Chapter Text
The road was empty, dusty, and long. Driving through the seemingly never-ending two-lane backroads of West Texas in the middle of summer was not what Tobirama had imagined would occur anytime in the next decade. Or at any future point in his life, for that matter.
He hated it.
The music streaming to his radio was cutting in and out as his phone lost connection, the cell towers in the area were sparse being so far away from the closest cities. His scowl deepened as he heard the telltale brush of dust and sand against the paint of his BMW, the particles following the intense wind that blew across the flat plains he was driving through. He’d kept the car spotless since he bought it, one of the few possessions in his life he actually gave a shit about, and now it was getting scratched to hell and back by dust.
His coworkers had insisted he take his own car and make the entire drive from Washington DC to West Texas in a nearly non-stop roadtrip.
No paper trails.
No plane tickets.
No credit cards or debit cards, only cash.
Both his personal and work phones were left in his apartment in the capital. He was stuck with a burner phone that was for emergencies and to maintain appearances.
As far as anyone was concerned, he was handling a family emergency on Hashirama’s farm and that information was on a need-to-know basis with very few people at the district office.
The reality of the situation was that he was facing threats to his safety.
He’d only been doing his job, following the law to the letter. It was what he did best. He’d won over the jury with cold, hard facts and a narrative that left very little room for argument. In fact, the defense had scrambled to assemble a vague counterargument that hadn't even pushed back against the narrative.
There had been some satisfaction at the time.
He enjoyed his job bringing people to justice as a prosecutor in the nation’s capital, handling the hard cases that carried heavy sentences. The facts were almost always tangible, ready to be presented and argued over for days in pointless circles that almost always landed in his favor.
This case had not been one he’d revelled in for long. Unfortunately, the punishment did fit the crime, and someone close to the accused did not appreciate the outcome.
First, it was letters. They were sent to his office, not necessarily a public address but not impossible to find if you were determined. The letters were determined to be written threats, but difficult to determine the origins of. He hadn’t even touched them with his own hands.
The first one had been dropped off on his desk by a secretary, and he’d immediately been on alert.
The address on the envelope had been handwritten in blocky letters, there was no return address, and the stamps were haphazardly placed, at least three for a thin letter that couldn’t have weighed more than an ounce.
It wasn’t unheard of for someone in his position to receive a suspicious letter with the potential to be laced. There were drugs out there that could bring harm upon skin contact alone and, while he was considered paranoid, he didn't take unnecessary risks. His mind had immediately jumped to that possibility and he’d called the police out of an overabundance of caution.
When the police opened it with careful, gloved hands, there was a letter spitting absolute vitriol calling for his surrender so he could be “made into an example.” No drugs, just some pretty serious threats written with graphic detail, all written with that same blocky handwriting.
The letter was confiscated and an investigation was opened.
Then, another arrived. And another.
Each one was turned over to the police in clear binder sleeves that Tobirama kept in the office for his work, carefully pushed into the sleeve with the eraser end of a pencil each time.
Then, it escalated.
A letter arrived at his apartment.
He wasn’t easily shaken, but that had shaken him. Returning from a morning jog on a peaceful Sunday to check his mail, he’d recognized that blocky handwriting as soon as he’d peeked inside of his mailbox. It had been sitting on top of his other mail, recently delivered and appearing to be just another regular envelope.
While his office address wasn’t impossible to find, his personal address was legally confidential for his safety. Exactly for situations like this.
The police had met him at his mailbox and taken the letter.
That day, the district office had given him the directive to pack anything he could take from his apartment in an hour and leave the city for a while. They’d given him the burner phone, instructed him on what to leave in his apartment and what he could take, and had arranged for a security detail to covertly follow his car until he reached state lines.
He still wasn’t sure about the exact legality of it, but his car had been affixed with temporary paper license plates for the trip, ensuring that if someone could access any toll cameras, the plates wouldn’t trigger any unknown flags.
They had also put a freeze on all of his accounts and his social security information.
He thought they were overreacting, they called it what it was.
A threat against his life was serious.
Apparently, the investigation on the letters had gotten deep enough to notice several concerning patterns when the investigation turned towards monitoring Tobirama himself. The letter in his mailbox had just been the final straw.
He was in danger.
A car had been seen sitting outside of his apartment complex for several days in a row, just inside the range of a few CCTV cameras. Inside, there had been a pair of unidentifiable men, sometimes lit by the light of a laptop that didn’t help the lack of detail in the grainy footage. They always parked as soon as it was dark outside, staying for up to four or five hours before leaving, never exiting the car.
It was a mess. He felt that the situation was being blown out of proportion and wanted to question who had made the decision to send him out of the state. He could have just as easily been placed in a safehouse in DC and continued his work. Instead, it was determined that he needed to be completely removed from the entire situation until they could apprehend who was threatening him and ensure his safety.
In the meantime, he was told to go back to his brother’s farm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere to spend a few weeks staying quiet and disconnected from the world. There wasn’t a record out there that had his previous address in the state of Texas since he’d moved before he’d even gotten his driver’s license. He wasn’t even born in the state, instead born unexpectedly in Louisiana during one of his mother’s trips to visit her parents. His birth certificate had to list his state of birth as Louisiana despite being brought back to Texas within a week of being born.
It used to drive his father insane and, somehow, Tobirama had even found himself being blamed for being born a month early in some of his father’s drunken rants. That being said, there was absolutely no record that he’d lived in Texas. He’d argued against going to the farm for the investigation, of course, but the people handling him and the case had it in their heads that the farm was the perfect solution.
They would let him know when it was safe.
He winced as a gust of wind blew more dust into the windows of his car, the sound of small pebbles hitting the windshield grating on his already completely frayed nerves. He was starting to get a headache from how hard he was grinding his teeth.
He’d been driving for nearly twenty-four hours straight, crossing half the country as fast as possible without risking getting pulled over. When he crossed into Texas, something changed and it became an odd experience since he’d never actually driven in the state. When he’d left at sixteen to live with his cousin, Touka, in Maryland, he’d taken a series of buses. The roads were both familiar and unfamiliar as well as the sights.
He’d promised himself that he would never come back to the state, and he’d kept that promise up until now.
Hashirama came to visit him when they met once a year, never the other way around regardless of how much Hashirama pouted and whined about Tobirama’s absence and being subjected to his fear of planes once a year. Tobirama hadn’t wanted to lay eyes on the farm that Hashirama had taken over after their father’s death.
He’d been abused in that house and he’d left with the conviction to never see it again.
Yet, here he was.
The roads were becoming more familiar as he passed through the small town that was closest to the farm. He didn’t even think about it as he turned through the correct intersections and started driving down the long road that would take him to a metal gate with the family name on it.
Senju Farm.
He’d never felt so helpless.
…
“Tobirama! You made it!” Hashirama’s cheery voice calling across the front yard only added to the pounding in his head as Tobirama pulled his duffle bag from the trunk of his car, parked next to Hashirama’s old Ford Explorer.
The driveway had been more level than he remembered, but there were still dips in the gravel that had scraped the bottom of his car as he’d traversed what had to be a half-mile length of driveway. It didn’t help that the smattering of trees on the property were starting to grow out of hand, branches hanging low in certain areas that needed to be dodged while the brush was encroaching entirely too close to the driveway.
Taking in the relatively neat yard in between the house, barn, and the beginning of the fencing that separated the living areas from the crops, he was glad to see the place wasn’t a complete wreck like it had been. Rusted farm equipment had been cleared, random barrels and bins were either moved or removed, and there weren’t any feral chickens or goats running around. The brush and bushes were also cleared, leaving the area open and level as opposed to the chaotic overgrown mess it had been.
Hashirama had been taking care of the place just like he promised he would.
The sunglasses over his eyes weren’t helping his headache as much as he’d hoped they would, the sun was still beating down on him and he could feel his skin already getting uncomfortably warm as he stood in the open taking in the changes he could already see. There was only one oak tree in the yard and it was off to the side closest to the barn, so he was completely exposed.
He turned to face his brother who was happily waving from the front of the wraparound porch, cleaning dirty boots on the steps along with a pair of bib overalls that were completely caked in brown, clumpy mud. Hashirama’s white t-shirt had also been completely soaked through with sweat and his hair was tied back in a messy bun, his face smeared with dirt and dust.
He hadn’t been able to give Hashirama an estimated time of his arrival, so it appeared he’d caught Hashirama right at the end of his workday. He must have just finished tending to the crops.
Hashirama was a born and bred farmer with a green thumb that could produce enough high quality food to support an army in a month. As much as Tobirama hated the farmwork they’d done as kids, he couldn’t help but be glad that his brother found happiness in it. Farming was truly something that he thrived in and it suited him.
Tobirama, however, was the opposite. Dirt was disgusting, mud was worse, manure was a detriment to his health. He was also born with albinism and the lack of melanin in his skin, eyes, and hair was his worst enemy as he fought the sun, sweat, and chafing anytime he was within the vicinity of farmwork.
He was technical and he did well in statistics. He could do the math for how much to plant and when to do it for the highest yield in an ideal season, he could fix a tractor in an afternoon and have it running better than it did previously, he could even file taxes with itemized tax exemptions by the time he was twelve while Hashirama still struggled to read. Despite having different paths in life, they were as close as two brothers could be with half a country between them.
Tobirama approached the porch, keeping a few feet of distance from his brother as he used a hard bristle brush to scrape off rapidly drying mud from his boots. He didn’t want to get hit with a flying chunk of dirt.
“I know I seem pretty stupid a lot of the time, but I know you didn’t call from a new number and rush down here for a social visit. I’m not going to ask since you won’t answer anyway, but just know that you can stay as long as you need to.” Hashirama beamed at his brother, his smile slightly crooked and wide.
Tobirama sighed. Hashirama wasn’t ignorant, he knew that. He would never knowingly keep anything from Hashirama unless he had to. Unfortunately, this time, he absolutely had to. Client confidentiality was serious and breaches were punishable by law, even in situations where it would just be easier to explain the situation.
“Thank you, anija. I can’t disclose anything right now, but I appreciate you allowing me to spend time here for a few weeks.” Tobirama was surprised to be engulfed in a hug, Hashirama’s dirty hands digging into his back and likely ruining his navy blue button-down shirt. He felt himself tense at the idea, slowly pulling himself away from his brother.
“Your room is set up and ready for you. I’m sorry it’s not the same as it was when you left. I left it alone since I knew you wouldn’t want me to touch your stuff but I had renovations done on the house a few years ago and your things were packed during the chaos. It’s still your room, though. If you need anything that might be packed up, it’s all in the attic.” Hashirama let him go, his smile still bright as he put his hands on his hips.
“Thank you. I think I have everything I need, though.” Tobirama couldn’t help but feel awkward as he glanced at the front door of the ranch house, eyeing the fresh tan paint that covered the weathered wood behind the screen door.
The house itself looked different despite being the same house. Where he’d expected rotting wood in various corners of the porch and roof, the wood had been replaced. There was also a new layer of paint over nearly everything, white bordering tan, brown, and green in a pleasant but subtle aesthetic that screamed Hashirama. The wraparound porch even had a dark brown textured paint job done that he knew was weatherproof, slip-proof, and would last for years.
And it looked so… clean.
Hashirama’s face was glowing with pride as Tobirama glanced back at him, as if the man could feel the slight approval of the changes that Tobirama was fighting himself on.
“Let’s get you settled. I just finished with the crops and I put together something for dinner that’s been on the smoker since this morning. Everything should be ready in about an hour, plenty of time to catch up!” Hashirama’s joy was hardly suppressed despite the fact that he had to be exhausted from working.
Tobirama couldn’t help but roll his eyes, his exasperation with his brother a familiar and overwhelming feeling. It overrode the tense professionalism he’d been maintaining on and off the clock for close to a decade.
Following Hashirama into the house, he was surprised to see that the outside changes applied to the inside as well.
New flooring was laid, a vinyl wood flooring that looked high quality but easily replaceable. It covered up the wood that used to chip and leave splinters in little feet that ran through the house what felt like a lifetime ago. The walls were painted in light colors, white and tan alternating in various rooms.
Pictures hung on the walls, most of them older that had likely taken weeks or months to find in all of the things that used to clutter the house and attic. Tobirama didn’t look at them too closely.
Tobirama set his bag on the floor just inside the house after taking off his shoes at the door, putting them into the new closet by the door that held overalls, bibs, and boots to the point of nearly overflowing.
Following his brother into the kitchen, the biggest changes were made quite obvious.
The counters were made with butcher block, the fridge was silver and had a fucking ice and water dispenser in the door, there was a silver dishwasher nestled between new, dark wood cabinets, and the floors were entirely a dark tan stone tile with proper grout.
What the hell?
Hashirama pulled a couple of beers from the fridge, setting one on the counter in front of Tobirama as he approached the new island in the center of the kitchen. They had never had an island in this kitchen, it had always looked too small to have one. In fact, the entire kitchen looked much bigger than it had before.
Ah, he could see what Hashirama did. He really had been gone for long enough to forget some things, it seemed. He wouldn’t have realized what had been done if he hadn’t wracked his brain for the answer to a sudden increase of space.
Hashirama had knocked out the wall leading to the “office” just next to the kitchen on the floorplan and completely extended the kitchen into that area along with the hallway that used to lead to it.
Good riddance. That office had been the worst room in the entire house.
Butsuma’s office, the office of a hoarder and abuser with a penchant for making the worst financial decisions out of a sense of competition against the neighbors. That office had been the center of his crazed delusions as he’d lost his mind to paranoia, guns mounted on the walls almost floor to ceiling along with anything that mentioned the Uchiha.
He popped the top off of the beer on the edge of the counter and took a long pull from the bottle, cringing slightly at the taste. He hadn’t had a beer in a long time, instead choosing mixed drinks or even just whiskey when he did indulge in alcohol. The taste was still disgusting.
“Like I said, I did a lot of renovations. Looks good, doesn’t it?” Hashirama asked, looking around his own kitchen like it was still new as pride bloomed across his face.
“It does, anija. It’s a completely different house,” Tobirama responded, trying not to let any of his bitter feelings towards the house’s history bleed into his voice. Hashirama must have heard it regardless as his face fell into a pained expression. Though, he looked more pained by memory as he took a drink from his beer.
“There was so much to clean out and fix. I dumped so much shit into a dumpster that I had dropped off here for a while. I sold off pretty much all of the guns, only kept a few because I needed to keep some for the farm. They weren’t taken care of so while I did get some money for them, it wasn’t a lot. Pretty much everything else was junk. I dug through everything to keep pictures and records but everything else went to the dump.” Hashirama’s voice turned bitter, a sound that Tobirama had never heard from his brother at any point in his life. He stayed quiet, letting Hashirama talk. He hadn’t listened to his brother for any long period of time for the last decade, now was Hashirama’s time to let it out.
“He kept the most stupid shit, Tobirama. I found, like, sixty animal pelts in the barn just piled on top of each other and rotting because he didn’t clean or tan them properly. There were empty bottles everywhere, fucking prescriptions from the eighties that were never taken, shit, there was even stuff of mom’s hidden away in his bedroom locked in a closet I didn’t even know existed. I kept her wedding ring and dress since they were actually properly stored but I had to throw away so much of mom’s stuff. Her clothes were all just locked in a closet full of her stuff to be eaten by moths and covered in mouse shit.” Hashirama’s head hung as he sagged against the counter, his eyes looking weary.
“I stored her things that I could recover in an airtight container in the attic. Your stuff is stored the same way. The attic had been full of antiques and shit from our grandparents on dad’s side and their parents. A lot of it was ruined because the roof had been leaking for God knows how long, but what I was able to recover was able to be donated to some local museums or sold off. We didn’t even know our grandparents so I didn’t keep any of it. There was no point.” Oh, Tobirama knew that hurt him to do. Hashirama loved history and had always wondered what the farm used to be like, what their grandparents had been like.
“I know you’re not here to go down memory lane… but Tobirama there’s a lot of stuff we need to talk about and go through if you’re going to be here for a few weeks. There’s a lot of stuff I kept just because I wasn’t sure if I should get rid of it and I wanted your advice before I did anything. I… I don’t want to be a hoarder like Dad was and I really need some help.” Hashirama’s eyes were watering and Tobirama couldn’t help but sigh.
He put a hand on Hashirama’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
“We’ll have a look at what you kept. Not today or tomorrow, but we’ll look at it. You’ve done well so far, I’ll help with the rest. Let’s focus on other things for a little bit and revisit it later, okay?” He was holding his own emotions back, knowing that his mother’s things had been locked away for so long and neglected had struck something in him that hadn’t felt pain in a very long time. He was eight when she’d died giving birth to her fourth child, a baby that was going to be named Itama. They’d lost their mother and a sibling that same day.
He’d been very close to their mother and he’d been the one to grieve the longest out of their family.
“Thank you, Tobirama. I’m glad you’re here, even if it took a while.” The tears were wiped away with a quick swipe and his brother was back to smiling. “Let’s check on dinner! Oh, and Madara will be here soon!”
“What?”
“Oh, I’ve been smoking a brisket from Madara’s ranch since this morning. It’s going to be so good! The cows he raises are always the best. And I invited him over for dinner!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hashirama knew how much Tobirama had hated the Uchiha boys when they were kids and it hadn’t helped matters when Izuna had been killed in the same farming accident that had killed Kawarama when Tobirama was fifteen.
Madara had outright cut Hashirama out of his life, and Tobirama was left dealing with his depressed brother, his father that had no way of supporting them through the peak of the farm’s financial nosedive, and the grief of losing another sibling. Tobirama had never understood how Madara could do that to Hashirama. They’d both lost a sibling, how could Madara blame his best friend who wasn’t at all responsible?
Madara must have gotten over himself, though the bitter feeling of resentment for his actions at Hashirama’s lowest point in life still clung to Tobirama.
“We made up, Tobi. Years ago, actually. After Tajima died, Madara took over the Uchiha ranch for a while but was having some trouble with managing the land. Ranching is a little harder than farming when it comes to managing everything, too many moving parts. At least, in my opinion. It’s like when Dad kept cattle for a little while and had us doing all the work. Except, Madara was trying to do everything himself and could only hire, like, two employees who weren’t the best, so he was struggling.” Tobirama cringed at the memory of learning how to ranch, Butsuma’s ventures into ranching having put his sons through their paces. He’d expected perfection and had even bought cutting horses specifically for the job. It was the most physically hard work Tobirama had ever done in his life as a lanky teenager.
“Anyway, Madara was getting big offers from some serious companies and apparently Tajima hadn’t taken care of the land very well either, so financially the Uchiha accounts were almost as bad as our own. He wanted to hold onto it and flip it like I did with the farm, tried everything he could to do it, but the money just wasn’t there. So, I offered to lease him about half of our land until he could build his finances enough to manage the Uchiha land again. He still has it, he’s just allowing some solar companies to lease it for a while until he’s back on his feet or decides to sell it. He checks on the land every once in a while to make sure they haven’t cut any trees they aren’t supposed to or something, but so far it’s going well. He’s in a net positive on income now which is great.”
Tobirama couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Half the Senju land was currently being run as a ranch by Madara Uchiha. That was half of the viable farmland that could be producing more vegetables and grains to line Hashirama’s pockets and set him up for a better future. Instead, it was being trampled by cows. At least the manure would help with fertilizing the crops later, though Hashirama would have to resubmit for federal soil testing on that land before he could do anything with it that involved getting produce to grocery shelves.
“It’s fine, Tobirama! Financially, Senju Farms has never been better. I’m still sitting comfortably even after the renovations and Madara pays for the lease, so I’m not losing anything. Relax a little! Let’s check on that brisket and you can even interrogate Madara all you want when he gets here.”
He couldn’t help but follow Hashirama to the backyard with a quiet nod.
…
Madara’s arrival was loud. He still had that fucking 1965 Chevrolet C10 with a modified exhaust that sounded like a cherry bomb and that damn Holley motor that rumbled and roared with the slightest bit of gas. For a little dark maroon pickup truck, that thing could haul itself from zero to sixty entirely too fast and too loudly. Madara had apparently also had it lifted sometime in the last decade, large wheels and tires added to help it traverse the rough grounds of the farm-ranch combination that had become the Senju lands.
Tobirama wouldn’t be surprised if Madara had done all of the work himself. He also doubted the little truck could haul a cattle trailer, so Madara probably only kept it around for fun.
Now, that stupid truck was rumbling right next to his BMW M5 and he was nearly plastered to the window in the dining room making sure Madara didn’t come within two feet of his car.
They’d pulled the brisket off of the smoker only a few minutes ago and Hashirama had brought it inside to rest on the counter, still wrapped and slowly lowering in temperature. The smell was heavenly and Tobirama’s stomach was cramping considering he hadn’t really eaten a full meal since he left DC, but he was now focused on making sure the idiot that was visiting didn’t touch his car.
He was doing his best to ignore the fine layer of dust on his car and the small scratches he could see on the front bumper’s gray paint.
“Does Madara even know I’m here?” Tobirama called back towards the kitchen, the thought occurring to him suddenly that Madara may not know who the hell was visiting.
“I told him you were visiting for a few weeks to help me with some accounts for the farm!” Hashirama called back, the sound of a cabinet opening and closing accompanying his happy chirp.
Whatever, that lie actually sounded feasible. He was the one who did the taxes before he left, so at least Hashirama didn’t inherit any trouble with the IRS. He was always good with money and would actually help Hashirama with the accounts during his visit if that was something Hashirama needed.
His attention whipped back to the truck as Madara swung open his truck door, the truck’s rumble cutting off abruptly. The door almost hit his car mirror and Tobirama’s jaw clenched. An inch! He’d almost hit the car by an inch!
He couldn’t watch anymore.
He whipped away from the window and stomped to the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling out his phone. Still no service. He had connected to Hashirama’s wifi, a true surprise to find in a ranch house in the middle of nowhere, so if anyone tried to reach him, it would still come through. However, he didn’t like that he didn’t have completely reliable service and he didn’t completely trust wifi networks after what had happened to his own.
The front door opened and heavy boots were kicked off, the closet door opening and closing as those boots were put next to his own shoes.
“Hashirama! We need to talk about your brother’s bullshit excuse of a car!” Madara’s voice was deep, much deeper than it had been when Tobirama had last talked to him. However, the words were exactly the kind of thing he’d expect from the man even after a decade.
“Madara! Leave Tobirama’s car alone! It’s a nice car!” Hashirama chastised from the kitchen.
“Yeah! For snobs! Who the hell buys a BMW and brings it out here? That shit belongs in the city to show off to every other car snob that hasn’t touched an engine in their lives!” Madara’s bark was biting, but Tobirama was surprised to realize that he hadn’t really changed. He’d always been loud and offensive.
He stood quietly, approaching from behind Madara as he was facing Hashirama, not at all noticing Tobirama coming from the living room.
“That car has over seven-hundred horsepower and is twin-turboed. I also didn’t have a choice about bringing it out here, I wasn’t going to rent something for the trip. I have enough money to repaint it whenever I please.” Tobirama growled, his fists clenched. That car was fast and represented his success in his work. While he was used to Madara’s insults, he wouldn’t take insults about his car.
The way Madara jumped, turning to face Tobirama in a spin that nearly threw him off balance was well worth sneaking up on him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tobirama! When did you get so tall?!” Madara’s eyes ran over Tobirama in a quick assessment with wide eyes as she straightened himself out, trying to regain his composure.
“About the time I decided not to break my back over vegetables and beef,” Tobirama grumbled, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, I can see that you’ve been avoiding hard labor like the plague. Are those fucking slacks?” Madara glared at Tobirama’s pants and Tobirama glared right back at him, taking note of the black t-shirt and dusty jeans.
“Fuck off. My wardrobe is certainly not up for discussion. Slacks in a courtroom is borderline business casual. You wouldn’t know.” Tobirama decided to breeze past Madara to walk into the kitchen, taking another beer from the fridge. While he didn’t love it, he needed something to drink if this was how his evening was going to go and he wasn’t sure if Hashirama drank whiskey or anything harder than beer. He wasn’t going to ask.
“I never thought you would actually manage to become more pretentious, yet you somehow managed to become the snobby lawyer stereotype, spending your money on a ridiculous car and wearing slacks on a farm.” Tobirama could hear Hashirama’s sigh from next to him as he popped the cap off of the beer on the edge of the counter, catching the cap and throwing it in the trash at the same time as taking a drink from the bottle.
“Madara, please, just let it go. Let’s have a good afternoon and enjoy this brisket that I’ve slaved over all day, please?” Hashirama asked with false cheer, nearly batting his eyes with blatant bribery.
“I slaved over that cow much longer than a day, Hashirama. So yeah, I’m going to enjoy it. Hope you enjoy 0247, also known as Bitsy, Tobirama. Don’t get too squeamish on us, now,” Madara taunted as he joined them in the kitchen and grabbed his own beer. They both stood to each side of Hashirama as he moved the tray with the brisket on it to the island and started unwrapping the foil.
The smell was divine as the steam puffed out of the top as soon as the seal broke around the meat. Hashirama had thick gloves on as he flipped the brisket over a few times, slowly unrolling the foil in layers. Once the brisket itself was revealed, Tobirama’s mouth started watering.
He hadn’t had a good brisket in over a decade. Much less a smoked one. They didn’t do this kind of thing in the northern states.
Hashirama had seasoned it so well and the bark looked nearly charred, the sign of great things to come.
The first slice down the middle had all of them holding their breath, arguments forgotten as they silently agreed to put their hopes of a great brisket into the moment.
The juice that left the meat nearly gushed, the inside was a bright pink, and there was a perfect smoke ring just inside of the bark. It was perfect.
“Tobirama, go ahead and get the corn and baked potatoes off the grill while I get this cut. Madara, there’s some leftover mashed potatoes in the fridge. Can you reheat those and pull out the cheese and sour cream? We have a lot to talk about tonight and we’re going to have a great dinner while we talk.”
Tobirama and Madara did as he asked, though Tobirama was worried about what exactly they had to “talk” about as he picked the wrapped corn cobs and potatoes off of the grill with tongs. There really wasn’t much to discuss considering the lie Hashirama was using for his presence.
When he came back inside and set the pan of corn and potatoes on the counter, Madara was mixing leftover mashed potatoes and putting them back in the microwave to reheat. There was already a bowl of shredded cheese on the counter along with an opened container of sour cream.
Hashirama was cutting the brisket into perfect slices, the meat nearly falling apart from how tender it was.
It was peaceful in a way.
He unwrapped three of the corn cobs and three potatoes, leaving the spare two of each wrapped in case anyone wanted an extra. He knew he wouldn’t, he’d barely be able to handle what was going to end up on his plate to begin with.
Everyone served themselves once the food was set out and Tobirama found himself sitting at a round dining table, facing his brother and Madara as they both quietly prayed over their food. He hadn’t prayed over his food in years, but he held back from taking his first bites until they finished.
They were an odd demographic, being full-blooded Japanese men in the middle-of-nowhere Texas, praying to Japanese gods before every meal. Yet, Tobirama couldn’t help the sense of home he felt at seeing the small prayers again.
Taking his first bite of the brisket, he had to physically fight himself not to slump in contentment. They were all eating quietly by some silent agreement to eat first, talk later. Madara was eating like he’d been starved, scarfing down his food and probably barely tasting it. Hashirama was eating quickly but neatly, also acting like he’d been starved. Tobirama was careful as he cut his food and chewed slowly, enjoying the meal knowing he wasn’t going to eat nearly as much as the other two.
“So, Madara, have you managed to catch up in time for the round-up for this year’s batch?” Hashirama asked as he finished off his mashed potatoes, already getting up to get more food. Madara nearly choked on his food as he swallowed, his face twisting into a grimace.
“No, I haven’t. I had another guy quit last week and I’m short a rider. The cattle need to be moved to the staging pasture this week and I’m about ready to go into town with a milk crate and a sign begging for someone competent to help. That’s not to mention that one of the fences in the staging pasture collapsed a few days ago when we had that storm, so that needs to be fixed before we can go get the cattle. The truck will be here Wednesday of next week for pickup.” Madara set down his fork and knife, his hands burying themselves in his hair and tugging. “I don’t know what I’m going to do! I can’t reschedule this pickup, either! The sale has already gone through so I need to have the heads on the truck when it leaves!”
“Why don’t you ask Tobirama if he can help?” Hashirama called from the kitchen, the sound of metal scraping against metal as he got more brisket being the only thing to cut through the tense silence that possessed the room as soon as he spoke.
“Why would you-”
“Absolutely not-”
“There’s no way he can do ranch work, Hashirama!”
“I don’t have clothes for that and I’m out of practice!”
“He’s going to fuck it up and I can’t afford that!”
“I’m not an employee and I’m not insured for potentially dangerous work!”
Hashirama came back from the kitchen with a smile on his face, his plate piled high yet again. He sat down at his spot at the table, seemingly unaffected by the increasing shouts of outrage from both Madara and Tobirama.
“He’s done it before, he’s not going to screw anything up, Madara. And Tobirama, seriously? Insurance is what you’re worried about? This stuff is like riding a bike, you don’t just forget how to do it. It solves the problem for Madara and gets you out and about so you’re not just holed up here. It would be temporary anyway.”
Tobirama felt completely off balance by Hashirama’s calm demeanor as he took a bite of his mashed potatoes, still smiling.
“I don’t have time to train him or pay for a hospital visit if he gets hurt, Hashirama! He’ll be a liability!” Madara nearly shouted, his fiery temper making Tobirama’s headache reappear with a vengeance.
“And insurance is a legitimate problem, anija! I can do the work but accidents still happen! Do you think my employer is going to be happy if I get trampled by a fucking cow while I’m out here? There’s also the matter of not being prepared at all for that kind of work! I only brought clothes that would get me through being in the house for a few weeks! One pair of jeans, Hashirama! I only have one pair in that bag!” Tobirama’s voice was clipped, his own temper flaring.
Hashirama set his fork and knife down, his smile growing sharp.
“No, I don’t think either of you understand how perfect this is. Tobirama, you seriously didn’t expect to sit around for a few weeks, did you? I would’ve asked for your help on the farm anyway since you know exactly what needs to be done and how to do it. I don’t keep employees aside from a few contractors during busy seasons so I was going to ask you tomorrow. With this, though, Madara can get some help out of a tight spot and you won’t have a reason to get restless in a few days. You’re not incompetent on a farm or ranch, so stop acting like you can’t do it.” That, effectively, shut Tobirama up and he stared down at his food with clenched teeth.
Of course. You don’t just stay on a damn farm for free, even if you’re there as some fucked up form of security.
“And Madara, I’m serious. Tobirama does know what he’s doing. He may be a little rusty, but he can ride a cutting horse like a natural and can do some hard labor without slowing anyone down. You need any equipment fixed? Tobi can do it. Need a dead-on head count of an entire herd in ten minutes? Tobi is the fastest head counter I know and the last time I saw him do it, he was fourteen. Any paperwork associated with it will be more accurate than even you or I could do. That’s how good Tobirama is at doing this stuff. Just agree and pick him up in the morning. We’ll sort out the clothes.” Hashirama let the silence linger for a moment, his stare at Madara unrelenting despite the other man’s blustering discomfort.
Tobirama really didn’t want to argue anymore. His brother had a few points and it would only be temporary, even if it would be deeply uncomfortable.
“Fine. I’ll be here at five o’clock sharp. First order of business will be that fence after we do the morning routine. If he becomes a liability at any point though, he’s coming right back here and sitting out the rest of his little vacation in the house.” Madara grumbled, picking up his fork to aggressively start digging into his baked potato, a scowl set on his face.
“Great! We’ll be ready by then, right Tobirama?” Hashirama asked cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just signed Tobirama up for the most miserable week and a half he could think of.
“Right…” Tobirama muttered, not hungry anymore as he poked at his own food.
At least he’d finished the brisket…