Chapter Text
Tobirama lay shrouded in a pillow of white fur, his bare chest rising and falling steadily with each breath.
‘Are you going to sleep all day?’
He cracked an eyelid and saw his brother, Hashirama, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Tobirama closed his eye again.
‘I’m not sleeping,’ he said.
‘Right, right,’ said Hashirama, sounding unconvinced. ‘Just resting in a dark room with your eyes closed.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Food’s ready,’ said Hashirama. ‘Eat before you leave, alright?’
Tobirama grunted non-committally and Hashirama cast him a doubtful look before shouldering upright and walking away. Tobirama rolled over. He hated going on patrols, especially in downtimes such as these when there were never any enemies around. All he ever did was go back and forth through the trees looking out for someone that wasn’t there, or else sitting up in some branch watching an empty road that no one would use, wasting time that could be better spent doing literally anything else.
It was the end of winter and that meant that everyone was busy recovering from the cold and getting ready for the growing season, so the fighting had come to a standstill as it always did around this time of year. Come summer, there would be skirmishes once again that would inject some excitement into Tobirama’s life; but until then, he had nothing but uneventful evenings on the borders of their land with no other company but the moon and stars.
He sat up and let the furs fall off him. The smell of charcoal and miso wafted through the room from the house interior and he stretched widely before getting up. As expected, their father, Butsuma, was not there. He was most likely ordering affairs from the council room across the yard or else out on a mission of his own, and Tobirama was grateful for the peace of his absence.
‘There are reports of Uchiha conducting recon out on Kitakami River, so be on your guard,’ said Hashirama, as Tobirama sat down by the hearth over which hung a blackened pot full of steaming rice porridge. ‘Father believes they’re gauging their reach for spring’s end.’
‘They can try,’ said Tobirama, ladling porridge into an earthenware bowl. ‘We’ll push them back if they start poking around. You’d think they would have learned by now that the river is the border.’
‘You’d think,’ agreed Hashirama, with a smirk.
Tobirama scowled and turned his attention to his meal. He knew that Hashirama was only appeasing him. His elder brother never seemed to have the same contempt for the Uchiha clan that Tobirama did, and often Tobirama recalled Hashirama’s old friendship with Madara in their youth. Though it had been without knowledge of each other’s affiliation, a lingering unwillingness to fight seemed to stay Hashirama’s hand and lend him to leniency where Tobirama was firm. Tobirama didn’t understand but he knew better than to question Hashirama, so he let their differences be and hardened his heart with the will of their father.
Outside, a clansman announced himself and brought the brothers scrolls of new information and patrol itineraries. Tobirama handed his to Hashirama automatically, who took it without question. Tobirama had always been slow at reading and had fallen into the habit of getting Hashirama to read reports aloud instead of labouring over the texts himself. He had always had the intention to improve as it was an enduring source of private shame, but Butsuma had far more pressing things to worry about than his son’s literacy level.
‘If you see any of them out there, don’t engage,’ said Hashirama, reading from the scroll. ‘It says that we’re to only to collect intel since they’ll regroup once the rice paddies are flooded.’
‘Right,’ said Tobirama.
His scowl deepened and he shovelled porridge into his mouth. Hashirama grinned and shoved him in the shoulder, breaking his scowl and making him cough and splutter.
‘Torture, right?’ jeered Hashirama.
‘Shut it,’ growled Tobirama. ‘Thanks for the meal.’
He put his bowl away and stomped to his room to get ready for patrol. Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t engage… easy for you to say. Bitter thoughts swirled around his head as he undressed. They had lost two brothers to the Uchiha already and clan members fell all too frequently regardless of the time of year. Tobirama was nineteen years old and as battle-weary as the most seasoned shinobi, but the desire for vengeance burned fierce within him.
He clothed himself in black stealth gear, lightly armoured and collared with white fur, and tied a belt around his waist from which hung a pouch of weapons and his sheathed katana. He called out a goodbye to Hashirama and headed out into the afternoon.
A touch of spring was in the air and his skin was warmed by the rays of the westering sun as he darted through the trees towards the river. Shrouds of snow still lingered in hollows and clung to shadowy dells, but the tips of bay and cypress had already begun to green. With the threat of a possible encounter before him, he kept his senses piqued and probed around the vicinity for foreign chakra.
Soon, he could hear the sound of running water and he slowed down as he approached the river. Someone was there — he could feel their presence as he got nearer — and he stopped in a plum tree to peer through branches that were obscured with tightly furled blossoms. His eyes narrowed. Down by the river’s edge was undoubtedly an enemy. There was no mistaking the black hair nor pale complexion of the Uchiha clan, and the familiar chakra signature identified him: Izuna Uchiha, the youngest living son of Tajima Uchiha. Tobirama’s body tensed up as soon as he saw him and his hand grasped his swordhilt, yet he paused when he recalled his order not to engage.
Izuna was alone and didn’t appear to have noticed that he was being observed. He was standing barefoot on the stony shore with his woven pouch and katana resting on the ground beside him.
As Tobirama watched, Izuna undid the wrappings around his waist and ankles, stepped out of his trousers, and slid his high-collared robes off his shoulders. He slipped the tie out his hair and shook the black tresses over his shoulders, running slender fingers through the strands to loosen any tangles, all the while humming a soft melody that was barely audible above the babble of the river.
He seemed totally at ease and tension rose in Tobirama. This was an unprecedented opportunity that couldn't go unheeded, orders or no. He could strike now while his quarry was off his guard. He could bring down his blade before the Sharingan could even activate.
But he didn’t move. To see the young man, whom Tobirama had hitherto seen only in a state of murderous hatred, so unguarded felt suddenly, strikingly intimate, and Tobirama found that he couldn’t look away.
When Izuna straightened up again, he was naked and unadorned. Tobirama’s senses sparked and his grip tightened around the hilt of his katana. The urge to strike almost overwhelmed him. The Uchiha was defenceless; Tobirama could attack now and kill him. Butsuma and Hashirama would honour him. The entire clan would celebrate. But he could only look on as Izuna waded into the river that was swollen with snowmelt and ducked beneath the surface.
Izuna washed himself, panting slightly against the cold, before swimming out to the middle where the current was strongest. His hair flowed through the water like spilled ink, his muscular form shone like the surface of wet marble, and his face appeared fair and youthful. Don’t engage. Even without the order, Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to act. He had fantasised about his final deathmatch with Izuna countless times and not once had it ended with him cutting down the Uchiha while he bathed. Minutes ticked by in which Tobirama hesitated, simultaneously unable to act and unable to turn away.
Suddenly, he felt a faint presence and he straightened up again to glance around for the source of the feeling. His sharp eyes snapped to movement in the shrubbery downriver. A figure clad in stealth gear the colour of earth and leaves would have been indiscernible if not for Tobirama’s trained perception, yet he saw the glint of keen eyes that were fixed on Izuna, who was still swimming with broad, lazy strokes against the current.
Tobirama squinted and concentrated on his senses. At first, he thought that the stranger was wearing some kind of mask, but upon closer inspection it appeared that his face was horribly disfigured. Deep scars ran across his cheeks and his nose was high and stunted as if the end had been cut off. Tobirama had never seen him before and his clothing bore no clear sigil. Try as Tobirama might to detect even a hint of chakra, the shinobi was suppressing it completely as he crouched amid the leaves. Perhaps he was targeting Izuna personally, or perhaps he was a local shinobi hoping to rid the land of aggressors with no concern for their allegiance. On more than one occasion, Tobirama had had to contend with rural warriors who were tired of their kinsfolk being caught up in the warfare waged on their land and struck out against Senju and Uchiha alike. No matter the purpose, Izuna was clearly in danger.
Tobirama’s heart began to thud in his ears. The current had driven Izuna slightly downstream so that his weapons and gear were a little way away, and the shinobi was moving silently through the bushes, searching for the best vantage point. Tobirama’s eyes flicked between the shinobi and Izuna with increasing anxiety. Look behind you! he yelled internally. You idiot, get out of the water! But Izuna seemed not to hear or sense anything beyond the sound of the river.
The shinobi perched on a low tree branch and a kunai knife flashed in his hand. Tobirama bit his teeth together. He couldn’t let the younger Uchiha be struck down like this, naked and unarmed, caught unawares by some nameless assassin while Tobirama watched. He had to be the one to kill Izuna — he had known it since he was a child and had long ago accepted the black thread of fate that tied them together. He refused to surrender the opportunity to some nobody — at least, that was what he told himself as he sprang from his hiding place onto the riverbank.
There was a ringing clang as the kunai knife that the shinobi had thrown was sent careening off into the trees by Tobirama’s own knife. At the sound, both the shinobi and Izuna’s eyes snapped to Tobirama.
‘He's mine,’ said Tobirama, staring down the shinobi.
The shinobi leapt down into the open across from Tobirama. His face was even more grotesque up close and Tobirama couldn’t detect anything other than the intent to kill.
‘Then why haven’t you cut him down yet?’ said the shinobi, in a deep, silky voice. ‘I gave you a good long while and all you’ve done is hide there and watch.’
Tobirama tutted under his breath and clapped his hands together.
‘Suiton: Running Water Whip!’ he shouted, weaving the sign.
Before the man could blink, a great whip of water snaked up from the river and lashed out towards him. He darted back out of its path and the whip crashed onto the shore in an explosion of water and stones. Tobirama glanced behind him at the river. Izuna was rushing up the shore towards his belongings.
Tobirama didn’t have time to say anything before the shinobi reappeared, flying through the water that was still falling like rain, flinging shuriken at Tobirama as he went. Tobirama’s katana was already in his hand and he cut them all away.
‘Water Hail!’ said Tobirama, thrusting his hands forward and sending out a barrage of shining bullets.
The shinobi fell back and turned to retreat. Tobirama sheathed his katana and sprinted forward in pursuit, but stopped short and looked back to the river. The Uchiha was gone, along with any trace that he had been there.
Tobirama hesitated, unsure of who to go after. He bent down, touched his finger to the ground, and closed his eyes. Izuna’s chakra was unmistakeable — a signature of warmth and wood smoke that Tobirama could pick out in a heartbeat — as he headed away northwards towards his home. The other shinobi was still suppressing his chakra, so Tobirama made up his mind to track him using other senses.
He vanished from the riverside in a flash of silver and black, following the direction that he had seen the shinobi flee. Wind and blood rushed in Tobirama’s ears as he tried to track the tell-tale signs in the growing dusk, but as the occasional footprint and broken twig sent him in a meandering circle, he came to a standstill back where he had started.
He gave up the chase and slid down to sit against the bole of a tree, breath gradually slowing. He could still hear the sound of the colliding kunai knives echoing in his head but it was soon drowned out by the memory of Izuna’s softly hummed song.
As he gazed unseeing through the shadows of the forest, he wondered why he didn’t attack Izuna on sight, and why he had stopped the shinobi from attacking him. But more than any other burning question swirling around his head, he asked himself why he didn’t want the moment to end.
Tobirama returned home empty-handed. It was customary for shinobi to write out reports to be delivered to the clan head every few days, but Tobirama was even worse at writing than he was at reading so had taken to reporting verbally to his father.
He knelt on the tatami floor, eyes trained downward in respect.
‘I’ve come from patrol, Father,’ he said. ‘There was a shinobi I didn’t recognise at the river. We fought and he fled but I couldn’t track him.’
‘Did you engage the enemy?’ said Bustuma, in his deep baritone voice.
‘The enemy?’
Tobirama looked up questioningly, and his father’s face was stern and cold. Try as he might to read his father’s intent, Tobirama teetered upon the edge of conviction. There was no way that he could explain the situation in a way that his father could understand. Though Butsuma was a man of honour, his hatred for the Uchiha ran deeper and he might see Tobirama's intervention as naïveté or, at worse, treason. Tobirama weighed his options.
‘The shinobi spotted me and attacked on sight,’ he said, finally. ‘Do you know who it could have been?’
‘Mercenary from the Uchiha, probably,’ said Butsuma. ‘Or an angry local.’
‘I pursued but lost the trail in the dark,’ said Tobirama. ‘I can return at first light to track him again.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Butsuma. ‘Resume patrol as usual. If he returns, kill him. I’ll notify the others.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Tobirama bowed, left the room, and made his way across the yard to their living quarters with his mind whirring. Not only had he failed to attack an Uchiha, he had protected said Uchiha and, if that wasn’t enough, there had been a witness that had managed to escape. Tobirama was anxious to clear the riverbank of any sign that there had been three people present, not two as he had reported, and he wondered if the Uchiha would return. He wouldn’t be surprised if Izuna predicted his return and waited in ambush, and Tobirama began mentally preparing himself for a potential confrontation.
As he stepped into the comforting quiet of his house, however, his mind became overtaken by the memory of Izuna’s bare skin shining in the afternoon sunlight.
Tobirama went to the bedroom and began to undress. At the sound of splashing water coming from the washroom, he surmised that Hashirama was already home and he would have to wait until tomorrow to return to the river.
No one could understand the reason why Tobirama had acted so because he himself didn’t understand. No matter how much he tried to rationalise it in his head, his heart had become dislodged in his chest and a restlessness unlike any he had never known came over him.
He undid the wrappings from his legs and wound them slowly together, brow furrowed in thought. It was as if an unseen chain of events had been set into motion, the end of which lay somewhere in the distant future, and the gears of his destiny began to turn. Of one thing Tobirama was utterly certain: his fate had been sealed the moment he threw the kunai knife.