Author's Note: So, this fic is officially part of a mini series titled "Dreaming of Shotgun Shells and Machetes" on AO3. I already have the next part written and it's published as a oneshot titled "Hopeless Dreamer." After that, I have a few more surprises up my sleeve for you guys.
…
"Don't ever do that again! We had no idea where you went or if you were coming back! How could you just leave like that without saying anything?!" Hashirama screeched. Tobirama rubbed at his temples and glanced at Itama who was glaring a hole into his food. He had come back to the house just in time for dinner and a lecture.
"Anija, I'm an adult. I can come and go as I please. I just wanted to take a drive around the town and see the changes that happened while I was gone." Tobirama mumbled, pushing a piece of fish around his plate. He felt awful for worrying his brothers, but his mind was thoroughly distracted in processing what he'd learned that afternoon.
"I called you twelve times! You didn't pick up and you didn't call me back! We didn't hear anything from you until you got back! How were we supposed to know that you weren't murdered in a back alley somewhere?!" Tobirama slammed his fork down on the table.
"I'm a grown-ass man, anija! I can defend myself! I just wanted to get a little fresh air! Fuck, if anyone has to worry about anyone here, I have to worry about you two! I leave for half a day and you're halfway through filing a Missing Person's report! Goddammit!" Slamming a hand down on the table as he pushed his chair back, bringing himself to full height. "I'm going to bed."
Ignoring his brother's onslaught of apologies, he stalked down the hall to the guest room he would be using for the week. He was careful not to slam the door, but he hoped the message was clear that the discussion was over.
Pulling his pistol from his waistband and tucking it under his pillow, he stripped off his shirt and pants so he stood in only his boxers, ready to just pass out and pretend the events of that day never happened. As he started walking to the bed, his eye caught his reflection in the full-length mirror Hashirama had put in the room when he bought the house.
Pale skin covered in scars, some still pink from hunts gone wrong over the last year and others with a silver gleam indicating they were older forced Tobirama to take in his appearance. He usually ignored his looks, not wanting to see the evidence of his lies written on his body. Yet, this time, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
His silver-white hair was in disarray and starting to get long, curling at the ends and at the nape of his neck. Red eyes, the tell-tale sign of his albinism, stared back with a dull gleam that he had only seen in other hunters that had experienced the equivalent of years of war on home soil. Dark, waxy skin under his eyes perfectly displayed his chronic lack of sleep for the world.
His facial tattoos, two stripes over his cheekbones and a third under his chin, looked dull and dark, no longer the bright red they used to be. They were more of a maroon color and slightly faded at the edges where the color had started to blow out with age. The matching stripes circling both forearms were also darkening. With his shirt off, he could see the lines he had recently had done curling over his hips and the tops of his shoulders.
It had been a last-second decision on a hunt where a tattoo artist had information on what was going on in the area and he had to come up with something to hold the artists' attention for a few hours. There were two symmetrical lines that started at the tops of his shoulders, following the natural curves of his body until they nearly met in between his shoulder blades with about two inches separating them. From there, they ran downwards, parallel on each side of his spine. The lines separated again at his mid-back to trace both sides of his waist just over his pelvis in a gradual curve, following the natural lines of his Apollo's Belt, ending midway down his lower abdomen with tapered, brush-like endings. Some considered it suggestive, he considered it just two more marks on his body.
His muscles were prominent, necessary for the work he did. Yet, he knew being able to count his ribs just from seeing them wasn't healthy. He'd consider himself lean, yet, this took it a few steps further. He hadn't been eating well lately.
A particularly nasty, knotted scar spanning from below his left pectoral down to the right side of his pelvis reminded him of how often he brushed hands with death. He had literally held his organs with his hands to keep them from spilling out that day. He would never face another wendigo after that hunt. The hospital that had stitched him up that day had found his fake identification on him and had no way of knowing who their patient truly was after he'd slipped out, narrowly escaping his interview with the police of that city.
His body told a story of the last few years of his life and it was not a happy one. He'd sacrificed everything, his body, his mind, and some would say his soul, for the sake of ridding the world of the monsters targeting human lives.
All for him to come home and find that one was living right under his nose, taking care of his brothers in his absence.
With a grunt, he allowed himself to fall into the bed, turning away from his reflection. He was a weapon, nothing more. His body and mind were not his to give two shits about.
...
The next day, Hashirama tried to awkwardly fill the silence in the home with idle chatter. Itama wouldn't look Tobirama in the eyes and Tobirama would only respond with hums, grunts, and one-word responses. He didn't have much to say. Which was why when Hashirama recommended that they go into town for lunch, he agreed and hoped that the distraction would keep his brother entertained for a few hours.
"Hey, Tobi. I noticed you really didn't pack much and that t-shirt is looking a little worn. Do you want to go shopping for some clothes while we're out? My treat?" Tobirama sighed from the passenger seat of his brother's Jeep, arms crossed and feet kicked up on the dash. He had eaten more than usual at the restaurant they'd gone to for lunch and he was feeling bloated and tired. He would adamantly deny that he was trying to gain a little weight on his form so his brothers wouldn't realize what state he was in and worry.
"You don't have to, anija. I just didn't want to carry too much with me for the trip." His eyes were closed to keep the sun from literally burning his retinas despite the tint on the windows. His eyes were always sensitive to light, which was exactly why he kept his hunts limited to night time and did his best to stay inside most days.
"Well, I want to! Itama, Tobi needs new clothes, right? That shirt is about to just fall off at the seams!" A small sigh could be heard from the backseat.
"Brother, with all due respect, Hashirama's right. You almost look homeless." Tobirama snorted. He was homeless for all intents and purposes.
"Fine. Nothing fancy though. Just a few shirts and pants. I have better clothes at home." He ignored Hashirama's fist pump and cheering until the Jeep swerved a little on the road. "Focus on the damn road, anija!" he snapped.
"I just can't wait to get you into something other than a t-shirt and jeans! I know you're a college kid but the look doesn't have to apply 24/7! Oh! Maybe we'll find you a nice jacket too! I know the winters in Colorado can get really cold and a hoodie just won't cut it!" Tobirama tuned out Hashirama's rambling. He didn't need a jacket. He wasn't actually living in Colorado. His safehouse was tucked away in Southern Illinois not far from St. Louis. It got cold there but Tobirama was never there so it didn't matter. He had a thick winter jacket for when he had to go North for hunts but he knew he wouldn't need whatever Hashirama deemed necessary for Colorado winters.
Pulling into the parking lot of the mall that was in the middle of town, Tobirama made quick work of setting up Itama's wheelchair and let his brother put himself in it. Hashirama liked to dote on their brother, but there was a fine line between helping and doting and Itama liked his independence. Tobirama couldn't fault him for it in the least. Making their way into the mall, Tobirama tried to ignore the looks people threw his way. Living in seclusion had its perks, the main one being that people didn't look at him like he was a circus animal for being oddly colored.
Hashirama was quick to drag him into a large store in the middle of the mall, pulling things off the racks and holding them up to Tobirama's stiff body, eyeing the sizes and commenting on how thin his brother was. Tobirama just let him, even going as far as to hold whatever clothing his brother put in his arms. Designer jeans with rips already in them had no place in his closet, but he would try them on for his brother. He'd just leave them at Hashirama's as an 'accident' when he left.
It wasn't until Tobirama was shoved into a changing room and his brother was tugging on his shirt that he felt his face flush in embarrassment.
"Get out! God, we're not kids anymore! I can change on my own!" With a shove, he pushed Hashirama out of the changing room and ignored his brother's whining. Itama let out a small giggle on the other side of the door. Tobirama grumbled as he quickly changed into the first shirt. It was a light blue polo that Tobirama had no intention of ever keeping. He put that one on the bench to start a pile for the 'rejects.' The next shirt was a t-shirt, though it was definitely higher quality than the shirts he bought from dollar stores in his travels. There was a design on the front of some band he didn't listen to. It was a dark gray and fit him well so he put that in the 'acceptable' pile.
The next shirt brought a twitch to his eye and a sneer on his face. What the hell was his brother thinking? Sure, it could be funny, but he was not wearing a shirt with a dumpster on fire. He got the joke, sure, he was a dumpster-fire of a person, but dammit he was not advertising that. He didn't even try that one on before putting it in the reject pile.
He tried on the next few shirts and only added two more to the 'acceptable' pile. One was a thick flannel that he could easily see being a daily overshirt to wear on his hunts and the other was a plain dark blue button down. He could use that one if he needed to go undercover. He'd have to pick up some more plain undershirts in the usual white, gray, and black variety packs while they were here.
"Hey, Tobi! I found this one too! Try it on!" A black piece of fabric flew over the door to the changing room and landed on Tobirama's head. With a snarl, he pulled it off of his head and looked at it. It was a black workout shirt, the fabric was soft and breathable. Sleeveless with a half-collar that would go halfway up his neck. It looked ridiculous but it looked comfortable. "I wanna see that one on you! Put it on and come out so we can see it!" Hashirama's cheery voice rang from the other side of the door. Tobirama resigned himself to his fate and pulled on the shirt, taking a quick glance in the mirror.
The lines on his shoulders stood out, bright red against his skin. The shirt was form-fitting and he could see how thin he was through it. A single scar peeked out from the edge of one of the missing sleeves, a gunshot he'd taken to the shoulder years ago. It was hardly visible, yet he worried about his brothers asking questions. Without giving himself time to think, he opened the door and stood in front of his brothers with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
"Are you happy, now? At least this one is comfortable." he grumbled. Hashirama practically had stars in his eyes.
"It looks so good on you! We're definitely getting that one! How did everything else fit?" Tobirama ran a hand through his already-messy hair.
"This is the last shirt. I need to try on the pants and then we can leave." Hashirama nodded enthusiastically and Tobirama spun on his heel, already knowing that he wasn't going to even try on any of the pants. The only two pairs he'd want to keep were a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a pair of light gray washed-out looking jeans that hugged his legs a little tighter than he liked. He didn't understand why anyone would put much thought into what pants they wore as long as they were comfortable. He also didn't understand why Hashirama hadn't picked up on the fact that he only wore black, white, or gray. He had favored clothes with that color scheme since he was in high school so it wasn't new information to his brother.
Taking off the shirt and putting it in the 'acceptable' pile, he put on his t-shirt and swiped up the piles before walking out of the changing room. He ignored Hashirama's screeching as he dropped the 'reject' pile onto the clothing rack for returns and started walking towards the checkout line.
He was stopped by Itama who grabbed his hand. Raising an eyebrow, he followed his brother's gaze to a stand with sunglasses. He could get behind getting a cheap pair of sunglasses. Leave it to Itama to direct him to something that would be useful. Hashirama had gotten distracted and Tobirama could see his brother shuffling into the shoe section.
"I noticed you were protecting your eyes earlier. Grab a pair and we'll get out of here. Can't have your vision getting any worse or you'll have an accident in the lab." Itama teased. Tobirama let a small smile spread on his face as he followed Itama to the sunglasses and started looking through the frames.
"Try these on, I think they'll be comfortable and cover most of your peripheral." Itama handed him a pair of Aviators and he looked them over. They had a thin metal frame and Itama was right, they would give him more coverage. Putting them on, he blinked and was happy to find that they fit perfectly. The relief from the bright fluorescent lights of the store was almost instant. He knew he had a light sensitivity because of his condition but he was so used to ignoring it that he hadn't realized how much discomfort he was in just from indoor lights.
"Oh yeah, I'm definitely getting these," Tobirama stated with certainty, hesitant to take them off. He was indoors and didn't want to look like an idiot wearing a pair of sunglasses inside. Carefully folding them and placing them on the pile of clothes in his arms, he caught Itama's eye and was surprised to find his little brother looking at him smugly. He raised an eyebrow at his baby brother, only getting more confused at the little chuckle the young man let out before turning himself around and wheeling himself towards the shoes to find Hashirama. Tobirama followed, not quite sure what was going on with Itama.
"Tobi! You have to try these on! They'll look good with that shirt!" A box was thrown in Tobirama's direction which he just barely caught, careful not to drop the clothes in his arms or the sunglasses he had just picked out. Opening the box, he let out an exasperated breath. Black mid-calf combat boots? Really? They might be comfortable but they were definitely built more for fashion than any actual field work.
"Anija, I'm not trying to create an outfit. I'm hardly going to wear these!" he complained. Hashirama just smiled and pushed him towards a bench to sit down.
"They'll be a good replacement for those boots you're wearing! They look like they're about to fall apart!" Tobirama took the time to look at his work boots, old steel-toed canvas boots that had seen much better days. They really did need to be replaced… with actual work boots.
"Hashirama, my boots are steel-toed and are meant to last. They're years old. These are only for show. They won't last a year with some of the field work I've been doing lately for my Biology minor." A small detail in his lies that he was suddenly grateful for. It explained the condition of boots that he really shouldn't need in his supposed 'profession.' It didn't stop Hashirama's pout, though.
"Just try them on, Tobi. You need a nice pair of shoes and I thought you'd like these since you insist on wearing boots everywhere." Tobirama felt guilty at the look of legitimate dejection on his brother's face. Taking off his old boots, he slipped on the new ones with a wince at the stiffness of the leather. Tucking his worn jeans into the boots, he had to admit they felt comfortable, supportive, and snug. Standing, he found himself at eye-level with his normally slightly taller older sibling. The soles of the boots had given him an extra inch of height.
"How do they feel? They look really good! I tried to find the plainest ones for you!" Hashirama commented as he started to look at Tobirama's legs uncomfortably close from as many angles as possible. He felt a small blush rise to his cheeks from the attention.
"They feel fine. You remembered my size. Are we done now?" Tobirama sat back down to take the boots off. He wouldn't admit that he actually really liked them. They wouldn't be any good for some of the hunts he did, but maybe he could use them for undercover phases of his hunts. The slightly raised heel had pushed his chest out slightly while he was standing and the change in posture was an unfamiliar but encouraging development.
"Yes! Let's check out and head back! We still need to go to the grocery store to get everything for dinner and Madara should be coming by around six. I want to make pizza and pigs in a blanket! We can also get some fish sticks for you, Tobi!"
…
When they finally got back to the house, Tobirama found himself with arms full of groceries and his new clothes stumbling into the kitchen. Setting the bags down on the island in the kitchen, he watched Hashirama close the door behind Itama before practically prancing into the kitchen.
"Anija, have you ever even made a pizza? We could have gotten the pre-packaged dough for the crust. We didn't need to make it from scratch." Tobirama asked, genuinely concerned for the possible train wreck that could become the dinner Hashirama was planning. Hashirama waved his hand at his brother dismissively.
"It'll be fine! Go put on your new clothes! You'll be here to help so I know it'll be perfect!" Tobirama was slightly caught off guard by his brother's unwavering faith in him to keep their dinner from becoming an embarrassment. Doing as Hashirama told him, he took the bags with his clothes down the hall and started putting together what he wanted to wear.
He decided on the gray jeans, the boots, the black sleeveless shirt, and he'd bring the flannel shirt to put on after they finished getting covered in flour and dough. The black shirt would serve as a decent undershirt and it looked like it could be spot cleaned easily. Seeing the sunglasses sitting in their new case, he mentally winced. Itama had seriously pulled one over on him with those. They were expensive and he hadn't known until Hashirama had already swiped his credit card. His brother had even gone as far as to rip up the receipt so Tobirama couldn't return them.
He grabbed the sunglasses and propped them on top of his head after getting dressed, making sure the arms were secure behind his ears. He'd keep them nearby just in case he got a headache. The relief they'd brought him in the store was far from forgotten. He tucked his pistol under his pillow. He wouldn't need it until Madara got there. Even then, he would only carry it for comfort. It's not like he could use it on the Djinn and it have any effect other than bringing down the wrath of his brother.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he did a double take. He looked… good. He actually looked like a functioning member of a civilian society. Hunting didn't exactly bring the money in. The clothes along with the expensive sunglasses would probably be the nicest things he'd ever own aside from his weapons. He never took shortcuts with his weapons the way that he did with his clothes.
Grabbing the flannel shirt, he swept out of the room and went back to the kitchen, laying the shirt over the back of one of the chairs at the table. Hashirama already had the ingredients out of the bags, spread over the counter. Tobirama checked his phone, it was already four o'clock. They only had two hours to prepare the dough for the pizzas, let it rest, and start cooking.
"Oh, you look sharp, Tobi! I knew getting you some clothes would be a good idea!" Tobirama hip-checked his brother to the side to commandeer the counter, ignoring the answering squawk.
"Roll up your sleeves, Anija. This is going to make a mess and we don't have a lot of time." He took one of the mixing bowls on the counter and started throwing the dry ingredients in, having already memorized the recipe Hashirama wanted to use for the pizza dough. This wasn't going to be the best dough since they didn't have much time to let it rest before using it, but he would make do. He would deal with the dough and let Hashirama go nuts with the sauce and toppings.
"Wow, Tobi! Have you made a pizza like this before?" Hashirama had a hand on his shoulder and was peering over him at the dry ingredients that were about to be introduced to the wet ingredients.
"No, I haven't. I'm just following the recipe you showed me. Go get the olive oil." Hashirama was quick to follow instructions as Tobirama mixed everything together before spreading flour on the counter and starting to knead it with his hands. Once the dough was smooth, he put it in an oiled mixing bowl and covered it with a towel, moving it to sit on the corner of the counter. Tobirama took the time to clean the flour off of the counter with Hashirama doting over his shoulder.
An hour later with a hyperactive Hashirama struggling through making pigs in a blanket, he was able to pull out the dough and divide it for two pizzas, shaping out two circles for his brother to sauce and decorate. At some point, Itama had opened the chips and pre-made dip they had grabbed for finger food and was happily munching on his snacks at the table, providing sarcastic commentary.
Tobirama was struck by the domesticity of it. When was the last time he was able to just spend an afternoon doing something so unnecessary for the fun of it? The last time he'd treated himself to something, it was a Zebra Cake from a gas station four months ago and he'd felt guilty about it. Watching Hashirama pile shredded mozzarella on a pizza and make a smiley-face with pepperonis while Itama provided unneeded quips from the kitchen table cracked his normally stoic facade. He let a small smile grow on his face. He had missed his family.
"Knock! Knock! I don't smell the pizzas I was promised!" The voice chiming in from the front door wiped the smile off of Tobirama's face. The bastard was early.