Senju Hashirama was 5, and Okaa-sama was still asleep, even 4 days after she gave birth to his younger brother. He's tiny, and quiet.
He snuck past her handmaiden, wanting to catch just a glimpse. It's a younger brother, he wanted to see.
(He wanted to see for himself.)
Otou-sama explained what childbirth was, saying he could safely touch any baby only after cleansing. Even if no one was supposed to know, Hashirama did it anyways, bathing himself in the expensive soap and the pure water from the kitchens, putting on the clothing he had hung out in the winter sun before sneaking to his new brother.
He was so tiny.
Hashirama reached out to press a finger gently onto his brother's cheek, but the footsteps of the handmaiden made him realise he had to go, so he didn't get to touch his brother after all.
Hashirama hopped out of the window.
Okaa-sama wasn't Okaa-sama anymore. That's fine! Hashirama had his Okaa-san.
Even if Okaa-san wasn't alive anymore. Hashirama understood.
(Hashirama knew it was because he was loved.)
His brother's name was Senju Tobirama. Little Tobirama was still asleep, tended to by Yano-obaa-san, with a green palm held to his little head. The irritated scar across his forehead faded back just a little, and Yano-obaa-san let the green light die.
(Did the green light also have a son? Did the green light have a family?)
Tobirama's eyes were red.
Hashirama could coo, but Yano-obaa-san said he should be quiet, so Hashirama shut his mouth quicker than any time he ever had before.
Tobirama was always the one to explain and say "I understand."
"I don't understand, Tobirama." Hashirama closed his eyes, breathing into his little brother's chest, "I just don't."
Tobirama hushed him with a soft caress, little fingers combing through his hair, but he could picture the indulgence so out of place on his face. His eyes darkened, squeezing shut and quieting Hashirama's childishness.
(But little Tobirama could understand, couldn't he?)
"...I think," His brother started, slow and uncertain, "we don't need to understand them." He curled down to cover Hashirama's nape with his little palms, touch trailing down from his scalp and out of his hair, brushing against skin with a rhythmic pattern.
("But you do." Hashirama wanted to say, "You understand.")
"Not us." Tobirama breathed, and Hashirama could tell he closed his eyes, because his hands have stilled, soothing up to reach for his hair again, "Not now."
Hashirama had never, in his life, wanted to understand so much.
But he didn't understand. Hashirama couldn't understand the thing Tobirama, his younger brother did, the thing that brought comfort to him. He could not take solace in whatever understanding Tobirama had drawn from his surroundings, the same Hashirama had faced for more time.
He was, in fact, lesser in intelligence than Tobirama, who had no advantage of age nor experience. Hashirama had both in excess, but he could not draw the conclusion that came like breathing to Tobirama.
Hashirama settled for pulling Tobirama's hands out of his hair, tucking his younger brother into his chest.
Hashirama only had the mornings for Tobirama, where he would do his warm-ups and his katas in the courtyard. Tobirama could watch by the engawa, wearing his oversized haori that once belonged to Hashirama, but Tobirama liked the texture so much so it's Tobirama's now.
Otou-san was out, doing his duties.
Tobirama and Hashirama's mornings were quiet. Breakfast was ready by the time Hashirama finished, and they made small conversation at the meals.
"Please, my dearest brother," Tobirama tried to encircle Hashirama's hand with both of his own, "Understand you were not wrong in your belief."
Hashirama couldn't help it, he lifted his other hand to catch the tears that flowed as if on command. It was always Tobirama that could make him lose all of his calmness and composure, but Hashirama wouldn't have it any other way.
Tobirama looked up at his teary eyes with conviction that comforted Hashirama despite the hurt and wronged offence he felt, "You are not wrong for desiring peace in war."
"What they are punishing you for," Tobirama began his stilted explanation, "Is your... failure to show offence at the enemy."
Hashirama bowed his head, as if he could no longer bear the heavy weight of the public shaming he went through. Tobirama knew it was more relief than pain, because Tobirama could sense it.
Hashirama could finally understand. He wished he didn't.
His family, his clan, was punishing Hashirama because he wanted them to live. So Hashirama compromised, and said he only wanted the children to live. He said to his father, "Then could you just send the adults out against the Uchiha?"
And he said no, and reprimanded him for "suggesting such dishonour". All they would take from his words was "I don't want to fight against the Uchiha", and all they would see was "I want to betray my clan" and "I want to help the enemy", because all that were not agreeing was against them.
His father was punishing Hashirama because he wanted the children to live. So Hashirama compromised it to himself, and tried to imagine the situation where he said he only wanted to live.
They would kill Hashirama because he wanted to live. It was selfish, wanting to live.
He couldn't imagine how Tobirama had felt for all those years, waiting for him to come to the same conclusion.
He felt relief, because he could now reason the inconsistencies in his home.
He felt pain, because the reason was cause for more anguish than he had imagined he could feel.
"It's perverse!" Hashirama said quietly, "How can they—"
Tobirama sighed, reaching up to wrap his arms around Hashirama's neck in a hug, but also in a way to whisper into his ear silently.
"They would rather preserve an illusion than see the truth, because they are desperate for hatred and revenge." He said, feeling how Hashirama hugged back gingerly, "And they would never think that it could be them in the wrong too."
"If we could suddenly cut off contact with the Uchiha, the voices screaming for aggression would cease and fizzle out, because without fuel to the fire, there is no flame." Tobirama said, suddenly powerless and weak.
Hashirama could understand all too well.
"I think," Hashirama began to explain as well, in the same halting, stilted way Tobirama did at late nights when he was his most genuine, "That the Uchiha are human too."
Tobirama smiled, radiant and bright.
Hashirama continued, slightly more sure in himself, "They're people too, they're not the same, they think as themselves, but they're just as confined as we are."
"Like, like—"
Tobirama waited patiently for Hashirama to come to the conclusion.
"Like a frenzied horse with a straight path." He said, but corrected himself, "Dogs blind but furious."
"No, that isn't right either."
"Trapped in an arena." Tobirama said softly, "Confined to the fight, and mindless."
"Did the Uchiha also have a son? Did the Uchiha have a family?"
Hashirama wanted to ask his father, and see if he could understand his sons.