfect on his skin, contrasting amazingly with the cooling temperature of the water. If he were a cat, he would be purring contentedly right now.  

Just as he was about to start meditating, the suffocating feeling returned with a vengeance, causing him to scowl, immensely vexed. This time, however, it did not spread away from his chest, the heavy feeling pulsing in a way that imitates a heartbeat. As if enthralled, he couldn't help but slip a hand into his yukata, palm pressed against the soul script below his left collarbone. It absorbed the chill from his hand as if starved, heating the appendage as if it was a heater pack. 

Tobirama's scowl did not lessen at this discovery. Rather, it deepened.

Yet, despite the aggravation he feels at having an Uchiha's name marked permanently on his skin, he did not stop his movements, constantly switching hands whenever they turned too warm from the exposure of the soul script.

How stifling.

---

 

---

At the Uchiha compound, a parakeet was navigating through the maze-like halls of the main family's mansion, only stopping to hover outside a sliding door once it senses the familiar chakra of its target inside.

The messenger bird cawed twice and waited patiently. It didn't take long for the occupant to shuffle over and allowed entry for the green feathered parakeet. Once the door slid open, the summoned animal landed directly onto the offered forearm. 

Uchiha Izuna retrieves a scroll from the tiny capsule strapped to the bird's right leg. After he rewards the parakeet with a handful of sunflower seeds, he unrolls the bit size scroll and reads it carefully.

The expression on his face, usually a smirk, became warped as he rereads it again, slower the second time.

When he finally slips the scroll into the sleeve of his yukata, his crimson Sharingan eyes were in clear disbelief - even his palms had become clammy! Without delay, he sends the parakeet off and forces himself to saunter to his brother's office. Although his insides were a mess of never-ending questions, an air of obvious frivolity was thick around him as he kept his body language and poker face in check, smirking nonchalantly at passing retainers and guards as per his norm behavior, not wanting to alert them of anything amiss. 

Madara has so much to explain if what was written on the scroll is proven to be true!

 

Notes:

Hm. I've got it. I know who to pair Madara with. The future looks mighty chaotic for him ◥(ฅº￦ºฅ)◤

Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter ღゝ◡╹)ノ! 

Chapter 7

Izuna, after a few seconds of lock picking, slams the wooden door open and swaggers into his brother's office, making sure to activate the privacy seal as soon as he entered, footing the door shut as an afterthought.

"Aniki -"

He cut himself short, however, when he sees the dumbfounded expression currently on Madara's face. Utterly idiotic, even, with his eyes wide open and his jaw agape. In the Uchiha clan head's hands was a letter, crumpled at the edges, with how fiercely his brother was holding them in front of his face.

Because Izuna was a little shit, he made sure to capture his brother's hilarious expression with his Sharingan. Fun memories for depressing times. With that done, he childishly puffs out his chest and calls for his brother again, gleefully yelling louder this time around.

"ANIKI~! Pick your jaw up before you attract flies."

Madara startles, head snapping up as his expression changes into something akin to being caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar. A few heartbeats pass as Madara composes himself, glaring at the intruder.

"Does it not register in that empty head of yours that when I lock my doors, it means I desire space and time alone?"

"Nope~" Izuna singsonged. "Lock doors just tempt me further. Like coaxing a beautiful lady to shed all her secrets."

Madara glowers, "Careful there, Izuna. You know the sayings - curiosity kills the cat."

Izuna smirks, voice sweet as honey as he retorts, "But satisfaction brought it back. Honestly, aniki. We've been through this a million times."

Madara clicks his tongue, a sneer curling the corner of his lips, "One day, I swear I will instill the concept of privacy into you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever." He swats the air as if he was physically swatting away Madara's empty promise. "Who sent you that letter, anyway? Is it a love letter? Let me see?"

Madara looks highly judging as he slaps Izuna's grabby hands away. "You are hopeless." The older Uchiha sighs despairingly, which only made Izuna blow him a raspberry.

"Glad to see that you've finally caught up. Now, tell me! The suspense is killing me," Izuna whined childishly whilst tugging at his brother's sleeve. All Madara did was roll his eyes harder. Which, ru~de.

"It's from Hashirama."

"Huh? Why'd he write to you? Or rather, why didn't you burn it immediately?!" Izuna has his hands on his hips as he glowers at the letter still in Madara's hand.

"I was curious."

Izuna jeers, "Hypocrite."

Madara snaps back, looking down his nose at Izuna, "Shut up! Besides, be glad that I succumbed and read it. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have known that he was coming."

"Who's coming?"

"Hashirama."

"Eh?" Was Izuna's intellectual response. Madara, again, looks highly judging. The asshole.

"He's coming here with an entourage of Senju, ready to talk about a cease-fire," his brother grumbles, arms crossed.

"Ehhh? Is he crazy?! No, wait. Even if he is, Butsuma will never agree to that!"

Madara deadpans, "Butsuma's dead."

Izuna couldn't help his reaction. He exclaimed his shock, really loudly, "EHHHHHH?!"

Madara murmurs, a thoughtful frown on his face, "... my thoughts exactly, but more eloquent."

The two Uchiha brothers were paranoid by nature. Despite how Izuna (cause clearly, Madara was too much of a sentimental fool) wants nothing but death to all Senju, Butsuma couldn't be underestimated on and off the battlefield. If Izuna grew a heart to invite Butsuma to compete for the title of 'who is the more paranoid shinobi', Butsuma would win hands down.

"Good riddance and all that, but how'd the bastard die?" Izuna wonders out loud, a touch gleeful. "Was it accidental or deliberate? I hope it was painful." There were a lot of ways to determine a clan's standing by the death of their leader. If a revolt had happened, it would be the prime opportunity for them to raid the Senju compound and put an end to the Senju name once and for all.

"From a heart attack."

"Maji de?!" That was unexpected, was left unsaid.

Madara, proving himself to be some kind of mindreader when the situation calls for it, nods along, his response as dry as Kaze no Kuni's desert, "Maji."

"Hoòh... Who would've thought... I seriously can only picture that old warmonger dying in battle. Maybe Hashirama finally made the bastard so angry his heart gave out on him? One could only hope that was the case. When did this happen, anyway?"

"You and me both, Izuna. From what I discerned, he died a week ago. Hashirama is now the Senju clan head, and he's not giving me enough time to reject him."

"Reject...?" Izuna squints suspiciously, the familiar wave of brotherly protectiveness rising from his chest. "He didn't send you a love letter, right? I'm telling you, aniki, there's No Way In Hell will I ever accept a Senju for a brother-in-law! He's not good enough for you!"

"Fuck off, idiot! How many times do I have to show you that Hashirama and I are NOT soulmates?! We're not even friends anymore! Why are you like this?!" Madara massages his temples with a grimace. "The blubbering fool sent me a heads up."

"There are various ways to conceal a soulmark -" Izuna stops (rightfully) insisting as soon as he sees Madara eyeing a paperweight as if to contemplate bludgeoning him with it. "Umm... I mean, what do you mean by 'reject', exactly?"

"Hmph! The letter arrived yesterday morning, but because I was being cautious, I delayed reading it. It's more of a heads up than to ask for permission, so he'll be here any time soon!"

Displeased, Izuna grumbles petulantly, "So? Just deny them entry into our compound. Say that our dog ate the letter and tell them to sod off. Or better yet, we set an ambush. Fuck Hashirama. Fuck all Senju."

"We can't!" Madara whines (not that he would exactly admit to whining) whilst tugging at his hair in an attempt to calm down. He fails. He begins pacing not a moment later. "That's the problem, Izuna! If we attack the Senju when they're wearing a sashimono with the Peace Symbol on it, other shinobi clans will gossip about how barbaric we are to not uphold the unspoken rules imposed since the time of our forefathers! All the shinobi clans in Hi no Kuni have a tacit understanding that the Peace Symbol is only used as a means to communicate - like how we have reached a consensus about not shooting the messenger! Future alliances will be impossible to attain if we ignore those fucking laws!"

"What the fuck?... What. The. Fuck?! Fucking politics!" Izuna cussed, looking downright manic in his distraught.

"Precisely! This is why you shouldn't have napped in all those 'how-to-be-a-politically-savvy-clan-heir' lessons," Madara growls, scrambling to don his leather gloves as he strides to the door. "Unfortunately, I currently don't have the time to lecture you about your poor life choices. Help me prepare, Izuna. We're gonna have a shit time assuring the masses that the Senju ain't here to raid us."

Even after being reprimanded, Izuna was still doubtful. Madara might be foolish enough to believe that Hashirama was being sincere in his peace offerings, but Izuna, ever paranoid Izuna, would never let his guard down. He would protect his brother from any kind of deception.

"Are you just going to trust Hashirama that this isn't a trap set by Tobirama? This is probably a scheme of sorts, a ruse to make us drop our guards." Izuna's sudden question halts Madara in his tracks. The slow, almost hesitant shrug enough of an answer.

"... You go and bring Hikaku up to speed. I'll talk to the elders."

"Hikaku's out on a mission," he dismisses without a pause. "This is dumb. We should at least try and find a loophole-"

But Madara wasn't having it.

"Then go inform the next in line after Hikaku! Damn it, Izuna, just listen to me for once without backtalking!"

Izuna purses his lips in apparent displeasure but assents after a moment of stilted silence.

His agenda was left forgotten as they both rushed to prepare for the inevitable tension that would befall upon the arrival of the Senju delegation. If Izuna had passed his message to Madara as he had intended, perhaps Madara would have prioritized differently.

Alas, he did not.

Hikaku's arrival with a white-haired Uchiha in tow was completely unexpected to all but Izuna, much to the frustration of those who were involved.

Chapter 8

Summary:

Hikaku and Obito sure get along.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty!" Hikaku chirped.

Judging by how dark it still was, Obito guestimates it was ass o'clock right now, and he did not want or need to be awake at this time. Obito mumbled a half-hearted curse word, far too groggy to be coherent or polite (not that he ever was, mind).

"Let's start the day extra early, Obito. We should reach home by noon if we move now."

"No. Sleep. Fuck off," was his muffled response. He even made sure to stubbornly roll away from the other Uchiha to prove a point. There was a slight discomfort from his wounds at his action, but Obito had worst to give a crap.

"Turn that frown upside down. It's a beautiful day to get things done!"

"No."

"I knew you'd see it my way. Now, let's get a move on!"

"Five more minutes..."

"Re~jected."

Groaning at being pulled to his feet, Obito yawned whilst batting Hikaku's hands away. The sun was just peeking across the horizon and it made Obito's dislike for morning people heighten. Nobody should be awake at a time like this, especially someone who was still recovering from chakra exhaustion and deep stab wounds.

"This is why you're Bakaku," Obito dragged his feet sullenly as he followed behind the younger Uchiha.

This forest path they were traversing on wasn't exactly fit for civilians, mind, but it was better than being out in the open. Obito wasn't in any condition to jump from tree to tree, and he'd rather bite his own tongue than be carried by Hikaku again. Thus, they compromised (with a lot of swearing and tantrum-throwing on Obito's part).

Hikaku peered over his shoulder with a confused expression. "What even is a bakaku? I've heard you use that twice now." 

"An idiot," Obito sneered, "which you obviously are if you don't even know that."

The other Uchiha turned to face him whilst walking backward. He smiled patiently and so painfully fond."Honestly, Obito. We may be friends-"

Obito bristled and was quick to deny with as much venom as he could muster, "Friends?! Who says we are friends?! Don't make shit up!"

"But on what grounds do you deem that a suitable nickname for me? I would prefer a diminutive," Hikaku continued smoothly as if there hadn't been any interruption.

"Tch, that's not a fucking nickname, dipshit! It's an insult! An insult! Be insulted, dammit!" He shrieked, completely unaware that his arms had been flailing around ridiculously.

"You're right. I'd say it's an 'affectionate term' rather than a nickname..." Rather than be annoyed as any normal person would, Hikaku spoke as if he was mulling aloud. However, Obito could clearly see the teasing glint in those black eyes of his. Hikaku definitely has a talent for raising his blood pressure, that was for sure.

"... Do the world a favor and drop dead!" He puffed out his cheek grumpily with crossed arms.

"I'd have to refuse. Too many dependant souls to look after, I'm afraid. I can't, in due consideration, abandon them." Hikaku was even looking innocently at Obito as if he was one of those dependant souls. The gall of some people!

"You- You- You bastard! Just wait, Bakaku! Once my chakra recovers, I'll skin you alive and piss on your fucking grave!" Obito shrieked in rage, which only further elevates Hikaku's mood.

"Language."

"... are you dicking with me? Did you seriously just chid me for the way I talk? No, wait. I don't care. Either suck it or suck my dick."

"Sorry, I don't swing that way."

Spluttering, Obito choked out, "Neither do I! I didn't mean it in that way!"

"In what way?" Hikaku blinked in an act of innocence.

"... Just go die already."

"I refuse~"

"Ugh..."

Their bickering continued through breakfast (an outdated version of a ration bar that had an indescribable taste) and faltered only when Hikaku's eyes narrowed in wariness. Obito was quick to put up his guard despite acting otherwise. It wasn't wise to alert the enemy.

Obito, due to his condition, was unable to mould his chakra to sense if they were being surrounded or if an unidentified person/group was simply passing by. Obito wasn't a happy camper - especially at the fact that he would be dead-weight in a fight.

His fellow Uchiha, he noticed, was discreetly signing at him. However, probably due to them being born in different generations, he could only interpret half of what Hikaku signed despite the common use of Uchiha sign language.

'Enemy' and 'surrounded' were recognized. That hand sign Hikaku had deliberately made by forming a fist and pretending to play-punch him during their bantering, however, Obito was utterly clueless as to what the fuck that meant. And, for obvious reasons (one, he wasn't telling anybody he was a dimensional hopping time-traveler, two, enemies present, and three, it was too damn embarrassing), Obito could only feign his understanding.

Great, not only was he dead-weight, he was an incompetent dead-weight. Madara would be disgusted if he were here. That old man hated weakness more than he hated Tobirama's guts, and that was saying something since Madara used the latter's name as an insult, most of the time.

"Anija wait-!"

A dreadfully familiar voice rang out, sounding hurried and annoyed, a second before someone dropped right in front of the two Uchihas. Obito already had a kunai ready in hand whilst Hikaku had drawn his sword.

"Hi~ Are you guys just returning from a mission? What a coincidence!"

Obito's lone eye widened, ever so slightly, at the sight of Senju fucking Hashirama, smiling as if he was greeting old friends. Before he could even process the man's presence (and what that signified), Obito was pushed roughly against the bark of a tree with Hikaku's back pressed firmly against his chest.

Oof!

That fucking hurt, he inwardly snarled as his eye unconsciously closed due to the blinding pain. He forced himself to react no further than a shaky exhale and squinted his uncovered eye open to keep his sight firmly on the enemy from over his cous- clansman's shoulder.

Obito could feel that the stitches he had painfully redone (twice!) had torn open upon impact, and he wasn't too pleased to note that he was bleeding yet again. Great, at this rate, when was his skin ever going to heal? Repeatedly stitching the same injured site wasn't something recommended.

"State your business in Uchiha land, Senju!" Hikaku, for the first time since meeting him, snarled with metaphorical poison dripping out his tongue. If looks could kill (which they technically could), Senjua Hashirama would be dead ten times over with the dizzy rate Hikaku's 3-tomoe Sharingan eyes were spinning.

"Hahaha..." Hashirama laughed sheepishly with a hand on his nape, studiously avoided looking into Hikaku's eyes. "No need for hostilities, friend. We've come in peace."

Glaring harder, Hikaku only raised his sword higher in response. His clansman didn't appear to trust the future Shodai Hokage's words, which was understandable if this timeline held true. Obito didn't blame him. It was suspicious to see a Senju in Uchiha land during these warring times, unless in an... ambush.

"With ten other of your soldiers surrounding us? Even a civilian would not be gullible enough to trust those words."

Damn. If what Hikaku said was true, it would be 1v11. They wouldn't make it out alive if this had been Tobirama rather than Hashirama. Obito was more trusting of Hashirama's words since he knows that this particular Senju wanted peace more than anything else in the world and wouldn't even hesitate to sacrifice his life to achieve that.

Now, if only he knew how to convey that into words that would allow Hikaku to talk amicably with Hashirama without resorting to bloodshed. Though even if he did, he doubts that Hikaku would actually listen. This was called the Era of Warring Clans for a reason.

With the exception of Hashirama (and possibly younger-Madara?), everyone hated and was distrustful of anyone that wasn't their own clan's people, Hikaku was no different.

Trust was not easy to come for these people who had been born in such an unfortunate era. Hell, even after Konoha had been formed, people still had trouble trusting others! Look at what Konoha had done to their founding clans out of fear; one died out and the other annihilated.

Hashirama faltered at Hikaku's words. The former appeared to be pondering over how to de-escalate the situation whilst the latter was hellbent on murder.

"Well," Hashirama began, his tone calm as he waved a hand at Obito's general direction. "To begin with, I can see that one of you is hurt. As you said, with the eleven of us here, we can subdue the two of you with minimal fatalities. However, we aren't here to... set an ambush upon you. No, our destination is the Uchiha compound. We are preparing to negotiate a cease-fire, and soon, a peace treaty. As a sign of good faith, I can help. Honorable elder, I am a healer and can mend your wound if you'd allow me to."

A cease-fire, huh.

That must mean that Madara's brother has already fallen to Tobirama's blade. There went one of his plans. But hey, he could work with that. At least, he was able to figure out 'when' he had time-traveled to. On the other hand, Obito was, reluctantly, impressed by the Senju's de-escalation technique.

Hashirama sure had a glib tongue. Obito hadn't believed his senile grandfather back then when old man Madara had complained ceaselessly about how Hashirama's gullible act constantly deceived others, but from what he could see right now, his words had a semblance of truth in it. Despite knowing it was a type of manipulative persuasion, it sure was tempting to get his wounds healed by a competent healer. However, Obito wasn't one to show his weakness to strangers if he could help it-

Wait a second.

Honorable elder?

Was Hashirama, perhaps, referring to Obito when he said that?

(Brain: processing words, please hold)

...

..

.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING AN OLD CABBAGE?!" Obito howled, snarling as he tried to get by Hikaku, who was panicky trying to stop his advances by leaning harder on him. "I DARE YOU TO FUCKING REPEAT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING WORDS YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I'll bloody sear your tongue and scalp you alive! Have you bloody not seen a young person with white fucking hair before?! ARGH, this pisses me off so bad! MOVE, cousin! Let me at him! Imma beat that bastard into an unrecognizable bloody pulp if that's the last thing I'll ever fucking do!"

Sure, the eyepatch was covering most of his un-scarred side. However, even with his grotesque scars, how could he be mistaken for a clan ELDER?! They were stubborn, opinionated, and far too past their expiry date! Fuck, Obito was beyond infuriated!

Shodai Hokage? Hah! Konoha?! HMPH! Someone else could buddy with Madara to form that village! Right now, Obito was on a warpath. He wanted nothing more than to skewer Hashirama with his roots! But, fortunately for the Senju and unfortunately for Obito, he didn't have chakra to spare. Hence, he made do by spitting insults and cursed words from behind Hikaku (who still wasn't allowing him to leave his back, the nerve!).

"I'll kick your ass so fucking hard your vertebrae will pop out your mouth one by one like a pez dispenser and then shove an entire kokyū up your ass as a replacement! How am I an old man, HUH?! Is your brain so far into the ground that your chucklefucks of a clan need to bring rusted spoons to dig it up?! Shit, I'm so fucking pissed! Even JASHIN must be crying over the fact that your parents threw dirt at each other from across their tents and flashed their stupid selves to indicate they really wanted to make a stupid, insufferable shit of a baby together-"

"C-Calm down!" Hikaku tried.

Obito couldn't help it, he whined, cheeks puffed out in displeasure. "But he addressed me funny! He has something against white hair, Hikaku! He's making fun of me! I can't rest until I see him get eaten by a cat, who gets eaten by Jashin, who gets eaten by the fucking Shinigami!"

"... I don't think he has anything against white hair-"

"But he called me old!"

"His brother has white hair-"

"I don't care! He called me fucking senile!" Obito continued to screech.

"... He didn't actually say that," Hikaku gave a weary smile.

"Why are you defending him?! You're supposed to be on my side!" Obito wanted so badly to shake his clansman until his head was screwed on right.

"... Be good..." Hikaku coaxed as if one would do to a particularly naughty child.

"Oh, now you're treating me like a kid? I see how it is."

"That's not it-" Hikaku tried to deny. Tried, being the keyword.

"Whatever, I ain't hearing it. Fuck, I'm surrounded by assholes-"

Obito cut himself off when he tasted blood at the back of his throat. Before he even realized it, he had coughed a mouthful of blood. Ugh, he could feel leftover blood clots still in his mouth. He sneered as he spat them out, making sure to do so in Hashirama's direction (he was petty like that).

Hikaku paled and hurriedly allowed him to step away from the tree, finally giving him some much-needed breathing room. His wounds were starting to ache unbearably. Without having noticed, Hikaku's clothed back had been drenched by his blood. Obito almost found it funny, if not for that flare of annoyance creeping upon him.

"Fuck. Nothing can salvage this mess. Bloodstains are such a pain to deal with," he clicked his tongue in irritation as he touched the front of his clothed chest. This was actually his favorite top, too!

"Obito you-" Hikaku whispered harshly, his voice full of dread and worry. Obito raised a brow at the younger Uchiha's expression and words, so soft he had to strain to hear his name be called. Hikaku was a shade paler than him, the one who was actually bleeding out.

"Please, calm down, Uchiha-san. You're going to aggravate your wound otherwise. I sincerely apologize for mistaking you for an elderly person. It was an honest mistake."

Startled, Obito turned to Hashirama. The Senju had a face of concern(?), which was somewhat funny in this situation. Obito had just, kindly, cursed the man to oblivion, but he still showed kindness. Ah, no wonder he had many loyal followers. Obito could never be like him.

"Tsk. 'Tis but a scratch," he waved the concern away and said with no room for negotiation. "We're leaving. If you really want to show a sign of good faith, then fuck off, Senju Hashirama. My cous- clansman here is gonna get an aneurysm if you stay any longer." And look, he was already twitching. Though that might have something to do with Obito's deteriorating condition. Might have lost too much blood there. He really needed to staunch his wounds and redo the stitches.

"... Apologies, but I can't do that."

Obito crossed his arms in exasperation. "And why the fuck not?"

"Because if you don't get that treated soon, you'll die from blood loss," Hashirama responded as if it was obvious.

"A fair assessment." Obito nodded... and promptly tilted to one side as his knees buckled.

---

Tobirama didn't know why he did it, but he uncharacteristically left his position to catch the wounded Uchiha just as the latter was about to fall.

Hikaku immediately had a sword to his throat, a huge wave of killing intent aimed solely at him. His clansmen, within a split second, dropped from the trees to surround the Uchiha and defend their clan's heir. Only Hashirama was calm, his eyes clinical as he assessed the situation.

The unknown, white-haired Uchiha immediately struggled to break free from his hold, which was a futile attempt as he was too weak to shake Tobirama off.

Tobirama remained cautious and avoided looking into the white-haired Uchiha's eye while he took the man's features in. The Uchiha's facial features, from what he could see, were eerily similar to Madara's. If he were to put them side to side, they could even pass off as twins. Even the way their hair spiked was the same.

Apart from the hair colour, hair length, facial scars, and height (they were at eye level while Madara was slightly shorter), Tobirama would have suspected this to be Madara in disguise if not for the difference in chakra signature.

"The fuck are you looking at?" The white-haired Uchiha snarled, teeth bared. "I'll gouge your eyes out with my fucking teeth if I have to!" 

Tobirama paid special mind to keep the Uchiha's mouth away from his face in future meetings, just in case. With a snort, more to show his distaste for the Uchiha's language and threats than anything else, Tobirama moved his sight until they landed on his brother.

"How do you wish to proceed, anija?"

It took a while but, "Bring him to me," Hashirama finally said.

Hikaku reacted by pressing his blade harder against Tobirama's throat, which managed to draw a line of blood before his guards removed the Uchiha from his person.

While Uchiha Hikaku was a superb warrior, he was exhausted and only one person.

Hikaku was held tightly down by their guards after a quick 1v9 scuffle. The Uchiha was snarling, eerie Sharingan eyes glowing with murderous intent as he spat threats that involved Madara, the clan head himself, hunting them down if he ever dared to hurt the Uchiha in his arms (who was oddly docile).

Hmm...

The white-haired Uchiha must be close to the members of the main house, or someone important to their clan, to have garnered such a reaction. If they weren't acting as a delegation for a cease-fire, Tobirama would have liked to capture him for interrogation or negotiation purposes.

How unfortunate.

While the two Uchiha continued to bark (one was screaming threats while the other profanities), Tobirama handed the struggling Uchiha to his brother, relieved to gain some distance from such a vulgar person.

Despite this unexpected roadblock and Hashirama's desire to heal an enemy in a problematic location, Tobirama dutifully kept his senses open for ambushes or Uchiha patrols. They were far too deep into Uchiha territory to safely do this without being misunderstood.

Notes:

Obito: *continues to shout profanities that could make even a sailor blush*
Tobirama: "A feral and vulgar Uchiha, why am I not surprised?"

Chapter 9

Notes:

Chapter warning: Unreliable narrator. Everyone's panicking. Mentions of an identity crisis.

Madara stood outside the gigantic gates of his clan's compound, arms crossed and features set in an intimidating scowl. Izuna was to his right, the smirk never once leaving his lips even as his feet shuffled occasionally, a sign Madara knew to be restlessness and impatience.

His younger brother, Madara had to admit, has an incredible and almost unbreakable poker face, but his feet tend to betray him. Being motionless was something Izuna never grew into, always on the move and quick to act – it was one flaw Madara tended to exploit during their sporadic sibling spats.

After the rest of his clan members have been aptly informed about their most anticipated guests, the mood plummeted with trepidation. The 'honourable' elders desired an ambush despite knowing better, and instead of working together to plan contingencies for emergencies, Madara wasted a lot of time tearing them a new one.

The screaming match was one of the louder ones, and even Izuna joined in, though thankfully to back him up rather than add fuel to the already raging inferno. Madara truly needed to get those old geezers replaced soon, they were getting too old, too set in their ways, and far too senile. Their priorities differed too greatly from his, and the safety of the clan seemed second to their goal of 'death to all Senju'.

The civilians at least knew to follow protocol and refrained from rioting. They hid in their houses, locked doors and windows, and kept the children from leaving the safety of their homes. Guards were paired in twos stationed all over the rooftops, whilst patrols were done in a seemingly random schedule, all of them armed to the teeth and ready for war. They were under orders to remain on the defensive, and they knew to prioritize their clanmates' safety.

Once the Senju arrive, the guards would alternate their sharingan. Whilst one guard would rest and save their chakra reserves for a potential fight, their partner would keep theirs activated. That way, no genjutsu could befall them and no enemy could take them by surprise. Their guests would undoubtedly feel uncomfortable with so many sharingan eyes boring into them, and it might even be considered rude, but Madara was not taking any risk.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

Balanced on the top of watchtowers and crouched atop the walls that surrounded their home were more guards, their position giving them the advantage of high ground. It was an intimidating sight for any non-Uchiha to see, and Madara felt pride swell from his chest. Teamwork and cooperation have always been something the Uchiha were renowned for. During missions, the only ones that performed solo were Madara, Izuna, and Hikaku. The rest would always be in teams of three, or two the least.

Some of them appeared dishevelled and have bloodstains on their garment and skin, but that was to be expected. They had been suddenly recalled from their missions and had not had the time to rest or change, but they did not hesitate to return to protect their home. More were still on their way, and whilst a minority could not leave or delay their mission due to how important the clients were, their notes conveyed their regret and prayers.

Madara was fortunate that his contract summons were falcons, the speedsters of the sky – they were not compatible to battle with him strength-wise, but they were proficient messengers. Their speed, which exceeded even the fastest shinobi alive, allowed for him to recall his forces with swiftness, and many have arrived before the Senju delegation have.

"Can you sense them yet, aniki?" Izuna asked, impatience thick in his tone.

Madara's eyebrows pinched harder at Izuna's question, and he answered, for what seemed to be the nth time, in an equally impatient tone. Though his frustration was directed more towards his younger brother than the Senju. "No, Izuna. I will inform you once they have breached my senses. Now shut up and let me do my job."

As skilled of a sensor Madara was, his range did not cover the entirety of their territory, nor could his chakra sense reach the Senju territory despite Izuna's wishes. The Uchiha territory was massive, with sub-villages spread all about. As much as Izuna teased him for being a monster in human skin, he was not inhumane enough to sense that far out. Only a true monster could do that.

It took another hour (and ten more of Izuna's maddening enquiries) before twelve familiar chakra signatures entered his radar, and two of them he knew intimately well – Hashirama and the White Demon, the head and heir of the Senju clan, respectively. Hashirama's chakra was monstrous as usual, a beacon for any sensor, and Tobirama's chakra was as colourless as the person himself, unique amongst his clan and something that stood out more than his brother's at times. Not in quantity, but distinctiveness.

Sighing, he raised a fist with his thumb enveloped by his fingers (ironically ineffective in combat) and punched it towards the direction of where he sensed the Senjus were. It was a deliberate gesture that meant, 'Senju that way', something all Uchiha knew by heart, even the civilians.

One of his oldest contract summoning, an albino peregrine falcon he named Bito after his dead older brother, opened his wings and disappeared into the compound to pass along his message to the rest of the guards and patrols. Bito returned to perch atop the gates' lintel in under five minutes, proving himself as Madara's most dependable summon yet again.

Resuming his crossed armed stance, Madara closed his eyes and kept his chakra senses trained on the twelve Senju in his territory. His forehead wrinkled when he sensed them slowing, and his muscles tensed when he felt them close in to Hikaku's exhausted chakra signature. There was another signature, a familiar and familial one that he could not place but pulled at his gut, that he would have missed if he had not been so focused. It was weak, flickering, and worn; a sign of chakra exhaustion.

Madara snapped his eyes open, nostrils flared.

"Aniki? What's wrong?" Izuna was perceptive as usual, smirk gone and replaced by a grim expression. He was probably imagining worst-case scenarios in his head.

Madara's lips pursed.

He pondered, unsure if he should voice his concern or if he was just being overly paranoid. Hashirama might have sensed Hikaku and… whoever it was with him (he did not recall sending someone else with Hikaku on the mission- no focus, now was not the time), and decided to offer to heal their injuries, as the naïve oaf was prone to doing. It might not be anything nefarious-

"Katana, now!" Madara suddenly barked. One of his men obediently threw a katana at him, and after he snatched it mid-air, he shot toward the direction of his older cousin. "Izuna, with me!"

Izuna was at his heels in an instant, katana drawn and ready for battle.

Madara was furious, chakra emitting waves of killing intent and warning. From what he was sensing, nine Senjus had pinned Hikaku to the ground after a brief melee. His older cousin's chakra was full of fury, desperation, and fear, pushing for him to get there faster. Tobirama was holding the unknown Uchiha, and he did not want to find out what the White Demon was planning. Hashirama's chakra was calm, and Madara had to contain the betrayal he felt when Tobirama neared his older brother, hostage still in hand.

"Twelve Senjus in total. Nine have Hikaku subdued, one's hidden at the treetops, and the White Demon has another of our clansman captured."

Izuna snarled, fury matching his. "Fucking Senju!"

Madara silently agreed.

Perhaps he should have listened to Izuna when his little brother whispered about a trap. However, now was not a suitable time to ponder about past bad decisions. Madara compartmentalized; he could think about the consequences of his actions later. He needed to prioritize his older cousin's safety first.

---

Obito has always been defiant in the worst ways possible. Kakashi and old man Madara could attest to that. As a child, he was wilful, emotive, and ignorant. As a teenager, he was loud, reckless, and obstinate. As an adult, he was powerful, manipulative, and unyielding.

He was an emotional kid, a determined teenager, and a broken man. He flips from one extreme to another in the snap of a finger, unsure of his personality and identity at times. Was he Obito; Kakashi's teammate, a crybaby obsessed with orange, and a fool in love with Rin? Was he Tobi; old man Madara's stooge, disciple, and family all rolled into one hot mess? Or was he Madara; leader of Akatsuki, a megalomaniac, and a wannabe saviour of the world?

On lonely days, where the depression and solitude hit the hardest, he would ask Zetsu, who am I? And every time, the being would scoff, impatient and aggravated, and tell him he was Obito if unmasked, Tobi if he wore his orange mask and Akatsuki robes, and Madara when he donned the purple mantle. Eventually, he stopped asking.

Naruto was the one who gave him his identity back, the one who glued him together, the one who assured him time and time again that he was Uchiha Obito, Kakashi's hero, Sasuke and old man Madara's family member, Rin's childhood friend, Sakura and Naruto's friend, and an enemy of Zetsu and Kaguya.

On lonely days, when the tension and confusion hit the hardest and he felt so, so lost, he would ask Naruto, who am I? And every time, the Uzumaki would grin, full of sunshine and sincerity, and tell him he was Obito. Just Obito. He would nod, agree he was Obito, and move on. He did not ask anyone else, trusted no one else with his identity crisis and vulnerability – not after old man Madara, who caused it, and not after Zetsu, who trampled all over it.

Therefore, trust did not come easy to him, even if he knew about Hashirama's kind nature and desire to make peace with the Uchiha.

When he was handed to Hashirama by the albino, he bared his teeth and resisted treatment with the bullheadedness of a rampaging Biju. Obito was not weak and would never show weakness to anyone, never. Old man Madara would have been proud.

His threshing, although feeble, was a nuisance. If he read Hashirama's expression clearly, even the saintly Senju was beginning to lose his patience. Obito tried hard now to show how pleased he was when Tobirama's eyes narrowed further in contempt.

"Please, you've lost too much blood. Any more and it will be fatal. I ask that you sit still, just until I close your wounds," Hashirama tried again, pleading, almost. His face was far too close for Obito's liking, and he hated how vulnerable he felt with Tobirama towering over his seated form. He also felt light-headed and his wounds stung.

Obito sneered, yet again slapping those hands away from his chest. Hashirama persisted in trying to remove his mantle, and Obito was not having it. "How about you ask your men to release Hikaku first… and then I'll think about it." Not really. He was never going to strip in front of them, period, not with how grotesque the right side of his body was.

Hashirama's eyes pinched, looking troubled. He seemed unwilling before determination took over his manly features. "Alright. But you'll have to let me heal you afterwards."

The other Senjus turned to their second-in-command, clearly hesitant to obey, and they only complied when the Senju in question waved for them to do so, much to Obito's amusement. Their behaviour gave the impression that they trusted Tobirama's rational decision more than Hashirama's emotional one.

Hikaku appeared angry and indignant when he was released, violently shrugging off the hands that remained too close to him and pushing to his feet to move closer to Obito, though not close enough to the Senju brothers. He was wary, not that Obito could blame him.

"Can I treat your wounds now, Uchiha-san?" Hashirama asked with a smile, hands already reaching for Obito's top.

He took Hashirama's extending wrists into his gloved palms, holding them away from him with a scowl. "I said I'll think about it."

Obito heard an annoyed sigh from above him, and that was all the warning he received before Tobirama was on him. The Senju forcefully manoeuvred him to lay flat on his back, wrists restrained in one hand above his head and a kunai in the other. It was a vulnerable position that left all his vital organs exposed. Obito could feel his hackles rise.

He snarled, Hikaku not far behind but was once again subdued by the remaining Senjus when he lunged at the albino with the intention to kill. They even gagged him whilst pushing his cheek against the grassy ground. The two Uchihas were rabid, loathing their own powerlessness.

"Anija, they're nearing," Tobirama stated hastily. He was straddled above Obito, and he positioned the kunai to the Uchiha's chest. All Obito could see was the man's red eyes and apathetic expression. The Senju's grip was cold and unforgiving.

"Tobirama?!" Hashirama shrieked, flailing.

"Either I restrain his movements and cut his top, or I knock him-"

"How about neither?!" Obito snapped, cutting Tobirama off. His struggles grew more desperate when primal fear coursed through his veins. He could feel his right eye strain with the need to turn red in his despair. He didn't want his body to be seen. "Don't you fucking dare touch me you piece of shit!"

Hashirama wavered, disliking how distressed and crazed the white-haired Uchiha sounded. In the end, however, the Senju nodded. He had to be firm in cases like this. "Okay, remove his top. With how much blood has been lost, Uchiha-san does not seem to be in the right mind to consent."

"LIKE HELL I AM NOT! I DON'T CONSENT TO THIS!" Full of terror and on the verge of a breakdown, his lone eye instinctively sought comfort. It landed on Hikaku, who was looking back at him with spinning sharingan eyes full of support and assurance. "Hi-Hikaku-" he sobbed. Stop them, he wanted to scream. Don't let them do this, he wanted to bawl. Get them away from me, he wanted to beg.

He couldn't breathe.

Tobirama was touching him. He was cutting his shirt. He was going to see all the grotesque scars on his body. He was going to see the artificial flesh that disgusted him so much. Obito sobbed harder. He wanted old man Madara and his harsh and cruel assurances-

He couldn't breathe.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, SENJU SCUM?!"

And then Tobirama was off him.

Obito didn't think, didn't look, didn't question. He immediately scrambled away, hiding behind the nearest tree and huddling into himself in self-comfort, as if that would protect him in any way. His breathing was shallow and harsh, and white spots danced under his lids.

He couldn't breathe.

He had his arms over his head and tears in his eyes. His knees were curled into his chest, uncaring of how the position pulled at the wound on his abdomen. There was yelling and shouting, all indistinguishable from how loud the ringing in his ears sounded.

He couldn't breathe.

---

"Wait, Madara! It's a misunderstanding!" The Senju head yelled whilst dodging the fiery large fireball fired from the Uchiha head. Tobirama had only just picked himself off the ground, head bleeding, before he had to sidestep a wind cutter thrown by Madara.

The Uchiha brothers were not having it. They know what they saw. And what they saw fueled their rage with an inferno of bloodlust. The White Demon was straddling their clansman, garment already halfway torn by his kunai as the Uchiha underneath him screamed bloody murder about not giving consent.

They imagined the worst.

Izuna was feral as he fought off the remaining Senjus, and Hikaku, who had somewhen freed himself during the confusion, was quick to join in the skirmish.

All Madara could feel right now was disgust at the two Senju brothers, nauseated that they would dare to touch his clansman like that in Uchiha territory. Under his nose, with their subordinates watching. Especially Hashirama; how dare he betray Madara's trust like this?!

Just as Madara raised his hands to perform katon: great fire annihilation, Hashirama yelled, desperate, "Madara, NO! Your clansman is severely injured and in need of healing! If you fire any more jutsus, you'll hurt him! He's too wounded to protect himself! Ask Hikaku! Please!"

The battlefield fell into an abrupt silence at his loud declaration. The three Uchihas dared not continue at the risk of injuring one of their own, whilst the Senjus retreated to Hashirama's back, with Tobirama next to his brother, a scowl on his bloodstained features.

Madara sensed Izuna appear to his right and Hikaku his left. He turned to the latter. "Is what he said true?" He demanded.

Hikaku gave the Senjus a dirty look whilst nodding. "Yes. I need to- I'll be back."

His temper cooled at Hikaku's response, but he curled his hand around his older cousin's bicep, grip unyielding in his concern. "Are you hurt?"

At Hikaku's confusion, Madara gestured to his back, where the cloth stuck to his skin due to the hefty amount of blood on it. Rather than nod, his older cousin shook his head with a grimace that showed his worry. "No, Madara. This isn't mine. It's Obito's."

When Hikaku said that name, Madara felt like someone had sucker-punched him in the gut.

"Obito?" "Obito?!"

Two voices overlapped, yelling the same name. Madara's tone was full of disbelief and scepticism whilst Hashirama's was high-pitched and squeaky.

"Yes. Obito. You… didn't receive my message?" This time, it was Hikaku who seemed sceptical.

"Ah…"

At Izuna's guilty sound, Madara turned to him with fire in his eyes. "Ah? What do you mean by, ah? Is there something I should know?"

Izuna started to sweat as he fumbled for an excuse. He was too prideful to tell them he forgot. But, yeah. He forgot about Hikaku's note, which was still in his pocket.

"I will leave the explanation to Izuna. I need to calm Obito before he panics and depletes his chakra further by activating his sharingan." Throwing one last glare at both Hashirama and Tobirama (who was paler than usual, but that may have been a trick of the light), Hikaku snarled. "I'd rather you leave. Obito does not need scum like you near him."

Turning on his heels, Hikaku approached the tree 'Obito' hid behind and crouched, whispering words that were too soft for their ears to hear.

Madara's heart was beating a mile a minute. He didn't know what to feel. Hopeful? Suspicious? Longing? Hateful? His emotions were a mess. His Obito, his older brother, was long dead; killed in action with not even his corpse intact, buried underneath a shinobi-made rockslide. There was no way that could be Obito. But what if…?

Madara wrenched his eyes away from Hikaku's crouched figure and focused on Izuna. "Give me the note," he demanded, voice even and commanding despite his inner turmoil.

Fortunately, his little brother obediently did so. He glared at the Senju, daring them with his eyes to move a muscle, and carefully read the words written in Hikaku's neat script. On the note was a short report about encountering a white-haired Uchiha he suspects was Obito, Madara's long-dead older brother. Their appearance matched, their age matched, their birthday matched, and the only discrepancy was his personality. But that could be the result of growing up outside the clan.

Madara crumpled the note.

"Give me one good reason why I should not kill you where you stand, Hashirama." If this truly was Obito, Hashirama and the White Demon would pay dearly for harming his precious older brother. He would not blindly believe the note without launching an investigation first, of course. But he was already so full of regrets; he did not want to add another into his long collection.

Hashirama flailed. "It's all a misunderstanding, Madara! I was trying to heal him, but he has lost so much blood that you have to understand that. I needed to look at his wound to treat them, and he was making his injuries worst by moving around so much. He should be delirious by how much blood he has lost, and is in no state of mind to consent to a medical examination and treatment."

"Then you should have asked Hikaku if he truly is delirious," Madara hissed, angered yet concerned. "How bad are his wounds?"

"On the scale of 1 to 10? I'd say 6 or 7. I can't accurately tell unless I see them with my own eyes." Hashirama suddenly drooped, apologetic. "I'm truly sorry for causing him such distress. It was never my intention to hurt him. I only wanted to heal his injuries."

Madara exhaled harshly whilst running a hand through his hair. Hashirama was sincere, that he knew. There wasn't a deceitful bone in his body, and Madara felt like an ass to have doubted him. However, he was still dissatisfied with how Hashirama and his subordinates had treated both Hikaku and Obito(?).

Before he could say anything else to the Senju head, Hikaku waved at Madara, a worried frown on his face.

"Izuna, watch them."

"Yes, aniki."

Giving the Senjus yet another warning glare, Madara approached Hikaku and crouched next to him. He extended his neck to peer behind the tree. White and red greeted his sight, and Madara had to remember to keep breathing.

His older brother's hair was white, an oddity for an Uchiha. The person who was huddled into a ball has white hair and spiked in the same way he did. Without realizing it, he called out, soft and full of longing, "Nii-san? Obito-niisan?"

The older Uchiha raised his head, and Madara had to hold back a gasp at the painful-looking scars on the right side of his face and the bloodstained eyepatch covering his left eye. Obito looked a mess, his lone eye blank and unfocused.

Madara breathed in all of Obito's features, desperate as he compared them to the thirteen-year-old version of his brother. It was a match. Madara knew he looked like his older brother, and this man looked like him. How a middle-aged man could still appear this young, Madara didn't know, and he didn't care. This was his older brother, alive, and that was all that mattered. He trusted his instinct.

Before he could call him again, Obito's bloodstained lips part, "Madara?"

Madara's breath hitched. Yes, his gut told him, this was his older brother.

Notes:

Thank you all for your support! I was super happy to receive such positive feedback from all of you last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed this one.
Comments are appreciated and they fill me with DETERMINATION (｀*ω*´ )o

Chapter 10

Notes:

Chapter Warning(s): More misunderstandings. Obito state of mind being ???. Brief and subtle hints of Stockholm syndrome and toxic relationships.

Obito had long registered the muffled sounds and foreign presences. Yet, despite how that little voice in the back of his head kept screaming for him to get up –it’s not safe here, move, move, move, movemovEMOVE– his body refused to cooperate.

His limbs felt as if there were weights tied to them, and he felt despair clog at his throat, preventing him from breathing properly. He felt as if he was re-experiencing the horrors of thirteen-year-old-freshly-traumatized Obito all over again. And as much as he tried, he could not get enough oxygen into his lungs, his eyes seeing nothing and everything simultaneously.

The memories of his past kept looping in his brain; of him waking up in a dimly lit underground cavern with a missing arm and eye, confused and fearful; of him looking at his reflection for the first time since that incident and realizing how deformed he had become, half-bleached and unnatural; and of how powerless he felt as others gazed at him as if he were a freak, as if the whole world had turned on him and the only way to fix it was to envelop everything with Infinite Tsukuyomi and make it all right again.

Madara, the voice in his mind suddenly switched at the remembrance of Infinite Tsukuyomi, its tone full of dependency and desperation, where’s old man Madara? Did he leave, too? Why? No, he can’t leave, not yet, not after Rin, everyone already left him, please not MadarabringhimbackbringhimbackmustbrINGHIMBACK-

“-san? Obito-n…san-”

Obito’s fingers twitched.

Every fibre in his body screamed for him to grab ahold of that painfully familiar voice and chakra signature, one he had not heard and felt for so long. His ears were muffled with white noise, his brain not registering what had been spoken, but that voice – he recognized that voice. Desperation pushed through until he was able to lift his head and stare dazedly ahead.

The image of old man Madara, tangled long mane and bloodstained war armour, overlapped the man kneeling in front of him.

“Madara?” His voice was raspy and wet. There was wariness and confusion in his tone as if he were not quite present. Not quite there. 

“Yeah.” Old man Madara responded, even nodding, and as if that had been the magic word, Obito felt his system be overloaded with adrenaline, spurring him to reach out as if he were grasping for his lifeline.

When he managed to seize the front of old man Madara’s garment (which was plain suicidal, yes, he knows!), he almost sobbed at the physical contact. “You’re real… you’re real you’re real you’re real I’m not hallucinating I’m not going crazy I’m sorry I’m sorryiwastooslowandyouhadtopaythepriceformyweaknessand–“ he started to blabber in his relief, uncaring as tears of pure relief ran down his cheeks.

He knew it! He knew that old man Madara was too stubborn and too selfish to sacrifice his life for another person. Thank the Sage for that. Now Obito did not have to feel the all-consuming guilt of being too fucking weak.

Uchiha Madara was the strongest out of all of them, and even Kaguya would hesitate to face him 1 on 1. He must have used Izanagi – it would not be the first time this crafty old fox managed to fool everyone. He had probably waited until now to reveal himself because he wanted to punish Obito for being weak. Yes, punish him, beat him, suffocate him... Just don't leave him. 

With how shattered his state of mind was, Obito was unaware of how insane he appeared, clinging desperately onto Madara and muttering incomprehensive words that would have gotten him into trouble if his sentences were coherently strung.

Fortunately for Obito, he possessed the luck of the devil. They excused his word-vomit, presuming him delirious due to the combination of the lack of blood in his head and the panic attack he was experiencing.

---

---

Madara took Obito’s garbled words as a sign to call forth Hashirama’s healing services.

He turned his narrow-eyed gaze towards the delegation of Senjus (who were whispering amongst themselves) standing a few feet away, and idly pried the fingers off his garment whilst stating distractedly, “We need to get your wounds treated. Hashirama will–“

Madara had to cut himself off when his older brother growled and latched onto his forearm, harder, which made him turn with a frown, only to see a terrified expression emerging on the older Uchiha’s features. Madara had a difficult time swallowing when that expression, full of desperation and plea, was directed at him... As if Madara was the only thing keeping him sane. 

It was completely unlike him, but he forced his expression to turn gentle. Rather than insist, Madara softened his voice and soothingly switched his phrasing, even going as far as to repeatedly use the name ‘Obito’ as that seemed to help. “There’s no need to give me that look, Obito-niisan, I am not going anywhere. That’s it, breathe with me… Good, good job. Now, I do not wish for Obito-niisan to bleed out; allow me to patch Obito-niisan’s wounds?”

Obito blinked his lone, visible eye once, twice, before he frowned as if confused. Despite his older age, Obito looked so damn young and lost, which pulled at all of Madara’s war-torn heartstrings and almost made him melt into a puddle of goo. Both his brothers were just so darn cute (and yes, even Izuna had his moments).

“Why? Just share your chakra with me. Like last time. Remember?”

Madara had to pause at that.

Whilst their clan did have a tradition of sharing chakra amongst themselves to prevent chakra exhaustion on the field or boost chakra regeneration whilst recovering (hence why Uchiha never do solo missions), he has never heard of it being able to close weeping wounds before.

Sure, he remembered the time when he was just a tiny thing and clumsily bumped into Obito, thus injuring the latter during kunai training. Five-year-old Madara had been devastated and cried loudly, thinking that Obito was going to die with all the blood leaking out from his forearm. His younger-self only stopped sobbing when a flustered thirteen-year-old Obito comforted him by telling him to share his chakra. He complied and was in awe when Obito sprang right up and declared boisterously that he had been completely healed.

Chakra sharing, obviously, did not work that way. It was just something his older brother did whilst trying to comfort a younger, more naïve Madara. This made him wonder if Obito was still disorientated and was seeing the five-year-old version of him in place of the current him, as the last time they saw each other was roughly then.

Rather than argue, he indulged his (mentally unwell, by the looks of it) brother. Madara believed that once Obito’s childish request has been fulfilled, he would be calm enough to accept Hashirama’s treatment. Hence, Madara tactfully agreed and slowly poured his chakra into the empty pit that was Obito’s chakra reservoir.

A few moments and a tenth of his chakra later, Madara was starting to wonder when Obito would ask him to stop. Overdosing on chakra gave a certain high that many juveniles enjoyed, but it was detrimental since it could potentially ruin one’s coils in the long run. Madara’s chakra reserves were massive, and a tenth of it could be considered a big amount for the average shinobi.

When two-tenths of his chakra was emptied into Obito and he still has not yet been told to stop, Madara began to sincerely worry. Was Obito trying to get chakra high? No, only uneducated juveniles would intentionally pull that kind of crap. Madara decided to give Obito the benefit of the doubt. It was either Obito was severely overestimating his reserves or Madara was underestimating his.

It took a few more moments before he heard Obito sigh in relief and tap lightly on his forearm, an indication for him to stop, which Madara gladly obliged. He was inwardly sweating since a quarter of his chakra had been shared, and he would rather leave it at that since he did not trust that White Demon to behave during their ‘peace talks’.

Just as Madara was about to wave Hashirama over, he saw the unimaginable. The scratches on Obito’s right cheek let off steam before they disappeared within seconds, which boggled him into gaping with his eyes wide open. Very soon, wisps of steam could be seen emitting from Obito’s left shoulder and back, which Madara assumed meant his wounds had healed.

Madara could feel Hikaku’s confusion and bewilderment even without trading looks.

What the hell was this? And why did this healing… technique(?)… remind Madara so much of Hashirama’s instant regeneration when the latter was in Sage Mode?

---

---

Using old man Madara’s chakra to jumpstart his own, he could feel the Hashirama cells in his body activate and begin to heal him at an immeasurable rate.

Obito finally felt more like himself now, and by the end of the hour, he would have completely recovered his full strength.

After much reluctance, he released the grip on old man Madara’s forearm. His eyes remained shut as he counted backwards from ten. He knew that his wounds had to have been bad for him to hallucinate his dead mentor back to life. It was probably Sasuke who had shared chakra with him and when he opened his eyes, the younger Uchiha would have an expression that was judging his sanity.

Obito did not want to return to reality just yet. He wanted to pretend that he was still with old man Madara; that the older Uchiha was still alive and kicking – probably annoyed at him for daring to pretend to sleep in his presence. The thought made his lips twitch into a small smile, one full of sadness and longing.

“Sorry. I just need a moment,” he rasped. A moment to compartmentalize and lock away those intense emotions burning under his eyelids. Obito was already crazy enough without having to add visual hallucinations to the list.

“Mind if I take a look at him now, Madara?”

Obito snapped his head up, eyes wide open, at the familiar voice that asked such a question to a person he had assumed was all in his head.

Knelt in front of him, in a far outdated attire, was indeed Uchiha Madara. The man who had asked that question was… Hashirama? What? On instinct, his sharingan flared to life… and no, he was not trapped in an illusion. And clearly, they were not resurrected by Tobirama’s forbidden technique.

It was then that Obito remembered his time-travelling situation. “… Madara?” he murmured, half in disbelief and half in horror.

The man who looked like a younger version of the Madara he knew nodded slowly in confirmation to his half question half guess, and whilst he remained devoid of expression, Obito has been with old man Madara for far too long to not be able to look past it. There was worry in his eyes and a hint of… anger?

“Oh,” Obito breathed out. Whether it was an exclamation or a comment, he did not know. He just felt… numb... for the lack of better wording. “Oh,” was all he could repeat since he knew he had fucked up. Big time.

And no, pun fully not intended, Bakashi, shut up.

Notes:

I hope this chapter has been an enjoyable read! I love tormenting Obito so much <3 Favourite punching bag yes~! Life has been hectic (and will continue to be that way what with the house and family upgrades, the horror), but I'll do my best to try to have fewer lapses in between updates ᵔᴥᵔ.

Chapter 11

Summary:

Obito doesn't like being spoken to as if he were a dumb child

Notes:

Chapter warnings: mentions of abuse, body dysmorphia, and defo ptsd.

Not wanting to be towered over whilst in such a vulnerable state, Obito pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Hikaku’s worried words cautioning him not to strain.

He was fine.

But Madara still had that angry look in his eyes.

It made Obito drop his gaze, unable to maintain it. Younger or not, unfamiliar or not—it didn’t matter. To him, Uchiha Madara’s glare carried the same weight.

His muscles coiled instinctively, bracing for impact, a reflex carved deep from the years under Old Man Madara’s volatile tutelage. His temper had been like wildfire—sometimes at nothing, sometimes at everything. And Obito had learned the hard way that staring back when the flames burned was an invitation to get scorched.

The scars he bore were reminders enough of those disciplinary sessions carved long before his regenerative abilities came into play.

He drew in a slow breath, held it, then let it bleed out through his teeth. Again. And again.

The itch to vanish into Kamui tugged sharply in his gut, but he knew better. That would only make things worse. He needed to calm the fuck down and start plotting.

Compartmentalize, Old Man Madara had always sneered whenever Obito was found crying. Rip it out, strangle it dead, and bury it so deep no one can dig it up. Tears are nothing but wasted breath and proof of your weakness. 

“Obito?” Hikaku’s voice cut through those tense memories, cautious but steady.

It gave him the excuse to look up.

Not immediately, of course—he wasn’t suicidal. Not right now, at least. 

He waited, heartbeat after heartbeat, to make sure this younger Madara didn’t explode, and only when the silence held did he allow his gaze to shift to Hikaku’s expectant face.

“How are your wounds?” Hikaku asked, tone mild, like he was afraid of setting Obito off.  

Obito allowed his gloved right hand to brush idly against his blood-soaked chest. “Fine,” he muttered, unconcerned. “I heal fast.”

A Sasuke-lookalike (but with long hair tied low) snorted, arms crossing, but didn’t comment. From the corner of his eye, Obito caught Madara’s expression; flat and unflickering, yet heavy as if he was assessing and measuring his worth.

The back of his neck prickled. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

He gritted his teeth, “What?”

Hikaku hesitated, but before he could continue worrying, another voice spoke from next to Madara, forcing Obito to masterfully bypass the clan head’s gaze without making it too obvious.

“If I may,” a much younger Hashirama said, stepping forward, eyes lit with determination, “I could run a diagnostic jutsu. It would be quick—and it may put your clanmates at ease.”

Obito’s eye twitched.

After blatantly disregarding his earlier wishes to be left the hell alone, did this idiot genuinely think he’d consent to being prodded?

His hand drifted up from his chest, clenching the split on his collar where Tobirama’s kunai had managed to cut.

Bastard.

The exposed skin felt unbearably bare without his usual high guard, and he dearly hoped the mantle’s high collar held enough to prevent the bleached artificial flesh on the right side of his neck from being seen.

After a tense beat, Obito forced his arm to drop. Holding it there too long might prove counterproductive, as it could draw more attention to it.

“Yeah, no fucking way,” he bit out. “Last thing I need is your chakra rooting around my insides. Hard pass.”

Hashirama didn’t flinch at his harsh tone. His expression stayed maddeningly calm, though his eyes sharpened with that stubborn light Obito was beginning to fucking hate.

“You’ve been badly injured,” the Senju pressed, tone patient in a way that grated. As if he were speaking to someone unreasonable or dumb. “Even if you heal fast, strain can reopen wounds. I don’t intend to pry further—only to ensure that your condition won’t worsen. It would take only a moment.”

Obito barked a laugh that came out closer to a snarl.

Renowned for his caring nature, was he? That didn’t mean shit after the stunt he’d let his brother pull. Both bastards better sleep with one eye open once Obito was back to full strength, lest they lose them to his teeth.

“Listen, tree-hugger, I already said no. You don’t get to disregard my bodily autonomy just because you’re feeling charitably noble.” The entitlement this version of Hashirama exuded was disgusting. Was he spoiled as a child or what? 

Hashirama’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t back down. In fact, he took another step forward, blatant in his quest to discard Obito’s words. “It isn’t only about you. If you collapse again in the middle of—”

Obito felt the growl before it left his throat, low and primitive; a learned response that mirrored his Hatake teammate’s wild nature from the many fights they had growing up. His patience was running thin.  

Pressure built hot behind his eyes, and red bled into his vision as he locked onto the Senju clan head. He hated it—hated that his words were being ignored and deemed worthless, hated that he had to snarl just to be heard.

The building grievances he felt were becoming too much too soon, and it unmade his compartmentalized instability.

Rationality and calculation flew out the window, and the dam broke with reckless abandon.

His Killing Intent surged cold and sharp, a ripple of pure loathing that made the very air heavy with malice.

Listen to me! Why won’t you LISTEN to me?! His inner voice seemed to scream, temple throbbing. 

Uchiha feet remained steady. Senju flinched.

“Piss. Off.” His voice was guttural, expression feral, “Take one step closer and I’ll tear your fucking throat out.” He bared his sharpened canines, a modification he’d long put to good use during his early missing-nin years. “Don’t test me.”

There was a shift in the air. Obito could taste it in the way Senju hands twitched toward weapons.

But before the tension could escalate into true violence, Madara tsked and brought a gloved hand up and against Hashirama’s chest. His presence held an authority that demanded obedience, and a single movement was enough to silence any further action.

“That’s enough,” Madara commanded, voice low but cutting through the charged air like steel. His dark eyes were locked onto Obito’s, unwavering, then flicked to the man next to him. “He said no. That is final, Hashirama.”

Obito exhaled a slow, shuddering breath, letting the edge in his limbs dull slightly.

His teeth remained bared, but the pressure behind his eye lessened. He still bristled, still hated that he needed someone to step in, but the malice that nearly turned the room to carnage receded.

The Sasuke-lookalike moved closer, shoulder almost brushing Obito’s, a united front despite being strangers. His approving nod was small but unmistakable. “If he wanted it otherwise, he’d have said so himself. Back off, Senju.”

Hashirama’s shoulders remained tense, but an apologetic look soon began to slowly creep onto his face. And after what felt like eternity, he finally inclined his head—a gesture both respectful and acquiescent—as the atmosphere slowly began to settle.

Obito threw one last glare at Hashirama, then lowered his gaze to the floor, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Finally, you listened,” he whispered, voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

He was oblivious to Tobirama’s scowl at his despondent words.

---

---

---

The Sasuke-lookalike led the way; his steps unhesitant and full of confidence as he ran through the forest with practiced ease.

Obito’s freshly healed body felt sluggish after the emotional roller-coaster from earlier, but he stubbornly forced himself to dissociate with those unneeded feelings and force rationality to the forefront of his mind.  

Hikaku ran next to him, his steps precise and muted, and careful to match his pace. Obito tried to ignore the way the younger man’s attention lingered on him, and how he seemed to anticipate every subtle shift in Obito’s posture.

Mother-hen, he thought silently in distaste, all the while deliberately ignoring the warmth that seemed to spread across his chest at the man’s attentiveness.

Madara—unfortunately for Obito’s growing paranoia—brought up the rear, onyx eyes scanning the surroundings and occasionally locking onto him with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. It was creepy and completely unnecessary.

…Although, in the privacy of his mind, he had to admit he was no better.

Obito couldn’t resist drilling tiny, impossible-to-ignore holes into the Sasuke-lookalike’s back with each step; his curiosity gnawed at him.

Who was this person, and why the hell did he look so much like Sasuke? The resemblance was uncanny, and it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Obito allowed his gaze to switch over his shoulder, giving a brief reprieve to the man ahead of him.   

He could make out barely visible human silhouettes; dark shapes against the faint light, stiff and out of place, like animals on unfamiliar ground.

The Senju were compliant enough, maintaining the distance Madara had demanded. Too distrustful to travel shoulder to shoulder—even when they shared the same destination. Not that Obito grieved at that; he'd rather distance himself from the Senju head whenever possible. 

Hashirama wore his dismay openly, a flare of dramatic despondency that seemed almost comical against the simmering tension.

When the trees began to thin, Obito caught his first glimpse of the Uchiha clan compound—one that had stood long before Konoha was ever built, and long before its eventual destruction.

He had heard stories of it as a youngling, could remember the way old man Madara's smooth baritone washed over his head as he leaned heavily against the old Uchiha's side, starry-eyed and full of awe. But now, as his gaze traced the looming walls and the many watchful sharingan eyes that peered back at him, an uneasy sense of foreboding coiled in his chest.

They’re on alert because of the Senju delegates, he realized belatedly, his own pair of sharingan eyes taking in the unnerving sight.

There were Uchiha-nins perched everywhere. Some even looked worse for wear with their bloodstained mantles and armor, but their faces were sculpted like ice, glacial as their piercing sharingan orbs moved from his group to the Senju’s when the latter approached closer. 

Obito returned to observing the compound itself, allowing his eyes to trace every nook and cranny. It didn't match the picture old man Madara's word had induced upon his younger self's imagination. 

High, reinforced walls of dark stone rose like unyielding barriers, and watchtowers punctuated the perimeter at regular intervals. The main gates were massive, iron-bound, and towering.

Even from this distance, Obito could see the intricate carvings etched into the ancient wood, symbols of the clan’s power and history.

The air itself seemed heavy, weighted by vigilance, tradition, and the unspoken warning that only those who belonged could step beyond these walls safely.

The gates soon yawned open at the Sasuke-lookalike’s signal, their iron weight groaning on ancient hinges.

For a moment, Obito almost expected to be stopped, detained, and killed.

(Kin-slayer, whispered the mournful voices in his head.)

Instead, nobody batted an eye as he was allowed passage—only for memories to rear their ugly heads, crystalline due to the sharingan’s perfect recall.

Pale, Uchiha-esque features. Black hair and eyes. Chakra signatures that felt like hearth and home.

They overlapped with clear images of cold bodies covered in blood, with a full moon that shone brightly overhead.

Obito’s skin prickled. Every instinct in him screamed that he didn’t belong here. 

His hands trembled within the hidden confines of his wide sleeves. 

He’d fought battlefields full of enemies with nothing but a blood-crazed grin and immense gratification at the blood on his tongue, but this… Obito couldn’t help but swallow down the dread that seemed to claw at his throat. 

Compartmentalize . Rip it out. Strangle it dead. Bury it deep.

He inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled, his eyes were stable, controlled. The calm returned; his mind now sharp and clinical. Later, he could deal with those emotions later.

Prioritize the mission. 

At least the journey here had given him plenty of time to plan a plausible backstory.

Again, unintended pun, Bakashi, shut up.

Notes:

welp. that was hard. obito really was a pain to write in this chapter. many back and forths...
anyway hope you guys enjoyed the read! its been a few years so if you notice any holes please tell me so i can fix it. cheers.

also can anyone take a guess why hashirama is so obsess with 'healing' obito this chapter? virtual cookies to anyone who guesses it correctly! and virtual cream biscuits to anyone who tries ;D

Chapter 12

Summary:

Obito hates surprises.

Obito blinked—once, twice—his head tilting.

The bundle of clothes and towels weighed heavily in his arms, and the faint scent of sandalwood clung to the fabric like something almost foreign. His gloved fingers tightened unconsciously around the stack, perplexed.

Suspicion soon flickered in his visible eye as he studied Hikaku, but beneath it swelled something muted he didn’t want to name, pressing tight against his ribs and muddying the simple act of standing still.

When he had gone along with the three Uchiha men, Obito had braced for the worst; the possibility of a brutal interrogation the instant he crossed the threshold.

Yet, reality proved disarmingly different.

Madara and the Sasuke-lookalike had stridden off with the Senju delegates the minute they regrouped, whilst Hikaku quietly steered him elsewhere, away from Hashirama’s non-blinking and eerie stare.

A dungeon, he had expected. A cell. Restraints. Chakra seals burning against flesh to keep him pliant, and eyes bound for good measure to keep him docile. Torture for information.

Not that he’d allow them to treat him as such. He wouldn’t have stayed, wouldn’t have given them the chance. He would’ve drenched his body in the blood of his kin, yet again, and saved the world from the madness that was the Uchiha clan. Or die trying.

Instead, Obito was left adrift in the silence between expectations and reality, the absence of chains unsettling in its own right. He was brought to Hikaku’s home, shepherded to the bathroom, and given clean clothes—as if Hikaku, with his clan head’s agreement, wanted him comfortable.

What the actual fuck?

The lack of hostility pressed tighter against his nerves than shackles ever could, leaving him straining for danger that refused to materialize.

He felt wrong-footed, as if the world itself was skewed.

Sure, his features and cursed eyes marked him as kin, but that alone proved nothing. He had yet to offer them a realistic backstory with a shit ton of omittance to justify his presence. Because, no matter his appearance, in this timeline, he could be the result of bloodline theft and given orders to infiltrate their ranks.  

And yet…

Paranoia licked at the edges of his thoughts. The lack of hostility, the domesticity of it all… everything felt calculated—too much, too soon, that even a genin would sense that something was off.

Surely, they were only humouring him, just waiting until he let his guard slip. Surely, wariness simmered behind their every glance, analyzing his every movement, and waiting for the precise moment he slipped and revealed his true allegiance.

The absence of questions felt less like mercy and more like a trap with teeth hidden in the dark. Even the faint scent of sandalwood from the towels in his arms seemed too sweet, too deliberate, as if someone had perfumed the air to mask the danger lurking beneath.

Surely, the era of warring clans wasn’t meant to be this… naïve? Foolish? Trusting?

“I’ll get dinner started,” Hikaku’s warm voice drew him back to the present. “Feel free to use the bath and anything else in there; take your time getting clean, Obito. You smell… pretty feral,” he added, chirpy.

Obito was already nodding as soon as the word ‘bath’ was mentioned. The idea of a hot bath sounded heavenly right now—… Wait a fucking minute.

Obito paused, the seconds stretching like taffy before the insult landed. His face immediately twitched, sharp irritation sparking, and he squawked, “The fuck you mean by feral, Bakaku?!” He jabbed a finger at the younger man’s chest. “I don’t appreciate your words, brat!”

Hikaku raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’m just saying what I smell. Sorry if I hurt your delicate feelings.”

“Delicate feelings?!” he shrieked, affronted. Uchiha Obito, former leader of the world’s worst terrorist group, delicate?! Perish such thoughts! “You little shit! Cousin or not, I swear I’ll bite your—”

Obito suddenly stopped short after registering that Hikaku was far too amused, with eyes full of mirth. His hands gripped the towel bundle a little tighter, the faint scent of sandalwood now mingling annoyingly with the rustiness of his blood-soaked mantle.

This bastard’s teasing me! He realized.

He let out a short, frustrated huff, ears burning, and eye narrowing like a disgruntled cat.

Hikaku chuckled, taking a half-step back, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Relax, I was just pulling your leg.”

Obito scowled.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re just Bakaku.” He let the nickname roll off his tongue in a habitual manner that was barbed and pointed; just like Old Man Madara’s did whenever Tobirama’s name was used as an insult.

Hikaku hummed, tilting his head. “Careful there, or I might start calling you names too, Obito. What was it again…? Honorable Elder…?”

Obito’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again and I’ll stab you, brat.”

Hikaku laughed, holding up his hands again. “Always so feisty.”

“Just because I’m not holding a weapon right now doesn’t mean I’m unarmed,” Obito warned.

Hikaku shook his head, chuckling, “If you try to stab me, I’ll only serve you natto for dinner tonight.”

Obito shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Natto, of all things? Disgusting.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to it. Don’t flood the place, oh feral one.”

 “Yeah, yeah. Just get already, Bakaku.”

With a grin, Hikaku turned and left with muted footsteps down the hallway, the golden chains on his shoulder clinking softly when he turned a corner. The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving Obito alone with the towels, the clothes, and the faint scent of sandalwood still clinging stubbornly to the air.

He exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Fucking brat. You’re just a lowly Bakaku. How dare you be so rude.”

Despite his words, Obito was gentle as he set the bundle down with care, then stripped off his bloodstained mantle, holding it at arm’s length. His lips pressed into a pout as his eyes raked over the fabric.

It’s my favorite purple one too… he grumbled internally, inner voice dripping with indignation. No amount of washing is ever going to fix this. It’s a lost cause. Might as well feed it to the fire.

He tugged off his gloves and eyepatch next, tossing them onto the counter with a small clatter. Fingers flexed, he inspected them briefly before grimacing. “Ugh… even my nails are stained. Damn it.”

Shaking his head, he ran a hand tentatively on his chest, annoyed at the bumps he could feel; from his left shoulder down to his right hip. The wound had long since healed, thanks to his acquired regenerative abilities, but the stitches still clung stubbornly.

With a small sigh, he nonchalantly used mokuton to shape a thin, razor-sharp blade from the palm of his right hand, then broke it off and held it between his fingers as if it were a surgeon's scalpel.

Obito stepped in front of the mirror.

His reflection made him grimace.

His entire top was marinated in old blood, congealed into crusty, stubborn patches. He tilted his head, lips pressing together, muttering under his breath: “Fantastic. No wonder I fucking fainted all the time.”

He worked efficiently, removing the sutures with precise, practiced movements. Not a flicker of hesitation, not a wince—veteran shinobi control—but the corners of his mouth twitched in mild disgust when it reached the artificial flesh areas.

Once done, he molded his chakra and, with practiced ease, flashed through a series of hand seals. When finished, he cut off his chakra supply, clenched his eyes shut, and braced for impact. Within a split second, he was soaked, drenched by his own jutsu.

Obito pushed back the wet strands from his face and peered through the curtain of damp hair at his reflection in the mirror.

His chest gave a faint, unbidden thud as a wave of bittersweet recognition struck him: with semi-long hair, he looked almost identical to his mentor. Almost—if not for the stark white of his hair, the purple that decorated his left eye, and the scars etched grotesquely on his face, he could pass for a younger version of the man he had once followed so closely. Loved so dearly. And loathed so thoroughly.

A low, grudging sigh escaped him.

“Great. Just what I needed… more added complication to my backstory. How the fuck am I going to explain away looking like Uchiha fucking Madara?” he groaned, squinting at his reflection.

Wet shoulder-length hair, dour expression, and the softened, crusty remnants of old blood made him feel like a drowned rat—and yet, for a moment, he couldn’t deny the fleeting pang of connection.

“You’re such a freak,” he muttered to his reflection, lips twitching despite himself.

Even after all the deliberate cruelty Old Man Madara had inflicted upon him; rebuilding his body into a monster and destroying any sanity that remained in him, Obito couldn’t help but feel the faint, stubborn ache of missing him.

Obito supposed Tobirama had been right: the Uchiha clan were truly cursed—their love knew no bounds, no limits. Not even toward someone who had orchestrated his life and treated him like a chess piece.

Obito shook his head slightly, deciding that there was no point in dwelling on it further. In the end, it wouldn’t change anything. An Uchiha’s love was eternal, and he had long accepted that they were… well, built different. 

His mind soon wandered—as it often did while performing menial tasks, like scrubbing the blood from his chest—to a memory that refused to fade.

Sasuke.

Another one of his kin he had come to love fiercely, no matter how much of an asshole the little shit was.

He remembered that one night, when they had to huddle together during a blizzard, sheltered within a small cavern at the base of a secluded, rocky hill. Uchihas tended to naturally run hot, but they needed to bury their chakra deep within their cores, leaving them with no real protection against the biting cold of the storm outside.

Kaguya had been close—too close, and any chakra they leaked could prove fatal—and they had been separated from the remnants of their group, injured and vulnerable.

Obito remembered pressing as much of his body against Sasuke’s as he could, running his hands up and down his younger cousin’s arms as Sasuke shivered uncontrollably from the cold. Sasuke struggled to breathe, frozen and stiff, while Obito’s own body—more resistant to the harsh weather—held him upright, an anchor against the storm and the only thing keeping him from succumbing to hypothermia.

The cavern was small, the rocky walls rough against their backs, but it was enough to shield them from the worst of the storm.

And when Kaguya left, the blizzard subsided with her departure.

Sasuke had admitted it then—softly, almost reluctantly—that despite everything Itachi had done, despite all the hatred and pain, he still loved his brother. And then, in a voice so quiet that Obito had to strain to catch it, Sasuke had added something more: that he had come to care for Obito too, despite their kin’s blood on his hands and the destruction he had wrought upon their world.

Before Obito could even respond, Sasuke had pulled away. They never spoke of it again

And now it was too late… despite being a hundred years too early.

A wistful warmth had lingered in that memory, one that Obito hadn’t known what to do with then—and still didn’t now.

It stung to realize he would never have the chance to tell Sasuke that he cherished him too, to speak the words that had risen in his throat and gone unsaid. Bitterness burned through him, though dulled now, worn down to resignation.

The Uchiha curse: to love those who destroyed you, and to regret those you destroyed in turn.

His breath rattled as he blinked, the cavern and the snow slipping from his mind’s grip. The here and now pressed against him like a vise.

Obito’s gaze snagged on the mirror. His reflection stared back—pale hair, scar-scored face, the wrongness of it all—and then… an addition.

He froze.

In the next heartbeat, he was on it, palms slamming against its frame, clutching the sides until his knuckles whitened and the wood splintered.

He ignored the crawling itch of artificial flesh, ignored the outlandish sprawl of the kyūbi tattoo winding his left arm, and ignored the precise surgical scars that littered his skin. His gaze tunnelled, frantic, to the pale writing across his chest, just under his left collarbone.

There—stark and neat, like a seal burnt into him—were two words. A name. 

Senju Tobirama.

“What the fuck…?!”

Notes:

aight guys! lets get this soulmate shit going! wooooooooooooooooooooooooo~!
so whatdya guys think? was his reaction fair? hahahahahahaha.
also madara and izuna have to attend to their guests due to political reasons even though madara really didnt want to. but needs must. and hashirama be such a creep hmph hmph.

Chapter 13

Summary:

Obito is defo a wildcard.
Tobirama needs Jashin to take the damn wheel.

Notes:

Chapter warnings: self harm. obito's mania. tobirama's brain in general. mentions of ptsd stuff. soulmate ?pull?.

His scalp went numb as his gaze zeroed in on the pale script engraved under his left clavicle—what? when? how?!

Chakra rioted beneath his skin, jagged and clumsy, and every pulse seemed to sear his blood like molten iron. His lungs stuttered, each breath freezing sharp, breaking him apart with every shuddering intake.

Panic and confusion flooded his system, and he just—

Stop overacting to everything, Obito. You never learn, do you?

He couldn’t calm down, couldn’t think, his mind kept spinning, lurching at breakneck speed, grasping for answers without knowing what the fuck he was even supposed to—supposed to seek—supposed to do—

Break it down. Rationalize. Think, you fool.

His fingers—shaking violently, though he hadn’t even noticed—scrabbled at the name, pawing and scratching as if he could tear the name from his skin by force. His nails split flesh, blood welled, wounds sealing only to reopen with each frantic claw, relentless, manically, almost uncontrollably—

You're a lost cause. Why do I bother with you, Obito?

No matter how deep he dug, how much flesh he tore off, the skin persisted to knit itself whole again—new, marked, directly atop the seal Old Man Madara had once placed on his heart—the neat script remained untouched by his futile attempts.  

His ears rang, shrill and endless, chakra spiking wild with every lurch of his emotions.

What. What is this?

What the fuck is this?!

No matter how many times he tore through the half-blurred, spasming memory of his last breakdown, Obito couldn’t pin down if Tobirama (a seal master oh sage please no not again he can’t go through that again did he need another chidori to the chest?) had managed to touch him long enough to place a seal on him, or at least had done something similar whilst he’d been vulnerable.

Because, otherwise, why would there be Senju Tobirama’s name on him?! He felt ill. He felt violated.  

“This makes no sense?!” OBito hissed under his breath, voice rasping, trembling like ice about to crack.

His eyes hadn’t blinked. Not once. And they felt dry and raw.

He felt unmoored from his own body, hands moving of their own accord. The wounds persisted to heal as fast as they opened, leaving the neat, bloodied script untouched, as if mocking him with every futile strike.

He wasn’t thinking. 

Though he fortunately still had half a coherent mind to cover his wet body with the robes he had been provided with before he moved, slipping into the voids of Kamui.

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Tobirama has always been a pragmatic and systematic man. 

Every motion he made was ever calculated, every shift deliberate, and every plan had contingencies upon contingencies that might arise from unpredictable behaviours and situations from both ally and adversary. 

Especially when they were in enemy territory, surrounded by Uchiha soldiers whose chakra signatures seethed with distrust at his and his clan's presence in their home, 

Hence, Tobirama did not flinch; he knew better than to react when any response he could potentially make would be deemed a threat, no matter their purpose here. 

His body remained pliant as a trembling hand abruptly seized the collar of his dark top. They propelled him into a half-kneeling position from his zabuton, and he kept his posture and expression controlled, devoid of any indication of surprise or concern. 

It was fortunate that he had had the foresight to maintain his chakra sensing on the white-haired Uchiha, whose status as his potential soulmate remained undetermined, tracking both movements and chakra fluctuations from the moment Uchiha Hikaku had articulated that name. 

When the white-haired Uchiha’s chakra had spiked abruptly, descending into a fit of confusion laced with manic panic, and an intent that spelled trouble, Tobirama had already raised a hand, issuing a single, precise command to his clanmates—

Do not attack.

His decision had been sound, even as the other Uchihas in the meeting room went eerily still, sharingan flaring, at his seemingly arbitrary decision to issue a code directly under their observation. Izuna's expression had twisted, hand reaching for his favored blade—

It took only a single heartbeat for the room to descend into uncontrollable chaos, marked by startled exclamations and erratic movement, Madara’s voice especially loud as he bellowed—

One moment, Tobirama was seated primly, hand still raised after issuing an order. The next, a white-haired Uchiha—frantic and crazed—materialized on the table before him, displacing scrolls and parchments, and dragged him in by the collar.  

Tobirama kept his expression void of emotion, his mind systematically calculating every possible solution, already planning methodically ahead to ensure this situation did not escalate further.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” The white haired Uchiha, whom he aptly identified as Obito, screamed in his face, voice raw with hysteria, and heterochromic eyes (the mangekyou sharingan and... a purple dojutsu?) wild with panic.

Tobirama’s lips parted in preparation to initiate a non-violent de-escalation approach..., when his body was forcefully jolted.

For a fraction of a second, he felt unnaturally light, vision cut off, and then he was on his back— with one Uchiha Obito straddled on top of him, hands white-knuckled and trembling as they remained clamped on his collar, no doubt stretching the seams. 

Tobirama’s expression remained cool, his gaze steady and unshaken, and his muscles stayed loose, even in the face of this unexpected development.

He assessed the intensity of Obito’s chakra fluctuations, noting the erratic spikes accompanying each bated, shaky inhale and fractured exhale. Each surge corresponded with sudden, uncontrolled movements—hands clenching and releasing, fingers twitching spasmodically. All signs pointed to a panic attack, Tobirama concluded.

Why? What was the trigger? What did he think Tobirama did? They were nowhere near each other. 

Tobirama allowed his eyes a brief survey of their surroundings before returning deliberately to Obito’s forehead, avoiding eye contact with the most advanced iteration of the Uchiha clan’s famed dojutsu.

In the span of a single second, they had somehow changed locations—instantaneous teleportation, he grimly confirmed, validating his earlier theory.

Above them, the sky was pitch black; beneath him, the ground remained solid. Surrounding them were cuboid structures in varying shades of grey, precise yet seemingly disordered, stretching into what appeared to be an endless abyss.

And the most surprising of all… he sensed no other chakra signatures apart from the blazing inferno directly above him.

(Which should be impossible... unless they were currently between spaces. Between one plane and the next. Space and time. A concept that he had been researching for close to a year now. Utter fascinating. And validating to know that he was on the right path.) 

It was mildly disorienting—for a sensor of his calibre to be abruptly isolated, cut off from all others, and left with only the singular signature above. But even as disconcerted as he was, Tobirama remained nothing if not efficient and adaptable.  

He compartmentalized, cataloguing the variables: Obito’s apparent panic, his unpredictability, and the potential fallout involving the two parties they had left behind.

For a brief, horrifying moment, Tobirama envisioned the consequences should his brother and their ten guards clash with an entire clan of bloodthirsty Uchiha, but he pushed the thought aside. His priority remained the containment of the immediate threat—his own safety first. 

He extended his analysis to observe Obito’s body language, even though he could practically taste the man’s derailing thoughts and unstable emotions with his chakra senses alone. Yet his attention wavered momentarily when he registered Obito’s physical state more closely.

Wet, shoulder-length white hair plastered sharply to defined features. Finely shaped lips parted slightly in an almost desperate attempt to contain the shuddering, raspy breaths of distress.

A damp, dark blue yukata clung sensuously to his mismatched, scarred skin, tied so carelessly that one side had fallen off his left shoulder, exposing orange ink in a winding, spiral-like pattern down his arm, vanishing precipitously beneath the fabric.

He noted, almost injudiciously, the feel of Obito’s quivering thighs pressed against his sides, separated only by the thin barrier of damp fabric—and if he had been any lower…

The meticulous and rational part of him faltered at the unexpected thoughts.

He was beginning to feel… a divergence between cerebration and impulses.

Something primal in him seemed enthralled, for lack of better wording. 

Compromised, a distant part of him seemed to scream.

A warning. He needed to leave. Now. 

And yet—as if in rebellion against his shinobi training—he remained, the maddening pulsing of his heart turbulent in his throat. 

Heat seemed to pool near his guts—causing an ache he dared not acknowledge.

(It felt like a compulsion. As if he he was a shipwrecked sailor enchanted by a siren.)

His fingers twitched, as if they had minds of their own, drawn toward the man straddling him in a way so provocatively intimate that he had to forcibly restrain all movement lest he acted on an impulse he would later come to regret.  

Tobirama tried to regain control.

His nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled for four seconds, held it for seven, and exhaled for eight, following the disciplined rhythm he had been taught. But the scent of sandalwood—and something else his distracted mind could not quite place—reached him, and he nearly produced an embarrassing wanting sound, had he not caught himself, pressing his lips into a thin, rigid line.

He knew his control was slipping, and once again, he ventured to clear his mind back into a state of clinical tranquility, to return to cataloging and analyzing variables in an attempt to separate himself from the distraction pressing down on him.

To forcefully focus on the man’s chakra fluctuations and mental state, and not his scent, his warmth, his proximity, the subtle press of muscle against muscle—

And then his attention landed on a stray droplet of water from the ends of Obito’s wet hair, sliding down his pale, exposed shoulder, tracing the enticing curve of his collarbone, continuing lower—

Tobirama’s mouth went dry; his pupils constricted.

He had suspected, of course. His soulscript was factually Uchiha Obito. Yet he had denied it relentlessly; it could've been a case of mistaken identity, someone with an Uchiha surname but not actually related to their clan. 

(Because—fucking sage damn it—he had already crossed a boundary with this man on their very first meeting. If this Obito truly was his soulmate… then what he had done was nothing short of atrocious. He’d never forgive himself... and he doubted forgiveness came easily to an Uchiha.)

It was—there was no denying it, however. Not anymore. 

A soulscript. 

A soulscript written in his handwriting. 

A soulscript written in his handwriting, bearing his name. 

Even with characters half-hidden by cloth, he knew them by heart. Of course, he knew them.

The same strokes scrawled on every report, every thesis, every seal, every damn thing he had ever put to paper.

千手扉間

Etched clean, blatant, and eternally carved into a pale expanse of skin.

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He wanted to touch it.

No matter how conscientious he was, how could he remain calm when the man above him carried proof that he was no longer alone in this world? That he was not an anomaly without a soulmate? That he bore a soul just like any other human? 

But oh, how cruel the heavens were. A cosmic joke with teeth.

(A soulmate between a Senju and an Uchiha was unprecedented. Their ancestors took it as confirmation that their clans could never co-exist, as there had never been records of soulmates between them.)

An Uchiha. Bound to him—him, a Senju—by a soul-tied connection, bodies branded by fate as if mocking everything they and their ancestors had bled for. His other half. His missing piece. His destiny. 

Despite hailing from opposing sides—despite centuries of blood-soaked enmity, despite the seething hatred he carried for the Uchiha clan, who had produced child-hunting squads that had slaughtered his younger brothers ruthlessly—he felt it anyway: the compulsion to yield.

(How could anija have possibly mistaken this for indigestion? The attraction and lure he feels toward Uchiha Obito was maddening.)

To cast aside his blade, to bare his throat, to offer himself in some wordless plea. For forgiveness, for acceptance… he couldn’t even tell which. Everything felt too much. And that gnawed at the edges of his control.

Compose yourself, his father would have sneered. You’re being irrational, he would have pressed, outraged if he ever knew of his prized soldier’s most hidden desire, buried deep beneath layers of self-discipline and rigid rules.

For the first time, Tobirama felt the thin line between control and surrender waver—a tension coiling tight in his chest, forcing his trained mind to fight even harder just to remain himself. To remind himself that soulmate verification required permission from both parties, for an equal partnership to be formed.

But he really wanted to touch it.

Notes:

Oh obito… Old man Madara would’ve been scandalized and incensed that all his training went out the window! But well it’s obito we’re talking about. Lmao. No matter what, he’s baseline unpredictable and just plain reckless.

Tobirama is so hard to write!!! he uses such big words my brain cannot !!!!! how fucking much did i use thesaurus writing this chapter?!?!?!
also, highly entertaining to write Tobirama blue-screened without actually just saying he bluescreened lol. Hope I did him justice. oh ya do you guys think tobi's reaction is too ooc? too much too soon? idk bruv.

 

ps. after the long break from ao3/fics in general, ive come to enjoy writing again and have successfully begun interacting more with me readers. a little at a time and i love it so much! thank you everyone.

PPS. What traits should Tobi and obi get after the verification process of being soulmates? It can be any shinobi talent/skill to mundane ones! I’m curious what you guys think they’d receive

Notes:

Just an explanation for this soulmate AU:

 

Identifying mark: A name will appear on any part of the person’s body, looking much like a pale, old scar in their mate's handwriting, rather than a scripted tattoo.

Upon death: The alive mate will have their deceased mate’s soul script crossed out.

To verify the identifying mark: Skin contact is required. They'll need to put their hand on the soulmark on their mate's body. Upon confirmation, the soul script will turn into the color of their mate’s eyes.

Explanation for no identifying mark: There are only 2 reasons why no identifying mark could be found on a person’s body. 1) Their mate has yet to be born. 2) Their mate is too far for their souls to recognize the other; a case being two mates born in different countries and remained there for the rest of their lives. Though that's rare since soulmates are supposed to be destined to meet, one way or another.

How are babies born: Gender doesn’t matter in a soulmate AU! Don't think too much about it. I know I didn't!

Connections between mates: 1) They may feel either a burning hotness or a deep chill whenever their partner is in a weakened state. This, however, applies only when the person directly or indirectly tries to call their other half for help. This particular connection won’t appear if the one who needs help refuses to call for it, be it verbally or non verbally. 2) As soon as the soul script is confirmed and changed color, both parties will be able to sense the location of the other no matter the distance between them. 3) Upon mutual confirmation between mates, infidelity will lead to divine punishment in the form of excruciating groin pain! Even Hidan will scream like a big baby if divine punishment hits him, so for the average person, death would be a better fate! 4) They take on one of their mate's traits. For example, Mito could have gotten the mokuton or something mundane such as his connection to nature from Hashirama, and Hashirama could've received chakra chains or again something mundane such as a creative mind for inventing seals from Mito. It's all random. Like gacha.

How to identify a legit soul script: Every soul script is warm to touch and will beat in rhythm to the identified person’s heartbeat. Only a crossed-out soul script won’t.