Chapter 2: Tobirama 0.1
The bare minimum number of children for the Senju Clan Head is 2.
One Heir, preferably the eldest son of the Wife. One spare, preferably a son.
A daughter, to marry out.
The ideal number is 4. The eldest daughter, the eldest son, another daughter, another son. Have a daughter before a son for a good omen.
Have another if you wish, that is the child you are free to raise however you want. Take care to leave no power to them. It wouldn't do for them to want for something that was never theirs.
The four children you have are to be the future of the Clan: one to be Head, one to be a spare and the Head's left hand, one to marry out, one to marry in.
Butsuma had only two sons. That is not enough.
The eldest was his first in all the ways that mattered, decided by the heavens to be the heir. Hashirama with his honey skin and beautiful bone structure, Hashirama with his dark eyes coming straight from his father, Hashirama with his dual natures of water and earth, Hashirama with his large chakra reserves and perfect control. Kindhearted Hashirama, persevering Hashirama, strong in body and in mind, taking to morality like a duck to water.
Idealistic Hashirama, genius Hashirama, perfect chakra control Hashirama.
The Elders fawned over him.
(Whether it was sincere, even Hashirama had his doubts. Let it never be said that Hashirama was simpleminded, because the Elders would never allow it.)
(They would sooner remove him from heirship.)
They saw Hashirama's kind nature, and thought to turn it against the enemy. Kindhearted Hashirama would have his heart broken by the carnage and death the Senju suffer at the hands of the enemy, no? Hashirama would be cruel in order to be kind to those that are kind to him, and kindness would always be given to his blood, because the Senju would be all he ever knows, and the Senju would be the only ones worthy.
(They thought to control him. Tobirama would laugh if it wasn't so fucking shit.)
It wasn't like it had never been done before. (Just look at their father.) This was, in a way, for Hashirama as well. It would hurt less, growing up in this godsforsaken world.
Hashirama did not feel comfortable. He knew that the Elders did not have his best interests at heart. He would be expendable.
(And who were the Clan? The Elders. Not the children, certainly not the Head, and never the Heir.)
Hashirama was far more intelligent than most gave him credit. Underneath his kindness (most mistook as idiocy), there had always been a heart of stone, a heart of earth packed so tight together it could best steel, because Hashirama could bend his superficial wants, but he had never wavered on the things that truly mattered to him.
(It was tragic that a child could differ between his wants and needs.)
Hashirama took Tobirama's hand, sometimes, in the late of night. They shared a room, before Hashirama's 8th birthday. Tobirama watched his elder brother press his forehead to Tobirama's little palm like he needed it. Tobirama would watch the tears and the helpless fear, and then he would fit his brother's head into his lap, because he needed it.
Sometimes, Hashirama would press his ear to his brother's chest, listening to the steady beat like a mantra, breathing light and never letting go. Tobirama took this opportunity to run his fingers through the short hair Hashirama had, hugging back.
"Thank you, thank you…" Hashirama would breath into his brother's chest, arms coming up to press Tobirama in. Tobirama didn't know if he was thanking Tobirama for being his brother, or if he was thanking Tobirama for being alive.
Tobirama didn't know, but he would press a little kiss onto his brother's head all the same, because this was a child seeking comfort and being comfort at the same time, warm and present. They were brothers, they shared the same bed, they shared the same room, they shared the same blood. They would lay there, in bed, crushing each other into their chests, thanking the heavens for being alive in that moment, thanking the heavens above that neither resented the other.
They had no mother that mattered, they had no father that could give them silly dreams of safety. The world was cruel, and they weren't human in its eyes. They were tools, discarded without a second thought, future victims to the meat grinder named war but was more aptly described as the greed of man.
All they ever had was each other, pressing against beating hearts that may cease the very next day, thankful every single time they return to each other hale and whole.
(It was impossible not to care, when it was a child pressed into your chest, when it was a boy too young.)
(And when Hashirama confessed secrets into his chest, Tobirama pretended not to hear.)
Tobirama will be getting a new mother. Hashirama will be getting a new mother. Senju Butsuma will be getting a new wife.
5 years is 4 years too long for Butsuma to be without a wife.
(The Elders collectively agreed his genes were too good to go to waste.)
And this time, this time, it is a well-behaved second daughter.
(Tobirama and Butsuma had both scoffed at that. Every shinobi worth their salt did.)
This time, the woman is from the Hatake.
(Hatake were never "well-behaved". That was a fact of life, just like saying "the rain is wet" or "the world is dangerous".)
The largest nomad clan in the Hi no kuni.
She was 16.
(16, and crippled so badly she cannot function as a shinobi, so her only worth as a person was to be a wife and a mother.)
Tobirama couldn't do enough to stop Butsuma from marrying her without effectively ruining her life (because it would spell "undesirable" out on her face in full caps font 58, and then she would have a very difficult life ahead of her), but his clan would not be allowed to inflict anything onto her.
(Let's be for real, Hatake didn't fucking care. God knows what the Senju threatened the Hatake Pack with.)
He thought to himself: If there is really nothing to do, then let her days here be safe, and let her days here nurture happiness for her.
Let her be family.
(Tobirama was once a daughter who had driven a women to a shell of her previous excellence. He didn't want to do that again.)
Tobirama was not expecting to fight Elders for the honor of running errands between his father and his new mother. Of course it has to be him, there was no other option for couriers since you so generously offered your eldest granddaughter for the position of the future matriarch's personal maid, venerable Elder Kuroko, thank you so much for offering.
Jesus fucking Christ.
(Tobirama would also like to state that he is an atheist and will always be for the foreseeable future. Just in case you weren't clear on that. Just in case.)
It was not his father's first wedding, yes, but it would be the first inter-clan alliance through marriage, the contract unsettled and the courtship had not yet begun. Tobirama was not in line of heirship and he was the unfavored son, but Butsuma's other son was too old, and some prowled for every chance to ruin this union.
(Some, like Tobirama's grandfather, wanted to marry their daughter into the Main House too. The Hatake were not Noble or distinguished, even if they were prized for having a bloodline that made any Kekkei Genkai manifest in their children. A purifier, if there was a need for a metaphor. They could be offended without unbearable consequences.)
Tobirama knew that he would be the first courier, and it would be the presentation of the courtship gifts, then it would be the introductions between Tobirama and his father's future bride, because it would not be anyone else.
Butsuma was equals with her father, after all, so one of his sons would have to go in his steed. Or one of the elder's grandchildren, but hell Butsuma was not going to do that.
Tobirama it was.
(What do you mean Hashirama was 11 years old and more suitable for marriage negotiations have you met—)
(And he was older than 8 years old. It would be inappropriate for Hashirama to meet his future stepmother before marriage.)
Hashirama, biting his tongue as he left the room with barely contained excitement, fingers curling up in childish joy as he had received permission to visit the Clan Market tomorrow. Tobirama's eyes softened considerably at that, smiling softly at Hashirama's brilliant grin.
The younger brother layered his right hand on top of his left, tucking his thumbs behind his palm, raising his hands as he prepared to bow, to dip his head below his hands.
"Onii-sama." Tobirama's eyes curved up into a gentler slope, and suddenly Hashirama was there to place two hands on his elbows, preventing his salute (Hashirama never liked these formalities very much, but they were beaten into them from a very young age). His hands were clasped together already in preparation, but Hashirama was dragging him up lightly, and Tobirama didn't have to bow anymore. (Tobirama never quite liked them either.)
Hashirama returned the greeting with a lighter, happier, "Tobirama." (And that was when he knew that Butsuma had always reserved the softest part of himself for his eldest son, because Hashirama forgives so easily and Butsuma cannot forget that; because Hashirama was Butsuma's first child in all the ways that matter, and Butsuma never forgot that.)
They don't need to talk. Hashirama waited for Tobirama to step back (because it must always be Tobirama who conceded, or else the Elders will whisper again), smiling still, chakra full of life uncoiling in elated anticipation. Tobirama nodded at that, bowing in farewell (this one Hashirama didn't stop, because it would be too much then, and the servants would whisper of unbecoming behavior instead of the exemplary brotherhood between them). Hashirama stepped forward as soon Tobirama took a step sideways (Hashirama was always one to go forward while others moved out of the way, just the way his heirship made everyone treat him), continuing down the hallway while Tobirama approached his father's room.
"Otō-sama." Tobirama entered the bedroom, raising his clasped hands to bow, eyes lowered respectfully to the ground. (Hierarchies, smerarchies, Tobirama kept his disdain under a tight lid.)
"Tobirama." (And only then does he rise, because this is his father and his superior all at once, and hierarchies are strict and forbidding in this Clan.)
The silence between them stretched on for a little moment, waiting for Tobirama to pick his way through the tension, approaching his father with steady steps and a graceful kneel, waiting for the man to speak. (He knelt text-book perfect, because Tobirama was a stubborn, stubborn menace of a child, and he knew that Butsuma would ignore any imperfections in privacy, but Tobirama was inconsiderate and spiteful.)
(Better give Butsuma no imperfections to ignore, so that he would grasp for one.)
"You were always more adept at matters of the mind." His father begun, lounging with a hand stuck inside his yukata and the other supporting his leaning body, and his son was watching him under the light of a flickering flame that cast the rest of the room into shadow.
(Their postures contrasted each other, formal and informal; their postures mirrored each other, both in their ease.)
"You honor this son." His voice reached across the pregnant silence that followed soon after, and Tobirama kept his fists loose on his knees, shoulders pushed slightly forward.
(And then there was silence and silence more, a flickering candle.)
"What do I do with you, Tobirama?" His father asked, and the girl-turned-boy blinked, meeting his father's eyes, meeting his hardened too-grey-to-be-black, too-black-to-be-grey eyes, raising his head, and then they both freeze.
("You could start with accepting that you were never mature enough to be a father." Tobirama would have said, "And fucking admit that you are terrified at the prospect of children.")
(Too-young-too-old and too pained eyes meet, and they held each other in a trap that clung with a barbed grip, clawing fresh wounds into the both of them.)
(Like father like son, it seemed.)
They stay like that, grey-black-grey meeting ruby-red-blood, and they scour each other for answers that don't exist.
"...your training." His father's chakra curled, uncoiling from the heavy thing it was earlier, "Your progress is acceptable. I suppose you would not be opposed to heavier training."
(And that was the only way his father knew how to show affection, by giving time and effort and care into making sure they were strong enough to survive in this godforsaken world, and it was more sincere than any empty platitudes of paternal affection could ever be.)
Tobirama shook his head slowly, "No, this son would not." He lowered his eyes, the hints of ease tugging at the corners of his eyes.
(And Tobirama was the one to accept his father's affections in its whole, painful whole.)
"How far is your range, now?" It hurt Hashirama, for the rift between his father and his first heir was insurmountable for the 11 year old. Tobirama was content with the schrödinger's distance.
Tobirama gave a brief description of the two sides of the Naka river, and the Senju patrols approaching the borders of their territory.
(Their eyes meet again. A little monster already, at five years of age. The Elders took a liking to the second son, despite their inherent dislike for his albinism and his disgraceful mother. They were old, bitter people with too much knowledge and no one competent enough to pass it onto, so it was Tobirama they latched onto like a stubborn mold, regurgitating their life learnings that tasted vile on the tongue. Hashirama could never sit through their poisonous lessons; neither Tobirama nor Butsuma would allow it.)
"Satisfactory. Your training will increase after your first courier trip to the Hatake."
(And what an outrage the announcement caused, because Tobirama was 5 and his first shinobi debut was due soon, but no one expected the perilous mission of a marriage courier to the Hatake. This was akin to a death sentence, if it were anyone but Tobirama. Butsuma would be accused of trying to murder his own son, if it were anyone but Tobirama.)
"And if there are no further matters concerning this son?"
(Silence silence silence, tense yet unraveling, and Butsuma averted his gaze first in a rare show of weakness.)
"You may go." And there goes his son, standing and backing away to the door.
Tobirama nodded, and then he went away, bowing low, and then he was gone.
Winter was harsh this year. It was harsh in showers that weren't quite cold enough enough to turn into snow, harsh in the early start, harsh in the sharp dip in temperature that toed the line between snow and late harvest, too cold for crops to be harvested in time for them to be edible, too warm for snow that was easy to sweep away.
The water soaked into their yield, and they had to dry them out unless they wanted to starve.
Tobirama was only grateful for their plentiful harvest this year. Thankful that the only patch of rough weather this year was the early yet not-cold-enough winter rains, thankful that if they rationed carefully, they could make it through the season.
Tobirama looked over his attire again, smoothing over his hakama and smiling at the satisfying contrast between blue-grey and pale ivory skin, brushing a finger over his cheekbones and wondering if Canon Tobirama's markings were scars or tattoos.
Probably tattoos. Canon Tobirama was well-beloved by his family, and allowed to express himself as he pleased.
Canon Tobirama was a child that was passionate and single-minded in his determination, unafraid to criticise or oppose his family's decisions because he was trusted and privileged, recognising that fact and living unafraid because there was always his family behind him, there were always precious people that had his back, unwary and unwavering.
Canon Tobirama was a privileged child, he was unyielding and ambitious because he was loved. Those traits belonged to a child that was raised with the assurance that there would be no consequence for his honest words and the luxury of easily given trust.
Canon Hashirama was a very, very loving brother, and Canon Tobirama was loving in return. The Canon Senju brothers gave each other space and trust, unafraid to oppose and unafraid to back down, and it was this easy love that allowed Canon Tobirama to remain untouched by the common mentality of "listen and never ask questions".
Canon Tobirama was unafraid to lecture his older brother, and unafraid to back down when it concerned Canon Hashirama's principles; Canon Hashirama was unafraid to listen to his younger brother, and willing to give leeway for Canon Tobirama when he truly wished for something. This was what brothers should do, and that's what they did.
Canon Hashirama could use force to get his way because he knew Canon Tobirama would allow it, Canon Tobirama could lecture his older brother because he knew Canon Hashirama would allow it.
Canon Tobirama was Hashirama's dream, and Hashirama was Tobirama's ideal.
And Tobirama didn't have that with Hashirama.
Tobirama couldn't grow with Hashirama like the Canon Senju brothers did. Tobirama wouldn't be Hashirama's last brother because he already made up his mind that Kawarama and Itama would survive. Tobirama already made up his mind that Butsuma would be the Clan Head that brought the shinobi wars to an end.
Tobirama already made up his mind.
Tobirama might be Hashirama's only brother now, but Tobirama wouldn't be Hashirama's last brother, and that meant there would be no easy leeway to build unconditional trust. There would be no easy camaraderie, no shared pain to bridge that gap from brothers to brothers.
Tobirama would have to maintain their relationship carefully.
This was fine. Tobirama wouldn't know what to do with the Canon Senju brothers' relationship dynamic anyways. It was more than likely that he would take advantage of it until he pushed Hashirama away or killed him.
This was fine.
The 5 almost 6 year old exhaled, beginning the ceremony by kneeling at the front gates, raising his arms above his bowed head to receive the courier scrolls.
He did, and so he stood, bowing once to his father and Clan Head, bowing once to the elders, and once in the direction of the ancestral hall. (And no more, because the number 4 was unlucky and Tobirama knew better.)
"This son will take his leave now," Tobirama said, loud and clear, "This son swears to uphold his duty."
And then, with the approving nod of his father, whom he had already discussed private messages to pass onto his future stepmother, Tobirama turned and leapt into the trees, disappearing from view to the unified (if slightly unenthusiastic) cheers of the Senju.
This was his first public debut as a shinobi, and he would go to the Hatake Pack alone (with no supervision, this was the most important part), vulnerable to sabotage and violent murder (this is only important because there was no supervision).
Well, if he wasn't a sneaky paranoid little shit.
Tobirama was well-versed in looking in all 36 directions at one object from reading convoluted fanfiction that examined too many perspectives and made Tobirama way too paranoid, which meant Tobirama was a sneaky little shit that was good at exploiting these chinks in armor that most people didn't even know exist.
Ranging from the displacement of air as you moved and breathed, the slight difference in the composition of gas in the air you breathed out, your body heat that radiated outwards into an invisible haze, the electromagnetic radiation from a living human body, the different patterns of human skin that only showed in uv light, and the most obvious, the billions of dead skin-cells that humans shed off daily.
Tobirama had lived in the 21st century, and he was a little shit that liked to overcomplicate things.
(And fuck, this world was very different in an indescribable way. Best he could do was liken it to the differences between a 3D realistic movie and a 2d smooth anime shaded realistically. Does that make sense?)
Also apparently English was good enough for seal script. Very cool shit. Very volatile. Very explosive.
(The Elders took to him like they never had before, all the while shying away. Butsuma was pleased by this.)
So seals had vastly different families and their theory was very, very different, and the term sealing was a generic term that applied to all the chakra work that had something to do with ink and paper.
So the way chakra interacted with paper didn't matter, as long as it worked somewhat (by which Tobirama meant if it did anything, even if it wasn't the intended effect), it was sealwork.
Therefore, technically, if Tobirama set extremely flexible rules for language and very strict ones for intent, he would be able to create a sealscript that no one else would be able to alter unless they learnt the language and all the intent behind every word at that exact moment, because the former scenario would occur more often than he'd like, but the latter wouldn't be possible by anyone not proficient in mind jutsu.
(But that also meant if anyone learnt his style of sealing, it would be turned so completely against him he would never survive.)
If the mind jutsu user succeeded in performing it on Tobirama and getting the right unaltered memory.
Tobirama wasn't content with the hiraishin that would need to be perfected by a successor. Tobirama needed to be better.
(And fucking hell, the fanfics weren't helping his case of anxiety. There were so many ways shit could go wrong written down, there were definitely more not perceived.)
(And maybe he was a little bit more proficient in the seamless, step-by-flexible-step web of manipulation bullshit asian media were all about.)
(Tobirama didn't know how he could remember wikipedia surfing that clearly, but maybe it was compensation for being wrenched away from a life finally on the precipice of getting better.)
Therefore, Tobirama was under chakra-less disguise when a Kurama Clan adult passed by, clearly searching for Tobirama. (This was very near Senju Borders, the direction in the next stop of the Hatake Pack, and the Kurama was looking up, something done to search for Senju that liked tree hopping. Also the Kurama were on tense relations with the Hatake, and clearly against the Senju-Hatake union.)
(Never use someone's skillset against them, especially if you're inferior to them in skill and experience. Rely on your own shit. Tobirama was talking about chakra techniques in general. There would always be someone better at taijutsu, better at ninjutsu, better at genjutsu, better at chakra. There would be very few with the ability to think in 36 different fracturing perspectives for one object.)
(Honestly, Tobirama thought that Kurama would be on amicable terms with the Hatake, since both of them were unpopular clans in the Hi no kuni. But no, the Kurama were aiming for a Senju-Kurama alliance.)
The Kurama was clearly searching for chakra and physical tracks. Tobirama would never leave those behind.
The Kurama was looking up, knowing Senju habits in a clear display of habitual thinking. Tobirama strived to never be like that.
Tobirama wasn't on the trees. He was skirting past already, leaving the clueless Kurama behind.
There he went, safe for another few seconds before skirting behind a tree, careful to leave no sound or any trace of chakra behind as he placed the trunk between him and the direction of other human chakra signatures.
Full on stealth mode, all the time, every day, there was no place for carelessness when even one slip up meant a fate worse than death.
(Tobirama's tongue prodded delicately at the glass suicide pill he glued to his teeth using a tiny dusting of chakra. It would contaminate his body and melt it into a puddle of former biological matter.)
Tobirama was helpless and vulnerable to grown ass men, but if no grown ass man could find him, he wouldn't get the chance to be helpless against grown ass men.
Of course, there were a few more close calls than he'd like, but Tobirama liked to think he had learned from the almost-fucking-disasters.
For example: sound. Even air breaking for a step forward was liable to get your dumb arrogant ass noticed. Thank god for the stereotype that Senjus liked tree hopping, or else Tobirama might have gotten taken by a bloodline thief.
(And he'd purposely left the thief to her fate of death by torture, caught by clan shinobi.)
Every trace left behind should be either prevented with absolute prejudice, or fucked up so badly no one could tell if it was yours. One of the hired trackers almost caught him. Tobirama was lucky the person mistook him for other hired shinobi, since the tracks weren't on a branch. They didn't stay tricked for too long, but Tobirama was long out of tracking range when their chakra flared in their indignity.
Tobirama also thanked god that the hunters weren't all that close together, and were prone to miscommunication.
("I heard the Senju demon spare already passed us—" "Wait the one over there just found tracks—" "Did he double back??")
("Where is his scent??? What is his scent?!?!")
Contrary to fanfic description, human scents weren't easily compared to other scents, especially plant based ones. It was more "different ways bacteria interact with your sweat", and clan shinobi were bred and raised to have a scent that easily blended into the clamour of the world. Children didn't have that milky but obvious scent of a civilian child (who never had to worry about getting hunted down when hiding) because of natural processes. Clan shinobi had those traits bred out of them.
Tobirama's scent was especially faint.
First of all, no puberty. Second of all, well-bred clan shinobi. Third of all, preventive measures in the form of scent masking by covering up everything and not allowing bare skin to touch anything solid. Tobirama looked rather shitty in his crude body suit, but it did very nicely to collect every stray piece of body tissue (hair, skin cells, spit, sweat) he would leave behind.
(Look, Tobirama wasn't going to test experimental seals on himself, even if he looked forward to the day he could afford to throw physical measures to the back burner.)
And once he caught the signatures of white chakra in varying purity, Tobirama knew that it was time to get himself presentable.
He took off his body suit by using fingers to pinch the fabric and pull, so that there was a section of cloth not touching his formal clothing underneath, slapping a storage seal onto that area and activating it. The body suit was removed from his person without removing the rest (and Tobirama), revealing 5 year old Tobirama dressed in slightly ruffled formal clothing.
(He did not, in fact, look like he scaled across half the Hi no kuni to reach the Hatake Pack while avoiding various trackers and hostile shinobi. He just had a lot of fucking creases.)
His sleeves looked like cabbages from getting bunched up in the body suit. He should have wrapped them around his wrists and worn the body suit on top instead of just rushing through shit so he could depart formally from the Senju.
His hakama fared slightly better as in they were designed to be creased anyway. His shoes were acceptable. His hair.
Nothing he couldn't fix. He took a fine comb (an Nara gift made of horn antler, something he had to jump hurdles to get) to it, pulling his shoulder length hair into a low ponytail, using a silk band woven in a pattern designed to be elastic, a dark navy chosen to stay inconspicuous among dark hair that Tobirama did not have. It did look luxurious enough with the long dark tassel draped in front, falling down to his heart.
(Look, Tobirama liked long white hair, it was a literal modern culture thing back where he once lived. Every single anime fan liked characters with white hair, bonus if they had long hair and more bonus if the hair was straight. If the character had exotic eye color and a delicate face, you had a guaranteed fan favourite. )
(It was a popular preference and an even more popular kink.)
(Which meant Tobirama apologists were in abundance, and you had people picking the man's mind.)
(Yes, Tobirama was fucking making his own conditioner to prevent Canon Tobirama's own brand of spiky short hair. He didn't want to be an albino Madara rip-off if he did get the chance to leave his hair long. Tobirama is a Canon Tobirama apologist and unashamed of it.)
(Look, people could say fuck all about it being Tobirama's fault Konoha went to shit. It wasn't Tobirama's job to do things perfectly so the next generation never had to do shit on their own.)
(If no one bothered to make changes, it was the next generation that failed to do their duty of innovation.)
(Canon Tobirama underestimated how lax people could be when faced with no immediate threat. It took a tremendous effort and the dream of two legendary (and privileged) men to kickstart shinobi villages, and the optimistic dreamers tend to die early in this dangerous world. The environment wasn't suitable for innovation or dreaming, and Canon Tobirama neglected that.)
Tobirama frowned at his rumpled appearance, but did near the Hatake Pack cautiously, hopping up onto a tree, letting them hear his arrival.
(White chakra.)
(Cannibals.)
The Senju boy did not look like a Senju.
Dear heavens, he did not look like a shinobi at all.
Hatake Taka had done her patrols on high alert, expecting the Senju boy to arrive with enemies on his tail. Tsukiya (their most popular water-natured support) and Hakari (their resident healer) flanked her sides, in preparation that they would need to save the boy's life.
(And then the boy would negotiate the marriage contract in place of his father for their injured second heir.)
(Say all you want, but the Hatake were not impressed that a 5 year old was sent to them.)
Once the sound of wooden zori on wood reached their ears, the patrol team was off, rushing to intercept any potential enemies that were chasing the Senju courier, but there was no other chakra signature nor were there any scents that stung with hostility.
There was only the shirako with his ruby-blood-red eyes, his formal wear, and the slight tang of embarassment in the air. The Senju boy was trying to smoothen his wrinkled clothes with a young hand, eyes snapping up from his clothing and down to see the squad of three Hatake with their white hair and their pelts.
Their similar colouring brought a hint of contemplation to the pup's demeanour, staying his limbs for a moment more as their eyes lingered on the white hair a few shades off and the pale-skin milky white. They could be pack-by-blood if they were observed from afar. They would be, if the Senju had their way.
The Hatake were not blind to strength when it is shown. They knew how long it would take to travel from the Senju Lands to where they were now, how hard it was to track the Hatake down with no explicit invitation. This was supposed to be part of a trial for any suitors that wanted any one of their beloved heirs, but the moment the Senju sent a 5 year old, they had no choice but to reveal their destination to the Senju and remove the obstacles set to hinder a grown ass man. They decided that the fact that the cub made it to the Hatake Pack was more than enough to prove his worth.
(Not that it satisfied any of them. God, the youngest cub was sent to negotiate the marriage terms.)
But the shirako—
Holy thrice-damned shit, that was not a shinobi that travelled half-way across the country with hostile nin and Inuzuka trackers on his tail, dammit! There was no tang of blood, no stench of fear, no pursuit, nothing. Taka was in denial.
The Senju boy — the shirako, as the rumors say; the oni, the whispers breathed — had the gall to be sheepish as he kicked off from his branch like a spoiled son of some prominent daimyo, except he landed in grace with nary a sound — it became excruciatingly obvious that he had let them know that he had arrived to their territory.
The boy came bearing gifts as well.
(Gifts in perfectly fucking pristine condition, might she add. A fruit basket. Sage fucking wept this pup.)
Hatake Taka didn't know if she should be impressed, or absolutely terrified at the man that this boy in front of her would grow into.
And grow he would, there was no doubt about it. The boy in front of them was already past their hip in height, little pup that he was, but definitely not the runt of his litter. His eyes slanted sharply up, aided by the vermillion eyeliner — vermillion?! No scent, not cinnabar, what?! — so immaculate Taka could see the flawless edge of the blade that was used to aid the brush. Vermillion eyeliner so vibrant it may as well be a statement all on its own.
Taka was in denial.
There was just no way.
"Please forgive this one for his lack of politeness, it was not meant in any offence." Senju Tobirama began with that, of all things to begin with, you fucking address your wrinkled sleeves. Sure, not the monstrous fucking feat you just accomplished, your fucking wrinkled sleeves.
Taka was in denial.
The little monster.
Taka was a little stiff as a result, but could you fucking blame her for it?! Taka knew that Tsukiya was licking her lips, and Hakari's breathing was coming a little faster than normal. Taka was literally the only one there in condition to prevent a diplomatic incident.
(Alright, maybe Taka was exaggerating, the Hatake have never had the chance for a diplomatic event. It was mostly "pass our trials or we pick our teeth with your vertebra" marriage alliances between Clans. Taka was the bitch in charge of the team. She did the talking.)
"Please," And the little monster was so prim and proper, "Allow this one to make amends." If the Senju wasn't 5 years old, Taka may be inclined to take insult. As such, Taka is only more impressed.
"There will be no need." Taka said, lips drawing back in a mockery of a smile, watching Tobirama narrow his eyes — who the fuck taught this pup how to glare so well, that eyeliner is a damned cheat — and shift his weight to the balls of his feet, "Hajimemashita, Hatake Taka."
(The eyeliner sharpened his eyes, slanted them up harshly in an attempt at intimidation. Those puppy eyes that were rounded by youth and childhood were sharpened in an attempt to state his identity as an ambassador that should be taken seriously, or perhaps it was a nod towards his rumors of demonic origins by using a color identified as poison.)
The little monster had the gall to shove his glare to the back of his skull, eyes fluttering shut — shut! oh the fucking gall, she'd get him back for that — to bow his head and murmur an apology. Again, Taka would take serious offence, if it wasn't a 5 year old pup.
(Look, a child is a child.)
(It would be unseemly for a woman in her caliber to be cruel to a pup only because he didn't know the Hatake by heart.)
Taka only reached out with her hand to — after ascertaining whether there were traps in those silky (what the fuck, but Taka was inclined to use words she had never used before to describe this pup) locks (what the fuck) — throughly trounce that formal-useless-vulnerable hairstyle into a venerable bed of fluff with liberal use of raiton.
(Look, fine, Taka knew that after the scentless vermillion face paint, there was really no guarantee that poison could be scented out, but she kept her movements slow and there was no scent of panic or malice, so she should probably be fine.)
(Besides, there's no poison a Hatake can't handle.)
The pup shuddered, eyes snapping wide open to look up at her, rendering the eyeliner useless.
(And the scent of embarrassment from before had been tinged with something like depression, chased away by the sting of surprise and slight anger.)
"Come on, pup." Taka bared her teeth in a wide grin, this time less threatening and more playful, "It's been a long week."
Her hand mussed that hair up one last time, relishing at the dumbfounded look — goddamn finally the pup looked his age — on the shirako's face.
The Hatake are nomad cannibals. They are predators, a cut above the human race, them who can feast on a man's freshly killed corpse. They capture and subdue adult nin to consume, letting their white chakra steal the kekkei genkai of their food, tearing through defences with their blades. The opinion of them is largely polarised, because on one hand, they hunt humans down for food; and on the other, they are loyal, and hold loyalty close to their souls. Gain their favor, and never fear death from those fangs; earn their ire, and not even a god can save you from their wolves.
They hunt, you see. They hunt, they stalk, they cut every path of escape off with a deadly trap, never backing down because if you piss one off, the entire clan will be upon you like the pack of wolves they summon.
(They can also sense magnetic fields, so they're never lost. Ever.)
(And technically they summon canines.)
The Hatake were the largest nomad clan in the Hi no kuni, but they also travel to the borders of the Tsuchi no kuni, being nomads and having rumored origins there.
They were also fucking feral. They were one of the wilder clans out there, and their feasts, although gruesome for most, were impressive to shinobi standards. Barbarians they may be, but no clan worth their salt can deny the power and grace of the Hatake. There was something inherently attractive of a Hatake tearing a man's throat out with their magnificent fangs, swallowing their first pound of flesh and having fangs so sharp that the blood slides right off.
Or maybe it's just Tobirama. Because Hatake Kiyo was eating a man's kidney right from his bisected torso, and Tobirama was oddly entranced by the display. There was a crunch to the flesh, suggesting that it would be firmer and more chewy than normal muscle—
The display was magnificent. The bonfire was magnificent. His new stepmother was magnificent.
Holy shit. This, this is fucking terrifying.
Maybe his smile sharpened a little too much to be an uppity Senju, maybe his eyes narrowed and gleamed in delight, but the Hatake weren't annoyed by it. Taka was messing up his hair again, filling it with so much friction and static (what the fuck what the fuck stop using raiton on his hair) it stood on end like a fluffy nest, but Tobirama's eyes are fixed on the future Senju Matriarch.
Oh yes, Tobirama was going to enjoy this type of mission.
So the Senju brat? Not very bratty, and that's a fucking problem now. There's a section of the betting pool set aside just for him.
The Hatake saw that little monster of a child and went "Aight time to make this kid act his age". The stakes were high, all hands on deck, and this show was on the road.
(Look, you could say all you want about Senju Butsuma, but every single Hatake could smell his repressed parental issues 3 miles off, and every single Hatake knew that man was not ready to be a father or a husband. Yet another strike against his favor, but Kiyo could protect herself well enough.)
He could join the hunt, he knew how to prowl, even if he had problems judging how to take the chance. They needed to shove to get him pouncing on their prey (animal prey this time) instead of hesitating and running calculations, because the pup was so used to human prey he didn't know how to hunt anything else. It's painful to witness.
It reminded them how pups could be culled between one day and the next, because children have always been so vulnerable, so fragile. The Senju pup's hunting skills were all geared towards shinobi, which was far too telling. The Hatake knew that this courier mission was Tobirama's shinobi debut, but that didn't mean no one has never attacked the pup before.
Kiyo kept an eye on him.
The pup was pitiful, under his put together appearance and his sharpened claws. Pitiful in body, because let it be known that Kiyo could hear his chakra scraping painfully against his scarred pathways; pitiful in mind, because he was so high above anyone and everything that he could not breathe without the pain of it; pitiful in reputation, because those that know of the Senju know of their demonic second son.
Kiyo suspected if anyone but his blood were to offer him anything, he would take it with still eyes and a stiller heart. There was nothing to be done about it.
Pitiful pup, so alone and so vulnerable because his blood did not close ranks around him. His blood did not guard his flank, his blood did not watch his back.
Oh, the man she was to marry did not earn any points in her eyes by sending the pup, or perhaps he had. He must've known something, to send his youngest son to the Pack.
(Perhaps, this was a taste?)
The pup's chakra system was scarred and overstrained, yet sensitive due to his innate talent of sensing. It looked similar to those that had suffered lockjaw in their infancy, as the disease had ripped through their pathways and left them lacerated. His chakra reserves were similarly marked, unable to expand more than the bare minimum without the threat of ripping. How painful chakra exhaustion must be for him! His lungs and heart needed to be coated in chakra to function beyond the bare minimum, further decreasing the level of chakra he could use before severely weakening his physical body. Yet, his mind was bursting with action, flitting back and forth, telling of his genius. It was a tragedy to even know of, let alone examine. It would coax a sigh of pity from even the most miserable swine.
Kiyo swore up and down to the terrified pup that she would never betray his confidence like that.
(Look, puppy eyes never applied exclusively to those with canine attributes, and frightened puppy eyes threatened you into maternal submission. There was nothing else to be done other than obedience.)
Kiyo thought that, if the Senju had raised such a pup, then it would not be such a loss for her to marry. If only to meet the one held so jealously to the shirako's heart.
(What? The shirako obviously held some close to his heart, judging by the indigo on the tassel that did not match his hakama.)
(Must have cost a fortune.)
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Cranes_At_Eventide
Cranes_At_Eventide Misunderstandings are always ripe in the Main Household. They always taste bitter when they are resolved, because it would always be too late.
Tobirama has no idea how bad his reputation is, mostly because he assumes that it's bad in the "he's too useless to be of use" way and not in the "holy fucking shit this is not a child" way.
This is your reminder that Tobirama is an unreliable narrator.
Butsuma is just Tired™.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone