A killer came to the beach, big eyed like a kid, big eyes full of terror

.

A killer came to the beach, big eyed like a kid, big eyes full of terror – they were the mirror of an adventure.

"I simply want to protect the dream I finally realized."

"I'm going to protect our.. or rather my village. No matter what it takes."

"I shall not tolerate anyone who seeks to harm the village, be they friend, brother... or even my..."

His sharingan was still spinning slowly.

"I made a resolution, to endure in order to watch over the present."

And then it wasn't spinning anymore.

-

In the end, Hashirama couldn't even do that. Couldn't endure the pain and loneliness.

For a while, after his death, he kept up with the Hokage's duties, signed scrolls, listened to clan's heads, did everything his brother asked him to.

But the nights, once that red hat was put down, were filled with misery and alcohol. And the hat kept getting heavier and heavier every time Hashirama put it on, so much so that it didn't matter anymore if he was wearing it, along with those robes that seemed to drag him down, every moment was filled with alcohol and misery. And pain and rage. And more alcohol.

And when he just couldn't anymore, when even only the sight of the village they both had dreamed of became torturous and filled him with hate, he left. Without a word and without a goodbye. Because he didn't say goodbye to him. He left everything behind and staggered out of the village without even once looking back, with his broken heart shattering with every stumbled step, leaving the peace they both had fought for. And his brother.

Hashirama didn't deserve to still have his brother, so he left. With his broken heart shattering more with every step.

And he walked and walked and walked. And walked without a destination, without a purpose. He walked away. Just like he did.

Under the last sun's shadow a fisherman had fallen asleep

and she had a furrow on her face, something like a smile on the lips.

A killer came to the beach, big eyed like a kid, big eyes full of terror

they were the mirror of an adventure.

Hashirama didn't know for how long he had walked, it could have been days or months or years, he didn't know where he had been. All his hours made of alcohol and memories and one foot in front of the other; of pain and rage and so much torture, like his soul was still tearing apart. Hashirama couldn't stop walking.

When he tripped and fell on the ground he didn't register he was on a beach, at first. He simply laid on the warm sand, breathing it into his nose and lungs, squeezing it into his fist, unable to keep it. Just like him. Hashirama didn't have any more tears to cry, or screams to shout; his eyes dry and his throat rent.

And hands soaked in his blood.

He got his knees under himself and crawled to the water, so shimmering and clear he could almost believe he would see him in the reflection, like a dream. He crawled and crawled and then sat there, with the sea lapping at his chest and his hair and clothes floating around him. His dry eyes staring blindingly ahead.

The sea was warm and splashing lazily all around him and Hashirama let himself be lulled by the nature and the alcohol in his veins. He swayed back and forth with the sea, slowly, back and forth, and peacefully, back and forth, one with nature. His chakra harmonizing with the nature's around him. Like it used to do with his brother's chakra. And with him.