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English
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Published:
2019-10-20
Completed:
2019-12-11
Words:
2,282
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4/4
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I know I'm not alone

Summary:

This time, he's too late.

But it's alright, he won't be alone again.


Life sucks for Tobirama. But this time, it won't be. Not again.

 

Edo Tensei Tobirama/bbTobirama, again.

Notes:

https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/60431490 no. 72 from the entire list. hnnnnngh.

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter Text

It's very selfish of him, he knows. Tobirama had given so much for his Clan - his father's vision, then his anija's, and when his father and his anija were gone, he had given everything for the Village, trying to build systems that would keep themselves running, keep going without his interference....

He'd given what he could to his students, setting up a school so that children would get to be children and students and not soldiers. He'd given so much so that the tragedy of his little brothers would not be repeated.

And at the end of it all...

At the end he had died alone, on his knees in the dirt. The rain, always his friend, had deserted him even then, leaving him to choke on his own blood, thick and dry, the only wetness in his throat and hands, the moon even hiding from his dimming vision.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to the knowledge that it was then, in the past, and there had been never anyone who would give anything for him the way he had given his mind and skill and life for someone else's dreams.

Why should he give his dreams up again?

There was no one to ensure he would have dreams.

Except himself.

His younger self was a child.

Tiny.

(When had he ever been so small?)

And this time ....

He had been too late.

(Always too late)

But there were more hurts, more dangers in the future, he thought, holding his younger self close, ignoring the strong bitter smell as his younger self curled his tiny face against his throat, as Tobirama opened the throats of the Uchiha who had seen a pale child and thought target and easy prey.

"This is the last time you will be prey," tobirama told him.

Because who could be his shield, except himself?

This time, his younger self wouldn't have to witness the deaths of his violators, because for - for the first time, he would have a protector and a defender.

He didn't have to be strong this time, because Tobirama would be that for him.

(Once a upon a time, Tobirama had thought he might like to be a scholar, to learn how the world might work. To study in the centres of learning, the Academias in the civilian cities, maybe even be a poet.)

(But his hands had proven better at wielding suiton and a blade than a brush, and his mind had been turned to memorizing seals for destruction and death)

(Maybe. Maybe this time, he could have that choice he had been denied, a long time ago)

There's that thick smell of iron.

He's smelled it for as far as he could remember, starting from when they brought Kawarama home, and when he found Itama's body.

It's dimmed now, distant, because his body is not his own, he knows. It doesn't matter though, because he knows this blood is not his own.

And it's not his younger self's either, even though it's wet and dark in his younger self's hair, turning it sticky and dark. It'd dry matte and sticky, clumping and brown, but he knows this is not Tobira's blood.

No.

It's their blood, and he doesn't have to paint the ground with it to know that they're not getting up again.

"They're dead," his younger self said, softly, into the quiet bubble of air that was just him and Tobira, that warm breath cupped in the curl of his throat, where Tobira only had to look up and only had to see him, and nothing else.

Nothing more, nothing would hurt him.

"Yes," He said, arm cradling his younger self carefully against his chest, knowing that there was no real heartbeat to comfort his younger self, but the solid chest and body of his edo tensei.

It would have to be enough.

"They're dead."

The river was only a few leaps away.

There were smears of red, already starting to dry brown and flaky in smears across Tobira's slender arms.

No armour, and he would feel his throat tighten, his jaw clench, if he still had his own body. There would be bruises on the exposed hipbones, but there was nothing he could do to wash that away.

Instead he just waded into the water, holding Tobira close against him, tightening his hold when Tobira whimpered, flinching at the cold water.

"You'll feel better when you're clean," he told Tobira.

Tobira nodded and took a deep breath, before reaching down with those too-small hands to the water, and pulled up a shaky sinuous curl of liquid to his hands.

Where Tobira couldn't reach (couldn't see), he directed his own suiton to clean as gentle as he could, tugging away off-white smears from Tobira's hair, his neck, his back, gently lifting away grime and other stains to be washed away into the river.

He didn't have a cloak, and Tobira's armour was... gone, so he wrapped the warm fur stole around his younger self, propping him gently but securely against his hip.

"Let's go home," he said.