Aaaand we're back to the randomness that is this story!

Quick update, because I'm procrastinating. Sorry that Emeralds is taking so long - school's terrible, haha. Besides that, Tobirama is ADORABLE. I can't take it, lol. Also, stirringwind the artist on both dA and tumblr is a genius. I, too, read "Senju BUTT-SAMA" at first. Oh the hilarity that will ensue.

Besides that, I remind you that I take some liberty with timelines and other Naruto nonsense...like flashbacks within flashbacks, which seems to be Kishi's thing right now.

New term: KISHITROLLCEPTION.

That was beautiful /shot

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, because I actually don't know what color Itama's hair is...OuO

Chapter 34: Grave of Dreams Alive

Itama stirred the water with his finger. He cupped the stream with his hands and drank from it, quenching his thirst. After a few moments of rest, kneeling at the bank of the little flowing water, he stood and brushed himself off. The clink of his armor satisfied him, comforted him. It was hard and cold and solid; it was his armor, after all.

A little ways away, he found himself marking a boulder for his clan members to see that he had checked this area. The little tick mark let them know he'd visited around noon.

He had failed, however, to observe the four shinobi creeping up on him.

They did not care for his tears — they mercilessly drove a dagger into his undefended heart. His armor was nothing.

Tobirama awoke with a start. His head was pounding with an excruciating headache, and the consistent shatter of rain outside, accompanied by pounding thunder, wasn't doing much to help him. Images flashed through his mind, ranging from Hashirama to Itama to Mariko. The moment he saw Mariko with several shuriken embedded into her body, he whipped around to check on her.

The blunette slept peacefully, wrapped and tucked to the chin with warm comforters. The white-haired Senju sighed, reaching over to stroke a lock of sapphire hair, dim in the dark room and illuminated only by the scarce bit of refracted moonlight through the pound of rain and the heavy clouds.

"Mm," she mumbled into the pillow, a small hand slipping from under the covers to grasp his wrist. She held it to her cheek, and promptly fell asleep then. As much as Tobirama would have liked to stay there with her, he carefully extracted his hand from her soft grip and slid from the bed.

He rummaged quietly through his closet, slipping on an old face guard and an old outfit. He did not don his blue armor, nor did he pick up the Konoha-branded happuri. An old-style jacket and wide pants that had always been comfortable, and a black shirt. He remembered when he had outgrown these clothes, but the old Senju style was too dear for him to throw away — him and Hashirama both. They wore this attire, even as adults, on this day in particular.

Outside, Hashirama was already at the gate, holding two swords. One of them was handed to Tobirama, which he tied securely to his waist. It was an old blade, chipped and tarnished, but still his all the same.

Together, the two brothers strode, in the middle of the night, to a small place outside the village's memorial cemetery. They stood for a good long time, looking down at the small honorary stone engraved with Itama's name.

Hashirama touched his cheek absently, and then kneeled before the grave.

"I wonder if he's rolling in his grave," he said, his voice hiccupping in the middle, "because I let bygones be bygones."

"Did you?" asked the other brother, the one with the pale moon hair that stared expressionlessly at the simple stone that was supposed to be Itama. He had not been there. He'd arrived too late, even after Hashirama had pulled the sword from Itama's chest and had been crying for a long, long time. He saw blood, and he saw the tracks of tears on Itama's dirt-stained face, two streaks of clean from his final sobs.

Hashirama didn't answer. He touched the stone, then stood.

"Do you miss him?" he asked unnecessarily.

"As much as you do," Tobirama answered. "I just show it differently."

"I know you do," murmured the older Senju, touching Tobirama's arm. The younger brother leaned against his sibling, and the two stared at the grave for a while. Tobirama did not glance back when he felt two presences grace the cemetery entrance behind them. However, they were gone within a few minutes, only paying their respects for a what might have been a friendship.

They were quickly replaced by two more presences, the appearance of which surprised both men greatly. One was Mito, long red hair dangling freely to her waist, holding a tray with hot tea and sweet cakes, as if she was inviting them in for a relaxing afternoon snack. The other was Mariko, her blue hair a stark contrast from the redhead's, waiting patiently. In her arms, a purring cat by the name of Tenzou, whose whiskers twitched curiously.

Three hours had passed, and the sky had yet to change into dawn. Nonetheless, the two women waited until the two brothers stopped throwing hesitant glances back at the stone. When they finally returned home, they sat down and had a pleasant breakfast.

Years and years later, there would be more graves to visit. At first, the two brothers would stand before Itama's grave, eternally wondering what he would have looked like had he been given the chance to live. He most likely would have taken after their father, and looked more like Hashirama. But who was to say he would have stayed that way? Maybe he would have grown up into a completely different man.

Along with this, Hashirama would begin meandering across the cemetery, stopping first at the grave of a blind man, who had fallen nobly in war, and then at a man he had killed himself. He would pick up a stone, a smooth, flat one suitable for skipping across a familiar stream, and write a note on it. Then, he'd set it on the gravestone's head and continue on to walk away.

Soon enough, Itama's grave was only visited by one brother. Beside him, mounted on a Hokage's memorial, was Hashirama's grave. Several people would accompany Tobirama on his visits, then. One was a blue-haired woman that held his hand faithfully, never wavering despite the fact that it pained her to feel the warmth that emanated from the name engraved on the headstone. The other was a redhead that touched Hashirama's grave, endless tears letting themselves known. Her son would cry, too, and so would her niece and nephew. But her own tears would lock themselves up for another time, for she was stronger than the waves of a storm, and would not be taken by the deadliest cyclones.

"I think it's time to leave."

"Give me a few minutes."

And Mito would give her a few minutes, because she remembered asking for some time before Hashirama's grave.

Sometimes, Team Tobirama would sit in a semicircle before the second name on the Hokage Memorial, and sometimes their friends, too. Other times, it was just Mariko and her children — her daughter asking for stories, and her brother telling her boldly of the time their father had created a waterfall from heaven.

It had been so long.

So, so long.

She thought that it was finally time for her own funeral. She tried recalling the last one she'd gone to: Ah, yes, that was right. A traditional Hurricane procession, the women with their faces ghostly white and their hair tied, the men looking dark and solemn, the hues of ochre and charcoal charring their foreheads. Her last remaining relative, his hair still sapphire and strong, glasses slipping down his nose, finalizing her death with an island lament.

It had been a long time since then. Her hair had faded, and she was old, very old. But she was still strong, even to her death. Her dying moments had her granddaughter whimpering at her side, and her successor looking afraid. But she entrusted her granddaughter with her will, along with the will of the First Hokage — she touched the necklace along the girl's neck and told her, "You are strong, my girl", smiling — and let the young blonde step away. And the young redhead, with a round, innocent face and scared eyes. She told her, "Fill the vessel with love," for that was the path to happiness.

And the children, no longer children, they cried for her. She remembered the day her sister-in-law had crowned that boy Hokage, the third one, during Tobirama's funeral, before the entirety of Konoha. He was not a boy anymore. He was old and had a wife and children, and was here with his two teammates, transformed for the moment into genin once more.

You have made us proud. All of us.

And he cried, pitifully.

"Sometimes I wonder how in the world I became Hokage," sighed the woman, studying her scarlet nails. Shizune smiled gently at her, setting down the amusing little pig that was their constant companion.

"People die," Shizune said.

"And people life," Tsunade continued. "Is that why I'm Hokage?"

"Women's rights?" suggested her student. Tsunade laughed then, before digging through an old box of things she'd dug up from the storage basement the other day, bored out of her mind. To her surprise, it was a compilation of photo albums from each Hokage's reign. The one at the top was more recent, and it had a picture of Sarutobi-sensei's entire class. There was Danzo, and there were her two, senile advisors who would never stop harping about her faults. Tsunade laughed dryly. There was Sarutobi-sensei, and there was the Hyuuga head, and even one of Dan's uncles. And was that Sakura's grandfather, right there?

"Wow, these pictures are ancient," murmured Shizune.

"Yes, we're all old dinosaurs," chuckled Tsunade, picking up another book. This next one she liked immensely, because it was full of her grandparents and their families. Great Aunt Mariko, holding a very happy baby. The pictures didn't have the greatest color quality, but the blue of the baby's hair could still be made out, a slightly different hue from the rest of the photo's dimmed shades. Another one with her great aunt, playing with the baby — oh, that baby was adorable! — and the baby was reaching for Uncle Tobirama's hands.

And there was Tsunade, held by a nanny, being cooed at by her grandfather.

Hashirama. If there was a best grandpa award, the First Hokage would have won it easily. Well, that was despite the fact that he'd created the second Legendary Sucker, he himself being a first — a little known fact, of course — and being berated by his wife for it, too. Tsunade found it all amusing, a little wistful, but very nice to look at. She wondered what Naruto's reaction would be if he found out that she, too, was an Uzumaki by blood.

Mito had always been beautiful. Grandmother. She and Kushina had striking auras, their garnet hair shimmering in the light. Mito was like a flower, but a hardy one at that. Apparently, Tsunade mused brightly, her grandmother could beat her in throwing a punch, distance-wise.

Finally, a worn volume, nearly in shambles, held together loosely by a hand-cut leather cover and dense, wiry strings.

The faces she saw were mostly unfamiliar, but she saw the similarities by blood. She also saw a face of a boy whose name she'd learned of, a war hero from once upon a time. He was her granduncle Itama, a boy who never got the chance to grow up.

It reminded Tsunade painfully of Nawaki. She hoped that somehow, her little brother got to meet Itama, somehow, in death. She liked to imagine that her family was up there, holding Nawaki and Dan close, watching over her. Sarutobi-sensei, Uncle Tobirama, Aunt Mariko, Grandmother, and Grandfather too.

"GRANNY!"

Oh, how she despised being called such an old, haggardly name. But it was a fond name, nonetheless, and she did have a soft spot for the mischievous blonde that was currently bounding up the Hokage Tower steps.

"TELL BUSHY BROWS THAT — SHUT UP NEJI — Awww, Sakura-channn, why not?"

An exclamation turned angry accusation turned into a pout. He never ceased to be interesting, did he?

"Yamato-taichou, tell Granny why I have to go on this mission!" Naruto exclaimed, bursting into the office. "So what, Neji?! I can go on this mission if I want to!"

Thickheaded, he was.

"And what are we talking about?" Tsunade asked, rolling her eyes. Yamato, the poor guy, shrugged. He was the oddest thing, sometimes, as odd as Naruto, only in a different way. He was his own person, but his Mokuton screamed Hashirama's name, and the faceguard he wore had a semblance to that of Uncle Tobirama's. Tsunade looked at the pictures again; she was sure that she had some distant cousins, somewhere. Aunt Mariko's blue hair had long since faded out — her brother, who had married a Frost Country woman, had brown-haired children. Some of them moved to Konoha, Tsunade knew… — but she'd had grandchildren, somewhere.

"Akatsuki, Granny, Akatsuki!" shouted Naruto too loudly. "Keep up with the program, Granny!"

"I will throw this book at you, and it will be destroyed, and I will be so angry that I destroyed this book that I will take it out on you," hissed Tsunade.

"Ooh, what book?" asked Lee and Naruto in unison. Tsunade sighed and glanced at it.

"Nothing, really."

She put the albums back in their boxes, where Ton-Ton snuffled at them curiously. The pig flipped to a page that surprised her — unexpectedly, a slightly blurry snapshot of a young Hashirama with his best friend, skipping stones along a river. A Senju crest and an Uchiha crest.

History would never cease amazing her.

And the present…well, it would never stop annoying her, even though she loved it to bits and pieces. Her past would haunt her, and her memories would plague her nightmares, but she would never let go of them. They were too precious. She would simply learn to cope with them, and cherish them more.

My name's Jiraiya. Here's a love letter.

Idiots, everywhere.

I want to be Hokage!

Dreams, too.

I'll make Konoha a better place…for everyone.

Dreaming idiots.

I'll come back alive, I promise.

Foolish promises, made in her dreams, perhaps?

"GRANNY!"

No. Tsunade decided that in the end, what she was dealing with right now seemed to be of the most importance. And at the moment, she was dealing with a stubborn blonde blockhead, and he wasn't just a dream world pest.

Ah, but that was all right too.

Follow your gut feeling, and bet everything on it!

That line had given both her and her grandfather oodles of trouble, but she followed it anyway.

"Now, Naruto, if you want to participate in this mission…"

Tonighttttttt we are youuungggg.

So let's set the world on FIREEEE

we can burn BRIGHTERRR

than the S-

Tobirama, your face guard is too large for you.

Anyway, that was We Are Young by Fun, of course.

Um. What was I going to say...YES, here we are: Somehow, I went from sad Senjus dying to more dying to more dying to Naruto wanting to go on a mission. Whoot whoot.