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Part 3 of Tobirama refuses to be overwritten so ig Crossovers are only inspirations
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2024-06-07
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On the Palm of Healing and Blade of Harm

Summary:

One day, in an eery day in Spring, Senju Hashirama, Clan Head, did not lead his army as he caught a fever. His heir Kawarama did not take up the mantle. Instead it was the Ghost, the Senju's Head Healer and the man witnessed to have brought back soldiers teetering in the boundary between life and death, that has sought to clash blades with Uchiha Madara whose only equal was the God of Shinobi.

(A.k.a. there was a reason why Tobirama was chained in the rear as a medic-nin.)

Notes:

Welcome back to the addition on my hyperfixation. This time, have an Unohana-inspired Tobirama.

This bad boy has dedicated his life to the healing arts after successfully saving Kawarama and Itama's lives. But oh what's this? He's batshit insane inside that serene medic act? Nah, that can't be, every medic just have to be a little violent since shinobi are stubborn.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

It was not a secret that the Senju specializes in medicine and healing just like how the Uchiha specializes in metalworks and weaving. And these characteristic trades are evident even in the battlefield, with the Senju having a far more substantial recovery rate in their soldiers while Uchiha weapons and armors were far sturdier and sharper.

But recently over the years, the Senju had a sudden spike of an even more ridiculous rate of recovery. Making it so that they couldn't regularly fight against their Uchiha rivals because said people were still recovering. This caused an uproar of course, there's some type of possessive claim the Uchiha harbors for their rivals which caused wounded soldiers be bound to their beds lest they take off to the fields and perish permanently.

Madara couldn't beat out an answer from Hashirama for a few more years until both of their fathers croaked to death and he found himself face to face with his rival and free to say treason. Strangely, the man was tight-lipped, surprising him that the buffoon managed to run around the topic back to peace.

It was relieving to find that someone drilled caution into the bark brain but also frustrating as the sounds of his clansmen roared in fury.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Hashirama that spilled the information but his clan heir. Senju Kawarama was reported to have evidently guffawed in Izuna's face at the question before citing proudly that his older brother was the cause. And when his younger brother tried to confirm that if he was talking about Hashirama, that only got a funny face before saying "my other older brother, idiot" before they went back into fighting for their lives.

It took a few more skirmishes, well into an autumn battle when Senju Touka sneezed. It didn't bother her even when it brought attention to the slight flush on her complexion and thin sheen of sweat on her skin. She was still cheerfully coating her naginata with Hikaku's blood when one of the Senju near saw her condition, stopped, faltered, blinked, and paled.

That turned into an amusing yet confusing pass-the-message all the way from the front lines to the rear the Uchiha had ever witnessed. And when they saw Senju Itama, Hashirama's youngest brother and an impressive battle medic, receive the message, his usually stoic eyes widened before setting off a chakra signal that only sensors could perceive.

The battle came to a stand still when a man with shock white hair appeared, clad in shinobi black but carrying an undyed haori on his shoulders, gliding through like a ghost in a direct path to the Senju's third in command. And what a direct path indeed, the Senju forces pushing the Uchiha out of the way frantically which caused another bout of confusion from their enemies.

"Aneue," the serene looking man says, "what are you doing fighting when sick?"

"Gulp," the Senju kunoichi's tough exterior interestingly crumpled at the face of what Madara considered a normal medic nin. She slowly turned around, sweat dripping on her brow when she replied, "H-hey cousin, fancy seeing you here."

The man smiled pleasantly (if you could call a blizzard warm), "yes, fancy that we are supposed to be in the medical ward right now." After that, he weaved back to the rear lines, a cowering Touka at his heels without even a beckon.

"Huh," Madara could only wonder.

 

 

The man had become a permanent fixture of the Senju camp at that point. A teetering white color behind a hundred armor clad shinobi. And when they've seen why, operations were formed to take him out, either by kidnapping him for themselves or kill permanently. Because it was no wonder that the Senju's survival rate flew up when the man could perform miracles.

Any questions about the man were rebuffed expertly. Was he older than Hashirama or younger? Why is he not in the front lines? Can he fight?

No amount of pestering could get any of the Senju to confess even under genjutsu which was just plain impressive. The white haired man was also jealously guarded from any harm, the only blade the man seemed to be able to handle were scalpels.

And so he was called "Ghost" not only for his coloring but also the surgeries he could perform to wounds that should've taken life. A healing hand that could grasp dwindling souls from purgatory and evidently the head healer of the Senju Clan. And that was what the Uchiha thought of the man, a shinobi that forwent fighting techniques and instead focused on mastering the healing arts. Someone useful in the back but not the front.

By the flames, they were so wrong.

 

 

It started on a gloomy day abnormal in Spring. Gray clouds covered the sky creating a dark atmosphere and the breeze's touch brought a prickle of wrongness in their spines, creating goosebumps in its wake.

The tree branches swayed in the air, looking far more crooked as roots seemed to weave beneath their feet like gnarly curves. A crow's caw resounded the forest, as if laughing at them for their foolishness. It was ominous and it made them uneasy when they finally appeared through the tree line.

Senju Hashirama did not lead his army that day.

Instead, the man they have called Ghost stood in his place. He looked different, suited in blue armor instead of medic uniform and pure white haori. His fluffy hair that normally flopped in front of his forehead was held back by a rather weathered happuri, revealing his eyes without shade.

And hmm, it was the most beautiful red he'd ever seen. It was fresh as blood and he'd never realized that the man had similarly hued streaks on his cheeks and chin. Were they scars? Seals? Makeup? He needs to get close enough to examine it and he thinks that might just happen.

As Senju Itama appeared, lugging a nodachi as tall as him and just a perfect length for the white haired Senju. He bows as the man takes it with familiarity and leaves to return to his post.

The white haired man draws his sword, expression just as tempered and serene but no small smile to be found.

It all happened so fast.

One blink they were judging each other, the next they clashed blades, or blade for the Senju and gunbai for him. The force that the man used to slash at him was unexpected, he first assumed the man would be more reliant on his speed and technique than pure strength. And while he was indeed fast, he didn't need to compensate for anything.

At all.

Kenjutsu, taijutsu... Hell, he thought that the man was one of the rare honorable and moral-coded shinobi (so used to Hashirama's goodness) that the shuriken in his shoulder begged to differ.

And when the man deigned to finally use ninjutsu, it was a spectacle and a half.

The man was a suiton user, probably the greatest one in Fire Country by the sheer size and magnitude those tidal waves caused with more in the way. But not only that, he could also control blood. And Madara had to close his gaping mouth before he drank any of it when he got hit by a fucking blood dragon, that was just needlessly unsanitary.

The whirlwind of their dance came to a mutual pause, a little breather to check that they're still alive and their clan was fine when they were busy in their own little world. Madara has never experienced anything like it, sure he usually was locked down dancing with Hashirama but it was never serious. It was something more akin to a spar, an intense one compared to normal due to their power and sturdiness.

It was never so consuming. The bruises blooming in his skin, the bones creaking each motion as if cracking, the slices in his flesh lazily drooling blood. The sheer ache was delicious and he couldn't help but look up as if to say 'are you feeling it too?,' the inferno in his soul singing sated.

Silverine hair messily swept up by the wind produced from his gunbai and damp from suiton dragons. A strong form poised elegantly sharp, bloody nodachi a deadly arc in hands that mindlessly healed clan mates earlier but now only focused in tearing him apart. And face heavily shadowed by the weathered happuri, only emphasizing the red eyes that could match a sharingan in its madness as an excited grin split those tattooed cheeks—

That piercing gaze crooned, 'give me more.'

Oh shit.

"Marry me," Madara couldn't help but whimper.

Notes:

Writing Pretty!Deadly! Tobirama is a balm to my soul. But please let me write angst, this white haired menace won't let me hurt him dammit. Still, writing a kind of masochistic Madara is weird but fits well with the said Uchiha fascination with pretty and deadly.