Chapter Text
He was maddening till the very end. It could have been any time during his more than half a millennium of existence, but it had to be during one of the harshest winters Tobirama had ever seen. He rode for three nights—three cold, wet, muddy, disgusting nights—just for this: to see his sire’s husk of a body enveloped by fine bedding and the smell of death. Rotten, but sweet.
His eyes were swimming in blindness, darting everywhere and nowhere. He hadn’t recognized Tobirama yet. He wouldn’t be this calm otherwise. His face was almost serene; death was never something he feared.
“Sire, Tobirama has arrived,” Hasirama announced. It was nothing but a low whisper, so unlike human conversation, but it filled the room like no other. Just as it fell apart.
The convulsions arrived first: hands trembling, muscles spasming, jaw clenching. Tobirama was sure his father wanted to say something. He opened, closed, then opened his mouth again. No coherent words escaped, just saliva. Sad. Sad, but mostly just distasteful. Tobirama was already ready to take his leave.
“Good evening, my lord,” he whispered, confirming his presence. His sire’s wet, trembling eyes focused on him, trying to find his, but without success. Tobirama felt nothing but contempt.
“I wish you a painless departure to the never-ending woods. I hope the blood will flow endlessly, your tongue will never dry up, and your teeth will never break.”
It was monotone, standard—too formal for an exchange between father and son. But it was still more than he had been willing to give. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have even bothered with a letter. But lucky him—his father seemed much more distrait.
He could not see, he could not speak, his blood must have been as thick as the mud on Tobirama’s boots, but he was no less spiteful than ever. He shrieked. A guttural, deafening sound.
He had really traveled three nights for this, for an overgrown babe to have its last fit. His life really was a joke.
He turned on his heel and left, storming through the manor. Two corridors away, he could still hear his father screaming as if he were being flayed alive, and Hasirama’s footsteps echoed behind him.
“Tobirama, he was so happy to see you, he got speechless!” He could hear the smile in Hasirama’s voice.
“I hope you choke the next time you eat.” Tobirama turned, staring his brother down.
Hasirama was grinning, ear to ear. Maybe he should be concerned about how much Hasirama was enjoying the fact that their father was dying, dying in such a deeply disgraceful way, at that. But how could he blame him? Hasirama had to live with Batsuma his entire life. As the heir, he never had the chance to run, to run like Tobirama did.
“I love you too,” Hasirama said, finally catching up and throwing an arm around Tobirama’s shoulder.
Tobirama should really look into how Hasirama picked up such human mannerisms despite nearly never meeting them outside the feeding chambers. He enjoyed it nonetheless. It had been a while since he had seen him, touched him. He was just as warm as he remembered—so different from the cold outside.
“I missed you.” He whispered it into the darkness, into the hug that trapped him.
As the confession left his mouth, the screaming stopped. As if it had never existed.
His nose filled with the stench of blood.