basikaltua

Inspired by SillyThing's fanfiction, "I've chained my dreams(to the blue,blue sky)".

Edit: Oh, the HashiMada week is actually in July, not Jun!

“Gods be fucked,” he mutters, already regretting it, and then he fades away. Madara squawks like a chicken when Tobirama lands on top him.

For a moment, there is stunned, absolute silence. Madara--at least sixteen, older than Tobirama’s ever seen him in his travels-- stares up at him,  coal eyes comically wide, wild hair splayed around his head like spilled ink against the floorboards. Color spreads from his nose outwards, faint but fast like a wildfire, and Tobirama is struck by the fact that he’s watching Uchiha Madara blush.

Tobirama curls into a corner, naked and shivering, and tries not to think about how Madara may be dead, how Hashirama might be dead, how Tōka might be dead, how he might be dead. The day fades into night, the hours crawl by him. Time slips away, and he’s reminded of how everyone fades from his life like boats receding into the horizon, how no one is permanent, not even himself.

Tobirama groans in frustration, covering his face with his hands, “Why won’t you accept the peace treaties?”

“Huh?” Madara looks so confused it would be funny, if he weren’t so close to mental breakdown.

“Not you,” he sighs, “Future you. We keep sending you peace treaties, and you never accept them,”

His statement is met with silence, but Madara is nothing if not verbose. His jaw clicks audibly before he innocently asks, “Isn’t that a violation of the no future talk rule?”

“I don’t give a fuck,”

“Oh, we are swearing! That means things are bad,”

“Just answer the question,” Tobirama snaps.

Madara doesn’t meet his eyes, thoughtful gaze fixated on the grass, “I can’t answer the question. That’s not me yet,”

Tobirama rakes his hand over his face, “But if--if nature shines through, if that’s what pulls us together or tears us apart, then--then what? I’m the same person. Why aren’t you?”

He knows he’s being unfair, but the truth is that he doesn’t care anymore. He needs to know. He needs an answer, any answer, otherwise he’ll go mad trying to figure it all out on his own.

“Maybe I’m waiting,” Madara says with a shrug

Inspired by Chapter 3 of the I've chained my dreams (to the blue, blue sky) by SillyThing.

-onyx eyes looking down upon the battlefield with a sneer, hair a mass of constant black tumbling in the wind, the bodies littering the floor by the dozen, by the hundreds, by the thousands, smothered under piles of ash that used to be people. Burning skin and meat falling from the bone, smell sweet and nauseating, gurgling screams and mercy deaths. Wild child, wild child, wild child-