Chapter Text
“I’m home!” Naruto called as he unlocked the very inadequate metal bolt lock and opened the door to his apartment. His apartment that was very much in the red-light district and looked like it was violating all of the building code requirements he’d drafted upon the village’s founding. Tobirama would have to read up on all the current laws to make sure he knew what had changed and what he could use to strike out with.
And strike he would because he had half a mind to flash back to his old office and throttle Sarutobi. The ceiling was bowed and discolored in spots, telling of water damage, the wooden flooring looked more brittle than even Hashirama’s earliest attempts at wood for building material, and around the windows and the door he came through were scorch and knife marks as if a confrontation had occurred. That spoke nothing of the bare nothingness in the way of furnishings. There was a ratty futon that might be serviceable, a low table with a single pillow to sit on, a rusty kitchen oven and fridge, and a bathroom that was missing a door. Tobirama could even smell the mold in the air.
It was appalling and Tobirama wondered quickly if the old Senju compound was still standing and habitable. He would need to check post-haste because he was not allowing himself to stay here let alone a small child with an impressionable immune system. Not that his bijuu would let him get sick, but this still couldn’t be good for his health.
Tobirama toed off his sandals by the door and watched as Naruto made a circuit around the room, checking his futon, a hidden cubby in the floor boards under the futon, in a cardboard box under the sink—which was leaking he noted in distaste—and then in a tiny vent near the bathroom. Even from across the small apartment, Tobirama could see bundles of cloth, some small bags, and other trinkets.
The boy bit his lip when he finished his route and caught him staring. “Sometimes I come home and is like someone was here, ya know? And sometimes they take my stuff, believe it,” he explained as if he was remarking on the weather.
Tobirama tsked and shook his head before reaching up to remove his happuri. “You’ve done well to keep your possessions safe. That was clever of you.” He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as he felt day’s old sweat and grime in it. Technically, he was only just coming to a place of rest after a mission, an attempted ambush, time travel, and a rather hectic reunion. He hasn’t had the chance to go through his usual post-mission routine.
He checked his surroundings once more and was pleased to find that no less than eight Anbu had taken up positions around the apartment building. Good, it seemed like security and threat evaluation hadn’t fallen on the wayside for the village.
“I can be smart!” Naruto crowed, jabbing a thumb at his own chest before grimacing when his stomach audibly rumbled. “Ow,” he whined, patting his belly consolingly. Tobirama couldn’t restrain a twitch at the reminder that this child was starving. Something in him also relaxed because this? This was something he could fix right now.
“I will cook dinner,” Tobirama announced, stepping lightly across the dubious floor boards to see what the boy had in the way of kitchenware and food. “Why don’t you take a bath? It’s been a long day, I think.”
“C-Cook?” Naruto stuttered as if saying the word for the first time. The man paused in the middle of peering into mostly empty cupboards to quirk an eyebrow. “I don’t have…Um. Aren’t I s’ppos’ to cook for you? ‘Cause you’re the guest?”
Tobirama tilted his head before returning to his survey of the kitchen. “In normal conventions, you would be right. However, I am your family and the adult in the situation. I will get food and cook.” He closed the fridge with finality. Everything was about as empty or bad as he’d thought it was going to be. When he turned back to Naruto, he was a bit surprised to find Naruto flushing bright red and looking slightly panicked. “Nephew? Sprout? What’s wrong?”
Small hands gripped and pulled at the hem of the threadbare and strained shirt. “There’s no…food?” the child managed to get out as Tobirama took the three long steps needed to cross to the bathroom. Once again, Tobirama dropped into a low crouch so as to meet Naruto’s gaze on an even level. “I don’t have money?”
Tobirama felt sad momentarily—and angry, but that seemed to be a constant now—before pushing it aside in favor of doing. “I will get food and cook,” he repeated coolly. “I am not asking you for money or for anything other than for you to take a bath.” Carefully, he reached out and nudged a knuckle to the boy’s shoulder, giving him time to see the move. “Leave dinner to your uncle, sprout.” A bit under-handed, but it finally seemed to reach Naruto before he could start hyperventilating.
“Sprout?” he repeated, clearing his throat.
Tobirama grunted. “The Senju clan calls any young one a sprout. Like a small tree or plant.”
“Oh. So it’s a nickname? A good one?”
“Yes. Now, into the bath. I’ll start dinner. Clean and scrub well or you’ll be taking another bath,” Tobirama warned, exhaling softly through his nose when Naruto squawked in offense.
Once the boy had the water running and was focused, he formed a quick hand sign and used some of his slowly returning chakra to create shadow clones. Or a shadow clone. Tobirama growled quietly to himself at the obvious show of weakness before getting down to business. “Go to the market and get basic groceries and cooking tools,” he instructed his clone, absently noting that he did look like he’d come fresh from a harsh fight. He pulled an empty storage scroll from his hip pouch and handed it over along with his small stash of emergency money. “If this currency is no longer usable, take what you need to and take note of the prices and locations of the stores. I’ll repay the funds once I have them.” He’d need to check and see if the Senju treasury still existed or if it had been absorbed by the village.
“Yes, sir,” his clone replied before henging into the appearance of an unassuming civilian. He then disappeared in a flash to one of the markers elsewhere in the village.
With that taken care of, Tobirama then moved over to the low table and pulled two other scrolls out. One was filled with his camping supplies and contained extra hygiene and sleeping supplies he’d need later. The other he unrolled and accessed, easily grabbing the sealing ink and paper to begin drafting and painting. In short order, powerful wards, alarms, and traps decorated the apartment’s walls and entrances, securing the location to Tobirama’s standards.
From the bathroom, he could hear Naruto splashing and humming to himself, his chakra lighter and bouncing. Outside the insulated bubble of relative safety he’d made the apartment into, he could sense the placid chakras of the Anbu regularly disturbed with spikes of boredom, concern, confusion, and sometimes even a wave of amusement that would flash around the group of them. Tobirama was familiar with the feeling of gossiping shinobi.
His clone returned soon enough and Tobirama rose from where he was sitting to help take the supplies, pleased to see the wealth of greens and the pink of fresh fish. He quickly set a new pan on the rusty stove top and after finagling with the dials—since when did ovens stop needing to be manually lit?—he got a small flame going.
“Do you need me for anything else?” the clone asked, keeping his voice down in respect to the child singing offkey in the bathroom.
“Actually, yes,” he replied, pouring a bit of oil into the pan. It was disconcerting that he didn’t recognize the labels or merchant names on any of the products. Rice was always safe however, and he set up a pot on another burner with water. “I need to know what remains of the Senju clan. Specifically, in the way of accommodations, funds, and any surviving Senju.” He couldn’t feel the distinctive chakra characteristic to his own clan, but if he had clan in the village, he would seek them out.
The clone nodded and returned to his usual appearance. “Right away. But if I’m not returning memories, you should know an Anbu tried to help me. The Hatake one.” Tobirama frowned as the clone continued. “He slipped supplies into my basket, distracted the shop keepers while I left, and signaled me into certain shops. He never made direct contact with me, but I also believe he left behind money in payment to the shopkeepers.”
His frown deepened as he waved his clone away to his next series of tasks. A debt owed. He’d have to see about paying the Hatake back as soon as possible before he tried to call in the favor or use it as leverage.
After he set out the new plates and cutlery and felt safe in leaving the fish alone to cook, he entered the bathroom to find Naruto blowing bubbles into the surface. The boy beamed a smile at him, one Tobirama returned with a small one of his own. “Finished?” he asked as he pulled a towel from the sink and held it open for Naruto.
“Yeah! Squeaky clean, believe it!” he chirped and Tobirama agreed. Now that the child was clean, he realized that the scratches on his cheek weren’t actually scrapes or injuries, but natural markings. Whisker markings. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what those meant. While Tobirama scrubbed the towel over Naruto’s hair, he also noticed that the boy was as skinny and thin as he thought. Not dangerously starved, but very, very hungry for quite some time.
It brought up bad memories of when he was still young and Itama and Kawarama were under his care. A harsh and long winter had drained all of the clan’s larders and stocks, leaving them hungry and freezing. He remembered feeding a quietly whimpering Itama, soothing a crying Kawarama, and promising Hashirama that he’d eaten—liar—when his anija managed to grow vegetables on the rare occasion. If Tobirama had taken to selfishly stocking his own food stores and stashes after that solely for his brothers and not the clan, then he’d only stand by his actions. Seeing his brothers cry and despair over the pain of hunger was haunting.
“There,” he announced when Naruto’s hair was mostly dry. “Get dressed. Dinner is almost ready.”
“It smells really good, Tobi-oji!” Naruto scurried out of the bathroom stark naked to a pile of clothes by his futon. Tobirama wrinkled his nose when Naruto did a “smell check” of his clothes as Touka had unashamedly bragged once. He mentally added laundry to a growing list of chores, if not outright shopping for new ones. “Is it ramen?”
The man gave a short bark of laughter, surprised, while returning to the stove to plate dinner. Definitely an Uzumaki. “No. Just fish and a stir fry of vegetables and rice.” A thought occurred to him belatedly. “Are you allergic to anything?”
Naruto blinked slowly as he pulled his head through a shirt. “Allergic?”
Tobirama clarified, “Do any foods make your stomach hurt or make you sick?”
The boy’s face scrunched up. “Eh. No? I mean, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. Like. Like um. Milk! I like milk, but when it’s lumpy I have to poop a lot.” Tobirama bet. “And, and! I like meat, but most of the stuff I get is like. Bad smelling?” Naruto shrugged. “Even when I really, really cook it, I throw it back up. I try my best to cook, believe it!” he declared happily before shrinking in on himself contemplatively. “But some foods just don’t work. Ramen is always good though! Ramen never makes me sick.”
The former Hokage pushed down a rising tide of affront and offense with growing ease. This was also something he could fix. “Good to know,” he said honestly, carrying to plates and chopsticks to the table. “Come eat.”
Naruto scurried over to the pillow and practically drooled over the painfully simple dinner Tobirama had made. “Thanks for the food!” the boy exclaimed before digging in ravenously.
“Thank you for the food,” he echoed in a quieter voice, watching as the child attacked his food with speed. Inwardly he cursed himself for not making a larger meal. Not only was the boy hungry, but he was an Uzumaki, a clan that had notoriously large appetites.
He cut his fish in half first thing before starting in on his own meal. When Naruto polished his plate off in record time, he reached out for it. “I’ll get you more, have some of that tea,” he instructed. With the boy distracted by smelling the beverage suspiciously—Tobirama’s clone had had the foresight to grab a sweeter tea and honey, which was a ridiculous luxury Tobirama hadn’t been expecting—he slid half of his fish onto the plate before returning to the stove to plate the rest of the rice and vegetables.
He gave the plate back to Naruto but stopped the boy as he went to eat again. “Try eating slowly,” he coached, rubbing the back of Naruto’s tiny hand with a thumb. “It may be hard,” he admitted, recalling his own time of recovering from starvation times or when he’d been imprisoned without food, “but you’ll upset your stomach if you shock it too badly with too much food. Give it time to stretch and get used to it.”
He didn’t know the cause of the brief sheen of tears in Naruto’s eyes, but he dearly hoped it wasn’t out of an incorrect belief that Tobirama wouldn’t let him eat or would take his food way. The tears cleared up before Tobirama could explain and Naruto nodded with a wane smile. “Yeah, yeah. Throwing up isn’t fun, you know? Thank you for the food!”
Tobirama let it go, but struck up a conversation this time, prodding Naruto to answer and speak while also reminding him not to talk with his mouth full. He did so in an effort to help Naruto slow down while eating. He asked Naruto about his favorite places in the village, his favorite foods, and hobbies. It was so normal. He hadn’t had such a menial innocuous talk in what felt like an eternity. Ever since becoming head of the Senju clan and Hokage, every word he said was law and he had to think carefully before speaking and evaluate any information given to him with extreme caution. But speaking with Naruto? His nephew? Refreshingly free of any burden or expectations.
The man was wary when Naruto still managed to clear his plate of food again, but his nephew showed no signs of distress or nausea. In fact, he sighed happily and yawned. Tobirama felt something in him soften at the sight of the child rubbing his eyes sleepily, before steeling himself.
“Naruto, I know you are tired, but I wish to speak with you,” he announced, waiting and watching for those blue eyes to focus on him.
“Hm? ‘Bout what?”
Blunt and straight forward has always been his way of handling things, but even he knew he couldn’t shatter a child’s world so unapologetically. “It’s obvious that some truths have been kept from you and I don’t want to deceive or lie to you.”
Much, much later, when the moon was high in the sky and the village slept, Tobirama sat awake in a poor excuse for an apartment, listening to the wet raspy breathing of a child sleep. He wished he could do something to soothe his little nephew, to wipe away his tears and hold him, but Naruto very clearly had personal space and wasn’t used to having someone with him. When he’d crawled under his blanket and cried, giving Tobirama his back, he’d gotten the message and retreated to the opposite side of the apartment.
Listening to Naruto cry himself to sleep made something dark and ugly curl and solidify in Tobirama’s chest. He never wanted to feel like this. He hadn’t felt like this since Hashirama had tried driving a blade into his own heart. But unlike then, he could do something about this. Back then, only Madara could stop that blade and keep Hashirama around. This time, Tobirama could and would reach his family.