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Tobirama stumbles as he runs on aching feet, every step igniting agony of the likes he has never known, every breath impossibly more challenging to take than the one before. He wants to rest, wants to stop, but there will be no peace for him on these lands, no reprieve. He has to go, has to move before his sins catch up to him.
A blood moon follows his path on the black night sky, its light pouring over Tobirama’s exposed skin, burning it under its deceivingly gentle glow and painting it red. An ever-present reminder of the blood he shed, the sins that led him here even though his brother’s touch had made them undone—granting life where Tobirama’s touch always ever brought death.
But where bones might be set and wounds might be mended, words, once spoken, could never be taken back.
“You will be seen as you are: a demon among men, trespassing the earth that has never been yours to walk; an evil spirit from the bottom of the sea, drowning good men on dry land, stealing their souls from Amaterasu’s embrace.”
Like an idiot—startled by the words carried on Izuna’s dying breath as much as by the fatal hit that should have been impossible to land during their eternal dance as true equals on the battlefield—Tobirama had met Izuna’s manic eyes. No genjutsu had ever managed to trap him, but something about the sightless gaze had been so utterly wrong it made him tremble—an unholy yellow sheen underneath swirling red and black, drawing Tobirama in until the world all but vanished around him, trapping him in an endless void where he couldn’t feel the sun’s warmth on his skin.
But then the moment was broken, Tobirama stumbling on unsteady feet as Hashirama pushed past to undo the damage his brother had dealt and lay the headstone for the peace he’d always dreamed of right then and there.
Everything after is a blur.
Tobirama knows there have been talks and negotiations with the Uchiha and among the Senju, and he had done his best to stay in the moment—to aid his brother by lending his mind if nothing else—but he can’t remember any of it. Since the battle, his awareness has been slipping, spread thin as pain snuck into his life with smarting feet and burning lungs.
There have been contracts and treaties, but Tobirama has not been able to read any of them. When he tries, red bleeds into his vision until he is all but blind, trapped in a sea of blood that leaves a coppery taste on his tongue and an itch under his skin. An itch that is only ever soothed after he scrubs himself down and replaces the blood he can see with his own dwelling up from raw flesh.
He has always prided himself on his ability to endure, his steadfastness. But it has not even taken a year of peace to make Tobirama’s resolve come undone like a summer rain puddle vanishing into thin air under the sun’s merciless heat and for his soft core underneath the hardened shell he has hidden behind his whole life to be laid bare for anyone to see—not that anyone bothered to look after what he has done.
The thought makes Tobirama stumble again, recalling the cold disdain of Senju and Uchiha alike as whispers follow his every step. At this point, Hashirama might as well be the only one looking upon Tobirama and seeing a man rather than a demon—seeing the boy he used to be before the world shaped him—but there is little he can do to keep Tobirama at his side.
The roots trying to catch him—make him fall and trap him for his brother to collect—are nothing against Tobirama’s resolve to end this trial. The scent of smoke and cedar carried by a fine spread of chakra heralding Madara’s approach, fast coming closer like a falling star, would be more of an incentive to stop if Tobirama didn’t know he himself has burned all bridges in his moment of inattention before anything could come out of his carefully hidden infatuation with the man.
More than that, though, he can feel his mind slipping more and more by the day, can feel the sun scorching his eyes and dust blocking his lungs, and can feel the thirst that he doesn’t dare to contemplate on how to quench. He can sense Madara’s attention burning holes into his very being day in and day out as his brother’s friend keeps track of Tobirama with unreadable eyes, ensuring he stays away from Izuna, who has been in seclusion since the battle for reasons unknown.
Tobirama does not know how this trial will end, does not know where his unassuming feet that feel mangled beyond saving are carrying him, but there is a draw he can feel within his soul that takes him away from his brother and the place he created for Tobirama to rest.
It is only when the scent of salt invades his nose, when he hears the crashing of waves, that Tobirama knows where he is, what has called for him. Even the foreboding red moon can’t take away from the beauty of the sea, and the white lines of sea foam remind Tobirama of his mother’s white locks. He hasn’t thought of her in forever, not after she died on Butsuma’s behest for the crime of stealing his second son, for trying to drown him rather than allowing his blood to be spilt in defence of the Senjus’ honour.
“Come, Child.”
Transfixed, Tobirama steps onto the shore and follows the voice of the sea that is calling to him as it always seems to have. For the first time since his mother died and Hashirama had been tasked with his care, Tobirama doesn’t hear the rustling of trees always surrounding his brother, nor does he feel the earth’s steady heartbeat under his feet that his father once taught him to ground himself into.
There is only the vast sea in front of him, the salt-heavy air a reprieve for his still aching lungs while the water lapping at his shins soothes the pain of his feet as they carry him over the soft ground. Sand swallows his sandals as a wave embraces Tobirama like a mother’s hug and carries his unresisting body further out, where he has to close his sensitive eyes against the moon's stinging light.
It feels nice, weightless, but Tobirama’s newfound peace is threatened yet again when the first drop of salt water touching his face ignites the seals his father has laid upon his skin as a reminder of his mother’s crimes. Tobirama gasps—salt water runs down his throat and quenches his thirst like nothing he has ever tasted before—at the sensation of having his body flayed open and his soul laid bare, with relief only to be found when he lets himself be pulled under the surface.
Tobirama hears nothing but his heartbeat—a soft thud-thud that echoes in the void surrounding him—as breath comes to him light and unobtrusive like the first hint of spring after a long winter. His burning skin is soothed by the water’s chill, and it numbs his aching heart as he sinks further into his mother’s embrace.
It is quiet, Tobirama marvels distantly, removed from the worries and hurt of the world above, as something cradles his face. It almost makes him open his eyes, almost, but he can’t be bothered to fight against the heaviness of his limbs, the fatigue catching up with him now that all pain has been released from his body.
“Sleep.”