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6 | Embers

"A storm's coming."

Hashirama says, speaking to no one in particular. Amidst the heavy rain outside, his voice echoes around the earthy walls of the cave. A bad weather such as this one indicates a storm but his shinobi senses tell him that the rain would pour even heavier—the storm is yet to come.

It's a good thing he found a place to stay at.

It's cold and the air is somewhat heavier here in the cave, but it's definitely better than staying out in the rain. There's the lingering smell of bat manure, too, but Hashirama is growing accustomed to that.

He shivers as a wisp of cool air hits his bare skin. He had taken off his wet long-sleeved shirt to dry it by the fire he'd made, placing it together with the clothes which belong to the unconscious man lying by his side.

With a single hand sign, a blanket appears from a small scroll he's holding with his other hand. He sighs in relief, silently whispering a 'thank you' to Tobirama, who had always lectured him about bringing stuff such as this one on missions. Hashirama had never taken his advice seriously. Well, at least not until that one winter way back before the truce, when a simple recon mission went out of hand and he nearly froze to death. He's learned his lesson, alright.

'Better to be prepared. You'll never know when you'll need it.' Hashirama remembers his brother had told him. Tobirama had proven his cleverness once again.

Hashirama crouches next to the Uchiha, carefully laying the blanket over his shivering body. Earlier, he had grown a bed of moss for the man to lie on (the Mokuton sure is convenient, especially at times like this).

He tucks a stray hair out of the man's face, closely observing him—every rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, every twitch of his eyebrows as if he's having a bad dream, every small, incoherent sound he makes. There are bags under his eyes and his thin lips are chapped. Hashirama frowns in worry. He'd already given him first-aid treatment and he's successful in keeping him alive so far, but that might not be enough. The next twenty-four hours is very critical and he must monitor him closely.

He reaches for the piece of cloth he'd torn from the sleeves of his own shirt and puts it on the other man's forehead, gently wiping the tiny beads of sweat on his pale skin. A greenish light appears beneath his hand as he puts it on the man's torso, transferring some healing chakra to him. It frustrates him that he couldn't immediately and fully heal him now, not when he himself is exhausted and low on chakra, too.

Fortunately, Madara's chakra system glows stronger, if only a little bit. At least, that's a good sign. Hashirama sighs in relief.

He readjusts the fire and watches as tiny pieces of glowing cinders escape, rise, then vanish in thin air.

He sits down by the other man's feet, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes. Now that his mind is relatively calm, realization suddenly dawns on him—he had just saved the man who'd tried to kill him just a few hours ago.

A mocking smile forms on Hashirama's lips, opening his eyes and looking at him.

"In the past twenty-one years of my life, I've done many stupid things..." he chuckles slightly, looking at the ground now and shaking his head. "Never in a million years would I have thought that I'd be taking care of an enemy—of my enemy."