This is a lil' tale I conjured up, Its gonna have three or four chapters. I'm not sure yet but I KNOW its going to be very short. Enjoy!
Dressed in a simple dark-red yukata with a black obi, along with weathered geta sandals, Hashirama was on one of his leisurely strolls through the countryside, moving in slow, easy strides across the grasslands of the Fire Country. The sky was bright, clear and sunny. The air was crisp and warm and he felt at peace, away from the bloodshed that characterized the life of a shinobi.
He walked along, his feet swathed by tall flimsy grasses, his face caressed by a soft breeze and his tresses swaying in the wind, until he reached a short, bent tree, sat on the ground and rested his head against its gnarled bark. Hashirama shut his eyes, and inhaled deeply, exhaling a moment later and feeling his whole body relieved of stress.
“Sir...” muttered a small, soft voice.
Hashirama started, leaped to his feet and began to knead chakra. He relaxed his guard when he sensed that the only other source of chakra in the immediate vicinity was a weak, feeble one on the other side of the tree. He rounded the trunk and saw, sprawled on the grass, a small boy covered in grime and dirt. His feet were blistered, his attire was a threadbare kimono of faded red color and his hair was a short, messy raven black.
“Sir...please...food...” the boy whispered once more, turning wide, desperate eyes on Hashirama's face. There were small cuts all over the childs face and a swollen bruise on his cheek.
Hashirama, moved with pity, collapsed beside the child and extracted a meal of rice balls from his pouch. “Here, eat.”
The boy devoured the meal hungrily, savagely, and quickly. He turned to Hashirama with dark eyes pleading for more even as his tongue lashed about his lips to capture any morsel that might have stained his face--and stain they did! The Senju shook his head sympathetically as he also provided a canister of water which the child gulped like his life depended on it. Hashirama set about healing the child's wounds. Under the care of the world's greatest medic, the minor injuries were treated in seconds. The little boy gazed, amazed and confused, at Hashirama upon discovering how quickly the pain went away--there wasn't even any scarring.
“Thank you, er--”
“It's Hashirama. Call me Hashirama.” the Senju interjected with a tender smile.
“Ok, Hashirama-san! I'm Nezumi! Uchiha Nezumi!”
The surname sank into Hashirama's chest like a blade.
Tobirama was frowning. This in and of itself was nothing special; Tobirama almost always frowned, at unruly underlings, at deadly enemy shinobi(especially Uchiha), but most of the time, Hashirama's abject stupidity, as the white-haired shinobi like to put it, was the cause of the perpetual scowl that marred his rather handsome features.
His elder brother's frown-prompting behavior found its origin in their childhood and so it had became something of the norm. So, when Hashirama rushed back to the clan quarters from one of his walks, burst into Tobirama's room and asked his little brother to follow him as he wanted to 'show him something cool!', Tobirama didn't wait until the thing itself was revealed but scowled even before he put on his sandals and went off with his elder brother.
When he finally saw the object of Hashirama's excitement, his scowl deepened and he cursed himself for having not brought along his sword. The child was young, weak and feeble, but Tobirama could definitely identify the chakra of that clan anywhere.
“Why did you want me to see this Uchiha stripling? Could it be that you wanted to award me the special honor of ending the enemy child's life? I'm not particular fond of killing children, brother. I mean, I can do it when it's necessary, of course, but--”
“No, no, no, no, no!” thundered Hashirama, glaring angrily at his little brother. “Nobody would be killing Nezumi.”
The child in question was cowering behind the skirt of Hashirama's yukata in fear upon hearing the words 'ending the enemy child's life.' “Please, Hashirama-san! Save me!” the lad was shrieking earnestly.
Tobirama's scowl deepened even more and his face darkened.
“Like always, you are horribly mistaken, brother.” said Tobirama as he folded his hands, which were exposed by the plain sleeveless dark shirt he wore along with white hakama trousers and brown sandals. “Nezumi, as you call him, would die if not by my hand but by the hand of Father, or any other warrior of our clan. You know how greatly our kin despise the Uchiha.”
“What if we return him to the Uchiha?“
“He's probably an orphan. You know their Mangekyo craze. His eyes will be ripped out of their sockets and transplanted to someone else in no time. Then he'll be blind and die of hunger.” said Tobirama dismissively.
Hashirama persisted. “What if we take him somewhere else?”
“And who would take him in?” asked Tobirama in a mocking tone. “Things are hard enough as it is. Times are tough. Nobody would be willing to adopt him. ”
“I'll pay for his upkeep. All they'll have to do is put a roof over his head.”
“Even if it was an option. Do you really want to put someone with the potential to awaken the Sharingan and the Uchiha's curse among civilians. He'll either grow up to be a tyrant lording over the common people--”
“Or a protector and a hero.” interjected Hashirama.
“OR,” continued Tobirama, ignoring Hashirama's interruption, “other clans will hear about this unguarded Uchiha and steal his eyes. Sharingan are a precious commodity these days.”
“We'll keep it a secret. Nobody has to know he's an Uchiha.”
“No secret is kept hidden forever, Hashirama. One day, this boy will be found out and hunted.”
Hashirama was silent. His head was sunken and his brows knitted. Tobirama massaged his temples in annoyance, stole an apathetic glance at Nezumi--something that froze the blood of the child--and begun staring off into space.
“There's only one other option.” said Hashirama with resolution and a mischievous smile on his face.
“And what is that, brother?” inquired Tobirama with a single brow quirked.
“I'll have to adopt him myself.”
Tobirama barely managed to stop himself from breaking out into raucous, roaring laughter. Young Nezumi grinned widely at this prospect.
“And how are you going to get Father to agree to this?”
“Oh, I'm very persuasive.”
“You're an idiot.”
To Be Continued.
Dressed in a simple dark-red yukata with a black obi, along with weathered geta sandals, Hashirama was on one of his leisurely strolls through the countryside, moving in slow, easy strides across the grasslands of the Fire Country. The sky was bright, clear and sunny. The air was crisp and warm and he felt at peace, away from the bloodshed that characterized the life of a shinobi.
He walked along, his feet swathed by tall flimsy grasses, his face caressed by a soft breeze and his tresses swaying in the wind, until he reached a short, bent tree, sat on the ground and rested his head against its gnarled bark. Hashirama shut his eyes, and inhaled deeply, exhaling a moment later and feeling his whole body relieved of stress.
“Sir...” muttered a small, soft voice.
Hashirama started, leaped to his feet and began to knead chakra. He relaxed his guard when he sensed that the only other source of chakra in the immediate vicinity was a weak, feeble one on the other side of the tree. He rounded the trunk and saw, sprawled on the grass, a small boy covered in grime and dirt. His feet were blistered, his attire was a threadbare kimono of faded red color and his hair was a short, messy raven black.
“Sir...please...food...” the boy whispered once more, turning wide, desperate eyes on Hashirama's face. There were small cuts all over the childs face and a swollen bruise on his cheek.
Hashirama, moved with pity, collapsed beside the child and extracted a meal of rice balls from his pouch. “Here, eat.”
The boy devoured the meal hungrily, savagely, and quickly. He turned to Hashirama with dark eyes pleading for more even as his tongue lashed about his lips to capture any morsel that might have stained his face--and stain they did! The Senju shook his head sympathetically as he also provided a canister of water which the child gulped like his life depended on it. Hashirama set about healing the child's wounds. Under the care of the world's greatest medic, the minor injuries were treated in seconds. The little boy gazed, amazed and confused, at Hashirama upon discovering how quickly the pain went away--there wasn't even any scarring.
“Thank you, er--”
“It's Hashirama. Call me Hashirama.” the Senju interjected with a tender smile.
“Ok, Hashirama-san! I'm Nezumi! Uchiha Nezumi!”
The surname sank into Hashirama's chest like a blade.
Tobirama was frowning. This in and of itself was nothing special; Tobirama almost always frowned, at unruly underlings, at deadly enemy shinobi(especially Uchiha), but most of the time, Hashirama's abject stupidity, as the white-haired shinobi like to put it, was the cause of the perpetual scowl that marred his rather handsome features.
His elder brother's frown-prompting behavior found its origin in their childhood and so it had became something of the norm. So, when Hashirama rushed back to the clan quarters from one of his walks, burst into Tobirama's room and asked his little brother to follow him as he wanted to 'show him something cool!', Tobirama didn't wait until the thing itself was revealed but scowled even before he put on his sandals and went off with his elder brother.
When he finally saw the object of Hashirama's excitement, his scowl deepened and he cursed himself for having not brought along his sword. The child was young, weak and feeble, but Tobirama could definitely identify the chakra of that clan anywhere.
“Why did you want me to see this Uchiha stripling? Could it be that you wanted to award me the special honor of ending the enemy child's life? I'm not particular fond of killing children, brother. I mean, I can do it when it's necessary, of course, but--”
“No, no, no, no, no!” thundered Hashirama, glaring angrily at his little brother. “Nobody would be killing Nezumi.”
The child in question was cowering behind the skirt of Hashirama's yukata in fear upon hearing the words 'ending the enemy child's life.' “Please, Hashirama-san! Save me!” the lad was shrieking earnestly.
Tobirama's scowl deepened even more and his face darkened.
“Like always, you are horribly mistaken, brother.” said Tobirama as he folded his hands, which were exposed by the plain sleeveless dark shirt he wore along with white hakama trousers and brown sandals. “Nezumi, as you call him, would die if not by my hand but by the hand of Father, or any other warrior of our clan. You know how greatly our kin despise the Uchiha.”
“What if we return him to the Uchiha?“
“He's probably an orphan. You know their Mangekyo craze. His eyes will be ripped out of their sockets and transplanted to someone else in no time. Then he'll be blind and die of hunger.” said Tobirama dismissively.
Hashirama persisted. “What if we take him somewhere else?”
“And who would take him in?” asked Tobirama in a mocking tone. “Things are hard enough as it is. Times are tough. Nobody would be willing to adopt him. ”
“I'll pay for his upkeep. All they'll have to do is put a roof over his head.”
“Even if it was an option. Do you really want to put someone with the potential to awaken the Sharingan and the Uchiha's curse among civilians. He'll either grow up to be a tyrant lording over the common people--”
“Or a protector and a hero.” interjected Hashirama.
“OR,” continued Tobirama, ignoring Hashirama's interruption, “other clans will hear about this unguarded Uchiha and steal his eyes. Sharingan are a precious commodity these days.”
“We'll keep it a secret. Nobody has to know he's an Uchiha.”
“No secret is kept hidden forever, Hashirama. One day, this boy will be found out and hunted.”
Hashirama was silent. His head was sunken and his brows knitted. Tobirama massaged his temples in annoyance, stole an apathetic glance at Nezumi--something that froze the blood of the child--and begun staring off into space.
“There's only one other option.” said Hashirama with resolution and a mischievous smile on his face.
“And what is that, brother?” inquired Tobirama with a single brow quirked.
“I'll have to adopt him myself.”
Tobirama barely managed to stop himself from breaking out into raucous, roaring laughter. Young Nezumi grinned widely at this prospect.
“And how are you going to get Father to agree to this?”
“Oh, I'm very persuasive.”
“You're an idiot.”
To Be Continued.
I'm looking forward to seeing this follow through.