That dream. He couldn't shake it. Weeks had passed since its occurrence, yet he still remembered it so vividly, as if it were a memory. That wasn't possible though, or was it? No. Tobirama was right, he was just suffering with post-traumatic stress after the death of his best friend, caused by his own hands. All the signs were there, so he wouldn't deny it. The blood. His friend's blood. He still felt it oozing between his fingers, even seeing flashes of the crimson liquid whilst working on documents in the office. He rarely let people see his hands these days, even his own wife, for he felt them to be unclean; soiled with the life he'd taken. That, and they were often raw from the repeated washing, tan skin marked by patches of peeling, dead white and tender pink areas of new skin to replace the old. His nights were sleepless, unconscious state so riddled with nightmares he almost feared closing his eyes for more than a second; for each time, he saw the cooling corpse of his friend floating on top of the water where he'd last seen him. The look of betrayal rampant in dulled, lifeless onyx eyes.
Hashirama was learning to live with this, however, it seemed a side effect of the lack of sleep was seeing the dead Uchiha every now and then, from the corner of his eye. Never was it directly, always when he wasn't supposed to be looking, but somehow caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure with raven hair, though it was unmistakeable to him as to who it was. He tried to ignore it for a while, denying it was there and it was only a trick of his mind. Now though, he felt almost a need for the brief sights and glances to stay. It were as if his friend was watching over him in spirit, a feeling of comfort the Senju silently enjoyed. Never did he share this; Tobirama would have had him seeking some kind of mental help, and his position as Hokage would have been in great jeopardy. Thus, he kept it to himself, a strange way coddle his state of mind.
Maybe losing his sanity was his punishment. No. Surely forsaking the life of one he held closest to protect peace was punishment enough for any. Besides, he needed to remain in sound mind to carry on his dream, to remain strong so none would see the slowly hollowing shell he was becoming; his lowest had been met, and now there was nowhere to go but up, or allow himself to wallow in a cesspit of self-hate – Hashirama Senju was not a man to give up like that, his will refused it. However, despite how many times he told himself it wasn't real, how many times he tried to ignore it, how many times he tried to slap sense into himself, it still followed; alongside the unchanging memory of his dream.
A hand slid down from tired, dark rimmed eyes, coming to settle under his chin. The Senju was sat in his office, at his desk. The pile of paperwork that met him on arrival had grown considerably, though hadn't sunk by any. Hashirama was too distracted by his thoughts to work. Perhaps he should have taken than extra week off Tobirama had offered to cover for him, but no, he needed to busy himself. The younger Senju would no doubt catch his slacking by lunch time and either aid him in completing it or scold him enough to give him gumption. A small smile appeared on his lips. It was always the small things that could make him smile these days, those including his brother's own rather unique form of showing his care and concern. He stood from his desk, abruptly. The paperwork wouldn't get itself done, especially with the mind set the Shodaime was currently in. Deciding it for the best, he left his office, instead venturing outside to go for a walk. Hopefully, the fresh air would clear his head.
It was quiet out, surprisingly, the streets not as busy as most late mornings. Then again, it was a weekend day, there was little doubt some were still sleeping. He envied them. Many greetings were given, the man responding with smiles, waves and the odd short bow. Needless to say, he was adored by his villagers. However, nowadays he couldn't shake the feeling that secretly, some despised him for what he did to the former leader of the Uchiha. It wouldn't shock him. He learned to live with the fact that he may just never know. He made his way to the cliff face that overlooked the entire village, the place where the dream had been founded; the place he once stood in arms with Madara Uchiha and formulated a name for the village they built together, Konohagakure. He wished the days back then could have continued longer, or were savoured more so. Memories were what he found himself relishing in, when he was by his lonesome. Truly, it was only when he was by himself that most of the thoughts like this had light shed upon them.
The Senju stood on the ledge, closing his eyes and letting the wind embrace him with its gentle gusts. His long, dark brunette hair shifted with the breeze, along with the loose, flowing fabric of his attire. In this moment, the images of his dream back only a few weeks ago began to play so vividly, it were like he was in the midst of reliving it scene for scene.
The room was silent, the Shodaime left to rest in peace, alone. He was in a light sleep, every night he spent here was the same; being out of his developed comfort zone, especially in hospital, made it even harder to sleep. Not that he wished to sleep, his waking and unconscious mind showing flashes of the one thing he did not want to see, yet had no choice. With a start, he was awoken, reflexes pushing him to sit up, only to have him curse in pain and lie back down.
"Who's there?" He questioned, trying to peer into the inky blackness the night shrouded room was blanketed in.
"Hashirama," a sickeningly familiar voice spoke, echoing from all possible angles.
His face drained of colour, deep brown eyes widened and pupils dilated, desperately trying to pinpoint a visual source for this. It couldn't be, he was dead. He saw his body; he saw as his hands wielded the katana which pierced through his chest. From the darkest corner, his fears were answered by nothing by a pair of glowing, scarlet eyes, illuminating a set of smirking white teeth.
"I-It can't be-" He stammered, still staring only in shock. The smirk widened, the figure coated with shadows getting closer and closer, until……He woke up the next morning, covered in a cold sweat.
Hashirama remembered nothing more of that night. Was there more to remember? Was it really a dream? He didn't know. He would never know. At the back of his mind, he hoped it was. Whether this made him crazy or not, he didn't care. Whether it be reality or illusion, his strange sense of comfort by the phenomenon made it worthwhile in his eyes.