Chapter Text
The clanging sound of metal hitting metal echoed softly through the trees. The distant battle of older, surer and experienced men not so far to be drowned out by the tense silence of a stand-still. In the small clearing where snow fell freely, unhindered, Tobirama stood steady, breath coming out in harsh bursts of white clouds. His hands gripping tightly onto his weapon, poised for a fatal strike as he hovered over his opponent.
They were small, his age if not younger. Their eyes were a rich, dark brown, not unlike Hashirama’s with hair that was a lighter, warm brown like Kawarama’s. And as they looked up at him, tears gathered up and spilled over their cheeks, red with cold and exertion. Itama too, was often quick to cry when he was afraid.
“Please.” The child choked out, completely frozen aside from their shaking limbs. “Please, I-I-” their breathing hastens, cutting off their words as they come closer to hyperventilating. They’re younger, Tobirama figures. Not as young as Itama, possibly the same age as Kawarama. They shouldn't be here, out on the battlefield with grown men set on spilling each other's blood. They shouldn't be here.
Tobirama takes a step back, sword still raised as he takes another and another. It was only when he was several feet away did he lower his sword. Enough to be non threatening while still poised, ready to defend himself. The child's tear glicined eyes darted from his face to his sword and back to his face, meeting his eyes for a long moment before they slowly rose.
It was just when they stood fully, did a figure appear looming behind them. They spun around with a sharp inhale, to scream or beg, it didn't matter. Tobirama couldn't help but flinch when the warm, thick spray hit across his icy cheeks as their head was severed from their body. Silence covered the area as thick and heavy as the snow.
Tobirama stood frozen, staring at the fallen body as blood steadily darkened the snow around it. He couldn't bring himself to glance to the side where the head rolled. Couldn't look at the figure with their own blade still drawn. He didn't need to see the man’s face to know it was his father. The battle clearly won in their favor.
“Tobirama!” He squared his shoulders but couldn't look away as his father marched towards him. “Explain yourself.” Butsuma demanded suddenly in his space, with blood still dripping from his blade. Tobirama opened and closed his mouth, the blood suddenly tainting the air so thickly he could practically taste it. He jerked and the slap echoed briefly as his cheek stung despite the numbing cold.
“Explain. Why did you hesitate?”
“They were no longer a threat.”
“You let your opponent get back to their feet.”
“They-” Tobirama’s gaze was stuck on his father's hand, fingers red with the blood he slapped from Tobirama’s face. “They were just a child, I-.” Despite his focus on his father’s hand, Tobirama was still caught off guard when he was slapped again. Hard enough, this time, to make him stumble and eyes water from the sting.
“There are no children on the battlefield.” Butsuma snapped as he roughly grabbed under Tobirama’s jaw. “The age of your opponent doesn't matter. They’re your enemy, not children. To do a foolish thing as show mercy just gives them another chance to kill you later.” Butsuma jerks Tobirama's face up, forcing him to meet his father's eye.
“Had I not been there to clean up for your foolish decisions, every ally, every member of our clan that they stuck down would have been on your head.” Tobirama knew better than to talk back but despite the logic of it, he couldn't help but doubt the threat of a scared, crying child. He thinks his doubt must have been too clear on his when his father’s grip tightened.
“Do you really trust they would have shown the same mercy? Had they met Itama in battle, are you so confident that they wouldn't have struck down your brother if he gave them the opportunity?” Tobirama sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his eye to his father’s chest.
“There are no children on the battlefield.” His father’s voice was low and quieter from just seconds before. “There are no people on the battlefield. They are your enemy, weapons forged to strike us down.” Butsuma exhales through his nose and his grip slackens. His large, callous hand moves from his jaw to grip his chin. Touch almost gentle as he draws back Tobirama’s eye.
“You are my second son. It is your duty to obey I, your clan head, to support your brother Hashirama, to protect Kawarama and Itama. You are a weapon of the Senju. You have to be harder, sharper, faster than your enemy.” Butsuma’s face was blank as he just stared down at Tobirama, dark eyes meeting red. “Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Tobirama knew his answer was too quiet but for once his father didn't scold him for it. He did understand. Not so much why he had to fight children, even younger than himself but his fate? His role, his place in his clan and family? That he knew and followed vehemently.
“Do you think I'm a cruel man, Tobirama?” Butsuma asked, after a brief moment. He couldn't help but startle at the odd question, couldn't help but simply shake his head, still in his father's grasp. Butsuma snorted in disbelief. Tobirama answering in silence was far more truthful than his action. Surprising still, Butsuma just let go of Tobirama and stepped away.
“We are at war, I do not have the luxury to be kind.” He wiped his blade before sheathing it as Tobirama wondered if he even had the capacity for kindness. “It's my duty as your clan head to teach you your place.” Butsuma turned and began walking away. Tobirama only hesitated a moment before following him.
“The world we’re born in is cruel-” Butsuma said, breaking the silence after several minutes “-it's my duty as your father to teach you how to survive it.”