Chapter Text
A hypothesis is an educated guess, a provisional statement in scientific research. It was the closest method scientists could employ to fathom the future. Without the use of a Sharingan, those Uchihas had.
Tobirama had written thousands of hypotheses throughout his life; the philosophical template had dictated his perspective from his earliest days. Now, as he crouched behind a battered outcrop on a bloodstained field at twilight, the last vestiges of battle smoke curling around him, he found himself reflecting. Hypothetically, if Tobirama and his younger self were to meet here, at the centre of conflict and impending fate, he’d easily recognise how much he had abated towards their enemies. No longer was he the paragon of a dogmatic loathing creature towards the Uchihas, but, unequivocally, lifelong tendencies were hard to change. His behaviour was untenable, and he’d soon meet his verdict as his enemies entrapped him.
The experiment was coming to its end, and the conclusion, naturally, would follow. Was the hypothesis supported?
Tobirama found himself reflective towards the end. Anija must’ve felt the same, seeing his headstrong and emotional nature. Tobirama allowed himself to hope; he hoped his team were smart and escaped back to Konoha. He hoped Hiruzen would lead his brother’s precious village into a bright future. He hoped the Will of Fire would endure, carried through generations yet unborn.
A memory rose, unbidden, something Itama had said to him. That late summer evening, in a rare moment of tranquillity, he had brushed his thumb across Tobirama’s forehead, smoothing the furrow between his brows. “Don’t think too hard, it’ll give you wrinkles.” Those marks of time never appeared on his face, and he could never see them on his brothers, but Itama was right. Thinking so hard was a pain, and death wasn’t so frevent. So he was happy to let it go.
Kumogakure: their Kinkaku force was a reckoning; it reminded him, even though the bloody feud between the Uchihas and Senjus had ended, that lives were easily lost in any kind of war.
A part of him, lost in his work, had forgotten that he always knew the conclusion that had been predetermined. That he’d die upon the blood-soaked lands that never grew quenched with the blood shed of the innocent and guilty. And when he looked at the sky, shared with all his adversaries, he knew death would take him where he knew the most: the battlegrounds. It was a shame it wasn’t near Konoha, or the old Senju compounds, yet death was, ironically and cruelly, kind in the clarity it offered.
To the world, the Nidaime had fallen during the first Shinobi World War; to Tobirama, he had returned to where he came from. The earth, the trees, the chakra. The dependent variable was measured, the independent variable manipulated, and the one controlled variable that he could never control had taken its time.
That was the conclusion.
The disconnect was unlike anything he had felt before; his scalp tightened, goosebumps crawled up his limbs, and a violent tremor licked his body into agony. Time seemed to compress and stretch simultaneously, volts of vertigo wracking his body. He was sinking into something solid and drowning in air. He could feel his heart beating in every cell and blood rushing to his head, his ears popping, and his eyes bulging, his skeleton seemingly wanting to escape his skin.
He hadn’t noticed when wooden floors had flooded his vision, and nor did he get any warning when his stomach promptly emptied itself.
Where was he?
He was gagging and dry heaving on his vomit, air filled his lungs, but filled his stomach just as much as he felt another urge to vomit. Landing heavily next to the mess he made, his head became clear enough to run a diagnostic jutsu over himself. Significantly depleted chakra, the pathways to his heart were frayed and slightly damaged. Wheezing in pain, he wisely allowed his body to adjust and slowly regain control. The spots in his vision gradually dissipated, clearing his surroundings.
Right, he was Tobirama.
Although his nose was filled with the scent of acid, he’d recognise his room no matter how delirious, every crack in the wooden boards, every misaligned fibre. This must be the Senju compound, then... he should be safe.
He was home...?
When he opened his eyes again, he realised he hadn’t remembered closing them; the light had now dimmed significantly, stretching the shadows of his furniture and multitude of scrolls until it lathered him in darkness. Vermillion light contrasted against the darkness, flooding his room in red, also flooding him with a feeling of Lucidity. As an erudite man, it didn’t take long before he formed a hypothesis. He could hear voices and sounds of clansmen throughout the compound, and familiar chakra natures dotted his surroundings; disbelief almost clouded his vision once more.
This was clearly time travel.
His research and fascination with time travel were born not from curiosity but from inevitability. Although his intensive research yielded little to no miracles, he had understood enough to realise that what happened to him was some sort of superposition, where he had reacted to a combination of stimuli around him, probably causing his chakra to activate an unknown technique. At least that was his current theory.
Wincing at the semi-dried contents next to him, he gathered himself to his feet. The floor had been scrubbed clean, and he himself was submerged under steaming water, the muscles in his back tentatively relaxing, and his mind finally clearing. It was a short-lived moment as he emerged in the blink of an eye.
Looking at his reflection in the bronze mirror decorated beside his cot, not much of his appearance had changed as he aged; unable to deduce the period of time from his appearance, he hoped there was enough time- enough time to fix some things he never felt right about.
As an acute sensor, he easily detected Hashirama approaching. It had been years since he had last seen his brother, yet in a bittersweet way, it felt as though they had never parted. Like two birds singing under the same leaves, always under the same roof.
When the door opened, he caught sight of the familiar chestnut of Hashirama’s hair and inhaled the scent he had long missed. For a rare moment, he let his aloof guard down. Naturally, their bond was closer after the deaths of Itama and Kawarama. Meeting Hashirama’s eyes. The older brother’s expression was curved into an awkward grin, a signature of guilt.
“Tobirama, would you really not reconsider with the elders?” Hashirama said, his voice pleading. Tobirama easily guessed that the topic was the volatile negotiations between the Senju and Uchiha clans. He had once been vehemently opposed to peace between their clans; similarly, the elders were too. Politically, they would’ve elected Tobirama as the clan’s leader long ago, but his respect for his brother outweighed the dispute over agreements.
With all the memories of a distant future converging-
“Anija,” Tobirama said, standing and stepping toward his brother. “I will negotiate with the elders, I’ll get you the peace you want.”
Hashirama’s pensive face broke like a dam, and so did his tears as he engulfed Tobirama in an embrace. He could feel the tears and snot soaking his shirt as his Anjia clung to him, sobbing like a child.
“Tobira, I’m so glad you came around,” Hashirama choked out. “With you by my side, peace will be achieved in no time.”
Tobirama only patted Hashirama’s back. He was right; with Tobirama’s ceaseless efficiency, negotiations would be wholly controlled by him behind the scenes to achieve the best outcome. No trouble will Anjia face towards the creation of his village. Tobirama, after all, would handle all that was minutiae and unnecessary for his anija to be concerned with.
Planning would need to be done early.
In the meantime, Hashirama is kicked out of Tobirama’s room to continue his administrative duties and the endless paperwork that needs to be signed and disputed.
Tobirama had counted six days since he found himself in the past, six days of steeling himself and planning; he had pinpointed his timeline. They were barely a month away from the confrontation with the Uchiha, where Uchiha Izuna would be struck down by Tobirama’s blade.
The only complication was the root reason why the Uchiha confronted the Senju troops that day.
Tobirama had never questioned it in the past since that day was marred by broken tension. Hashirama had begged Madara to allow him to send over medics for Izuna’s wounds, but alas, they were too late. The next time Tobirama faced the Uchihas, Izuna, his rival’s eyes were in Madara’s skull; they glared at him with such viciousness he understood all too well, with a cold comprehension. Familiar they were with the loss of someone precious.
The simplest solution to this problem was simply sparing Izuna when the time came.
But that simplicity wouldn’t come without hidden prices.
Dozens had died from both sides before Izuna ever fell, resulting in the ceasefire.
Up till then, their clans had gone a full month without a violent skirmish in an unspoken truce of exhaustion, but what caused the sudden rousing of the tiger in the den?
Tobirama is adrift in a world that’s so familiar yet not, his body is undeniably his. To feel the consciousness that’s his but doesn’t belong in this body is extremely disorienting. Efficient as he always is, he doesn’t linger on the feeling of displacement; instead, he tethers his wavering sanity to work. He has basically combed through the entire Senju territory three times over. Spending countless hours in his workshop, Hashirama is still barred from entering.
Tobirama had never felt so restless.
Branches rushing beneath his feet, and the wind biting at his skin, carrying the scent of damp soil and old pine.
The Uchiha unit ahead of him had been travelling for days without proper rest. From afar, Tobirama could sense the fatigue in their bones, as every step they took landed heavier than the last.
Tracking the Uchihas in their own forest was no small feat; they spent their entire lives amongst its branches, and every tree was an accomplice. Kagami had told him of the childhood games he played with his clansmen that built their terrifying synergy with the forests. Exercises that built them to be effective shinobis.
He stayed a safe and perhaps an overly cautions two-hundred meters behind the group. Their consistent momentum made it easy for him to stay in pace, each step mirroring theirs from afar. And from their trajectory, he’d already guessed their destination; they were making a beeline towards the Uchiha compound. What warranted such urgency intrigued him; the Uchiha patrol routes had always stayed consistent, and it had been weeks since they had sent a team out beyond their lands. The moment Tobirama detected their chakra, he was on their tails.
So it was expected when he detected foreign chakra closing in on the Uchiha group before the Uchihas themselves were ever aware. The ensuing battle shook the trees, causing birds to take to the sky in flocks, alarmed calls echoing for miles. Tobirama took the advantage to close the distance, hiding behind lines of trees as he listened to the carnage. The burning scent of flesh and foliage stung his nose, a specialised chakra nature of the Uchiha. Anguished screams cut through the crackle of flames, chakra signatures flaring then disappearing like dying sparks. The Uchiha unit is falling fast, torn apart before they even have a chance to fight back. Their companions had tried to burn the bodies of their brothers, necessary to prevent bloodline thieves from stealing their prized dōjutsu kekkei genkai.
The battle had not lasted a minute, and Tobirama could feel a rare feeling of pensiveness. These were highly skilled assassins. Another prominent clan? No, with the ongoing war between the Uchiha-Senju troops, not many had dared to enter their territories, or even dared to step foot in their no man's land, afraid of being caught in the crossfire. Maybe they were wild shinobi, hired by some rich nobleman.
The merciless massacre ended in a chilling silence, ending abruptly as it began. With the lingering shinobi dispersed, Tobirama approached, boots crunching under scattered branches. Arriving at a scene bathed in blood, each man’s complexion was one of twisted horror. Several mangled bodies lie drowned in a pool of their own blood. Nothing about the attack was discreet, a deliberate declaration. Easily premeditated, Tobirama crouched down, flipping a Uchiha’s body to his back. Their eyes had been gouged out, they lay nearby, the attackers had not taken the dojutsu. So they weren blood line, thieves? His fingers brushed a still-open wound, another wave of a metallic scent. The iron-rich hemoglobin had already oxidised upon contact with air.
Smouldering, dwindling embers clung to the bodies, their armours crumbled around their bodies like a dilapidated house. The bodies themselves, like puppets with strings cut. Some puncture wounds penetrate deep into the muscle, exposing bone. Though shinobi had no honour, they were no samurai, but these wounds were offensive. When Madara discovered his fallen clansmen, he would no doubt be in a world of fury. Tobirama was ready to depart and follow the attackers since his objectives had been cut short. His steps froze, eyes widening as he saw a shredded cloth adorned with his clan’s insignia. A chill snaked down his back. This was a setup. Walking over in quick strides, stepping over the fallen bodies, he grasped the textile. The sewing was shoddy, definitely a poor imitation, but unfortunately, the war mongering Madara would surely be fooled.
Tobirama sighed heavily. He definitely had to investigate longer-
His instinct doesn’t fail him as he twists, caught off guard as a blade strikes air where his heart had been. His nerves light alive as he spins around to face the ambusher. But his breath caught when he was faced with Uchiha Izuna.
Izuna.
He easily avoids looking at the Uchiha in the eyes, but even without focusing on them, Tobirama could feel the waves of rage radiating off of Izuna. He doesn’t get a chance to recover from shock as another deadly slash of Izuna’s katana almost connects with his abdomen. Using his scabbard, he blocks another attack that seemed to ceaselessly rain down. Tobirama’s scabbard bowed under the force, lacquer splintering. One more blow and it would be cleaved in half. Tobirama finally meets Izuna’s sword as a sharp metallic hiss glances off their blades.
Izuna was furious; he had raced to the location of the commotion, desperate to save or even salvage his clansmen’s remains. When he arrived, the area, once full of trees, had been cleared, battered with blood. And the bodies of his family had been brutally attacked. He recognised the bloodied face of a distant cousin, but his attention was drawn away when he spotted the sole living human being other than him at the clearing. Albino white hair and those Amatersu-blessed red eyes, he was a stalking presence amongst the dead.
Izuna lunged, managing to catch his rival off guard. Sadly, the Senju dodged at the last second. His insolence was infuriating, ambushing and killing shinobi on a simple mission. His rival meets his strikes stride for stride. That only fuels Izuna; he hates Tobirama, he hates that distant look like he’s above others, and he hates the easy efficiency he manages as he kills. He hates him. And he was more annoying than usual today, redirecting his attacks and dodging just out of reach. Every one of his attacks was met with a pivot or a deflection. The volume of their clamour only increased as Izuna’s fury boiled, a yell of fury and a katon that covered the entire volume of the clearing sent Tobirama scrambling. He gracefully leapt out of the way, but Izuna preferred scrambling.
When he looked up to the perch where the Senju stood, Izuna noticed the furrow between the white-haired shinobi’s brows and the narrowing of his eyes. Those ruby eyes still avoided his glance, born from years of fighting against each other; the last thing a uchiha’s opponent wanted was to be trapped in a genjutsu.
“Calm down, Izuna.” Tobirama’s voice reached down to him. It had been months since they had seen each other and even longer since Izuna had heard Tobirama sound so placating.
“Calm down?” Izuna gritted through his teeth. That stupid Senju was begging for death. “You’re sickening.” He snarled. The Senju didn’t seem phased, simply turning his face away. A strange act, Izuna taking advantage of his rival’s disinterest in combat, quickly knelt beside a fallen body. Flipping the body over, Izuna froze at the mess of blood flowing out of empty sockets. Tobirama wouldn’t do this; he had always claimed it was above himself to destroy others’ doujutsus.
“You...you didn’t do this, did you?” Izuna asked, voice now calmer.
“No, I didn’t,” Tobirama confirmed. “I do confess I had been following them, but I had no intention of attacking them. I witnessed the actual attack.”
The feeling of rage wrapped itself around Izuna again, his chakra rolling waves of anger. “Who did it, Senju?” Izuna asked, a cold resolve in his heart.
His rival seemingly guessed what he was thinking.
“Don’t be reckless, Uchiha, there's more to this; this was a setup.” Tobirama raised the torn piece of cloth with the Senju clan’s crest snitched upon it. Izuna narrowed his eyes, focusing on the evidence. The stitching was far from what the Senju clan produced on their uniforms. Still, suspicion grew. Tobirama seemed to continue his explanation, but Izuna tuned it out, scavenging amongst the bodies. This reconnaissance team was sent to meet with an allied clan of the Uchihas, who claimed they had invaluable intel that could turn the tide in the next Senju clash. As he suspected, he located a scroll hidden, tucked away in the armour of one of the shinobis.
The scroll was stolen from his hands, landing in the grasp of Tobirama. Since when did he get that fast? Izuna leapt back, creating distance. “Give that back.”
The white-haired Shinobi ignored him, seemingly reflecting the treatment Izuna gave him. How petty, Izuna rolled his eyes. He didn’t approach; he was dangerous.
Tobirama’s expression seemed to morph into one of daunting realisation as he read the scroll. He wordlessly threw the scroll back. It rolled to Izuna’s feet, and he could finally inspect the contents.
This correspondence is sent under private seal.
Our scouts have observed unusual movement within Senju territory. Illness has spread through several of their outer camps. Funeral smoke has risen for three consecutive nights. Their supply lines appear strained.
Within the next lunar cycle, a Senju unit is expected to move toward Uzumaki lands to secure provisions and medical aid. The route most favourable for discretion is the Narrow Gorge east of the river crossing.
The escort is projected to be modest in number, likely prioritising speed to avoid notice.
We relay this intelligence in accordance with our standing understanding. How the Uchiha choose to act upon it rests with you.
— Sealed by the hand of
Clan Uraishi
“It's false,” Tobirama said after he finished reading, sighing and shaking his head, bringing a scowl to Izuna’s face. “Our clans have not been suffering from any ailments, and we do plan on visiting the Uzumakis for a marriage proposal.”
And a marriage proposal with dozens of gifts will be fiercely protected; no doubt this scroll would be used to misinform and result in the Uchiha’s loss if this confrontation were to occur. Izuna felt a silent chill down his back, his knuckles baring white as he crumpled the scroll in his hands.
“The Uraishi clan has betrayed us.” Izuna voiced both their thoughts.
“Hn,” Tobirama replied in affirmation, his arms crossed against his chest, simply observing, it made sense to Tobirama now, only allies of the Uchiha clan wouldn’t fear entering their territory. “I plan on pursuing the attackers. I think they were Uraishi shinobi, seeing that they planted Senju markings at the scene of the crime. They want this conflict to reach a boiling point, and they seem to have a goal that I don't think will be favourable for any of us.” Tobirama said.
Izuna paused. “Why plant the evidence and not take the scroll? They surely know Senju troops aren’t that incompetent to not search the bodies, we’d realise something was amiss.”
“Well, you see, would your brother ever look closely at these details?” Tobirama commented. And Izuna knew he was right. “They weren’t counting on my presence or yours,” Tobirama added. “Why wasn’t your brother the one to come?” Tobirama asked with the slight tilt of his head.
“Your stupid brother asked for a meeting with Aniki, and he agreed,” Scowl deepening, Izuna replied, voice laced with disapproval.
Right, he did say he’d agree to help Hashirama with his ideal for peace, that must’ve spurred him on to contact Madara. Ripples in the timeline have already been altered. Tobirama dismissed the thought, as long as he could seize the opportunity to strengthen and protect the not-yet-formed peace, that's all that matters.
Tobirama looked at his rival. It seemed like somehow he’d had to convince him of peace as he investigated, Izuna would be a strong ally to have, even for a short while. Tobirama felt the frayed edges of his chakra pathways once again; that's why, in the brief encounter just then, no jutsu was used to block the katon, he simply dodged. He hadn’t anticipated the case would turn so complex. So he needs Uchiha Izuna.
His attention returned to the Uchiha as the man sighed. “I suppose that means we’ll be working together, lead the way.”
Tobirama was stunned. Surely it wasn’t that easy?
“Senju?” Izuna’s voice broke him out of his paranoid spiral. Turning towards the direction the assassins fled, Tobirama leapt to a perch. Hearing Izuna following on his tail, he let his chakra flow out in waves to sense their surroundings. Izuna’s chakra was warm, hesitant and suspicious, but it was there, luring almost all his attention. Turning his head to the darkening sky, hearing the faint sounds of nocturnal forest-dwelling creatures come alive.
“This way.”